caper_est: The Liberty Bell strikes! (liberty)
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caper_est: The grey wolf in the red gloaming. (golden kate)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: First pass on the horsey stuff, of which I know very little. I went through looking for major errors/ideas with the aid of Judith Tarr's extremely helpful Writing Horses, and her Horseblogging posts at Book View Cafe, both of which I can highly recommend. I don't seem to have committed any of the truly classic horrors, but several things could be a lot better, including:

Noticing how much horses pervade my characters' society in comparison to my own. )

And the little details will be legion, but I knew that already, and that's for correction in the fine edit.

For horse people reading these posts: what most annoys you about the presentation of horses in fantasy when it's wrong, or pleases you when it's right? Who gives you a real sense that their characters are riding horses, instead of bicycles, cavalry canines or daydreams?

For non-horsey folk: what horse-related stuff throws you out of the story, or draws you in?

In other news, my home Internet was on the blink again this morning, so communications may or may not get irregular presently.
caper_est: The grey wolf in the red gloaming. (golden kate)

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 370 words.  Kate gives the Young Duke the first barrel.

Also several hundred words of the increasingly weird dual Wood of Weyre fairy-stories that are obtruding myself on my attention.  My Muse is veering between the Cinderella variant, and its Snow Whitey sequel a generation down the line, as each feeds back loopily upon the other.  (The Snow character's being the Cinderella's character's daughter is the least of the craziness.)  It's a bit of a distraction, but writing it until Cynthia Coeur-de-Verre and her friends get bored with me is the price I'm paying for any sleep at all, just at present.

Meanwhile, I return from half-term holidays to work, to discover the real world imitating the Wood of Weyre as heartily as it is able.  Nnnngh!

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
My computer, such as it is, has been tediously persuaded to work with me again for the duration.

Tonight I investigate the current state of Ubuntu, just in case.
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

My wretched Windows installation at home has crashed spectacularly, and my breaks at work are apt to be short and sweet, as the Autumn Term is now taking off in earnest.  So there won't be a lot of news from me until I've fixed things up again.

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: Pulled together the shape of the current chapter, and of course there turns out to be bloody well two of it.  Shorter ones, admittedly.  I'm now going to cut it on the edge of the Night Without Stars.

Ciao now!
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
My relationship with Nonny, the underrated Muse of Folksong, is generally a delightful one.  Sometimes she'll return from the slopes of Parnassus in melancholy mood, and breathe over me the breath of Carrie Grey; sometimes she will be ribald, and bring me Kyra from Kazandry; sometimes she will be both, and bring me De Ville's Toast to His Friends.  And other times she will be so completely off the wall, I haven't even any description for the result that is shorter than singing it.  Always, she will break in upon me like a wave where no sea was hitherto apparent, and not cease until I've worked her latest inspiration into safely-recorded words and music.

This is often inconvenient, but almost always worth it.

And then sometimes she will come back totally monstered on bad nectar, and afflict me with I've Got Badgers in Me Nadgers.

caper_est: I dreamed all knight... (dream)
I assisted at the harrowing of H___ by Emma Woodhouse.  This was planned with all the unerring foresight one might expect.  I was not Mr Knightley, but I might as well have been, except for the 'not marrying her at the end' bit and the 'being too busy running around trying to stuff Lamia and the Three Stooges back where we found them for any of that soppy stuff' bit.

This comes of eating devilled eggs in the evening.

I shall now attempt another hour of shut-eye, and hope that this nap leaves me less tired than I started out, thank you kindly Emma!
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
After a pleasant week of Family Stuff, I returned to work to discover a defrosted freezer.  The contents, which were mostly liver and lights, had reached the stage of sending out miasmas and pseudopods.  The Offaly Civilization has now been destroyed, but long shall its memory be green.  Crimson, purple, billy-brown and black also.

My back is staging demonstrations for shorter weights and better pay.

My home access to LJ seems to have mostly gone away, hanging forever whilst contacting "".  Some folk report solving a similar problem by forcing their router to grab them a new dynamic IP address.  Doesn't work for me.

In a more encouraging development, I've finally achieved my perfect sausage risotto - my previous standard being mediocre at best.  The secret, such as it is, involves more chilli and garlic, more carrot and coriander soup, and the introduction of small quantities of olives and tomato salsa.  This advance was achieved by one part instinct, three parts advice, and nine parts blind ridiculous luck.

Aaaand it's time to get writing again.
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 400 words of Kate's Speech.  Coming to the end of it, thank goodness, because this first stab at it is really pretty poor, with a few brilliant sparks straight from the Golden Wolf's coat against a mud-matted grey background.  I suppose she could plausibly motivate her audience to great desperate adventure with these words; but MAKEHERSTOP MAKEHERSTOP MAKEHERSTOP is not quite the gallant cause I had in mind!

The end, at least, should be pretty dramatic straight out of the gate.

The eye seems slightly less irritated again, and the housework seems slightly more irritating.

Charlie Stross has convinced me of the fundamental identity of libertarianism and Leninism, so this morning I joined the 2ting Popular Front Online, and we shall just be rallying the digital proletariat to seize the commanding heights of the New Economy, as soon as we have thrashed out the process for oversight of elections to the Svoburo's Standing Orders Committee.

We is in ur MMORPGs, organizin ur AIs.

Monsters of the Web, unite!  You have nothing to lose but your dungeons!

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
My desktop at home just died, and I can't bring it back again.  Many things will now be delayed until I've restored or replaced it. 

I am now extremely glad that I bought my external backup drive when I did.
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 190 words.  Bah.  Luke's plan explained in full, and the Slight Setback recounted.  I am tired and manky and peevish, and I was badgered in my sleep last night by the Governor of Wisconsin.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
I spent much of last night in extravagant adventures with the story's protagonist Oenone - a sort of lionless Una, overflowing with fangirl squee for a ridiculously pretty, gallant, and transparent knockoff of Sir Lancelot.  Oenone could have spotted Helen of Troy a pawn, a queen, and a Primark tracksuit, and still been more attractive.  I was not Sir Lancelot.

And then I read our reviews.  The novel - which was, as I well knew, our actual adventures and not the mere telling of them - garnered somewhat mixed reactions from the critics.  It was called Theseus and Oenone.  I don't know who Theseus was, but I shouldn't be surprised if his surname turned out to be something like de la Mare.

"Unputdownable!  Unpronounceable!" - Romantic Times.

"The dragon was everything every dragon should be.  However, Lancelot du Lake is not Mary Sue's Legolas.  Lancelot is the bastard son of Muhammed Ali and a brick shithouse." - Unidentified Prestigious Fantasy Reviewer.

Philistines!  What do they know?  I was there, I tell ya!

Even if, while it was going on, I could have stood for a lot less of Mary Sue's Legolas myself.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 910 words.  Mostly Okay Genius makes his move.  My heroes aren't the only people who can play "Let's You and Him Fight!" without saying a word or copping the blame.  Also, he is better at it than they are.

The World on Maltby Edge, I now discover, is sung to a traditional tune called Riding over Alland.  Which figures.  The highly-coloured imagery seems to be inspired by it, too.  Words of that version keep intruding on my day, but I am resisting them, because I am quite earwormed enough already without encouraging it any further, and also because I suspect the totality of those lyrics would be of small interest to anybody but some future Northdales equivalent of Cecil Sharp.

I know that Riding over Alland is itself only a slight modification of some real and stirring tune in this world - I'm a non-musician and couldn't possibly compose anything half that good offhand on my morning commute, or most likely ever - but however irritatingly familiar it is, I can't quite put my finger on where I've nicked it from.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

My indigestible food was indigestible, so I was condemned to spend long midnight hours awake, with neither the power to sleep nor the energy to rise.  Therefore I entertained myself with thoughts of Keynes and cargo cults, and whether limited companies have owners, and how to stimulate the grassroots economy without spending a dime, and many other like matters which it will behove me to have mastered when soon I rule the entire world.

The way I figure it, when one's digestion is temporarily spoiled anyway, there can be no better time to contemplate the controversies that might otherwise spoil it when it is fab.

I did get in 460 words on the novel before the more creative and empathetic centres of my brain packed up for the night.  Dance, characters, dance!

And... this afternoon the six-week summer vacation begins.  YEEEE-HAWWWW!

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Step One: You identify a practical problem, which you don't know how to solve.  

Fortunately, just lately you remember dipping into an excellent book, which will most certainly contain the solution. 

Unfortunately, you can't recollect quite what the book was, or where you found it.

Step Two: You spend several minutes pottering about, and trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive memory out of the tail of your eye.

Step Three: You identify the book.

Fortunately, you now know exactly what it is, and when and where you last saw it.

Unfortunately, Catmint's Compleat Encyclopaedia of Mechanical Parts is still, as far as you know, in the basement of that bookshop in Oxford, Midatlantica, where you set it aside about 4.15 am last Wednesday in favour of a spirited discussion with your fellow-browser Teddy Roosevelt.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

Departmental beano last night.  If you should ever happen to eat at Vito's Bar & Ristorante in Battersea, prefer the admirable seafood, and shun the frumious gnocchi.  The goat has spoken.

Peroni's Nastro Azzuro lager is better summer drinking than I remembered.

My formerly excellent ISP PlusNet has now reached the point of prolonged broadband outages nearly every week - another one kicked in last night.  I am going to have to speak to them firmly.  I notice they're in the middle of a heavy expansion campaign at present.

250 words of Killer-Kate this morning: pipe and tabor, a barnadine dance, the man in the barnacle hat.


caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)

August 2015

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