In Which Bookbrain Prevails

17 June 2003

Part One of the Not The Moose -- which will eventually become Parts One and Two of the Not The Moose -- is getting closer and closer to done. It's already longer, without the next section(s), than Reprogramming. This is fine, I suppose: there's editing ahead, for one thing, and for another, huge fantasy novels are not precisely unheard of. We've had one or two of them before. But I know there's all sorts of stuff I'm going to need to add in when I edit, as well as stuff I'll slash. So it's just...very large, is what. We knew that, but the experience is rather more specific and concrete than it was.

But I finished up a couple of chapters of it yesterday, including the bit where Orvokki gives Edward Ilmarinen's awl. And at this point, everybody is scheming, and my poor POV characters, the geek and the fanatic, are being pushed and pulled this way and that. Yay with the pushing and pulling.

I have "Moonshadow" in my head, and no Cat Stevens to listen to. Ah well; I've substituted Ella Fitzgerald on the CD player, and the minute I hear from Karina, I'll be singing Counting Crows songs again. It's all part of the Psychic Karina Link, which has now brought down her internet connection. (Karina, your permalink isn't working there last I checked.) We really need to get a more positive Psychic Link, is what.

Anyway. When Mark and I went out on a date last night, I told him I had bookbrain pretty bad, and I still do. And this is probably good, or at least all right. He and I managed to talk about his job and the move as well as my book, so it was a good time despite my bout of bookbrain. The move is a good standard topic these days: far enough distant that we can work out all kinds of permutations, including who will be going where when.

The folks bought us a big Rubbermaid tub at Target to put ice and drinks in at the picnic, and then we washed it out, and now it's sitting on the floor next to the dresser. Ready to be packed with things we probably won't need between now and then. I'll probably just stack it under our box of random games for awhile,'s good to know it's there, in case I get the packing urge.

In case I get it more strongly, I mean. The box from Mark's doctoral robes is also small enough to be packed with books, should I get organized and determine which books we're unlikely to want to read or reread between now and October. As if, you know, I had nothing else to do. But still. Perfectly good box. Just waiting to be packed.

What with all there is to do, I still haven't finished Kushiel's Dart; I am not even close, in fact, although I'm now grinding my teeth at it. I am being very elaborately patient. You know that feeling? When you're telling yourself, "I'm being patient, I'm being nice, I'm being generous," and you have to tell yourself because you certainly wouldn't know from your behavior? Right. That. I do want to see where she goes with all this, though, so I suppose that says something positive about this book. I intend to finish it. I need to return it to the library someday between now and next Monday, probably someday between now and Friday, so. It's almost become its own list entry, though not quite.

It would also make a great drinking game. "Every time a jewel, metal, or hair shines like something else, do a shot." "Every time we are told that people from this country are gorgeous, do a shot." Unfortunately, with my tolerance, that would put me at less than a page a day, so I could play drinking games with it three years straight and be a hopeless alcoholic at the end. (With no furniture! Oh, wait, no, that's Paula Poundstone living in San Francisco. Oops.) So maybe not such a great game.

I think that's all I have to say that isn't about my book or a short story. Or the rest of the to do list. Do you need to hear about my grocery shopping or my packing list? I didn't think so. Have a good Tuesday, and happy birthday to my godfather Dave. I've written about how Dave rocks before, and it's still true. (I may have written about it more than once, but that's the one I could find.) It's on my list to give him a call. See? The list is good stuff. Trust in the list.

Back to Novel Gazing.

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