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In which the marquise is possessed
Feb. 17th, 2010 05:06 pmNew words: 788 -- I'm ramping up.
First line written -- The sense of wrongness still worked its sticky way down his spine.
Ambush! Owain's horse does not want!
I can see where the story needs to go in the next couple of chapters, and I suspect that some of the original first chapter may now go into the second. Though in an ideal world, the historical chronology would go the other way round. Sigh. And I may need to burrow through my work notes cupboard (which is huge) for 'The Seven Bishop Houses of Dyfed.'
------
My brain may have been invaded by aliens. Not only am I sanguine about history-into-fiction (which for many years has brought me out in hives), but something very strange indeed happened at lunchtime.
I cooked. For me. Just me, on my own, deliberately, despite the easy availability of real food (houmous). Braised mushrooms. I had a craving for them for some reason last night, so I bought some and I cooked them.
They were lovely. Not that I intend to make a habit of this (that way madness lies).
Maybe there is some kind of global cooking balance, and this is just compensation by the universe for the reduction in cooking in parts north of here, due to the indisposition of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
desperance?
Skirt of the day: still jeans. Recent weather leads to that.
First line written -- The sense of wrongness still worked its sticky way down his spine.
Ambush! Owain's horse does not want!
I can see where the story needs to go in the next couple of chapters, and I suspect that some of the original first chapter may now go into the second. Though in an ideal world, the historical chronology would go the other way round. Sigh. And I may need to burrow through my work notes cupboard (which is huge) for 'The Seven Bishop Houses of Dyfed.'
------
My brain may have been invaded by aliens. Not only am I sanguine about history-into-fiction (which for many years has brought me out in hives), but something very strange indeed happened at lunchtime.
I cooked. For me. Just me, on my own, deliberately, despite the easy availability of real food (houmous). Braised mushrooms. I had a craving for them for some reason last night, so I bought some and I cooked them.
They were lovely. Not that I intend to make a habit of this (that way madness lies).
Maybe there is some kind of global cooking balance, and this is just compensation by the universe for the reduction in cooking in parts north of here, due to the indisposition of
desperance?Skirt of the day: still jeans. Recent weather leads to that.
