la_marquise

I seem to be taking today off writing, and doing various other things that need doing around the place. Oh, and having a dental check-up (all fine). Days like this have their use: the subconscious gains some time to mull over where the book is going, and the shoulders get a break. I realised at around 2 a.m. this morning that someone is going to have to explain private land ownership to Liyan at some point, because he just does not get it. And given who I am, and who he's likely to ask, I am once more headed for pinko-socialist territory. Note to self: novel, not political tract, novel, not political tract. What do you lot think? Do politics belong in fiction?

In other news, Horus has just jumped up on the desk and is rubbing his head on my shoulder and purring in my ear. I think he wants his supper.

Skirt of the day: wedgewood.

It looks to be 2012. How did that happen? (I'm sure it was 2001 just now.) I hope it has started well for everyone and continues well, too.
I'm not doing a full review of 2011, if only because I'm not sure I did that much that was unusual (for me). It was an okay year, with good bits and bad bits, and no-one close to me died, and that works for me. Things that immediately come to mind about it: Eastercon and accidentally starting an bid for 2013 during the Closing Ceremony, because both jemck are Too Responsible; skiing through trees in Sweden, with only the marquis and birds for company; a squirrel taking revenge for his species and biting Horus back; Mooncat meeting a_d_medievalist and demanding she move in at once; discovering that desperance finds me humming while I write distracting (who knew?); amazing scenery in Oregon and unreasonable heat in San Diego; watching eagles from a Moorish fortress with the marquis; finding out just how many of my neighbours are visited by Ish at a local Christmas party. I went to a whole bunch of places I've never visited before, which pleases me (because, y'know, itchy feet). And the contract on The Grass King's Concubine was signed.

And today we've had high winds and heavy rain and hail and sunshine, all before lunch, and Ish has dried himself on me twice. The holiday season is done and this afternoon -- once I've been to the Post Office -- it's back to the writing mines.

Speaking of which, my friend and fellow historian helen_lerewth is now on lj. And she's published some of her short stories. I've been reading her stories for about 12 years, I think, and I've always hoped to see them in print. They are fabulous: barbed and witty, sharp and devious and strange. And right now, she's offering them for free, which is a gift, if you ask me. She has a really interesting take on the world. Please go and say hi, and do read her writing. It's well worth it.

Skirt of the day: black cord with purple piping.

I am a soft touch: Heinlein would have said I deserved no even breaks. If there's a lame duck or a lost cause, I'm your go-to girl. The marquis despairs of me. I despair of me.
I'm playing unexpected host to my neighbours' dog. She managed to get out of their very well-constructed dog-proof back garden and sat in their front garden howling and complaining for about two hours. Which worried me, of course, because she's not a young dog and her people were clearly out at work and I am infamously a pushover for animal. Having taken her water and checked the fence to see if I could show her how to get back to the back garden (which I couldn't), muggins here decided that it was getting cold and dark, and that she was distressed, so I brought her home. And left a message for the neighbours telling them where she is.
She's a sweet little thing: dim, but very friendly, and she' now happily ensconced in a bean bag. The cats are deeply not impressed. I'm hoping the neighbours are home soon... (This is the rather difficult neighbour, so they may yell at me for interfering. I hope not, though: she was a very unhappy little dog stuck on her own.)
ETA: Dog now home, neighbour pleased to see her and very happy she was somewhere warm and safe.
Skirt of the day: dog-hair dotted denim.

It's been a busy 10 days or so. Over the Bank Holiday weekend, the marquis and I, along with desperance, groliffe and Caro winolj, set off for Staffordshire for a long weekend at historic Tixall Gatehouse, all that remains of a former 16th century mansion. Lovely place, with big airy rooms, beautiful proportions and much comfort. There was walking and pub-inspecting and observing of local flora and fauna -- Staffs is full of Bedlingham terriers and huge mastiffs. Who knew? And I dragged everyone off to Ironbridge Gorge to see the Museum of Iron, for Werk reasons. We headed back on Tuesday, with the marquis, A and C going straight home, while Chaz and I went back to Ironbridge to see the Victorian town museum, where they have a working beam engine and many, many fine industrial objects, as well as working shops. He took lots of photos.
The marquis had picked up an awful coldy-fluey thing while we were away, and was really not well for much of last week. He's feeling a lot better now, but we had to cancel a planned outing to see the new Conan film, and his regular role-playing evening. (Much Jackie Chan was watched instead.) On Friday, we set off for the Write Fantastic gig in Glastonbury, but he wasn't well enough to come along, which was a great shame. We collected klwilliams at Heathrow en route, and I got to play chauffeur (though Chaz refused to let me wear his cap. I think he thought I might be ever so slightly taking the p*ss. I can't think why.) It was a good gig -- I thought my Arthur talk was a bit dull compared to the fascinating talks on more esoteric things given by mevennen and others, but I got good feedback. freda_writes was a wonderful GoH and not only gave a reading (she's so good at those: she always gives me goosebumps) but also talked with great depth about process and myth and imagery and her vision of writing.
And I was taken for a drag up the Tor by Lily-pup and Cassie. That is a high honour, and I am appropriately grateful.
Sunday, I packed Chaz and Karen back into the car (poor Karen: just in from California, and we take her over half of Southern England) and we headed into London, where I was scheduled to appear on a panel at the British Library with fjm, novelist Peter Hamilton, creative scientist and TED Fellow Rachel Campbell, and the mighty Neil Gaiman on sf and the future. I was rather scared of this -- big guns!, plus driving in central London without Phil -- but it went really very well. fjm was a fabulous moderator and the discussion ranged from zombies in Asian cinema, to Chinese futures, to space opera, to machines that replicate digestion, to feminism, capitalism and the role of sf in dismantling patriarchy. And afterwards we had a lovely Chinese meal with coth and her family, who, it turned out, had flown back from the US after Worldcon on the same flight as Karen.
And that's me for the last ten days. Time has been spent with good people, and I survived driving to and from the BL and now I'm back home with the marquis and all is right with the world.
Well, almost all. Horus informs me that it is Too Windy and His Fur Is Being Ruffled and He Does Not Like.

Skirt of the day: burgundy silky print.

The second draft of The Grass King's Concubine is finally done. I was beginning to think that this was the book that would never end, but I got there. Stuff has been added, stuff has been shuffled, stuff has been deleted and rewritten and reshaped.
I am ded.
Tomorrow I get to print it, and start with the red pen for typos and such. Then, hopefully, off to Nice Editor by early next week at the latest.

In other news, experts claim that cats never purr at other cats, except in terms of mother-kitten behaviour. All I can say is, Horus has just walked up the stairs that are over my head and burst out purring because he found his Ish at the top.

Skirt of the day: new peacock blue floral.

Laundry done. Gym gone to and new (very hard) programme completed with only one minor tweak. Various things posted. Various emails sent. Mooncat brushed. New scene for rewritten Grass King written.
Cats telling me they need feeding....

Collapses in heap.
Skirt of the day: denim

Cambridge is waking up. As I drift about my city, its gardens are filled with massy magnolias, laden in blossoms of cream and raspberry. Cherries shake their pink petals over the paths, blackthorns hide their dangers behind clouds of white. In our front garden, the greengages have hearts of white blooms and soft green leaf buds. The borders are filled from side to side with the green and blue of grape hyacinth. To the back, the snowy mespil enjoys its short burst of fragile lacy flowers. The last of the winter jasmine winds yellow through the hedge. On the big roundabout just down the road, tulips stand to attention, clad in glossy dark purple. The cats chase petals across the lawn and yawn happily in the big pool of sunlight that falls across the floor.
It may be spring.

This is Mooncat. I am not happy. Here's why.
Last week, play human vanished for days and days and days without permission. This is bad, as fuss human does not stay up late enough at night and play with me, and pushes me away when I wake her up with my perfectly reasonable requests for attention. I made it quite clear to her that this was non-negotiable: a cat has rights, after all. But she ignored me and shut me out of the bedroom. This is WRONG. Boy cats get shut out. I do not get shut out. I am the Good Cat of this household.
This unsatisfactory state of affairs persisted for most of the week. It was highly distressing. Finally, on Friday, fuss human provided me with adequate levels of attention, by importing bugshaw and woolymonkey to pay attention to me. I sat in the middle and was Queen and they waited on me. This is Proper. Then, on Saturday, fuss human imported mevennen and T which was even better. mevennen has been properly trained. She did exactly what I told her at all times. I want her to come and live here. They were there all night and T got up at a sensible time and I had lots of fuss. Horus got some too. That was okay but it would be better if he had not been there. But then mevennen and T disappeared. I hunted for them everywhere. Even in the under-the-sink cupboard. I think Ish has stolen them because he is bad. (He stole desperance, too. desperance is mine. I scent-marked him.) All this was very stressful. I pointed this out to fuss human. She said, 'Not now, Bundle' because she is Bad.
Then Play Human came back. I ignored him, because he is Bad, too. He failed to make the proper apologies. I am still ignoring him. I think my humans are broken. I need help. Please send proper fuss.

Reports have reached this office of the theft of The Marquis earlier today from Marquis Towers. An Evil Power (TM)(Mrs) is believed to be behind this outrage. The Marquis was last seen been escorted to a Sinister Dark Vehicle headed for a location referred to only as 'Heathrow'. A source close to The Evil Power (TM)(Mrs) suggest that this theft may last for as long as a week and that during that time The Marquis may be shipped to A Foreign Destination. Sources close to the marquise tell us that she is 'underwhelmed', 'fretting', and, most tellingly 'late with our breakfast.

The marquis' employers have elected to send him to Nagoya for a week. It's a long way from those areas of Japan effected by the earthquake and tsunami (and, indeed, the power station). It's been on again off again on again all week, which has been somewhat stressful, but despite their country (let's call it A) deciding to remove their own citizens from the whole of Japan, his immediate bosses are happy, it seems, for him to go. (Their bosses, who are in a more sensible country, are recommending avoiding areas of Japan that are affected by the earthquake damage and where there are food and power shortages.)
I'm pretty convinced he'll be safe. Part of me is slightly startled that [Company Name Redacted], who he's going to see, still want foreigners turning up for a business meeting when arguably resources might be better directed elsewhere for a while. But economic life goes on. I'm not impressed by his colleague from country A who has dropped out using the circumstances and potential danger as an excuse (though coming, as he does, from the country that's consumed itself out of iodine tablets in the last week, this is perhaps understandable). But I never like it when he's away for this sort of length of time. I miss him and the house feels weird.
The cats are pointing out that they are still here and that the effect on them is far greater. Play Human is away. The standard of Play they'll receive for the next week will be grossly inadequate.

Horus has manifested a new fear.
The free newspaper. The marquis walked past him holding it, and he fled.