Back-to-back trips have the salutary effect of frustrating my writing desire enough that on my return, I am more than ready to solve the problems I planted on my departure. To wit: the backstory of the not-a-werewolf; the timing of the magician’s history in the Dickensian Fantasy rewrite; the presence (or not) of Augusta in Toronto. Back-to-back trips also furnish me with so many opportunities for pleasure, not the least of which was yesterday’s exploration of Boston. I had a half-pint at a pub which opened in 1765; I photographed architecture; I coveted, but did not buy, a number of wonderful pairs of boots. And early in the morning I ran, up the mall on Commonwealth Ave, through the Public Gardens, and around the Common. When I am in doubt about the quality or direction of my craft, I must remind myself of this: half of my writing is done with my feet. […]
In which I have absolutely nothing of my own to say
see more Lolcats and funny pictures […]
Gratitude
I don’t really do New Year’s resolutions any more, due to (a) my own repeated failure to comply with the ones I felt were self-punitive and (b) my tendency to obviate all the less punitive ones by doing them anyway, upon the moment they occurred to me, instead of waiting until the New Year to implement them. I do, however, use the New Year as an occasion to think about my progress over the last twelve months (if any) and my intentions for the next twelve. This year a number of friends and acquaintances have positively humbled me with the things they’ve done for others. I’ve learned about the science fiction community’s ethos of paying forward. I’ve been welcomed by that community, along with a number of my peers, and blessed with everything from distilled knowledge to good humour to medical texts to a warm embrace against a chilly wind. I’ve watched my best friend vow, in memory of my own father, to avoid taking lives in her home, and instead transport bees and flies outdoors. I’ve witnessed the generous spirit of my mother’s small town, helping her out with everything from lawn care to baked goods, and I’ve witnessed […]
I’m sad. Now I’m going to make you sad. Stop reading.
My little cat, seen here indulging in her favourite game of Stairway Ambush, has become very ill. She’s in the hospital just now, where I cannot comfort her. The other cats rejoice in her absence, for now they can sleep upon the bed without getting spat upon and boxed in the face. I, on the other hand, wish with all my heart that she might come back to us in fighting form, but I don’t think it’s going to happen this time. I think I’ve learned what a dying thing looks like. […]