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In some ways I'v e ben quite hard at work on the old writing.
Draft 2 of To Regain Heaven is coming along nicely (ie I am typing it up!) and I have about 40% of it on the pewter now (according to the Zokutou wordmeter), A further two chapters have gone off to my CP (Hi!) and my husband has read them too (he liked. High praise!) I should get more of that done tonight.
I (finally) posted the next bit of Moy Tura on NB - Chapter 17 (I write VERY short chapters at the moment). In which bad things happen to good and innocent people. All bystanders trashed. Isn't it always the way!
I will seriously have to do some more work on this as I think the next scene is going to involve Maeve and they are never easy. I need a Fionn and Emer scene too. But Maeve is more fun to write. She's nasty.
Main problem at the moment is that I have got to stop going into Notebored and editing the piece! It's a really bad habit, but once I look at it and see a nit I have to fix it!!! Jeeze, I'm even doing it now.
Tonight I should have some time. Last night we finished repairing the bath. Tomorrow night is my work party. Then on Saturday we have the kids party thrown by my husband's work. This is usually enormous fun, totally chaotic and really really exhausting. We're also hoping to get our Christmas Tree in the morning. At the same time I will need to order my meat from the butcher. God alone knows when I will manage to get the cake ingredients, but I'd better do it soon or no cake! And that would not go down well at all.
R
Draft 2 of To Regain Heaven is coming along nicely (ie I am typing it up!) and I have about 40% of it on the pewter now (according to the Zokutou wordmeter), A further two chapters have gone off to my CP (Hi!) and my husband has read them too (he liked. High praise!) I should get more of that done tonight.
I (finally) posted the next bit of Moy Tura on NB - Chapter 17 (I write VERY short chapters at the moment). In which bad things happen to good and innocent people. All bystanders trashed. Isn't it always the way!
***
Morgan slipped her fingers between Jack's, curling them so their hands joined, entwined. Lights glimmered in the shifting waters of the Liffey, reflected from the modern lamps hanging over the boardwalk. The coffee and snack stalls had closed an hour or more ago, but people still wandered along the walkway over the edge of the river. The Ha'penny Bridge, a confection of wrought iron, arced over the river, lit like a carnival, linking Lower Ormond Quay on the north bank of the river to Wellington Quay on the south. North and South of the River, she thought fondly, the eternal Dublin divide. Not that there was much of a difference, looking across the river now, from one knot of clubs and pubs to another. Music thudded into the night and the crowds of smokers banished to the roadsides laughed and chattered and argued without any idea of the enormity of the events which had transpired today.
Lugh was back.
Each time Morgan squeezed his hand to make sure he was actually real, he cast her a quizzical look and he smiled, such a gentle smile. Gentler than she remembered, if truth be told. This incarnation, or whatever Jack was, did not possess the same self-assurance and bravado that Lugh carried to his core. And Morgan had to admit that, though she had loved the old Lugh with all her heart, part of her feared that this new version had the potential to enrapture her as completely as any Leanán Sidhe. A danger of course, more of a danger than she could say. Hadn't she seen it in the museum? Yet, she could not help herself. They had wandered the city for the day, stopping briefly, mainly so she could earth herself, forget the encounter with her father, but also because Morgan didn't know if she could bring Jack to any of their safeholds. Every time the thought occurred to her, she bit down on her lip, and kept walking.
Jack, sensing perhaps the need in her, didn't argue. He followed her, waiting for her to tell him what they were doing. And the old Lugh wouldn't have done that either.
They visited the W.B. Yeats exhibition in the National Library where, amid blind portraits, locked off computers stripped back layers of editing to show the bare bones of the poems and expose the soul of the poet to modern eyes. Eyes without an understanding for such things. Without a care for them either. They skirted Trinity, dodged the lines of tourists and took a rear entrance into the Long Hall that held the Book of Kells. They crossed the river and stared up at the Spire on O'Connell's Street like a couple of unrepentant tourists. It almost made her smile and forget. Almost.
***
I should also add that this is still very rough before anyone gets the red pen out! :D
Morgan slipped her fingers between Jack's, curling them so their hands joined, entwined. Lights glimmered in the shifting waters of the Liffey, reflected from the modern lamps hanging over the boardwalk. The coffee and snack stalls had closed an hour or more ago, but people still wandered along the walkway over the edge of the river. The Ha'penny Bridge, a confection of wrought iron, arced over the river, lit like a carnival, linking Lower Ormond Quay on the north bank of the river to Wellington Quay on the south. North and South of the River, she thought fondly, the eternal Dublin divide. Not that there was much of a difference, looking across the river now, from one knot of clubs and pubs to another. Music thudded into the night and the crowds of smokers banished to the roadsides laughed and chattered and argued without any idea of the enormity of the events which had transpired today.
Lugh was back.
Each time Morgan squeezed his hand to make sure he was actually real, he cast her a quizzical look and he smiled, such a gentle smile. Gentler than she remembered, if truth be told. This incarnation, or whatever Jack was, did not possess the same self-assurance and bravado that Lugh carried to his core. And Morgan had to admit that, though she had loved the old Lugh with all her heart, part of her feared that this new version had the potential to enrapture her as completely as any Leanán Sidhe. A danger of course, more of a danger than she could say. Hadn't she seen it in the museum? Yet, she could not help herself. They had wandered the city for the day, stopping briefly, mainly so she could earth herself, forget the encounter with her father, but also because Morgan didn't know if she could bring Jack to any of their safeholds. Every time the thought occurred to her, she bit down on her lip, and kept walking.
Jack, sensing perhaps the need in her, didn't argue. He followed her, waiting for her to tell him what they were doing. And the old Lugh wouldn't have done that either.
They visited the W.B. Yeats exhibition in the National Library where, amid blind portraits, locked off computers stripped back layers of editing to show the bare bones of the poems and expose the soul of the poet to modern eyes. Eyes without an understanding for such things. Without a care for them either. They skirted Trinity, dodged the lines of tourists and took a rear entrance into the Long Hall that held the Book of Kells. They crossed the river and stared up at the Spire on O'Connell's Street like a couple of unrepentant tourists. It almost made her smile and forget. Almost.
***
I should also add that this is still very rough before anyone gets the red pen out! :D
I will seriously have to do some more work on this as I think the next scene is going to involve Maeve and they are never easy. I need a Fionn and Emer scene too. But Maeve is more fun to write. She's nasty.
Main problem at the moment is that I have got to stop going into Notebored and editing the piece! It's a really bad habit, but once I look at it and see a nit I have to fix it!!! Jeeze, I'm even doing it now.
Tonight I should have some time. Last night we finished repairing the bath. Tomorrow night is my work party. Then on Saturday we have the kids party thrown by my husband's work. This is usually enormous fun, totally chaotic and really really exhausting. We're also hoping to get our Christmas Tree in the morning. At the same time I will need to order my meat from the butcher. God alone knows when I will manage to get the cake ingredients, but I'd better do it soon or no cake! And that would not go down well at all.
R
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I'm loving Moy Tura, by the way. I sat down this evening and (finally) read the beginning up to chapter 10. The rest I'll try to catch up on at the weekend.
And there's nothing wrong with short chapters - it will balance out my long one, because this month it's nearly 6k. :(
Yes, stop editing it! I've critted and you'll have me thinking I'm in a timewarp!