I have been working on the sequel to The Road of the Lost because well, I have a story to tell and it’s being told.
Anyway. I’m kinda proud of this specific portion of the latest chapter because it made me cry tears of blood. So here it is because I’m into oversharing things that make no sense except to me.
Two days stretch from dawn to dusk, uneventful for everyone except those who are on more intimate terms with time:
Irial, who logs every hour that passes, learns the prickly insides of a tragic love. Tinder notes the time that passes without news from Ceara and worries. Every minute is interminable for Aodh who waits for news from Maebh. He is torn between yearning and anger which together make for a curious kind of grief. Ceara, too, is angry but her anger is polished by a pain so sharp that Faolan has been wounded several times trying to navigate her moods as they travel from Tine into Talamh.
Saraid has decided to race time and tries to outrun the strikes of the clock. She has several meetings with Radha, the captain of her guards, and if the younger fae is left perturbed after every meeting, it is of no consequence to Saraid. She is the queen and she will command who she wants. She summons Brianna and Eamon, binds them to secrecy, and in a meeting witnessed by no one except those present, asks with rare humility for help of a kind only they can provide. The young fae understand the enormity of what she asks but their honour will not allow them to refuse. After all, it is not often that a fae queen asks for aid from her subjects.
What of Maebh? She has been waiting for so long that she has become friends with time. She knows each second takes her closer to the end and she does so enjoy the anticipation.
Croi does not care for the perambulations of the sun—she is learning to sing fire magick and stalks the kitchens because singing the rough song makes her hungry. Irial doesn’t want to see her, Tinder keeps her distance, and Caolan treats her as what she isn’t. Croi’s magicks are her only companions and if sometimes Talamh speaks a little louder than Tine, well, Croi is not listening.
From The Glory of the Dead a W.I.P.
(and the lawn hasn’t seen the right side of a grass cutter in a long time.)
The precious lunch hour.
Something I would happily sell my soul for.
Only not really. Actually, to be honest, I usually just take a quick 15 minutes to eat and continue working because my boss says I can go early if I do and I want to leave early. Wouldn’t you? But sometimes things get dire enough that all I want to do is do something that will refresh my soul and help me continue continuing. So I sit in the conference room and plot my novel.
Obviously there are pretty pens and an odd novel strewn around to make for the perfect IG picture. I’m just saying. Or I stare out the window because how can you not when you have a view like this?
It’s a particular torture on pretty days when everything calls you outside and you’re stuck inside the office.
It’s Sunday, almost 11 am and I have been up since 7 for reasons I don’t understand. My body thinks 7 am is the correct time to wake even on weekends and I have issues with that but EH. I’m old.
Anyway, I read a whole lot of picturebooks last week cuz I needed to review them so there’s that. And I read more books but let’s go through them a book at a time.
- Blackmoore – Julianne Donaldson
This was okay? I mean, technically it was rather simple and obvious but had a charm to it that I associate with years of conditioning to accept English stories as the best stories because hegemony, yo! To be honest, the characters weren’t complex, the female antagonists illogical–and just. Yeah. Donaldson has a remarkably low opinion of sisterhood and female friendship despite this book being somewhat of a feminist (faux-feminist? pseudo-feminist?) text.
- Vano and Niko – Erlom Akhvlediani
I have no idea what these short story fragments do or come together as but I had a lot of fun reading this translated collection. Well okay, I like the Vano and Niko bits. The later stories got repetitive and boring–I think they might have had a charm in their use of language but that got lost in translation. Still, this was my first book by a Georgian author so that’s that.
- Design for Dying – Renee Patrick
I enjoyed this one. I should have a review of it up on Book Wars this Tuesday.
- Safari – Surya Pinto
- Pets – Surya Pinto
- Dog’s Day Out – Surya Pinto
- Cat’s Playgroup – Surya Pinto
- Duck, Death, and the Tulip – Wolf Erlbruch
- The Only One – Guojing
- Wytches vol. 1 – Scott Snyder
- Mabrook – Na’ima B. Robert
- I is for India – Prodeepta Das
- The Cold Kiss of Death – Suzanne McLeod
I’m currently reading:
- Roses and Rot – Kat Howard
I’m 128 pages in and…while the writing is beautiful, the story is something I have read a hundred times over. Sigh.
- It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel – Firoozeh Dumas
This is heaps of fun. I’m 99 pages in and enjoying it in long sips here and there.
- Modern Romance – Aziz Ansari
I’m 160 pages in and I’m not enjoying this as much I had hoped I would. But more on that in a review when I have finished the book.
- The Anatomist’s Wife – Anne Lee Huber
- A Gathering of Shadows – V. E. Schwab
That’s what I’m reading and will be reading in the coming week. Hope you have a good reading week as well.
Look, I love trees. I can’t, I won’t, hide it. Even though it makes people think I’m weird–but I’m used to people thinking I’m weird. I mean that’s the norm now and people thinking me normal would be weird and what am I saying now? I’ve tangled myself in my rhetoric and let’s just just end this paragraph.
So what I’m saying is I love trees.
The cherry tree in my backyard is one of my constant sources of comfort.
I had a favourite tree on campus. It’s trunk had been defaced by some asshole but it was stoic and it grew and though thin, it was flourishing. When I went back after Spring Break in my final year of undergrad, some bastards had cut it down and replaced it with freaking pavement. I was inconsolable. Yes, you can too mourn trees.
It was a sweltering day and I was hungry but I had to take a picture of this tree growing downtown. It is glorious.
I also spend a significant portion of my time standing under trees. Because that’s the thing to do.
Happy Birthday, Earth.
Empty offices are freaky and you should find friends wherever you can–even if they are the stuffed animal kind.
One morning last week, I was walking down the hill toward the building in which my office is located when I turned my head and saw this scene. And I stopped right there and fished out my phone and snapped a picture. I’m sure the people behind me had some choice words to say about my sudden standstill. But I don’t really care because this moment so beautifully captures a mix of the urban and the mystical. The mist and the tree in the midst of he construction is a true reflection of the fence many people straddle daily. We live our lives quartered with bits of home and bits of magic and bits of mundane. But sometimes our pieces overlap and the magic floods the mundane and the streets breathe. You just have to be present enough to notice and take note.