Je veux ecrire

Mais, je ne peux pas. Alors! Quelle domage! Donc, je dur ecrire voici, dans "la journal insipide." Right - con going well, enjoying it, many panels, much philosophising and lunching outside the recreated Mended Drum. Skipped the Hugos and the Masquerade last night and this. Wrote approx. 4 pages last night in The Natural Son - seems to be coming along. Wrote the first scene and a bit of The Havisham Effect, a possible short story, today at lunch after the Time Travel panel. May or may not finish said story. It has a great first line, but I'm not really sure what my premise is other than time travel in this reality and Miss Havisham refusing to move with time and what is the nature of her stance and modern feminism...you know, the usual stuff.

Clothes all over my bed. Socks seem to have slithered off to sock heaven and are refusing to return to the land of my laundry basket. This causes distress. Wore hat yesterday. Fwah. As expected, I am currently longing to make this life my life...now that is. Some moments I seem to have no patience! However, it is a truth universally acknowledged that Emily throws herself into whatever's of the moment with her whole heart, mind, soul and longing. Silly Emily - kicks are for Trids.

Sleepiness overcomes me. Caroline Stevermer has written a sequel to "A College of Magics," and she and Patricia Wrede have written a sequel to "Sorcery and Cecelia" which has been reprinted, which means I don't have to a) steal it from interlibrary loan or b) drudge up an exorbitant amount of money for a rare edition from ABE.com! Hail the publishing houses that save us from a life of theft and debauchery!

Have purchased a collection of Terry Pratchett's short stories. Mwahahahhahahha. Saw him at a panel today. He's rather slight man, where I thought he would be a striding Sean Connery giant. He's a tenor where I thought he would be in the lower spectrum of the bass. He has a slight lisp where I thought he'd speak rather clipped BBCese. Just shows to goya!

One more day of con. Then return to work and return to work and return to work. Return to extracurricular stuff - all mondo heaps of it - and putting together stuff for this year's Masses and chair stuff and internal politics nonsense mixed with this infernal election year and all those joys attendant. One author said that he lived in Maine, 14 miles from the nearest MacDonald's. That's sounding rather good about now! But I know that when once I return on Tuesday, everything will realign around that goal again and I'll struggle to retain the scrivverly inspiration this weekend has provided.

Ah ca! For timelessness and the fullness of time! One more hope for the kingdom to come NOW, if you don't mind, God. Because I'll be too busy for such a thing later in the week. ;P

Right. Shall try to cudgel out what Miss Carrisford's handsome young midshipman relates to my heroine, apparently named Mariah Burgess, about her future employer. I do so want to name him Orlando, but he's leaning towards Orsino. But Orsino what? The banal thought is Bloom (although I didn't think Orlando the Elf to begin with but Orlando, Rosalind's Orlando), but...Scrudge? No, that'd be a villain. Something gruff and harsh and darkish but with a romantic flare. Ah, to be a true British daughter and have such marvellous, absurd names spring to mind immediately! I should name someone Scrudge. It's a fabulous name. Ah, the groundsman - yes, he might be a Scrudge. Now to find a similar name for the housekeeper.... I've Mistress Wendleton, but she's already claimed for Elspeth-y novel(s). Must think.
Mrs. Dunthinkin'? %} Donnegan? Oh, nevermind.

Mood: Not - enough - caffine - in - my - blood - to - write - ahaughack - - -
Music: Master and Commander, commandeered from Jules' collection
Thought: Oh, for a Cornish phone directory!