Thus proving even Vikings could be new age dorks. Actually, after you have to name the 35th Medieval Norse character, you start to get the impression that the father raised up his newborn son or daughter, cast a jaundiced eye about, and whatever he lit on is what he named the kid after, maybe with a god tacked in there for good measure. "You, my firstborn, will be-- Oðinn's Stewpot!"
Of course, I was very nearly christened Peregrine Green Wishnevsky.
Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed.
shesingsnow says she's grateful for "roads that are named for the place where they lead." Okay. Homesick now.
Squicky psychic animal companion fantasy with dire wolves (with truepenny):
New Words: ~2600 (my half of ~5200)
Total Words: 36,919
Reason for stopping: bedtime
Mammalian Assistance: Marlowe loves my mousepad
Stimulants: Butter chicken, honeybush chai
Tyop du jour: Nothing good
Books in progress: Ed Sanders, Tales of Beatnik Glory; Nancy Milford, Savage Beauty;
Other writing-related work: none
What's wrong with most medieval fantasy is there's not nearly enough cowshit. Or maintenance. Your average medieval lord's life was really, mostly cowshit and maintenance.
Mantenance and cowshit.
The occasional border war and spot of rapine. Maybe a deer hunt on Saturdays. Church on Sunday. Back to the maintenance and cowshit on Monday.
[16:09] katallen: quite peaceful really
[16:10] matociquala: Yeah, not bad if you like cowshit and dying in childbirth.
[16:10] matociquala: Could be worse.
[16:10] katallen: apart from the explosive decompressing cows
[16:10] matociquala: Ah well, at least we get dental care.
[16:11] katallen: dentistry is good
[16:11] katallen: antibiotics have been nice too
[16:12] matociquala: How come we never see anybody in fantasy weaving a hurdle or thatching a roof?
Hugh Blumenfeld, lyrics to "Longhaired, Radical, Socialist Jew." Because I felt the need. Christmas is coming.