If I had a man, it would be him. But I don't.
Carnival: (this one gets a whole paragraph, because otherwise it's not amusing.)
Michelangelo Osiris Leary Kusanagi-Jones stood staring into the kaleidoscope gravity well of a nebula-veiled star, drinking. He had been drinking since fourteen hundred. He didn't intend on stopping any time soon.
Whiskey & Water:
Once upon a time in New York City, there lived a Mage with a crippled right hand.
Chalcedony wasn't built for crying.
The dead man sat in a wing-backed chair before a cold fireplace. His rooms were dark and still.
The zeppelin Hans Glücker left Calais at 9:15 in the evening on a cold night in March, 1899.
"The Cold Blacksmith"
"Old man, old man, do you tinker?"
"Lucifugous" and "The Cold Blacksmith" are the next two I need to knock down and tromp on. I'm stuck on Blacksmith because while I have the first scene and I know how it has to end and the character development and structural underpinnings that need to take place through the story, the actual, you know, events of the story (that would be the important bit, yes) are pretty much a giant PFFT in my head right now. Meanwhile, I'm stuck on "Lucifugous" because I know the story, but the structure is eluding me, which makes it hard to write until I know what the next scene is supposed to do.
Of course, I'm on vacation. Which means I don't have to write either of them. But it would be nice to think I could, if I wanted to.
"Paddareen," on the other hand, is waiting for a plot. And a structure. And pretty much anything except a description of a room with a dead man in it, and a few thematic elements. "1796"? That one's waiting on a buttload of research so daunting it makes me Camille across the room with my languishing hand stapled to my forehead. And no first line yet.
But hey, I got some stuff crossed off my to-do list today.