it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Four winds at the four winds bar / Two doors locked and windows barred

Progress notes for 20 August 2006:

"Limerent"

New Words:  1,468
Total Words:  5,508
Pages: 27
Deadline: September 5
Reason for stopping: Sort of tired and stupid, and going to go read for a while.

Stimulants:  iced coffee, hefeweizen
Exercise: walked about 3.5 miles with ladegard in Glastonbury today
Mammalian assistance: Mebd is shunning me because I sent the good cat toys home.
Mail: nomail

Today's words Word don't know: wampyr, Fenian, teatime, thaumaturgic, Greyfriars, Newgate, Galicean, Asturian
Words I'm surprised Word do know: Vladimir

Mean Things: the succession
Tyop du jour: safely idolated over running water.
Darling du jour: Garrett poured more brandy. His had vanished as unaccountably as her own. "I'll have his finances checked."
Jury-rigging: Well, I have a complete outline. No get up and go, and I'm not sure it makes any sense, and I have one plot point to institute some sort of a logical resolution for, but there you have it.

There's always one more quirk in the character: Abby Irene drinks like a fish. Wait, we knew that already.

Other writing-related work: none
Books in progress: Hal Duncan, Vellum; John Lindow, Norse Mythology
The Internet is full of Things: Ellen Datlow posts more photos from the KGB reading of shunn & me.

coffeeem on the delicate art of panel participating/moderating.

The glamour!: The stress of the past eighteen months has taken its toll, and found outlet in physical symptoms, as these things will. (I've had lousy skin all my life, and there's nothing I love more than a little psoriasis in hot weather. Argh!)


It's the nexus of the crisis
The origin of storms
Just the place to hopelessly
Encounter time. And then came me--







"You're of Sebastien's court," Jack said, with a fine display of unconcern.

"I'm Sebastien's friend," Garrett corrected.

"Yes. Sebastien is funny that way."

"How old is he?"

He stopped, and stared. "He doesn't know."

And that was kind. He could have toyed with her, gloated over knowledge she did not share. Oh? He never told you?

"Roughly?"

"He remembers the Black Death," Jack said. "He remembers the millennium. He saw Vladimir the Great baptized a Christian in Kyiv. And Evie had already left him, by then, and he says they were together forty years or so--"

"Evie."

The blond boy smiled at her. "The one who gave him his first... taste."

"He's a thousand years old, Mr. Priest?"

"My best guess? I make it about eleven hundred. He sometimes mutters to himself in some particularly corrupt dialect of medieval vulgar Latin when he's not pretending to that ridiculous Spanish accent. It might be Galicean. He's Galicean. Or Asturian, rather, if I have the dates right."

"But you're not sure either?"

Jack shrugged. "He says he doesn't remember. He says he starved, during the plague, and lost a lot."

"And you?"

He tilted his head. The smile he gave her went from cherublike to almost conspiratorial. For a moment, she felt as if he let her become his ally. "I think he believes it."



Also, because writing that scene reminded me, we have flap copy for New Amsterdam, it looks like:

Abigail Irene Garrett drinks too much. She makes scandalous liaisons with inappropriate men, and if in her youth she was a famous beauty, now she is both formidable--and notorious. She is a forensic sorceress, and a dedicated officer of a Crown that does not deserve her loyalty.

She has nothing, but obligations.

Sebastien de Ulloa is the oldest creature he has ever known. He was no longer young at the Christian millennium, and that was nine hundred years ago. He has forgotten his birth-name, his birth-place, and even the year in which he was born, if he ever knew it. But he still remembers the woman who made him immortal.

He has everything, but a reason to live.

In a world where the sun never set on the British Empire, where Holland finally ceded New Amsterdam to the English only during the Napoleonic wars, and where the expansion of the American colonies was halted by the war magic of the Iroquois, they are exiles in the new world--and its only hope for justice.
Tags: new amsterdam, progress notes, short fiction
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 13 comments