Pixar to Disney: Buh-bye! - Steve Jobs says so long to the House of Mouse
And I'm behind them 100%.
Pursuant to my decision to abandon the high-speed project:
Skippy says I have the required equipment, but no drivers, which can be remedied. Elim says he can repartition my drive with no loss of info.
All say the salesguy was a jerk.
I loves my geeks.
The high-speed package arrived. Yay! said I.
There were a couple of issues. Namely, the fact that all the manuals were in French, and that even though the salesguy had been told that we already had Sympatico service and wished to keep our e-mail address, we were assigned a new address, and a new user ID. I know how bureaucracy works. We're likely to lose our current e-mail for a time, if not forever, while they sort things out.
Despite all this, I tried to install it this morning.
The operative word being "tried", of course.
I wasn't home when the salesperson originally came to our door. My husband therefore handled the transaction, with the best of intentions. The salesguy took a look at the back of our computer and checked off certain things on the contract, like the fact that we have a USB port.
"We don't have a USB port," I said when my husband told me this.
"Sure we do!" HRH said. "The salesguy checked!"
Yeah, well, guess what. The installation software ran a diagnostic on the computer and told me that I couldn't install my new high speed kit because of two reasons: my hard drive wasn't big enough, and I had no USB port.
The software doesn't allow you to choose what hard drive to direct it to. My C drive was partitioned when Skippy constructed my machine, so of course it says it's smaller than it actually is. I use my new second hard drive for programs now.
So: Sympatico gets called tomorrow. The high speed thing gets cancelled, and I'll return this useless kit. When I'm ready, I'll call and upgrade my service myself. I have been promised a new computer by the end of February (thank you, Ceri and Scott!); I'll try again then.
My technical frustration has been assuaged by the production of an entire short story (which means I can take one of my story assignment postcards off my bulletin board), and eleven hundred words of a second new story. And a new version of the anthology proposal. And a glass of champagne celebrating t!'s 100,000th word of Baker's 12.
Plus t! said that the whole idea of being a gutsy author was nonsensical, since he had solid support from fellow writing-type friends which filled him with confidence.
Still, I'm vaguely frustrated, for some reason. There's a warm bath in my future.
I just stopped by Ye Olde NaNo Montreal Discussion Board to see if any recent news or announcements were up. t! had left a new message regarding the final hand-out of stickers. His sig moved me immensely:
NaNoWriMo Winner two years running (and screaming)
Ringleader of the finest group of writers anywhere, at any time
Heck, yeah.
How amusing. Neil Gaiman got a l33t message and a fan translated it for him.
Thought the translation (liberal in places) would be interesting to those of you who were teasing me about knowing how to read it. Okay, I actually thought you'd laugh too.
And damn, I completely and totally forgot that Gaiman had written a short story called The Daughter of Owls, found in the Smoke and Mirrors collection. This makes me feel incredibly guilty and a right twit.
Ye gods - I've been online for four hours. I finished my editing a couple of hours ago, and have since been gaming in a Changeling chat room for the very first time, instead of lurking and getting a feel for who and what and how. And I really, really ought to sign off and go to bed!
Curse you, Roo, for introducing this to me! (And I mean cursing in the nicest way, of course...)
I currently have a black fairy kitten between my keyboard and my monitor as I alternately tear my hair out over editing an author's most recent batch of chapters, and eavesdropping on what's going on at the Firnost Freehold chatroom so I don't completely lose my mind. Nixie has been helping by smacking the pointer every once in a while as it flies around the screen. I think she wants to play Changeling too, but it would take too long for her to make a character.
Watching Roo interact with others, and being cuted out by Nix are the only things keeping me sane at the moment. There; she just patted the text as I typed. Painfully cute.
Lord of the Rings: Return of the King picked up eleven Academy Award nominations, including the really important ones like Art Direction, Music: Original Score, and, of course, Costume Design (go Ngila!).
And Mum, Johnny Depp was nominated for Best Actor for his performance in Pirates of the Caribbean. Woo-hoo!
Today is Mozart's birthday, as well. Just thought you all should know.
Oh, gods, I'm a geek. Have I mentioned recently how much of a geek I am?
No reason, really; this is just a random geek-out moment. Actually, yes, there is a reason; I've just spent way too much time poring through costume photos from The Return of the King, specifically the gorgeous selection of Arwen gowns. I am a sad, sad, costume geek.
A geek, I tell you.
My vices could be worse.
I love Baker's 12. I really, really do.
Case in point:
meanwhile...
"I told you so."
"Shut up."
meanwhile...
It takes a talented and gutsy author to attempt a section of narrative like that. It takes an even rarer author to make it work. (Did I say gutsy? Maybe I mean arrogant. Gutsy just doesn't describe t! very well. Neither does daring. If I use the word arrogant, I mean it with all respect, of course. And he has every right to be arrogant. He's good.)
t! is one of those authors who pushes boundaries, limits, and envelopes. I'm using this particular example of his work because Ceri and I were in the room when he created it, and I loved it. (I'd link him here, but I know his site address is about to change, so why increase my update work? Look for the Teddybear Sawdust Show in the links bar to the right.)
How to describe Baker's 12?
Well, the first thing I'd tell a potential reader is that it's an exciting, challenging, experimental narrative. It involves the concepts of time travel, and situational ethics, two of my favourites. It's character-driven as well as plot-driven, and it assumes that you have intelligence. That means it doesn't cater to the lowest common denominator; I used the word challenging on purpose. It employs elements such as humour, gritty action, historical settings, assumptions, group politics, and red herrings, handling them all with aplomb.
What keeps me reading it? The fact that I can see a pattern emerging. Why did I keep plugging away at it, even though it wasn't a linear story? The storytelling style, and the characters. I love that I can tell what character is in a particular situation just by the style of dialogue. The older I get, the more impatient I become with description-laden narrative. B12 takes the opposite tack, allowing you, the reader, to co-create the world with the author.
As I hate reading large amounts of text on-line, I recently printed all of B12 out and put it in a binder. I sat up until two in the morning in bed reading by candlelight while my husband slept, because I couldn't put the damned thing down. What I discovered is that as much fun as reading the weekly installment is, the true patterns don't emerge until you can read the whole thing in one shot. That's another part of the author's genius: accomplishing small entertaining bite-size bits, while simultaneously creating something larger.
So yes. Baker's 12. Read it. Challenge your preconceived expectations of linear narrative, and discover that you're actually smarter than you thought you were. And enjoy some darned fine fiction while you're at it.
Update January 27 2004: t! has now officially moved his site. Click through to read the Teddybear Sawdust Show! and Baker's 12. What are you waiting for?
This has never happened to me - usually I break a new A string by tuning it too quickly - but I have so much sympathy for him.
I have two concerts coming up within two weeks, and I've just realised that I need to replace my strings - all of them. I put a full set of Eudoxa gut strings on my cello in September of 2002 as an experiment, because I love the deep mellow sound gut produces. The D string broke first, followed shortly by the A. My emergency replacement A string is now unravelling (no surprise there; it's a Thomastik Dominant, and the wrapping on Dominant A strings is coarse and dreadful); my replacement D string was salvaged from my original overstretched Aricore set that was put on six years ago; and the G and D strings are still the gut strings that have now stretched beyond proper sonority. I hadn't realised all of this until lately, now that I've been really digging into the lower strings (love that Beethoven!).
I guess I know where the student payments that are beginning to trickle in for the new semester are going.
At this time of year, my husband and I get restless because we're housebound so much due to the extreme cold. So naturally, we begin to think of ways to make the house more pleasant.
I went out for three hours on Saturday to do administrative teacher-type stuff, and came back to a cheery yellow kitchen. The transformation was literally that simple; I was present for practically none of the emptying of the room, the preparation for painting, the actual application of colour, and the replacement of the removed items. I left one boring kitchen, and came home to a different, bright one.
Yesterday, the bathroom was painted sage green and white. It looks fabulous. HRH even went so far as to paint the outside of the claw-foot bathtub sage green, which looks very cool. I was here for half of this particular endeavour, but I was away at the Beethoven rehearsal for the latter half.
It was, in fact, a very busy day. I had a three-hour rehearsal for the Beethoven, then came home to study group already in progress (in which time flew, making us late for...), then a Changeling game (which also went late thanks to our belated arrival, plus various things like dinner and bookkeeping and the first combat session of the story!).
The Beethoven: It never ceases to amaze me that I can sight-read brilliantly, but fall apart at simple passages that are played really fast. The symphony already sounds phenomenal; I can't wait to hear the choir with it. I'm incredibly fortunate to be able to play with this ensemble.
The study group: Ah, the joys of discussing deity concepts, and the balance of male and female energies. Always fun. The nice thing about this group is that it's made up of experienced people, so the discussion is very different from the discussions I usually have with students, for example.
The game: It's been so long since I've made a character for a new game that I'd almost forgotten how much I hate it. Unless I have a very clear concept that pops into my head, I have to slowly try out bits and pieces that either work or don't. This is the third session of world-building and intro games, and I'm still not settled on who this character actually is. It's been frustrating because I've really missed gaming, and to struggle with a new character when I so desperately want to dive right in has been so maddening. Last night was as close as I've been able to come to feeling comfortable with her; dropping her age from eighteen to eleven has really helped nail it down and free me up to enjoy the game and explore her personality. I know that part of my problem is derived from my habit of firming up a character's personality through gaming; it's hard to know what a character is like until you've put him/her through some paces in context. I'm lucky to have an understanding group who chose to play a couple of experimental sessions to introduce the system and the world, which gave me a chance to stretch my muscles a bit and discover the character's actual personality.
On today's agenda: fleshing out the anthology series proposal for my publisher; working out a couple of brick-wall type passages in the Beethoven; and refilling my black ink cartridge with the ink that just arrived in the mail. Of course it leaked, so I have to email the company and ask for a new instruction sheet. Not much ink was lost, but as anyone who has ever had a leaky fountain pen knows, even a small amount of ink creates a disaster of epic proportions! And tonight, my CD-ROM drive gets replaced by the burner drive! Hurrah!
I just learned that my chamber orchestra concert on February 8th is not being held at the rather cold Valois church in which we usually play (hurrah!). Instead, we'll be performing at St-Paul's Anglican Church, located at 377 44th Avenue in Lachine (cross street Broadway; just north of the Lakeshore, or Blvd St-Joseph as it's known in Lachine).
Our programme has altered slightly as well: besides the 104th Symphony (London) by Haydn and the Italian Style overture by Schubert, we're playing Albinoni's Adagio as well as his Concerto for Two Oboes, and Schubert's Rosamunde Ballet Suite. Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony has been postponed to a later concert, which suits me perfectly, since I don't like it.
Now, off to orchestra!
Because it deserves its very own post:
The Bad:
Last week I got the sad news that my sweet little sewing machine is going to cost about a hundred dollars to fix. It was exactly what the man who took it in suspected: the timing has gone on it. A lightweight machine like this one isn’t designed to sew anything heavy, and that’s pretty much all I’ve sewn with it. The repair shop was impressed that it had lasted eight years, but the man warned me that to fix it would likely not be worth the money it would cost. His phone call last week confirmed it. He told me that even if he fixed it, I’d likely run into the same problem within a year or so if I used it for the same projects.
Now that I have a functioning printer of quality, my original plans to buy a new one no longer apply. I think that when the cheque for the first project I finish at the US publisher comes through, I’ll use a bit of it to treat myself to a new sewing machine instead. One with a bit more oomph, a little more weight, the design to handle heavyweight material and projects, and maybe a range of speeds that embraces more than bunny/turtle.
The Good:
I had an hour-long chat with my editorial contact at the US publisher - the imprint specialist is a go, with the contract being tweaked before it's sent down to me. The series proposal is being fleshed out as I go. This is becoming more and more of a full-time thing, a real career. I'll be going down to Boston somewhere around the end of February to pitch the proposal and meet everyone, and possibly one of my authors as well. There are the fall bookfairs to think about too, where publicity for the new imprint might require me to be on hand for talks and info session with buyers.
Yes, I'm still stunned.
I'll need new clothes. Jeans and t-shirts (beloved uniform of home-based freelancers everywhere), however fetching I look in them, are just not going to cut it in a conference room or a marketing sales floor.
Caramel Kit Kat:
Disappointing. It's not even worth buying one to try. If you're a Kit Kat fan, stick with the regular kind. If you're a caramel fan, buy something else.
This misses the point of a Kit Kat, and the point of caramel, on so many levels.
I just got a parcel from my parents in the mail. In it was the manual that goes with my printer.
Now that I know what all the buttons mean, I can photocopy. Thank you, gods!
And thank you, Mum, for the January treat!
Update: Aha. If I don't click on the black & white button, the copier assumes it's in colour - even if the original is b&w. And I end up with green music to practice with. Well, it's, um... different.
Yesterday was the first rehearsal for Beethoven's Ninth. Walked in, sat down, smiled at the bassist, said hello to the cellists I played with last November, and set up. The conductor (who's a riot) announced that just for kicks, we'd start off with the fourth movement.
Yes. The movement. It's what the Ninth Symphony is all about, really.
Autumn: Erk! Gulp!
(You see, the cellos figure prominently in the forth movement. Erk, indeed.)
And then the conductor lifts his head from his score and says, "Is that good for you, Brad? Can you do half a rehearsal here, then half off wherever else you need to be?"
Naturally, not knowing everyone in this symphony orchestra, I turn my head to follow his line of sight. As I do, a voice says, "No, I'm all yours today. It's good."
I blink. I know Brad. Last time I saw him was, oh, seven years ago.
So we play (and what a ride, to sight-read the fourth movement of Beethoven's Ninth - I mean, really), the cellos get lots of compliments, and eventually we break. I put away my cello and get my water bottle, then pick a path through the chaos of instruments and people wandering around playing random bits of music to themselves all the way to the back where Brad sits with his trumpet on his lap, talking with someone else who is, oh my gods, the music teacher from my old high school.
I wait politely until they've finished their current topic of conversation, and when Brad turns to me, I say, "Last time I saw you, you were standing in the doorway to my apartment, holding out a bottle of IBC root beer and telling me that you couldn't stay for my housewarming."
We exclaim and laugh a bit and catch up on the past seven years. He's married too. He compliments me on having reached a level of ability equivalent to playing with this symphony (and ooh, didn't my ego need that bit of bolstering). Then he turns to introduce me to his friend Murray. I smile and say, "Yes, Murray Rosenhek. You taught music at Mac High while I was there."
He charmingly admitted that he didn't remember me, which was highly amusing since, as I quickly assured him, I never took one of his classes. All my friends took music, but as our school didn't teach strings, I took drama instead. When he asked with whom, and I told him Elaine Evans, he said, "Oh, that was twenty years ago!" as if that explained his memory lapse. Brad got a good laugh out of it.
It was good to share memories with someone who had been instrumental (if you'll pardon the pun) in getting me into orchestral playing. It all began rather oddly. Brad, having access to Concordia's database of students, contacted me via e-mail with compliments after he'd seen me sing in LLO's production of The Pirates of Penzance. We started messaging, got to know one another, hung out a bit, and then one day he proposed an interesting gig: his wind orchestra was performing a really modern symphony by Johan de Meij called Lord of the Rings, and they had the idea of writing a dramatic narrative to introduce the symphony as a whole, as well as the individual movements. Would I be interested in performing something like that? And did I know someone with a good deep voice who could co-narrate with me?
Heck, yes!
Thus it was that Tal and I were guest performers with the Lakeshore Concert Band in May of 1998. (Okay, so Brad and I haven't seen one another in six years. Feels like longer.) One of the last times I saw Brad was when he invited me along with some of the concert band to attend a Canada Day chamber orchestra concert in Pointe-Claire village. They all urged me to talk to the conductor and ask about joining. As secure as I was in my dramatic abilities, I was just as insecure about my cellistic talents, and as much as I wanted to play with an ensemble the level of technique displayed in the concert scared the hell out of me.
Has anyone made the connection yet?
Yes. I eventually managed to screw up the courage to call that conductor and inquire about a place for a cellist in the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra. It's now my third season with them.
And now Brad and I are playing together in Cantabile. Small world, indeed.
Okay, fine. Here. New template.
This ought not to have been as much of a headache as it turned out to be.
They want me back to play Beethoven's Ninth! Circle the 15th of February on your calendars!
So now that I've got this bulletin board, very cool-looking with lots of important story assignments and ongoing projects pinned to it (have I mentioned that I got a postcard from Neil Gaiman?), I am experiencing writing blocks the size of Stonehenge.
No, actually, I'm not. I'm exeriencing computer aversion.
Yes, there's a difference. Last night I went to bed early, curled up in candlelight with cats, and began to work through a Great Canadian Novel issue that had been dropped by the wayside a while ago. Yes, all two of you out there who've read the GCN, I refer to Ben, poor guy. Yeah, he kind of vanished, didn't he? I'm certain my protagonist would like him to stay vanished, but that just can't happen.
I have never been a fan of the concept of jacking into some sort of computer system, but ye gods, if there were to be a method created for authors to allow ideas to pour straight from noggin to file, I'd be all for it.
And, of course, when I woke up this morning... gone. This is even worse considering that I'm one of those people who urge others to write down their ideas in order to encourage the creative subconscious with positive reinforcement (which, as t! pointed out to me last week, is simply another term for brainwashing). An evening of work, lost due to being warm and comfortable and sleepy. (And speaking of t!, yay for regular posting!)
As others in my general artistic circle are realising, writing without a regular schedule is just asking for problems.
One of my thoughts last night was about the idea of outlines. I had a rough chapter-by-chapter outline for my 2003 NaNo novel, and it worked. Not only did it work, I added stuff in-between. Now, I also enjoy working in a discovery-type fashion - no outline, no idea, just sit down and whee, where's my protagonist going today? The GCN is written like that, and in general it works really, really well (the problem of the disappearing Ben aside), because the novel is about the protagonist discovering herself.
I used to write in a very episodic fashion: I'd have an idea for a scene and I'd write it. This meant I'd have a pile of scenes that I could play with like a jigsaw puzzle, or - even better example - a Tarot spread. How do these scenes relate? In what order do they appear? How can I tell a story that connects them all and have it make sense?
I've recently revived an old set of scenes written like this about a decade ago. They're good; I like the characters. I know what order they come in. Now I just have to write the stuff that connects them all, which means - yes - an outline of sorts. And for some reason, I'm really resisting the outline idea right now. Probably because I know it's Good For Me.
None of which, of course, even remotely connects to the computer aversion issue. Which is, quite simply, the fact that I don't want to sit at a computer to write. Don't tell my creative subconscious, but I'm going to outwit it by going back to pen and paper for a while. I might even buy it a new notebook and pen to lull it into complicity.
Shh. We mustn't spoil the surprise.
As if substandard heaters aren't enough, the electrical upgrade the landlord did around the time we moved in wasn't sufficient to handle all the new electrical heaters going at once. Our power blew yesterday, and our heaters were offline for about twelve hours.
More excitingness included a half dozen emergency vehicles blocking off our street yesterday and brown-outs. I know Hydro-Quebec's system is stressed when the temperature drops like this, but these problems aren't general, they're limited to our building, or ours plus the building on each side. The tenants have all decided to make a list of Things To Be Addressed and send it in a registered letter to the landlord. I know the heat is a big issue, but for me, the most annoying day-to-day problem is the front door. It's a split door -- the doorway is wide, and has two doors hung in it. Problem is, they're each narrower than your average door, and the left one is always locked. When I leave with my cello over my shoulder, I have to struggle to pull the door open, hold it open because the spring closing is aggressively set, wriggle through and immediately run down the five steps while the door slams shut because there's no landing on the other side. The door isn't even wide enough to get a laundry basket through without turning sideways.
Sure, fine, you might say; it's not so bad. Right. Except that locked left-hand door is highly illegal, because any emergency crew trying to get in won't be able to fit. They're lovely doors. I'd hate to see them get hacked down. Worse, if there's a fire inside, it's not a legally safe exit. We've got about fifty people in this building; the thought of all of them trying to jam through that narrow door is just ugly. (Fire escapes? What fire escapes? We discovered last summer that they lead right back into the basement of the building.)
Wow, I didn't mean to go on a minor rant like that. I like this apartment a lot, I really do. One always discovers good things and bad things throughout a stay somewhere, though.
Good things yesterday involved the beginning of a new game (with lots of sugar! Yay meringues!), and getting long-awaited info to appreciative parties including friends, students, a newsletter co-ordinator, and the US acquisitions editor.
And today... home-baked cookies!
Remember those electric heaters that were installed last summer? The ones we haven't really tested yet because it hasn't been cold enough?
Guess what. Yep. They're next to useless when the temperature goes below minus ten Celsius.
Have I mentioned that it's numbingly cold here in Montreal recently? As in minus thirty-nine-ish?
I have recently rediscovered the joys of wearing socks to bed. Last night I wore full pyjamas plus a flannel button-up nightgown over them. Over the past five years I have grown used to not feeling cold; my husband, the portable furnace that he is, usually makes up for any lack of warmth in the air. And yet, even he's finding the apartment cold these days. Even more than my multiple layers of clothing, this fact is proof to me that the heaters are substandard and the landlords were cutting costs.
Let's see - spring is in, oh, seventy days or so?
After witnessing my side of a phone call from Boston yesterday afternoon, Ceri and t! tried to convince me that I'd been offered not one new job, but two. Deep in the state of stun, I tried to argue to the contrary, but they eventually swayed me.
Today's phone call with the acquisitions editor of the publishing company for which I freelance just sealed it. Yep. One definite new contract to be signed, making me the official imprint specialist. The other... well, let's just say that in two weeks I need to have a rough draft for a proposal, vision statement, and sales pitch for a new series of books featuring inspirational real-life stories, that would be mine, all mine, to call for and collect submissions, accept or reject those submissions, collate, edit, and hand the product over to them for publication. Editor. Not consultant. Editor.
This second job is different. It assumes that I'm, er, a freelance editor for hire.
Which means that I am.
When did I become what I wanted to be? I must have missed the memo.
No, really. I could play with this for days. Tune my cello, mess up the pegs, tune it again...
Life? What life?
Yesterday was one of those frustrating days where I spent hours and hours editing three different projects, and only finished one of them. I hate days like that; I feel like I've accomplished absolutely nothing. Yeah, yeah; I know that I invested x hours of work that brought me that much closer to the finish line; but I didn't hit that finish line. So I'm goal-oriented. Sue me.
I re-read Balsamic Moon last night. Anything that makes me laugh out loud at parts has definite potential. I'd done my first edit, which usually consists of spelling and prettifying the obviously awkward prose, and as usual, I missed things which I'll have to pick up on the second edit which should be late this month or early next month. It needs a bit of expansion, and a fleshed-out ending as opposed to the current two-page final chapter and single page of summarized postscript (hey, it was the evening of November 30, and I hated the novel by that point; I passed 50K and that was all that counted at the time), but all in all, it's a solid piece of work with definite potential.
I've discovered that lately, all I want to read is occult-based fiction, and there's not a heck of a lot out there that I haven't already read. The obvious answer is that I'll just have to write it, which is fine, as I've already started with my two NaNo novels. And the more published crap that I read, the more hope I have that my stuff is marketable. The dreck out there is really lowering the bar.
The kittens are bouncing off walls this morning. It's a full moon tomorrow; evidently they're celebrating early!
One of the worst things about the holidays is one's perception and understanding of how the week is structured gets all messed up.
For example: today I am firmly convinced that it is Monday. I keep thinking that I have nothing scheduled for tonight. This misperception is further supported by the fact that a new gaming group gathered yesterday, and has chosen Sunday nights to meet. If we meet on Sundays, yesterday must have been Sunday, and today, perforce, must be Monday.
In fact, today is Friday, and I teach a class tonight.
The crazy thing is I thought that it was Monday last Tuesday as well. As Monday technically signals the beginning of my weekend, this suggests to me that I've been working too much. Freelance writers don't get paid vacations, however. Nor do freelance teachers. And in the midst of rearranging and end-of-year cleaning I still have to fit in a final edit of three chapters given to me over a week ago by the publisher, a first edit of a new teaching workbook, and those three book reviews, all before Monday, as well as teaching four three-hour classes.
No rest for the weary. So naturally, I am work-avoiding by blogging and doing web work.
I moved a whack of books around last week, putting my music and art books up front in the bay window alcove (you know, where I actually play the cello) and bringing my Craft books into the office (you know, where I write/edit Craft-related stuff and have an altar). It makes a heck of a lot more sense. I also somehow ended up with an empty shelf and a half left over when all was said and done. I'm not questioning that particular miracle, because I might wake up and discover that it was all a dream. When HRH came home that day he looked at it and remarked that I'd better buy more more books to fill them, because they look awful. I have a wonderful husband. He may mock me, but he mocks me with words I can twist to my own ends.
Anywhats. Point is, I moved the books. I evidently still haven't updated the shortcut in my mind, however, because when I need a Craft reference I'm still getting up from the computer and walking through the living room, all the way into the front alcove, only to stand and blink at the case of music texts. Then I kick myself and walk all the way back into the office. I moved things to make life easier and more efficient. So far, I've succeeded only in confusing myself and making myself feel stupid.
Things will improve.
I'm currently twisting my husband's mind by playing the Matrix Revolutions score, Tori Amos' Tales of a Librarian, Radio Sunnydale, the Metallica-playing cellos of Apocalyptica, and the Return of the King score on random. I can hear the radical shifting of gears his brain makes when the shuffle function engages. For some reason, though, the player is inordinately fond of RotK, which is partly disappointing, and partly amusing, because it really lulls HRH into a sense of complacency subsequently exploded by something antithetical.
Words that are still odd to hear from my husband:
"I finished my book and I want to read the next one. Can we go to the bookstore?"
I weep with joy. Bernard Cornwell, you and Sharpe are my new heroes.