the morning's post-with-coffee
Sep. 19th, 2008 07:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lagilmanThree ways I know it's autumn:
- the urge to cook returns full-force.
- I take the oversized fleecy sweatshirts out of the cedar chest and hang them within easy reach.
- when I wake up in the morning, I close the window in the office. Because brrrr, even with socks and a sweatshirt. Lovely. And no, I don't mean that ironically. Summer's over, and I'm not at all displeased.
Unlike the past two weekends of social frivolity, the plan for the next 72 hours is to stay close to home and knock things off the to-do list. My editors and agent will no doubt be pleased to hear this. (EtA: so pleased, they just piled more on my plate. *sighs, reaches for delivery menus* It's gonna be one of Those Weekends....)
And yes, I know it's International Talk like a Pirate Day. I'd make an investment banker joke, but my heart's just not in it, this year. So instead, here's a bit of a pirate story.
The town’s council granted them leave, if cautiously, and they sailed into port on low sail, as the last of the blood-red sunlight faded behind the walls of the fort high up on the hill over town. The cannon-holes were empty; the Spaniards had left this island years ago, and the locals stripped everything in the fort worth looting within an hour of their departure. Pirates were not all at sea; some of them stayed on land.
Crew was at half-liberty, free to wander but not far, and not liquid. There was grumbling, but Captain snarled and the grumbling died down.
Herself stalked along the deck, staring first out over the thatched rooftops of port-town, what little there was of it, then back out over the night-black waters behind them.
“I’m off,” she announced to the Captain, who merely grunted in acceptance. Oliver sat up and took notice. Herself rarely took liberty, and when she did there was always something up. When she pulled on walking boots, and added an extra sticker to the leather sheath on the side, he was there, chocolate ears pricked and tail alert.
“Not tonight, Oliver.”
“You think you can keep me from somewhere I want to be?”
“You don’t want to be with me tonight.”
“Contrary. That’s exactly when I do want to be with you.” He was laughing, and she knew it.
“Take him.” Captain’s voice was clear, surprisingly so. “At least that way I’ll know both of you are getting into the same trouble, and only give me one thing to worry about.”
Herself glared at the Captain, whose mild brown eyes met her gaze with weary patience, and waited her out. They used to yell; now they only breathed quietly, and waited. Oliver felt the tension simmer and grow, until it filled the entire cabin. Only now, it was Herself rising to the boil.
“Fine. If someone wants to make cat stew and cat-fur bags out of him, though, I won’t stop them.”
“And I won’t protect your pussy either,” Oliver said, unperturbed. He would go where he willed; the fact was he wanted to see what she was after. A cat's curiosity was legend, and a ship' cat had more restlessness than even the most curious of his kind.
partial © Laura Anne Gilman
Yes, I've finally written a talking cat story. Figured I should get it out of my system already.....
- the urge to cook returns full-force.
- I take the oversized fleecy sweatshirts out of the cedar chest and hang them within easy reach.
- when I wake up in the morning, I close the window in the office. Because brrrr, even with socks and a sweatshirt. Lovely. And no, I don't mean that ironically. Summer's over, and I'm not at all displeased.
Unlike the past two weekends of social frivolity, the plan for the next 72 hours is to stay close to home and knock things off the to-do list. My editors and agent will no doubt be pleased to hear this. (EtA: so pleased, they just piled more on my plate. *sighs, reaches for delivery menus* It's gonna be one of Those Weekends....)
And yes, I know it's International Talk like a Pirate Day. I'd make an investment banker joke, but my heart's just not in it, this year. So instead, here's a bit of a pirate story.
The town’s council granted them leave, if cautiously, and they sailed into port on low sail, as the last of the blood-red sunlight faded behind the walls of the fort high up on the hill over town. The cannon-holes were empty; the Spaniards had left this island years ago, and the locals stripped everything in the fort worth looting within an hour of their departure. Pirates were not all at sea; some of them stayed on land.
Crew was at half-liberty, free to wander but not far, and not liquid. There was grumbling, but Captain snarled and the grumbling died down.
Herself stalked along the deck, staring first out over the thatched rooftops of port-town, what little there was of it, then back out over the night-black waters behind them.
“I’m off,” she announced to the Captain, who merely grunted in acceptance. Oliver sat up and took notice. Herself rarely took liberty, and when she did there was always something up. When she pulled on walking boots, and added an extra sticker to the leather sheath on the side, he was there, chocolate ears pricked and tail alert.
“Not tonight, Oliver.”
“You think you can keep me from somewhere I want to be?”
“You don’t want to be with me tonight.”
“Contrary. That’s exactly when I do want to be with you.” He was laughing, and she knew it.
“Take him.” Captain’s voice was clear, surprisingly so. “At least that way I’ll know both of you are getting into the same trouble, and only give me one thing to worry about.”
Herself glared at the Captain, whose mild brown eyes met her gaze with weary patience, and waited her out. They used to yell; now they only breathed quietly, and waited. Oliver felt the tension simmer and grow, until it filled the entire cabin. Only now, it was Herself rising to the boil.
“Fine. If someone wants to make cat stew and cat-fur bags out of him, though, I won’t stop them.”
“And I won’t protect your pussy either,” Oliver said, unperturbed. He would go where he willed; the fact was he wanted to see what she was after. A cat's curiosity was legend, and a ship' cat had more restlessness than even the most curious of his kind.
partial © Laura Anne Gilman
Yes, I've finally written a talking cat story. Figured I should get it out of my system already.....
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 01:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 01:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:19 pm (UTC)Alas, I am rarely invited to the DAW anthologies any more. *sobs* Just another thing to feed my paranoia about how all my short fiction clearly sucks.
(yes, I really do go through that. Quite a lot, in fact. I don't write short fiction quickly [there has to be a personal Need for me to get the story out], so the feedback I get is probably over-weighted in my demented little psyche...)
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:46 pm (UTC)Hey, it could happen.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 02:52 pm (UTC)*snerk* Now that's a niche anthology I never thought of...
Hrm. The last invite of that sort I got (other than POWERS OF DETECTION 2, which is a different animal) was a "can you get us something fast?" query, too. I'm not sure if that says more about me, or the anthologies...
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 03:10 pm (UTC)Let's see . . . there's one of you, and FIFTY BAZILLION anthologies. My son is majoring in applied mathematics. I'll have him run the numbers and get back to you with an answer.
Re "reaching a crescendo": I've seen this phrase in fantasy books more often than I care to count. I took it up with a friend of mine, explaining that a crescendo was a PROCESS, not a CLIMAX. His response? "Oh, I don't know--my woment tend to get pretty loud when they climax." At that point I gave up. Sure, go ahead and write "reached a crescendo." And while you're at it, be sure to point out that lively music has achieved tempo.
Oy gevalt.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-19 03:32 pm (UTC)Or better yet, I'll make more coffee, too. It couldn't hurt.