clues at the scene

clues at the scene

Monday, August 7, 2023

Where We Go

 

At left, a map of the Canary Islands offered on wikicommons without copyright. Thanks, Oona.


I've been away as if on a long series of travels broken only by the Covid and its ilk. 

I spent a lot of time trapped in the doldrums of my own making. It takes a bit to get through them with only one oar though I have.


And now, the plotting and the scribbling in margins and the drafting and editing and re-editing and fretting as our byline becomes "not quite right for us." 


Time to live on the island of composition. I hope your ink is flowing. 


Mind the mayhem. 

Wednesday, June 9, 2021

The Falsehoods of Common Household Appliances

 

It lies.

It is filled with falsehoods instead of dishes.

I ask it "are you clean?" and it will respond "sure" in an absent tone as if it can't be bothered to look away from ESPN. Its German accent is grating at these times.

I start putting the dishes away and - surprise - some egg from breakfast.

"Did you do this?" 

"Do what?"

I hold up the plate.

"This, right here." I'm pointing madly with emphasis.  "You said you were clean."

Then, laughter. It's a horrible sound: the laughter of an appliance.

 

Wanted: Dishwasher. Must not be pathological liar.


Thursday, February 4, 2021

On It

Image on wikicommons thanks to Rama. Thanks Rama. Nicely done.
 




We're plotting and writing scenes.


You know that whole "welling up out of your soul" business? It happens.


I'm working on a piece of genre fiction. I have the beast plotted in the first form of "here ... to ... there" and I understand the transformations in the protagonist I wish to portray for the reader.


I'm on it. I'm putting together scene drafts (what needs to happen in the text) to link some key elements.


I'll be drafting in full next week. 


It's been three years. Time enough. Back on the horse.

I still miss Dean. Died too damn soon; and too damn quickly.

Selfish of me. Meh - I too am a flawed character.



Friday, November 13, 2020

That Ink Will Be Fine

 

Queue the rain : my ink pot had dried up.


I'm adding water and a jungle to my writing desk. Can you call it a writing desk when you've been using it to tie flies?

 

Off for a lovely story set in a tropical resort. Fill the pens. Call the parrots. Import the detective.

It's such a lovely place for murder.