Disjointed Friday musings
Jan. 10th, 2003 09:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Also note: apotropaic icon.
Moods and musics: Was given the Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and LIterary Theory for Christmas. Am determined to learn a term a day. Am woefully undereducated in matters of rhetoric.
Rain pelts the window of my pseudo-study and the sky is the colour of Piero della Francesca's angels' skins.
I got a royalty cheque today for my book: all of 74 pounds!! Woohey. Pittance but proud pittance.
The G.P. prescribed another brand of medication and, gleaned from kind Friends' comments, I knew better than to say no. But I haven't started to take it. I'm going to hold out. My life's been slipping out of my control and I want the controls back. So today: no tingly hands, no headache, no woolly thoughts. I'm definitely more a therapy-kind of person than a drugs-kind of person. Drugs: I have never tried LSD or E or heroin/crack or valium or magic mushrooms. The number of times I've smoked pot can be counted on one hand, and I've only ever snorted coke once in my life about two decades ago. I get tipsy after an inch of wine and prefer to sip girly drinks like Amarula liqueur. Did I really grow up in the 70s and 80s?
Yesterday I set foot in t' reference library for the first time after a month and it was wonderful. I fell asleep only briefly after lunch, I took about ten pages of notes, I photocopied, I looked up libraries on the web and not LJ -- and I spent two hours in the cafeteria reading my current novel and writing what appears to be turning into a miniature novel (namely, Karl/Dom). Back to the good old days (oh, I hope, I hope).
My memory's still a sieve, though. Forgot to tape Empire. Am in bad books.
There was the sound of traffic from far below. Horns honking, engines revving, the distant noises of a city waking up.
Felix was outside, on the penthouse terrace, leaning against the railing and staring idly down at the street,then across at the roofline opposite, then up at the pale sky. The pebbly surface of the terrace felt cool under his bare feet. It was warm, one of the first days of summer. Felix was wearing only his pyjama shorts. A fresh breeze tugged at his hair, still messy from sleep, and made the hairs on his skin prickle. But it was a pleasant freshness, full of the promise of the warm, spicy summer winds of the metropolis.
Felix yawned. Down below, buses and cars moved in slow lines. People were visible as well, early-morning commuters hurrying along the footpaths. Above were the ragged veils of cirrus clouds. Felix wasn't concentrating so well these days. Thoughts streamed through his mind like slow billows of fog.
What had Barbara said?
"I'm going to leave you," she had said.
And then and there, Felix's time had stopped and another kind of time had started.
And what had he replied?
"Can I come, too?" he had asked.
Moods and musics: Was given the Penguin Dictionary of Literary Terms and LIterary Theory for Christmas. Am determined to learn a term a day. Am woefully undereducated in matters of rhetoric.
Rain pelts the window of my pseudo-study and the sky is the colour of Piero della Francesca's angels' skins.
I got a royalty cheque today for my book: all of 74 pounds!! Woohey. Pittance but proud pittance.
The G.P. prescribed another brand of medication and, gleaned from kind Friends' comments, I knew better than to say no. But I haven't started to take it. I'm going to hold out. My life's been slipping out of my control and I want the controls back. So today: no tingly hands, no headache, no woolly thoughts. I'm definitely more a therapy-kind of person than a drugs-kind of person. Drugs: I have never tried LSD or E or heroin/crack or valium or magic mushrooms. The number of times I've smoked pot can be counted on one hand, and I've only ever snorted coke once in my life about two decades ago. I get tipsy after an inch of wine and prefer to sip girly drinks like Amarula liqueur. Did I really grow up in the 70s and 80s?
Yesterday I set foot in t' reference library for the first time after a month and it was wonderful. I fell asleep only briefly after lunch, I took about ten pages of notes, I photocopied, I looked up libraries on the web and not LJ -- and I spent two hours in the cafeteria reading my current novel and writing what appears to be turning into a miniature novel (namely, Karl/Dom). Back to the good old days (oh, I hope, I hope).
My memory's still a sieve, though. Forgot to tape Empire. Am in bad books.
There was the sound of traffic from far below. Horns honking, engines revving, the distant noises of a city waking up.
Felix was outside, on the penthouse terrace, leaning against the railing and staring idly down at the street,then across at the roofline opposite, then up at the pale sky. The pebbly surface of the terrace felt cool under his bare feet. It was warm, one of the first days of summer. Felix was wearing only his pyjama shorts. A fresh breeze tugged at his hair, still messy from sleep, and made the hairs on his skin prickle. But it was a pleasant freshness, full of the promise of the warm, spicy summer winds of the metropolis.
Felix yawned. Down below, buses and cars moved in slow lines. People were visible as well, early-morning commuters hurrying along the footpaths. Above were the ragged veils of cirrus clouds. Felix wasn't concentrating so well these days. Thoughts streamed through his mind like slow billows of fog.
What had Barbara said?
"I'm going to leave you," she had said.
And then and there, Felix's time had stopped and another kind of time had started.
And what had he replied?
"Can I come, too?" he had asked.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-10 02:05 am (UTC)And good luck re medication: you may find the next couple of days are rough - depending on what you were on - but from the sound of it being undoped will be worth the withdrawal. (Damn. Have just remembered I ran out of painkillers. Wonder if I can get a repeat this morning?)
Very glad to hear you're writing, and reading, and researching, and learning a word a day! Somewhere there must be a Dictionary of Precise, Obscure Words For Writing Sex. Have thrown Concise Oxford across the room in fit of pique. Luckily there was nothing in the way.
filth? what filth?
Date: 2003-01-10 02:16 am (UTC)Heh, but in the words of Demelza's Orlando: "A professional what?" Not a professional fiction writer, that's for sure. But you knew that, hon.
Dictionary of Precise, Obscure Words For Writing Sex.
Yes, I want this, too! And I have prowled t'reference library on the look-out for one but alas, not there. I did come across a slang website once. But what I would really like is: a good list of words specific to all the regional variations we of this fandom deal with (Northern England, Scotland, rest of England, Australia, New Zealand, the States, what 40-somethings would say, what 20-somethings would say, what 50-somethings would say) plus non-dialogue words and words apt for classic slash! That is, both the slang and the more lyrical end of the scale and the scientific end as well, because I do love all those Latin terms.
Maybe we've got to start reading 18th century erotica??
(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-11 01:24 am (UTC)And your English too! Like me.
That is all. :)
thank you
Date: 2003-01-11 04:11 am (UTC)http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/fics.html
Don't feel obliged to read, though, *g*.
Thanks again for taking the trouble to comment. :-)
P.S. I'm not English, though, I'm afraid. I'm German. But I've lived in the UK for 12 years now.
Lobelia
Re: thank you
Date: 2003-01-13 07:09 am (UTC)No problem dear! You deserve, I know when I get feedback, it always makes me smily for at least ten minutes!
Perfect Day was a kind of breakthrough fic for me
Well, its a beautiful story. Its now my ambition to write one at least half as good as yours.
I read your other fic. Thanks for pointing that out to me. Any Domorli is good, but Domorli and cream! Great imagery. Loved it.