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don't you remember now don't you recall
Saturday, 1 December 2012 04:45 pmStill not a real post, just a few thoughts. (Note the length that my "few thoughts" tend to grow to; it's one of the reasons that "real posts" take a while to happen.)
I'm working on timeline for a story, and (working quickly from canon) appear to have constructed a year with at least fifteen months in it. Argh. (I can handwave Barrayaran year-lengths, but I was hoping not to have to. I wanted an easy answer to when in my story-timeline Alys gets pregnant, and when does she know she's pregnant, and then I realized the first autumn of the Regency is a very, very long season. Ack. I'm going to have to go back for a closer read, but I have to leave for my office Christmas party in an hour and I'm still mending the shirt I want to wear. This was not a cheap garment, but you wouldn't know it from the fastenings. I was *hoping* to have my timeline sorted so I could do some scene-building in my head during the boring speechifying.)
I have been reminded of late how much I love the passion--and the acceptance of passion, and the shared passion--in fandom. One of the other things I do is historical recreation, and I've always described that as the ur-hobby--whatever you want to do or study (that was done pre-1650), someone somewhere is going to be thrilled by your work, and/or be working on it or something similar. Fandom's great about that too, for finding the things you want and the things you didn't know you wanted. (two words: Draco/Neville)
I'm also learning things at a fairly appalling rate about myself and the stories I tell and the way I tell them and my writing. (My writing...! I *must* get the Big Intro up soon, as it's hard to talk about my headspace here without digressing madly into the history.) It's terribly reminiscent of being a teenager, as though the last 15 or 20 years have left me all of the baggage and none of the adult stability. It's...frankly terrifying. I would have a deeply non-standard not-quite-midlife not-really-a-crisis.
Any organism that is not growing is dying. I choose to be grateful that I am growing.
I'm working on timeline for a story, and (working quickly from canon) appear to have constructed a year with at least fifteen months in it. Argh. (I can handwave Barrayaran year-lengths, but I was hoping not to have to. I wanted an easy answer to when in my story-timeline Alys gets pregnant, and when does she know she's pregnant, and then I realized the first autumn of the Regency is a very, very long season. Ack. I'm going to have to go back for a closer read, but I have to leave for my office Christmas party in an hour and I'm still mending the shirt I want to wear. This was not a cheap garment, but you wouldn't know it from the fastenings. I was *hoping* to have my timeline sorted so I could do some scene-building in my head during the boring speechifying.)
I have been reminded of late how much I love the passion--and the acceptance of passion, and the shared passion--in fandom. One of the other things I do is historical recreation, and I've always described that as the ur-hobby--whatever you want to do or study (that was done pre-1650), someone somewhere is going to be thrilled by your work, and/or be working on it or something similar. Fandom's great about that too, for finding the things you want and the things you didn't know you wanted. (two words: Draco/Neville)
I'm also learning things at a fairly appalling rate about myself and the stories I tell and the way I tell them and my writing. (My writing...! I *must* get the Big Intro up soon, as it's hard to talk about my headspace here without digressing madly into the history.) It's terribly reminiscent of being a teenager, as though the last 15 or 20 years have left me all of the baggage and none of the adult stability. It's...frankly terrifying. I would have a deeply non-standard not-quite-midlife not-really-a-crisis.
Any organism that is not growing is dying. I choose to be grateful that I am growing.
