(But that may be denial.)
Inspiration for blog posts remains low. Have I talked myself out? It's quite possible; but then, it is also possible that I am merely in that annoying in between stage of not properly writing a novel, and so can't seem to dredge up Things to Write About. I may have mentioned before, but my brain has three gears: editing; brain-storming; and writing. They don't seem to mix.
However, even without anything really serious to talk about, there are little things to share. Today the mad dash of school and anxiety has slowed and the brain is not quite so feverish. With homework for tomorrow finished, I have enough of a breathing space to sit down and write something to give you a glimpse of what is going on behind the scenes of Scribbles.
I am sitting in the bonus room of my home, watching Jenny's two kittens mill about the place and begin to get their bearings - we're keeping the little stinkers for the next three months, while Jenny is off in Scotland, and are trying to ease them gently into the routine of the place. I'm afraid they might have heart-attacks when they do finally come face to face with our own three cats, who look like creatures from Where the Wild Things Are compared to Minnow and Aquila.
At the moment they are being kept in isolation, and they seem to be adjusting. Minnow is "playing the cello"; Aquila heard the vacuum cleaner running downstairs and has slunk under the bed. It's quiet for the moment, since every time I turn on Loreena McKennitt the kittens go bug-eyed and run around as if we're being invaded by purple elephants in pink tutus. I don't see what they can possibly have against "Caravanserai."
I think I've got about a hundred books to read for classes this semester, though fortunately not all at once. (You do, however, have to buy them all at once. I can just hear the booksellers going "ka-ching! ka-ching!" as classes start.) Textbooks and supplemental reading, and one very interesting little thing for history class about the development of the book itself as technology.
In between those, I have managed to squeeze in some pleasure reading. I picked up Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca - yes, the one it seems everybody has already read - last week and have been greedily devouring it. Except that I got to the Big Reveal last night before bed, and had a bit of trouble getting to sleep. I saw the twist coming, either because I am clever or because I had already read about it in someone's review. For those of you who have read it, though, don't give any spoilers because I'm not done yet.
For lighter reading, I'm rambling along through The Hounds of the Morrigan - because sometimes a good fat fantasy is just the sort of thing one needs. It's a bit crazy and absurd, and I haven't gotten to the overarching point yet, but the characters of Pidge and Brigit are good enough for me. Brigit reminds me of Luna Lovegood, she's so utterly random.
"You know what it's like when you're waiting for something."
"Yes. It's like being kept in a bag and hung up on a nail."
Pidge thought he knew what Brigit meant but he wasn't sure.
Other than the assignments which are already flooding in, I've not been doing a terrific amount of writing: a little here and there in my writing notebook, a short companion piece to Tempus Regina. The next project is being cranky, but I can't very well complain, since there would hardly be time for me to give it the attention it needed even if it weren't. Though I don't like not writing, in this case it is probably a good thing that I have to be patient. In the meantime, I scribble a little and work on other things.