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I love this part of NaNo...somehow YA fantasy authors are really game for being guest pep-talkers!
Also, I love November evenings like this:
6256 and into chapter three.
I better get to the plot soon, huh? That's a fourth of the way in...
Poisson's grandmother is enlivening it quite a bit so today's slog moved quicker.
Here, have a bit:
(Silas has just got out of prison, with help of a Siamese cat)
“Love,” said his grandmother, “try leaving the place, and see how you're set a'right. I'll just burn the coverlet when you've done.”
“Roll it up for a pillow and I'll be snug. Wood may look as flat as a stone floor, but I'll vow it's softer.”
“My poor lad. Here, lie on this old quilt, I've had a mind to give it to the slum-children recent, anyway, since your grandfather came by it through his grandma, and it's only laziness that's kept me from making up a new one.”
“Bless you,” Silas said, lying down.
She'd lit a candle to find the bedding, and now her eye fell on his foot.
“And just what have you speared yourself on, scapegallows?”
“I was attacked by a screwdriver,” Silas said.
His small puncture wound seemed to have been trickling blood quite a bit during his journey, dried streams of it webbing over his foot. “The edge was sharp, so I'd say it was a nice clean cut.”
“Ay, and it'll be cleaner when we've washed up with gin,” she said, cheerful of the idea.
“Oh, no, please,” Silas said. “I'm sure it will be fine.”
“And we'll be more sure once we've treated it. Now be still, like my good man...”
She retrieved a glass bottle, tipped it with a handkerchief stopping it up, and brought the sopping handkerchief to drip into the injury, and wipe off his foot. He clenched his teeth to make no noise (didn't want to wake any of her tenants) then asked, “Can I have a mouthful of that?”
His Grannie eyed him.
“Yes. If you promise not to like it.”
“I can.”
She poured a shot-glass out, just like the medicinal drinks she'd given him for some ailments as a child.
“Now you're set to live till morning,” she said, “which ain't all that far off.”
He shuddered, and lay back down again.
“Gin's nasty.”
“Gin's cheap,” she said. “Like your brandy better?”
He made some affirmative noise and started falling asleep.
“Good night, my boy. It's so good to see you alive.”
I'm rebuilding my bookmarks.
It's shocking how few things I really NEED to have links ready to.
In reward for circumspection, I may just go find the Girl Genius site...
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Gasp!
Argh. I HATE it when famous authors shun me. Mr. Stroud isn't even the only one in the YA fantasy genre! Sob. And I was so very in love with the other one. I think I might die. At least, kill a character...one that I LIKE.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-06 11:53 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 01:58 am (UTC)From:Does this mean you aren't going to give me the story of that Certain Other?
I don't know how I surround myself with such close-mouthed people. I really am quite open, and my family...well. Let's just say nothing stays much behind closed doors. Why do my friends have to be so discreet?
no subject
Date: 2008-11-07 10:30 am (UTC)From:Story, well...yes... Impossibility and heartache aside, of course I'm dying to talk about him. I nearly tell strangers on the street. Inevitably it comes back to those first two though...
But far be it from me to be close-mouthed if you'd like to hear. It would give my three friends here a break from listening to my Switzerland references.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-08 11:00 pm (UTC)From:...most of the time.
I am always eager to hear from you, dear.
And always extra happy to oblige someone procrastinating from writing with more excuse. ^_^