(1) I can't suggest that prompt! What if I want to write it one day?

(2) Obviously I should be writing and posting that fic now, but obviously I can't in case I should do it for Yuletide, when it could get more readers. /procrastinates

Courtesy of lilliburlero

Fic Work-In-Progress Guessing Game

Comment with a word, any word. If it’s in my WIP document(s) I’ll answer your comment with the sentence that it appears in.

* It is week 7 at work, which is really week 8 because we have a week 0. The building water supply is contaminated with Serious Germs. The taps are taped up. We can use the toilets + anti-bacterial hand gel (no, thank you) or go to another building. Not next door, they've now got the same problem... What joy it is. On the plus side, my unexpected last hour of the day yesterday spent getting running round trying to arrange things to get someone whose visa'd passport had been stolen back into the country this lunchtime ended up working, so that was good. Since this person wasn't actually one of our employees, I am expecting a small box of chocolates to turn up in return. Mostly, though, my work thoughts are occupied in hoping to avoid Intestinal Doom, for which the incubation period is now extended.

* Is this a mid-life crisis? I appear to re-visiting my teenage years. The vampire musical watching turned into re-reading Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, and that was all very well (I still hate Lestat, a man who deserves to be murdered many times over, and since he is a vampire, can be), but then at the weekend I bought a pair of trousers, and… There is nothing wrong with these trousers. They are excellent trousers and I shall wear them on Christmas day and for going to the theatre when I can’t be bothered with a dress and so on, which is what I bought them for. They are black with that sort of damask effect that is about at the moment, and they fit nicely and suit me well.

It’s just that I realised when trying them on again at home that I could cosplay a vampire count in them. Especially when added to the black blouse with big sleeves and beads on it (Laura Ashley late 90s) and dark red velvet waistcoat (Dorothy Perkins mid 90s) that lurk at the bottom of a suitcase in case I find myself needing a random fancy dress costume. At least I don't own a Dracula wig.

* Speaking of clothing... Does your suit jacket constrict your movements when you want to leap mighty buildings in a single bound, exercise your licence to kill while drinking a martini, dance cheek to cheek, or merely play the violin? A high armscye is the answer! I suspect that it also contributes to why Peter Wimsey can't pick up a napkin with a couple of broken ribs. On a more mundane level, you can see this effect in action on your non-Savile Row clothes by comparing e.g. the greater arm-movement you get in a tight leather jacket compared to an elasticated T-shirt with low arm-holes.

* In a fortnight's time I shall be on annual leave for Christmas! This is both good and bad... There is quite a lot to do before Christmas. I am suffering from tree indecision. After my last real tree bit the dust after 2014, failing to survive the next year, I resolved I would buy an artificial one, which is really more convenient when you're going to be away from home for nearly a fortnight. And yet I have not done so. The problem is, the artificial ones don't smell. I did the artful bunch of painted twigs last year, that isn't the same, either.

* The OTW seems to be making a fascinating hash of things.

Courtesy of lilliburlero: Post seven sentences of the seventh page of a current WiP.

It has to be the eternal HP/Wimsey Corsican adventure. Page 7 seems to be mostly short-sentence dialogue, and spoilers. Have some of the former.

‘Lord Peter Wimsey, that sounds familiar - of course, the Attenbury Emeralds case! It caused quite a stir on our side. There was a rumour that the emeralds were cursed and that’s why they were sold to old Attenbury. Obviously not, or it’d have been even more of a stir than it was. I’m delighted to meet you, Lord Peter. That was a splendid bit of detective work; I’m afraid I don’t see as much intellectual curiosity as one might like in my job. I try to promote the ethos, but people like Laburnia Montague will always take it as Law Enforcement.’

I realised to my horror the other day that I haven't actually done any work on it since the end of January. That needs to change, urgently, but as I came home from work at lunchtime with mysterious lurgy, it is unlikely to change tonight. On the plus side, I am doing some mending and catching up with Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.

Of all the things I was planning to do this morning, writing David Eddings fic came very low on the list. Especially David Eddings theological discussion fic. But this is what I have done.

It is posted at A03: A Question of Doctrine.

I could be worse, it could have been that fic I keep thinking about writing that explains that the reason Styric clothing is distinctive is that they have invented bias cut.

The progression of fruit marks the turning of the year. Blood oranges mark that one day winter will have an end. True spring begins with asparagus.* Last week I purchased the first English Discovery apples (the best apple), and English plums. Driving to Cambridge on Friday afternoon, the sloes in the hedgerows were distressingly blue. Opening my bedroom curtains this morning I saw that the first leaves on the bird cherry trees have turned red. Only two, but still: the harvest is passed, the summer is ended, and soon I have a fortnight off work.

*I know, not a fruit.

In the meantime, have a meme about books. I can’t imagine that anyone wants to know my Drink of Choice while Reading (A: Depends on the circumstances in which I am reading, so now you know anyway), but there are more interesting questions.

( Book meme )

I think this one is for el_staplador. The Daleks sing G&S....




It's also pitch-perfect on ye generick Classic FM adverts.

In the midst of the headlong whirl, I turn to the one who I know will always give me what I want, where there are no nasty surprises, and I need to engage my brain just enough for enjoyment and no more. I turn to David Eddings, and a re-read of the 3-volume Elenium*

I like David Eddings. He was a lot of fun in my teenage years, and I’ve never found anyone like him – admittedly I haven’t always tried that hard, but when I have I’ve been disappointed**. Eddings at his worst is awful tosh, but Eddings at his best, and The Diamond Throne is definitely his best, is splendid fun. Largely free of armies of gods bestriding worlds, it has a small cast and a fairly contained plot, the quest element retaining a tolerable relationship to normal values of time and distance, and a large political element. The heroes are professionals, the villains are also professionals (I think it was partly the villains that hooked me the first time – ambitious churchman who gets seriously out of his depth, the friend-turned-adversary who knows he took the wrong road, but can’t go back because of pride***), there is sufficient worldbuilding for things to work, and the weather always seems to be terrible. Does it ever stop raining in Cimmura? Oh, and I shipped Sephrenia/Vanion madly. There is not nearly enough fanfic; I may have to write some.

In another fandom entirely, you know that the endgame of a fic isn’t quite for you when you start saying “But all Lapland hotels have excellent central heating!” when after a number of short amusing chapters the inevitable arrives in the form of huddling-together-for-warmth-leads-to-more. Oh Cabin Pressure fandom, why do you fail me so?

Have not been writing the Giant WIP, but have managed to think about it a bit and have come up with the beginnings of filling in a plot-hole, which is good.

*Who was it who started the trend of calling fantasy doorstoppers by these daft pseudo-epic names?

**Any recommendations, do give them.

***I bet there’s Sparkhawk/Martel slash out there. There has to be, goodness knows there was plenty of subtext.

Tonight, when British passports first included photographs, and when airmail started.

Meanwhile, I am suddenly consumed by the desire to read "Harriet and Peter, undercover as married couple" fic. Oh world, why will you not indulge me?

When Lord Peter Wimsey has his revolver on him in the course of criminological investigation, where does he carry it?

Wimsey apparently has a range of firearms to hand in canon. Leaving aside the unnamed weapon, presumably a shotgun, with which he despatches a partridge in Whose Bodu, he possesses an "automatic pistol" in The Learned Adventure of the Dragon's Head (AKA the one with little St George), and has "a revolver ready" in Five Red Herrings, in circumstances in which the person he may potentially use it on is not apparently aware of the fact*.

In my particular circumstances I am working on the assumption that Wimsey has a bog-standard WWI British army service revolver, which Wikipedia tells me was a Webley Mk IV,V, or VI depending when issued. So I know what it looks like. But how does he carry it on his person, when he's not actually holding it in his hand? Bear in mind it is hot, and he is wearing a linen suit comprised of trousers, waistcoat, and possibly jacket, and he doesn't want anyone approaching him to notice that he's carrying it. Does he have a belt, some sort of holster, or even just shove it in his pocket? Wimsey's pockets do appear at times to have a similar carrying capacity to Mary Poppins' bag.

*And also, that the police don't mind him potentially intending to shoot - or at least threaten - a suspect. As he presumably didn't go on holiday with it, I can only assume it was sent up from London specifically with the idea of confrontation in mind. I must look up whether there is a DLS Society article on contemporary gun laws in the UK, but as my scene is set not only in Corsica, but wizarding Corsica, I am happily able to avoid concern with accuracy on that front.