(no subject)

Christmas went well. Dad made us play a game that actually ended up well. He handed out play money, and stood over a table with seven tins on it, each containing "an ugly present." We then had to use our fake money to bid for the honor of opening one of these tins. It was lots of fun, and I got a couple of hideous things to regift to my roommates.

I got Tales of Beedle the Bard. :-)

The snow's been melting fast. Snow has been sheeting off the roof of the retreat center in little avalanches and taking out the gutters.

An attempt to stir up lively discussion

It takes two days for a man on horseback to travel from point A to point B. How long does it take a zombie army?

(And now I'm having to update my dad on current zombie conventions. He is unaware of so-called "fast zombies")

(no subject)

My dad just came in the room and said, "we've got a dead cat." I assumed he meant one of my aunt's 16-year-old cats. I'd watched her this morning give one of them an IV drip for several minutes, something she has to do twice a week to supplement the cats faulty kidneys. The cat puts up with it just fine, though she sometimes ends up with great blobs of fluid sloshing around in her paws for a while.

What Dad actually meant was that Yum Yum, the last cat I grew up with, died during our time down here. Yum Yum was probably fifteen years old. The petsitter found her. My dad had Skype hooked up so that he could watch the cats at home. This meant he spent much of Christmas Day shouting, "Hi, Tizzy!" at a cat-shaped blur on his computer screen. Occasionally, the cat-shaped blur did indeed turn her head.
So now I know why we only saw Tizzy. :-(

(This also means there will be some small drama when we get home and dad has to get Yummy out of the freezer and take her to the vet without letting Mom know there was a dead cat in the fridge and she throws everything out.)

(no subject)

Writing fails of the day:
Discovering that the magic system that evolved over the course of my writing precludes having zombies survive burning. No flaming skeletons for me. :-( I really liked that scene. :-(

Almost having a main character casually do something that he needs to make a huge deal about doing at the climax. Now I have to come up with a reason for him to go someplace he's not supposed to go.

Writing wins:
I'm in a huge retreat center where I can legitimately avoid people, and I get to write in a big, comfy recliner in front of a fireplace surrounded by pretty art.*


*Well, maybe not the painting of a very Aryan young Jesus who looks like he's strangling a dove. But everything else is nice in a Catholic sort of way.

Why you should never write a prequel.

Thankfully, I never published the book this is a prequel to. I'd be so screwed. I'm finally at the big battle scene that history (and a character who was present!)speaks of later. I just looked at that original book, and the long letter that described the battle and the events building up to it in detail. What I wrote then, and what I've spent the past couple months writing, are nothing alike. I write all my stories backwards. I don't know how I'll survive if I'm ever published. o_O