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Jul. 1st, 2007 01:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_roseI have been very successful in writing avoidance lately. And I haven't got the housework done, and these cats flee the vacuum... Not good. Folk fest is this week, and I have a sewing project with a deadline of late July that I only just started today, so my writing time is about to shrink.
But when I've made it to the computer at all, I've been playing in photoshop instead. I started to take serious advantage of the fact that Colin recently put the Honeymoon pictures into our shared files instead of just on his computer. I cropped and tidied one image that is just screaming for the right caption. Then I made a whole series of related images I'm thinking I could turn into an animated icon. A couple of them need some tweaking yet, but it's all minor bits.
This week I wrote only one scene, and even that, I went back into to remove large chunks -- Some for medical info my mother and I were discussing (Finno's in rough shape), some because the characters started into Maid-and-butler dialogue*. Once all was cropped, while most of it still felt awkward at best, I was actually kind of pleased with this bit -- for a first draft, anyhow.
The leg that stretched out from the dressing gown was a beautiful shape, but not an especially feminine one -- which reassured him a little, because if that was a woman's leg, it was the first time he'd felt this kind of appreciation for one.
"Can I ask a stupid question?" he asked, as she took the jacket away, and tucked him under a heavy blanket from the armpits down.
"Most people can," she said. "Which one is yours?" She snugged another quilt over his shoulders, knitted wool, itchy and thick with stale cigarette smoke.
"Is that your real eye colour?"
She laughed, and the way it rumbled in her chest convinced him -- in spite of the modest swell of her chest, this wasn't a woman. At least, not yet. Her smile was toothy and he couldn't help smile back, even as she lifted his left hand and started to clean away the blood. "Far as I know," she said. "There's only one Indian in the city who has blue eyes, and even he's got them 'cause a white man snuck into the woodpile. I should get you something to drink. Coffee? Cocoa? Hot lemon?"
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Today i managed to completely mess up my own chance to go to archery. I got to the range fine, as did my arrows, and my bow - but not my glove or thumb ring (Gave me a bit of a panic, that, as there's been exactly and only one chance for them to get moved since Schutzenfest, so it seemed likely I'd left them in Minnesota. But yes, they are safe at home). I tried about two rounds and a bit with a three fingered draw and a single band-aid to cover the part of my thumb-knuckle the arrow is fired off (In fact, scary as it may seem, I suspect that I could shoot with just the band-aid all the time.) It was clear within that little time that doing this was liable to mess up what little technique I've started to glean. I grumbled that I should have a spare set of gloves permanently in the arrow case in case of emergencies.
So I walked down to the nearby used book and antique store while Colin kept shooting... only to stumble on a pair of gloves in dark Italian leather. Not the prettiest (Though perfectly nice for unadorned leather), but they fit wonderfully. They do go halfway up the arm, so they may, in fact, be good should I return to fencing one of these years.
______________________________________
*For non-writers, AKA "As You Know, Bob" - places the characters talk about things they all already know, just so the reader can catch up. In this case it wasn't quite so blatant, but it was still things no human being asks another, so characters shouldn't either.
But when I've made it to the computer at all, I've been playing in photoshop instead. I started to take serious advantage of the fact that Colin recently put the Honeymoon pictures into our shared files instead of just on his computer. I cropped and tidied one image that is just screaming for the right caption. Then I made a whole series of related images I'm thinking I could turn into an animated icon. A couple of them need some tweaking yet, but it's all minor bits.
This week I wrote only one scene, and even that, I went back into to remove large chunks -- Some for medical info my mother and I were discussing (Finno's in rough shape), some because the characters started into Maid-and-butler dialogue*. Once all was cropped, while most of it still felt awkward at best, I was actually kind of pleased with this bit -- for a first draft, anyhow.
The leg that stretched out from the dressing gown was a beautiful shape, but not an especially feminine one -- which reassured him a little, because if that was a woman's leg, it was the first time he'd felt this kind of appreciation for one.
"Can I ask a stupid question?" he asked, as she took the jacket away, and tucked him under a heavy blanket from the armpits down.
"Most people can," she said. "Which one is yours?" She snugged another quilt over his shoulders, knitted wool, itchy and thick with stale cigarette smoke.
"Is that your real eye colour?"
She laughed, and the way it rumbled in her chest convinced him -- in spite of the modest swell of her chest, this wasn't a woman. At least, not yet. Her smile was toothy and he couldn't help smile back, even as she lifted his left hand and started to clean away the blood. "Far as I know," she said. "There's only one Indian in the city who has blue eyes, and even he's got them 'cause a white man snuck into the woodpile. I should get you something to drink. Coffee? Cocoa? Hot lemon?"
______________________________________
Today i managed to completely mess up my own chance to go to archery. I got to the range fine, as did my arrows, and my bow - but not my glove or thumb ring (Gave me a bit of a panic, that, as there's been exactly and only one chance for them to get moved since Schutzenfest, so it seemed likely I'd left them in Minnesota. But yes, they are safe at home). I tried about two rounds and a bit with a three fingered draw and a single band-aid to cover the part of my thumb-knuckle the arrow is fired off (In fact, scary as it may seem, I suspect that I could shoot with just the band-aid all the time.) It was clear within that little time that doing this was liable to mess up what little technique I've started to glean. I grumbled that I should have a spare set of gloves permanently in the arrow case in case of emergencies.
So I walked down to the nearby used book and antique store while Colin kept shooting... only to stumble on a pair of gloves in dark Italian leather. Not the prettiest (Though perfectly nice for unadorned leather), but they fit wonderfully. They do go halfway up the arm, so they may, in fact, be good should I return to fencing one of these years.
______________________________________
*For non-writers, AKA "As You Know, Bob" - places the characters talk about things they all already know, just so the reader can catch up. In this case it wasn't quite so blatant, but it was still things no human being asks another, so characters shouldn't either.
