Party Time!

      Let's break out the booze and have a ball! Thank you, Peggy Lee! I'd long wondered who sang that incredibly depressing song. Anyway, there's supposed to be a little party for some of the local crew in my condo. Just move a couple of cars and Robert est ton oncle! There's supposed to be wine (Hey, Peggy Lee!) and some ginger ale (Yay me!). Just chatting and social distancing, folks! I just need to move my car. In future, I am never going to buy a used car ever again. This might be a sensor issue or it might be a squirrel issue. Damn rodents!

      Anyway, I am currently spending time with the Silmarils and 'The Silmarillion'. Hail to the master, baby! Also, I'm getting some writing done. One of these days, I am going to post one of my projects on my hidden, untitled blog. That was the plan for it back when I created it. One day. Today is the 12th and I start back to work on the 31st. Man, but I cannot wait. That's all for me.

BYE.

A Quiet Man (05)

Glorious spring stole across Sunset Valley before long, and Davis was dreaming of his totem once again. It lead him down innumerable dream-paths and showed him secrets he'd only heard whispers of. By day, he kept busy with a nearby apiary and with the constant struggle of putting bins to rights.

By now, Davis had spent two years in Sunset Valley; and all this time, he'd never felt those vague stirrings before. You know; those stirrings that tempt the wandering monk away from his solitude and toward a stranger's arms. One evening, while touring the annual spring festival, the stirrings hit.

Her name was Mallory. Her father was on the town council and she herself taught kindergarten. What was she doing running a kissing booth? Davis ventured a few encouraging words and heard a few in turn. She was beautiful and hard-working. What harm would it bring to go on a date and live like a real person for once?

Davis found himself in a quandary. He retreated after a few more polite words and sought solace in the library. Would even one date distract him? Was a woman's touch enough to drive his totem away? He'd heard grim stories of other monks going mad after refusing the deeper secrets because they wished another's touch. He spent much of the night meditating and contemplating in the library.

Before dawn broke, he went for a long swim. He knew Mallory could do much better than him. Let another one plumb her secrets. He had his own secrets to discover. He would find her and thank her for their chat but that was as far as it could go. He was a monk and that's all there was to it.

END.

A Quiet Man (04)

It happened one winter evening that Davis encountered the deer. He'd been deep in contemplation over his silent fire when the deer trotted past. It was only once he'd opened his eyes did she dart off into the night.

 Sister Janna had been quiet for several months but now she summoned him to meet her at a nearby diner where he was known to eat the occasional bowl of soup. She spoke of the deer and promised to reveal the meaning behind the encounter. Honoured and pleased that he would finally meet with her in person, Davis set to work around the community.

It wasn't much but small acts like putting bins to rights would make his neighbours happy. He'd befriended several of his neighbours while tending to the community he was now a part of. It was his friend from the beach who'd mentioned the little diner. That afternoon, he went to the diner to find that Sister Janna had left him a note.

Sadly, she'd been called away to tend to her own little flock and had not been able to stay long at the diner. However, the note she left him spoke of wellsprings of hope and overflowing pools of joy. She foretold that he would soon encounter an overflowing pool and it would bode well for the future.

Davis, however, was quite sure that this was not what Sister Janna had foretold in her note.

END.

Lots of Entries, eh?

Just a quick note before I go into the latest Quiet Man chapter. My solo dude Davis has just become an elder. In other words, there are probably a few more chapters to go before he passes on. I get sidetracked by the gorgeous views and end up taking pictures of the scenery more than anything else.

I got into playing with single sims after getting bored of playing an ongoing family. I might play a couple after Davis passes on but we'll see.

Anyway, all is well with me. A washer and dryer I ordered have come in and the big delivery is this Wednesday. Neko's tummy has been giving us grief thanks to hairballs but I think the worst of it is over.

I'm still reading like a demon if you wanted to know. And here we are in August. Where the heck did July go? It could be a little cooler but as long as my AC holds out I'll be fine. Keep cool, the two of you who follow me.

BYE.

A Quiet Man (03)

Winters were rumoured to be mild in Sunset Valley, but this year brought on an arctic chill that Davis' tent would never keep out. He'd seen a number of the locals frolicking in the snow and had an insight. That afternoon he got to work and had a snug new home ready to go.

Since winter's arrival Davis had stopped dreaming of his spirit animal. Then the phone call had come.

She called herself Sister Janna. To his shock, she knew all things about him and reassured him that his spirit animal would return with the summer. She claimed to live in the local catacombs but warned him to leave her to her own meditations and to never visit her in the graveyard. Promising he would obey, Davis disconnected with a heart as light as a snowflake.

In the early winter days, he continued to fish and scavenge. In the harsher months, he took shelter at the local gym for an occasional hot meal and shower.

Snug and secure in his snowy shelter, Davis would meditate and pray; knowing that winter was inevitably followed by spring and summer. His dreams would gleam with the presence of his spirit animal again one day.


END.

A Quiet Man (01)

Davis arrived in Sunset Valley with only his dreams and his pup tent. He'd  come from a distant monastery after months of meditation and prayer. His mentor and his fellow monks had given him the tent and a pair of sneakers as farewell gifts. With only a few simoleons to his name he set up in a haunted campground and cooked his first meal in his new home.

His first night was peaceful. He dreamed of his spirit animal - the creature who had summoned him to Sunset Valley.

Its reason for summoning him remained unknown but he was determined to unravel this and many other secrets.

The next day he rose early and went scavenging along the beach for fallen plantains. With bounty in hand he sat down to cook breakfast. Then he set about making the little campground more agreeable. Sadly, its last occupants had failed to show similar due diligence.

As he worked, Davis murmured softly to himself and wondered if his search for his spirit animal would be successful. His fellow monks were certain he'd only last a few months in the Gomorrah that was Sunset Valley. Davis felt strong and content - he was certain that he would not fail himself.

END.

Wanted: SNOW

Pardon the gripe, but without snow on the ground, I cannot get into the Xmas spirit and cannot start shopping or making my Xmas list. The sky taunted me the other day with a little bit of snow that quickly melted to naught. Now it's pleasantly grey outside but still no snow to make me smile. I understand that I'm part of a very small minority and I'm damn proud of myself for that. Meanwhile, I haven't done much with this blog for a while. For that I apologize, although nobody really has anything to say about my blog. I'll start with my obedience to the written word, and talk about 'Dialectics of Isolation' by Terdiman (the name makes me chuckle for purely childish reasons). This book is not really anything to write home about, but it did create a craving for works by Proust, Flaubert, and some guy named Stendhal. 'Dialectics of Isolation' is a study on the French novel before, during, and after the Revolution. I've read 'Madame Bovary' and I did come away with a few thoughts concerning the cruelty of love but not much else. Maybe it's time I picked it up again.
As for Proust, his 'Remembrance of things past' is a complete classic that I have yet to read. I think it's time to get reading. And I know less than nothing about that dude Stendhal, but Terdiman (snicker) champions him as one of the writers of depressing material from that period in French history. What would the emo kids think of such fellows? Of course, this adventure will have to wait until I've gotten through the likes of "England's lost Eden" by P. Hoare. Utopia seems a pleasant place, doesn't it? I don't think I'd be content with it for long, though. At least some folks are still looking for it, and in the dark reaches of New Forest, some folks thought they had found it. That's what "England's lost Eden" is about.
My transcribing Diary #5 to file is almost done. About a month's worth of entries to go. I'm pretty pleased with the progress I've made, and once I have finished with it, I can focus on other literary projects. Of course, once I get started, some things will have to fall by the wayside. Part of me wonders if I can ignore the call of "Diablo 2" for a long while. "Sims 3" is causing me some grief (par for the course) so ignoring that call will be easier (I think). Okay, that's about all. BYE.

Summer scribbles

Not a whole lot of writing this summer, since the Muse and I aren't getting along that well. More reading, revisiting, and transcribing than anything else. Visiting 2001 and recalling books I read during that time. I have not yet reached September, though it is certainly coming. Journal #5 runs from Feb. 2001 to May 2002, and I'm working on July 2001 right now. I was 21 in 2001 and by then I had formed much of the outlook and beliefs that I have now. Nothing has really disturbed my beliefs to the point that I would want to junk them and seek something else. If anything, I'd suggest that my beliefs lean to a more Easterly direction than they did when I was in my 20s. When I was typing out my entries from my adolescence, my diatribes and outright rages would cause me to shake my head. Now I'm shaking my head again at how ignorant I was about other people when I was 21. I clearly showed, several times so far, that while I wanted freedom and independance (wanted to move out), I did very little to accomplish my goal. Small wonder I did not get anywhere in those days.
On the other hand, when a literary situation called for some research, I worked very hard on that. The project never went anywhere, which makes me wonder how much preparation and planning one should dedicate to a literary project. The matter is moot for now since the Muse and I aren't on pleasant terms. Besides, I've got many books I want to read and I'm back to work now, so any work on literary projects will not take much of the spotlight. Speaking of books, I just finished reading a very good book by Philippe Aries called "The Hour of our Death". A most comprehensive account of the history of death and many things relating to it. I read it back in the day (2001) and again recommend it. You don't have to be extremely morbid to like this book, either. Very graphic in some parts - nay, risque even, but that just adds to it wonderfully. Macabre stuff!
Anyway, I'm starting into "Mayor of Casterbridge" by T. Hardy. Soon I'll get into "Jude the Obscure", which I remember liking. That's all for now. BYE.

Not regretting

I'm actually starting to enjoy not having a project to work on. After close to 20 years of writing this or that novel or other story, I took a serious break this summer and have focused my energies on diary and blog writing, along with gaming and reading. Considering I moved out so I could focus on writing, I have to laugh at the way things have turned out. I am working on a project of sorts. I'm transcribing my older diaries to computer file so when I can no longer read my own handwriting, I'll still be able to read what I've written in years past. This could get me in trouble in years to come, but who's going to read these diaries of a complete nobody? Even Emily Dickinson had more fame in her life, and she was a self-named nobody. I guess I'm not really looking for fame... not that I'd find it if I was looking for it. I do feel a little bad that I'm not working with the characters I have bouncing around in my head, but right now, I'm just not into writing a whole lot. And I'm back to work in a week, so there won't be a whole lot of time to write when I get back to the grind.
Meanwhile, I've done quite a bit of reading. I just finished reading Patricia Highsmith's 'Talented Mr. Ripley'. The mark of a good writer depends on how strongly the reader feels about the characters, plot, or setting, and the character of Tom Ripley is a winner. A chameleon, a mirror, a killer, a shadow - Ripley is all this and more. I've placed holds on more books in the Ripley series, and anticipate the dude either getting caught or succeeding. Part of me wants him to get caught. All depends on what Highsmith has decided to do with him. Kudos! I'm getting back into Waugh-writings with 'Brideshead Benighted' by Auberon Waugh. I thought him a real jerk when I read 'Way of the World' a couple of years ago. That just could be his character - to be a real jerk. I used a different word actually - is git the same a jerk? I could be mistaken.
Anyway, that's about all that's going on in my little world. Back to Waugh I go! BYE.

Heavy Reading

Let's see... the most lighthearted thing I've read in the last few days was 'Measure for Measure', and while it's not one of the tragedies, it's not the most hilarious or light play Will ever wrote. A pretty good story, though. Hypocrisy, love, bawds to spare, politics; all come under Shakespeare's lens in this play. The bawds and the clowns seemed to be wiser than the leaders in some of Will's works. Meanwhile, I enjoyed reading this play and highly recommend it. Onto matters mysterious! I just finished reading 'Whodunit' by H.R.F. Keating. He has a great style about him regarding the Inspector Ghote series, I find, and his 'how to write mystery' book is also quite good. Mystery is not my personal favourite genre, but numerous names did catch my eye in this book. Marple and Poirot, Wolfe and Goodwin, Holmes and Watson (and Moriarty), Hammer and Spade, the blessed Brother Cadfael, and many, many others. Keating missed the awesome Jim Qwilleran, but the 'Cat Who...' series really came into its own after this book was published, and Keating couldn't cram'em all into this book anyway, could he?
Now I've moved on to Bakunin (again). That book on Anarchism opened my eyes to fellows in Bakunin's world, and I admit that I didn't give the guy a chance the first time I tried to read his works. I've given many things a look in my few years in this life, and there's no point in closing the book on someone just because I don't understand what they're talking about. And the failure to understand is usually on my end anyway. After Bakunin, I'm still upon the Anarchist path with William Norris. I believe it was the title 'News from Nowhere' that really stimulated my interest. Can't judge a book by its cover; should this apply to a book's title as well? Lots of heavy reading on my horizon. Before long, I'll return to the lighthearted fare, but for now, that's just the way things worked out.
In other news.... on the way to the lake last week a truck threw some gravel at my windshield, causing two nice little cracks to form. ARGH! So I went to a glass place and the guy there said they'd probably have to replace the entire windshield. ARGH!! There goes my deductible. I guess I can't get into anymore messes now, right? Not that I could've stopped that truck from doing its number on my windshield. And finally... I'm trying to get my mom interested in the Redwall series. She loved the Duncton series, so I thought I'd give it a try. Jacques has created quite a wonderful world with wonderful characters in his Redwall series. Thank you and goodnight.

Calling me out?

Last night I dreamed that I was in a car and I had to stop the car because I was in the opposite lane. The car turned into a book and I spent most of the dream with the book half-open in my hands as I looked for a place where I could 'park' my 'car' on the other side. The other side of the median was busy with cars and 'no parking/stopping' signs. There were similar signs along the sidestreets I tried, and I found myself getting further and further back from where I had started. The dream ended without resolution (like most of my dreams do) and I eventually woke up. This morning, I identified with the 'going back to the beginning' aspect of my dream, and I find myself wondering if the Muse is trying to tell me something. Only a little while ago, I promised myself that I would not give writing another glance for a long time. Why does it seem like the Muse is toying with me? Maybe it's just my own reaction to wanting to write but having this promise/conflict staring me in the face.
It could mean things totally unrelated to writing. Maybe I need to go back to beginning in some other part of my life. Dream analysts, feel free to throw in yer two cents! I'm pretty sure it has something to do with my decision to take a break from writing. For now, I'm seriously having second thoughts concerning my decision. Definitely something I need to think about. Elsewhere in the world, next week I'm going to the lake with friends and family. No Hydro, so no computers or Internet there. No distractions, so my diary and I can focus on the written word and ponder the future. I will be bringing a couple of books. Something from Orson Scott Card, I think. Not totally sure yet. That or 'Dark Night of the Soul'. Deep thoughts or what?
Would that I had more to say about this or about anything else, but I have a book that needs my attention. A life of Xenophon. That's what comes from typing in a keyword on the WPL OPAC and seeing what happens. BYE.

Baha'u'llah, Blogs, and Being Bookish

Another foray into matter Baha'i. This book, 'Baha'u'llah and the new era' was published in 1970, while the last Baha'i book I read came out in 1986. I'm hoping to find some newer material down the line, as I have an issue with older books. It's interesting that I'm a library tech. that has such a sensitive nose she cannot stand aging paper. I don't want to call it ironic, for I know someone's going to disagree. I can't think of irony without hearing Alanis' landmark song, but I digress. I'm not sure what this 'new era' that J.E. Esslemont speaks of, but then it's been 40 years since this book was published, and maybe this new era has passed on. Or this book could be speaking to the converted, of which I am definitely not of that number. The language makes me think that all the information mentioned has already been understood by the reader. Nevertheless, I'm reading it and finding a few very interesting, if not amusing, things.
For one, the Baha'i Faith seemed to be very much in favour of Esperanto. I was chatting with a teacher today and he asked about the book I was reading. I started talking a little bit about the Baha'i Faith and mentioned Esperanto, which the teacher had never heard of. He's either my age or maybe a little younger. If it hadn't been for 'Red Dwarf' or 'SCTV' I probably would've never heard of Esperanto either, but these days, even for those who have heard of this language, it is regarded as a joke. I feel that the Baha'i Faith missed the boat in this matter. If they are looking for a Universal language, English is already close to claiming that title. Who needs Esperanto? Actually, that's the only thing that made me laugh. The rest is more curiosity than anything else for this seeking mind. I still like the idea of an established religion that has no clergy or rituals. On the other hand, I really need to study this system and look at what its doing these days.
Blogging takes up some of my time, both writing in and reading. Some of my favourites are as follows:

http://awfullibrarybooks.wordpress.com/

http://www.cakewrecks.com/

http://thebuddhistblog.blogspot.com/

There are others, but these are the ones I visit quite a bit. Highly recommended by this resident nutjob. Meanwhile, I have some Fantasy books ahead of me. I'll make more mention of them later. Until then, BYE.

Miscommunication with da Muse

We don't talk much anymore, the Muse and I. That or I'm just not as interested in writing as I once was. Beyond scribbling in my journal and blogging, I'm just not into working on any projects. My focus has moved somewhat, and unless I really believe in what I'm doing, I see no reason to dedicate a lot of time to it. I've traded the flavour of Fantasy for Introspection. If I do get back into novel-writing, it will have to be related somehow to the massive inner examination. This book, like all the rest, will probably not reach the bookstore shelves, as I don't have a whole lot of drive beyond the writing part of the journey. Revision is not my strong suit, and I don't have a lot of patience or interest in revising. Also, I spent my teens and 20s writing novels out, and I think I'm a little tired of it. Therefore, I'm going to dedicate more time to reading (as if I didn't already spend a lot of time reading) and looking within. More blog-fodder, you might say.
Elsewhere, I'm revisiting 'The words of my perfect teacher', which astounded me a while ago. Still astounds me, and is definitely a book I would like to have on my shelf. Assuming there are still copies floating around out there, since I would never steal a book from the WPL. After I have finished reading this wonderful, enlightening book, I will get back to Pepys and make it right to the end. Then comes Shakespeare, which enlightens in its own way. King Richard II, which was fairly bloody, if I recall correctly. One series I'm tiptoeing into is B. Jacques' 'Redwall' series. A little young for me? Never too old to enjoy a good book, and 'Mossflower' was certainly a good book. I'm not reading this series in any particular order. That will come later, assuming I like enough of the books.
I guess that's about all for now. I'll get back to characters, plot and setting another time. Just not feeling the Muse's touch right now. Besides, the Muse speaks in so many voices. Maybe I'm just not listening with the right ear. BYE.

Pepys' prose

I haven't had much of a literary challenge lately, so I decided to attack 'The shorter Pepys'. The highlights from his 9 vol. diary, to be brief. That would have to be a blogger's dream - getting their ramblings enshrined in leather-bound luxury for future generations to prize and cherish. I've been scribbling in various journals for almost 20 years now, but I doubt I'll reach 9 volumes (or even 3 volumes) anytime soon. Samuel Pepys, meanwhile, held a powerful vantage point from his esteemed place in the royal court of the 17th century, and enjoyed much of the perks of upper-class British life. It isn't so much that his writing crackles with depth and poignancy, but that he was around during a time we can only read and wonder about, and that his scribbles call us back to a time when the human species was much more innocent (or ignorant, depending on whom you ask).
Some might actually find his writing a little dry. He wasn't much for soul-searching (like what I do when I put ink to paper), and each entry is more an account of the day's events before he went to bed. I did notice he liked to party a lot and then complained bitterly about his hangovers the next day. There are several entries were he swears he'll never touch a drop and then a few entries later he's out partying with colleagues till all hours of the night. Probably one of the few flaws I've noticed in his character, and that's pretty normal for anyone. Spirit willing but the flesh is weak.... There is some male chauvinism in his character, but for his time, that's totally acceptable. I'd know better to go after a man for being a sexist pig in the 17th century, since that's just the way it was, and it wasn't going to change for a long while yet.
So that's Pepys so far. It's a thick book and I've only a few days left before I have to either turn it in or renew it. I'm not yet halfway, so I should get a move on. BYE.

6 days to go...

Dancin' on the edge of 30, and I'm excited. I cannot explain it, for I know 30's a downer for many people. 20 was a downer for me, but 30 just makes me want to jump for joy. I just finished reading the last book in King's 'Dark Tower' series. It still escapes me why King put himself in the story. Maybe he wanted to live the experiences his tragic characters lived. Is there another series so intense out there? I think this series is truly a case of man and/vs. Muse, and while I'm not really impressed by the end of the story (it isn't really a satisfying resolution; anti-climax, actually) it serves its purpose as an ending. One way or another, King's done with this series, and I'm pretty sure there will never be a 9th book (not written by King, anyway). I wonder if anyone's done any fan fiction concerning this series. That would make for some interesting reading.
My focus has moved back to Forsyth and 'The dogs of war'. I'm hoping to see the same (or a similar) level of attention to detail that he applied to 'Day of the Jackal'. That is a splendid book, and anyone seeking to breathe life into their characters should go over it several times. I've read it 3 times already myself, and I might read it again in a few years. Exquisite stuff. Getting back to King for a moment, I've got the beloved 'Needful Things' waiting in the wings. I usually don't have a favourite book by anyone or about anything, but this is my favourite Stephen King book. Highly recommended, and not really nightmare-inducing. A study on wants and what happens when people forget this Rolling Stones song, which makes for a fairly good adage.
With the coming of March, the weather is getting nicer and nicer all the time. Soon Spring will be here, and then the cankerworms (UGH!) will dance and dangle from the trees. This area is a little older than So. St. Vital, so there will be MORE of the little mindless leaf-chewers. Stressful times ahead, I fear, but there's no reason to freak out right now. BYE.

On the Literary Front #4

The Muse has been slumbering for some time, but with all this talk of NaNoWriMo I've been hearing, I've been thinking of giving the Muse a hard kick in the rear. I've been busy with work, reading, and gaming, and the wanting to write has faded somewhat. After a decade of near-constant writing, I guess it was time to take a break. It isn't that I have nothing to say, but that what I want to say has changed somehow. Apologies if that doesn't make sense. Maybe it's just that I've needed to get settled in my new digs and exult in my freedom before I bow to the Muse. This is something I need to examine further, which I will do in my personal diary. In the meantime, I have two projects I could be working on, but one of these two has become less interesting to me, while the other one has too many things indistinct to me. The main character is not at all visible to me, and I need to make him visible in my mind's eye before I can go and flesh out his world.
I've been reading Cornelia Funke, and her work is magnificient! So much detail and so well-fleshed out are her works. Makes anything I've written seem so stripped down and barren. Fleshing everything out and then cutting back the far is the better way to do things. One problem I have with that is how long to make the chapters. I guess once a scene has climaxed, move on to the next scene. Does that make any sense? And then there's the matter of where to start the story and where to end it. That is one of the hardest parts of writing a story, and I applaud Funke deeply. I also applaud her translator, for I don't understand German. Anyway, I need lessons in creating and fleshing out a world for my protagonist and his fellows.
I need lessons in many other things... especially where getting my Muse stirred up to the point where my fingers are on fire with the desire to write (or type, in this case). Blogging and writing in my journal has taken off some of the edge, maybe, which suggests I may need to drop blogging for a while. Hard to say. Well, that's about all for me. BYE.

Resolution?

It would be a more pleasant day if the weather was cooperating. It rained through most of yesterday and all through the night (granted, I slept through it, so I'm not really sure). The sound of rain pattering against the roof of the shed woke me up. The dreams I was having were incomprehensible, so I was glad to wake up. Someday I am going to share some of the nightly meanders I've had. Not a recurring dream in the bunch, although I've had recurring themes and images. I haven't read a whole lot of insightful material lately, but I'm trying to dive into 'Te-Tao-Ching', so I might have something later. Keep'em crossed! As far as music is concerned, I'm listening to the Grateful Dead and will be following that up with Ravi Shankar. Child of the 80's fully entrenched in 60's music? Meh. It was what I was raised on.
Moving along, my computer seems to like the new video card. I'm not totally sure I like the resolution the computer is set at, but it was the best and clearest setting available. Going with the flow. I installed 'Sims 3' and have been playing it. Everything seems to working well and I haven't had a crash in the last two days. My sims also look very well defined and the bushes and trees behave more realistically. They actually sway and move in the breeze, which looks pretty creepy for the moment. This is probably the newest thing I've come across. I won't bore you with further details of Sims 3. I've got a blog running on the website custom-made for blathering about the game.
Windows has this cool feature where one can check the 'reliability' of one's computer. I keep checking it every morning to see if there's something I missed. The last two days, as I've already said, there hasn't been a crash, freeze, or anything else to mar my PC's operations. I guess, if this good behaviour keeps up, I'll do a lot more gaming and a lot less typing. Maybe. I mean, I've got one more chapter to type up and that will be the end of that project. I'm thinking about getting back to typing out older diaries. We shall see. C'est tout. BYE.

On the Literary Front #5

Apologies for the lengthy absence. My computer's been giving me grief so I sent it to the shop. Something to do with Vista not liking me or something like that. Anyway, without my computer and my beloved Sims to keep my fingers busy, I've been doing a lot of writing and typing. The writing is mostly in my diary and the typing is at my laptop, where dormant stories are getting looked at and updated. I'm presently working on a book about two sisters, which makes sense considering I have a sister. The plot's different from the one I'm living, and I'm finding it a nice change to type rather than plan out what my Sims are going to do from one hour to the next.
Instead, it's what my characters are doing from one scene to the next. I was able to get a chapter and a half typed out over the last few days and I'm feeling really good about all the work I've been able to do. Perhaps, when my computer gets back, I'll fall back into playing God and plotting my Sims' futures. That or I'll spend my summer typing and writing. I suppose I could do both, but one cannot worship two masters. I think, in the grand scheme of things, I would rather be in service to the Muse than to the Game. The Muse is more tempermental, but it doesn't make my computer crash nearly as much.
Oh, and I have to get my hands on a new video card for my computer. I think that's what's causing all the strife. Sims 3 is just too much for my 'high-end' computer. That's why I like my laptop. Sims 2 was too much for it, so all I can do with it now is play Pinball and type my brains out! And that's what I'm gonna do this summer. That and apartment hunt. That's showing some promise as well. I've got some apartments to check out tomorrow. Wish me luck! BYE.

Thoughts afore Mexico

In other words... what's going through my head in the hours before my mother and I leave for Puerto Vallarta. We're leaving this afternoon to be on the plane this evening, and we'll be there in the wee hours tomorrow. Mom says that all we'll do is sleep on Sunday and then start out fresh on Monday. She's done this every year, so she should know the drill. Anyway, to keep me busy, I'm bringing my diary, a couple of books, and I was seriously thinking of bringing some scribbling. The books might not be enough during the quiet moments (and I intend to have plenty of those!) and my diary might not be enough writing to satisfy me. There's no chance of me bringing my laptop, so all I can do is bring a pad of paper and a few pencils and erasers. I've only got one project that I'm writing the rough of, so this would be all right. Still, I'm wondering if all this will be enough during the quiet moments.
As for the books I'm bringing, there are two. One is a biography of John Milton and the other is 'The Eustace diamonds' by Anthony Trollope. This book is unique among Trollope's works because of one singular character. The first time I read this, I thought this creature an insincere beast of a woman. The second time around, I still find her beastly, but it's Trollope's skill I'm coming to admire. The character is, of course, Lizzie (Lady Eustace). She has little genuine feeling about her, dwells only on money and what it can do for her little family, and really doesn't care what anyone else thinks. She can work herself into an insincere passion that almost seems to move mountains and can be dangerous when spited. I don't like her at all, but I don't think she's supposed to be liked. I doubt Trollope wanted her to be liked. She's neither liked nor respected, but one does have to admire Trollope's skill for creating her.
She still has the diamonds at this point, and I don't remember how the story ends, so I can't really spoil it for anyone. I think she gets away scot-free, but I don't know for sure. She isn't the hero of the story anyway (a villainess if there ever was one). I'm re-reading the Palliser series because 'Phineas redux' astounded me last year, and I believe in going through the other books again just to get to the one I really liked. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to go through this again next year because of 'The Eustace diamonds'. That's all I have for the time being. I probably won't have anything new for a while because of PV. The Internet services are a little cheaper in Puerto Vallarta, but there's no sense tying up a computer just for the sake of my little blog.
So, until then, BYE.

Trekking through Trollope

Last year, I must've been churning through Anthony Trollope's Barsetshire series and through his Palliser series, for I rated Phineas Redux high enough to want to return to it in a year's time. Well, I've got plans to get down with 'Can you forgive her?', which is the 1st book in the Palliser series. But before I get through this one, I've got a few words to say about 'Orley Farm', which I just finished reading. Trollope, not one to be modest where his own scribbles are concerned, considered this book to be the best of the bunch. I'm tempted to side with him by saying that this is a rather good book. I have only one fault to make with Trollope's writing, but I shouldn't really lay the blame on him, but on British society at that time in history. If they had come up with other forms of diversion at that time, Trollope would have probably employed these other diversions. I can't blame the artist for the scenery being bad.
Anyway, I was enjoying 'Orley Farm' and along came a damned fox-hunt scene! Dickens, preferring the bleakness of poverty or sturdiness of the middle-class, rarely, if ever, dragged a fox-hunt into his works. Trollope is overly fond of throwing a fox-hunt into his books when he wants to take a break from the main plot and ventures into a romance between some young buck and a fresh, unspoiled young maiden. This time, one of the lordlings broke his leg and a few ribs while hunting the fox, and he spent a lot of time recuperating on a couch and mooning over the lady of the household. I was pretty pleased that it was one of the hunters who ended up getting hurt. The fox gets the short end of the stick, don't you think? Also, none of the horses got hurt, which is also a good thing.
Apart from the dreary fox-hunt as sub-standard sub-plot advancement device, the main plot was very good. I got into the story pretty early on, and found myself a little disappointed when I learned that the main character, whom I was cheering for, turns out to be guilty. I should've known this would happen. Every sapient creature has the capacity for good and evil, and this character was no different. I was pleased enough with the outcome of the book, though. It was a resolution, which any good writer should shoot for. I would've like a somewhat better outcome for the main character, but bad things happened to the 'bad guys' in the book, so there was something for everyone.
All in all, though I won't return to 'Orley Farm' in a year's time, I do recommend it. BYE.