![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Not like I was doing last week. But I'm finally finished with Chapter 11 (and the right size too -- 2979 words). And yesterday I figured out another incident I need before Candelario, one which ought to be lots of fun to write as well as put another woman into a landscape which is overwhelmingly male.
I ended Chapter 11 with Ian's group squabbling over Ian's sleaziness -- in revision I think I'll give Carleen more of a voice at the end of the chapter -- and my guy thinking he wants really badly to manipulate these peopel into destroying themselves, the way he manipulated other people into wishing for things that were good for him and them.
He'll get the chance only to see that it might be possible, before the other watchers come and blow them all away and nearly get him too.
The reason that my guy can get away when the watchers come and chaos breaks loose, as I figured out yesterday too -- is because he has been given the instruction to save himself, to keep himself safe, to guard the conduit, on several occasions. And if he's given a command or instruction which is possible to do, chances are his instinct will explain to him how to do it.
So that's chapter 12. And yesterday was a good day to take off, apparently, since I figured out all this stuff. When I was walking the dog, I demonstrated yet more misplaced optimism by collecting a huge pocketful of black walnuts which are drying on the back deck as I type this (up on the side rail, so the dog doesn't take them all to play ball with). As I was doing this, I started seeing this conversation between my guy and a schizophrenic woman who lives off foraged crops like this, where she explains how to find the stuff, how to prepare it, how to keep your life on the street well organized and healthy. And she also explains how she can seem so together and still be on the street. Like conversations I have had with the homeless around here. But I don't want to write it didactically. I need a cataclysm to end that interaction -- or do I? -- maybe she just puts him in connection with the person who teaches him how to use the KMart parking lot. Or Labor Ready. Do I want both, or just one or the other? Time will tell.
Emma's not going to be playing at the Monterey Games after all, as of this writing. But we're going to go down and observe (they're actually in Toro Park, in the Santa Lucia Mountains, and the Grade IV Piobaireachd which she would be playing in is happening at NINE! in the morning!!! On Saturday. which means we leave at 8 in the morning.
She's just not quite ready with the variation on the ground (we're talking about parts to the tune. But she will be ready in a month, when the Caledonian games happen in Pleasanton (oy, I hope she sticks to her determination not to wear the wool kilt: Pleasanton is the hottest place I know outside the desert, and the beginning of September has to be the hottest week of the year, or nearly). I've been frantically firing off emails trying to find out the rules for signing her up, and it turns out that the two different places I emailed to both went to the same master piper, who now wants me to call him, and I will.
Unlike me, Emma has a competitive bone in her body and enjoys a decent contest. I'd dearly love for her to bring home any placement at all, to add to the stats of the S.C. High School music department.
I ended Chapter 11 with Ian's group squabbling over Ian's sleaziness -- in revision I think I'll give Carleen more of a voice at the end of the chapter -- and my guy thinking he wants really badly to manipulate these peopel into destroying themselves, the way he manipulated other people into wishing for things that were good for him and them.
He'll get the chance only to see that it might be possible, before the other watchers come and blow them all away and nearly get him too.
The reason that my guy can get away when the watchers come and chaos breaks loose, as I figured out yesterday too -- is because he has been given the instruction to save himself, to keep himself safe, to guard the conduit, on several occasions. And if he's given a command or instruction which is possible to do, chances are his instinct will explain to him how to do it.
So that's chapter 12. And yesterday was a good day to take off, apparently, since I figured out all this stuff. When I was walking the dog, I demonstrated yet more misplaced optimism by collecting a huge pocketful of black walnuts which are drying on the back deck as I type this (up on the side rail, so the dog doesn't take them all to play ball with). As I was doing this, I started seeing this conversation between my guy and a schizophrenic woman who lives off foraged crops like this, where she explains how to find the stuff, how to prepare it, how to keep your life on the street well organized and healthy. And she also explains how she can seem so together and still be on the street. Like conversations I have had with the homeless around here. But I don't want to write it didactically. I need a cataclysm to end that interaction -- or do I? -- maybe she just puts him in connection with the person who teaches him how to use the KMart parking lot. Or Labor Ready. Do I want both, or just one or the other? Time will tell.
Emma's not going to be playing at the Monterey Games after all, as of this writing. But we're going to go down and observe (they're actually in Toro Park, in the Santa Lucia Mountains, and the Grade IV Piobaireachd which she would be playing in is happening at NINE! in the morning!!! On Saturday. which means we leave at 8 in the morning.
She's just not quite ready with the variation on the ground (we're talking about parts to the tune. But she will be ready in a month, when the Caledonian games happen in Pleasanton (oy, I hope she sticks to her determination not to wear the wool kilt: Pleasanton is the hottest place I know outside the desert, and the beginning of September has to be the hottest week of the year, or nearly). I've been frantically firing off emails trying to find out the rules for signing her up, and it turns out that the two different places I emailed to both went to the same master piper, who now wants me to call him, and I will.
Unlike me, Emma has a competitive bone in her body and enjoys a decent contest. I'd dearly love for her to bring home any placement at all, to add to the stats of the S.C. High School music department.