R. Harrison's Blog, page 16
September 10, 2016
The Art of Deception 31
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Roderick arranged for Alice’s horse to misbehave. This week shows the two men discussing the afternoon. Space prohibits me from putting in that Mr Spode disapproved of his friend’s use of “a bolus prepared by my friends” to figg Alice’s otherwise tame mount. While crude, this put the women under a social obligation – one can’t cut off the man who rescued you. Mr Spode is struggling with his tie at the start of this excerpt.
Roderick stood in the doorway to Mr Spodes’ room, watching him finish with his neck cloth, “You really should stick to the coachman; simple, elegant and easy to tie.”
“Not this time … a waterfall or nothing.”
“The way you’re going, nothing … by the way, was your room searched this afternoon?”
“What?”
“Mine was; expertly, whoever did it knew how to replace a chip, and even noticed the tell-tale hair I’d placed on my dresser door.”
“Really?”
“Had they not disturbed my screws I’d never have known.”
“Can’t have been that Miss Mapleton you’ve been on about; both she and Lucinda were with me all afternoon.”
“I know.”
“That Aunt; I don’t like the look of her.”
“Could be, I inquired and there was an older servant looking around the inn this afternoon.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
The featured image, from Punch in 1859, shows the way the Victorians thought about Regency fashion. They considered it hopelessly old-fashioned and restrictive. Neckclothitania is a book entirely devoted to the art of tying “starchers.” While I’m a fan of knots and knot theory, as I sit here in my formal “HackGSU” t-shirt, I can’t help but be glad that I don’t have to tie these things.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere 
This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
September 8, 2016
Progress on “Illegal Aliens”
Amelia and I just crossed the 45000 word mark on an experiment in horror/fantasy/Science fiction romance. So it looks like we’ll actually finish this one.
In it the ancient gods aren’t dead, they’re in hiding. As one puts it, “if the humans think they can just pray they won’t do anything.” He, Aker, has chased most of them back to Duat (They Egyptian land of the gods, not quite hell, but close enough). Since then he’s been hiding, in human form, and reinventing himself every few years. He buries his knowledge about the gods so deeply that he doesn’t know it himself – at least most of the time.
Set, the funny headed one on the left, avoided him and is causing trouble.
Aker is the two lions in the middle. In real mythology, he’s a rather enigmatic critter, who was worshiped in the early dynasties and disappears by the time of the cult of Osiris.
The story starts when a team of scientists, working on what will be a warp drive, cut a hole in reality. The Goddess on the left of the picture, Bastet sneaks in and occupies one of the scientists – after she (the scientist) is nearly killed in a lab accident.
Unfortunately, creating a warp attracts the unwanted attention of real aliens, who are bent on bringing Earth into their empire. Not as equals, mind you, more as cattle.
It doesn’t help that excavations on the underground release another ancient horror.
September 6, 2016
A Visit to the Asylum (School’s started)
Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950
Once from a big, big building,
When I was small, small,
The queer folk in the windows
Would smile at me and call.
And in the hard wee gardens
Such pleasant men would hoe:
“Sir, may we touch the little girl’s hair!”—
It was so red, you know.
They cut me coloured asters
With shears so sharp and neat,
They brought me grapes and plums and pears
And pretty cakes to eat.
And out of all the windows,
No matter where we went,
The merriest eyes would follow me
And make me compliment.
There were a thousand windows,
All latticed up and down.
And up to all the windows,
When we went back to town,
The queer folk put their faces,
As gentle as could be;
“Come again, little girl!” they called, and I
Called back, “You come see me!”
The madhouse of university instruction has started again. Idiot administrators, daft students, and struggling faculty. I’m counting the days.
September 3, 2016
The Art of Deception 30
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Mr Spode took Lucy and Alice for a ride. His, and their, plan was to provide a distraction to cover a room search. They’ve reached the monument and are on the way back when Alice discovers her horse isn’t quite as suitable for young ladies and invalids as she thought.
Her mare, realizing that this was now the return journey and that she was in front, took off; first at a trot, then a canter and finally, when a dog from one of the farms by the lane barked at her, a full-fledged gallop; Alice was no mean horsewoman, but riding a bolting horse is never easy or enjoyable.
Fortunately, a man who was riding a horse uphill in front of her, realized what was happening and urged his horse to the rescue; as she bolted past him, he galloped along her left side and by urging his horse to turn to the right eventually forced the two animals into a field; they circled, in successively smaller circles, until her mare calmed.
Finally able to look up from trying to control her mare, Alice turned to thank her saviour, “Mr Stanton! What are you doing here? I thought you were ill.”
“Well, I have felt better, but a change of air seemed an excellent idea; I remembered that your party was bound for the monument and decided to seek your company.”
“I’m glad you found me,” Alice was still a little breathless, “I’m not sure what I would have done.”
“You were holding your own; I haven’t seen such a fine display of horsemanship in a long while.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
You may wonder how Roderick could arrange for Alice’s slug of a horse to bolt. It’s not as if he could put corundum powder on the steering gear (as in an Inspector Foyle story) or let most of the petrol out of the tank as Jeeves does in “the old school chum.” He couldn’t arrange for the horse specifically to bolt, but he could ensure that there would be some crisis or another by “figging” or “gingering up” the horse. Figging is an old horse cooper’s trick where an irritant is shoved up the horse’s backside. It gives the animal the appearance of spirit and was used to pass off an old or sick animal as healthy. Needless to say, it is unethical and cruel. People still occasionally try it in dressage where the conformation of the horse’s tail is important. It’s also, apparently, a common practice in BDSM – at least to judge from what I found when I searched for a relevant illustration. Roderick only uses it because he believes he is chasing a French spy – a serious matter. After all, she’d do the same, or worse, to him if she had the chance.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
September 2, 2016
Patty’s Promos strike again.
Neither Amelia nor I are in this one, but it’s worth a look despite (or perhaps because) of that.
August 30, 2016
Linux is 25.
Missed the anniversary by a few days, (august 20 or so), but Linux is 25!
We’ve used it since 1995. It forms the backbone of the internet – even Microsoft’s cloud computing and web services run on Linux.
August 27, 2016
Amelia’s latest
Another installment of our work. Exploring writing horror. It’s harder than regency romance. If we put together all the stuff we’ve deleted on the way, it would be 70,000 words. As it is, 36000 right now.
The Art of Deception 29
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week Lucy received an invitation to go for a ride. In a 1920’s gangster book that would seem a tad sinister, but this is just on horses, properly chaperoned, and to a civil war monument. They’ve decided this is an excellent opportunity for Miss Aldershot to investigate the men’s rooms at the Pelican. Unfortunately, Mr Stanton is ill, the sausage having disagreed with him.
Alice’s frustration with her horse showed, “I see these are gentle beasts, suitable for young ladies and other invalids.”
Edward smiled, “It will leave us with the time for conversation, and I should never forgive myself if Miss Haytor’s mount should bolt.”
“Thank you for considering my comfort.”
“These slugs, bolt? Not likely.” Alice was still not amused with the horses; her mare spotted a stray cur and sidled with a loud snort of displeasure; she pulled its reins and the horse quieted, “At least this one shows a little spirit.” She glanced at the groom, “but no manners.”
He ignored her.
After they had ridden off, a plainly dressed, middle-aged woman left the Christopher, bound for the Pelican; on the way she passed a rather good looking, similarly disguised, man heading the opposite direction; neither one of them noticed the other.
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
An enquiry after stretchit in Gloucestershire.Having women ride astride is a very common error in historical films. Women generally rode sidesaddle. There were practical reasons for this as what the English call “pants” weren’t worn by the gentle gender. They did have leggings and stockings, but wore something closer to a suspender belt than modern undergarments. (for what it’s worth men wore something much like a cross between modern swimming trunks and “boxers”, with a drawstring and without the mesh inside.) Personally, the few times I’ve been on horseback I’ve been very glad to have both feet in stirrups and able to grab the horses’ back between my knees. I can’t imagine what it was like to sit sideways. The young lady in the cartoon is “fast” and the Tar knows it. The featured image shows what could be done, if you had the guts.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
August 20, 2016
The Art of Deception 28
or Pride and Extreme Prejudice
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week the two men discussed Lucy and Alice as they trudged back to the Pelican for a supper of dubious sausages washed down with excellent beer. Their discussion has borne fruit this week when Lucy receives an invitation for an excursion.
A message awaited Miss Haytor when she awoke Tuesday, “Mr Spode invites her and a companion, to ride with him and Mr Stanton; perhaps to see the Grenville monument, but certainly to take some exercise in the fresh air, away from the smells and smoke of Bath.”
“Could we?”
Miss Aldershot studied Lucinda, “What else does it say?”
“Merely that if riding were out of the question, he could hire a chariot; failing that, he’d meet us at the Bath; I should so like to ride.”
She stalled for time to think, “What do you think Alice?”
“It would get the two of them away from the Pelican; I’d be happy to, um, investigate their rooms while they are … detained by other activities.”
Martha smiled, “That is an idea, but no; I think it best, Alice, that I investigate your friends; you’ll enjoy the ride far more than I ever could and that dashing Mr Stanton won’t be tempted to cry off if you’re there.”
“If you insist.”
“I do, besides people are far less likely to remember a frumpy old maid poking around the Pelican than a pretty young thing like you.”
Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.
My apologies for creative punctuation.
The monument as it looks today.Sir Bevill Grenville fought for the royalists at the battle of Landsdown during the English civil war. The parliamentarian army camped on the hill overlooking Bath. Sir Bevill died, leading his regiment of Cornish pikemen, in fierce hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, for the royalists that is, they lost. This battle was one of several turning points in the civil war. Had the royalists won, they would have held onto the southwest. His good friend, the poet William Cartwright – who would also die fighting for the royal side, wrote the elegy that is inscribed on the column.
This was not Nature’s courage nor that thing,
We valour call which Time and Reason bring,
But a diviner fury fierce and high,
Valour transported into Ecstasy.
Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.
I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere This is a fun read.
Frankenkitty is available.
What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.
A household tip (from the UK).
Nothing profound in this one, not even a pretty picture.
One difference between the UK and the land of the free is the use of body wash instead of soap. It’s actually a European trend that has gradually spread west. Darn EU. Body wash is sort of like shampoo, but uses coarser detergents (typically Sodium Lauryl Sulfate or Sodium Dodecyl Sulfate) and has fewer conditioners and scents.
In the UK I’m partial to the cheapest Tesco value product (blue coloured and 50p a bottle). A bottle lasts my boys and me almost two weeks, which is pretty good value (my wife still prefers soap). This time, after returning to the USA, I tried to find a similar product. Ivory makes one that’s 97 cents at Walmart.
You may ask “So what?”
It turns out the detergents are excellent at lifting soap scum. Soaps are sodium and potassium salts of organic acids – for example Sodium Laurate. As such they form coordination complexes with ions in the water, especially calcium, which precipitate into a hard, insoluble and scummy substance. It’s a real nuisance. The sulfate-based detergents don’t do this, and even better solubilize the scum.
