P.C. Hodgell's Blog, page 10
January 7, 2015
Orlando
On a happier note, next week Liz and I are flying down to Orlando for a few days. Besides Universal Studios (Harry Potter!) and SeaWorld, we're going on a swim-with-the-manatees trip into the Everglades and also on a horse back ride into an eco-reserve called Forever Florida. Oh, and Monday the 12th we're driving over to look at the Atlantic. It should be fun.
January 5, 2015
Countess
Thanks for all of your good wishes.
I was just out at the barn and Countess seemed more alert, in less pain. Besides Epsom salts and saurkraut, Marc had changed to a different antibotic (a sulfid?) and Faden has done a raki season. Also, I dreamed last night that she was improving, for what that's worth. We'll keep struggling with her. She's too nice a girl just to let go.
I rode Leon today and he was full of beans. There were moments of near panic -- is he about to run away with me? What if I fall again and break more bones? He didn't, though, and neither did I. It occurs to me that I've never engaged in a physical activity before that requires so much self-control, with such dire possible consequences. If a horse bolts, only the rider can stop him. One has to go from fear to calm immediately, in mind and body. I don't know if this will carry over into other crises. It does, though, give me a very visceral appreciation of what Jame experiences, riding Death's-head.
I was just out at the barn and Countess seemed more alert, in less pain. Besides Epsom salts and saurkraut, Marc had changed to a different antibotic (a sulfid?) and Faden has done a raki season. Also, I dreamed last night that she was improving, for what that's worth. We'll keep struggling with her. She's too nice a girl just to let go.
I rode Leon today and he was full of beans. There were moments of near panic -- is he about to run away with me? What if I fall again and break more bones? He didn't, though, and neither did I. It occurs to me that I've never engaged in a physical activity before that requires so much self-control, with such dire possible consequences. If a horse bolts, only the rider can stop him. One has to go from fear to calm immediately, in mind and body. I don't know if this will carry over into other crises. It does, though, give me a very visceral appreciation of what Jame experiences, riding Death's-head.
January 2, 2015
Happy New Year
And a Happy New Year to all.
Not so happy here, though, as the vet says we should put Countess down. Her hoof just isn't healing and she's terribly lame. He says it will simply rot. We've been soaking it in epsom salts and now in sourkraut, the last on the advice of a western vet via the cow-hand who took me on a ride over the back meadows at Sedona. When I was at the barn on Monday and she was standing in cross-ties, she started licking my hand, something she's never done before. Maybe she liked the salt of sweat. I'd like to think, though, that it was affection. I don't know what to do about her.
Another question, while I'm at it: did Jame ever tell Marc that she grew up in the Master's House?
Not so happy here, though, as the vet says we should put Countess down. Her hoof just isn't healing and she's terribly lame. He says it will simply rot. We've been soaking it in epsom salts and now in sourkraut, the last on the advice of a western vet via the cow-hand who took me on a ride over the back meadows at Sedona. When I was at the barn on Monday and she was standing in cross-ties, she started licking my hand, something she's never done before. Maybe she liked the salt of sweat. I'd like to think, though, that it was affection. I don't know what to do about her.
Another question, while I'm at it: did Jame ever tell Marc that she grew up in the Master's House?
November 22, 2014
Snippet
Yes, I've been quiet for awhile. The writing goes by fits and starts, but that's nothing new. I hope that, finally, I've gotten over the psychological backlash from last year's riding accident. Perhaps I just got unused to hard mental work, which writing is. My imagination just didn't seem to function properly for the longest time. Mind you, as soon as I hit another block, I'll probably be moaning again.
Stable news: Countess is still lame, but (finally) getting better. Meanwhile, two other horses in the barn have been poisoned by eating box-elder leaves pawed up from the snow. Usually, this will kill within a few days, but as they are still alive after a week, we have hopes for them, Odd, that vets have only recently recognized this danger.
Meanwhile, here's a belated trick-or-treat from the next novel:
Chapter 1: Gothregor
Spring 50 – Summer 15
I
Jame paused in the doorway of her brother’s tower study, blinking into the gloom. The room seemed empty, yet it breathed fitfully as the wind ebbed and flowed through it. In the open western window, up the chimney, through the doorway to the spiral stair in which she stood, out again, ahhhh …
Papers rustled on the desk. Embers flared on the hearth, the last of a fire set on this chill evening in late spring.
Perhaps I won’t have to face him just yet, she thought. Oh, first, for food, sleep, time …
“Tori?”
“Here.”
His voice came from the shadows near the window where he stood so still that her eyes had slipped over him. Back turned, hands clasped behind him, he was staring down into the inner ward, as perhaps he had been ever since she and her tired, hungry ten-command had ridden into Gothregor at dusk. Below, Brier Iron-thorn would be dismantling their little caravan, the cadets sent to dinner, their meager baggage to their new quarters, their mounts to the subterranean stable. The wind gusted again, bringing a grumble of thunder.
“So you’ve come at last,” he said.
“As you see.” Or would, she thought, if you turned around.
But he didn’t.
“I won’t ask if you had a pleasant journey. How is your shoulder?”
Jame flexed it, and winced. The broken collarbone would have healed by now if not for the past thirty-odd days in the saddle, despite Bel-tairi’s gentle gate. As for riding the rathorn Death’s-head, forget it.
“Never had a broken bone before, have you?” Harn Grip-hard had said. “Everything will seem worse than it is until you get used to it.”
Get used to it? Did one ever? Without considering the matter, she had always depended on her natural resilience and agility, if not her strength. Now she felt as fragile as spun glass, about to break. That, in turn, further shortened her temper.
“We made the best time we could,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “There were delays in Kothifir. Then it’s a long way north to the Riverland.”
“So I remember, having ridden it many times.”
Was he reminding her that, despite the fact that they were twins, he was at least ten years her senior? They had always been rivals, even as children, when they should have been equals, even friends. Now he was Lord Knorth and Highlord of the Kencyrath while she was only a second year randon cadet. The gap between them kept widening.
“I thought we had agreed,” she said, then bit her lip, vexed. She hadn’t meant to lash out so soon, if at all; sometimes, though, he made her so very angry, and she had waited a long time to tell him so.
Torisen’s shoulders twitched. “Agreed,” he said. “On what?”
“That I was to qualify as a randon officer, if I could, with your approval and support. But I have a year of training yet to go – if the Randon Council doesn’t kick me out, and they may. Your summons has cost me my last season at Kothifir.”
“From what Harn Grip-hard tells me, you caused quite enough trouble there with the time that you had.”
Jame choked back a retort. Dammit, that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t triggered the failure of the Kencyr temple, or the civic disorder that had followed, or the descent of the Karnid horde upon Kothifir. Things simply happened whenever she was around. Should she tell him that she was potentially one of the three Tyr-ridan expected for millennia by their people? Worse, she was a latent nemesis linked to That-Which-Destroys, the third face of their despised god. Even without trying, how could she help but cause trouble?
… some things need to be broken …
That was hard to explain, however, when standing up to one’s knees in rubble.
And Tori hadn’t helped matters by summoning her back to Gothregor prematurely.
Stable news: Countess is still lame, but (finally) getting better. Meanwhile, two other horses in the barn have been poisoned by eating box-elder leaves pawed up from the snow. Usually, this will kill within a few days, but as they are still alive after a week, we have hopes for them, Odd, that vets have only recently recognized this danger.
Meanwhile, here's a belated trick-or-treat from the next novel:
Chapter 1: Gothregor
Spring 50 – Summer 15
I
Jame paused in the doorway of her brother’s tower study, blinking into the gloom. The room seemed empty, yet it breathed fitfully as the wind ebbed and flowed through it. In the open western window, up the chimney, through the doorway to the spiral stair in which she stood, out again, ahhhh …
Papers rustled on the desk. Embers flared on the hearth, the last of a fire set on this chill evening in late spring.
Perhaps I won’t have to face him just yet, she thought. Oh, first, for food, sleep, time …
“Tori?”
“Here.”
His voice came from the shadows near the window where he stood so still that her eyes had slipped over him. Back turned, hands clasped behind him, he was staring down into the inner ward, as perhaps he had been ever since she and her tired, hungry ten-command had ridden into Gothregor at dusk. Below, Brier Iron-thorn would be dismantling their little caravan, the cadets sent to dinner, their meager baggage to their new quarters, their mounts to the subterranean stable. The wind gusted again, bringing a grumble of thunder.
“So you’ve come at last,” he said.
“As you see.” Or would, she thought, if you turned around.
But he didn’t.
“I won’t ask if you had a pleasant journey. How is your shoulder?”
Jame flexed it, and winced. The broken collarbone would have healed by now if not for the past thirty-odd days in the saddle, despite Bel-tairi’s gentle gate. As for riding the rathorn Death’s-head, forget it.
“Never had a broken bone before, have you?” Harn Grip-hard had said. “Everything will seem worse than it is until you get used to it.”
Get used to it? Did one ever? Without considering the matter, she had always depended on her natural resilience and agility, if not her strength. Now she felt as fragile as spun glass, about to break. That, in turn, further shortened her temper.
“We made the best time we could,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “There were delays in Kothifir. Then it’s a long way north to the Riverland.”
“So I remember, having ridden it many times.”
Was he reminding her that, despite the fact that they were twins, he was at least ten years her senior? They had always been rivals, even as children, when they should have been equals, even friends. Now he was Lord Knorth and Highlord of the Kencyrath while she was only a second year randon cadet. The gap between them kept widening.
“I thought we had agreed,” she said, then bit her lip, vexed. She hadn’t meant to lash out so soon, if at all; sometimes, though, he made her so very angry, and she had waited a long time to tell him so.
Torisen’s shoulders twitched. “Agreed,” he said. “On what?”
“That I was to qualify as a randon officer, if I could, with your approval and support. But I have a year of training yet to go – if the Randon Council doesn’t kick me out, and they may. Your summons has cost me my last season at Kothifir.”
“From what Harn Grip-hard tells me, you caused quite enough trouble there with the time that you had.”
Jame choked back a retort. Dammit, that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t triggered the failure of the Kencyr temple, or the civic disorder that had followed, or the descent of the Karnid horde upon Kothifir. Things simply happened whenever she was around. Should she tell him that she was potentially one of the three Tyr-ridan expected for millennia by their people? Worse, she was a latent nemesis linked to That-Which-Destroys, the third face of their despised god. Even without trying, how could she help but cause trouble?
… some things need to be broken …
That was hard to explain, however, when standing up to one’s knees in rubble.
And Tori hadn’t helped matters by summoning her back to Gothregor prematurely.
November 1, 2014
Yackcarn
D'uh. I just checked the combined texts and I do mention yackcarn bulls, although no one has ever seen one. That's all right, then.
tagmeth @ 2014-11-01T14:35:00
Many thanks for all of your suggestions re: leadership. They've given me a lot to think about. As I see it, there's going to be a conflict between Jame as a randon leader and Jame as a potential nemesis. In the first instance, she has to work with her followers; in the second, with Torisen and Kindrie as the other two of the Tyr-ridan and equals. Ultimately, the latter is more important than the former.
Another question: did I ever specifically mention the yackcarn bulls? I have their nature so clearly in my mind but can't find any reference to them in the novels.
Poor Countess continues to be painfully lame, despite the vet removing an abcess from her hoof this past week. We don't know what's going on.
Another question: did I ever specifically mention the yackcarn bulls? I have their nature so clearly in my mind but can't find any reference to them in the novels.
Poor Countess continues to be painfully lame, despite the vet removing an abcess from her hoof this past week. We don't know what's going on.
September 13, 2014
Leadership
Here's another call for suggestions.
A major part of this new novel has to do with Jame proving she is a leader. Someone mentioned that to date she hasn't done much team playing. True. Neither have I. I'm trying to think of ways she can demonstrate leadership besides keeping her people fed and protected.
A major part of this new novel has to do with Jame proving she is a leader. Someone mentioned that to date she hasn't done much team playing. True. Neither have I. I'm trying to think of ways she can demonstrate leadership besides keeping her people fed and protected.
September 5, 2014
Hello
It's been awhile since I last posted. Nothing terrible has happened, except that my traveling companion had to have back surgery, so we didn't get to London for the World SF Convention this summer. <Sigh> We're making plans for next year in Spokane WA, though.
Otherwise, I'm working on Novel 8. I know every book is hard, but with this one I'm just not getting much traction despite a slew of notes. I think I try too hard, and then choke up. Then too, readers are getting upset that Jame et al haven't made more progress. By the end of this one, they will definitely have moved forward, while the Kencyrath has moved back. The pieces for the conclusion are slowly taking shape. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that for her final year as a cadet Jame has to set up and maintain an independant keep in one of the Riverland ruins, so I'm researching what will be involved in that from a technical standpoint. Suggestions are welcome, as usual. Of course, a lot more will be going on with the plot. Maybe I can even retool "Stranger Blood." A visit to Tai-tastigon is apt to be in the next novel, though.
Below is my latest project, a crocheted hanging based on a photo of AZ's Coyote Butte, or maybe it was Antelope Canyon -- I can't seem to relocate the image. Anyway, besides seeing what I could do with a photograph, I wanted to try a largely warm palette with layered batting to give it depth. Not really a great photo of it, though.
Otherwise, I'm working on Novel 8. I know every book is hard, but with this one I'm just not getting much traction despite a slew of notes. I think I try too hard, and then choke up. Then too, readers are getting upset that Jame et al haven't made more progress. By the end of this one, they will definitely have moved forward, while the Kencyrath has moved back. The pieces for the conclusion are slowly taking shape. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that for her final year as a cadet Jame has to set up and maintain an independant keep in one of the Riverland ruins, so I'm researching what will be involved in that from a technical standpoint. Suggestions are welcome, as usual. Of course, a lot more will be going on with the plot. Maybe I can even retool "Stranger Blood." A visit to Tai-tastigon is apt to be in the next novel, though.
Below is my latest project, a crocheted hanging based on a photo of AZ's Coyote Butte, or maybe it was Antelope Canyon -- I can't seem to relocate the image. Anyway, besides seeing what I could do with a photograph, I wanted to try a largely warm palette with layered batting to give it depth. Not really a great photo of it, though.
June 22, 2014
Portland
Before I forget, I'm going to be in Portland OR July 21-31, helping a friend with health issues, an absent husband, and twins. Afterward, we're supposed to fly to London for worldcon in August, but that might not happen if Melinda has to have back surgery at that time. She's in a lot of pain.
Before that, another friend in Chicago also wants my company while her husband is away. She says a blond, blue-eyed specter keeps trying to get in bed with her, even when her husband is there. She's scared. It's not a nice ghosty. I'm supposed to validate this and protect her? Except for encounters with two Hotel 6 ghosts and a gnome in the garage, I'm pretty much supernaturally dense.
And now for something completely different ...
Last week I drove up to a fishery north of Green Bay and picked out ten beautiful little koi for the pond. I couldn't tell you their breeds, just the names I've given them so far: Ghost, Spirit, Angel, and Marlowe. The first two actually belong to earlier broods, among the ones I thought had been eaten. At first they all hid. Now they're out, but not yet eating, although there's algae in the pond for the quick snack. I'm determined to raise them right this time. Already one of them has gotten caught in a fountain flow and torn in half. Eek. I've since found and replaced the filter cover.
Still riding. The last few times Marc took Countess and I took Brassy around the perimeter of the farm. I would say they were pretty tame trail rides, except last week Brassy stumbled, fell to her knees, and pitched me over her head. She's about 28 years old. I landed on my head and shoulder, jolted but not hurt.
Before that, another friend in Chicago also wants my company while her husband is away. She says a blond, blue-eyed specter keeps trying to get in bed with her, even when her husband is there. She's scared. It's not a nice ghosty. I'm supposed to validate this and protect her? Except for encounters with two Hotel 6 ghosts and a gnome in the garage, I'm pretty much supernaturally dense.
And now for something completely different ...
Last week I drove up to a fishery north of Green Bay and picked out ten beautiful little koi for the pond. I couldn't tell you their breeds, just the names I've given them so far: Ghost, Spirit, Angel, and Marlowe. The first two actually belong to earlier broods, among the ones I thought had been eaten. At first they all hid. Now they're out, but not yet eating, although there's algae in the pond for the quick snack. I'm determined to raise them right this time. Already one of them has gotten caught in a fountain flow and torn in half. Eek. I've since found and replaced the filter cover.
Still riding. The last few times Marc took Countess and I took Brassy around the perimeter of the farm. I would say they were pretty tame trail rides, except last week Brassy stumbled, fell to her knees, and pitched me over her head. She's about 28 years old. I landed on my head and shoulder, jolted but not hurt.
June 3, 2014
Signing in Minneapolis
June 7 (Saturday) I will be signing books at Uncle Hugo's in Minneapolis from 1-2 pm.
Recently I recorded a podcast for the Baen Free Hour. Looking back, I think I babbled. Anyway, when they tell me when it's airing, I'll let you know.
I've put two batches of new fish in the pond, and they both seem to have disappeared. I think ducks got the first. Hopefully the second are hiding among the rocks. Due to fierce rain these past two days, the pond is over-flowing although not as badly as in the past, when fish swam through the grass.
Recently I recorded a podcast for the Baen Free Hour. Looking back, I think I babbled. Anyway, when they tell me when it's airing, I'll let you know.
I've put two batches of new fish in the pond, and they both seem to have disappeared. I think ducks got the first. Hopefully the second are hiding among the rocks. Due to fierce rain these past two days, the pond is over-flowing although not as badly as in the past, when fish swam through the grass.
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