Gillian Polack's Blog, page 53
October 5, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-10-06T02:45:00
The booklaunch went well, though there were no books present due to a problem with the printer's delivery system. The books are in Canberra, somewhere and will appear soon, we're told.
Several people came to the rescue when my publisher found out that there was a major delivery error. KJ Bishop retooled my bookplates, for instance, so that everyone who purchased a book at the launch could still have my signature and personal inscription (it's the lovely design by Kathleen Jennings, but with a little more space for writing) and also cut up a bunch of honeycake to feed the thwarted masses. Griff printed out copies of the cover, so that everyone could see what they would get and how gorgeous it is. Satalyte arranged for everyone who purchased a paper copy to get an e-copy at once, so that they can read when they want to, rather than waiting for the printer's delivery service to behave. I donated a book from my library for a raffle* and Satalyte donated a book from their catalogue and an e-book for the raffle. And everyone handled the whole thing with good humour and much grace.
And so my novel is launched.
Of course by now you're tired of this link, but just in case you want a copy, here it is, one more time this week: http://satalyte.com.au/product/langue-dot-doc-1305-gillian-polack/
I was chatting with a few other con-goers later in the day (more than one group, in fact - today was a day of much chatting) and we reminded each other to remind everyone we knew that the more people who review small press books on Goodreads and Amazon and other crucial places, the more small press books will be seen. We talked about the numbers and how they operated and that it's more important to be reviewed than for someone to like the novel.
We realised corporately that it's quite crucial to remind people that this is true for all small press books, not just the ones launched this weekend at Conflux: given the changes in the world of books, personal reviews by private citizens can keep a small press afloat by helping their books be seen and noticed.
These discussions were very interesting by-products of the launch and, I think, an important reason for maintaining the whole notion of celebration of books through public events such as launches. If celebrations encourage readers to blog and to review and to talk in public about books, then we're all the better for them.
I found it amusing, that I told two different groups of people "Write about all books, not just the one you just bought" (which was mine, of course) and "It matters far more that you review the books than if you review them favourably." Someone admitted it made a difference that I wouldn't hold a negative review against them, when I explained I see reviewers reviewing the book not the writer and that I didn't enjoy negatives but they didn't change my opinion of the reviewer. It's true, though. Of course I prefer favourable reviews, but I'd rather have honest ones for they help lead the right readers towards the right books. This is one reason I love fanzines (as some of you know) - their very nature means that I can assess a review according to the personality of a reviewer and work out if I want to read a book. If it works for me, then it works for my books. This means that I'm guilty of telling potential reviewers to write and be damned, if they're writing about my books. This won't stop me hoping most people will enjoy my writing, for I'm not perverse, just honest.
Being honest, I'll admit I'm up late due to a bit of a weather change. More information on this you possibly don't need.
*They have a second book from my library which will appear when the time is ripe
Several people came to the rescue when my publisher found out that there was a major delivery error. KJ Bishop retooled my bookplates, for instance, so that everyone who purchased a book at the launch could still have my signature and personal inscription (it's the lovely design by Kathleen Jennings, but with a little more space for writing) and also cut up a bunch of honeycake to feed the thwarted masses. Griff printed out copies of the cover, so that everyone could see what they would get and how gorgeous it is. Satalyte arranged for everyone who purchased a paper copy to get an e-copy at once, so that they can read when they want to, rather than waiting for the printer's delivery service to behave. I donated a book from my library for a raffle* and Satalyte donated a book from their catalogue and an e-book for the raffle. And everyone handled the whole thing with good humour and much grace.
And so my novel is launched.
Of course by now you're tired of this link, but just in case you want a copy, here it is, one more time this week: http://satalyte.com.au/product/langue-dot-doc-1305-gillian-polack/
I was chatting with a few other con-goers later in the day (more than one group, in fact - today was a day of much chatting) and we reminded each other to remind everyone we knew that the more people who review small press books on Goodreads and Amazon and other crucial places, the more small press books will be seen. We talked about the numbers and how they operated and that it's more important to be reviewed than for someone to like the novel.
We realised corporately that it's quite crucial to remind people that this is true for all small press books, not just the ones launched this weekend at Conflux: given the changes in the world of books, personal reviews by private citizens can keep a small press afloat by helping their books be seen and noticed.
These discussions were very interesting by-products of the launch and, I think, an important reason for maintaining the whole notion of celebration of books through public events such as launches. If celebrations encourage readers to blog and to review and to talk in public about books, then we're all the better for them.
I found it amusing, that I told two different groups of people "Write about all books, not just the one you just bought" (which was mine, of course) and "It matters far more that you review the books than if you review them favourably." Someone admitted it made a difference that I wouldn't hold a negative review against them, when I explained I see reviewers reviewing the book not the writer and that I didn't enjoy negatives but they didn't change my opinion of the reviewer. It's true, though. Of course I prefer favourable reviews, but I'd rather have honest ones for they help lead the right readers towards the right books. This is one reason I love fanzines (as some of you know) - their very nature means that I can assess a review according to the personality of a reviewer and work out if I want to read a book. If it works for me, then it works for my books. This means that I'm guilty of telling potential reviewers to write and be damned, if they're writing about my books. This won't stop me hoping most people will enjoy my writing, for I'm not perverse, just honest.
Being honest, I'll admit I'm up late due to a bit of a weather change. More information on this you possibly don't need.
*They have a second book from my library which will appear when the time is ripe
October 4, 2014
Twas the night before booklaunch and all through the house... was the scent of honey cake
I'm sneaking in late at night (very late, for we're about to lose an hour due to daylight savings) for the awesome and amazing KJ Bishop has been troubleshooting for me. Other friends are troubleshooting elsewhere. The results are that the book launch now has much specialness despite interesting things going wrong today. How interesting? Wait and see, for I won't know until tomorrow. My amazing and awesome publisher is also troubleshooting, you see. Loads of troubleshooting! The bottom line is that the launch is going to be seriously cool no matter what. It has honey cake and it has bookplates, for one thing. And a reading. Mustn't forget teh reading, since I'm the one who will be doing that bit.
I'm had a quiet day and I needed it. I might have to schedule a few more quiet days from time to time. I was complaining tonight that I was tired, but I was gently reminded that I worked 18 hours a day before I left for Europe, travelled for five weeks, and haven't stopped working since I got back (until today - quiet days are magical and rare).
Dinner was lovely. We dipped apple in honey and ate chicken soup, and butternut pumpkin/apple soup, and two types of roast chicken legs (one with Finnish spicing and one with lemon), and green chickpeas in salsa, and mashed potatoes, and the sauerkraut Milena taught me in Zagreb, and roast potato, and green salad, and grated heritage carrots marinated in lemon and orange and ginger. Dessert was my grandmother's honey cake plus 8 different types of chocolate, pfeffernusse and a kir made of Aussie sparkling chardonnay with cloudberry liqueur. Everyone's dietary limitations were respected and we all overate and each dish was for me a reminder of people I love and it was all eaten in the company of other people I love. It was probably the best breaking-of-fast ever. I might have to do this again...
I'm had a quiet day and I needed it. I might have to schedule a few more quiet days from time to time. I was complaining tonight that I was tired, but I was gently reminded that I worked 18 hours a day before I left for Europe, travelled for five weeks, and haven't stopped working since I got back (until today - quiet days are magical and rare).
Dinner was lovely. We dipped apple in honey and ate chicken soup, and butternut pumpkin/apple soup, and two types of roast chicken legs (one with Finnish spicing and one with lemon), and green chickpeas in salsa, and mashed potatoes, and the sauerkraut Milena taught me in Zagreb, and roast potato, and green salad, and grated heritage carrots marinated in lemon and orange and ginger. Dessert was my grandmother's honey cake plus 8 different types of chocolate, pfeffernusse and a kir made of Aussie sparkling chardonnay with cloudberry liqueur. Everyone's dietary limitations were respected and we all overate and each dish was for me a reminder of people I love and it was all eaten in the company of other people I love. It was probably the best breaking-of-fast ever. I might have to do this again...
October 3, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-10-03T17:31:00
To those who keep the fast, have a good one. To everyone, may you be inscribed in all the best books this year.
I'll see you all on the far side, probably on the very far side, after the booklaunch.
I'll see you all on the far side, probably on the very far side, after the booklaunch.
October 2, 2014
The calm before the calm before the storm: Coundown to Langue[dot]doc 1305 Day 2
Today is your last countdown post before my book comes out. Countdown will skip a day due to Yom Kippur. I know - bad author! Except that the wonderful Helen Stubbs has interviewed me about the book and about various other things and that will be on her blog tomorrow. You'll find it here, then: http://helenstubbs.wordpress.com/
One last thing before I get to the interesting stuff, my novel is now available on pre-order (which I forgot to say, earlier). You can find it here.
Today's stories worth reading are Medieval. In a perfect world, I would be giving you Clemence of Barking and other fine authors of saints' tales, or maybe my favourite Middle French poetry, for both are relevant to my novel, but Clemence is hard to obtain and that made me think that it might be more polite to give you something in a language you can certainly read rather than in a language that only a few of you read. It's a shame, though, because Clemence's Life of St Catherine is cool. Or something interesting, anyhow.
It's another work I haven't read for so long I've half-forgotten it and that requires a re-read. I meant to re-read it for my novel, but it turned out that my historian's academic specialisation was not something the scientists cared about so no-one even asked her who Clemence of Barking is, so the saint remains a mystery in the story and so I had no excuse for my re-read. One of the reasons I made my historian an expert in Clemence of Barking was for an excuse to read all the modern literature on Anglo-Norman hagiography (on which I'm not an expert), so it all went a bit awry. I could have just shoved in everything I knew about everything and found excuses that way, but that would have been such a different type of novel and much less fun for everyone. Except Clemence of Barking, who has missed her moment in the sun. Come to think of it, a sulk by Richard I gets more time than the Life of St Catharine. So does an astrolabe that no-one can use. Life is not fair sometimes.
To get back to the readable-in-English, this is one of my favourite sites for Medieval texts: http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams I've been using it recently for versions of Robin Hood (there is no Robin Hood in Langue[dot]doc 1305 but here's some for you anyway) and it has some gorgeous Arthurian material. Speaking of which, here's the Alliterative Arthur (for I am in a mood for alliteration). Also almost entirely unrelated to my novel are the magic and occasionally bawdy stories of Eustache the Monk.
If anyone wants to know the sources I actually did use for my novel, I've got a list of a lot of them (not all, but close enough) and would be happy to put it up under a cut. I'd put it up on my webpage, but the webpage is in passive mode right now, for it's going to change entirely at the end of the year. If you say "please, I want!" before Kol Nidre I might be able to put it up before Yom Kippur and give you your Day One post anyhow.
One last thing before I get to the interesting stuff, my novel is now available on pre-order (which I forgot to say, earlier). You can find it here.
Today's stories worth reading are Medieval. In a perfect world, I would be giving you Clemence of Barking and other fine authors of saints' tales, or maybe my favourite Middle French poetry, for both are relevant to my novel, but Clemence is hard to obtain and that made me think that it might be more polite to give you something in a language you can certainly read rather than in a language that only a few of you read. It's a shame, though, because Clemence's Life of St Catherine is cool. Or something interesting, anyhow.
It's another work I haven't read for so long I've half-forgotten it and that requires a re-read. I meant to re-read it for my novel, but it turned out that my historian's academic specialisation was not something the scientists cared about so no-one even asked her who Clemence of Barking is, so the saint remains a mystery in the story and so I had no excuse for my re-read. One of the reasons I made my historian an expert in Clemence of Barking was for an excuse to read all the modern literature on Anglo-Norman hagiography (on which I'm not an expert), so it all went a bit awry. I could have just shoved in everything I knew about everything and found excuses that way, but that would have been such a different type of novel and much less fun for everyone. Except Clemence of Barking, who has missed her moment in the sun. Come to think of it, a sulk by Richard I gets more time than the Life of St Catharine. So does an astrolabe that no-one can use. Life is not fair sometimes.
To get back to the readable-in-English, this is one of my favourite sites for Medieval texts: http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams I've been using it recently for versions of Robin Hood (there is no Robin Hood in Langue[dot]doc 1305 but here's some for you anyway) and it has some gorgeous Arthurian material. Speaking of which, here's the Alliterative Arthur (for I am in a mood for alliteration). Also almost entirely unrelated to my novel are the magic and occasionally bawdy stories of Eustache the Monk.
If anyone wants to know the sources I actually did use for my novel, I've got a list of a lot of them (not all, but close enough) and would be happy to put it up under a cut. I'd put it up on my webpage, but the webpage is in passive mode right now, for it's going to change entirely at the end of the year. If you say "please, I want!" before Kol Nidre I might be able to put it up before Yom Kippur and give you your Day One post anyhow.
Coundown to Langue[dot]doc 1305 Day 3
Four things for you today, because I remembered them and wanted to share. Four from my childhood and teens, for I am in reminiscing mode
1. Margaret Cavendish and her novel: an argument and also her writing in all its glory.
2. The book by the Abbott I prefer to read. Flatland - I'm long due for re-read.
3. A book that I (oddly) have only in French. CL Moore translates very nicely, thank you, but I do need to obtain a copy of the original, one day. Here's the short story that gives the volume its title.
4. Lewis Carroll and his puzzles were an important part of my childhood. I may have been a bit mathematically-inclined as a pre-teen. High school taught me otherwise, but at least until I was a teenager I had these puzzles and Martin Gardner and all.
1. Margaret Cavendish and her novel: an argument and also her writing in all its glory.
2. The book by the Abbott I prefer to read. Flatland - I'm long due for re-read.
3. A book that I (oddly) have only in French. CL Moore translates very nicely, thank you, but I do need to obtain a copy of the original, one day. Here's the short story that gives the volume its title.
4. Lewis Carroll and his puzzles were an important part of my childhood. I may have been a bit mathematically-inclined as a pre-teen. High school taught me otherwise, but at least until I was a teenager I had these puzzles and Martin Gardner and all.
October 1, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-10-02T11:24:00
Sometimes seasons change in annoying ways. That's what's happening this week. We're getting Spring...annoyingly.
Last night, too, we (in Canberra) were finally gifted with the temperature drop that the more southerly bits of Oz received earlier. Because it came at night, it was more than the eight degrees they had to endure (multiply it by two and a bit, in fact) and the whole combination led to a rather glorious night of intermittent breathing. It also went down to -2, which I regard as a bit evil-minded of our climate. We ought to be in the middle of Spring already!
Whenever I had to sit up for long periods, I did more of things-that-must-be-done, and so I'm caught up with all but one of the things I didn't quite do yesterday. I shall steadily much away at the next load of tasks and - body willing - be caught up on yesterday and today by tonight. Things suddenly got way busy (even for me, again) and falling behind isn't an option until the rush is passed. By 'busy', there's a possibility of another pinhole in the box that houses Schroedinger's Gillian. I'll let you know when it has been made public. I also have a new blogpost to write, once a month, for The History Girls. You can imagine that I'm totally chuffed about this latter and am going to get off my own blog and start work on my November post for them forthwith.
ETA: Idiots are rife today. I'm hoping they'll fade now it's lunchtime.
Last night, too, we (in Canberra) were finally gifted with the temperature drop that the more southerly bits of Oz received earlier. Because it came at night, it was more than the eight degrees they had to endure (multiply it by two and a bit, in fact) and the whole combination led to a rather glorious night of intermittent breathing. It also went down to -2, which I regard as a bit evil-minded of our climate. We ought to be in the middle of Spring already!
Whenever I had to sit up for long periods, I did more of things-that-must-be-done, and so I'm caught up with all but one of the things I didn't quite do yesterday. I shall steadily much away at the next load of tasks and - body willing - be caught up on yesterday and today by tonight. Things suddenly got way busy (even for me, again) and falling behind isn't an option until the rush is passed. By 'busy', there's a possibility of another pinhole in the box that houses Schroedinger's Gillian. I'll let you know when it has been made public. I also have a new blogpost to write, once a month, for The History Girls. You can imagine that I'm totally chuffed about this latter and am going to get off my own blog and start work on my November post for them forthwith.
ETA: Idiots are rife today. I'm hoping they'll fade now it's lunchtime.
Langue[dot]doc countdown
Very late, because I had a very welcome visitor this evening, I took my time about finding you something. What I found, first, was a file called "The Middle Ages."
"Looks good," thought I.
I opened it.
It contained three words: The Middle Ages.
It seemed such a shame that the shortest article I have ever written should go unpublished, so it's yours, tonight. The Middle Ages. Now published twice.
I could have given you one called "Ovens of Origin" but that was much longer and left far less to the imagination.
"Looks good," thought I.
I opened it.
It contained three words: The Middle Ages.
It seemed such a shame that the shortest article I have ever written should go unpublished, so it's yours, tonight. The Middle Ages. Now published twice.
I could have given you one called "Ovens of Origin" but that was much longer and left far less to the imagination.
gillpolack @ 2014-10-01T18:44:00
I've got my Aurealis reading pile down to ten books. It's a high pain day (third in a row) so I've used it to do easy things. In an hour I shall face the not-so-easy, because they can't really be put off past a certain point, and then I shall be pleased with the day's work. I might even have time for the countdown blogpost at that point. I just popped in though, to let
kaberett
know that the work-around means I'm catching up with my reading, which means it won't be a problem later on, when the books start to flood in. Thank you!
kaberett
know that the work-around means I'm catching up with my reading, which means it won't be a problem later on, when the books start to flood in. Thank you!
September 30, 2014
gillpolack @ 2014-10-01T09:47:00
The weather yesterday was a let-down. Lots of blowy wind before-hand, vast amounts of swirling pain. The actual change, with its temperature drop of eight degrees in a few minutes, hit south of me. That means, of course, I had all the pain without the relief, which I regard as Just Not Fair. It means I'm lowering and glowering today without much of an excuse. It also meant I had strange technolour dreams which were basically SF convention meets women's group meets superheroes. Just this once, I'm trying hard to forget the dreams - normally they entertain me or give me food for thought, but these were erratic and clueless (though amazingly full of colour, everything was saturated and hyper-real).
Today I have so much to do that I refuse to look at the whole. Instead I shall focus on the part and do one thing at a time. I'll do you the countdown post when I have at least 3 more things under control: it will be my reward for good behaviour.
Today I have so much to do that I refuse to look at the whole. Instead I shall focus on the part and do one thing at a time. I'll do you the countdown post when I have at least 3 more things under control: it will be my reward for good behaviour.
Langue[dot]doc 1305 Coundown 5 (bis)
Since my new novel involves time travel, then you are in need of time travel narratives, obviously. And, since the SF ofte has this unaccountable male bias, they are all by men. Your first challenge (should you choose to accept it) is to identify the works below: you can click through to them on Project Gutenberg to find out what they are - it's not a hard task. Your second task (which you really should accept, as a group) is to find the same number of freely available time travel narratives by women. They exist! Some of them are by rather well-known authors.
Here are your extracts, one for each day until the launch:
Foraminifera 9
Paptaste udderly, semped sempsemp dezhavoo, qued schmerz--Excuse me. I mean to say that it was like an endless diet of days, boring, tedious....
No, it loses too much in the translation. Explete my reasons, I say. Do my reasons matter? No, not to you, for you are troglodytes, knowing nothing of causes, understanding only acts. Acts and facts, I will give you acts and facts.
First you must know how I am called. My "name" is Foraminifera 9-Hart Bailey's Beam, and I am of adequate age and size. (If you doubt this, I am prepared to fight.) ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/22559/pg22559.txt )
But yesterday, a whole planet had shouted: “Hail Hradzka! Hail the Leader!” Today, they were screaming: “Death to Hradzka! Kill the tyrant!”
The Palace, where Hradzka, surrounded by his sycophants and guards, had lorded it over a solar system, was now an inferno. Those who had been too closely identified with the dictator's rule to hope for forgiveness were fighting to the last, seeking only a quick death in combat; one by one, their isolated points of resistance were being wiped out. The corridors and chambers of the huge palace were thronged with rebels, loud with their shouts, and with the rasping hiss of heat-beams and the crash of blasters, reeking with the stench of scorched plastic and burned flesh, of hot metal and charred fabric. The living quarters were overrun; the mob smashed down walls and tore up floors in search of secret hiding-places. They found strange things--the space-ship that had been built under one of the domes, in readiness for flight to the still-loyal colonies on Mars or the Asteroid Belt, for instance—but Hradzka himself they could not find. ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18460/pg18460.txt )
It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company--for he did all the talking. We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things which interested me. As he talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country; and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed to move among the specters and shadows and dust and mold of a gray antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round--and how old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry and musty and ancient he came to look as he went on! Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather, or any other common matter-- ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/86/pg86.txt )
One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walked from that place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there. Halfway down the precipitous path to the Pentargen beach he came suddenly upon a man sitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his face was wet with tears.
He glanced round at Isbister's footfall. Both men were disconcerted, Isbister the more so, and, to override the awkwardness of his involuntary pause, he remarked, with an air of mature conviction, that the weather was hot for the time of year.
"Very," answered the stranger shortly, hesitated a second, and added in a colourless tone, "I can't sleep." ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/12163/pg12163.txt )
My name is Greta Forzane. Twenty-nine and a party girl would describe me. I was born in Chicago, of Scandinavian parents, but now I operate chiefly outside space and time--not in Heaven or Hell, if there are such places, but not in the cosmos or universe you know either. (
http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32256/pg32256.txt )
PS We have Incoming Weather. Big Incoming Weather.
Here are your extracts, one for each day until the launch:
Foraminifera 9
Paptaste udderly, semped sempsemp dezhavoo, qued schmerz--Excuse me. I mean to say that it was like an endless diet of days, boring, tedious....
No, it loses too much in the translation. Explete my reasons, I say. Do my reasons matter? No, not to you, for you are troglodytes, knowing nothing of causes, understanding only acts. Acts and facts, I will give you acts and facts.
First you must know how I am called. My "name" is Foraminifera 9-Hart Bailey's Beam, and I am of adequate age and size. (If you doubt this, I am prepared to fight.) ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/22559/pg22559.txt )
But yesterday, a whole planet had shouted: “Hail Hradzka! Hail the Leader!” Today, they were screaming: “Death to Hradzka! Kill the tyrant!”
The Palace, where Hradzka, surrounded by his sycophants and guards, had lorded it over a solar system, was now an inferno. Those who had been too closely identified with the dictator's rule to hope for forgiveness were fighting to the last, seeking only a quick death in combat; one by one, their isolated points of resistance were being wiped out. The corridors and chambers of the huge palace were thronged with rebels, loud with their shouts, and with the rasping hiss of heat-beams and the crash of blasters, reeking with the stench of scorched plastic and burned flesh, of hot metal and charred fabric. The living quarters were overrun; the mob smashed down walls and tore up floors in search of secret hiding-places. They found strange things--the space-ship that had been built under one of the domes, in readiness for flight to the still-loyal colonies on Mars or the Asteroid Belt, for instance—but Hradzka himself they could not find. ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/18460/pg18460.txt )
It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company--for he did all the talking. We fell together, as modest people will, in the tail of the herd that was being shown through, and he at once began to say things which interested me. As he talked along, softly, pleasantly, flowingly, he seemed to drift away imperceptibly out of this world and time, and into some remote era and old forgotten country; and so he gradually wove such a spell about me that I seemed to move among the specters and shadows and dust and mold of a gray antiquity, holding speech with a relic of it! Exactly as I would speak of my nearest personal friends or enemies, or my most familiar neighbors, he spoke of Sir Bedivere, Sir Bors de Ganis, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, Sir Galahad, and all the other great names of the Table Round--and how old, old, unspeakably old and faded and dry and musty and ancient he came to look as he went on! Presently he turned to me and said, just as one might speak of the weather, or any other common matter-- ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/86/pg86.txt )
One afternoon, at low water, Mr. Isbister, a young artist lodging at Boscastle, walked from that place to the picturesque cove of Pentargen, desiring to examine the caves there. Halfway down the precipitous path to the Pentargen beach he came suddenly upon a man sitting in an attitude of profound distress beneath a projecting mass of rock. The hands of this man hung limply over his knees, his eyes were red and staring before him, and his face was wet with tears.
He glanced round at Isbister's footfall. Both men were disconcerted, Isbister the more so, and, to override the awkwardness of his involuntary pause, he remarked, with an air of mature conviction, that the weather was hot for the time of year.
"Very," answered the stranger shortly, hesitated a second, and added in a colourless tone, "I can't sleep." ( http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/12163/pg12163.txt )
My name is Greta Forzane. Twenty-nine and a party girl would describe me. I was born in Chicago, of Scandinavian parents, but now I operate chiefly outside space and time--not in Heaven or Hell, if there are such places, but not in the cosmos or universe you know either. (
http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/32256/pg32256.txt )
PS We have Incoming Weather. Big Incoming Weather.
