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Dec. 7th, 2007 09:36 pmI walked through the thunderstorm today and it was really lovely.
I came home and realised that one reason I've felt all sick this week was possibly humidity so I put my aircon on for a full half hour and looked outside and lo, it had created me a swimming pool. Instead of going swimming, I wrote some novel (since I no longer felt sick) then I talked about it with my niece, who has very firm ideas on how many people my main character should murder and why.
My mother has even firmer ideas. She says that the ideal number is three. When I'm in Melbourne I watch detectivey stuff with her on TV and she counts the murders and when it gets to three she gives a vast sigh of satisfaction.
My other niece was torn in two while she was camping, because she only had enough money for one book (oh, the tragedy!) and had to choose between a Trudi Canavan and a Simon Haynes. (I ought to apologise to both of you, but I am a cruel aunt and simply laughed at her dilemma.) She decided that Hal Spacejock was more suitable for camping.
This post was brought to you by a strangely abstracted brain and fourth night Chanukah. Also by fried food. Speaking of which, I have some cheese thingies to experiment with. I must commune with my kitchen.
I came home and realised that one reason I've felt all sick this week was possibly humidity so I put my aircon on for a full half hour and looked outside and lo, it had created me a swimming pool. Instead of going swimming, I wrote some novel (since I no longer felt sick) then I talked about it with my niece, who has very firm ideas on how many people my main character should murder and why.
My mother has even firmer ideas. She says that the ideal number is three. When I'm in Melbourne I watch detectivey stuff with her on TV and she counts the murders and when it gets to three she gives a vast sigh of satisfaction.
My other niece was torn in two while she was camping, because she only had enough money for one book (oh, the tragedy!) and had to choose between a Trudi Canavan and a Simon Haynes. (I ought to apologise to both of you, but I am a cruel aunt and simply laughed at her dilemma.) She decided that Hal Spacejock was more suitable for camping.
This post was brought to you by a strangely abstracted brain and fourth night Chanukah. Also by fried food. Speaking of which, I have some cheese thingies to experiment with. I must commune with my kitchen.