"You've broken all my windows and ran through all my doors..."

And now for an update, some dithering, and musing on the language of beginnings.

Last week was busy, my attention has suddenly been commandeered by a side project, leaving knitting, spinning, and everything else to waste away in baskets. Thursday I met with luminatte and a friend of hers for dinner in the village. It was a wonderful evening, the food was excellent, the wine flowed freely and the conversation was an instant connection, as if we'd known each other for ages. Four hours flew by, leaving me wishing it could have lasted for days. Friday we left for Philadelphia, for our annual visit to the Flower show on Sunday. Saturday afternoon was lunch on South Street with Matt (Hi!) who hasn't changed a bit in the last 8 years, at least not physically. Mentally, he seems both calmer an more cynical at the same time, but no more than I'd come to expect. Time with him is always relaxed, I've known him since I was 16 years old, and we understand each other in a way only people who've been through that much time together could. Sunday was the Flower show...Odd. Not as good as previous years, it seemed smaller, with less exhibits. The vendor area seemed smaller too, but the biggest shock was how deeply discounted everything was. We always go on the last day to get the end of show discounts, but this year was even cheaper than last year. That and the light crowd on a day it's usually utterly packed pointed quite clearly at how the economy is affecting Philadelphia. Due to the discounts, I cleaned up, getting tons of plants for the new garden. Alpine strawberries (2), German Chamomile (2), Mesculn (2), Indigo, Calendula (2), Lavender, Thyme, Marjoram, Oregano, Basil, Lemon Balm, Lemon Verbena, Spinach (4, tiny), Catnip, and a jasmine ring topiairy. Also several types of heirloom tomato, pepper, and garlic seeds, some brackets to hang pots with, some tea, and an ikebana vase for Sir. He only bought a bonsai for himself, a big Double White Snow Rose, covered in buds. I also got a catalog from my father froma nursery having a huge sale - I might be able to get several container suitable fruit trees for free - orange, key lime, pomegranete and fig. Oh, and a container blueberry shrub. The trees won't fruit for a few years, but still, how cool is that?

All in all, a good weekend, but it felt even better to come home.

This project I'm working on...I'm a little reticent about it, because it's deeply personal to me. Some background - while I'm doing needlework or spinning, Sir reads to me. We've been alternating between the chronicles of Amber and Raymond E Feist's Midkemia novels, and I seem to vastly prefer the latter. Sir is an accomplished roleplayer, and has a great talent for doing voices, which adds wonderfully to the stories. We just finished the first of the Serpent War books, and there's one character that I had *loathed* in the beginning, but as the story progressed, I developed a...particular fondness for. (stop laughing. some women get crushes on miovie stars, I get them on fictional characters. I said stop laughing!:)) Having a good bit of experience with roleplaying myself, the two of us played out some time between that character and one of mine that I'd adjusted to fit the setting. It went all right, but then I had a sudden flash of inspiration - I began to write about that character and mine, set in Feists' world, but with a plot of my own...for certain values of plot, really. It's pretty much entirely character driven.

I feel really shy about this for some reason. I've never written 'fanfiction' before, but I know some people on my friends list do, and from what I've read, I'm breaking quite a few rules. I'm as respectful of the world and canonical characters as possible, but the female lead is a blatant "Mary Sue" (blushes) in my defense, though, she's a very normal woman, rather than some ungodly powerful whatever, which I gather is rather unusual for a mary sue. I suppose I'm shy about it because I'm so invested in it...Not because of any particular pretensions to literary excellence, but the story I'm telling has captivated me. No one but Sir will ever see it, but it's often on my mind, as I dream up dialogue, situations, and so on.

A lot of the reason I'm so captivated is that I'm using these stories to try and teach myself the 'language of the middle'. I like beginnings, I love the tentative explorations, the delicacy, the intensity of emotion, the awareness of vulnerability, of risk. Middles...they're quiet. The day to day is water over a stone, wearing down the edges that capture the attention, washing out the bright colors, fading everything to muddied shades of grey. It's not all bad, really, oysters make pearls by a similar process, but it's so easy to let the day to day steal our attention, focusing ourselves on the dinner dishes, or the latest political news, rather than the way a lock of hair curls, or a hand moves with particular power and grace. Life makes demands in a roar, drowning ot that song on the radio that used to bring you to tears, or make you want to find your lover *right* *now* and drag them to the bedroom, or any other horizontal surface. Middles make me feel like relation, passion, has been replaced by habit, inertia. It scares me at the same time as it starves me.

So, I write. I write in a place of safety, where I can try out new ideas, try and see how a middle can still have peace without banking the fire down too much to see by. It's not easy, and it'll take me some time, but I'm trying to learn.