the third act
Six hours and one frustrating novel later, normality is restored.
Yeah, I got brave enough to call the Aunt, discover she knows nothing of circuit boards either, and go flip the switch while she stayed on the phone. Amid visions of the house bursting into flame, me toppling off the stool, breaking legs and arms*, aye I restored power myself. Ooh, how brave we are.
City of Masks by Daniel Hecht was read in the interim. There were groans and howls of anguish cos the great trauma was so bloody damned obvious and the protagonists were taking forever to figure it out and the writing was tedious, over-explanatory and the bleeding obvious meta-fictive statements were repeated over and over again. As if he hadn't made the points strongly enough and twice already. Urgh. Wall, meet head. Lesson to be filed away for when writing own novel. Then in the third act, not one not two but three twists were hauled out and whammed straight between the eyes. Some grudging respect was therefore earned. Otherwise, I just yearn for Gaiman, Marshall Smith ...
... and Sheri S Tepper. I'm twenty-six pages into Six Moon Dance and laughing out loud cos she's so damned wonderful with the language, world invention and brilliant intellectualism. She's so damned funny and disturbingly true. Brilliant book so far and I'm so glad I'm actually getting it cos, wow, did The Fresco go way over my head. Yay for good writers!
Pizza tonight, I think, to celebrate my newfound self-sufficiency. I am invincible!
*Please to note that whenever dri attempts to fix things around the house, more damage than good is done.
Yeah, I got brave enough to call the Aunt, discover she knows nothing of circuit boards either, and go flip the switch while she stayed on the phone. Amid visions of the house bursting into flame, me toppling off the stool, breaking legs and arms*, aye I restored power myself. Ooh, how brave we are.
City of Masks by Daniel Hecht was read in the interim. There were groans and howls of anguish cos the great trauma was so bloody damned obvious and the protagonists were taking forever to figure it out and the writing was tedious, over-explanatory and the bleeding obvious meta-fictive statements were repeated over and over again. As if he hadn't made the points strongly enough and twice already. Urgh. Wall, meet head. Lesson to be filed away for when writing own novel. Then in the third act, not one not two but three twists were hauled out and whammed straight between the eyes. Some grudging respect was therefore earned. Otherwise, I just yearn for Gaiman, Marshall Smith ...
... and Sheri S Tepper. I'm twenty-six pages into Six Moon Dance and laughing out loud cos she's so damned wonderful with the language, world invention and brilliant intellectualism. She's so damned funny and disturbingly true. Brilliant book so far and I'm so glad I'm actually getting it cos, wow, did The Fresco go way over my head. Yay for good writers!
Pizza tonight, I think, to celebrate my newfound self-sufficiency. I am invincible!
*Please to note that whenever dri attempts to fix things around the house, more damage than good is done.