all of my posts are about nano and work
Good heavens, my characters will not behave. I have just discovered to my horror that Mr Caruthers has shed ten years and gone and fallen in love with Evangeline. What on earth shall I do? (I hadn't planned to have any romance in this novel, drat it! Also, because I am apparently terrifically vain, I imagine my novels as though they are finished, published, and have at least a tiny fan following, and was envisioning the Evy/Mr Caruthers shippers with amusement, and the shipping wars that would go on between them and the Evy/her vampire lot.) Now I will be forced to find the confounded gentleman a Christian name; how vexing.
Furthermore, I was informed of this information after I had written most of the conversations between Evy and Mr Caruthers that will probably take place for several writing days -- the Plot Point is about to come up, although I really wanted it to happen at Christmas, and it's only November in my novelworld -- and so now I know that the dynamic ought to be somewhat different. Also one would judge Mr Caruthers, from his general speech, to be about EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS OLD. (Then again, Giles was, what, in his late thirties in S1?, and he totally sounded like he was fossilising into sixty.) -- Oh, hang it all, I think they're really sort of adorable. BUT YOU CANNOT SPRING THESE THINGS ON ME AT SUCH A LATE HOUR. YOU SIMPLY CANNOT. (Oh dear, he must have been terrifically broken up when they found Evy in a burning downstairs room full of vampires. SHUT UP BRAIN.)
The hilarious thing is that this realisation happened while I was at work this evening. When I get new ideas I tend to want to run around and flail and talk very excitedly to myself -- when I had the sudden burst of knowledge about Mr Caruthers = Giles, I ran outside and made circles around the house for a while. Of course at work I am in Public and cannot flail or talk to myself (very much): so I had to be very quiet and not skip or anything, although I did throw up my hands and sort of laugh, desperately.
Work: better, but not one of my favourite days. I had three customers in four hours. *facepalm* I know I will regret, when holiday season comes upon us, wishing so fervently for business to pick up, but hang it all, I wish business would pick up!! Fun observations: a young woman and her boyfriend walked by; the woman cried, "Look, T.J.: something better than Twilight, even!" and held up a Princess Bride calendar. (OH YES, I thought. ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE YOU, T.J.'S GIRLFRIEND.) Some teenaged boys walked past the kiosk, clearly -- um, how do I say "together" without having it sound as though they were gay? -- but both of them were on their cellphones. My love for human nature took a deathly plummet. (Not very much later, they came back -- talking to each other, but one of them was texting. ARGH.) And then this bloke came up to look at the calendars and said, upon seeing me: "You look like a modern-day librarian!" I think it was the glasses? (My contacts are going bad; I've ordered a fresh set, and am wearing my crimson horn-rimmed spectacles in the meantime.)
Also, they have moved Edward, thanks be to God. They stuck up the Jonas Brothers in his place, but they're on a magazine cover and, more importantly, not staring directly at me with icy fury in their bloodshot eyes. (Seriously, Wardo: I have not taken your stickers nor have I used the last of the Windex.) Mostly I do not notice them at all. I am much more comforted now.
Furthermore, I was informed of this information after I had written most of the conversations between Evy and Mr Caruthers that will probably take place for several writing days -- the Plot Point is about to come up, although I really wanted it to happen at Christmas, and it's only November in my novelworld -- and so now I know that the dynamic ought to be somewhat different. Also one would judge Mr Caruthers, from his general speech, to be about EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS OLD. (Then again, Giles was, what, in his late thirties in S1?, and he totally sounded like he was fossilising into sixty.) -- Oh, hang it all, I think they're really sort of adorable. BUT YOU CANNOT SPRING THESE THINGS ON ME AT SUCH A LATE HOUR. YOU SIMPLY CANNOT. (Oh dear, he must have been terrifically broken up when they found Evy in a burning downstairs room full of vampires. SHUT UP BRAIN.)
The hilarious thing is that this realisation happened while I was at work this evening. When I get new ideas I tend to want to run around and flail and talk very excitedly to myself -- when I had the sudden burst of knowledge about Mr Caruthers = Giles, I ran outside and made circles around the house for a while. Of course at work I am in Public and cannot flail or talk to myself (very much): so I had to be very quiet and not skip or anything, although I did throw up my hands and sort of laugh, desperately.
Work: better, but not one of my favourite days. I had three customers in four hours. *facepalm* I know I will regret, when holiday season comes upon us, wishing so fervently for business to pick up, but hang it all, I wish business would pick up!! Fun observations: a young woman and her boyfriend walked by; the woman cried, "Look, T.J.: something better than Twilight, even!" and held up a Princess Bride calendar. (OH YES, I thought. ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE YOU, T.J.'S GIRLFRIEND.) Some teenaged boys walked past the kiosk, clearly -- um, how do I say "together" without having it sound as though they were gay? -- but both of them were on their cellphones. My love for human nature took a deathly plummet. (Not very much later, they came back -- talking to each other, but one of them was texting. ARGH.) And then this bloke came up to look at the calendars and said, upon seeing me: "You look like a modern-day librarian!" I think it was the glasses? (My contacts are going bad; I've ordered a fresh set, and am wearing my crimson horn-rimmed spectacles in the meantime.)
Also, they have moved Edward, thanks be to God. They stuck up the Jonas Brothers in his place, but they're on a magazine cover and, more importantly, not staring directly at me with icy fury in their bloodshot eyes. (Seriously, Wardo: I have not taken your stickers nor have I used the last of the Windex.) Mostly I do not notice them at all. I am much more comforted now.