short story: Ink Devil

i'm gonna do this quick before i start blushing again.  this is the short story i mentioned in today's earlier post.  with apologies to Show Of Hands, who's song i nicked the title from.  really - my ink devil is nothing like theirs...


Ink Devil


Sunlight streamed through the high, dusty windows, as I idly wandered through the maze at the heart of this vast cathedral of knowledge and stories. I’d gone there because my ever-dwindling to-read pile had finally given up on me. I had tried going for walks, shopping, macramé, listening to music, drinking in front of the television’s flickering curse, but it was no good. I was twitching like a junkie needing a fix. Needing it badly. Oh, so badly.
So I headed for my temple. The place where all of the world, and so many things beyond, could be found gathered together in one magical place.
The cavernous building was ancient, and crumbling at the edges. It was so weathered, it resembled a sugar sculpture that had been left in a light mist for too long. God alone knows what its original purpose had been, or even how old it actually was. But it was old. And, to me, at least, it was beautiful.
The fierce sunlight drew odd half-seen shapes from the shadows cast by the barely recognisable but still disturbing gargoyles and statues that adorned its pocked and pitted walls. And it had beat down on my unprotected head as I had made my way there. By the time I arrived and walked through the gaping portico that adorned its entrance, slipping into the green-tinted shadows within, my head was beginning to ache, and my vision to become fuzzy.
I stopped for a moment in the marble-sheathed entrance hall, letting the cool atmosphere ease the aching of my head, and removing my sandals, so I could soothe my feet on the smooth floor. I stood, my back to a pillar, my eyes closed, breathing slowly.
Once I’d revived a little, I tucked my sandals behind the pillar. I did not intend to put them back on whilst I was in the library itself, nor did I wish to be juggling them with an armful of books.
People sometimes give me odd looks when I walk around barefoot in public. And, yes, slightly shamefaced, I will admit to occasionally doing it on purpose, just to see how many odd looks I can garner in a given amount of time. But mostly, I do it because I enjoy the feel of the world under my feet. The feel of rough tarmac, or stone worn smooth by centuries of foot traffic, or the endless wear of the sun, wind and rain. Or perhaps the feel of grass. Cool or warm, prickly or soft, dewy damp or crackling dry.
As I pushed through the dark, heavy wooden doors, and entered the library proper, my feet felt the change from cool marble to warm flagstones, and my nose twitched with the heavenly smell that greeted me.
Books.
The smell of thousands upon thousands of books, ancient and modern. The bindings, the glue, the paper, the ink. The absorbed and slowly-released odours of the places they had lain before finally coming here, to this vast and beautiful hall of words.
In the centre of this sacred place, there were row upon row of shelves, all crammed tightly with the stuff of my addiction. Around the walls there were black-painted iron bars, twisted into phantasmagorical shapes, guarding balconies groaning with more shelves. And in nooks and crannies, around corners, in small, secretive alcoves, more and yet more of the stuff of wonder. The still air was thick and heavy with almost-silence, muffled by the millions of pages contained between the covers. High, high overhead, the sunlight streamed down through thick, rippled, dusty glass, heating the air to a lazy temperature, motes dancing and swirling in the golden deluge. Stuffy, heavy and hot, the air in that cavern quickly pacified me to wandering in a daze through the stacks – causing me to drift along shelves and around corners, deeper and deeper into the heart of the library. Not really looking at the books I passed, merely trailing my fingers along their spines, feeling the texture shiver through my fingertips as I lightly brushed each binding.
Eventually, I drifted to a stop in a dead end. Even this did not bring me out of my reverie, merely caused me to halt by one shelf, and begin to stroke the bindings a little more slowly, feeling the substance of each one with more concentration than before.
Slowly, slowly, my fingers came to rest upon one in particular.
The binding was old, of soft leather. What was inside, I couldn’t tell, since whatever lettering that had been on there had been worn away by time and the caresses of countless hands.
But it felt...good. Special... Intriguing. My fingers tingled, just a little.
So I picked it out from amongst its fellows and, opening it randomly, began to read. The stories it contained – for it was a story book – were...absorbing. Strange tales full of even stranger creatures. And the lustful things they did were even stranger. Beguiling. Absorbing. Bewitching.
As I stood in that isolated alcove, in that vast library, reading, the air seemed to grow hotter with the tales. The doings of the people and creatures made me shiver with delight and ... yes ... desire. Soon, the occasional pleasant tickle of a bead of sweat slowly making its way down a curve or plane of my body was joined by another. As a slow heat built up inside me, I felt a tiny trickle adorn the topmost part of my inner thigh. I shivered again, plunging deeper into the story.

A voice at my ear breathed, “Hello.”

My body stiffened, and the book fell from my nerveless grasp , landing open on the floor. Though the air in the library was perfectly still, the pages riffled and turned, and then were still. My startlement instantly turned to readiness. For what, I was not certain. I had heard no-one approach. Yet here was a voice, whispering a greeting. So close that I could feel the hot breath that made the voice tickling my ear, and brushing the fine and delicate hairs on my neck and shoulder.
I did not turn around. Not yet.
Now I was more alert to my surroundings, I could clearly feel the presence behind me. My back fairly sizzled with the sense of another body, standing closer to me than any person had a right to do. I could feel the heat of him, far more than the hot, lazy air around me. His was a sharp, dry heat that burned through the thin cotton fabric of my summer dress, bathing me in...what? I was not sure, but unwillingly admitted to myself that it felt good. The owner of the voice spoke again. Softly. Oh, so softly. In a voice half way between a whisper and a sigh, and with a hint of amusement, he said, “Well, then. Will you turn around? You called me, after all.”
“C...called...?” I stammered. Swallowing, I tried again, my voice quavering, just a little. “I...I called no-one. I was...reading.”
I sensed amusement from behind me. The soft, seductive voice spoke again. “Indeed you were. And enjoying the story too, were you not?”
“...I...er...I...” I faltered, and then stopped, blushing deeply. The voice chuckled.
I felt a finger trace its way slowly down my spine, from the nape of my neck to the top of my buttocks. I shivered, and felt a twitch, deep in my body.
“Will you not turn around?” The voice asked again, with a very evident smile. “Please?” he added, more softly still.
I took a deep, slightly quivering breath. Slowly, slowly, I acceded to the request.
Standing behind me was a figure. Apparently that of a man, but subtly, unmistakeably not. Everything about him was very, very slightly different. Perfectly proportioned, but elongated. On a busy street, in normal clothing, he would be easy to miss. Apart from the eyes.
It would be hard to miss the eyes.
Deep, deep blue, almost violet, they burned from his nut-brown face like beacons, drawing me in, absorbing. Possessing.
I looked away, as I felt myself being pulled closer, taking an involuntary step back as I did so. This allowed me to see the rest of him. His well-shaped arms and chest. His waist...his hips...his... I gasped and raised my eyes back to his chest, concentrating on the lines and whorls tattooed all over him. The lines themselves were almost as absorbing as his eyes, which I dared not look at again. Not until I had steeled myself to do so. Deep within my body, I began to tremble.
Though my gaze was centred squarely on his chest, watching the lines there subtly shifting with each breath he took, I could still see the corners of his mouth curl up, just a little more.
“Are you afraid, little reader?” he asked.
I shook my head, and immediately gave lie to that as he took a slow step towards me, and I took another involuntary step back.
He seemed amused by this, the smile growing a little wider as he stepped forward again, causing me to step back. I squeaked in surprise, as my back hit the wall at the end of the alcove. My breathing became a little heavier as I realised I had nowhere else to go in this narrow gully between the bookshelves.
I watched him take another step closer, until he was standing almost as close to me as he had been before. I sensed movement to one side, and my eyes darted to it, to watch his hand come slowly up, rising towards my face. As he ran a finger along my jaw to the point of my chin, he whispered, “Please don’t be afraid of me, little reader. I only wish to see the eyes that took such pleasure from my story, and to bring more pleasure to them, if I can... Will you let me look into those eyes again, as I did from the pages?”
As he said this, I felt the tip of his finger put the gentlest of pressure under the point of my chin, as he encouraged me to lift my head.
Slowly, slowly, my eyes travelled up his chest, over his throat and chin, past his still slightly smiling lips, past his nose, until they eventually came to rest where he wished them to. Just for a moment, my heavy breath stilled, as his eyes held me, still and quiet, in their thrall.
Then, he moved his head.
Closer. Closer still. With infinite care and tenderness, his lips, feather light and as soft, brushed mine. Slightly parted, I tasted his sweet, sweet breath, and I was lost. And he knew it.
Carefully, gently, he took my face between his hands, and kissed me a little deeper, his lips parting a little more, the tip of his tongue sliding between my lips. It was as soft and sweet as his breath. Tasting the deliciousness of it, I immediately wanted more. Raising my hands to place them either side of his neck, I kissed him back, more deeply than before. Soon, he released my face to run his hands down either side of my body, his thumbs gently brushing the sides of my breasts as they passed by, causing deeper shivering, and my body to tremble more than it had before.
As lust began to course through me, his hands glided over my hips to come to rest on the swell of my buttocks, squeezing gently. He pulled my hips closer to him, and I could feel the lust coursing through him, too, as he pressed my body between his and the wall. I moaned into our kiss as my insides turned to water and I felt the incoming tide of need rushing through my body as a hurricane began to build deep inside my soul.
Pulling his head back very slightly, he gently sucked my lower lip then, releasing it with a graze of teeth, he kissed his way along my jaw line to my neck, and began, with infinite care, to kiss and nibble his way down towards my collarbone. Still caressing the back of his head, my fingers buried in his hair, I moaned again, a little louder, as he nibbled the skin just below my collarbone, just above the neckline of my dress. Moving his hands there, he began to unbutton the front as he kissed and nibbled the hollow of my throat. My head thrown back against the wall, my breathing became heavier, tiny noises of lust and need escaping my lips as he undid the last buttons on my dress, sliding his hands around my waist. My skin burned where he touched me, the sheen of sweat doing nothing to dampen his fire.
He kissed his way down between my breasts, then lifted his lips from my skin to trail the very tip of his tongue across my salty skin, to take one of my aching nipples into that sweet mouth of his. Moaning louder still, I arched my back as he took that nipple between his teeth and gave it the gentlest of tugs, his tongue flickering over the end, raising such fire in my belly as I had never known was there. His hands slid up from my waist to cup my breasts gently as, with teeth and tongue and lips, he mercilessly teased first one nipple, then the other, until it felt like my whole being was drawn into those small parts of my quivering body.
Struggling for breath now, I whispered, “...please...please...I need...”
I broke off with a gasp as he trailed his tongue over my breast, back up towards my neck, and bit a little harder than before. Hard enough to release the sensations from my nipples and send them rushing back through my body. Pressing me back against the wall again, more firmly this time, he caressed my thigh as he drew it up towards his waist. Eagerly, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my thigh around his hips as he effortlessly lifted me up and I wrapped the other leg tightly around him.
There was a breathless pause, as the tip of his desire rested against the pulsating centre of mine, and then slowly, slowly, he slid all the way inside me, filling me completely with his heat and his passion.
My gasps and moans grew louder still, and more frequent as he slowly slid in and out of me, alternately kissing my neck, and sinking his teeth into it. His fingertips dug into my buttocks as mine dug into his back and shoulders. The tempo of his movement increased, his thrusting hips grinding me against the wall harder and harder, my legs gripping his waist with the fervour of a woman possessed. Pressed tight to the wall by his passion and heat as I was, I still moved with him, snaking and heaving my hips in time with his. The hurricane in my soul was building ever stronger, spinning ever faster, my back arching, the storm-driven waves of passion mounting higher and higher until, breathtakingly, they broke over my head, and I sobbed and screamed my release. A moment later his voice, which had been silent all this time, joined mine, our voices meshing and melding and spinning through that ancient and cavernous space until the very roof shook with the sound of our joining.

When I came to, lying curled on the warm flagstones of the library floor, the sun was no longer streaming through the windows – the light outside had taken on a curious greenish cast and I heard, even through the thick walls of the library, a long, low growl of thunder. Dazed and confused, I sat up, looking around me in the dimmer light of the clouded late afternoon. I was alone and, for a moment, considered that I may have fainted in the heat, and dreamed a fever dream. Then my eyes fell on the book, lying where I had dropped it.
Its cover was very firmly closed.
As I became more aware of my body, I realised I was also pleasantly sore, and, looking down, noticed little red crescents on my skin, their rouge mostly faded, but obvious to me, at least.
I stood up carefully, testing my limbs against the pull of the earth. They were a little shaky, but held me well enough as I stood, then bent down and picked up the book. As I held it in my hands, I felt a slight tingle from the binding, but it was soon gone. I heaved a sigh of satisfaction and loss, whilst a bittersweet smile tugged the corners of my still-tingling lips. Hesitating, I clutched that book to my breasts, just for a moment, and then replaced it on the shelf. Perhaps I would find it again, some day. Or, perhaps, some other lucky soul would trail her fingertips across the binding, feel its unique call, and release the ink devil.
Another low, rumbling growl shook the air, louder this time, drawing a broad smile from my lips. Hurriedly, I twisted and turned my way through the labyrinthine heart of the library. I stopped for a moment, to retrieve my sandals from behind the pillar, and they dangled from my hand as I ran from the portico into the first fat drops of the storm.
The drops quickly became a downpour, and I danced and sang amid the storm’s blessings, washing my skin in its cool, magical bliss.

.

new bike (as yet, nameless)

dear reader, it hath arrived!  the new bike is in da house, and poor Trob is no more. :o(

when i put the deposit on the newbie, there were one or two things that needed attending to.  it needed a new passenger footpeg, chain and sprocket (one of my favourite words, by the way!), new handlebar grips, and new throttle cables.  i was supposed to pick it up the following saturday, but the new throttle cables proved to be a bit of a problem.  according to John (of John Carr Motorcycles of Somercotes, Derbyshire the place the newbie came from), the cables would normally be on the shelf at his supplier.
however, continuing our pattern of luck with vehicles, they were not. 
saturday came around, no bike.  he said probably monay, maaaaybe tuesday.  so i waited, and twitched a little. 
monday?  no.  "We got a big box of kawasaki parts, but no cables." (thanks, john - really needed to know that...*more twitching*)  "don't worry though - they'll be here soon."
okaaaay....  tuesday?  still no. 
and they were shut on wednesday. 
tuesday was a fairly despondent day.  i (like the rest of the world) really, really hate waiting for stuff, and by now i was reconciled to saying goodby to Trob, looking forward to the new experience of (for the first time ever, dear reader) using a vehicle that was less than ten years old(!) i was excited, dammit!  i may, though, not have been quite so despondent if some kind friend (and you know who you are! *gives said friend a stern look*) had not mentioned the fact that the parts may have to be flown in from somewhere, and the ash cloud was still dancing in the skies above us, grounding all of the air traffic.
(btw - check out these beautiful pictures of the volcano and the Aurora Borealis! ^_^)
and so to thursday.  i had, by now, resigned myself to the thought that it may indeed be the ash cloud that was causing the delay, and i may have to wait days, or even weeks, for the Icelandic Volcano Gods to settle down again.  i was dealing with it.  i had also, optimistically and just in case, booked thursday afternoon off.  i fully intended to take it, too.  (i reasoned that if the cables still hadn't arrived, then at least i could pin down a short story that had blossomed in my brain in the middle of the night.  and, in my best Kirsty Wark voice, more on that later....)
i called the bike shop at about half past ten, with everything crossed.  "Oh, hi!  yeah - it's on the bench now - be ready in a couple of hours"

happy. dance.

in joy i went home, to wait for the call to say i could go pick up my new toy.  i actually got sick of waiting for the call and rang up at about half past three to be told it had been ready for an hour.  didn't care.  i had used my waiting time well, and had managed to pin down the first half of the story.  this made me happy.  and now i could finally, finally pick up my new bike.
i could tell you in detail about the experience.  the heat and sweat in my bike gear, the excitement, the lengthy process of transferring ownership of two vehicles at once (hampered by at least half a dozen phonecalls).  the bittersweet moment when i finally said goodbye to my faithful old warhorse of a Kawasaki GT750. (proud of myself that i managed not to cry, by the way).
but i suspect it would be of very little interest to anyone other than myself.  so i won't bore you.  instead, i will show you some pictures:

practically my last view of my dear old Trob.  holding back the tears.

(btw, the dent on the tank happened in the first year i had her - tried to set off with the chain lock still attached to the back wheel.  promptly fell over, and only a concrete post saved me from the deadly shame of being unable to pick her up by myself.)

shiny new toy!

...mmm...shiiiiny......

weird angle, rrreeeeally pretty disc brakes....

shiny FTW!!! (hubby has very sternly informed me that i may wish to keep her this way...)

so i took her for a little inaugral jaunt around a few local country lanes.  just to get used to the ride, you understand... ;o)

the difference was astounding.  riding Trob, i now realise, was like sitting in an old, battered armchair that has moulded to the shape of one's body.  comfortable, solid, stable.  maaaaybe a little creaky.  but familliar and beloved.
the new bike is a different beast entirely.  it was like moving from an armchair to a bar stool.  the centre of balance is higher, thus feels a little precarious for the first ride or two.  but then - oooohhhh, but then.

my, my, dear reader.  i may not be in love, but i've certainly got that glow.  the ride position is totally different.  from being slouched comfortably and cruising along (...um...apart from doing the odd ton down the A38 when i feel the need for speed...*ahem*), i have gone to being forced to actively adopt a racing position - leant forward over the tank (sometimes feeling like i've got my nose practically over the front wheel!), legs bent in a ready-to-spring almost-crouch, and, yes, a bit of a daft grin.  the throttle is so responsive!  the breaks are so sharp! (*makes mental note* will have to watch out for that...). and the movement.  this bike, i kid you not, moves like a dancer.  the balance, the poise... oh, bliss!  it makes me want to weave from side to side on straight roads.  i crave bends and potholes, just for the chance to weave my sinuous way around them!  actually, with this being far more of a sports bike than a cruiser, i have to go around the potholes.  the seat and suspension are sooo firm!!!  boy oh boy, is my arse going to be sore for a while!
but i care not.  New Bike is happymaking. ^_^

-

just a quick word about the new story.  it's called Ink Devil, and it's set in a library.  as i said, i got the first half pinned down on Thursday, the rest of it came through yesterday.  and it's a bit...um...well, let's put it this way:  i love it, but i may have to wait until the blushes die down before i post it....

.

warm rock (and a video!)

so i was going to say that anyone who's been on twitter in the last few days will have noticed my unusual taciturnity and general miserable grumpiness when i was on.  but why would you, right? *blushes at own presumption*  but for anyone who was worried (bless you!) the tide of hormones has now retreated and i'm much more my usual chirpily irritating self. ;o)
so friday it was on the retreat, and i managed to drag my lazy arse out of the house to go climbing at Alter-Rock with hubby.  this was, frankly, a pathetic session.  i barely lasted two hours, climbed nothing above a 5+, and my hands weren't even sore when we came away.  bloody hell, my forearms were, though! (twanging tendons!).  headed to a pub in derby afterwards for dinner with some colleagues (remember the night out i forgot to go to? this was the rematch).  my mood took a total nosedive on the way there, though, as i had learned that my shiny new bike wouldn't be ready to pick up until maaaaybe monday, but probably tuesday, and various other little things had all crashed down at once.  however, once i got to the pub (i was early), liberal application of vodka, O...Saya by A R Rahman (from the soundtrack to Slumdog Millionaire), half an hour to myself, and sunshine had an astonishingly positive effect.  had a great night - even if it was two months late. ;o)
yesterday, the weather was beeeautiful, and hubby, astonishingly, managed to persuade me to go climbing outside for the first time in probably six months.  look, i am a*total* wuss when it comes to the cold.  i hate being out in it, and i hate climbing in it with a passion.  but i was persuaded that we should go here:

Harborough Rocks

it's a beautiful limestone outcrop near Wirksworth in Derbyshire.  it's very popular with climbers, and is particularly good for practicing trad climbing techniques, since the faces aren't huge, the terrain is friendly and easily accessible, and it's a particular kind of limestone that's pocked with lots of holes and pockets - easy handholds on lots of the routes.  it's used by a lot of groups - scouts, guides, etc.  there was a group there from Stafford yesterday.

it was so lovely.  the sun was warm, the breeze wasn't too cold, and the outcrop faces south, so it gets the sun virtually all day.  gods - i have missed the feel of warm rock far more than i realised.  maybe we should move to Spain?... 

we took all of the gear to climb trad, but ended up soloing instead (climbing without safety equipment - just shoes and a chalkbag). it was great for me.  i have virtually no confidence left after not climbing outside for so long, so i took baby steps soloing the easier routes with lots of juggy (big, easy-to-grip) holds, whilst hubby did the harder stuff.  the only trouble with Harborough is that it's so popular (also, people have been climbing there since the 1800's), many of the holds have been polished to glassy smoothness.  friction?  what's that?  had to be sooo careful!

and as we were soloing, we could please ourselves what we did.  so when i decided that i'd had enough, i just lay in the sun, or wrote a little more of my book, or wandered around on the hillside enjoying the gorgeous day.

i also spent some time admiring the perfectly blue sky - not a thing in it except for the local corvids (thank you, unpronounceable Icelandic volcano). utter, utter bliss!  i even caught the sun across my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose!  not quite enough to bring my freckles out, though - not quite yet.

but getting there... ^_^

.

spring, new life and shooting stuff

good afternoon, dear reader.

wait...afternoon?...surely that can't be right?...isn't it tuesday?...

well, yes it is.  but i'm on holiday, so ner.

weeellll...i say holiday, but really it's just leave.  can't really go on holiday, since poor Isobel is STILL in the paint shop! *grumblegrumblegrumble*. 

oh, look - never mind that now - i'm in a bit of a fragile mood today (yup - hormones strike again - expect a four AM post any day now...), and very likely to get cross or burst into tears at the drop of a mouse, so i will stick to the happy stuff, shall i?  my keyboard is, after all, not waterproof.

soooo...happy stuff.

well, spring is here.  definitely, this time.  thank the gods.  the wind is still chilly, but the flowers are coming out, there's a haze of acid green over half of the deciduous trees, the rest are budding, and some even have blossom on them. *sighs with relief*  sad bugger that i am, i was playing "Spring I-Spy" from the car on Sunday - vegetation (particularly of the flowering kind) only.  here's some of what i saw:

blackthorn blossom
cherry blossom
broom in bloom
daffodils
big, fat magnolia buds
heather
tulips
budding and blooming willow trees (of various kinds)
acid green hawthorn leaves
gorse
flowering currant
laurel buds
almond blossom
dandelions
and, most excitingly for me - daisies. my favourite flower.  i don't know what it is about these tiny, perfect little things, but i absolutely adore them.  they gladden my heart every day.  the common Day's Eye is a tiny little personification of bliss for me.  each and every one of them, no matter where they are.  i can't even make daisy chains, any more - haven't been able to for years, in fact.  i just can't bear to see them wither.  in fact i have, for about seven or eight years, worn a tiny little silver daisy on a hoop in my ear.  it's kind of a part of me....

anyway - the reason i was playing Spring I-Spy in the car is because it was a beaitifully dry, sunny day, and we were off to visit my shiny new step-grandson.

yup, you heard right, dear reader. i am a grandma.  at thirty-three years old.  sheesh!  thanks, guys - way to go! *headsmack*

i should, perhaps, explain.  hubby is 11 years older than me, and his eldest son is 20.  which, whilst it seems a ridiculously young and stupid age to me to have children...well...look - this is another of those things i'm not going to get into.  rant-avoidance techniques activated.

but...oh, he's soooo sweet! look!...

This is Finley.

look, i know - all right?  i tried to get them to spell it properly, but they wouldn't have it.... *eyeroll*

aaanyway - here we have three generations:

Stepson, Hubby, and Stepgrandson.

actually, to give him credit, stepson does seem utterly in love with the little 'un (as well as slightly zombified by lack of sleep - cue evil laughter and cries of "Revenge, at last!!!" from his parents...  hee hee hee!).  his girlfriend was just too tired to do or say anything much.  she seemed to be coping ok, though...

and that was most of Sunday taken care of.

exciting, huh?  wait till we get to Monday!!! (actually, you'll have to...)

-

teamaking intermission

-

actually, not a great deal happened on monday.  well - not outwardly, anyway.

inwardly, i appear to have a novel growing...  now how the bloody hell did that happen?!  i asked for a short story, goddamnit!!!  *sigh*  actually, i'm not complaining.  not really.  i know i said not long ago that i was going to write short stories for a bit, and that was how this one started off, actually.  but then it grew.  and grew.  and then it grew a bit more.  it seems to be generic romantic fantasy-flavoured, but i don't really care.  i like that stuff!  and i'm not ashamed to admit it! *stands tall and proud*  at the moment, in my head, it tastes a bit like one of my very favourite books, called "Spirit Fox".  it's by...noooo...not Neil Gaiman, (for a change!) two ladies.  one of whos name i can't remember.  the other is Mickey Zucker Reichert.  and i confess i only remember that lady's name because it's soooo...well...interesting.  but i love this book.  it's generic, yes.  but it's a perfectly shining gem of a book, too - the story is beautifully told, and the romance is romantic without making me want to cringe/throw up (allllways a bonus!)

of course, mine won't be nearly up to that standard, but at least i have a high water mark to aim for.  i'm beginning to think ouroburos was a fluke...

and, once i've got this one out of my system, maybe i can go for comedy? or horror?  or both?  yeah!!!

...ahem...sorry...quite excited... *blush*

and so to today.

today, we did archery, for the first time since...um...probably early october (gets a bit cold after that to be standing around twanging stuff).  we were supposed to do climbing, but since i spent the first hour or so of today sobbing my eyes out for no good reason other than i was sad and hormonal and tired, hubby suggested we go shoot some arrows, or take a walk in the woods.  between us, we couldn't make our minds up, so we decided to combine the two and shoot some arrows in the woods.  a splendid idea, as it turned out.  it's beautiful in Shining Cliff Woods.  peaceful, spacious, and just lovely.  and there's a little lake in the middle beside which we got handfasted.

our surroundings looked like this:

today we were up on the top of the shining cliffs themselves (and they really do sparkle in the sunlight, by the way - it's just magical to see), since it's nice and flat, and not too many people go up there.  the arrows are real, and can really kill.  i know, because not only did i kill the target, i killed a tree - at least twice - and a rock.  i'm not kidding - i took a chunk out of a rock with an arrow! 0.o

when hubby and i shoot arrows, we make it a competition.  otherwise, what's the point? (other than the incredibly satisfying sound of a well-shot arrow going "thwap" or "thud" as it hits the butt, that is...)

so, the rules are:

1 point per ring, starting at 1 for the outer white ring, and 10 for the last gold ring, 15 for the bullseye.

six arrows per person per turn.

flip a coin for the choice of first or second to shoot on the first round, winner goes first thereafter.

first one to five wins the round

best of three rounds wins the match.

and, in pictures:

Robin Hubby 

hubby searching for the first of today's lost arrows.  we lost four in the end, but managed to retrieve two, so not tooo bad... :oS

 

Robina In Da (campervan) Hoody

the scores were:

5 -0 to me

5 - 3 to me

2 - 5 to hubby.

i won!!! *triumphant happydance* this has only happened once before.  but best of all, my shooting was better and more consistent than when we started last summer.

here is my winning score:

check out the two together! *pride*

needless to say, i felt a little better after that.

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oh, gods - what have i done?!

good evening, dear reader.

it's been an interesting day...

you may remember some happy squeaking a while ago, from when we got a fabulous new shower.  well, a couple of weeks ago, the shower broke, due to the fuse for the old shower not being adequate to serve the new shower.  it got so hot, that it melted some of the fuse box, and welded itself in place.  not a wonderful state of affairs, i must say.  since then, we have been enduring tepid baths, since to have hot water, we need to turn the heating on, and the weather has been warm, so the bath not so much.  today, we went to get a new fuse and box so we could once again get squeaky clean without shivering and feeling miserable.  the place we had to go to obtain this specialist bit of kit is on an industrial estate in a nearby town.

so anyway...  off we trotted to said electrical place and obtained said specialist bit of kit.

then i looked across the road.

over the road is a unit that has been turned into a bike shop.  i have been wearing the same knackered leathers for years which are, though still perfectly sevicable, heavy, and uncomfortable in hot weather, and not all that waterproof.  also - the jacket is made of at least half a cow and weighs a bloody ton.  so over the road i trotted to see if they had anything that would A) replace what i have, and B) fit me.  i have rather a womanly shape (small waist, big bum and hips), and trousers especially can be an absolute nightmare to fit in comfort.

so now i am the proud owner of some spanking new trousers and a jacket.  manmade, waterproof, and weighing probably a quarter of my old gear.

HUZZAH!!!

but i had not finished.  ho no!

see, not only did they sell gear, but also bikes.  of course, since it's a bike shop... (well, duh!)  and of course we had to have a good oggle at the bikes whilst we were there.  and i saw one of these...

Kawasaki ZR-7

i am a huge fan of kawasaki.  and i made the mistake of sitting on it.

oh, dear.

remember Trob?  my faithful warhorse of a Kawasaki GT750, who has carried me with nary a complaint, and very little trouble, for seven years?  of course you do.  so do i - she's kinda hard to forget.  soon, however, all i will have of her will be memories, and a couple of photographs.

i appear to have traded her in for a new bike...

and yes, of course i'm excited to think that soon, i will be riding this perky, sprightly young whipper-snapper.  but at the moment, all i can do is look at Trob, think of how well she's served me over the years, and think, "oh, gods - what have i done...?"

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nothing to see here..move along, please...

today, i find myself with a feeling that i appear to have had for most of my life.  desperate to write something, but with no idea of what to write. 

oh, the joys of blogging! 

to be able to write about nothing much if i so wish, just to assuage the desperate need to write!  at this point, i refer you to the note under the blog's title - please feel free to wander off and watch paint dry - i won't hold it against you - how do you think i feel?  i have to live in here.

when i was a kid and overtaken by this urge, i would get a picture book of fairy tales i had, and copy out the tales until the need to use paper and pen or pencil to make words was quietened for now. 
actually, now my mind is wandering off the path and wondering if i am cursed.  this thought tends to occur for many and varied reasons in my day-to-day life, but in this particular instance....a (fledgeling) writer, wants to write, in fact needs to write, but completely devoid of inspiration or the kind of mind that can pull together random elements and put them togethter in unusual and unexpected ways, and use it to tell a story to amaze/amuse/pull forth emotions/whatever.  also - a writer with nothing much to say about anything, if i'm honest. 

or maybe i'm just an inveterate chatterbox with a stationary fetish?...

hmmm....

well, anyway, like i said - less even than usual to say, but when did that ever stop me?...  the first stage of editing the WIP is finished.  i've fixed the spelling, the wonky sentences, and argued constantly with the spelling and grammar checker over whether or not a sentence is too wordy, or should/should not end on a preposition.

...by the way - WTF is a preposition anyway?!...

and hubby has read it.  this is a first, him not being someone who generally reads for pleasure.  and he says he enjoyed it, which, of course, pleases me immensely. :o)  he was also kind enough to point out one or two plot holes and inconsistencies.  these, i will file away for later.  having lived with the blasted thing for the last 5 months, i'm far too close to it and, frankly, heartily sick of the bloody thing.  it's a disappointment to me, especially after the first one.  however, i already have another couple of ideas settling into the silt for next november, so maybe i'll just leave them there, and see what occurs.  or maybe they'll make themselves into short stories between now and then. 

because i thought i might have a go at short stories next.

i know, i know - short stories are hard.  really hard.  and that's good.  i want a different challenge, and i understand short stories can be wonderful learning experiences  for an author a writer (feels weird and presumptious to refer to myself as an author - i'm just someone who wants to write).  personally, after this last one, i hope i can give myself a few lessons in cutting out the waffle.  it also means i'm gonna have to tune my brain in to the odd details of the world - the things that pique my interest.  a word, a phrase, a situation, an incongruous juxtaposition of ideas.  i'm going to have to have my writer head on most, if not all of the time.  it will be interesting to see if i can keep that little entity that sits at the back of my brain (on a three-legged stool with a pen poised over a reporter's notebook) alert, and watching.  i wonder what she'll come up with?  i also wonder if she'll notice things that i don't, and poke me as i'm writing?

gods, i hope so...

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