Fictitious

What is this place, some sort of library?

The world is a library. This is but one small corner of it.

Bah-hooey. Only managed to shoehorn in 6,000 words this week. So much has been going on. But it's not quantity, it's quality. They have been pretty good words. Most importantly, they haven't been dull, factual words. They haven't been reports or e-mails or form-filling. 

Broke the 15,000 mark. 

Doubt is starting to toy with me. That same question again: how far can I stretch this? I've gone in all guns blazing: a missing girlfriend on an apartment floor that doesn't exist, a failed author running for his life, a writing tutor with a direct line to the Chief of the British Army, a middle-aged woman abducted in a Merc at midnight. It's certainly been fun. But I'm now at the point where I'm bringing in the main characters who will carry all this forth: Aesop, Grimm and Evangeline. 

Everything's been building up to this. I just hope I have enough for them to do. By the time the plot makes sense, will people love them enough to keep following? I hope so. 

Amidst all of this, I've been drowning in Einaudi and rediscovering my love of de la Mare. Hence Evangeline. She was Shelley originally. Then there was a Children of Lir, Night Swans cross-over that tickled me. Only thing, I don't think de la Mare is out of copyright yet, so need to tread softly. I just forgot how utterly, beautifully brilliant he was. A childhood enchantment.

Now, through the dusk 

With muffled bell 

The Dustman comes 

The World to tell, 

Night's elfin lanterns 

Burn and gleam 

in the twilight, wonderful 

World of Dream. 

Time. It's always about time. There's never enough of it. 

Work starts afresh next week. One last push, a house to rent, and hopefully a plane ticket home. In desperate need of a break, a bath, and time to write. 

"You’ll regret that remark," the boy slurred. "You just see if you don’t! I’ll put you in my next book, not even as a villain, simply an insignificant plot prop. Then you’ll be sorry!"