kari

Okay, why not. Here's a scene from Living with Ghosts that didn't make it into the final cut.
[Unknown LJ tag]
Half-way across the city, Kenan Orcandros was smiling. "Clever," he said, "but are we being clever enough?"
"Of course." Sky-eyed Cuenulaan did not turn to face him. Instead, she concentrated upon her reflection in her copper-backed mirror. "I have told you before: you overestimate their sensitivity. They are lazy, these Merafiens."
"Some-one in this city..."
"Lazy, but not credulous." She hesitated. "Nothing will be suspected."
"Have you word yet, from the harbour?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It is good, as expected."
"You will share with me no details?"
"Perhaps."She turned her attention from her face to her hair, pinning it up. "Pass me that comb, please. No, the silver one." He rose, and complied.
"Will I site it for you, also?"
"If you wish." She turned a little, looking up at him. The loose hair slid forward, across her breast. Her expression bespoke a certain confident indolence. "If it would please you."
"It might." Bending, he kissed her neck. There was a small bruise beginning to show there: his smile took on a possessive quality.
She reached behind her, sliding a hand against his head. "Will you delay me still further?"
"I have no hurry."
"And no thought for any other than yourself?" His teeth sank into the white flesh of her shoulder: she hissed. "I do not care to be hurt."
"At present."
Her hand tangled in his short hair: she gave it a sudden, sharp, tug. "Do not forget yourself."
"Myself, or my place?" Their eyes met in the mirror. He was no longer smiling. "I am initiate, sweet Cuena. No longer mere acolyte."
"And I, initiatrix. Do not forget that, either." She took her hand away, and held it out before her, palm up. A narrow scar ran across it, and down her wrist. "The binding is mine. You lack the knowledge needed to hold it."
"As yet." His tone was curiously flat. "Mine was the blood spillt in first payment."
"Your blood, and others'." She was calm. "You must be patient, or you will be unable to reap your rewards."
"I have had six years of patience." He sighed, looking down at the comb he held. "It is too slow, this power of yours."
"Do you have another?" Cuenulaan twisted on her stool, so that she faced him. "You didn't chose a simple course for your vengeance. To harm one person - Yvelliane d'Illandre, say - that would be simple. But to harm a city: that is hard, and this city harder than any. The old forces do not flow here. They must be coaxed. Even the waters are mixed, and thus guarded against my kind."
"Our kind." He stared at her: she did not drop her gaze. "You cannot deny me."
"Nor do I seek to. But your blood is that of the clans: you glory in that. Not wholly pure, but..." His eyes narrowed. She smiled. "But none the worse for it, although it is not the true good blood."
"You honour me too much." His tone was cold. "Remember, Cuena, it took my Orcandrin, clan, blood to bind the power, and to free it. Lacking me, you might not have done it."
"Orcandrin blood can be found in other veins than yours."
"Other willing veins?"
"Perhaps not." She took his hand. "Don't be angry, my Kenan. We have no need to fear each other. The river turns at our bidding, and the Merafiens have no eyes to see it."
He hesitated. "Yet you still counsel patience."
"I must: the process cannot be hastened."
"Yviane Allandur..."
"Is nothing." She took the comb from him, and dropped it on the table. "You are yourself undarios, now. You have the eyes to see her measure." He frowned. "There is no-one in Merafi who can see your hand in this."
"I am not unwatched. There are those in my escort who charge themselves with that duty."
Cuenulaan waved a hand, dismissive. "Your grandfather's spies. Unimportant."
"Spies, also, of Urien Armenwy. You may set my grandsire at naught, but Urien Swanhame is to be feared."
"He can do nothing."
"And his out-clan bastard? My so-loyal Iareth kai-reth Yscoithi?"
"Mixed blood, and blind." Taking his hands, Cuenulaan rubbed her cheek on one of them. "You are quite safe. You have but to watch, and wait."
"For your apposite moment?" She nodded. "Mayhap you are right, but I mislike this waiting."
She rose, and put her arms about him. "It will not seem long, after."
He stood straight, unyielding within her embrace. "You forget, then? Does not the other dwell here in Merafi?"
"What of it?"
"Once, you had hopes of him, not unlike those which you now fulfil through me."
She smiled, slowly. "Is that your fear? That I will abandon you?"
"Assuredly not." But he did not sound assured. "An he lives yet here, then will he see our working. And he may speak of what he has seen."
She shook her head. "It's makes no difference if he does. He won't be heeded. A foreigner - a Tarnaroqui - and a whore: he'll find no audience."
"I mislike his presence," Kenan repeated. Absently, his hands played with her hair. "Has he not friends at court?"
"None that will matter. He cannot affect us: he lacks the strength."
"Your one failure?" His voice was not quite kind. "I have wondered at it, often and often."
"That I failed?" The sky-blue eyes swept down, demure, insincere.
"That you let him live."
"He has his uses." She looked up, and her eyes now were languid. "And I do not readily give up what is mine." Her finger drew a line from his ribs to his groin. "That is my nature."
"Let me dispose of him."
"No."
"Let me, then, contact him, and ensure he presents no danger."
"That is my role. I will keep him misinformed."
"I like it not." Kenan caught her wrist. "You have said it: I am now undarios. That makes of me your equal, does it not?" She made no reply, watching him. His grip tightened: she gasped. "This Edelis of yours: he is a weakness. You should free yourself of him."
"I choose otherwise."
"That is unwise." The strap of her petticoat had slipped, revealing another bruise on her shoulder. He put his other hand, thoughtfully, lightly, about her throat. "Beautiful Cuenulaan."
She placed a hand over his, so that his grip tightened. She smiled. Her eyes were huge. Her perfume covered him, intoxicating. Standing on tip-toe, she leant against him, and inhaled. Her breasts were warm against him. "Forget him."
He swallowed, and kissed her, without tenderness. Her proximity, as ever, confused him. He said, a little shakily, "You call him yours. I do not care to share."
She returned the kiss, laughing. "Not even you can have everything exactly as you want it, my Kenan."
He shivered. Then he took hold of the neck of her petticoat, and tore it. "Mayhap not," he said, "but be sure of this, my Cuena: I can try."

I think this lady has said it best of all -- wonderful satire:

http://hahathor.livejournal.com/120502.html?view=446646#t446646

with many thanks to hahathor for allowing me to link to her.

Happy Birthday splinister!

I learnt today that the actor Richard Widmark died last Thursday. He was one both one of my favourite film actors and one of my heroes: a decent, kindly man who was the first person in Hollywood to invite Sidney Poitier to dinner, and a subtle, intelligent, underrated actor. Very sad news indeed.

It's been a bad week for heroes. Another one of mine is gone. I never had the privilege of seeing him on stage, but my mother did and says he was the finest actor she saw (including Gielgud and Olivier).

Many Happy Returns to mevennen

A) Four jobs I have had in my life (other than current job):
Barmaid, clerical assistant to the Church of England, tax officer, research assistant.
B.) Four movies I would watch over and over:
Kagemusha, The Iceman Cometh, Rangeela, LA COnfidential
C.) Four places I have lived
Coventry, Cardiff, Dublin, Radcliffe-on-Trent
D.) Four TV shows that I watch
6 O'clock News, Torchwood, Ultimate Crime Fighter, Ugly Betty
E.) Four places I have been:
Hong Kong, Nara, Chicago, Uppsala
F.) People who e-mail me (regularly):
Bonnie, Atropos, Sue, DerekB
G.) Four of my favourite foods:
Houmous, spinach, pizza, ryvita
H. ) Four places I would rather be right now:
Hong Kong, Vancouver, Edinburgh, Sunshine ski area
J.) Four Things I am looking forward to this year:
Skiing in March, hearing from editor about the rewrites, Eastercon, the new Jackie Chan film
K.) Four favourite authors:
Alexandre Dumas pere, Tanith Lee, Steven Brust, Josephine Tey

Many Happy Returns to oreouk

Happy Birthday zaan

One of the things I really like and enjoy about living next to the air field is the amount of sky we have. Both to the non-semi side of the house and to the back, the sky stretches out and out, uninterrupted across the flat land. It's what reconciled me -- the midlander -- to the flat fens: as Dodie Smith said, the flatness gives the sky a chance. And because we're a cul-de-sac and because our house is set away from the road, our nearest street light is quite a few yards away (and to the front and semi-detached side). On cold nights, like the string we've had lately, we have mile upon mile of crisp stars to gaze upon. I'm no good with constellations -- I stop at the Plough and Orion and Cassiopeia, by and large, but there are nights when you can count pleiades and shooting stars or hunt for the fuzz of nebulas.
I shall miss my night sky when the council carry through their threat to build over the airfield with homes for yet more London commuters. I have never been a whole-hearted supporter of the clear skies movement: I've lived in too many badly lit areas with high concentrations of female students to be wholly sanguine about the safety of the dark. But I love the silence of the night-time starfield, with its false memories of the Enterprise and Serenity and Lazarus Long.

A pair of eyes that see beyond the normal...
A body that is expert in king fu...
Gifted with wisdom and bravery...
He is The Ultimate Crime Fighter...

I blame the marquis, I really do. If he hadn't been watching Godzilla dubbed into German and missed the 'end of series' announcement, thus finding himself watching Jackie Chan dubbed into German... If I hadn't *recognised* Jackie Chan in German, leading us to rent various of his films. If I'd never seen Dragons Forever back in 1993 or so and lost my heart to a killer acrobatic actor... If I was less susceptible to this, that, the other and slight, dark, martial artists, I would have got a lot more done today.
Or this week.
Or this last N years. And I'd be richer. (Does a girl really need 6 copies of the same film? Yes, if each version has variants, or new interviews or outtakes or....)
I have a new addiction. It's a tv series. Starring my beloved Yuen Biao as a psychic, angst-ridden, charming, kindhearted ex-cop. He looks great. 50 is the new 25. Moira and I have spent much of the last week watching it (with breaks to watch Ti Wei, Michelle Yeoh, Shu Qi and Hiroyuki Sanada). You have to love a friend who is as happy as you are to watch hour upon our of Hong Kong tv show dubbed into Mandarin from Cantonese (so the lip sync is out) and subtitled only in complex form Chinese characters. If anyone wants any sense out of me in the next week or so, be warned: all communication is liable to be Biao-flavoured. There are 37 episodes, and I've only seen the first 8... I feel fanfic coming on, which is Not What I Should Be Writing At All.
And the marquis is laughing at me. (As if it isn't all his fault...)

"Fabulous tales are not composed without reason." Theophrastus (c. 371 BCE - 287 BCE).

He was not thinking about fantasy or about writing when he wrote that: it's apropos of plant and weather lore. But even so, a good retort to those who claim that fantasy has no rules, no discipline or no value.

The rewrites are done. For now, at least (there may well be further requests from Nice Editor). But the major work is done. Now I have to print a draft hard copy, read it, red ink for typos and idiocies, send out email versions to my lovely beta volunteers... It now runs 145,600 words (which is Too Long, Imho, but that's what I was asked for). That's 30K of new stuff and stuff reinstated and reworked from past versions.
Back to number two book (which is really number three, as LWG was number two, but number one is staying in my bottom drawer).
EDIT: number two *isn't* a sequel.

Many Happy Returns to desperance

My last book ("Princess Nest") has made The Guardian:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,2230771,00.html

Thanks to the marquis, JCD winolj and coth for letting me know.
Ohmigod....

I'd just like to pass this on. There are feral cats still living on the building site where the 2012 Olympic games will eventually be held. The developers are refusing access to animal charity workers who wish to trap and remove the cats. The details and a petition are here:

http://www.celiahammond.org/index.php?module=pagemaster&PAGE_user_op=view_page&PAGE_id=3&MMN_position=3

I've just finished reading the epic 1970s shojo manga Berusaiyu no Bara (The Rose of Versailles). It's lovely and so very sad... Set against the period 1755 - 1794, it's set against the background of the French Revolution. There's a kick-ass heroine, Oscar-Francois de la Jarjayes, who has been raised as a young man and follows a military career; a fairly level-headed portrayal of Marie-Antoinette; two tragic romances (and a happy one); politics; revolution (including a very cute manga-style Robespierre); swordfights, chases, mystery, intrigue etc etc and some fairly accurate history too. In other words, designed to push all my buttons. It takes a little getting into: there are a lot of characters and therefore a lot of introductory stories, but it proved well worth persevering with. The artwork is 70s style, which suits me: I prefer it to most of the current styles, but I know some people dislike the longer faces. Needless to say I loved it: I'd love to share it.
There's only one problem. It's not available in English. Shojo manga is a low priority for English-language publishers anyway, and then, this is an old manga -- albeit a classic which has been credited with revolutionising shojo manga in Japan. I read it in French, in the beautiful three volume edition from Kana: it's also been published in Italian, Spanish and German as well as the original Japanese.
All I can say is, if you read any of the above and are into swashbucklers in any way, I recommend it highly (and I wish it was out in English, as I can think of a number of people out there who would love it).

EDIT: the author is Riyoko Ikeda. The title of the French edition is La Rose de Versailles, if anyone out there is at all interested.

Yes, a cute Robespierre. For reasons I have never been able to fathom, I have a soft spot for Robespierre. Yes, I know, I'm persverse.

The marquis and I are off to Paris this afternoon for a long weekend. I've been promising myself a trip since last May, when the novel sold. I've been many times, but this is the fulfillment of a promise. Years ago, I made a past with myself that should I ever sell a novel, I would go to the grave of Alexandre Dumas pere and put flowers on it. He's a very special writer to me (and not just because I'm famously in love with Aramis): his books have been both a source of pleasure and an inspiration to me for most of my adult life. Back when I made the promise, he was still buried in his home town of Villars-Cotterets. In 2002, the French government translated him to the secular temple of the Pantheon, where many political, literary and scientific men are also buried (and two women, one of whom is there because she was buried with her husband. THe other is Marie Curie, who is there in her own right). So I will be going to the Pantheon with flowers and having a rather odd conversation with its staff.
Meanwhile, chapters 5 and 6 are now revised, and I've emailed 1-6 to my editor for review.
Have a good weekend out there.

Happy Birthday deyaneira!

I stole this from desperance