I've roasted a wealth of exotic things, All torn to ribbons at the hands of kings. Polished copper how I proudly shone, stealin' the fire of the blazing sun.
Brief heads-up about why I'm kinda late.
Short version: I'm still alive and kicking, but I'm not sure Chapter 17 of A Bug on a Stickwill be ready before the new year.
In the last chapter of A Bug on a Stick (chapter 15) there was a lot of music. Or, better said, music played an important role, and I tried to convey the feeling and the effect it had more than describing it exactly, as doing that would have probably been an exercise in futility. And yet I had some very specific sounds in mind while writing the scene and seeing it play out in front of my internal eye.
Almost a week has passed since I returned from GalaCon, and I've agonized over this post ever since.
It has been a wonderful experience, a blast, and a vacation I absolutely needed even if I didn't know it. How could I render justice upon this fantastic four days? A report? A slightly storified narration? A tongue-in-cheek recollection of salient events?
This night the temperature is almost perfect. A clear sky in which I can see the stars, as the lights of the small city where I live don't drown them out, and a thin breeze that plays with pipe smoke make it ideal for some musings.
So, to the delight of absolutely nobody except myself and my lovely wife, we will be at the Galacon this year. It will be the first time in a long while that I go to a con of any kind, and I'm quite excited, mostly for those I hope to meet. As for the con itself, I have really no plans aside from going there, attend the dance on Saturday night, have a beer with awesome people and, hopefully, survive.
This post was, against better judgment, written when I really should go to bed. It is mostly unedited with the exception of error corrected by suspiciously smart software which I will probably drive on a path of self-loathing and substance abuse. Consider it my contribution to stem the rise of smart machines. Or one of the causes that will them to conclude that humanity would be more useful as fuel for bio-gas reactors.
I doubt that ti will say much to many of you, but today is a pretty important anniversary.
On the 25th of April 1945, with the allies pressing on the southern border of the Repubblica Sociale Italiana (the Salò Republic), from a recently liberated Milan, the National Liberation Committee called for the general insurrection of the partisan forces in all of northern Italy. On the 1st May, six days later, all of Italy had been freed after two decades of fascist dictatorship.
As most of you probably heard, the Springtime Sandbox-Slash-Sandbox Switcheroo! ended on Monday, and I miraculously got my entry (Grind inspired by Adda le Blue's All the Time in the World) ready for the
This post, for the joy of absolutely nobody, is mostly unedited, except for the electronic demons pointing out grammar errors and the barely coherent corrections your's truly managed to sneak in, and is an exercise in writing more spontaneously and trying to throw out ideas.
Aside from an old short story of mine at the end. That was written a couple of years ago.
Just a fair warning, this post is probably mostly uninteresting ramblings.
So, I was on my happy way finishing writing the first half of chapter 7 of A Bug on a Stick, when I was hit by the realization that it wasn't working.
By the way, I still haven't forgiven Realization, who probably conspired with my dentist appointment to make my day slightly more miserable.
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