Monday, September 29, 2008

Dinner Party!

Over the last week or two, I've wanted to cook a lot of food, for a lot of people. Not my usual craving. So yesterday, I decided to just do it. I sent an elegant invitation via text message, bought some high quality SOLO plates, and some fine paper napkins. The final head count, I think, was somewhere around fourteen people. That's a lot in a dorm room, but between provided furniture in the little living room and computer chairs, we got everyone seated.

The other amazing thing: I had all four burners on the stove going, plus the oven, and managed to have everything ready at about the same time, and all cooked right. That's a new thing for me. Usually I'm cranking the temp up on one pot and down on another to make them finish at the same time. Granted, I did spaghetti, pasta sauce, and Mac-and-Cheese. Not the most complicated food, and the cookies were a box mix (gluten-free, which I don't think anyone realized).

This get-together also forced me to clean. My room was never a total train wreck (except one day), and the common area/kitchen wasn't bad, but they're both vacuumed and spotless. Okay, the kitchen was spotless until last night, and now all the pans are sulking in the sink. I'm not excited about that part. Maybe I can enlist some help...

Next time I"ll have to take pictures. For yes, there shall be a next time. This is kind of fun.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Wordle

So, I finally updated my Java browers and did a Wordle of my third novel.





Thanks, Q, for showing me Wordles! You can make your own at www.wordles.net.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Um...weirdness?

Let's start at the very beginning. Some time ago - July, maybe - I had a dream that a friend of mine died in an accident, and I didn't find out until a couple days later. I woke up absolutely freaking out, hyperventilating, crying (yes, but only for a very short time). It was one of the best feelings in the world to realize "He's not dead."

Take 2: Not long ago, I dreamed I was teaching this same person (who shall remain nameless - I'm learning from my mistakes) to waltz. To Waltz of the Flowers, Tchaikovsky. I can only imagine what a psychologist would do with this. The contrast between these dreams is so absurd I'm still laughing about it.

And now, a friend of this Nameless Person (I'm fond of caps in a weird way), has said (actually, IMed on Facebook), and I quote "lol does someone have a crush on [favourite name of your choice] lol".

What is this??? This is the second person I"ve been accused of having a crush on. In like, the same day. Clearly there were benefits to homeschooling. I never had this problem before. It shows me, though, that I must be a red-blooded female, because the whole face-getting-hot thing? Yeah. For the past sixteen years and eleven months of my live, I thought I was immune.

Ha. Apparently I have no power over that reaction. Look, I like both guys, yes. But in a platonic way. (I really like that word, platonic).

I'm sorry if this seemed disjointed and rambling. It's late. I should go to bed. But I'm afraid I'm going to stare at the (mostly) dark ceiling, thinking about this...

Sometimes I swear Facebook is evil. And the friend of this Person is the last person I ever expected to make me twitchy like that. It's even worse than the first accusation (made by two roommates, whom I love), because this Person is...how do I say this? In the vernacular, hot. (I'm sorry, yes, I'm going with SAT vocabulary here. It happens when I get flustered). He's both a football runningback and high school tutor. (I confess my skepticism and snobbery in believing the dumb football player stereotype and am now humble and glad there is an exception.) And we (some days I really hate that pronoun) both tutored at a high school, where freshman and sophomore girls all but glued themselves to him. I feel kind of bad now, because I talked to him quite a bit the first few weeks but not so much later on for fear of being mistaken as having a 'crush' on him. Since then I've had a couple personal epiphanies and realized I was being stupid.

So that is my sad, sad (in the sense of ridiculously pathetic) story. This is not a big deal, really. People are still without power from Ike. But ohhh, if there's something that gets under my skin it's being mistaken as a love-struck, crush-having boy-crazy - okay, no one has accused me of that last one.

It's the small things, right?

Monday, September 22, 2008

Turning Over a New Leaf...

Okay, bad pun, but since it is the first day of fall...I love my Mustang template, but I needed a change. Converse shoes are so classic. I did some very limited HTML editing, mostly with colors. If I left you off my blog roll, please tell me, and accept a sincere apology. I'm not trying to oust anyone here ;-)

So what do you think?

Oh, yes. The dorm does have power and water as of last night. However, the AC is struggling to get us below 85 degrees...Ahh! I do NOT like Ike.

EDIT: The temperature in the dorm is now blissful. I was afraid it would be another night of sleeping with a Ziploc of ice under my pillow.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

I AM ALIVE!!!

I know, some of you were starting to wonder about that (whether I was still conscious, breathing, etc.). Eight days. That's how long I was without power and internet. (I think I may hate candlelight for a long time). Yeah. I was really, really bored. The funny thing is, I slept through the worst night of the storm. Don't ask how that worked. Maybe excess tryptophan in the turkey? Who knows. I was proud of myself - I stopped swatting dead light switches after the first 24 hours.

I am so, so grateful for electric lights. And gas stoves (which work through hurricanes, BTW). And refrigerators. And internet. And car-chargers for cell phones and laptops, even if the cell phone coverage stinks.

So now I'm back at my dorm. Which, um, doesn't have full electricity. It's running on generators, and has no AC. Yeah. I'm not sure this was the best decision of my life, but it was that or wake up at 5 am and drive down here for practice. Thanks so much for prayers of safety - we had one huge limb come down in our yard, but miraculously it didn't hit the house at all, and the cars are fine.

So here's the next call for prayer - electricity for my dorm, which conveniently enough, is the only dorm building without full power/AC/water. Oh yeah, did I mention no water? I worry about myself sometimes.

Friday, September 12, 2008

This Week's Hurricane

I'm calling this a presidential hurricane, although I don't like Ike. I decided around 9 last night to drive home, because my little sis really, really, really wanted me to come back for the weekend. And there were only like 50 people still on campus.

So this is my update/prayer request: safety! We're supposed to get 70 mph winds for twelve hours straight starting around 2 am (great timing, huh?) Raewyn had the bad side of last week's hurricane; I'm getting this week's. It's not supposed to have Katrina-type damage or anything, but it is a massive storm.

Dependent on matters such as Internet connectivity and electricity availability, I'll try to keep everyone updated...

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

So.

I'm oddly hooked by what I wrote a few days ago (see below - actually, don't yet). Today is my day in between classes. My to-do list:

- Read the last act of Tony and Cleo.
- Stretch
- Swing by my coach's office
- Do some Spanish homework
- Organize my room

I don't have any reading to do for two of my classes (this may never occur again) because we are a bit behind shedule (misspelling purposeful). We've spent the time fleshing out the previous works (which I am happy with).

Wow, I'm using a lot of parentheses.

Anyway. It's been two weeks since I've actually worked on something. And since I have the time today...

Yes, that's right. I wrote. I wrote on the Iliad-inspired thing I started a few days ago. Here it is. This is starting from the very beginning (the way I began the original short was too abrupt for me), so after a couple pages, you'll realize it's the same material you've read before, but tweaked. As always, LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.

______________________________


The air felt like death. I wasn’t given to second-sight or prophecy as Cleon, but I felt danger holding its breath in the dry Greek afternoon, lingering around the next bend of the rift. I glanced over my right shoulder. “Patroclus.” I nodded at him to catch up.

Patroclus’ sword rattled in its hilt as he fell into stride next to me. “Yes, Altes.”

I considered him for a moment as we continued into the ravine. My father’s most trusted friend, nearing his fiftieth year but strong as Atlas holding up the sky. “I don’t like this path.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin, studded with grey stubble. “Its rockiness or its feeling?”

I stepped onto a rock slab jutting from the dried riverbed. “Both. Namely the feeling. It’s as though Hades is waiting to ambush us.”

The left corner of Patroclus’ mouth flickered down. He came from the school of thought which discouraged speaking the names of the gods. “It does not reassure me how many skulls we’ve seen.”

At that moment I saw the sun-bleached skeleton of a wild deer, its ribs no thicker than my middle finger. Each bone was smooth and white, in its correct position. It did not seem it died violently, but as if something snatched the life-breath from it, and it collapsed there. “Do you consider them omens?”

Dymas turned and snorted. “Omens? Hardly. Perhaps there have been more wolves this year.”

“In which case it would still be a warning, whether of the gods or not.” This from dark-skinned Lysias, who sailed to Greece several years ago from a place across the Mediterranean. He was nearly as devout as Patroclus.

I shook my head. “Remain alert. I’ll be glad to clear this ravine.”

Patroclus laid his hand on my shoulder, only for a moment, always careful to respect my status as my father’s child. “It won’t be long.”

I nodded, not looking at him. Patroclus knew my secret. Lysias suspected, I know, but he would not question me, or reveal his suspicions to anyone. Dymas was blind as the steep rock walls rising on our sides. Neither Harmon or Nomion spoke much of anything. Excellent fighters and dependable men, yes, intellectuals, no. I found myself in an uncomfortable position as proficient
in both disciplines.

A horse whinnied around the bend.

I felt the warm metal of my sword grip under my palm before I realized I’d reached for my weapon. Both Lysias and Harmon had hands on their swords; Nomion swung his bow over his shoulder an instant later.

Dymas and Patroclus rested their hands near their weapons, Dymas grimacing as though he longed for the familiar weight of his spear. I know he regretted having to send it ahead with the main party. He could pin an apple to a tree trunk from fifty paces back.

Patroclus made as if to step in front of me. I held a hand up. “Perhaps it’s a band of traders or nomads.” Anyone with equal or even slightly great numbers would be mad to engage us. The weakest fighter at the moment was Dymas, only because he was a master of the spear and not sword. As the leader of our group, I rounded the bend first.

Seven men stood across the ravine, barring the path, sun glinting from their armor.

I knew then, before a word had been spoken, they were here to meet us. Yesterday Perin suffered a deadly snake bite – mostly through his own foolishness – and was left behind for his troubles. We numbered six now.

The man in the center of the ravine unfolded his arms, looking at each of us, gaze settling last on me. “Altes.”

“What do you want?” I said. “We’re not on business of war.” Though if they attacked, that would soon change. “And if you’re wondering about our seventh man, he was bitten by a viper and left to recover.”

He lifted eyebrows the color of washed-out sand. Trojan coloring, faint accent. “Why would I be wondering of Perin?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t condescend to me. You’re waiting, fully armed, in a little-traveled ravine with seven men. Coincidentally the same number of men in my band until yesterday. It’s all a very convenient accident.”

In my side vision, Patroclus’ mouth twitched, likely in a combination of mirth and caution.
I kept my right hand draped over my sword hilt. “Dispense with the absurdity. What do you want of us?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting like blue ice. “It’s nothing I want of you, Altes.” He said my name with irritating familiarity. “It’s you and your men that I want.”

I felt cool fear wafting into my stomach. “Your first problem is if you think my father will be coerced into paying ransom, you are mistaken, and second problem that there are many wealthier families to kidnap from.” I half-turned and took in my group with a glance. “And with no insult intended, no one in this band possesses anything of absurd value.”

Except Dymas.

“Except for Dymas,” said the man. He did not shift his gaze to my red-haired spear thrower.

He knew, then, of Dymas’ pearl-beds. Perhaps not of the methods Dymas’ oysters produced such large stones – no one knew that – but he did know whose pearls were the most lustrous and valued.

“Well then,” I said. “One of seven. I congratulate you on your fine catch.” I paused. “Except for the minor issue that you have chosen to assault a highly-trained group of fighters. I suppose the laurel wreath will be due after you’ve defeated us.”

Patroclus made a suppressed sound of impatience. I understood the cause of his concern, but I could be much more insulting if I chose. All I said was true.

The Trojan smiled and drew his sword, metal singing once and again with the voice of Echo in the cliff walls. “Then I take that as a challenge.”

“Hardly,” I said. “We have business to attend to elsewhere that does not involve Trojan kidnappers.”

Dymas wavered in the corner of my left eye, glancing at me. I dipped my chin once. His fault was impatience, but he’d waited for the enemy to draw weapons first. Therefore I would allow him to respond for us.

He unsheathed his weapon, bronze glittering in the light.

The canyon sang with metal on metal, the clear ring of sword and sheath. I felt the weight of my sword, familiar as the laced sandals on my feet. Swinging my shield from my back, I slid it onto my left arm.

It was then I saw the man on the enemy’s side. At first I did not know what drew my gaze. As I cinched the straps on my shield, I began to discern. Something of the air around him appeared different – hazy, flickering, as the air on a scorching day.

He returned my gaze in a manner not describable with words – unflinching? Little wonder. He was huge. Not flabby, but the most muscular man I’d seen. And as sure as I knew my sword, I knew I was going to fight him. A total mismatch, yes, between the slight boy and the giant (not a true giant, of course).

So, it came as little surprise to me when a moment later we squared off. Half-grinning, my opponent brought down his sword with what seemed a casual turn of his wrist. His blade struck mine with enough force to clack my teeth together. I cursed myself for not anticipating the blow and took a half-step back, tightening my grip. Our blades met again, and my arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. I couldn't decide exactly what about this man worried me so much. There were many things. There was something about him physically that seemed...almost superhuman. Even without a helmet, he stood just enough taller than the rest. His shoulders filled armor inches wider than even my father's friend Argos. It was unnatural. By nature I was one of the best swordsmen - swordspersons - in Greece, and my father theorized that Artemis blessed me in my toddling days. Never had I met one who could put so much force into a stroke.Sunlight flashed against his sword, the bronze throwing specks of light into my eyes. I continued parrying, dodging. He was a giant, yes, and I was a girl masquerading as a boy, but I was by nature quicker. At one thrust, however, I could not dodge, and shoved my shield arm forward. Pain exploded in my arm as the blow knocked me backwards three steps. That was when I comprehended the truth I’d known all along but refused to admit.
He was toying with me. Impossible but true.
Teeth gritted, I scanned the ground near his feet. A rock the size of my fist laid on the sun-baked ground a few feet behind my opponent. If I could trick him into stepping backwards onto it, I might have the advantage for a few crucial moments."Yah!" I shouted and swung my blade at his head. A startled expression broke across his sun-tanned face, and he skipped backwards with surprising agility. His left heel came down on the rock, and he stumbled, shield swinging sideways.With a grunt, I slashed sideways. I hated killing, but I would hate to be killed more. With some impossible maneuver, he twisted at the last moment, regaining his balance. The blade bit into his arm instead of plunging into his side. At the least his sword arm was injured, giving me a hope of survival. I pulled back a few paces, glancing at the top of my sword. The other metallic rings of swords faded in my ears, the thuds, shouts, wind in my ears died.
I thought I would see crimson tipping my sword. Over the bronze of my sword, golden liquid gleamed, flecks of silver glinting in the sun, droplets sliding toward the hilt.It fell together. A man stronger than all the rest. An unnatural fighter. Golden blood.Ichor. Blood of the gods.It could not have been a breath later I looked up, eyes wide. "Ares."The edges of his lips curved up, smooth as a new archer's bow. No doubt he was pleased with my paralysis, my awe, my fear. With no warning change in his posture, he attacked. Three strokes later my wrist snapped. A choked sound of pain split my lips as pain rushed through my right arm. My sword clanged against the ground. I bent for it, knowing I had no time.A blur of glimmering, flashing bronze, and a wall of metal slammed into my chest, driving me backwards into the cliff side. A spur of jagged rock dug into my skull, and light flared in my eyes for an instant. The edge of his shield dug into my throat. I prayed to Pallas Athena and to Artemis to act in these last few moments, to spare my life.The goddesses had other business than to interfere with this pitiful mortal's affairs, because Athena did not appear with her shield, or Artemis the Huntress with her bow.
A sharp edge bit into my neck, and I forced my eyes open. I would not die as a coward. Just cut down by an immortal’s blade."That would be Lord Ares to you, boy," said the god of war.I repressed a last impudent comment. Dying quickly and cleanly appealed than some of the more grisly deaths Ares was famed for. All I wanted to know was why, why me, why an immortal deigned to meet swords with me.I did not ask, because something slammed into my temple, and the dark mists of unconsciousness swirled over my eyes.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Must Write!

This will be a very short post, but I have to write some fiction. It's been two weeks. I'm not even sure what I'm going to write about yet, so don't expect a masterpiece (and no, Judi, this is not the promised story involving music and colors. Hang tight, 'kay?) I'd love to write about my crazy long run on Sunday, and how ticked off one of my teammates got at the guy who suggested this particular park to run at, but I'd have to do a lot of editing. Language issues and all. Don't get me wrong on this, but it was really funny. Of course, I also tripped and ate dust the day before, so maybe my brain was just rattled...

Alright, I"ve got an idea. This is total off-the-top-of-the-head, inspired by The Iliad. I finished book 8 this morning. (And no, this is not brought on by the Percy Jackson books).

My opponent brought down his sword with what seemed a casual turn of his wrist. His blade hit mine with enough force to clack my teeth together. I cursed myself for not anticipating the blow and took a half-step back, tightening my grip. Our blades met again, and my arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.

I couldn't decide exactly what about this man worried me so much - aside from the fact he was in a group ambushing a small pack of travelers. And that there was something about him physically that seemed...almost superhuman. Even without a helmet, he stood just enough taller than the rest. His shoulders filled armor inches wider than even my father's friend Argos. It was unnatural. By nature I was one of the best swordsmen - swordspersons - in Greece, and my father theorized that Artemis blessed me in my toddling days. Never had I met one who could put so much force into a stroke.

Sunlight flashed against his sword, the bronze throwing specks of light into my eyes. I continued parrying, dodging. He was a giant, yes, and I was a girl masquerading as a boy, but I was by nature quicker. At one thrust, however, I could not dodge, and shoved my shield arm forward. Pain exploded in my arm as the blow knocked me backwards three steps. Teeth gritted, I scanned the ground near his feet. A rock the size of my fist laid on the sun-baked ground a few feet behind my opponent. If I could trick him into stepping backwards onto it, I might have the advantage for a few crucial moments.

"Yah!" I shouted and swung my blade at his head.

A startled expression broke across his sun-tanned face, and he skipped backwards with surprising agility. His left heel came down on the rock, and he stumbled, shield swinging sideways.

With a grunt, I slashed sideways. I hated killing, but I would hate to be killed more.

Somehow, with some impossible maneuver, he twisted at the last moment, regaining his balance. The blade bit into his arm instead of plunging into his side. At the least his sword arm was injured, giving me a hope of survival. I pulled back a few paces, glancing at the top of my sword. The other metallic rings of swords faded in my ears, the thuds, shouts, wind in my ears died. I thought I would see crimson tipping my sword.

Over the bronze of my sword, golden liquid gleamed, flecks of silver glinting in the sun, droplets sliding toward the hilt.

It fell together. A man stronger than all the rest. An unnatural fighter. Golden blood.

Ichor. Blood of the gods.

It could not have been a breath later that I looked up, eyes wide. The word was a whisper. "Ares."

The edges of his lips curved up, smooth as a new archer's bow. No doubt he was pleased with my paralysis, my awe, my fear. With no warning change in his posture, he attacked.

Three strokes later my wrist snapped. A choked sound of pain split my lips as pain rushed through my right arm. My sword clanged against the ground. I bent for it, knowing I had no time.

A blur of glimmering, flashing bronze, and a wall of metal slammed into my chest, driving me backwards into the rock wall. A spur of jagged rock dug into my skull, and light flared in my eyes for an instant. The edge of his shield dug into the base of my neck. I prayed to Pallas Athena and to Artemis, to act in these last few moments, to perhaps spare my life.

The goddesses had other business than to interfere with this pitiful mortal's affairs, because Athena did not appear with her shield, nor did an arrow of Artemis the Huntress strike. A sharp edge pricked under my chin, and I forced my eyes open. I would not die as a coward.

"That would be Lord Ares to you, boy," said the god of war.

I repressed a last impudent comment. Dying quickly and cleanly appealed than some of the more grisly deaths Ares was famed for. All I wanted to know was why, why me, why an immortal deigned to meet swords with me.

I did not ask, because something slammed into my temple, and the dark mists of unconsciousness swirled over my eyes.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Insomniac?

Maybe not. The thing is, I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep. I do, in a way...am I just rambling here? Something in me doesn't want to surrender the day yet. *siiighs*. It's been a long week. Highs. Naps. Lows. Naps. Laundry. Study. The Iliad. A Presocratic reader.

Right, the Iliad. It's the next assignment for one of my classes. I wasn't sure what to expect - I've read Rick Riordan's modern-day take on the Greek gods/goddesses, so I do have a background, in a way :-) (If you haven't read the Percy Jackson books, get to a library. Or a bookstore. They aren't super-high reading level, but they are so fun.) The Iliad is interesting in that it's Greek poetry translated into English. It has a completely different feel to it; alien, almost, but beautiful. In sometimes a violent sort of way.

I am so sore. It hasn't been an easy week on the cross-country team. At least tomorrow is an easy run, but it's followed by weight lifting, which does something to nix the 'easy' part. Ugh. That's another 6 am wakeup. How about 9? or 10? What a lovely thought. As it is, I'll be squeezing in a 45 min nap between Spanish IV and Shakespeare (grooooan! Julius Caesar is a favorite play, but we're covering a play a week...) If I skip lunch, I could make it a bit over an hour nap, but food is just one of those things runners do poorly without. *passes out, nailing forehead against Norton's Shakespeare Anthology*

Hmm...tempting, except the book's already a headache.

My eyelids keep sinking, and I'm typing this sentence blind. Not too hard, actually. In a strange way, I can picture the screen and the words dancing across the page as I type them into existence.

Wow. I am tired. As I drifted toward sleep last night, I started playing with a vague concept I've had for a while, about music and instruments and the rainbow. If I get the time, and the sleep, there will be a forthcoming story. Maybe not even a short - probably a wee bit longer.

Buenas noches!

Monday, September 1, 2008

Quick!

Enna Isilee is having a massive giveaway on her blog - check it out!