Writing— the novel, this blog, picture books, the works, has basically been on hold these last few weeks due to the storytelling performance I have coming up Saturday.

More dabbles and drivel to follow.  The same only-click-if-you-feel-like-wasting-time warning applies.

I got a 30-hour “get-away” from Friday to Saturday and had some incredibly long and meaningful conversations with my husband while we were driving around 14 of those hours in his golf.

No, we weren’t talking the whole time.  I read some too, and we listened to music, but it’s been a *long* time since we talked like that.

All three kids were with my parents.  It’s the longest we’ve been apart since before Elisha was born.

Other parts of the two days were spent getting a perm,

I figure no one really cares, but I love it, so I thought I’d mention it.  If anybody takes a good pix of me telling stories I’ll post it here and you’ll get to see the new look.  My hair’s already a bit curly, and that seems to make it work well.

And waiting around at the VW dealership for them to cut us some keys.

With the diesel it was actually cheaper to drive than get them cut for what they were asking in town.

And reading the book new book I got: Thistle and Thyme by Sorche Nic Leodhas.  An older collection of older Scottish stories.

Just, *Wow.* Almost all were both wholly new to me and excellent.

Tuesday Tales are going to get back off the basics come next week (if I manage to post a story).  There’s just too much good stuff to plug straight through the old stuff I don’t even like.

Not that I dislike all of them.  I’m just not interested enough to spend the time.

Anyway, here’s another excerpt.  Longer than before, but the scene was so odd to me (the way it came not *based* on anything but straight out of my head…) anyway, if anyone reads it I’m curious if it feels coherent.

In defiance of all her grandfather’s nagging, Cecilia was twisting the veil between her fingers again.

“This is ridiculous,” she said with calm sincerity to the next brick in the bare wall. “They must understand how foolish it is to dress me up each morning and put me in an empty room. He’s already three days late. How long are we going to go through this exercise?”

The worn stone had no more to add than the previous gross. In an effort to avoid the appearance of madness, Cecillia changed her tone from reasonable to consoling.

“I suppose you don’t like it any better than I? You used to be covered by warm, beautiful tapestries.”

A pause.  She caressed the curve of the stone with her fingertips.

“Oh, very well, you were too close to be able to fully enjoy the sweeping view, but surely you were able to enjoy the mass of color the picture-threads spilled behind the image? I thought so, so no more complaining out of you.”

Cecilia thought she heard a blast of trumpets far below, but this time she didn’t even rise to stand in her hard-argued window to see if it was imagined once again. This stone was particularly intriguing, having a new perspective on things than the other stones, and she was afraid if she once moved away it would take too long to find it again.

She sighed.

“If it is the Crown Prince Torbjorn I still won’t be allowed to see him for hours, so why abandon my first interesting conversation of the week for that chance?”

But the stone must not have enjoyed the talk as much as she, for it had turned its back on her, and she could no longer distinguish it from its fellows.

Sighing again, and feeling a bit light headed, Cecillia stood to mark the circumference of the tower. To her surprise she had made only a score of laps, improvising new step patterns and feeling the stones pop out of their cracks under her fingertips, when there was a timid knock on the door.

Taking note of the angle of light, Cecillia positioned herself expertly and checked her posture before saying, “Enter,” in her clearest voice.

It was one of the unspectacular maids, but she was followed by a most impressive lady. Sarsa, Cecillia reminded herself, focused on assimilating new words as quickly as possible. Not ‘lady.’

The sarsa’s posture and bearing were exquisite. She dipped a curtsy without bending her back the slightest and introduced herself.

“Sarsa Runa of the household of King Egiltor and Queen Lovisa, of the noble kingdom Sundista. I have been sent to attend you.”

Cecillia was delighted to have such a beautiful and charming companion. She successfully squelched the part of her that felt intimidated by such inherent power, and inclined her head in return.

“My most gracious welcome to you, Sarsa Runa. I am thankful to know my new family is so thoughtful as to provide you for my comfort.”

She imagined she saw a cat’s stare for a moment before Runa looked down again. “I am thankful to please your highness.”

This was from before the writing-hiatus, but I was itching to play with my story a bit so cleaning up this scene served that purpose for me.

The girl seems a bit out of it, and I wondered if it made the scene confusing too.