pameladean | When icicles hang by the wall

We have no icicles at the moment, but I expect we will after the monstrous storm that is brewing up to hit us on the 25th. People on the East Coast may laugh hollowly if they like; it's still uncertain whether we are going to get buried to the extent that you guys did.

I finished Chapter 5, which was largely a patchwork of existing text. I had been dithering about a particular long conversation, whether to delete it, move it to later in the book, or cut it severely. (Note to Shweta: it's the one about communication.) In the end, I left it where it was and cut it moderately. Anything else threw off the balance.

I also just last night finished Chapter 6, which is new material from Arry's viewpoint, though I salvaged a dinner menu and some description. I remarked glumly to Eric at some point that the creative pot was boiling, which means that I found myself putting in a number of events and remarks that were completely new. In one case I can see where said event fits into the book as envisioned, but I don't at all know about the others. I have left everything for the moment and hope I can weave it in reasonably. Arry needs to become acquainted with other students at Heathwill somehow, and if they insist on volunteering information, I must trust that it will be relevant, make it so, or cut it back later.

So far I have got Arry to Heathwill very expeditiously indeed, but Ruth is lagging behind. I have reluctantly decided that it is necessary that she do so. Chapter 7, which I am avoiding by typing this entry, will be hers, and I am going to try hard to get her to Heathwill by the end of it. The first part of the chapter will have new material that I thought up consciously to serve particular ends. Writing, or my writing, being what it is, there is actually not much more certainty that this material will survive the finishing of the book than there is that the spontaneous events will.

I went back to the clinic for a blood-pressure check after being on the ultra-high dose of beta blockers for a month. Still no migraines, and no palpitations either. My blood pressure at home has been borderline, not scary, but higher than one would prefer. In the clinic it was quite high at first (152/106), and my pulse was 98. I am inured to all this (which does not keep me from fretting about it beforehand), but it upset the nurse. She left me alone for ten minutes, and the automatic monitor delivered a verdict every five minutes: first 135/98, and then 129/90, with the pulse steadying down to 90 too. Neither of us liked the diastolic pressure very much, even so.

We looked over my list of medications, and agreed that there was room to raise the dosage of the ACE inhibitor. I told her that I still had my 20 mg tablets from last summer. She went off to call my doctor. He told her to tell me not to change anything, that he didn't want to slam my blood pressure down too fast because experience suggested I would get dizzy and light-headed. I should just go on taking my medication and make an appointment to see him. She told the scheduler it wasn't urgent, so I'm not too worried. The last time I saw my actual doctor, I had an initial pulse rate of over a hundred. He left me alone for half an hour, and came back with a watch he had borrowed from somebody so he could take my pulse manually. It was 80 by that time, and if he thought the blood-pressure monitor freaked me out, he might have had a point. I think he feels that I am high-strung and that the nurses are Doin It Rong, and he may have a point there, too.

I've just started a conversation with the relevant parties about postponing our Christmas celebration until the 27th. I doubt that David's mother, his sister, and her partner will be able to drive from Northfield if the forecast is accurate. It's even possible that we won't really want to try getting to Eden Prairie from Minneapolis. I will be making pies again. No apple this time. The 25th is Eric's birthday, so the third dessert will be pots de creme.

I never do this, but always mean to.

Elizabeth Bear, All the Windwracked Stars. I had great difficulty starting this book, probably because I took it with me to the ER in October, but also because it begins with a harrowing and bloody situation. I ended up taking a break to reread the first three Amelia Peabody books (reminding myself why I had not continued further in the series), and then took it up again. I am always fascinated by Bear's characters, and became particularly fond of Muir; I also loved the level of meta that the book occasionally rose to, which cracked me up several times, though overall the setting is extremely grim. I had been quite taken with one of the more-or-less bad guys and never quite got over finding out that said person was not as I'd hoped. I think I missed some things, though. Rumor suggests that I may be enlightened by reading the other books in the set of three, and since I'm always happy to read anything by Bear, this will work well enough.

Naomi Mitchison, Travel Light. Raphael commended this to me some time ago. It's a short, funny, grim, and altogether odd fairy tale. I doubt that anyone other than Mitchison could ever have written it. Like the Bear book, it uses Norse mythology, and they are such a strange combination that I recommend it.

Sara Ryan, The Empress of the World and The Rules for Hearts. First rereading for the second book, third or fourth for the first. These are mainstream YA, but they have what one might call stfnal sensibilities -- the person who wrote them is not clueless about science fiction and fantasy. They are brief, complex, and funny; I'm always sorry to get to the end, and at the same time marvel at the efficiency of the author. If I were telling those stories I'd take three times as many words to do so.

sdn sent me the first when I became one of her writers and asked for recommendations of coming-of-age books about gay and bisexual girls. The second I snatched up as soon as I knew it had been published.

Vegan lasagna; curried shrimp and aloo gobi; black-eyed peas with kale; fish curry (don't use pollock next time) and curried mixed vegetables; bread for the Minn-Stf meeting (too dry, not enough salt); barbecued tofu; non-dairy fish chowder; pasta with tomatoes, spinach, and sheep's-milk feta. Raphael made salmon-spinach-pasta salad; Eric also brought me a variation on that with tasty additions, for both of which I was very grateful. Eric and I are going to make tofu vegetable soup with miso this evening, if all goes well.

I had better go glare at Chapter 7. Fondest greetings of the season to all of you, and if any of you would prefer that every manifestation of the season just go away and leave you alone, I hope you may have that wish granted and emerge refreshed when things are back to normal.

Pamela

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markiv1111.livejournal.com

It is always good to hear from you. I was wondering if you and I were both going to post about running into each other in those mile-long lines to get H1N1 shots. (Louie and I had a feeling that we would probably meet somebody we knew, there in the high school lunchroom, but no clue as to who that person would be.) Did you and Eric give up and go home without getting your shot? Louie and I thought we were going to see you again as we waited in the last possible line to get our own shots, but we did not see you. The entire trip (keeping in mind that the high school is quite close to where Louie and I live) took three hours and took away some time I had planned on spending on my day job. Oh, well.

Nate

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When icicles hang by the wall

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