Tuesday, April 6, 2010


Yep. Raining.

Good thing. It's that wintry, Tasmanian rain that comes and goes in fierce bursts, interspersed with drizzle. It's still warmer than usual for this time of year, though, so this rain will bring mushrooms of many kinds. Also, it will push up the grass, and maybe help along all my recent plantings: gooseberries, kiwis, bamboo, mulberries... my orange tree, and even my lime tree.

I've spent the morning writing up a manuscript assessment. Needed a break from my own work anyway, and it's always helpful carving through somebody else's errors. I learn. From this MS, I learned the importance of structuring scenes within a novel, and the rather tremendous power of Point of View. I think probably need to cut back on my feedback a little, though. Including the notes-made-while-reading (which I always include) the whole document ran to nine thousand words.

Luckily that doesn't take me too long. But it's still gotta be daunting to read, no matter how helpfully and supportively it's written. (And those of you now thinking about sending me an MS: I get paid for this stuff, ya know.)

We've got a couple visitors with us at the moment. Natalie's sister is here, with her little toddler-type. They've been here a few days now, and it's been good, what with my lot home over the Easter break. We did the egg-hunt stuff on Monday, not Sunday, and there was much chocolate-fuelled jubilation.

Unfortunately, my sister-in-law has just come down with a good dose of gastro, both ends going. And of course, as Chief Cook, I'm watching in horror, wondering what I've done. Was it the twice-cooked chicken? Surely not! Nobody else has had even a twinge. Was it the charcoal-roasted leg of lamb with crispy new potatoes and green salad? How? How could that be? Was it the free-range eggs baked inside a ramekin lined with locally sourced smoky bacon? I can't see how that could be -- but as far as I can remember, that's the only dish she's had all by herself so far.

Never mind. Nobody seems likely to keel over and die.

The new heat pump or reverse-cycle AC unit or whatever you call it is doing its job admirably. It's quiet and efficient, and despite that it's dark and bleak and rainy outside, we've not even thought about lighting the wood stove. Good. I'm over that thing... smoky, hard to start. Suppose I'll have to keep it around, though. The local power supply is notoriously unreliable. Especially on a Tuesday, when I'm trying to work.

Meanwhile: sword practise - check. Ju-jitsu practice - check. Music on the new whistle Nat brought back from the folky festival - check. Writing - behind.

Gotta go.

A Random Work Of Genius

Best. Fanfic. Ever.


If you read science fiction, in this version Harry is smart, science-oriented, and asks every goddam question you EVER wanted to ask about the idiocy of the Muggle World/Wizarding World paradox. And he asks them cleverly, in-plot, with lots of character and sheer fun.

This is the world where Harry Potter isn't a mispelling of 'Hapless Pratt'. It's the equivalent of injecting an intelligent, normal human into a Zombie movie, or a slasher flick. And it's great fun.