?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Ah, where do I begin! Treachery and worse, and but for chance and fortune and the overheard mutterings of the pirate crew on whose ship I had become a passenger, hoping thereby to reach the mouth of the Caranduin...my words are a tumult. Even now, I shudder at how near this mission was brought to ruin. Yesterday I chanced to notice a very large crow perched in the rigging, a foul thing watching me with contempt. And shortly thereafter, I was was working on this blasted manuscript in what passed for the fo'castle of that leaking tub, writing by what light one can wring from tallow, when I heard the Captain and his First talking above decks. Whispering between themselves, thinking I would not hear. I was a fool to believe I would so easily evade setsuled, and more than a fool to trust the scum that ply the waters of this black sea. I had been recognized in Thaurband and word was passed from ship to ship by crow heralds. I listened in horror as the Captain plotted murder and mangled the Sindarin tongue, stuttering and stumbling over the name bestowed upon me a year ago by the elves who yet remain in East Lórien. I set the ship ablaze, trusting we were near enough to shore that I might survive the swim, and made my escape in the confusion and pandemonium that followed. Now, believing myself only a short ways east of the marches where the Caranduin empties into the Núrnen, I will turn north. I know now that I am discovered, though I have yet some dim hope that my purpose remains a mystery to setsuled. By now, I should have passed the peak of Morigost and reached the Gorgoroth. Instead, I am countless leagues west of that course, half lost or more in these desolate lands...

Or, to put it another way, the Mordorian Death March has become a sort of Mordorian Death Meander, as I wait for word from Los Angeles and New York about exactly what must be done and why and how and by when. Since I have no time to waste in waiting, I resolved yesterday, after speaking with my editor at HarperCollins, that while I wait I will attend to other projects. Yesterday, I read through "The Ape's Wife" again and made what I hope will be the final revisions to the manuscript. I really do love this story. And I am determined to get it right. Anyway, today I will try to get a head start on Sirenia Digest #19 (June) and begin a new vignette. Once again, The Dinosaurs of Mars has been derailed — or at least delayed — and at this point I can't imagine I'll be able to begin Joey LaFaye before July.

A good walk yesterday. Last night, we watched Stuart Rosenberg's Cool Hand Luke (1967). This has long been a favourite of mine, but Spooky had never seen it. When I am old and finally sit down to compile my list of the 500 best American films, Cool Hand Luke will be somewhere on that list. At midnight, we caught an old Nova episode about the creation of the Channeled Scablands by the catastrophic failure of the ice dam that held back Glacial Lake Missoula 15,000 years ago. And then I read another chapter of the Steinbeck bio. And that was yesterday — pirates, tattling crows, burning boats, and all.

Onward...

Postscript (1:09 p.m.) — I have just learned of the death of Lloyd Alexander. Another light is gone from the world.

Comments

ex_blue_verv849
May. 17th, 2007 07:14 pm (UTC)
I listened in horror as the Captain plotted murder and mangled the Sindarin tongue, stuttering and stumbling over the name bestowed upon me a year ago by the elves who yet remain in East Lórien. I set the ship ablaze, trusting we were near enough to shore that I might survive the swim, and made my escape in the confusion and pandemonium that followed.

I feel almost guilty enjoying this travelogue as I do, given all the hardships you have to endure ere it reaches my corner of Hobbiton.
greygirlbeast
May. 17th, 2007 07:44 pm (UTC)

I feel almost guilty enjoying this travelogue as I do, given all the hardships you have to endure ere it reaches my corner of Hobbiton.

At least I know someone's listening... ;-)