Some of you will recall my sad and bitter tale from earlier this year of finding oranges too much of a pain to actually bother eating. There’s one exception to that, which are Christmas oranges*, which I love beyond reason. I will eat Christmas oranges until I turn orange, given the opportunity. So I was just eating one, and it had a couple of seeds, and on a sheerly what-the-hell impulse, I have planted the seeds. The intarweb tubs suggest that there’s a pretty good chance of getting seedlings from…
Fantasy Medley
A FANTASY MEDLEY got a really *wonderful* review from Green Man Review, and, lost in admiration of all of us as writers, I went and re-read it, including my own “From Russia, With Love”. It is possible that this is my favorite thing I’ve ever written, edging out even RIGHT ANGLES TO FAERYLAND (though I rather expect that it might regain its top placing when I someday revise it). I really, really love this story. I usually generally like my own writing (which I choose to interpret as a good…
Writer Meme
* Age when I decided I wanted to be a writer: I genuinely have no recollection of *not* intending to be a writer. I was six the first time I got published (in a school anthology). * Age when I “wrote” my first story: Certainly not more than 8 or 9 when I first tackled something that was meant to be large-scale. * Age when I got my hands on a typewriter: I learned to type properly on a typewriter when I was in 4th grade, so I was…*counts on…
it’s aaaaaaaaliiiiiiiive!
Rejoining the world of the bloggers after a very pleasant and almost entirely off-line weekend. We had a lovely time with /Kate, and we all ate a truly tremendous amount of turkey, stuffing, and pie (they don’t have canned pumpkin here, so we ended up finding some fresh pumpkin puree, and Mom made the best pumpkin pie that any of us had ever had–and I’ve rarely met a pumpkin pie I didn’t like. Wow. No going back, now!), and lay around being comatose and content. :) Ted made homemade rolls…
bits and bobs
Ted went Christmas shopping in Dublin yesterday, where he says he did not find anything at all that he was looking for for me. On the other hand, he did find the man who sells honey-roasted pecans and cashews and cinnamon-and-sugar-soaked dried apple slices, and this is probably worth the price of admission. Except, of course, the danger of knowing where that shop *is*, now…. :) We are not, at this house, in a turkey stupor, because we’re not holding Thanksgiving until tomorrow (when our ONE IRISH FRIEND WHO *LOVES*…