:((( at Skype but yay for writing!
It’s so annoying, but I’m too lazy to restart my computer just yet. And it’s slow writing, but I have the vague idea of what sentences to write next, so yay! Really lazy vague theology statements and laundry-listing the PE names for the Valar.
before building kilns I’m pretty sure I remember some cultures having pit-kilns? also options for low-temp porous earthenware or resin-coated reed baskets
looking these up and stealing both. 🙂
between roommate’s job-drama, 9 hour shifts, and con-prep, I have no brain to parse this right now, but remind me of this next week and I’ll probably have useful feedback for you
*hugs and sympathy for all the drama*
Thanks to the scramble thinking I’d have this Colorado trip and then it apparently not happening (right after I rescheduled my dental appointment, so yay another ten-day delay on pulling teeth) so suddenly I have this free time to fret over my stories. So on one hand, the young bucks of Cuivi stories are things I need to write out, the first meetings between Elwë, Finwë, and Ingwë, expanding the life and world-building of my prehistoric elves (and it’s fun to pull up the primitive elvish dictionary and find while there isn’t a word directly for beer, enough ‘drinking-goblets-partying and carousing’ that I can have the first agricultural elves and their beer, and thinking okay what do I remember about pottery and crap what comes before building actual kilns – which is a Noldor invention, duh, since I already have Míriel’s parents as the inventors of glass).
And do I have enough of a plot besides the idea: “Elwë’s family finishes roof of new storage building, invited his friends as part. Work in:
telu, tel-u “roof in, put the crown on a building”, atakwê “construction, building”, tupsê “thatch”. Feel smug that thatch-roof huts are canon-supported. Boys have a great time.“ Realize I had shied away from Cuiviénen-specific Silmarillion fan-fiction because of the heavy focus on vocabulary and language development. Look at what I’m doing. Weep.
…once again, we’re almost twins. The doctors told my mom I was going to be a boy too, so I was going to be Patrick Ethan [lastname]. As it is I got a similarly generic first/middle name pairing :
At least you weren’t almost born in the Pentagon, Brain-twin!
Oh geez, Patrick. That’s another family name/would have been. One of my sisters has Patricia as a middle name because it was the feminine version to honor all the Patricks. (Same with Petra=Peter). My middle name is my mom’s first, following the eldest daughter family tradition that unfortunately resolutely child-free me shall break.
Oh gods, my goober hound is my patronus (at least as she will harrier-howl at the slightest thing)
Autumn leaves at night by nipomen2 on Flickr.
Valinor is dark. Light is gone from the sky; there is only what they carry with them. Color seems gone from the world, even bright gems and vivid garments having lost something of their luster. Beyond the bright spheres of lamps and lampstones are only shades of grey like ashes. Still, she cannot bear to sit any longer immured within her family’s home. Restlessness drives her out into the gardens that were once her pride and joy, but the flowers are wilted, the grass brittle beneath her feet, the trees’ voices only soft mournful cries. The faint sickly-sweet scent of decay lingers everywhere.
In the darkness the trickling of the stream that feeds the garden pond is loud, and she heads for it – water at least does not need light to carry onwards in its path. Finding the edge of the pond, she begins to follow it towards the stream until a sudden shock of crimson halts her in her tracks. This tree still sings, quiet and brave, facing the dark and cold with a show of defiance. Not brown and withered like the others, it’s leaves have brightened to fiery gold and orange and crimson, and she stands under its branches and marvels.
I just have all these feelings about how the love of the elves for the world is their love for the Ainur, the Ainur are the world – the winds, the trees, the flowers and waters and mountains, and that is why the elves are most at peace where the influence of the Ainur is strongest, where the world is most beautiful and perfect and undying. And the Ainur love the elves for being something not-them, something new and wonderful and precious, for giving meaning and purpose to their work in building the world. And it’s this beautiful symbiotic relationship, where together they are more whole and fulfilled than either could be apart.
❤ male: on pure amusement to read, Mandorallen of the pure and lovely and dumb chivalric soul, parody of knighthood (just imagine him interacting with crossovers)
❤ female: Taiba
✖ least favorite: that old sorcerer dude in Chtul Murgos, most of the Gorlims, definitely the worst of the Bear Cult
✔ who resembles me: …idk, but Vordai the fen-witch speaks to my soul
❤ most attractive: Hard- never pictured Aunt Pol as Lúthien-beautiful despite canon, most the rest (ex: Ce’nedra) not my type… Durnik, as the approachable sweet mortal hero that marries the goddess type, ‘Zakath
❤ three more characters that i like: Hettar, Beldin, Relg
My mom still has it in her kitchen cabinet somewhere, but I grew up on Mickey Mouse waffles – pancakes were on the frying pan or Grandma’s griddle and always made using a can of cheap beer – but every single waffle was in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s face and I rarely have had a regular looking waffle in my life. (Nowadays they look like Texas)
The waffle iron in this picture looks like the one we had (again it’s a old model).
The ritual was you always ate the ears first, cut the rest into quarters or sixths, and the most syrup was always in the nose. Syrup of course a lingonberry or boysenberry or blackberry.
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