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The Prequel's Progress: 34839, after which I knocked off to fool around on LJ for a while before heading to bed, and then while mulling over the last couple of sessions of work I was suddenly struck by one of those pants-around-the-ankles-mumbling-"yeah, and then he would have... yeah" epiphanies about a minor character who was formed out of the intersection of two throwaway lines, and who turns out to be the perfect "And here's one I prepared earlier" figure to serve as a counterpoint for the difficulties the Narrator is facing in the middle section of the book -- I hadn't realized until just now, but his backstory is essentially the same as that of the younger character who's giving the Narrator such hell in the second and third acts, only he brings to the party the perspective of someone who knows how it comes out when you do Grow The Hell Up. Much pondering ahead, but this could be the handle on the framework of the later stages that I've been needing.
World news roundup:
The Papal Conclave is now scheduled to begin deliberations on Monday the 18th, so I can only hope that they either get it wrapped up right away or are hopelessly deadlocked, because I do the Jeopardy! test (again) that Wednesday and it would be just my luck to miss the Big Moment. My prediction: Cardinal Arinze of Nigeria would satisfy both the "we're big in the Third World, y'know" notion and the "we want someone old so it turns over again soon, knowwhatImean" line of thinking, plus the prospect of getting to crack, "'Scuse me while I whip this out" every time the Pope comes on TV just sets my snark glands hopping. Second choice: Maradiega of Honduras, who's actually even better looking on paper but he's "only" 62. Fairly confident, though, that even if the College looks back to Europe it won't go back to Italy, not if they don't want to look like a bunch of schoolchildren yanking their ball back after the other kid's had half a turn. Worst-case scenario: Ratzinger. Okay, the extremely snarkable name is a plus, but one hears he's rather the uberconservative stick-in-the-mud policy-wise.
(Gee, you would almost get the impression I give a damn about this, wouldn't you...)
Prince Rainier of Monaco is dead, meaning that the son of an American actress now sits on the Barbie-sized throne of the tiny principality. I find this strangely ominous.
I hope that Peter Jennings will have the courage to go the full monty with his lung cancer diagnosis and present himself in the anchor-chair every night as the bald, wasting face of chemo; it's a personal tragedy, but the opportunity to use his prominence and visibility to graphically get the point across about the price of getting hooked on the death-sticks could well be the makings of a much larger and longer-lasting legacy than his journalistic reputation alone would leave. I think if he tries to "act normal" and cover up with a rug the rest of the gigglebots will start playing Wolves and Buffalo with him anyway, so he may as well go out kicking and screaming.
Ovaries still acting unusually belligerent. I swear as I woke up yesterday morning I heard the left one say, "I LOVE YOU MAN!!" to the right one; it sounded as if they'd been out drinking. They keep nagging me to roam the dial in search of PopeCam shots of the Swiss Guards. Whatever they're plotting, I'm not sure I want to be around when it goes down...
World news roundup:
The Papal Conclave is now scheduled to begin deliberations on Monday the 18th, so I can only hope that they either get it wrapped up right away or are hopelessly deadlocked, because I do the Jeopardy! test (again) that Wednesday and it would be just my luck to miss the Big Moment. My prediction: Cardinal Arinze of Nigeria would satisfy both the "we're big in the Third World, y'know" notion and the "we want someone old so it turns over again soon, knowwhatImean" line of thinking, plus the prospect of getting to crack, "'Scuse me while I whip this out" every time the Pope comes on TV just sets my snark glands hopping. Second choice: Maradiega of Honduras, who's actually even better looking on paper but he's "only" 62. Fairly confident, though, that even if the College looks back to Europe it won't go back to Italy, not if they don't want to look like a bunch of schoolchildren yanking their ball back after the other kid's had half a turn. Worst-case scenario: Ratzinger. Okay, the extremely snarkable name is a plus, but one hears he's rather the uberconservative stick-in-the-mud policy-wise.
(Gee, you would almost get the impression I give a damn about this, wouldn't you...)
Prince Rainier of Monaco is dead, meaning that the son of an American actress now sits on the Barbie-sized throne of the tiny principality. I find this strangely ominous.
I hope that Peter Jennings will have the courage to go the full monty with his lung cancer diagnosis and present himself in the anchor-chair every night as the bald, wasting face of chemo; it's a personal tragedy, but the opportunity to use his prominence and visibility to graphically get the point across about the price of getting hooked on the death-sticks could well be the makings of a much larger and longer-lasting legacy than his journalistic reputation alone would leave. I think if he tries to "act normal" and cover up with a rug the rest of the gigglebots will start playing Wolves and Buffalo with him anyway, so he may as well go out kicking and screaming.
Ovaries still acting unusually belligerent. I swear as I woke up yesterday morning I heard the left one say, "I LOVE YOU MAN!!" to the right one; it sounded as if they'd been out drinking. They keep nagging me to roam the dial in search of PopeCam shots of the Swiss Guards. Whatever they're plotting, I'm not sure I want to be around when it goes down...
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