KES. Heh heh heh.
YOU THINK LAST SATURDAY NIGHT WAS BAD.* Next week will be bad too. So will the week after that. We are (finally) approaching Kes’ first night in her new home** and it’s going to be EXCITING. In fact I have spent too much of this past weekend writing eps one hundred eleven through one thirteen and it’s almost TOO exciting. If I manage to grind out something for the blog in time I’m going to try to get a start on fourteen because even I can’t stand the cliffhanger thirteen ends on.
I want that bracelet. Or, rather, a bracelet like that bracelet, without the magical impedimenta. At this point I’m assuming magic is involved, and I don’t want any of that myself, thanks ever so much.
You don’t? Golly. I think I’ve spent my life hoping that one day I will raise my hand and a beam of light will lance out from the palm. Or something. That might not be the ideal manifestation; I don’t necessarily want to fry a hole in the wall or set fire to anything. I know: I want to raise my hand and the large off-lead dog charging toward us will make a soft popping noise as it disappears like a soap bubble.
But I long for magic. I write stories about it** because that’s as close as I can get. I could have coped with dragons. . . . ***
Oh, and yes. The bracelet is definitely magical. It comes into eps hundred-eleven to thirteen a lot.
Although I do find myself wondering why Serena is mad at Jan.
He doesn’t keep the paperwork up to date and he’s prone to giving people breaks on room rent or hiring someone because they need the money to do work they can’t do. Serena, in her edgy way, is a soft touch too, but he never writes any of it down so she has no clue what’s going on, and neither does he really, and as a result some months they come to the end of and they’re in the red, not the black. And then there’s the stuff he buys on sale because it’ll ‘come in’. . . . Serena will have a proper rant about Jan one of these eps. I thought I’d put some of this in already, but I may not have.
Somehow my reaction is less “Oooh, fabulous bracelet,” than “Who’s been snooping in Kes’ cabin, and why?” Or was planting the artefact their objective?
Hold that thought. Mwa hahahahahahaha.
I think . . . that Kes is acquiring Things From There (a dog, a house, rosebushes, the bracelet) and it may not require any snooping or sneaking for them to appear. Like those extra rosebushes.
That too. Although Things From There may do a little surreptitious enabling of each other when appropriate.
I second or third or whatever previous hopes that Kes ends up as a book with, you know, a cover and endpapers and all that
. . . so I can put a drop or two of rose scent on it and read it in bed.
Ooh, rose-scented books! I hadn’t thought of that one! Where did I put that list. . . .
I’ll de-lurk . . . to say that I enjoy Kes very much. . . . And to say that while, when life gets busy, I don’t always read all the normal blog posts, I ALWAYS go back and get the Kes I missed (and it’s often the realization of ‘Oh hey there should be more Kes by now’ that will bring me back from a hiatus or semi-hiatus).
::Purrs:: Of course I want people to read the ordinary blog posts too but as I’ve said before—since I asked plaintively if you were all still reading KES—the life is only the life, it’s the fiction that matters. I also assume that some people read the singing and gardening posts but not the bell ringing and knitting, and various permutations therefrom. Of course everyone reads the hellcritter and RANT posts.
. . . I was running spreadsheets for invoices. One page of numbers, ten episodes of Kes. Worked out just fine.
Snork. Always glad to be of service.
NOOOOOOO!!! You can’t leave us hanging there for a whole week!
(I swear I can hear your “MUAHAHAHAAAAAAA” from all the way over here stateside)
Yes you can. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. But wait’ll you get to. . . oh, say ep a hundred five or six.
There were a few security lights shining on the front doors, and the letters of General James B Cabell High School seemed to dance, or possibly writhe. The General James B Cabell High School? *snortle*
Well, we have had the General Cabell high school before, because someone else picked up on it last time. You and glinda were holidaying in Florida that week I’m sure. I’m just glad to know that someone still knows who James Branch Cabell is.
Now that’s a cliffhanger! Evil bad Robin!
Thank you! Thank you! ::Purrs more::
So, Robin, what I want to know is if there is a “pleased with yourself” scale that goes with Kes episodes? . . . Can you rate them by the inaudible howls that reach your ears on the weekends as people find the next cliff-hanger?
Yep. Pretty much. Hee hee hee hee hee. And as I have already intimated, they’re going to get worse. I may have to hire a bodyguard after oh, a hundred-five, say. Certainly after hundred-eleven. And I want to get the blog posted because I need to slog out a few more KES paragraphs. I don’t think I can bear to go off and leave her at the end of hundred-thirteen and, you know, sleep or whatever.
Mwa hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Etc.
* * *
* And, okay, it was bad. Sid does not bark just randomly.
** And the end of Part One. And you know what? It’s actually got enough words to be a, you know, real novel, although I realise word count isn’t everything.^ Merrilee and I were just talking about the future hard copy edition this evening, although these conversations chiefly consist of Merrilee saying, Look, finish it first, okay? And then we’ll talk.
^ Cough. Cough cough. Cough.
** And occasionally not about it. OUTLAWS has no magic in it, which was very disconcerting. Like writing DRAGONHAVEN from Jake’s perspective was disconcerting. Very disconcerting.
For those of you who weren’t reading the blog the last time I mentioned it. Although if you keep scrolling down . . . that rotten old chestnut, much favoured by a certain stripe of self-development seminar speakers and their acolytes, about how what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger . . . bulltiddly. Sure. Sometimes it does. And sometimes it just grinds you up into tiny pieces and spits you out, and then not only do you have to live with your own awareness of your own weakness and failure, you get to listen to a lot of smug dorks telling you to suck it up, it’ll make you stronger. Maybe a Street Pastor will happen along and give you a lollipop, but that’s not a permanent solution, and punching out smug dorks gets you in other kinds of trouble.
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