28 Feb 2008

wayfaringwordhack: (Default)
Yesterday, in my search for a new MacGuffin for Witherwilds, I happened across a word that got my mind to churning over possibilities.  One possibility, coupled with some tidbits that[profile] slmcgawhad thrown at me, kept me awake until the wee hours of the morning. When I awoke, the two ideas had gelled enough to convince me I had something viable. 

When I ran the idea by [profile] slmcgaw, she gave me her two supportive thumbs up, and further creative dominoes fell into place, the kind of things that are so right, I can feel them. I suddenly remembered a detail from a freaky dream I had two nights prior--just after the gutting--that made me go, Ooooooh, freaky. Just how much does my brain know or figure out on its own before it finally decides to share?

I don't have all the kinks worked out yet, for verily, new Macguffins that are more than mere Objects of Interest mean new problems to solve. Still, the rightness of what I've figured out so far assures me that the rest will occur to me in good time.
wayfaringwordhack: (N'gouja)
[profile] mana_trini and I went out in the boat this afternoon, not too far, just to some islets between Petite and Grande Terre.

Every outing is a treat for the senses, but because it has been so long since I last snorkeled, I especially remarked the sensuality today. Innumerable  fish and coral formed a palette-in-flux of blues, pinks, greens, silvers, oranges, purples, reds, blacks, and yellows. The temperature of the  water was perfect, and the touch of the sun on the small of my back was as comforting as that of a lover. After feasting my eyes, I turned over on my back and floated, listening to the life below me, reminscent of rain on a skylight or a thousand tiny grains rolling around in a thousand delicate rainsticks. In the cocoon of the calm waters, I remembered being seven years old, sitting in a house in the middle of the west Texas badlands, with a book on my lap, a book that told a story about a mermaid. Though the story wasn't sad, I went to bed that night with tears on my cheeks and a ball in my throat because I felt it profoundly injust that I hadn't been born a mermaid. But the only fins I have are plastic and they provide me with an unsatisfactory toehold on the watery hold.

Back on the boat, we drank hot tea and ate coconut cookies, watching the graceful paille en queue cutting the air above us and the fierce splashing of fish on the hunt, chasing their prey out of the waves.

Now I'm pleasantly weary and would like to follow [profile] mana_trini's example and curl up with a book, but I have to go to bellydance class.

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