So, yeah… no entries here at all last week. I had to apply my time to the scraping down of the story… and more time than that. Victory came as the light faded from the sky on Friday– the final count was 4951 words (1305 below the last time I called it finished), AND YET the story still made sense.
This may explain a couple of previous rejections.
To explain the next rejection, I decided to change the title at the last moment. I made sure that this change was not only on the title page, but also reflected on the page headers (look up Shunn format, if you’re curious) and also in the name of the file. BUT NOT in the email’s title, which still had the old name. So, a lot of work followed by pointing a gun at my own foot– perhaps I’ll miss.
A quick bit of film to make up for Friday’s absence. This week should be more sensible, although who can really predict… the future?
There is substantial overlap between people who like pens and people who like timepieces. I include myself in this– were I more well-heeled, I’d probably have an assortment of neat watches as well as the heap of delightful pens I currently revel in. For good or ill, though, I’ve had to be content with looking at neat watches and clocks.
This new world of 3D printing which we find ourselves in, though… well, now I can lament a lack of funds, equipment, and specific skills. What lies below is an advert, but it’s also very cool to watch.
I would want to keep something with that many exposed gears under a bell-jar, which I think would be the right sort of fussy Victoriana to shove it into “Steampunk aesthetic”.
Yes, indeed; production! I won’t tempt fate by proclaiming myself cured, especially with a story I don’t expect to ever see the light of day, but there’s a glimmer of optimism to be seen.
†You won’t actually find this on the linked page (yet) but… I mean, it’s black ink. One is very like another.
This is overstating the matter (CLICKBAIT!), but I am definitely inclining lachrymose because of onions. Well… onionskin, which has nothing to do with actual onions.
If Alexander the Great can weep because he has run out of world to conquer, I’m allowed to get misty for lack of an item of stationery.
I can cure my sadness more easily than the Macedonian wanderer, and I probably will order one before too much time goes past.
I won’t urge you to also get one, but if you haven’t experienced onionskin… you’re missing a treat. Among my early memories is finding a small supply of onionskin in my father’s home office supplies, and being amazed at it. It’s neat stuff.
What's up at Ravens March. 
