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housekeeping - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
The Prequel's Progress: 22768. Had another of those interesting experiences where a minor character walks on and says, "hellwit'choo, I'm doing this my way", in this instance the head of the Housekeeping staff taking an instant dislike to the Narrator for no real reason once I was actually getting to the part where I was coming up with lines for her. {shrug} Who knows, this could work. It's odd, though. The last time a character pulled this on me I had to hastily press an innocent bystander into the role she had been meant to fill; it actually worked out better than the original plan in that instance, IMHO, but it's unsettling when the lines just won't come out the way I'd been meaning them to. At least in this case it's not fouling up a plot point, just forcing me to come up with something in the Narrator's characterization that might explain her attitude towards him. A spat over his wardrobe, perhaps...?

I think the workmen have forgotten that they never finished whatever it was they were trying to do regarding our pipes. If they've failed to show again by 9-ish tomorrow morning I'll try to spend tomorrow working on the Query Letter, since I simply can't spend all day every day sitting around waiting. Much of that figure above incremented from the last update here during Wednesday afternoon, once I had decided that if the workmen hadn't showed by 4PM they weren't likely to.

Another Boardgames MeetUp Tuesday night and another restless walk in the general direction of home afterwards. This time I figured out a reasonable path through the less-gentrified neighborhoods northwards of where I'd left off on last's month's excursion, and actually made it all the way north to the Berwyn Red Line stop before my nerve broke and I decided to call it a night because of the hour. (Well, that and my shorts were starting to chafe.) Some very melancholy moments passing through my childhood neighborhood, which has come up in the world to a degree I wouldn't have thought plausible; I walked down the street I walked every day of eighth grade, and there were stretches that I did not recognize. The school itself is long-gone, I knew that, sold by rapacious nuns for Cubs parking, and I couldn't but pause for a moment to gaze out across the leveled site, shivering at the weight of years. But other memories are vanishing as well; the Marigold Bowl is shuttered now, finally prey for the ravenous developers who want the precious land under it. Okay, so it was a dump twenty years ago, but what's a community really worth without neighborhood landmarks?

I think I understand now why my first Narrator is a wanderer who's lost everything he ever cared for.

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feeling: sometimes I frighten myself

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