kr-ack, ka-pow

 

Eh, I kind of want to do some Latvian review as well, after all this time... but I'm making such good progress in the Japanese that I'm actually recognizing words phonetically quickly, instead of sounding them out bit by bit, and the low level Japanese profile is doing a review of katakana, which I actually DO need... *sigh*

Patreon post with recipe below:

 

pea soup with yellow and green peas and onions, and cheesy toast forthcoming

It's turned a bit cold outside, the goat was sunning herself, as were the cats.  The cats have been seeking out warm blankets and sunbeams to curl up on here inside the house, as well.

I touched on three different stories the past few days, but there are so many in my files I can bounce around and come back to each one with new eyes and do something a bit more on it.  The story I've put on my bench to work on today is about 3,000 words and the two that I published at the beginning of the month were both around 5,000 give or take, so it's in the range if I just get some knuckles down on it and make sure it still says what I want it to say, at the same time.

The story is called 'INGie', I've been working on this story off and on since 2019. Since it has been years now and it has sort of sat there waiting for me to do more with it - I'm trying to see if it's ready for the 'publish a thin book' treatment, like Mikki Mack and Salt Magic, which I published earlier this month.

The story is by nature sad, but also full of wonder and possibilities and think-outside-the-box.  It is about an alien that has crash-landed and there is a mutual protective relationship between him and the first human that found him.  The alien has strange powers, but also a distinctly non-human way of looking at things, so the things he creates with his powers and the materials in the warehouse are by definition ethereal and nearly impossible.  I posted a little excerpt on my art page : so I'll repeat here

"He is getting better at language, but still it is slow and he takes his time to find the right word.  Often he will stand there peering at me trying to project an image long enough that I might pick up on it.  The problem is these thoughts are not easy to form in my mind - he is the one working a masterpiece down to the barest shapes and forms to wedge it into the squishy clay of the human mind.  Is it you? Is it me? I focus on the image he has sent to me, trying to make it come together with the object I see in front of me.  It is him, he says, or at least his clothes. He is making his goodbye clothes. I don’t like the sound of that. "