and i believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own
Despite my love of all things terrible (leading one roommate to comment that I have a 'eurotrash soul', which I took offense at until forced to admit that it's true), I must say that Billy Joel's song 'Summer, Highland Falls' is probably one of the most beautiful completely-unknown songs in existence. He has prodigious piano skillz and puts them to good use in this forgotten gem that seems to only be known by me and my brother. However, we both know it so well that we almost make up for the fact that the world has ignored it. If you can find it, listen to it--it's gorgeous. I'm still rocking the seventeen-hour playlist, which means that I won't hear it again for many many hours--but it takes my breath away every time it comes on, especially when it is unexpected, so I looped it and listened to it on repeat for half an hour. Awesome.
Today was uneventful, as Sundays should be; I had brunch at the Taj, followed by some desultory book-shopping (I'm quickly amassing the best Georgette Heyer collection this side of the 1960s, since all of the books that are out of print in the US are available here from British imports, while all of the books that are out of print here/in Britain were purchased by me in America before I left). I went to Coffee Day in the afternoon and enjoyed an iced tea while working on my romance novel; the iced tea left much to be desired, since I was spoiled and got used to microbrewed Tejava tea in California, but I finally finished chapter six of my romance novel, which has blocked me for the past couple of months. It's not great, but it's done, and so hopefully I can move on to chapter seven sometime this week. After that, I took a twenty-minute nap, talked to my parents for an hour or so, ate some gross take-out chicken tikka (I described it as a desert in my mouth, since it was both hot and v. dry), and worked for a couple of hours. Then, I got into a half-hour conversation with Ranjit about his home village; he's very very nice, but also quite talkative, and so it's difficult to cut off a conversation once it gets rolling. I finally told him that I had to work, but I decided to go to bed instead.
Happily my back is virtually perfect again, but I've picked up a sore throat that has remained persistent for several days. As is always the case, it has migrated to my lungs, thanks to the asthma that I contracted from John in college. I know that most of you think that asthma isn't contagious, but I know at least half a dozen people who did not have asthma before living near John, and they all have asthma now, which indicates that they got it from the same source. Anyway, I now have my old familiar cough, so hopefully I will lose my voice this week, because that's always the best.
Actually, the cough is kind of nice; it makes me feel like I have tuberculosis, and there is nothing more romantic than an author with consumption coughing fitfully over her work as she tries to complete her story before the disease consumes her. I have not started coughing blood into a handerchief, and I sadly do not have the gorgeous translucent skin of a terminal-stage consumptive, but it definitely helps set the mood for the romance novel.
I need to start learning French; funny that I'm in a country with about a billion languages and I want to learn one of the few languages that has had absolutely no influence here. But, French is often used in passing in romance novels since it was popular with the English aristocracy; and, on the off-chance that France will ever get its act together and start effectively conquering things rather than dithering about socialism, it might be a handy language to know. Until then, I only know 'joie de vivre', 'je ne sais quoi', and 'je voudrais un croque-monsieur'--and unless my heroine wants a ham and cheese sandwich, none of those phrases will really help her much. I would order some French cds or something--but based on how much time I spend at the office and my complete inability to do anything other than work, they would probably sit and collect dust. Or perhaps they wouldn't collect dust, since they would get dusted six times a week, but the dust they would accumulate on the staff's day off would be prodigious.
Okay, you have wrung enough from me for the night, and you should be ashamed of keeping me up to write to you (particularly if you are among the 98% of my friends and family who ignored my plea for an email). Perhaps you shouldn't be held responsible for my compulsive blogging, but I don't want to hold myself responsible, and you're a good subsitute. Goodnight!
Today was uneventful, as Sundays should be; I had brunch at the Taj, followed by some desultory book-shopping (I'm quickly amassing the best Georgette Heyer collection this side of the 1960s, since all of the books that are out of print in the US are available here from British imports, while all of the books that are out of print here/in Britain were purchased by me in America before I left). I went to Coffee Day in the afternoon and enjoyed an iced tea while working on my romance novel; the iced tea left much to be desired, since I was spoiled and got used to microbrewed Tejava tea in California, but I finally finished chapter six of my romance novel, which has blocked me for the past couple of months. It's not great, but it's done, and so hopefully I can move on to chapter seven sometime this week. After that, I took a twenty-minute nap, talked to my parents for an hour or so, ate some gross take-out chicken tikka (I described it as a desert in my mouth, since it was both hot and v. dry), and worked for a couple of hours. Then, I got into a half-hour conversation with Ranjit about his home village; he's very very nice, but also quite talkative, and so it's difficult to cut off a conversation once it gets rolling. I finally told him that I had to work, but I decided to go to bed instead.
Happily my back is virtually perfect again, but I've picked up a sore throat that has remained persistent for several days. As is always the case, it has migrated to my lungs, thanks to the asthma that I contracted from John in college. I know that most of you think that asthma isn't contagious, but I know at least half a dozen people who did not have asthma before living near John, and they all have asthma now, which indicates that they got it from the same source. Anyway, I now have my old familiar cough, so hopefully I will lose my voice this week, because that's always the best.
Actually, the cough is kind of nice; it makes me feel like I have tuberculosis, and there is nothing more romantic than an author with consumption coughing fitfully over her work as she tries to complete her story before the disease consumes her. I have not started coughing blood into a handerchief, and I sadly do not have the gorgeous translucent skin of a terminal-stage consumptive, but it definitely helps set the mood for the romance novel.
I need to start learning French; funny that I'm in a country with about a billion languages and I want to learn one of the few languages that has had absolutely no influence here. But, French is often used in passing in romance novels since it was popular with the English aristocracy; and, on the off-chance that France will ever get its act together and start effectively conquering things rather than dithering about socialism, it might be a handy language to know. Until then, I only know 'joie de vivre', 'je ne sais quoi', and 'je voudrais un croque-monsieur'--and unless my heroine wants a ham and cheese sandwich, none of those phrases will really help her much. I would order some French cds or something--but based on how much time I spend at the office and my complete inability to do anything other than work, they would probably sit and collect dust. Or perhaps they wouldn't collect dust, since they would get dusted six times a week, but the dust they would accumulate on the staff's day off would be prodigious.
Okay, you have wrung enough from me for the night, and you should be ashamed of keeping me up to write to you (particularly if you are among the 98% of my friends and family who ignored my plea for an email). Perhaps you shouldn't be held responsible for my compulsive blogging, but I don't want to hold myself responsible, and you're a good subsitute. Goodnight!
posted by Sara @ 10:27 AM
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