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Newsletter eighty
May. 10th, 2013 03:56 pmWe’ve had all four seasons this week and now seem to be back to winter. (Short sleeves and sun cream on Monday, back in woolly jumpers today!)
News
Am delighted to be the first person on the “meet the delegates” feature over at the UK meet blog. Want to know what I keep in my wardrobe?
Am also over at Brenda Williamson’s blog, discussing the intriguing (and infuriating) differences in US and UK English.
Want me to send you an authorgraph for your e-books? Just mail me, letting me know which book you’d like “signed”.
And now, a sneak peak of the free story which I’ve written for the UK Meet 2013 USB stick giveaways. I’ll post it here, properly, in August.
Pride
Jonty Stewart put down his book and picked up his thoughts.
He’d never been a great fan of H.G. Wells, but Orlando had insisted that he give this book a try and—glory be!—he’d not regretted it. A strange book, or so it had proved, a mixture of scientific and sociological speculation, entertaining but rather disturbing. Jonty wondered whether he should ask Dr. Panesar if such a time machine would be possible, if some future generation would be able to take to travelling across the centuries, as his own generation were wrestling to make travel in the skies a practical reality.
Second thoughts suggested that might not be the most reliable way forward, as Dr. P—who considered everything possible—was bound to say “yes”.
Still, a bit of speculation on the topic would stave off the ennui; Jonty had to find something to do for the next week. He turned to the empty space in his bed, a space bereft of Orlando Coppersmith, who’d left that very morning for an important mathematical conference at St. Andrew’s. He had a paper to deliver and wanted to make a really good fist of it, unlike the previous occasion when he’d muttered into his waistcoat for forty five minutes and bored everyone rigid. Orlando had been in such a state on leaving the house that he’d come back twice, once because he’d got it into his bonce that he’d not packed any clean socks—despite the fact that both Jonty and Mrs. Ward had checked his case—and a second time because he’d not kissed Jonty goodbye.
Inspiration:
My front garden. Blossom. *happy sighs*
News
Am delighted to be the first person on the “meet the delegates” feature over at the UK meet blog. Want to know what I keep in my wardrobe?
Am also over at Brenda Williamson’s blog, discussing the intriguing (and infuriating) differences in US and UK English.
Want me to send you an authorgraph for your e-books? Just mail me, letting me know which book you’d like “signed”.
And now, a sneak peak of the free story which I’ve written for the UK Meet 2013 USB stick giveaways. I’ll post it here, properly, in August.
Pride
Jonty Stewart put down his book and picked up his thoughts.
He’d never been a great fan of H.G. Wells, but Orlando had insisted that he give this book a try and—glory be!—he’d not regretted it. A strange book, or so it had proved, a mixture of scientific and sociological speculation, entertaining but rather disturbing. Jonty wondered whether he should ask Dr. Panesar if such a time machine would be possible, if some future generation would be able to take to travelling across the centuries, as his own generation were wrestling to make travel in the skies a practical reality.
Second thoughts suggested that might not be the most reliable way forward, as Dr. P—who considered everything possible—was bound to say “yes”.
Still, a bit of speculation on the topic would stave off the ennui; Jonty had to find something to do for the next week. He turned to the empty space in his bed, a space bereft of Orlando Coppersmith, who’d left that very morning for an important mathematical conference at St. Andrew’s. He had a paper to deliver and wanted to make a really good fist of it, unlike the previous occasion when he’d muttered into his waistcoat for forty five minutes and bored everyone rigid. Orlando had been in such a state on leaving the house that he’d come back twice, once because he’d got it into his bonce that he’d not packed any clean socks—despite the fact that both Jonty and Mrs. Ward had checked his case—and a second time because he’d not kissed Jonty goodbye.
Inspiration:
My front garden. Blossom. *happy sighs*
