Newsletter ninety one
Nov. 22nd, 2013 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charlie_cochraneFestival of Romance was great fun. There are pictures of me here in all my gory – sorry, glory. The Edwardian style clothes may be ersatz, but my Manchester Regiment cap badge (worn as a brooch in the style of Susan Owen) is authentic.
News
Advent is hull up on the horizon, and I’ll be marking it in two ways. Over at my other journal, (Mylodon) I’ll be sharing some seasonal thoughts every day from December 1st (alternating with nodbear). Slightly different slant than you get here, but please feel free to come and read.
At this journal, I’ll be having the usual guests and the like, but will be featuring all the seasonal stories I have, both free and “payable for” (why can’t I think of an elegant way of putting that?) I make that ten stories/books in all! And in there will be a new Jonty and Orlando free ficlet, which is...um...well, wait and see.
As a start to that, here's something in honour of the lads' anniversary, which has just passed.
Cambridge, 1909
Jonty wandered along the Madingley Road, breathing in the scents of wet leaves, bonfires and early November. He loved the autumn; season of mists and mellow fruitfulness indeed, the trees a patchwork quilt of warm colours and the sky piercingly blue.
“Like your eyes.” Orlando always swore the sky was only ever this colour in spring or autumn, some prosaic combination of the angle of the sun’s rays and the dust in the earth’s atmosphere producing a shade that was so beautiful it could almost bring a man to tears.
Jonty would never settle, of course, for the commonplace facts about light refracting off motes of dust. The bright banner from horizon to horizon was God’s gift, and he’d blessed this time of year royally. Late autumn would always be special for them, anyway—time of that fatal first meeting over a particular chair. How could they not cherish November and all the memories it held?
Now their fourth anniversary was looming large, hull up on the horizon and not a present bought. Not by Jonty, anyway—no doubt ‘himself’ had been down to the sweet shop and found some fabulous confection, or been more commonplace and raided the tailors for a well-cut tie, either or both to be wrapped in tissue and ribbon and left on Jonty’s desk. Their reciprocal had been thought about but wasn’t yet in evidence. What to buy the man who seemed to have all he wanted?
Read the rest here.
News
Advent is hull up on the horizon, and I’ll be marking it in two ways. Over at my other journal, (Mylodon) I’ll be sharing some seasonal thoughts every day from December 1st (alternating with nodbear). Slightly different slant than you get here, but please feel free to come and read.
At this journal, I’ll be having the usual guests and the like, but will be featuring all the seasonal stories I have, both free and “payable for” (why can’t I think of an elegant way of putting that?) I make that ten stories/books in all! And in there will be a new Jonty and Orlando free ficlet, which is...um...well, wait and see.
As a start to that, here's something in honour of the lads' anniversary, which has just passed.
Cambridge, 1909
Jonty wandered along the Madingley Road, breathing in the scents of wet leaves, bonfires and early November. He loved the autumn; season of mists and mellow fruitfulness indeed, the trees a patchwork quilt of warm colours and the sky piercingly blue.
“Like your eyes.” Orlando always swore the sky was only ever this colour in spring or autumn, some prosaic combination of the angle of the sun’s rays and the dust in the earth’s atmosphere producing a shade that was so beautiful it could almost bring a man to tears.
Jonty would never settle, of course, for the commonplace facts about light refracting off motes of dust. The bright banner from horizon to horizon was God’s gift, and he’d blessed this time of year royally. Late autumn would always be special for them, anyway—time of that fatal first meeting over a particular chair. How could they not cherish November and all the memories it held?
Now their fourth anniversary was looming large, hull up on the horizon and not a present bought. Not by Jonty, anyway—no doubt ‘himself’ had been down to the sweet shop and found some fabulous confection, or been more commonplace and raided the tailors for a well-cut tie, either or both to be wrapped in tissue and ribbon and left on Jonty’s desk. Their reciprocal had been thought about but wasn’t yet in evidence. What to buy the man who seemed to have all he wanted?
Read the rest here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-22 02:06 pm (UTC)The boys are the best. May they have lots and lots of anniversaries :D
(no subject)
Date: 2013-11-22 03:52 pm (UTC)*hugs*