Dolce far Niente, John William Waterhouse
30632, A Lamentation of Swans. About five this morning, instead of getting up when the alarm knocked the sleep fairy off her keester, I slipped back into sandland and dreamed I’d been sent to prison to serve a five-year sentence for something my husband had done. The husband thing bothered me–I ain’t got one and I ain’t looking–furthermore, if he’s going to land me in the Ironbar Hotel…next time, think I’ll get up when I’m supposed to.
Sunday’s time with Inquisitor Rijjan Mira gave a bump to the story. I’m going to dwell on these scenes, all of which are Chapter 3, because I want to get under Mira’s skin and work out some important aspects of the story.
And, oh yeah, I got something to say about prologues, but I’ll save that for my next post. Rant warning on the horizon.