Notes on a Flight

I'm writing this on the plane; I'm writing because right at the moment I can't read and I can't write fiction and . . . thing. My brain is utterly full.

But before that. First note on a flight: when suffering from an apparent twenty-four hour course of the runs, do not, and I mean do not, intend to take a six-hour flight in the middle of this. Trust me.


I just finished -- well, not just, because when I'd just finished I could only sort of sit and stare and listen to the Gregorian chant version of "Don't Give Up", which seemed pretty damned appropriate and stuff -- take it as given that that bit is there and allow me a little license -- I just finished reading Pratchett's Night Watch.

I saw it in a booth at PCon and picked it up on a whimsy when I was getting something for brooksmoses.

My mind is full. I have over an hour of flight left, and I can't read anything, because I need to digest that before I eat anything else. I can't even finish Tam Lin, familiar as it is; starting the Brust I picked up at Feldman's is inconceivable.

I'll write about the con and the trip and the weekend later.

So full.

Added later: The city is like skeins of glowing copper and a couple strands of silver strewn across the landscape, run through with luminous flowing chains of pale gold and occasionally spangled with red.