I got to use an amazing new word, auscultations, in a sentence that makes what the word's meaning very clear from the context, this has made me feel annoyingly smug.
Near the end of the weekend I had to get out of the house, even though the weather was miserable. It was either go outside or go insane, so I went for a walk.
Ann Vandermeer, editor of Weird Tales, has been ill recently, that's why she hasn't got back to me. Give it a week, maybe two before I get the rejection.
I'm about two-fifths into the final book of Joe Abercrombie's First Law trilogy. I have to say when I started the first book Blade Itself I wasn't all that impressed and once I put it down I told everyone 'I liked it, I did, but ask me to tell you a single thing that happened.' But then I bought the second one Before They are Hanged and I loved it and I think I love the third one Last Argument of Kings just as much.
But in a strange way I wonder why. Sure the characters are well written, vivid and I have to find out what's happening to them in each of their personal adventures and get excited when I know two of them are about to cross paths. Sure it's well described, its clever, its funny, its astute. (A particular favourite line today. "They say that luck is a woman. She's drawn to those that least deserve her.")
But it's nothing I haven't seen before. There's nothing wrong with that, don't get me wrong, I love it, but why do I still get such warm and giggly feelings now when the common man underdog gets one over on the overbearing, unbearable toffs? I've read scenes like these more times than I can count but how come I'm still grinning like a nutter while I'm reading it on the tube? Because these are different toffs getting it in the ear from another underdog, I suppose. I guess it's like it is with people. Just because I have one friend doesn't mean I won't go out looking for more, it's those small variations that make things interesting. God is in the details.
Well, enough musing from me, back to work.
Thanks for reading.