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I've just obtained a copy of The Terror of St Trinian's - it's stated as by Timothy Shy and Ronald Searle, and while Searle certainly produced the numerous illustrations, I don't know how much of the text was his work and how much was Shy's.

(Ah - googling/wikipedia reveals that "Timothy Shy" was a pen name for DB Wyndham Lewis, who apparently wrote a great deal in a wide variety of areas, even if I don't recognise any of the titles.)

It's great fun. It brings back all my fond memories of reading it as a teenager and improves them. (Plus with greater experience of the genre, I can now recognise quite a few deliberate homages to "classical" girl's school fiction.) However, it does present a problem in adapting the setting to a longer-scale story (such as I might be daydreaming about doing), and shows why the films always... well, toned it down.

Sample passages:

The Head of the St Trinian's School for Girls sighed gently and gazed out of the window across the sodden playing-fields. Against a Stygian background of low leaden sky and greyish mud the blue-and-red faces of healthy English girlhood at play struck a note of crude but agreeable colour. Amid ceaseless uproar and recrimination, scourged by the icy blasts of a late March afternoon, the First and Reserve hockey elevens were settling down to a practice match. As Miss Umbrage contemplated the scamper of twenty pairs of massive legs a piercing howl rose above the clash of sticks and the bellowings, and a stout girlish figure fell prone and lay writhing.

Fair enough so far.

Down the corridor thundered a crowd of English Roses of every size, fresh from prep. and ripe for devilry, laughing, fighting, howling, and playing a thousand merry pranks. Hapless little Miss Bosomley (Maths) was caught in the onrush, like Opal Mildew, and went down like a skittle, to be rolled over and trampled by a score of enormous feet. Pursued as by the avenging Fates, Miss Beagle, the Bursar, turned and fled for dear life to the Common Room, trumpeting like a glandered elephant in a forest fire.

(okay, we'll just pause to admire that simile, which is splendid)

A well-flung lacrosse stick caught Matron on the ear as she scurried frantically from her sanctum round the corner and doubled downstairs to the Infirmary. Far away down the main staircase a distant crash of crockery and a choking scream announced that one of the maids had had it, as often happened. (The game was to charge them head down in the stomach as they staggered with piles of plates into the Upper School dining hall, the lowest scorer standing a dormitory-gorge: in her first term, Angela, not yet a deadly performer in games of skill, had broken even St Trinian's record for nocturnal orgies by roasting an ox in the boiler-room, but now she disdained such easy popularity.) A tall Gothic window of rich stained glass, depicting Virtue introducing Prudence to Civic Consciousness, burst with a loud crack as stocky Mercy Fetherleighampton of the Second XV, fumbling her pass, tripped and hurtled backwards through it, followed by the small, plump junior whom several rugger enthusiasts of the Fifth were tossing from hand to hand; the corridor fortunately was on the first floor.

Difficult to really depict that as a regular occurrence in a full-length semi-plausible novel; it works in a novella which is a deliberate homage, but on a larger scale . . .

Even the Infirmary, filled at this time of year with cricket and lawn-tennis casualties, maimed Girl Guides, and the usual ruck of routine victims of laboratory and handicrafts, of work and play-time, caught something of the bustle and gaiety inseparable from the season.

One really can't go injuring that many girls that seriously in a modern school story. Nor can one burn down the school every term. (Well, one could, but then one lacks that certain patina of age.)

checking in

Sep. 7th, 2020 03:20 am
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Still alive; still well; still working from home.

Have just finished the UK and US proofs for book 7 (The Dark Archive) and am thoroughly sick of the sight of my own prose, which by now has devolved into a mishmash of incoherent words. Hopefully getting back to writing the first draft of book 8 tomorrow will help.

The UK is apparently lurching even further into stupidity, with the latest move being to try to retroactively change bits of the withdrawal act it signed with the EU. Besides the simple ethics of the act (I did once like belonging to a country which I thought had some ethics) there's the pragmatic aspect of being a country which is apparently willing to rip up signed treaties, and what this will do to the chances of any countries signing new ones with us. Oh well, there's still time for the government to do a U-turn, which it seems to like doing...

Still somewhat ground down from the proofs. Will feel better tomorrow. Having a night off is helping.
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I haven't posted for a while (not even book 8 chapters). Things have just been . . . well, thingy.

No, I'm not ill (thank goodness), and nor are my family. I'm working from home, going out twice a week for groceries (in a mask), and have also been making masks for friends and colleagues who wanted them. I've also received my book 7 edits, which means I'm head down and slogging.

But as I was saying to my mother on the phone earlier today - in the current situation, no news is good news.

Speaking of news, have been seeing much in the papers (well, certain papers) about how new vaccine will be with us in a few months, 30 million doses will be handed out, etc, etc. Ony visible as a tiny little sidenote in an unobtrusive location is the phrase "if trials succeed". It makes me want to bang my head - well, bang something - against the wall. I would love it if trials succeeded, safety precautions were met, and a vaccine became available in a frankly unlikely and highly implausible time. However, this may well not happen.

I must stay strong and be optimistic. Possibly if-and-when the vaccine fails the trials, the people will riot and drag the current Government to the guillotines. I can dream.
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Looking at the state of the world . . . I think I'm about to concentrate on my holiday for the next few days, and hope that Amsterdam doesn't shut any of its museums till after I've left. (I'm going to Amsterdam tomorrow, and coming back Saturday, and I have this coming fortnight off work - using up end-of-year leave.)

It feels like one of those situations where you have to be aware of what's going on around you in the world, and at the same time keep a sort of tunnel vision in operation for day-to-day functioning, because if you are too aware of what's going on, you start feeling you should be doing something about it. And that's frankly impossible. (Not for everything. But for a lot of it.)

So anyhow, wash your hands, and try not to cough too much in public.

Doctor Who tonight (end of the current season) was fun: I enjoyed it, I didn't find the Big New Reveal too unreasonable, and really, people/fans have been complaining about the newest changes to canon ever since they started making them. ("What's this about the Doctor 'regenerating' to a new actor? I don't like it, I don't like it at all. Ruined my childhood.")

Must try to get to sleep at a sensible hour tonight. Well, a reasonably sensible hour . . .
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The problem is, she says thoughtfully.

The problem is that I love the St Trinian's drawings - the original Searle ones. And while I greatly enjoyed the recent-ish movie (and less so the sequel), and have a nostalgic fondness for the earlier ones, they don't have quite the bite that the original cartoons do. Which is understandable - it's hard to get the sheer black humour and shock value of a single cartoon into a continuing narrative which would have to deal with consequences. (The Addams Family had the same problem, I think.)

The reason why I'm pondering this is because I have a half-baked idea for a story involving a St Trinian's style school (founded by Morgan le Fay?) crossed with goetic demon-summoning, and I'd love to get some of the sheer appallingness of the drawings into it (do an image search on "st trinians searle" and you'll see what I mean), but I don't want to kill off half the pupils. (Poison, explosives, human sacrifice, "Some little girl didn't hear me say unarmed combat," etc . . .)

Pondering . . .

---

"At other schools, they send young girls unprepared into a cold merciless world. But here at St. Trinian's, it is the merciless world which must be prepared."
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Work is over for the moment. I've done my cross-mapping and I won't be at the day job for the next fortnight, I've handed in my draft of Book Seven (yes, it has a title, no, I can't tell you what yet) to the editor, and now I have Christmas with my family to look forward to.

Oh, and plotting book eight. (Well, it'll give me something to do during the dull bits . . .)

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone. Thank you for your friendship and your support, and here's hoping for a better new year for all of us.

And as a little Christmas extra, here's a Library mini-story (also posted on my blog at http://www.grcogman.com/2019/12/a-library-christmas-carol/) which owes a certain debt to Charles Dickens . . .

Read more... )

(and extra thanks to mjj for Lord Silver's injury)

Damn

Dec. 13th, 2019 08:34 am
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Politically, I'd been hoping for better.

Oh well. After lousy election result, chop wood, carry water.
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And so. Book 6 is now out. And book 7 is nearing the end of a complete draft (I need to make some more twitches and add in a chapter midway). And book 8 needs some wholesome and thorough planning. And . . .

And also, I have a sludgy nose-ear-blocked cold, and I need to start serious planning for Christmas, including organising all my presents/cards abroad in time to send them, and . . .

And the day job continues busy. But as I've been known to mutter, it's job security.

And I shouldn't complain, because I am on the whole happy with my life.

I'm just a bit tired every now and again.

Side note: the current BBC/HBO production of His Dark Materials has been extremely good so far. (There's also a production of The War of the Worlds ongoing, but it didn't really grip me enough to keep me watching.) And the new Doctor Who trailer fills me with joy and enthusiasm. So joy to the world, and in six days time I'll be able to start singing Advent carols and eating mince pies.
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I'm off to Brussels tomorrow for a week's holiday. Haven't got much in the way of plans, except for things like "spend at least one day in Bruges", "enjoy chocolate", "check out Tintin museum", and similar. It should be good. I need a break.

Probably world politics won't give me much of a break, but I can hope. (And I've been practicing, "Je suis une Remaineur," (or should that be une Remaineuse?) in case anyone asks. Though I suspect they'll be more polite than that.)

I apologise for how bad I am at keeping up here. Days seem to rush by, with work being full of work, and the evenings being full of staring at Word and trying to write. (I'm behind where I wanted to be on book 7 schedule. Not panicking yet, but . . . got to keep moving.)

Definitely time for a holiday. And hopefully some good food while I'm there.

I get back Monday 21st somewhere in the afternoon - and then I have the rest of the week off, too. I'm a great believer in having a few days off after a busy holiday to recover from all the high art and walking around. And, well, the writing needs doing. So there will be that.
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Like most of the world (well, half of it) at the moment, it is Too Hot, and life is keeping me busy.

I've handed in the UK proof corrections for Library book 6 - the US ones will arrive later. Still, that's it almost done. Struggling with the first draft of book 7. Tired. Edge-Lit in Derby was fun (and I didn't sprain anything). WorldCon coming up in a couple of weeks, and should be fantastic, but will probably also be stressful.

I am trying not to think too much about the fact that it's this hot and it's only July, and we still have August and September to go.
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Currently wading through copy-edits for book six. They are depressing. (Especially when they point out how often I start a sentence with "But" or "And".)

Work is extremely hectic. The weather is improving (though, thank goodness, not as warm as some of the rest of Europe yet). Politics is highly depressing.

Pass me a good book.

---
---

One morning, when I was coming quite to despair at my situation, I was perusing a local broadsheet when I came across the following advertisement: Co-tenant required. Rent reasonable to the point of arousing suspicion. Tolerance for blasphemies against nature an advantage. No laundry service. Enquire S. Haas, 221b Martyrs Walk.

---

It was true she never did her own laundry or tidied away her own teacups, and that she left me to scrub suspicious bloodstains out of the floor of the kitchen, had once vomited in my hat, on a separate occasion prevailed upon me to move her hand from her waist to her forehead because she lacked the energy to lift it herself, and, on this very evening, had thrown a chandelier at my head, but I remained convinced that she was, deep down, a good and honourable person.

The Affair of the Mysterious Letter, Alexis Hall
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There ought to be a term for a second reading of books where there's an important revelation near the end, which casts a different light on multiple conversations and encounters when you actually know what's going on behind the scenes and what X really means when they say something or do something which you totally fail to mark as important the first time round.

(For the record, An Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters. Which I have read before, more than once. I was just reading it this time with particular attention to what characters Y and Z did or said, and it was very interesting to see how deftly the author had handled it.)

More annoyingly, I'm reminded of how poor an audience I am for adaptations, and particularly film adaptations of musicals starring non-singers. I'm far too purist in the first place, sitting there and muttering about how "they left that bit out" or "that other bit should have been in there" or "X would never do Y" - but when it comes to non-singers (or at least, actors who aren't that good at singing) trying to handle sustained notes without their voice dribbling out halfway through, or an upward vocal leap that doesn't involve them clenching their buttocks and having to make a painfully audible effort . . .

Sorry. Was watching the film version of Les Miserables earlier, and while it isn't bad, I have listened to good singers performing the show, and I expect better. I don't care how famous or how pretty the actors are or how well they act it. If something is to be sung, I want it sung well.

(exits, muttering, pursued by a bear)
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Well, watching it comes technically three times, I suppose, if you count both semifinals as well as the final. Which was Tuesday and Thursday this week - the semifinals, that is - and Saturday for the final.

So far these were the ones I particularly liked:

Australia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3WF2AsxLB8 (one of the hot favourites; opera singers on stilts, and fun)
Norway - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKoEt0-9ujA (lots of energy, giant reindeer totems, some of it sung in Sami, a lot of fun)
North Macedonia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3A65lXLNZfk (nice singing and high-minded)
Greece - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPHOFq4hoIU (pleasant enough)
San Marino - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BWHL5I-E-A (it's not going to win, but I think it'll get a decent score in the "sympathy vote" area, and it's hummable)
Serbia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZlGaTtWCWI (lone deserted wintry sorceress type sings ballady thing)
Albania - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQFbA7yfzjo (dramatic, in black and gold, easy listening)
Russia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKoEt0-9ujA (decent singing, male voice, cool effects - I don't think it'll win, but I think it deserves some points)

Georgia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vu4nHsaAJwU (male voice choir stuff, ice and volcanoes - didn't get through to the final, but I liked it)
Latvia - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCtKU3m3R-8 (pleasantly melancholy female voice, nice to listen to - didn't get through to the final)
Hungary - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpVr0pBLfI4 (mournful male voice, again didn't reach the final)

The weather has turned briefly nice, with sunshine and blue sky and warm(er) temperatures. The forecast suggests that it's going to go flat again in time for the weekend. Ah well.

I'm back in book six edits, and trying to thrash through them so I can get back to book seven. How else am I to write Kai visiting other dragons in a Swiss alps little "home from home" to get some computer analysis done?
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... okay, so The Secret Chapter is now up on UK Amazon. Is it not pretty?
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All - well, mostly - packed, and off to Eastercon tomorrow and over the weekend, and hoping that the tickle in my throat is the result of nice weather and a high pollen count rather than anything else.

My body seems to have got the message that this is a Long Weekend and is trying to relax. I will just have to hope that the convention is fascinating enough to keep me awake. It probably will be. There will be cool people there.
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I apologise - it's been a few weeks. I've had my head down in edits (and in day job work, to be fair).

At least I get next week off. I'm going down to visit my parents and plan to be lazy - well, apart from more work on edits, and trying to write another chapter and a half for book 6, but these things happen. (Every time I say something about "these things happen", I have a flashback to the Phantom of the Opera musical, which I listened to obsessively as a teenager, and one of the managers feebly trying to get Carlotta to stay on the job with, "These things do happen...")

I'm also inconvenienced by a sprained ankle. I managed to fall over on Saturday last (the 9th) while in Lancaster, and I have nobody to blame but myself for that: I was looking around a small fabric shop (as one does), which had several small floor levels and steps between them, and I'd just been warned by the shopkeeper to be careful. So I thanked her politely, turned round, took a couple of steps, and whoops, missed a step. And presto, sprained ankle. Luckily I remembered how to treat it from a previous sprain three years ago, and still had the tubigrips from then around, so it was manageable. I was actually feeling slightly smug until I slipped again, on the same ankle, while walking into work two days ago. (To be fair, that was due to unevenness in the pavement, and I think I would normally have caught myself without falling over - if my ankle hadn't been weaker than normal.) So this second fall seems to have put me back about a week. Very irritating. It'll certainly make getting down to my parents via train more awkward than it might have been otherwise.

(And yes, I am treating it with RICE, rest, compression, elevation, etc, and all that. And I will be giving it plenty of rest next week.)

So I'm looking forward to a peaceful, restful week, and please let me not have jinxed myself by saying that . . .
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It's been . . . A mixed year. Yes, there have been fantastic things like _The Mortal Word_ being published, and planning for books 6-8, and Barcelona, and Florence, and a lot of other things that made me happy at the time. And yet there was also Brexit, and Trump (I consider him a worldwide minus), and issues that my friends had, and an office move at work combined with a reorganisation in progress, and other bits and pieces that annoyed.

And (how many sentences starting with "and" does this make?) there is the fact that I am employed, and having books published, and comfortable, and so many other things which are on the "gratitude" side of the ledger that the sensible part of my mind points out that I shouldn't complain.

But yet I do.

I was talking to my parents over lunch about wishes and expectations, and how my own wishes/expectations for myself as an author have slid. I think it may be the same for any creator (unless I'm deluding myself and trying to make myself feel better, which is entirely possible). There is no point at which one says "enough". There is always more to be done, more to be improved, more to be reached.

So, um, in the coming year...I'll try to get more done. And better. There you have it. ;)

(And if the universe would cooperate by getting rid of a few of those larger-scale problems while I'm at it, that would be nice too.)

Best wishes to everyone, and take care.
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Okay. Last-minute shopping done, bag mostly packed, train ticket purchased, first part of laundry done (on the principle of leave everything washed that needs washing), perishables mostly emptied from fridge, audiobook giveaway completed, electronics charging . . .

I think I'm almost ready to go.

(checks train times for tomorrow just in case they were cancelled while I wasn't looking)

Off home to my parents tomorrow and till after the new year. Take care, everyone. May you all enjoy the season and have a good time.
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Wandering round York in the rain today while doing my Christmas shopping and at the same time recovering from a cold was perhaps not the smartest thing I've ever done - except, in my defense, it hadn't been certain that it would rain (is it mitigation to plead that the weather forecast had actually suggested it might snow?) and that it's very hard to manage an umbrella together with shopping bags while working through a street market.

And it's cheating to point out that a sensible person would have taken a small umbrella with her in case of emergencies to use on the way back.

Anyhow, on the principle of kill or cure, I'm almost certainly going to recover from my cold now and get it all clear before Christmas. And I came away from York with a nice pile of goodies, including some sloe brandy, some plum brandy jam, fruit cake and biscuits from Betty's, and less glamorous but more useful new arch supports for my shoes. And a certain amount of growing Christmas spirit. We're nearly there.

(Now if only I could have the fall of the current Government as a Christmas present. I'd like that...)
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Let's see if I can try to get back to better journalling habits.

Trying to get book 7 started. So far I only have about 2000 words done. I'm trying to get back into the swing of it. I'd like to at least finish the first chapter before I need to go back to editing book 6...

The weather's moderately cool (though not at the level of snow yet, for which I'm very grateful). I took advantage of a sale at House of Fraser today, and was lucky enough to come away with flannel duvet covers and pillowcases (muted-colour check) and undersheets (dark grey) at half the usual price. It would have been even better if I hadn't had the grocery shopping to do afterwards and had to lug them around with me, but nothing's perfect. (I do already have some brushed cotton bed-linen, but I've had it for several years now and it's starting to get a bit battered. And hey, half price sale on good-quality stuff...)

Book 5 - The Mortal Word - comes out on the 27th in the US, and the 29th in the UK. I'm trying not to panic too much. The situation is complicated by the fact we're having an office move that week, so there will be chaos in abundance. But a coworker has promised to make me a cake for the 29th, so there will be sugar as well, which may help.

---

So I went back to the Folly, which has the advantage of being both home and work at the same time. Guleed went home because she has, she says, a deep and mystical understanding of the work-life balance. A concept I once tried to explain to Nightingale with the aid of the big whiteboard in the visitors' lounge. I think he grasped it in the end, and said he was all in favour as long as I understood that this in no way applied to apprentices.

-- Lies Sleeping, Ben Aaronovitch

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