Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar: graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure, and, when I have required
Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book.

Happy birthday, Will Shakespeare. (Probably.)

So we made it back on Sunday, and did not drop out of the sky except in the accepted non-lethal fashion, nor were we swallowed by the great sprawling wilderness that is northern NY. All was well, both there and in transit, save that wee Nicholas was a bit sick and so spent the time we were around being angelically subdued. (I've never seen a sick kid be so bloody happy. It'd be downright unsettling if he wasn't so damn cute. If my own offspring turns out half as delightful as my cousinlet on an off-day, I'll be a lucky da indeed.)

Back at the homestead, I've spent the last two evenings churning out the first 1K words or so of a new Jenny Haniver story, which I hope to post to The List tonight. It's looking like a sequel of sorts to both "The Invitation" (which went up like a year ago) and The Vasty Deep (which is not yet actually finished), so that'll be fun. Especially since there's now a whole new crop of FB neophytes who have yet to be exposed to my quirky brand of Gothy Urban Fantasy. I have to wonder how some of them young'ns will cope with a story that got no elves in it, but with Savant out on sabbatical these days, I sort of feel it's up to me.

"Thoughtless, that I am, I am pretentious"

And there's a new Last Dark Art hot off the e-presses today. I have sort of mixed feelings about this one, to be honest; I don't think it's my best work in the series, despite having spent more time than usual fussing with it. Enh. Sometimes what sounds like a good idea in my head isn't half as clever when it's out on the page, and I end up flailing madly around in my attempt to flesh it out. Whatever. I didn't have another concept ready, and the alternative was to cheat and just write "A system is a language of story. Discuss" and let the posters run with it. This way, if I've said something grossly stupid, at least there'll be some activity in the Forum.

Dip me in d20s and toss me to the geeks. I'm ready. I'll take 'em all on.