my heart is a glorious machine;

I've just been out on the lawn, basking in the sun like some sort of cat or reptile or what have you; I have never been so ravenous for sunlight. My skin grows impatient when the sun ducks behind a cloud for a few moments. (I am wearing this, which is very apt for daydreaming in the sun on a day full of breezes, not to mention listening to acres of New Weird America and freak folk. Speaking of which, Daddy got me Steeleye Span for my birthday, "for old times' sake". ♥) Lying in the sun gets the brain to wandering over all sorts of odd paths, and I have just realised several things about my poor messy Evangeline story, which I shall set down because a) for some reason some of you lot seem to miss hearing about it, and b) someone might even have an idea which I will gladly take for a test run.

Let me see -- when I was discussing the story with Kyra last month, she helped me to realise that the library is protected -- I've been running with the vampires-can't-cross-threshold-unless-invited myth and working out how the magics would work mechanically, so to speak, and you can't make them, they have to be -- a psychic barrier of lived-inness protects a house from undead intruders; a house that's just been moved into would be less protected, the older a house is the more difficult it is for vampires to get in, temporary lodgings might be susceptible; it is entirely possible that vampires could get into Mr Caruthers' rooms without much trouble as he is hardly ever there and has no attachment to the place, nor has he really lived there. Anyway, the library is loved and lived-in by so many people -- especially Evangeline and Mr Caruthers -- that it does have that threshold protection, but it becomes significantly weaker when Mr Caruthers is absent. I'm not quite certain why he is so strongly tied to the building; perhaps it has something to do with the reservoir-of-magic/ley lines/something important that is built into/under/around/something the library, and probably Mr Caruthers having mucked about with unpleasant and too-powerful magics in his youth. Because the library is so tied to Mr Caruthers, at this point Evangeline's strong attachment to it does not affect the barrier much. He goes off on some Mysterious Plot-Important Errand at the beginning of the story, vampires break in, plot happens, people die, yay.

And then! While lying in the sun I realised that the vampires were looking for Evangeline when they broke into the library: and they got Lottie instead, because of some sort of misinformation, I don't know. I don't want to make this obvious on the outset, either. (They may have been interested in Mr Caruthers as well, I don't know, but understood they couldn't breach the library if he was there -- and Evangeline has something that they Need.) I think what they want Evy for is her story-sensing -- there's some kind of unrest, quite possibly related to the slow-building unrest which will only need the murder of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in less than two years to ignite the tinder for war, which may or may not involve governments trying to figure out how they can use vampires for things. (Rubbish, this is getting too complicated! I want a smaller story! Stoppit!) I am beginning to think that there is no useful future-seeing amongst the vampires because their unlife puts them out of time in a way -- so while some of them may get glimpses of the future it's not necessarily distinguishable from past or present or hallucination and is usually very random and unlikely to be at all connected to anything that the vampire could find useful -- since they absorb memories from the people they drink, they may be getting a glimpse of one of those lives, or perhaps the future of someone known by those people, and memories may tangle together as there is so much mixed blood. (There's a running idea of memory existing in the blood, and I must commend cherise for setting me on that path. ♥) Anyway, Evy has the ability to see storylines, or something like that, and the vampires either want to turn her or consume her with the idea that by one of them drawing all of her blood into themselves they will acquire her ability. I don't know, this is the first stage of that idea.

But then Mr Caruthers is also very very important and in some way key, and I'm beginning to understand that part of the end everything is leading to is the vampires wanting him or Mr Caruthers offering himself up as a tithe for some ritual/ceremony/use of magics -- a la Tam Lin. It is entirely possible that he would offer himself up out of sheer guilt -- he has this dangerous more-than-a-residue of the black magics that he toyed with irresponsibly as a youth and they could very well explode and do terrible things and he can't really control it, but willingly sacrficing himself in a situation in which a great explosion of magic would actually be a solution, well... And self-sacrifice would also cleanse the magics of their destructiveness. However, I have no plans nor desire to kill him, so that end will have to be worked through somehow.

There's also something about the trees of London coming to the aid of the city, in a way -- shadowempress suggested something having to with the essence of London that led to this idea. That fits with my idea that trees, as representations of life, are why stakes of wood can kill vampires, though I'd like a better understanding of why certain plants ward better than others (holly, for example, and, hey, garlic?). if wood is dangerous, imagine how well the trees could overcome the vampires. That's the germ of the germ of an idea, though.

Oh dear. 

Tomorrow seems to be my birthday, oddly enough. I was hoping to discover something Fantastic to do as celebration -- last year I explored Pittsburgh and strange places full of bits of houses with Mrs Nielson, Victoria, and Hannah; the year before, when my birthday fell on Father's Day, Dad and I spent the afternoon at the Carnegie Museum of Art, also in Pittsburgh. The year before that was The Year From Hell and doesn't really count, although lots of nice things happened for part of it. My fifteenth birthday I remember as sort of weirdly magical for no particular reason; Kyra sent me albums by Eisley and October Project and I got Solas' then-latest from Dad, and wandered about barefoot in a long skirt in our wooded back-yard listening to them, and there was a splendid misty rain, and come to think of it I don't remember anything else that happened that day; just that it was quietly beautiful in all of the right simple ways. (Well, and then that weekend Dad and I drove to the nearest large town to spend the afternoon wandering around a large bookstore and having Starbucks and Panera and listening to music and having good conversation.) 

As the day has continued to approach and no brilliant ideas have come forth, I have decided to try to spend the day quietly and magically as I did for my fifteenth: reading, picnicking under the backyard apple tree, lighting candles, sitting in the book closet, perhaps putting candles into glass jars and hanging them on things if I can find any. I am also thinking a quiet tea in a week or two for those of my compatriots as still remain in this town. (If only you could all come! It would be marvellous! Of course this town isn't very marvellous, but we'd picnick, and I'd take you up to the hill, and we'd dance round the glade in a ring like fairies and sing old songs and watch the stars come out; and I'd bake you delicious things, and we'd go to Hockman's for delicious homemade sweets.)

Anyway, today I've been cleaning, because my bedroom likes to be clean on holidays, especially beginningsy ones like birthdays and new years. I've vacuumed and everything -- and when I say vacuumed I mean I also vacuumed my desk and the top of my dresser which were atrocious and have been for some time. Having my desk all tidy and my dresser actually look-at-able again is quite nice, I must say. Want to go hunt down some used tea cannisters to put my makeup things in, though (Mum says she sees them at Goodwill fairly often), and something to hang my necklaces on so I don't have to untangle them from a nasty snarl every few weeks.

Speaking of birthdays and of pretty things, yesterday there were parcels in the post from bornofstars and barefoottomboy! Miss Anna's parcel was already under STRICT INSTRUCTIONS not to be opened, so it is sitting on my bed taunting me, especially because Anna sends the most amazing things (for Christmas she knit me a Ravenclaw scarf, which goes to my ankles and is the most delightfully warm scarf ever). And taped inside of Ren's charming home-made card was the charmingest bird-and-birdcage necklace, which I am wearing just now. My f-list is marvellous, thank you!

I am currently ordering the weather for tomorrow: I'd like sunny and warm, but not humid, and later a bit of rain and wind, and a thunderstorm after about ten o'clock.

Work adventures of yesterday: a girl and her mother bought a great pile of books, on top of which was an Eva Ibbotson (The Morning Gift)! I was delighted and told them so; the girl confessed that she also adores Ms Ibbotson. Dear me, I feel like starting all over again -- I have five Ibbotsons in matching editions lined up in the book closet now -- although I've read the books to figurative bits in the last six months. I can't tell you how incredibly cosy and happy-making her novels are; the clichés are mostly of the comfortable, well-worn-quilt sort, and her prose is so delicious that I can feel it in my mouth. Also it is something of a relief that I finally have comfort reading that actually resembles comfort reading to the outside world -- Sunshine and I Capture the Castle and Baby were beginning to be a little worrying. (Of course there's also L.M. Montgomery -- whom, actually, Eva Ibbotson considerably resembles, except she writes in great loving tender detail about England and Vienna rather than Canada: but they have similar approaches to characters major and minor, and similar hard-won optimism, and delightful prose, and the ability to make me read romance-plot books and adore them.)

I am working again tonight -- hurrah paycheck! also hurrah for working Saturdays, when it is exactly my favourite kind of busy: viz. a lot of working with customers and selling books, rather than endless shelving and organising and packing returns into boxes and not having anything to do so bouncing sparkly light-up rubber balls behind the counter instead. (This is okay because it occasionally causes small children to beg their mothers for such a ball, and then we sell some. Yes, the problem with corporate chains is that we sell all sorts of entirely non-book-related nonsense.) And, I must say, I am quite pleased with my outfit today: sophisticated black skinny jeans; my white Lip Service blouse with black lace round the collar and puffed sleeves with little black bows on the ends; a brown plaid vest that criss-crosses in the back; a Mona Lisa brooch pendant; darling checked flats; and the most charming and job-appropriate earrings ever, made for me by the marvellous lexiedoh. Yes, they are indeed wee books. ♥

And this morning my wake-up call consisted of being pounced upon by a small fluffy beast who seems to believe that it is my Sacred Duty to pet and cuddle her. And by this morning, I mean not so very long ago: there is little of the day to report, as it is nine thirty in the morning, and I am sitting up in bed (dressed and awake and the bed is made, really! -- I had to make it around the laptop, though, which was a bit ridiculous) listening to NPR.

(note: I am almost certain that Mr Arnalds wrote the song I am playing after watching Pan's Labyrinth: note the title, not to mention that it sounds like a riff off the main theme. Gorgeous.)

...To talk about my summer plans? 

I realised just now that I haven't actually written about them yet, and some of the more pertinent ones are approaching rather quickly. In about a week, Dad and I leave for Merlefest in North Carolina, where it will be gloriously warm... oh, right, and the music, yes. We won two free tickets to the festival last year, from a radio call-in, and really, really loved it -- not only the music, because clearly, it's one of the biggest folk/roots/bluegrass festivals in the country, and nearly everyone good ends up there sooner or later, but because of the atmosphere of it, the locations of the stages -- two are at the bottoms of hills, making for spectacular natural stadium seating! -- the community spirit, the wonderful people who run it, who strictly encourage a family friendly and comfortable atmosphere, the beautiful weather of North Carolina in springtime. Summer would be miserable for me (although I survived physical labour in Mississippi in July, so perhaps I'm hardier in the face of humidity than I give myself credit for), but spring is delicious. I've been daydreaming about it for months, all through the miserable chilly wet grey cloud-heavy winter, dreaming about lying flat in the long grass underneath the afternoon sun, listening to Emmylou Harris. (Emmylou, you guys! EMMYLOU HARRIS. And the Duhks, and Missy Raines & the New Hip, and Ollabelle, and the Greencards, and... wow.)

For me, summer is folk music festivals. Of course this is April, but April in the Carolinas is summer enough by my standards, and by the time May rolls around spring and summer tend to blend into each other anyway. But since I was nine, we've been making pilgrimages to various festivals every summer, and I feel so tremendously at home -- almost at peace, in a way, when I come to another festival; it's almost the same sort of violently familiar and safe feeling that finds me at my grandparents' house, even their new little apartment in a retirement community, because it's full of the pictures and artifacts and furniture and photographs and refridgerator magnets and particular snacks that I remember. Perhaps it's even stronger at festivals because it's music, and the music sometimes takes me further back than the festival experience alone. Emmylou Harris, for example -- she's been crooning to me since I was a baby. There are certain songs that bring back that -- safeness -- and her voice alone relaxes me, and yet makes me ache with remembering.

And festivals are fun. Music, all day! And sunlight, and people, and booths full of delightful oddities, and dancing, and good food, and all of the excitingness that long drives and camping bring (...look, I really like car trips, okay? I don't even know why, I just love them).

And then four days after Dad and I get home from North Carolina, I'm getting on a plane and flying to Kyra.

Pretty much yeah.

So, you remember last summer, lady_moriel came to stay with me for a week? And how we've known each other for like seven years and had never met in person until then? And how it was pretty much the most amazing thing ever? (And how glorious and strange it was, how incredibly familiar she was -- because I've met internet friends before, and there's always that first sense of vertigo, because they're really familiar, except not, because they're occupying physical space, and suddenly they have habits of waving their hands or sitting in a particular way or pacing or being really still and it's just... weird at first? But with Kyra it really wasn't at all, and that was nice.) So, she's graduating from college next month, and after she left we kept saying, we need to do this again, we really really really do, and she thought maybe she could bring me up for her graduation, because she has all of these frequent flyer miles, and... then there was a lot of planning and deciding, and now it's happening. There are tickets, and everything, and I'm going to get on a plane in two weeks and fly all the way to Alaska and watch her graduate and stay with her for a week and a half and I AM SO EXCITED I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU. I mean, first, PLAAANE -- I love flying, although I've only done it, what, four or five times in my life?, and I love airports, and travelling in general, and all of the weird little things about it, like packing carry-ons and having travel-sized things and snacks and choosing the exact right books and... that sort of thing. And thene KYRAAA. FOR A WEEK AND A HALF. (Also, ALASKA. Have never been there. Have never been off the continental United States, really, unless Quebec counts, in not being the United States but still continental. Anyway.) 

So... yes. Lots of planning going on there. And flailing. And deciding what movies and television to watch together, and planning photoshoots and geekery and things... I HAS A FLAIL. (Not the, um, weapon kind, with the spikes. Really not.)

Then, in July, my family is going to Cape Breton in Nova Scotia -- renting a house, seeing the sights, THERE WILL BE CEILIDHS, real live ones, oh my goodness, this has been a crazy dream of mine for so long, to go to a ceilidh, and I had no expectation of it ever coming true. (Now to make it come true in Ireland...) Aaaannnd, because we're us, we're going to another folk festival out there, the Stan Rogers Folk Music Festival -- we don't know a lot of the artists, as they're mostly Canadian and ergo less well-known over here (although Dad knows and loves James Keelaghan, and some of the artists they've had in previous line-ups kind of made my jaw drap), but... WAIT, SARAH HARMER? WAIT WHAT? SHE WAS NOT ON THE LINE-UP WHEN LAST I CHECKED. Also need to check out Po' Girl, as they seem very much my sort of music. Anyway, it's going to be gorgeous. My aunt is coming along too. I can hardly wait... except there's quite a lot of else to fill up the waiting NOT LEAST STAYING WITH KYRA.

...Which reminds me, I have to start gathering some things for Merlefest... I need sunglasses, and there's a set of feather jewellery I'd like to have (shut up), and I really want a parasol. If I can't get one in time for Merlefest, I at least want one for Stanfest. I've got an old-fashioned sunhat, and plenty of flowy summer dresses, and the first sandals I've owned and liked in about eight years, and a laptop... for which I need a case...

I would say that this is exactly the sort of thing that would only ever happen to me, except that there were five other people with me at the time. Just when I find myself looping through a particular bad spot of disliking the general texture of my life, I am reminded why it is awesome -- the lesson was meant to be "my friends are made of shiny, shiny win", but it is knit over with a heavy dose of "really hilariously, marvellously surreal things seem to happen to me a lot" (and then I realise that people who are not me would probably consider the following adventure extremely irritating and disheartening, so I am not sure why I was blessed with the good humour to see it as a bizarre sort of boon).

Jonathan has been Mysterious recently, which culminated today in me being spirited away, and a lot of other people, some of whom are very smug young children not related to me, were very Knowing about it. I am really quite surprised that he never once twirled his moustache (Jonathan, I mean, not the Young Child). Shame on you, Jonathan! But I digress, and am skipping over bits of the story I might have drawn out more but am no longer interested in doing (Mum leaves for errands! the house goes mad! Leandra removes her diaper and gets excrement everywhere!). Anyway, Jonathan and I went to get a hasty bite to eat, which ended up being at Luigi's down the street, as we had very little time (there are other people involved!, I was told, and they've got schedules too!), and so what we had for dinner was the free bread and some mozzarella sticks, which were very good, and had much merry conversation, and Jonathan checked with his associates a lot. Hmph.

And then Meholicks came to fetch us and we climbed into the lumbering great van and set off for places unknown, although it was suggested that I might be getting thrown off a bridge. But it was a car-ride! With my favourite people! Except those of whom have departed our fair company for other shores (sadface). And to the darkest jungle! Or Clarion, as it turned out, where there is a cinema, and what was playing thereat that wasn't playing at our paltry excuse for a cinema was Coraline, and I was very happy and thrilled and delighted and very glad I put on my cameo brooch before going out.

The first half of Coraline, I can happily attest, is magnificent and funny and deliciously detailed and full of things that seem particularly designed to ensnare me in particular. And stop-motion animation! And details! Oh lovely lovely sets and costumes and bits and pieces and the fact that Coraline's fingernails are painted makes me ridiculously happy, for some reason. And the score! The score! It's magnificent, is what it is. I was quite enraptured.

The Other Mother has just asked Coraline if she wouldn't love to stay here forever, when -- all of a sudden! -- someone shouts something. Not in the film. In our cinema. We all bristled, I think -- someone's being loud! Shut him up, we're trying to watch! Except what he was shouting was this: "EVERYBODY EVACUATE!" And: "YOU HAVE TO LEAVE IMMEDIATELY." Why? Well, because, "THE BATHROOM IS ON FIRE."

Somewhat perturbed, and, at least on my part, pushing back severe disbelief, we fumbled for coats and things and made our slow way out. "Wait, the bathrooms are on fire? Really? No, really? But... but... the film... the bathrooms are on fire?"

There was actually a vague scent of Something Burning by the time we pushed out into the lobby, though more rubbery than smoky, and, still not entirely knowing what we were doing nor why, we wandered into the main area of the mall (it's a cinema-inside-a-mall), which, as it was late at night, was fairly deserted, except for a few wayward shoppers craning their necks and saying things like, "the bathroom is on fire? Really?" 

And then we laughed. Very, very, very hard.

On my part, at least, I find the entire situation completely hilarious and surreal and am not really irritated by it at all, though I want to see the rest of the film terribly. I am very glad that I feel this way, because it makes things more convenient and comfortable. I think the rest of us had much the same reaction -- Sarah and Jonathan were Twittering it -- we couldn't stop laughing! It was so surreal! And so anticlimactic! Really, the bathroom caught fire? The bathroom? Not the seats in back of us or the projector or one of the other theatres or -- most dramatically of all -- the screen, melting in on itself while we all stare at it blankly and mutter things like, "that was certainly a spectacular effect", and "...how very... existentialist", until someone says, "is anyone else terribly hot and can't breathe?" 

(Also, Spike and Angel were totally there. And arguing over who got to save everybody until someone else did the saving for them. Except that Spike was rather more than a little inebriated and apparently trying to bite people. "Spike! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT POOR WOMAN?!" "Saving her, you great ponce!" "...With your mouth?") 

And then the cinema gave us Emergency Tickets so that we can come again -- they had a whole great roll of them on hand, all ready, which does not bode well for their record of having people finish films the first time they go. And we went home, and some of us (namely me) would suddenly burst out laughing and shaking their heads: "The bathroom! Is on fire!" (Also, it may have been trolls. They can't tell us the bathroom's full of barely contained trolls! No-one would believe them!) And: I think that Neil Gaiman would be deeply amused by today's antics.

My life, it is so surreal.

I have to thank you all immensely: I feel properly human for the first time in several days, and I got through work without wanting to die or kill anyone. It's actually fairly warm, still, and of course I had my magnificently warm and long and completely glorious Ravenclaw scarf that barefoottomboy sent me for Christmas (!!!). I felt not-sick enough to bicycle, which re-affirmed my theory that exercise is always, always good. And work was -- well, nothing very interesting happened -- well, Sarah and Victoria dropped by for a visit (and asked for Twilight puzzles, the minxes), and that was very cosy and wonderful and I only forgot to notice a customer once.

(Although my schedule for next week is not. my. favourite.: I'm working four days in a row again -- no, more, because that's not counting this weekend -- and then I have two days off in a row? Argh. That is what makes one lazy and more resentful of having to go to work! It's like starting school up again after the end-of-year holidays! I like having a day off and then two or three days of work and then a day off; it makes things more bearable!)

I am wearing my favourite little white dress and one of the lovely cameos (black on white in a bronze setting) that Mum got me for Christmas tied on a black ribbon round my neck, and a very whimsical necklace that is a birdcage and a little bird flying above it, and new polka-dot leggings. Pretty clothes make me happy. Also I finally got round to downloading all of the catchy songs you lot uploaded for me quite some time ago, and blared them while making my dinner, and when "You Got Growin' Up To Do" (which is Joshua Radin dueting with Patty Griffin) came on, Leandra, who will be two in February, started dancing, so I picked her up and we waltzed round and round the kitchen: she beamed and shouted, "dance! dance!". When the song ended and I swooped her down, she applauded and said, "yay!". This profound adorableness nearly makes up for her stuffing half of her dinner into her cup of milk and then pouring that all over the floor ...

And, you guys, Solas' newest album is made of awesome and win. (Christmas present from Dad: the one present I was absolutely certain to get, because Solas is my father's and my co-favourite band, and whenever they've got a new album out, whoever's birthday is closest gets it, or if Christmas is closer, I get it from Dad. Patty Griffin is pretty much the same way.) Solas, you guys have been one of my musical mainstays since I was eleven. The fact that you continue to produce brilliant, lively, nuanced, music does my heart good.

Those of you who are interested in critiquing my horrible shambles of a NaNo draft, and possibly make me feel a little less pessimistic about it, despite its sad lack of vampires and consistent characterisation and plot and coherent events and most of the really awesome things I thought up for this story (Mr Caruthers' Sordid Past has yet to have made much of any appearance at all, the underground city is yet unmentioned, the primary vampire has featured in some short experimental bits that I don't even like right now, and I'm still trying to find a decent reason to throw him and Evy together that doesn't include her going out to the lake at night and ending up getting captured by a lot of vampire degenerates who have them both chained to a wall because his vampire rival wants to poison him with her blood and ...yeah).

(What the plague is up with this copy of Sunshine? Sunshine cannot possibly have dark hair, and how is Publishers Weekly calling Con "hunky" when the whole book pretty much goes on about how vampires are Really Not Attractive At All not to mention Really Bloody Terrifying and Con spends the first third of the book looking like old mushrooms? And I do not like this cover at. all. It is pulpy and not subtle and Bad Art and the chandelier was so pretty!)

Anyway, drop your email address if you're really interested in wading through a lot of disaster and telling me how I might make it less disastrous. I need to be optimistic about this story again. I need to be in love with this story again.

And! Christmas cards! I want to send them, oh yes I do! But first I need your address, otherwise I will just have to rope an owl and really hope it's a properly trained one, and it might get eaten on the way, and then you'd think I never sent your card even though I promised, and you would never speak to me again because your heart, verily it had been wounded unto the quick, and I would be oblivious, and sad, and lonely, and all of this would be dreadful. So: write your address out here nice and proper and since the post office is a block or two away from my house I will actually get them sent this year.

Comments will be, of course, screened.

Today was not the worst day ever. (Not the splendidest either, but it is a start.) My bedroom is a disaster and I fumbled wretchedly in worship this morning and I can't find any good socks but I feel mostly okay right now. I am going to have some dinner and some cookies and maybe read a book or catch up on SPN or listen to some new music, or, hey, go for a walk; it is prime walking weather (if you are me, vis. crazy). I kind of love you guys, even if I am not very good at displaying such most of the time.

And have you noticed that I recently installed the most awesome moodtheme in the history of ever? Victorian era photography, you guys. I am well pleased.

Also, the autumn mix, at last! (I have sort of been working on this off and on for -- two years? Really? Ack. I am very relieved that it is finally seeing the light.)

I'm working on a post about my birthday, but it's mad epic, and I don't have the energy tonight, or the frame of mind it takes to convey how beautiful any given thing was. I'm tired and all jumbled up and I can't seem to get anything in my head to work right. Bah. I'm going to bed.

(In other news, my f-list continues to be made of awesome. You all contributed a great lot towards making this the best birthday ever, and I heart you.)

You lot are all profoundly amazing.

I might cry if I weren't so wonderfully stunned (or pleasantly sleepy). Honestly, lovelies -- oh, I haven't got words now. It's Christmas Eve and I am making a pie with peppermint and chocolate, cosy in my new pyjamas, perfectly happy, delightfully sleepy, profoundly loved. Moony and I shall go to bed soon.

Merry Christmas. Pictures forthcoming.