“Omnis Gallia est divisa in tres partes,” I began to read today. And proceeded on through those regions of brisk descriptions and swift situations. I have to wonder how much Charles Williams had of it, whose language could reach lapidary brevity. He wrote about the regions of the summer stars, and there is Caesar suggesting to me another name for the North: the region of the seven stars. I’ll take it.
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I have written satisfactorily this week, after all things upon me had made me for one whole week stop. I’m getting close to the end of rewriting all the Falcon Lord (it shall change names). It is wonder to me and an amazement. I rejoice in mine own work and always have enjoyed it, though it has caused me to despair a lot and often. But now, after it had lost coherence in the spring, the way to bring it all together is growing, the way to bore into the situation by using the characters is growing, and it seems to me the end is in view. I started re-writing last July and thought it would only involve the early portions. It has involved more than that. What the story was originally, received an influx of new imaginings when I read Jonathan Strange and my wife had surgery. But that material was overmuch for what contained it before, so now I’ve been rewriting everything around it in that newer vein. I think it’s working.
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Speaking of the north, I never used to eat fish and chips. Now I do. Life has a way of changing you. One thing remains constant: I hope its North Atlantic cod. Do you know there is an RB church in Magherafelt NI looking for a pastor? I almost feel called to be one when I think that it’s in Northern Ireland. I wonder if they’d like to import some pulpit supply while they make a good and thorough search. Katrina says she’d be down with it.