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There are some things that I do not, ever, write down. Writing is memory, writing is a record, and there are some things to which you do not desire to return. Best to let them go, best for them to fade into the steadily distancing past.
I am well suited to editing, I think. I certainly get the practice.
Found scribbled on an old cupholder. The quote is from Borges:
History adds that before or after Shakespeare died, he discovered himself standing before God, and said to Him, "I, who have been so many men in vain, wish to be ONE, to be myself." God's voice answered him out of a whirlwind: "I, too, am not I; I dreamed the world as you, Shakespeare, dreamed your own work, and among the forms of my dream are you, who like me are many, yet no one."
"Nghia!" The name was a shout across a space without ears. Mages on three continents stirred in their sleep, murmuring, and one or two started from their dreams in response. But it was not a call meant for them.
The one who it was meant for brushed the edges of the Dragon Lord's mind with his irritation at so pre-emptory a summons. "What do you want?"
"So bad-tempered on such a fine evening." There was a barely-leashed energy in Emrys' words that might have been excitement in any other being.
"It's not evening anymore," the ghost growled, a rumble on the outer boundaries of thought. "More like late night. Maybe even early morning."
"Oh, come, you don't sleep, you're dead." The Dragon Lord was almost distracted, the bulk of his considerable attention elsewhere. "Stop complaining and look at this."
"Thanks so much for the reminder," Nghia said sarcastically, but took the offered mental path to the Dragon Lord's senses and examined the subject of the other's attention. A long, polished box of woodstood before Emrys, perched atop four narrow wooden legs at a comfortable height from the floor. The Dragon Lord was settled in a chair in front of a lowered section only a fourth as large as the box was tall, a regular pattern of black and white strips before him. The entire ensemble was completely unfamiliar to him. "What is it?"
"It's an instrument, Nghia. Here, listen--" He pressed one of the black strips with a long finger, and the box emitted a buzzed, melodic ring, which multiplied itself when he touched more of the keys.
"It doesn't sound like any instrument I've ever heard," Nghia's voice sounded skeptical. "What's making the noise?"
"The mechanism is inside the box. Look--" The Dragon Lord lifted the hinged lid to reveal strings stretched over a wooden framework. "When I press one of the keys, it causes one of the picks inside to pluck a string. The strings are of varrying lengths and have different tones. The wooden box carries and amplifies the vibration. Of course the mechanism is more complicated than simply that, but having only just acquired it, I haven't had sufficient time for study."
"And how did you acquire it?"
"It was in the posession of a gentleman of my acquaintance. It's his invention, actually, a much more sophisticated variation of an earlier instrument. He showed it to me just this evening."
The ghost paused. "You stole it?" he asked finally, sounding just a little incredulous.
"Not precisely. Or rather, not entirely. I still have many things to discuss with Giovanni, and that would be impossible if I simply took the instrument and left."
"You kidnapped him?"
"An inelegant word. But yes, I am keeping him in one of the holding rooms downstairs for the time being."
"In the dungeon?"
"Nghia, the palazzo is too small to have a dungeon."
"You have underground rooms with chains and underground rooms with torture equipment. I think it counts as a dungeon."
"Yes, but the wine cellar takes up twice as much space." The Dragon Lord frowned slightly. "Now that I think about it, the facilities here really are quite inadequate."
"You are an unspeakable bastard. I don't even know words sufficiently awful to describe you."
"And yet you persist in trying to find them." Emrys waved a hand dismissively. "You can attempt to insult me another time, Nghia, this is much more important than your endless tirades. This instrument is going to change how people approach music, do you realize that?"
"You're never content to leave well enough alone."
"The ability to progress is one of the few redeeming features of the sentient races and deserves at least a modicum of respect. Look, you can use both hands and play two different parts, one low and one high . . ."
I am well suited to editing, I think. I certainly get the practice.
Found scribbled on an old cupholder. The quote is from Borges:
History adds that before or after Shakespeare died, he discovered himself standing before God, and said to Him, "I, who have been so many men in vain, wish to be ONE, to be myself." God's voice answered him out of a whirlwind: "I, too, am not I; I dreamed the world as you, Shakespeare, dreamed your own work, and among the forms of my dream are you, who like me are many, yet no one."
"Nghia!" The name was a shout across a space without ears. Mages on three continents stirred in their sleep, murmuring, and one or two started from their dreams in response. But it was not a call meant for them.
The one who it was meant for brushed the edges of the Dragon Lord's mind with his irritation at so pre-emptory a summons. "What do you want?"
"So bad-tempered on such a fine evening." There was a barely-leashed energy in Emrys' words that might have been excitement in any other being.
"It's not evening anymore," the ghost growled, a rumble on the outer boundaries of thought. "More like late night. Maybe even early morning."
"Oh, come, you don't sleep, you're dead." The Dragon Lord was almost distracted, the bulk of his considerable attention elsewhere. "Stop complaining and look at this."
"Thanks so much for the reminder," Nghia said sarcastically, but took the offered mental path to the Dragon Lord's senses and examined the subject of the other's attention. A long, polished box of woodstood before Emrys, perched atop four narrow wooden legs at a comfortable height from the floor. The Dragon Lord was settled in a chair in front of a lowered section only a fourth as large as the box was tall, a regular pattern of black and white strips before him. The entire ensemble was completely unfamiliar to him. "What is it?"
"It's an instrument, Nghia. Here, listen--" He pressed one of the black strips with a long finger, and the box emitted a buzzed, melodic ring, which multiplied itself when he touched more of the keys.
"It doesn't sound like any instrument I've ever heard," Nghia's voice sounded skeptical. "What's making the noise?"
"The mechanism is inside the box. Look--" The Dragon Lord lifted the hinged lid to reveal strings stretched over a wooden framework. "When I press one of the keys, it causes one of the picks inside to pluck a string. The strings are of varrying lengths and have different tones. The wooden box carries and amplifies the vibration. Of course the mechanism is more complicated than simply that, but having only just acquired it, I haven't had sufficient time for study."
"And how did you acquire it?"
"It was in the posession of a gentleman of my acquaintance. It's his invention, actually, a much more sophisticated variation of an earlier instrument. He showed it to me just this evening."
The ghost paused. "You stole it?" he asked finally, sounding just a little incredulous.
"Not precisely. Or rather, not entirely. I still have many things to discuss with Giovanni, and that would be impossible if I simply took the instrument and left."
"You kidnapped him?"
"An inelegant word. But yes, I am keeping him in one of the holding rooms downstairs for the time being."
"In the dungeon?"
"Nghia, the palazzo is too small to have a dungeon."
"You have underground rooms with chains and underground rooms with torture equipment. I think it counts as a dungeon."
"Yes, but the wine cellar takes up twice as much space." The Dragon Lord frowned slightly. "Now that I think about it, the facilities here really are quite inadequate."
"You are an unspeakable bastard. I don't even know words sufficiently awful to describe you."
"And yet you persist in trying to find them." Emrys waved a hand dismissively. "You can attempt to insult me another time, Nghia, this is much more important than your endless tirades. This instrument is going to change how people approach music, do you realize that?"
"You're never content to leave well enough alone."
"The ability to progress is one of the few redeeming features of the sentient races and deserves at least a modicum of respect. Look, you can use both hands and play two different parts, one low and one high . . ."
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