Kill Your Darlings

Peni R. Griffin recently posted a deleted scene from her latest story on her blog. That sounded like a good way of assuaging the pain of doing so, so I will now try it myself:

A two-lane paved road, the Niemandslandbahn, connected a row of towns from the Alps to the North Sea. Some had already existed, like Armentieres, while others grew out of the temporary shelters built in No-Man's Land, and had names like Pax Romana, Réconciliation and "Wir Sagen So". Thousand of French Citroens, British Wolesleys and German Autopopuli drove along it every day, except on December 25th, when all traffic ceased for 24 hours, and much of its length was used for festivals and parades.

Heh, that does feel better.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Learn from the experience of others."\\

Out With The Old, In With The Stored

Big events taking place around here -- big by our standards, anyway.

* We got rid of the two worst mattresses in our bed and replaced them with a mattress and box spring from the majestic bed, formerly belonging to my parents and given to me about 30 years ago, in which I slept for oh, a couple of years in the 1980s. The bed, stored in our shed for a number of years and eventually borrowed back by my parents, has now been rescued from my mother's Corvallis mobile home and stored in our storage locker. So, still not actually sleeping in the bed, but it is my hope to have it assembled in some room of the house eventually.

And meanwhile, the bed we're actually sleeping in is more comfortable. And taller.

* We finally pulled some of the old stuff out of the garage and placed it where it will do some good. The hardwood chunks left behind by Corky the woodcarver who used to have his workshop in our shed have gone to a woodcarver in Albany, and the organic gardening magazines have been claimed by someone else. Thank you, Freecycle groups!

* We are finally cleaning out "the boys' room" (where several young boys and teenagers have lived for most of the time Kathe has owned the house) and are turning it back into a habitable bedroom.

Not a lot of progress, but some.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "A little and a little and a little...."\\

My father left very few things undone. One that comes to mind is that he never published or wrote (so far as I know) a science fiction novel like the ones he so liked to read.

One story that he mentioned he would enjoy writing is one in which the Central powers were victorious in the First World War.

I'm not writing that story either, but I am right now engaged in a project inspired by the Christmas Truce of December, 1914, and it does involve an alternate history and a different outcome for the war that his own father fought in. And I do think of my father and his father often as I write.

I feel another affinity for my father as I work: I am doing it in no small part because I have a family to support.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Filius est pars patris, for better or worse, like it or not."\\

Goodbye to the Stink Factory

One of my first memories of the Greater Corvallis Co-Prosperity Sphere was of the incredible wet-dog stench of the papermill we always called "the Stink Factory".

Today we drove past it and saw that the walls are being removed. We could see daylight through it.

Kathe wrote to the family: They are taking it apart! I can't remember before it was there, and soon it will be gone! Of course, it hasn't operated since a year ago last Christmas. Is that right? Or was it two years? Great time to close Millersburg's main business. Oh, about that Christmas break . . . take all the time you want . . .

Apparently the world needs a lot less kraft paper, now that so many of us bring our own bags to the grocery store.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "I'm glad I'm not a paper-dependent fortune cookie."\\