satisfaction
18/9/21 12:39![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bronze_ribbonsThe sketch file for the side fic (e.g., the non-crossing-with-Wimsey canon filler I might actually have a prayer of posting before NYR 2021 closes) is nearly at 3,000 words, which is rather annoying given how I had sternly told myself to focus whole hog on the things for which my deadlines are non-negotiable as opposed to wholly optional no-one-is-expecting-this fluffing about.
Of course, my brain has been pulling this stunt for decades, so I am not really surprised. Because, let's be frank, as much as I truly enjoy herding citations into compliance, there's the difference between black coffee and fine champagne (and I would feel bereft if my life could not include both), and so there's the pleasure of doggedly applying AMA style across a jumble of files that is most necessary (because it's related to a ton of money to be directed toward cancer research) that yet doesn't feel quite enough if I don't also carve out time to fashion fresh conversations among our England World friends (or, in the case of Daniel, the dishing out of snark and the deflecting of people shouting at him, with abundant reason for dishing and deflecting and especially the shouting). I can barely wait until I can flesh this out enough to share what's going on when I have Fen and Pat have this exchange:
A few minutes ago, I finally resolved a bit of canon slippage I'd planned to address in the fic: Archie and Daniel are shown sharing a flask of whisky in Think of England, so I was startled by Daniel's declaration in "How Goes the World" that he wouldn't drink whisky for anyone. The real-life answer likely rests in the seven years that have elapsed since ToE was published (in a library Q&A today, the author mentioned having to reread the books to refamiliarise herself with the world before writing the epilogue, and the varying descriptions of the Private Bureau and Bill Merton's role don't totally sync for me either, but I'm not even trying to sort those out right now), but I've been a Sherlockian since 6th grade, so it's naturally been nagging at me. I originally thought, "Well, maybe he was drugged via whisky on a mission, and that soured his taste for it, so to speak," but I've since arrived at the following conclusions:
1. Sir Maurice's dreadful "little chats," which I'm certain were a key part of the unstated curriculum in Daniel's training to become his successor. I can imagine Daniel eventually associating whisky with getting dressed down by Sir Maurice, particularly after miscalculations that put him and the beloved nephew into unnecessary danger.
1a. I can also see Daniel deliberately choosing mediocre sherry for his frolic (to borrow Kim's term) so that he doesn't ruin the association for anyone else.
1b. I will continue playing with this, especially since I love the moment in Proper English when Fen pours out straight whiskies for herself and Pat before heading to bed, but what I've written so far may not belong in any of the current fics, because these bloody things do have arcs. On va voir.
2. It's CODE. This isn't the first or even fortieth time Daniel and Archie have had this exchange with similar words. It's their version of Will and Kim's speaking looks.
"I'm not drinking whisky for anyone" = "Okay, you're right, that's a solid suggestion and I'm not fool enough not to pursue it, but let's continue pretending that I have choices about how to clean up all the messes I've been saddled with even though by their very nature most of the staff are sneaks and clods who don't tell me nearly everything I need to know soon enough to save their arses without fists and bullets flying, which I have come to professionally acknowledge as a necessity for sheer survival but I'm still me so I HATE IT."
"So drink gin" = "You aren't fooling me with your incessant complaining. You care deeply about every chap you bring yourself to place any shred of trust in, including Secretan, and you hate that you care, so I am now going to do that thing where I propose or repeat something that I know will stop you in your tracks with outrage, which will distract you nicely while being a massive turn-on for me."
3. I don't think I'll have the capacity to write Will and Kim in 1920s Marseille before 2025 -- if, indeed, ever -- but my lord is that tempting. Especially since my own stay in Marseille was so brief and dirty and with literal scrapes, it's the location of my favorite chapter in all of MFK Fisher's writings, and Will and Kim are so excellent when things get ghastly.
In other sparkling distractions, my re-immersion in Monteverdi has now extended to watching every instance of "Madama, con tua pace" to be found on YouTube. It's a brilliant, hilarious aria, and the interpretations range from classical and Louis XIV settings (with 1970s production values, which adds to the entertainment) to nordic-abstract and franco-grotesque riffs.
1979 Harnoncourt/Ponnelle
It doesn't hurt that philosophical musings typically make my own head ache, so I'm delighted to come across Monteverdi making fun of them. My favorite incarnation at the moment is Silvia Frigato's, which starts at around 52:15 at https://youtu.be/A7-99pvv8f4. It is so physically precise and so beautifully rude, especially her delicious laugh as the orchestra rips through the ciaccona.
(I'm also delighted by this 2000 staging in Aix -- the page peeks in ca. 43:22 and starts sassing Seneca a minute later. Silvia's voice and technique are stronger to my ear, but this Seneca is freaking gorgeous, so there's that. . .)
Chronic grousing aside, this self-inflicted mayhem is all to the good: the KJC plotbunnies are going to push me into reading more novels and histories (and Timon of Athens) sooner than I would otherwise, and I hit the piano yesterday and today to thump my way through parts of Poppea and Ulisse. Good times.
Of course, my brain has been pulling this stunt for decades, so I am not really surprised. Because, let's be frank, as much as I truly enjoy herding citations into compliance, there's the difference between black coffee and fine champagne (and I would feel bereft if my life could not include both), and so there's the pleasure of doggedly applying AMA style across a jumble of files that is most necessary (because it's related to a ton of money to be directed toward cancer research) that yet doesn't feel quite enough if I don't also carve out time to fashion fresh conversations among our England World friends (or, in the case of Daniel, the dishing out of snark and the deflecting of people shouting at him, with abundant reason for dishing and deflecting and especially the shouting). I can barely wait until I can flesh this out enough to share what's going on when I have Fen and Pat have this exchange:
Fen sighed as Pat gently kneaded at knots she hadn’t realized were there. “Archie must be at his wits’ end.”
“Rather,” Pat agreed, which in Merton-speak was equal to desperately.
A few minutes ago, I finally resolved a bit of canon slippage I'd planned to address in the fic: Archie and Daniel are shown sharing a flask of whisky in Think of England, so I was startled by Daniel's declaration in "How Goes the World" that he wouldn't drink whisky for anyone. The real-life answer likely rests in the seven years that have elapsed since ToE was published (in a library Q&A today, the author mentioned having to reread the books to refamiliarise herself with the world before writing the epilogue, and the varying descriptions of the Private Bureau and Bill Merton's role don't totally sync for me either, but I'm not even trying to sort those out right now), but I've been a Sherlockian since 6th grade, so it's naturally been nagging at me. I originally thought, "Well, maybe he was drugged via whisky on a mission, and that soured his taste for it, so to speak," but I've since arrived at the following conclusions:
1. Sir Maurice's dreadful "little chats," which I'm certain were a key part of the unstated curriculum in Daniel's training to become his successor. I can imagine Daniel eventually associating whisky with getting dressed down by Sir Maurice, particularly after miscalculations that put him and the beloved nephew into unnecessary danger.
1a. I can also see Daniel deliberately choosing mediocre sherry for his frolic (to borrow Kim's term) so that he doesn't ruin the association for anyone else.
1b. I will continue playing with this, especially since I love the moment in Proper English when Fen pours out straight whiskies for herself and Pat before heading to bed, but what I've written so far may not belong in any of the current fics, because these bloody things do have arcs. On va voir.
2. It's CODE. This isn't the first or even fortieth time Daniel and Archie have had this exchange with similar words. It's their version of Will and Kim's speaking looks.
"I'm not drinking whisky for anyone" = "Okay, you're right, that's a solid suggestion and I'm not fool enough not to pursue it, but let's continue pretending that I have choices about how to clean up all the messes I've been saddled with even though by their very nature most of the staff are sneaks and clods who don't tell me nearly everything I need to know soon enough to save their arses without fists and bullets flying, which I have come to professionally acknowledge as a necessity for sheer survival but I'm still me so I HATE IT."
"So drink gin" = "You aren't fooling me with your incessant complaining. You care deeply about every chap you bring yourself to place any shred of trust in, including Secretan, and you hate that you care, so I am now going to do that thing where I propose or repeat something that I know will stop you in your tracks with outrage, which will distract you nicely while being a massive turn-on for me."
3. I don't think I'll have the capacity to write Will and Kim in 1920s Marseille before 2025 -- if, indeed, ever -- but my lord is that tempting. Especially since my own stay in Marseille was so brief and dirty and with literal scrapes, it's the location of my favorite chapter in all of MFK Fisher's writings, and Will and Kim are so excellent when things get ghastly.
In other sparkling distractions, my re-immersion in Monteverdi has now extended to watching every instance of "Madama, con tua pace" to be found on YouTube. It's a brilliant, hilarious aria, and the interpretations range from classical and Louis XIV settings (with 1970s production values, which adds to the entertainment) to nordic-abstract and franco-grotesque riffs.
1979 Harnoncourt/Ponnelle
It doesn't hurt that philosophical musings typically make my own head ache, so I'm delighted to come across Monteverdi making fun of them. My favorite incarnation at the moment is Silvia Frigato's, which starts at around 52:15 at https://youtu.be/A7-99pvv8f4. It is so physically precise and so beautifully rude, especially her delicious laugh as the orchestra rips through the ciaccona.
(I'm also delighted by this 2000 staging in Aix -- the page peeks in ca. 43:22 and starts sassing Seneca a minute later. Silvia's voice and technique are stronger to my ear, but this Seneca is freaking gorgeous, so there's that. . .)
Chronic grousing aside, this self-inflicted mayhem is all to the good: the KJC plotbunnies are going to push me into reading more novels and histories (and Timon of Athens) sooner than I would otherwise, and I hit the piano yesterday and today to thump my way through parts of Poppea and Ulisse. Good times.
