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Story-Scribbling Sunday – March 4, 2012

March 4, 2012

Plodding on and on. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself for writing every single day in February – hopefully, I’ll do as well in March!

I briefly returned to Theresa’s POV, which is always the easiest to write. There were a couple of funny moments, but none of them would make sense without a lot of explanation. And I did get to meet some characters who previously only existed in my head, a couple of entirely new ones, and the main character of “Masks”.

But, as much fun as Theresa’s POV is, I was a good girl and didn’t stick with her longer than I needed to, so I think I avoided the pages of pointless babbling that usually happen when I write about her.

Now it’s back to Julius once more, which was a little difficult, because I had to jump into the scene without any idea of what was happening – I’d never once thought about what I was going to write that day, and it was too late at night to spend more time thinking. So I only had the vague idea of “family gathering, Julius tells them about his half-Kivailo son.” And it actually turned out OK. Fun to write, even, because Julius is finally noticing how much fun it can be to shock his family. Having been raised by his very strict grandfather, he’s never dared to rebel, but now that he has to confront his family, he’s actually beginning to like it. He’s beginning to like his son, too, but he’d never admit it (not even to himself).

I had another funny word-/page-count moment this week. One day, I only wrote 111 words. And just before closing the file, I noticed the page-count: 111 pages!

We had a couple gorgeous sunny days this week, but this time I didn’t feel like running away and becoming a wandering story-teller. Right now, I’d rather stay home and plant my garden. That doesn’t make me want to make up random stories and sort-of poems, either, but warm, sunny early-spring weather does make me want to sing.

I only ever sing if no-one can hear me, which means that working at the potting machine by myself is the ideal time to do it. Usually, I go through all the songs I can remember, and get frustrated at the songs I only remember a few lines of, but this time, in the spring sunshine, without a coat for the first time this year, I was feeling frustrated for a different reason.  I kept starting songs, some in English, some in German, and falling quiet again after a few lines because they just didn’t sound right for this weather, for the way I felt. Spring makes me feel like singing like a bird, makes me understand why birds do sing. Maybe that’s another reason why I like Astrid Lindgren’s “Ronia the Robber’s Daughter” – Ronia’s spring yell. Oh, if I could just yell, without worrying what people will think! But I can’t, so I have to sing instead.

But none of the songs sounded right. Or rather, not the songs, but the languages. German, English, Latin (which I only know one or two songs in), all of them sound … dull, muddy. Grey and brown. (Maybe I have a bit of synaesthesia.) Not right for spring, in any case.

Finally, in a back corner of my brain, I found a song I’d written and translated into Tosacy when I had just started creating that language. A spring song, written just to express that feeling. “Weyri’a Tulikely”, “Calling Life”. It’s a pretty boring and repetitive song, but it has the sounds I needed, the high, clear e’s and i’s and ey’s and ü’s, and because it is so repetitive, I could still remember it all, and I could spend the rest of the day singing it, as loud as I don’t think I’ve ever sung outside my home. Ah, what would I do without imaginary languages?

Ay, weyrikylo chilnely
ty wirükylo lelely:
de’inma rey mayhene’y
ty chatako tulikely!

Wirükilo yürilelylo
ty wirükilo lelelylo:
De’inma chilnay mayheny
jolté kanoelylo jeni!

(Oh, we call the wind
and tell it:
Come from the south
and bring life!

We call the songbirds
and tell them:
A southern wind shall come
and bring you home!)

Of course, later it started to bother me that the song is no longer quite correct. Partly it’s just minor spelling differences, like mayheneÿ instead of mayhene’y, but more than that, it’s the word tulikely.

Tulikay means “life”, yes. But “life” as in “the act of living” – it’s not something that can be brought, only something that can be done. There’s another word that means “life”, tulay, but it means something that has happened – again, nothing that can be brought or given. (If I were to talk about my life now, as it is, I’d use tulikay. If I were talking about my life in the past, something that’s over and done with (or the life of someone who has died), I’d use tulay.)

So I spent some time pondering the intricacies of Tosacy grammar, until I remembered the syllable ko. Ko, added to a verb, creates a word that means something like, “to make somebody [whatever the original word was]. So tulik, “to live”, would become tulikok, “to make live”. And I can turn that into a noun, tulikonay, “something that makes [someone/something] live”. Something like “life force”, I suppose. That, I guess, is something that could be brought or given.

But… it would mess up the metre.

… everything was so much simpler before Tosacy decided to have a grammar from hell!

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