Art Every Day – Day 8

Weekends are hard. They should actually be a great time to do art, but… no.

There are no fish to share today. I would have to fire up my ‘big’ computer, and I just don’t feel like it.

But it’s not that I haven’t explored personal expression through the various arts today, because I have, in the culinary arts and the art of writing.

Today’s major project was to clean the kitchen sufficiently so that I could sanitize everything and bottle some beer. A pumpkin ale, to be more precise.

Wait, what? How is that an art?

Well, the recipe is my own. Sort of, anyway. It’s based off of a recipe I found in a magazine. I had to adapt the recipe, because I’m allergic to an ingredient common to most pumpkin anything recipes: cinnamon.

And while I was adjusting things, I may have changes other bits too. (Like I put a ton of pumpkin in there!) The end result is now bottled and will be ready to drink in two weeks. But look at the beautiful color!

Such a lovely golden color!
Such a lovely golden color!

The other artistic endeavor I’ve worked on today is the continuation of my NaNoWriMo novel. It’s going slow today, but I’m getting there. I hope to meet my goal in the next hour or so. (If I’d only stop blogging!)

Here’s an excerpt:

Henry’s attention snapped to Gilbert. “You speak of killing as if it 
is nothing. I don’t want to teach you to kill better.”

“That is fair,” said Gilbert, eying Jason briefly. “But our 
objectives are not to kill, but to survive, and defend our nation 
and its king.”

“Everything I’ve ever heard is that the Lords of the Mark are--. 
Are monsters, killing anything and anyone in their path,” said 
Henry. 

Meridith hissed, trying to silence him.

“And is this your experience since being here?” said Gilbert.

Henry thought for a moment. “No, though I haven’t been often in the 
company of the Lords of the Mark.”

“Well, you should spend time with us,” said Gilbert. “You will find 
that we are merely men. Men who carry a terrible burden. And yes, 
this burden sometimes makes us seem flippant about death, but one 
may be that way when one has seen his own end more than once.”

Published by paleololigo

Scientist (Paleontology, Geochemistry, Geology); Writer (Speculative and Science Fiction, plus technical and non-technical Science); Mom to great boy on the Autism spectrum; possessor of too many hobbies.

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