Today in a travelling mug because I forgot the Magic Thermos (TM) at work yesterday: home spiced coffee. Seriously though, the Amazing Flatmate makes the best out of ordinary coffee.
Well, I find myself with absolutely nothing of note to say. There are a number of banalities; like my enormous breakfast of two cups of coffee, two boiled eggs, a sausage and a bowl of hemp seed instant oatmeal. That information, however, is not particularly interesting to you I would imagine. It is frakking delicious, though.
I could blather on about training, I suppose. I did have a really good run on Monday, and I'm finally starting to see some improvement at the chin up bar... still can't do a chin up unassisted though. I feel like I've talked about training too much already. It must get boring for you.
Writing.., I can talk about writing! I'm still doing it. I'm still loving it (so, so much). One character I rather love is going to die soon (none of you should be surprised by this), and that makes me sad. I also had a bit of a teary moment between father and son while writing yesterday. It made me sad as well. I can't wait to get this story out to you!
The problem with routine, you see, is that it's, well, routine. Routine is boring. It's the same thing over and over again. Wake up. Feed the cats. Pack back pack (heh heh...) for training. Get ready for work. Make lunch. Go to work. Arrive at work. Have breakfast. Write blog post. Take Welsh lessons. Have lunch. Write two thousand odd words. Goof off for the last hour of work. Get ready for training. Go to training. Train for three hours. Go home. Have dinner. Have shower. Go to bed.
It's like that every day Monday to Thursday every week for all eternity. Friday is different, but only slightly. There isn't all that stuff between beginning work and finishing work save the eating. And I get to go straight home after. That's nice.
Unfortunately for the both of us, the monotony of this routine means that I genuinely have nothing of note to write about in today's post. Luckily for me, though, I have a degree in the Arts, which means I have four years of a university level education in how to write a great deal about nothing at all. You'll note that this is now paragraph seven. That's seven paragraphs in which I relate nothing to you. Well done me!
I did want to direct you to THIS article though. It's about the awesome archaeological find in the Altai Mountains. Known as Princess of Ukok, or the ice princess/ice maiden, she was discovered by Russian archaeologists in 1993. Notably, she was buried with six horses, wearing beautiful tack and a goodly amount of grave goods, including food and drink, and ornate gold jewellery. She was a woman of high rank.
She also had beautiful tattoos on her arms. There is one in particular of a stag on her left shoulder that I would very much like to have myself. One day, there will be many tattoos. But I digress. The point is, she was a tattooed woman of extremely high rank. Apparently, she had breast cancer, and smoked cannabis to deal with the pain.
Side note: it's funny how tattoos have gone from being the mark of a high ranking person to things that lowlifes get and now it's climbing back to being something only the wealthy can afford. Anyway, back to my post.
Alas, when she was discovered, the skin was perfectly preserved everywhere except her face. Now her face has been reconstructed. I can't remember where I read this, but the taxidermist responsible said that he was reasonably certain that he was 75% accurate, with the rest being educated guess work. Here she is:
This is part of the reason why I love archaeology so. There are so many questions that lend themselves well to the imagination. It is possible to construct a plausible fairytale about archaeological finds, particularly when there is a dearth of written records. This stuff is incredible fodder for the mind.
In case any of you are wondering where I get the inspiration for my fiction, I have only one source; academia. Whether it is an academic discussion of the origin of certain myths (The Wild Hunt of Britain being one of my favourite discussions right now, particularly as it pertains to the possibility of it being led by a very archaic Celtic god (who was later supplanted by King Arthur in some tellings of the Wild Hunt myth... I'm trying not to get side-tracked here)), or academic papers on finds such as the one above, and better yet, academic arguments about the origins of languages and cultures that are no longer extant.
I eat it up like it's chocolate.
Academia is, for me at least, the perfect place to find inspiration for fiction. I'm not sure what that says about academia. I'll leave it to your interpretation. Gods I love academia!
Right, I'm off to roll my 'r's in ridiculous fashion (read here - continue with my Welsh lessons).