Confused

Should I be flattered? Jen thinks -- and has told others -- that if this man had hair as long as mine, he could almost be me. She found the picture on an author's blog.

(She made me put the picture there. Believe me, otherwise, I wouldn't. I know who and what I am. I have no wish to compare myself to anyone else.)

And now, I must ask for input? I suppose as her creation, I have no dignity. I would much rather have talked about the rain!

A seirc.

She Calls It Feedback

Today I reluctantly accompanied Jen to her writers' group meeting. She took the notebook with my story so I wanted to see if she would share it with anyone or not.

She did. She read the first chapter and feels like she got some good feedback. One person in particular thinks she should let Aidan speak as well. I think that would be a good idea. I can never hear my Aidan speak enough. She could speak all day and I doubt I would tire of the sound. (I may tire of the ... content, however.)

This is getting Jen inspired all over again. To my way of thinking, this can only be a good thing. It might also help with this "Evolution" she has been talking about in other places.

They met in a different place than usual. They usually meet in the town's library but for some reason, it was closed. So they met at a store called Dancing Rabbit. (Since when do rabbits dance, I ask you?) The store trades in modern antiques. Aye, I am aware that makes little since. But to me, to my thinking, with my experience in what you now call the early Middle Ages, they are new items.

It's a difficult thing to explain. I beg your pardon for not doing so right now. But, I'm going to go see if I can prod Jen in the direction of my story now.

A seirc.

MOVED

Jen Note: This blog has moved. It can be found at http://devonswish.wordpress.com/. All previous entries and comments have been exported to that blog.

She's Thinking Again

Please understand, the title of this is purely in jest. I had to say it because it has recently come to my attention that people accuse Jen of thinking too much. Is such a thing possible? I don't know, but that's not what I'm here for right now.

She's asking for some input on this one (not that I would be any help).

She's been taking it slow in working on my story. Not that I blame her. I'm just grateful she feels up to writing again.

A seirc.

Satisfied

We are working on my story again. I am so very relieved. To be honest, I wasn't entirely certain when -- if? -- Jen would be able to sit long enough to do any work on it.

We are traveling again. I personally didn't think it was wise for her to go on this trip, but she did. And has done well.

This is an interesting land. I have seen much of the desert in Arizona and Califonia, rock formations in Arizona, and mountains in Missour and Arkansas. To tell the truth, I wanted to see one of these caves we have seen so many signs about. But considering the time, we aren't doing that. More the pity.

I have no doubt I will get to see one of them soon, though.

It has been a long day. With more travel tomorrow, we all need our rest.

A seirc.

A Quick Return

It's unfortunate we're already back at Jen's home. We arrived last Friday.

I knew her back was bothering her, but she was writing and didn't act like it bothered her too much. Then?

Last Wednesday she woke up hurting so badly. I felt helpless being unable to do anything for her. She made a few phone calls, got an appointment with what she called a chiropractor, and seemed to be feeling better later that day.

It all went to hell very quickly after that.

She went to that chiropractor again Thursday then to a different doctor. They decided she had a back sprain "in the lumbar area," which I am told means the lower back. She cried for over an hour that night. Not little silent tears. Wracking sobs that make you wish to the heavens you could do something, anything.

(If she knew I was telling you all this, it probably wouldn't get posted.)

She has been on "meds" since then and is slowly getting better. Her mother brought us home on Friday. She's been in bed pretty much since then. Today she got our work off of the small computer she used in Eureka Springs and moved it to her computer at her desk. She is at least thinking of my story again.

I can't fault her for not doing anything on it between now and then. I've seen her at her worst. She said it's the worst she has ever hurt in her life. I believe it. I'm going to give her a couple more days before I start insisting on anything to see how she is doing.

A seirc.

Progress, Sweet Progress

We are ready to start what Jen calls chapter 6 of my story. But before we do that, I wanted to take a break and talk with you first.

Er...

If it can indeed be called "talking" in this odd medium.

My Aidan has spirit!

When he found out we had wed, her father forced a bargain that if she does not consent to be my wife in all that it entails within a year, she is to be returned home and free of the marriage.

I was informed quite forcibly that she had no desire to go back so I bloody well better do what I can to convince her to stay with me.

'Tis an odd thing to court your own wife in such a manner. But I will do it and succeed at winning her heart.

And I kissed her.

But on another note, I wholeheartedly wish she would trust me enough to tell me when she Sees something that could be dangerous for the clan.

In one particular area (my apologies, scene), three of my guards and I were ambushed by some advanced raiders. I tell you it is most disconcerting to read about your own near-death as it is being written. It was almost as though I could feel it all over again. That is not something I wish to relive, though I occasionally do in nightmares.

On yet another note, let me give you another word lesson. This came up because my sister informed me she was going to have her intended's child, which had been conceived long before they were wed. By about three months, by the physician's figuring.

torrach - pregnant, with child

There is much I would like to tell you, but I don't want to give it all away here because when it's done and available to you (gods willing!), I would hope you would read it. If I tell too much, there would be no reason for that to happen.

In the meantime,

A seirc.

A Bit of a Word Lesson

There are two words I taught Jen today during our morning session. They are both Gaelic words so not something she -- or you -- would be familiar with.


Cabbyl - Horse, specifically, a mare
In chapter 3 of my story, Aidan, my beloved, rides a chestnut mare that my sister had named "Cabbyl" years ago.

Ciùin - be quiet (actually, "become quiet")
This is something I tell the horses when they become spooked by Aidan due to her Gift.

That is all for the moment.

A seirc.

Blessed Be!

There must apparently be some kind of benevolent deity in your world. I don't know if you acknowledge the gods of my time, the Christian God, or some other variant of deity. In truth, it doesn't matter.

Jen is in a place she calls the Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

She is working on my story!

Thank whatever god you believe in. It is nigh a miracle to me, I kid you not. I had given up hope that she would ever return to me and my story. Especially once she started talking about this new idea she has that she calls "Navajo Rose," whatever the bloody hell that is.

I don't know if she will work on mine and my ancestor's exclusively, but the fact that she will be working on it at least some of the time is cause for celebration.

Break out the ale and mead!

A seirc.

Beyond Aggravated and Some Observations

"Go write something," she says, "so I can get in your head and work on your story."

Fine. I try. Then she leaves. When she goes, I have to as well.

She claims she doesn't know me well enough to write my story. Yet when I try to tell her, she doesn't have time or she's busy or she's doing gods-know-what!

Tell me how am I supposed to compete with all the busy-ness this modern world throws at her? At anyone?

Why tell the bloody story? If the rest of this gods-forsaken world is anything like this, who would read it if it were to get printed and distributed? Would anyone care?

Why should they?

If Jen doesn't care, why the bloody hell would anyone else? I fail to see the reasoning in it. I must be daft to think the telling of my story would do anything other than occupy a few hundred pieces of paper in a notebook she carries around.

But be that as it may.

I got to meet her neices yesterday. The older girl is tall for her age. She and some other girls played a game where they used a club (correction, a bat) to hit a ball off of a stand. They called it t-ball. Her neice is good. Perhaps too good for the age group she has to play with. But that's not for me to say.

While the game went on, I played with the twins. Two little girls with hair so curly and eyes so blue, you'd have to see them to believe it. Both full of mischief and just starting to walk. One thinks she can run.

There is a lot going on there that I can't begin to get into. Let's just say I don't understand it and leave it at that? Family is important. Why so many people fail to understand that, I will never know.

During the game, Jen wrote in a small notepad, drawing looks and frowns from her sister. Why should she disapprove when it isn't her business? Has she given up on her goals and so she expects Jen to do the same?

I, for one, hope she doesn't even if I am aggravated with her.

Speaking of Jen, it amazes me how she can find so many ideas for her writing seeingly out of nowhere. She saw this car and has an idea for a character based just on that. I won't bore you with that, though. If you want to see it, I invite you to go read about it at Créatif.

I believe I'm at risk of making this entry too long. For now, I will say only:

A seirc.

She Promised

I'm making this public knowledge.

Jen has promised that after the conference she is going to at the end of this week, she will begin working in earnest on my story.

It's about time.

Yes, I'm aggravated. I'm impatient. Wouldn't you be?

She spends all day at this infernal machine. I would think at least part of that time could be spent on my story.

I will rein in my impatience and my temper (yet another legacy from dear old great-great-great-grandfather Kiernan - at least, that is what my father always said, gods rest his soul).

A seirc.

My Notebook Is Done

This may sound silly to a lot of you. I assure you, it is not. It is, truthfully, a big step in the right direction.

For my ancestor's book -- "Kiernan's Curse" -- Jen set up a notebook. She finally has mine set up. She claims she didn't have the right kind of notebook. Now that it is put together, I understand what she meant. There is a clear pocket on the front where she put a sheet of paper. She put the title of my story -- "Devon's Wish" -- on it along with this:

She printed what we have done so far, including some notes and points of interest I told her needed to be included. They are all in the notebook.

Ah, she says if you want to know how the notebook is set up, you can see a description of it here. (Ach, that is a difficult process, the linking.)

A seirc.

I'm Getting Impatient

Nothing has been done on my story this week.

Nothing.

I realize I should be patient, but I'm getting quite impatient. I can't fault Jen, yet... I do.

A week ago, she slept on this thing she called a futon and it bothered her back. Since then, she has sat at the desk only long enough to do her work for the day. And that is with frequent breaks.

I know she hurts. I know she is not comfortable. But I don't want her to forget me or my story. I think she has been working on it in her head, though. At least, that's what she says.

She named my story "Devon's Wish" but, at first, when I asked her, she couldn't say what the wish was. Now she knows. And I agree. It is something I will wish with my entire being when we are finally able to get to that point.

Her back is tightening up again. I can tell by the way she sits and the look on her face. If I don't make her go lie down, it will get worse to the point she will be near tears when she tries to stand.

I don't understand this time I find myself in. In my time, at home, you wouldn't do purposely something that would cause you so much discomfort. Aye, it happened but it was in a day's work and we didn't try to fight our bodies to keep going when we knew we should do what it took to recover.

Personally, it is my belief that if she isn't better by Monday, she needs to go see her healer. Ah, pardon, doctor. It's unfortunate she can't go tomorrow.

A seirc.

Rain (or Homesick)

When the clouds hang low and it rains, I'm reminded of home. The horizon is vastly different and the smells are as well, yet, there is something about rain that can almost take me back home.

Gods, I wish that were possible.

I mean no offense toward you and your modern times, but it's overwhelming to me. I walk around in it and try to understand but it has so far been beyond my grasp.

I am fascinated by the box called TV. The History channel in particular.

At least Jen has began work on my story again. When it is done, maybe, just maybe, I can return home. Though I won't hold my breath on it. I will eventually learn and adjust.

A seirc.

Second Sight

Have you ever tried to live with someone with the Sight?

The Gift?

I;m having a difficult time trying to describe this. Bear with me but a moment more.

Ah. Jen (my creator) says there is a movie (whatever that is) called The Sixth Sense. This is akin to that.

Psychic. Aye, that's the word I was looking for.

In my time, people with such gifts were considered both a blessing and a curse. Then it slowly changed to where they were viewed as a witch. 'Tis a personal concern to me as Aidan, my bride, was considered such.

How is there thought to be something evil in a gift from the gods? Aye, 'tis different from most others. Yet, there is naught evil about it. I wish people would understand that, both then and now. (I'll not go into how it is my belief that Jen has more than a touch of that Gift herself as it makes her uncomfortable and she tries to hide from it, as if such a thing would be possible.)

I admit, though, 'tis more than a bit disconcerting when you are thrust into it unknowing, such as it was with myself and Aidan. It worked out well though it was a bit ... touchy in the beginning when she failed to warn us of a raid because she still felt a prisoner and would do nothing to help us in that way.

Och, but I am getting far too ahead of myself. You will know more about that soon enough.

A seirc.

Stage Fright?

I find I'm being thrust onto center stage before I'm truthfully ready.

'Tis probably for the best, though. Is anyone ever truly ready for such? I think perhaps not.

I don't know what to comment on or about. I have yet to walk about in this modern world well enough to know what to say, what to comment on, what I think. 'Tis overwhelming, that much is certain.

I must say thank you to those who have come by thus far. I understand my ancestor put something on his journal -- probably from prodding by our creator -- about my presence here. 'Tis good to know I am not fully alone here.

A seirc.

Who is Devon Maguire?

I will be honest.

Devon Maguire, in this instance, does not truly exist save in the pages of a currently unpublished manuscript. Should that status change, you will be among the first to know.

Likewise, the town of Beinn, Ireland, also exists in the fictional realm.

The time I exist in is the beginning of what you now call the Middle Ages, around 600 AD. Depending on the historian, it is also considered part of ancient Ireland.

If you want a physical description, that will have to wait. I would prefer you come to know me first before knowing of my appearance.

Important facts:
-I am the Duke of Beinn.
-I am clan-chief for the Maguire clan.
-Aye, much of this may sound familiar if you know of Kiernan Maguire. I am 100 years after him.

More will come as I see it is needed.

A seirc.