Still no writing done. And I switched to colour pencils, which have the advantage of not leaving my thighs covered with abstract artwork. I know I should go wash my hands each time I run out of smudging fingers when I work with pastels, but wiping them on my skin is quicker. (And no, I have no ambitions to create Art with my doodling; I just want to be able to produce workmanlike drawings that resemble the subject, because sometimes something just begs for illustration.)
I have, though, been reading the
writeup of the Cassandra Claire Plagiarism Debacle. I have to say the writing's better - or maybe the subject less convoluted - than the
msscribe saga. I must say that back-when I had the same problems while reading the Draco trilogy, and finally I gave up mid-Dormiens.
It's also made me somewhat paranoid about my own pretentious postmodern parlour tricks: how far can I go with referencing others?
The sky over the bay was the color of a television tuned into a dead channel. Verbatim, unreferenced because I assume those who know, do, and those who don't, won't care, is this homage or plagiarism?
(And it doesn't help that I have a digital memory for quotes.
There is a man, playing a violin, and the strings are the nerves in his own arm. If I love, I quote, verbatim and at length.)