…that visa problems might still exist in the far future worlds science fiction writers write about? Surely future political entities will have better solutions than we have…won’t they? (Plot Daemon says “Bwah-ha-hah-hah-hah-haaaaa….”) And rules about who is really a citizen…and problems with missing paperwork…and what happens if you’re deported from your own planet and you haven’t ever done anything wrong there?
NewBook progresses, still generating plot and complications in a healthy way.
Lordy, lordy, this is being fun. No, the characters aren’t having fun. There’s frustration on all sides. Officialdom is annoyed with people who don’t tick all the boxes, fill in all the blanks, sign on dotted lines, get things notarized, and then stand patiently in line for hours… (yes, I was caught in a bureaucratic paper-pushers’ delight a couple of weeks ago, and got to watch other people have a worse time than I did. Then watch a nearby city’s evening news report on the “new mega-center” that the online stuff kept directing me to because it was “faster.” It wasn’t faster; it was jammed and people who weren’t there at 5 am weren’t going to get whatever it was they needed done. Thank you SO much, Texas legislature.) Anyway.
For the writer, the chance to make use of such experiences is one of the things that makes them bearable. The other thing is knitting. Knitting is perfect when you have to wait…and wait…and wait…and wait.
People who say they aren’t patient enough to knit sit or stand in line jittering and fussing, and miserable, while I am adding rows to a sock. It becomes a game. How many stitches or rows can I do before the line moves again? How many while waiting for my number to be called? And it amuses others who are waiting, at least some of them. At least one person in any room is either a knitter, or a relative of someone who knits/knitted or crochets/crocheted. Someone will ask what it is, or if the yarn is wool or cotton, or comment on the colors. And often we can get a lively discussion going that’s not about how slow the line is.
Oh, lines. When I got one of my Mom’s older cars, it took 6 hours and 4 people and I think 8 piece of paper to show that my husband and I were legal relatives of my Mom and her husband. Books in waiting rooms are fabulous (I finished one of the earlier Vatta books while waiting for a flight last weekend).
Eowyn: I used to read in waiting rooms, but I get so deep into books that I may not hear my name (or flight) called. Reading turns off my ears, something my mother used to complain about (and my husband’s ears, something his mother used to complain about.) Knitting, however, is excellent for eavesdropping, and thus works very well for me in waiting situations where I need to hear.
And we are at 34,347. Quitting on the book for the night.
Oh… that comment about reading turning ears off is so true. For me it was turning external part of brain onto autopilot. My mother used to interrupt eventually to say I hadn’t drunk my tea or some such and I’d say ‘What tea’. She’s say the one you said you wanted when I asked you half an hour ago. I swear I heard nothing and answered nothing.
R-‘s mother said when he was reading she had to put her hand between his face and the book, and then wait a few seconds for him to catch on and look up. Yup. True of me, as well. I used to read on the way home from school (not crossing streets, but on a sidewalk or beside the curb) and totally ignored everything. Reading in class (boring classes) got me in trouble more than once. I hated those classes where the teacher had each student read a paragraph or two, then the next in the row, then the next in the row…my eyes would race ahead, lock in on the subject, and the next thing–“PAY ATTENTION!” and a scolding while the other kids snickered.
Having to divert from first-drafting new-NewBook to working on copy edits of COLD WELCOME. Sigh. Hate to rob the story that wants to be written for the one that already is, but it needs to be done. Must write some on the new one every day, to keep it from losing impulsion.