The town was coming alive.  Iamerge thrilled to it.  There was the pulse of commerce here, a beat that Iamerge had learned to hear so well that he made himself rich by it over and over.  The carters and the merchants were setting up in the square if they hadn’t been selling since dawn.  Iamerge wandered, noting what was selling, and what was left.

When he got his money from Ua Birlinn he would need to make some purchases.  A set of knives at least, perhaps a sword too, if he could find something not too cumbersome.  He would need clothes, not too ostentatious, but of a quality to give the right impression, of solidity and stature, without revealing superciliousness or foolish pride.

There were many fine garments in the used items he was shuffling through.  He glanced around the offerings he saw. The weapons caught his eye and he scanned them.  He reached for an iron blade with a ebon handle and what looked to be a good balance. 

“What would a man of the Christian God need with such a knife?  That blade is not for cutting potatoes or buttering bread, its for cutting men.”  The woman who spoke chuckled derisively before adding, “Or maybe its true what they say, that all you brothers are gelded.  Still, if that is the case, there are better blades than that one for such purposes.  Has your gelding blade gone dull monk?”

“You do not like the brothers, I hear it, I am sorry to trouble you.”  Iamerge cursed himself for failing to be observant yet again.  He wasn’t even sure where the voice was from.  It had been far too long since he needed to live by his wits.  He turned away from the weapons on the table and almost ran into the woman who had taunted him.

She was beautiful, despite her age, and despite the venomous look on her face.  “You dress like one of those bell ringing eunuchs, but you aren’t one, are you?” She said, “What an odd thing, to gaze on these pretty things, but dress like one of those foolish scribblers.  Who are you trying to fool?”

“I beg your pardon, I do not wish to give offense,” Iamerge tried to retreat, but the woman, tall and graceful, countered his attempts to disengage without making a scene of it.  “I am not of the brotherhood, though I have been staying with them. . .”  The woman countered each move he tried to win free.

Finally, the woman seized his habit and pulled the cowl off his head. ”Well, if you are one of them or just among them it matters naught, what is your business here?”

“Please, I just wished to see the town. . .”

“You are a spy?”

“No no, not at all,” He stammered, then before he could stop himself from saying it he blurted, “I do have a small matter of business in town, but the man isn’t here. I thought I’d see what wares were for sale is all.  I, I, I am sorry. . .”

“Well if that is all, why be sorry? This is a place where people buy and sell, generally people with coin or something to trade. I see no coin purse. . .”

“. . . Perhaps tomorrow, if I conclude my business.”

The woman looked at him oddly, “Well, when you have coin you aught not waste it on these cast offs and seconds.  You will find far better there.”  The woman pointed toward a shop front. “Ua Birlinn has this and better and all of it for less than this robber.  Isn’t that so Jered?”

In his fixation on the things for sale he had not even seen the red faced owner of the little booth, Iamerge cursed his inattention again. The man fumed but only mumbled, “What ever you say, Mongfind.”  Iamerge turned to look at the man and took the opportunity to step back from the table.  The man was angry, but would say nothing more, though hatred burned behind his eyes.

“You see? Even the proveyor of Jered’s Junk is forced to acknowledge it.  So, when you have the coin, come see me.  I’ll make you a better deal than this felon or my name isn’t Mongfind Ua Birlinn.  Isn’t that so Jered?” 

Iamerge stepped back again, but his eyes met the woman’s and she held his gaze until Jered mumbled a sullen, “Whatever you say.”

The woman held Iamerge’s gaze a moment more before turning  her contempt on the merchant and making him look away.  She turned her back, dismissing them both with a shrug, but not another word and sauntered away toward Ua Birlinn’s.

I’m finding it hard to find the time to write.  I believe I mentioned before that my hours have changed from the optimal late night schedule with easy access to the Internet to this less helpful one.  Worse, while once I was left alone at the end of the night recently I’ve had company.  I believe when I mentioned this, I suggested that I might need to figure out how to work at home.  I regret to inform you, dear reader, that to this point I havehad no success in that endeavor.

Then too, I’m running up against the realization that I should put some effort into taking the raw ideas I have put out on these pages and posts and refine some of them.  I’ve spent time on organization here at L. Stephen O’Neill dot com, but I haven’t begun to polish.  I’m sure there are many other projects I could work on too, many that I haven’t even thought of, though there are many that I have and then realized that, though valuable, they were not top priorities.

So, what to do?  I believe that I am going to put my effort into two main areas that will lead to a third.  First, I am doing research that I hope will lead to more “Celtic Fiction.”  That is my original and most treasured goal.  Priority-wise, that is what I most want to present.  A reason that it hasn’t been most of what I have presented is really that it IS what I value the most and I don’t want to screw it up. 

So, to address the glaring lack of things Celtic in my fictional offerings, I began a novel that is going to present a group of people I want to resemble Irish Monastics with a little fictional leavening and of course their setting in the world of Tir na Nua.  I think the Abbott and the Djinn project will continue.  I need to put more effort into that project making it the first of the two priorities.

Truth to tell, its ponderous pace led me to realize that I need to present something good.  I mean, you can look at the Abbott and the Djinn, but with the exception of a few passages that I’m proud of I don’t think it is very good.  (not yet anyway)

I have promised Free Celtic Fiction.  It’s what I want to do.  So I think that the second thing leading to the third is to come up with more that can be directly called Celtic in outlook, presentation, topic, and flavor.  Along with continuing the Abbott and the Djinn I see this as a top priority.  That would make it the second priority which I hope will lead to the third.

When I’m able to produce some of this “Celtic Fiction” (in outlook, presentation, topic, and flavor) I will need to begin to polish.  Hopefully it won’t take a long long time.  Perhaps Child of Moss will serve, it certainly needs polishing.  Let me know if you have some ideas.  Producing more polished work, stories I can stop claiming I’ve put out raw and unedited, will be that third key priority.

But the problem still remains.  I have little to no time, so I very much need to prioritize and capitalize on the little that I have.

At least that’s how it seems from here.

LSO

Note: I’ve been sitting in a common area at work where I’ve had two co-workers jabber away about their weekends making it impossible for me to get anything done.  One of them is so irritating I am imagining a horror genre story involving the offender at least at the beginning of the story all in livid detail.<sigh> Such is life.