#menewood — Public Fediverse posts

Some updates

• There’s now video up of my Project Censored interview.
• Over on Patreon, an entire new chapter about Hild—this one cut from Menewood for reasons of space, but honestly one of my favourites; I was sorry to let it go. It’s titled, “A Meeting of Old Friends,” and you can download it in PDF or epub formats. Enjoy!
• We’ve had wonderful weather here in Seattle the last week. Things in the garden are changing:

As predicted, the lawn became a carpet of cherry blossom:

On the decks, the geranium is budding like crazy, the fuchsia is swelling but still not flowering, the jasmine is showing the first tentative signs of hints of flowers and the self-seeded wildly twisted snapdragon will, in my estimation, burst into flower sometime next week. There’s also been a sudden blooming of million bells (I think—wouldn’t swear to it), which survived the winter for the first time. Also, we’ve finally started to take the winter-to-spring wildness in hand and have cut back and tidied up the pots. Charlie is not sure he approves; on Wednesday, during the work, he just ran back and forth from deck to deck, yelling in general disapprobation.

Meanwhile, in the front beds we have penstemon (being strangled by all the bluebells—well, we’re taking care of that today) and unlike the stuff on the decks, here the mini hardy fuchsia is already blooming. And across the lawn we have our first roses, and the part of the ceanothus (or bee bush as I prefer to think of it) that’s still alive is drawing the deep drone of bumble bees.

In a week or two we’ll go on a shopping spree for plants, but for now things still look a bit bare, and Charlie is still grumpy about the lack of cover on the back deck.

Don’t feel too sorry for him—he’ll get over it. Meanwhile, a variety of small beasties can breathe more easily while they go about their business…

Some updates

• There’s now video up of my Project Censored interview.
• Over on Patreon, an entire new chapter about Hild—this one cut from Menewood for reasons of space, but honestly one of my favourites; I was sorry to let it go. It’s titled, “A Meeting of Old Friends,” and you can download it in PDF or epub formats. Enjoy!
• We’ve had wonderful weather here in Seattle the last week. Things in the garden are changing:

As predicted, the lawn became a carpet of cherry blossom:

On the decks, the geranium is budding like crazy, the fuchsia is swelling but still not flowering, the jasmine is showing the first tentative signs of hints of flowers and the self-seeded wildly twisted snapdragon will, in my estimation, burst into flower sometime next week. There’s also been a sudden blooming of million bells (I think—wouldn’t swear to it), which survived the winter for the first time. Also, we’ve finally started to take the winter-to-spring wildness in hand and have cut back and tidied up the pots. Charlie is not sure he approves; on Wednesday, during the work, he just ran back and forth from deck to deck, yelling in general disapprobation.

Meanwhile, in the front beds we have penstemon (being strangled by all the bluebells—well, we’re taking care of that today) and unlike the stuff on the decks, here the mini hardy fuchsia is already blooming. And across the lawn we have our first roses, and the part of the ceanothus (or bee bush as I prefer to think of it) that’s still alive is drawing the deep drone of bumble bees.

In a week or two we’ll go on a shopping spree for plants, but for now things still look a bit bare, and Charlie is still grumpy about the lack of cover on the back deck.

Don’t feel too sorry for him—he’ll get over it. Meanwhile, a variety of small beasties can breathe more easily while they go about their business…

Only cats here…

Over on Gemæcce (my research blog) there’s a post about the discovery of a new edition of the Eordu recension of Cædmon’s Hymn. There’s other Early Medieval news to share, too, but I didn’t have time for that this week.

Meanwhile on Patreon a very cool set of alt-Menewood fictions:

• The original beginning I wrote before Hild was even published
• An alternate version of events following the battle of Hatfield
• A tiny bright snippet that I ended up cutting because although I loved it, it didn’t further the plot.

Assuming all goes well with the access and formatting of those pieces, in a week or two I’ll post the pièce de résistance of alt-Menewood: a whole magnificent chapter concerning several characters from Hild who do not appear in the published version of the sequel. Trust me, that is a fucking good chapter, really great; it broke my heart to cut it. (And Kelley came the closest to not speaking to me since…well, ever.)

Here, however, in honour of Çaturday, we have a picture of George, taken Thursday afternoon, sitting on a small table in front of the pots of dead sticks and a few leaves (unlike the kitchen deck):

It was clear he was paying close attention to something but from where I stood, I couldn’t see it—until he leapt off the table into the air…and it turned out it was the first of the cherry blossom falling. Perhaps he thought it was a bird.

Yesterday morning, here he is again, sitting on the same table in front to the same bare pots, only, well, see for yourself: it looks as though they’re suddenly blooming.

The cherry tree is shedding faster than I thought possible…

Only cats here…

Over on Gemæcce (my research blog) there’s a post about the discovery of a new edition of the Eordu recension of Cædmon’s Hymn. There’s other Early Medieval news to share, too, but I didn’t have time for that this week.

Meanwhile on Patreon a very cool set of alt-Menewood fictions:

• The original beginning I wrote before Hild was even published
• An alternate version of events following the battle of Hatfield
• A tiny bright snippet that I ended up cutting because although I loved it, it didn’t further the plot.

Assuming all goes well with the access and formatting of those pieces, in a week or two I’ll post the pièce de résistance of alt-Menewood: a whole magnificent chapter concerning several characters from Hild who do not appear in the published version of the sequel. Trust me, that is a fucking good chapter, really great; it broke my heart to cut it. (And Kelley came the closest to not speaking to me since…well, ever.)

Here, however, in honour of Çaturday, we have a picture of George, taken Thursday afternoon, sitting on a small table in front of the pots of dead sticks and a few leaves (unlike the kitchen deck):

It was clear he was paying close attention to something but from where I stood, I couldn’t see it—until he leapt off the table into the air…and it turned out it was the first of the cherry blossom falling. Perhaps he thought it was a bird.

Yesterday morning, here he is again, sitting on the same table in front to the same bare pots, only, well, see for yourself: it looks as though they’re suddenly blooming.

The cherry tree is shedding faster than I thought possible…

LitStack Delves Into the Hild Sequence

Saturday brought a lovely surprise: 2 Books, 1 Epic Life—Devouring “The Hild Sequence”—a LitStack Rec. They have a whole list, perfect for gift-buying, because this is a site run as part of Bookshop.org, for and on behalf of booksellers. In other words, it’s all about books that are actually great to read.

You should go read the whole thing for yourself—I mean, just look at this:

Sharon Browning also wrote the LitStack Rec for Slow River—which was a truly wonderful review. (“Slow River is indeed an transcendent work of art.  Transcendent, and yet so accessible, so recognizable, so relatable – which only makes it more exceptional.  It truly deserves to be read.”)

But if you just can’t be bothered to click through (I get it, I get it—Mondays are hard), here are 3 screenshot highlights:

• Screenshot

But you really should go read the recs and buy from delicious books for friends and family. And, y’know, yourself. Because you deserve it, because, y’know, Monday…

#hild #litstack #menewood #recommendedReading #reviews #theHildSequence

LitStack Delves Into the Hild Sequence

Saturday brought a lovely surprise: 2 Books, 1 Epic Life—Devouring “The Hild Sequence”—a LitStack Rec. They have a whole list, perfect for gift-buying, because this is a site run as part of Bookshop.org, for and on behalf of booksellers. In other words, it’s all about books that are actually great to read.

You should go read the whole thing for yourself—I mean, just look at this:

Sharon Browning also wrote the LitStack Rec for Slow River—which was a truly wonderful review. (“Slow River is indeed an transcendent work of art.  Transcendent, and yet so accessible, so recognizable, so relatable – which only makes it more exceptional.  It truly deserves to be read.”)

But if you just can’t be bothered to click through (I get it, I get it—Mondays are hard), here are 3 screenshot highlights:

• Screenshot

But you really should go read the recs and buy from delicious books for friends and family. And, y’know, yourself. Because you deserve it, because, y’know, Monday…

#hild #litstack #menewood #recommendedReading #reviews #theHildSequence

Celebrating Hild

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.

There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:

As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.

So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:

You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.

Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5

Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:

And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:

When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.

So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:

You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!

Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.

I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.

And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:

And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:

It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:

So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.

Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is :)

1. At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. I’m not a practising Christian but was raised Catholic, so tend to follow their dates. No one knows when Hild was born, but long ago I decided it was some time in the last half of October. At some point I’ll pick a day, and then I’ll have two dates to celebrate! ↩︎
2. Hild means ‘battle’, and thryth translates to something like ‘strength’ or ‘power’, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. There again, I’ve always preferred the idea of Hild being Hildeburg, that is Battle Fortress: obdurate, adamant, immovable. ↩︎
3. Yep, it would have made more sense for it to be square, or more landscape than portrait format, but, well, I didn’t think of that until just now… ↩︎
4. Ever wondered why Georgian mansions feel so gracious and pleasing? Their formal rooms follow the Golden Ratio. ↩︎
5. The legend is so well established that it forms part of Whitby’s coat of arms. ↩︎

#ammonite #brooch #CædmonSHymn #feastDay #hild #jewellery #MaudPunk #menewood #oldEnglish #phi #pin #snakestone #theBluePlace #whitby

Celebrating Hild

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.

There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:

As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.

So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:

You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.

Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5

Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:

And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:

When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.

So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:

You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!

Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.

I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.

And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:

And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:

It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:

So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.

Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is 🙂

1. At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. I’m not a practising Christian but was raised Catholic, so tend to follow their dates. No one knows when Hild was born, but long ago I decided it was some time in the last half of October. At some point I’ll pick a day, and then I’ll have two dates to celebrate! ↩︎
2. Hild means ‘battle’, and thryth translates to something like ‘strength’ or ‘power’, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. There again, I’ve always preferred the idea of Hild being Hildeburg, that is Battle Fortress: obdurate, adamant, immovable. ↩︎
3. Yep, it would have made more sense for it to be square, or more landscape than portrait format, but, well, I didn’t think of that until just now… ↩︎
4. Ever wondered why Georgian mansions feel so gracious and pleasing? Their formal rooms follow the Golden Ratio. ↩︎
5. The legend is so well established that it forms part of Whitby’s coat of arms. ↩︎

Celebrating Hild

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.

There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:

As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.

So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:

You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.

Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5

Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:

And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:

When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.

So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:

You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!

Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.

I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.

And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:

And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:

It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:

So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.

Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is 🙂

1. At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. I’m not a practising Christian but was raised Catholic, so tend to follow their dates. No one knows when Hild was born, but long ago I decided it was some time in the last half of October. At some point I’ll pick a day, and then I’ll have two dates to celebrate! ↩︎
2. Hild means ‘battle’, and thryth translates to something like ‘strength’ or ‘power’, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. There again, I’ve always preferred the idea of Hild being Hildeburg, that is Battle Fortress: obdurate, adamant, immovable. ↩︎
3. Yep, it would have made more sense for it to be square, or more landscape than portrait format, but, well, I didn’t think of that until just now… ↩︎
4. Ever wondered why Georgian mansions feel so gracious and pleasing? Their formal rooms follow the Golden Ratio. ↩︎
5. The legend is so well established that it forms part of Whitby’s coat of arms. ↩︎

Celebrating Hild

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.

There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:

As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.

So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:

You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.

Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5

Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:

And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:

When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.

So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:

You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!

Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.

I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.

And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:

And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:

It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:

So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.

Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is :)

1. At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. I’m not a practising Christian but was raised Catholic, so tend to follow their dates. No one knows when Hild was born, but long ago I decided it was some time in the last half of October. At some point I’ll pick a day, and then I’ll have two dates to celebrate! ↩︎
2. Hild means ‘battle’, and thryth translates to something like ‘strength’ or ‘power’, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. There again, I’ve always preferred the idea of Hild being Hildeburg, that is Battle Fortress: obdurate, adamant, immovable. ↩︎
3. Yep, it would have made more sense for it to be square, or more landscape than portrait format, but, well, I didn’t think of that until just now… ↩︎
4. Ever wondered why Georgian mansions feel so gracious and pleasing? Their formal rooms follow the Golden Ratio. ↩︎
5. The legend is so well established that it forms part of Whitby’s coat of arms. ↩︎

#ammonite #brooch #CædmonSHymn #feastDay #hild #jewellery #MaudPunk #menewood #oldEnglish #phi #pin #snakestone #theBluePlace #whitby

Celebrating Hild

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.

There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:

As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.

So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:

You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.

Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5

Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:

And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:

When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.

So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:

You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!

Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.

I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.

And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:

And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:

It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:

So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.

Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is :)

1. At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. I’m not a practising Christian but was raised Catholic, so tend to follow their dates. No one knows when Hild was born, but long ago I decided it was some time in the last half of October. At some point I’ll pick a day, and then I’ll have two dates to celebrate! ↩︎
2. Hild means ‘battle’, and thryth translates to something like ‘strength’ or ‘power’, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility. There again, I’ve always preferred the idea of Hild being Hildeburg, that is Battle Fortress: obdurate, adamant, immovable. ↩︎
3. Yep, it would have made more sense for it to be square, or more landscape than portrait format, but, well, I didn’t think of that until just now… ↩︎
4. Ever wondered why Georgian mansions feel so gracious and pleasing? Their formal rooms follow the Golden Ratio. ↩︎
5. The legend is so well established that it forms part of Whitby’s coat of arms. ↩︎

#ammonite #brooch #CædmonSHymn #feastDay #hild #jewellery #MaudPunk #menewood #oldEnglish #phi #pin #snakestone #theBluePlace #whitby

There are so many things I am enjoying about Nicola Griffith’s #Menewood, and tops among them is the role that #tracking in its broadest sense—reading the landscape, the movement of birds and mammals, the seasonality of plants—plays in the story. That deep knowledge born of consistent observation and understanding of patterns is something I aspire to.

So, maybe not grimdark but something else?

I'm not sure, but a key difference seems to be that the misogyny so often present in "grimdark" works just... isn't there so much. Of course men and women aren't equal here, but there's very little violence against women visible, and the one attempted rape doesn't go well for the would-be rapist.

I'd like to do a detailed comparison to "A Song of Ice and Fire", but I really don't want to be sucked into THAT re-read hole.

(4/n, n=4)

#Hild #Menewood

The Hild sequence doesn't shy away from there grim realities. It is dark, it is grim, it is gritty.

And yet.

And yet there are no "shocking", gratuitous main character deaths. On the whole, it's an upward journey: Hild suffers devastating loss and injury, but keeps on building something new. Her sense of joy and wonder for the natural world permeates the story just as much as the love and care for her people. She weaves a web of not just alliances, but friendships.

(3/n)

#Hild #Menewood

It even shares the lack of strong organized religion with, say, "A Song of Ice and Fire": there are old and new gods, but no, well, Catholic church being a major unifying force.

And it /is/ grim. There are battles, and people are wounded and killed in them, with all the gore that entails. There's the battle/childbirth scene, and a graphic description of death by pre-eclampsia. There's abortion, there are miscarriages, there are children dying of illness.

(2/n)

#Hild #Menewood #ASOIAF

Hm. Because of this* post I'm now thinking about whether the Hild sequence qualifies as "grimdark".

Of course, it's not Fantasy: while "Hild" is ambivalent about Hild's supernatural powers, "Menewood" is quite empathetic that no, she's just a very keen observer and thinker, not a seer, which makes it historical fiction.

But the setting is very similar to medieval-style epic Fantasy. So are the parts of the plot that deal with king-making.

(1/n)

#Hild #Menewood

*https://wandering.shop/@irina/111891489396561350

Hey, @Nicolaz:

I only finished #Menewood ten minutes ago, but…

I loved your book.

I am sure I will share more thoughts once I’ve processed it some more, but for now, thank you for bringing Hild and her world to life!

I miss her already.

Another "Hild" and "Menewood" thought: sometimes you hear that weird take that you can't have queer or Black characters in European-style medieval Fantasy "because historically, they weren't there". Which is nonsense, of course, but still a pretty common opinion.

I really like how the Hild sequence, which is historical fiction, breaks that "rule". There's a Black priest, because why not? And no one seems to care about Hild and others having same-sex relationships.

#Hild #Menewood

It's amazing, and you should read it - but it isn't an easy read. There's death on the battlefield, and death of children, and graphic violence, and childbirth. There's one scene with a dead baby I skimmed because I couldn't really read it. Still, it serves a purpose, it's an important thread in the tapestry of Hild's life.

(4/n, n=4)

#Menewood #Books2024

It's a tale of overcoming grief and dealing with loss and change as well as of finding allies, friends,and family; of building community and ruling it well. Of rejecting kingship but being a strong left hand. Of a deep love for and knowledge about nature, human and not, and outgrowing being a seer.

It's as immersive as "Hild", it's beautifully written, it's heart-wrenching and light and gripping and evocative.

(3/n)

#Menewood #Books2024

So, "Menewood" by @Nicolaz, the sequel to "Hild", picks up where the latter ended: Hild de facto ruling Elmet, married to Cian, newly pregnant - and the political situation extremely unstable, with king Edwin challenged by Cadwallon's raids and his own pride and jealousy (a bit like Robert Baratheon, I guess).

Hild watches, and waits, and reads the patterns, trying to prepare, trying to stave off.

(1/n)

#Menewood #Books2024

Sort of random thought: Hild is also a bit like Breq, isn't she? Has enhanced modes of perception, which can feel like foresight, badass fighting skills, is good with children even though it seems unlikely, and acquires devoted fighters and dependents she cares very much about.

A difference: She's more self-aware, aware of her emotions, and goals, than Breq ist, and far less concerned with ethics.

#ImperialRadch #Menewood #Books2024

"It was the pattern of life, and built to a purpose. And that purpose was itself life. She had only to decide to live it. Sunlight lay on her like a blessing."

💙

I love how closely Hild watches nature, and what it means to her. Actually, that's very close to the way I am spiritual.

#Menewood #Books2024

"She floated in a silent world, her thoughts slowing until around her men and horses, golden in the morning light, moved like flies caught in honey."

Ah, the epic slo-mo is happening!

#Menewood #Books2024

Ah, a timely eclipse. Bit of a tired trope. But now I'm wondering whether a seventh-century person would deduce what it is. It seems far-fetched, but Hild's a genius, and very perceptive about nature, so maybe she'd know where the moon would rise on this day. Although that also seems far-fetched because you wouldn't see it near that date. Hm.

#Menewood #Books2024

"And I’m so tired of always having to be right.” “You can’t always be right.” “You think I don’t know that?” “Then stop having to always be right.”

Now that is very good advice, and can be applied to all kinds of perfectionism: if you know you can't be perfect, but feel the need to be anyway, try to change that. Get help. Get time off. Make failure be not critical.

(Yes, there's a big parenting lesson there!)

#Menewood #Books2024

“We can strike fear with all of them, depending on the notes,” Langwredd said. She drew a haunting, uncanny ripple from her harp. “And we can uplift with all of them.” A chord: brighter, bolder."

Aww, it's "same scene, different soundtrack" from the seventh century!

#Menewood #Books2024

"She was tired of having to guide foolish men gently, from the side, instead of ordering them."

We all are, Hild, we all are. How I wish to be able to say times have changed, but they have changed far less than one'd imagine.

#Menewood #Books2024

“I howled when Joseph walloped the wise man for saying Jesus had widdled in the manger,” Begu said. “And when the ass started eating the hay and tumbled poor old Geren, I mean Jesus, out of the manger—” “And Mary tried to pull it away—” “And then the ass dropped dung all down her dress!”

Having observed small children doing Nativity plays - yes, this, exactly 💙 😂

I love it when some things just never change.

#Menewood #Books2024

"Many gesiths preferred stallions, but she was trading away as many of those as she could for geldings and mares: mounts that would not lose their heads if the enemy paraded a mare in heat across their path. Geldings were steady but in a close fight mares kicked better, they had more stamina, and they were used to leading."

Talking about horses here, but I do feel there's a lesson for humans in there 😏

#Menewood #Books2024

"The weather was beginning to change. Today mist lay over the Use and, in the hedgerows, spiderwebs glistened"

Such an evocative description. It took me right back to a sailing trip at the cusp of autumn, waking up one morning in Akkrum to fog and a huge, glistening spiderweb between the boat's jibsheet and pulpit.

#Menewood #Books2024

"I’m not a seer, I watch. I name the patterns that anyone could see, if they also watched.” She lifted her cross out from under her dress and weighed it, then lifted it off and held it in both hands. “I was baptised in Christ. But who is Christ? Who is Woden, or Eorðe? They are all parts of the pattern. The pattern is in everything. We are all part of it. We make the pattern; the pattern makes us."

The Earthseed vibes again!

#Menewood #Books2023

"I’m not a seer, I watch. I name the patterns that anyone could see, if they also watched.” She lifted her cross out from under her dress and weighed it, then lifted it off and held it in both hands. “I was baptised in Christ. But who is Christ? Who is Woden, or Eorðe? They are all parts of the pattern. The pattern is in everything. We are all part of it. We make the pattern; the pattern makes us."

The Earthseed vibes again!

#Menewood #Books2023

"I’m not a seer, I watch. I name the patterns that anyone could see, if they also watched.” She lifted her cross out from under her dress and weighed it, then lifted it off and held it in both hands. “I was baptised in Christ. But who is Christ? Who is Woden, or Eorðe? They are all parts of the pattern. The pattern is in everything. We are all part of it. We make the pattern; the pattern makes us."

The Earthseed vibes again!

#Menewood #Books2023

"I’m not a seer, I watch. I name the patterns that anyone could see, if they also watched.” She lifted her cross out from under her dress and weighed it, then lifted it off and held it in both hands. “I was baptised in Christ. But who is Christ? Who is Woden, or Eorðe? They are all parts of the pattern. The pattern is in everything. We are all part of it. We make the pattern; the pattern makes us."

The Earthseed vibes again!

#Menewood #Books2023

"I’m not a seer, I watch. I name the patterns that anyone could see, if they also watched.” She lifted her cross out from under her dress and weighed it, then lifted it off and held it in both hands. “I was baptised in Christ. But who is Christ? Who is Woden, or Eorðe? They are all parts of the pattern. The pattern is in everything. We are all part of it. We make the pattern; the pattern makes us."

The Earthseed vibes again!

#Menewood #Books2023

"Life is what makes love, life is what makes grief and happiness, hunger and rage. While you breathe there is life, and while you live there will always be more. Like the stream, love flows without end. Sometimes strong, sometimes slow, but always coming back."

#Menewood #Books2024

Coming home like a lady, and then... this:

"The cat sat right in the middle of the path and stared at them. Wolcen stopped. Hild looked down at the cat. It looked back unblinking and after a moment deliberately lifted its right paw and began to clean it."

Cats. They just never change. 🙄😍

#Menewood #Books2024

Holy SHIT, that was quite a battle and childbirth. Little Hedgepig is literally battle-born. Hard to imagine doing that.

(Although I found the description of labor contractions as "squeezes" weird. They are of course, but they didn't feel like that to me at all.)

#Menewood #Books2024

@quidcumque loved reading your progress and thoughts on #Hild. I love it so much. I managed to finish #Menewood just before the new #murderbot came out. I love that there seems to be such a crossover between Hild and Murderbot readers. Maybe it is the ASD

Finished Nicola Griffith's brilliant #Menewood (sequel to #Hild my favourite book ever) just in time for new #Murderbot. Looking forward to the mental whiplash going from the middle ages to corporate dystopia far future. Yay!

@bookstodon
#sff