December tomorrow

[elingregory]

Imagine me making that Macauley Caulkin face, will you.

However December isn't all bad because it means it's time again for the Speak Its Name Advent Calendar! Every day in December there will be a new post by a different contributor. Some are established stars of the genre, some are cheeky so and sos like me who thought it might be fun! There will be stories, information - all kinds of stuff - and prizes for commenters too. Last year it was a blast.

I haven't written much today but I have done some planning on paper over how to organise battles, casualties and escapes. It's fun, in a slightly sick way, interpreting the elegies of Y Gododdin to try and work out a way of making a story out of them:

Of Bernicia's warband I could hardly bear it
Should I leave a single man alive.
A dear friend I lost, keen in combat,
Faithful to him I was, leaving him grieves me.
No desire had he for a dowry,
Cian's young son of Maen Gwyngwn

Or something. None of the versions agree.

Comments

[elin-gregory.livejournal.com]

It's full of what Erastes amused me by calling "man-crushes", but the poet seems to have been seriously invested in someone called Llif ap Cian of Maen Gwyngwn. The translations vary wildly and will have most probably been made by people who would be appalled at the idea that any of 'that kind of thing' could have been going on. So I reckon that it's fair enough to put a bit of a spin on them:

When we were warriors
Defending the high fields of silver grain,
By right we were known as men of note,
Gracious to any who implored our aid.
Then he was my strong door, my refuge in defeat,
His arms a fort for the one who trusted him.
Where he was, that place was called Paradise for instance didn't take much tweaking, in fact the final line isn't tweaked at all!

[charliecochrane.livejournal.com]

Well, you've convinced me, entirely.