– Definition: adj. portmanteau of “fabulous” and “fantastic”
– Used in a sentence: You have fabtastic style, my dear.
– Why: I generally dislike modern portmanteaus, but this one leaped onto the screen when I tried to type “fantastic” and hit the “b” key instead of the “n”. My contribution to the English-speaking world’s lexicon.
Prosatio Silban and the Divine Gaze
(THIS TALE IS FOR THOSE who have wondered about Those Who watch over, and occasionally interfere with, the residents of the Uulian Commonwell. Read it in good humor.)
Prosatio Silban finished his evening meditations, stood up on his ornate braided rug, and drew back the black silk curtain dividing his sleeping-berth from the rest of the galleywagon. A long busy day brings both profit and rest well-earned, he quoted to himself, and climbed in. Drawing up the parrot-down coverlet, he exhaled a long and grateful sigh, reached out to his collapsible night-table for the well-thumbed book sitting there (Barbatus the Elder’s Poetries’ Emotion) , thought better of it, and curled up on his left side. Good for the digestion, this, he thought, and closed his eyes in prayer as much as in lassitude. O Galien, the All-Mother; Hopmon, God of the Ever-Full Purse; and Scofi, Goddess of Culinary Impartation; thank You for yet another full day of life. May I be worthy of Your attention for a good night’s sleep. O my gods, mysterious and sublime: through all my prayers, I have yet to see Your face or hear Your voice. If only I could, I … I would … would …
… Cervantes compared translation to the other side of a tapestry. At best we see a rough outline of the pattern we know exists on the other side, but it lacks definition and is full of loose threads.”
— Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, z”tl
Prosatio Silban and the Senseless Struggle
AND THEN CAME ONE OF those days which every culinarian dreads.
“Master Cook? Master Cook!” called a well-dressed old man. He was sitting at one of the two tables-and-chairs Prosatio Silban had set up in the lee of his galleywagon, in the unassuming village marketplace of Boggy, not far upriver from many-harbored Soharis. The morning was bright with sunlight and promise, and the cook-errant fixed a professional expression on his face as he hurried over.
“Yes, sir?” he asked with practiced servility.
“This meal,” the man said with a frown. “It is unacceptable. Please bring me another.”
5 (Well, 6) Thoughts: How I Write
(THE FOLLOWING IS A BRIEF account of how the Prosatio Silban tales are conceived and written. It’s mostly meant for fans of those works, but if you’re interested in the writing process in general, read on — if not, I won’t be offended.)
0. Before anything happens on the screen, the idea is generated. I can’t quite tell you how that manifests, since I don’t understand it myself; sometimes a premise bursts into my consciousness, sometimes I will think of a theme (or scan my “50+ ideas” file) and let my mind wander.
1. Next, I open a fresh new Word document and type in the title (or at least the “working title”), my byline, that day’s date, a space for the approximate word count, and a reminder: “Bold means change it.”
Prosatio Silban and the Tournament Palatine
THE SCULLERY MISTRESS HELD A brimful cup to Prosatio Silban’s waiting lips; he sipped, swallowed, and paused.
“It is good that I am blindfolded,” he said with a triumphant smile, “or else I’d see the nutmeg before tasting it.”
“That would defeat the purpose of this experibent,” Plerus Barja chided. “You are supposed to tell be what else is id this dish.”
Prosatio Silban nodded. “Egg yolk, cream, milk, cane-sugar, egg whites, vanilla, sweetbark. And of course, the nutmeg. In exactly that ratio.”
“Unbelievable,” said the scullery mistress.
“I bow to your expertise,” said Plerus Barja.
Pithyism #210a
AWARENESS: NOW HERE, OR NOWHERE.