Thursday, January 2, 2025
Happy New Year! And may this year hold much happiness for you all.
Have you got any resolutions for this year? Mine is to bloody STAY HOME and not let anyone (other than family) drag me off into the far blue yonder. (I swear, 2024 nearly killed me.)
I sat down at my computer this afternoon, determined to Write Something, as a gesture to the New Year. I have NO idea where this came from, but here it is…
[An added note in reply to the hyper-observant person who noted that my grout is “less than pristine” and my counter “cluttered”… Actually, the grout is quite clean. However, the people who remodeled the bathroom (prior to our moving in, in 1991) had esoteric tastes, and all the grout in that bathroom is a dark pink. Not dirty—dark pink. As to clutter, it’s my natural state, mental as well as physical. If it bothers you, don’t look, is my advice…]
[Excerpt from BOOK TEN (Untitled) (but I will tell you the title sometime this year), Copyright © 2025 Diana Gabaldon]
“You love James Fraser, don’t you?” Minnie asked suddenly.
John shrugged, though not with indifference.
“Everyone who knows him loves him,” he said. “Except the people who hate him and/or want him dead, of course.”
Minnie gave him a look, and sniffed, seeing the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“And/or, you say, Lord Ambiguous. So, there are people who hate him and therefore want him dead? Or are there people who hate him but don’t want him dead, or those who want him dead, but without any sense of personal animus?”
“I don’t know how you expect me to conduct a conversation—with you—without at least an occasional resort to ambiguity,” he retorted. “As for animus, the man’s a soldier, and we are at war. Thus, there are hundreds—if not thousands—of men who sincerely want him dead, but who have no idea who he is, let alone approve or deprecate his character.”
She made a sound that wasn’t a laugh, but acknowledged his point.
“And ambiguity is so useful, is it not?” she said. “For subterfuge and distraction, if not outright prevarication.”
“Prevarication, my left buttock,” he said. “I haven’t told you a single untruth. Today,” he added, in the interests of exactness.
“You don’t hate him, I take it?”
There was a brief silence, broken by the murmur of conversation among the sailors mending sails on the after-deck.
“I tried,” he said.
“Me, too,” she said, fixing her eyes on the foaming green wake that fantailed behind them. “But only for a few minutes, after discovering that he had a wife. I mean, what would be the point?”
“I suppose this was before you met Hal?” he asked, amused.
“Well, yes. Though I will admit that Mr. Fraser’s admirable qualities continued to impress me, on the rare occasions when I encountered him. Have you ever met his wife?” she asked.
He took a deep breath, feeling the pull of his waistcoat buttons. Too little exercise.
“I married her,” he said.
Click to visit my Book Ten webpage for information on this book, and to read more excerpts from it.
This blog entry was also posted on my official Facebook page on Thursday, January 2, 2025.
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