Saturday,
November 7, 2009
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The Piemaker was forty-five years, four months, ten days, eight hours and fifty-two minutes old...
When he decided to attempt homemade low-carb cheesecake.
Have I mentioned recently how nice it is to be married to someone who has to watch his sugar intake and thus comes up with some stupendous sugar-free bakery goodies? Today's experiment is low-carb cheesecake, two of which are currently cooling in the oven (and dear sweet mother of Cthulhu, they smell good). And since the cake filling apparently had to be blended, not beaten, the Piemaker decided to pick up a KitchenAid standing mixer, which just sent me into fits of glee because I've wanted one for years but don't cook enough that I could justify the purchase of one to myself. It's a little late to sample the cheesecake, but I can always indulge in a slice for breakfast (just as a taste test, you know, because I'm helpful that way).
As for MMM, I met the quota for the day and then some (since the little icon counter doesn't seem to be working, the story stands at 11,864 words), and I may well go back to it and add some more once I come back from the gym. I also jumped around the damn story like Bugs Bunny (wrote part of the climax, a scene leading up to the climax, the second "Eureka" moment and a little bit of the epilogue), but hey, it's all word count. I can always join up the scenes later on, right? At least Eddy and Charlie are cooperating with me now (I think they finally realized that I could do some dreadful things to them, like send them on a field trip to some unpronounceable town in Wales. Not that there's anything wrong with unpronounceable towns in Wales, but these are two semi-snobby Victorians we're talking about, here).
And an excerpt
(As Poe and Dodgson study a scrap of paper inscribed with Greek lettering found on the body of a strangled chambermaid)
A grim gleam entered Poe's eye. "I believe this was meant to be a message, Dodgson," he said. "Tell me, could the arrangement of these letter groups form the pattern of a proper sentence, or whatever served as such in Ancient Greek?"
"I b-believe so," Dodgson murmured, blinking in sudden understanding. "You're suggesting that this could be an anagram?"
"I am indeed. Can you try unscrambling it?"
"I can." The undergraduate bent further over the desk, rapidly scribbling out combinations. "Yes, I th-think you're right," he muttered, writing out a revised version of the original code. "It appears to be a simple enough sentence--"
He stopped, eyes widening. "Oh, dear."
"What does it say?" Poe demanded.
Slowly, Dodgson took up the pen again and wrote five words in English underneath the revised Greek symbols. The two men stared at the translation, then at each other.
Catch me if you can.