Here there be seagulls

My hometown. No, my un-hometown.

I did live here for a few years, and since Mum&Dad still do, I visit often. But it still doesn't count as a hometown for me. I don't think I have one, just roots poked into the ground in various places.

One here in Kristiansund, I think, since I adore the sound of seagulls screeching and don't despair of summer rain.

One holding hands with the huge elm tree on my Grandmother's farm.

One stuck between two smooth cobblestones on Bakklandet in Trondheim.

And one creeping along the pavements of Grünerløkka in Oslo, scratching at the doors of coffee shops, sidling out of the way whenever gunmen or robbers cross the street, just looking for some soft, dark soil in one of the parks near Marselisgate.

I've been writing furiously these last few days, or rather last few nights, since I can only concentrate after everone else is in bed. Shame it isn't chapter bits, but the paper on Magical Theory, penned by Theodor of Yulevale, is teeming with story seeds.

Lilika Meer and the siege of Legenwald! The Fayre City Trapeze, and the allrune made to create it! The renegade fireruners of Huoyao! Priceless notebooks have been stolen and a certain genious murdered. Much more, too. I've even scribbled down a rough map.

I'm pleased. Impatient, but pleased.