Cocoamancy

When the mug is tipped, the dark layer of unmixed cocoa at the bottom is revealed, painting a horizontal brushstroke of chocolate brown on the lighter, milkier liquid above it. When the mug is tipped upright again, the brushstroke bends, curls; the ends snap together and the middle bells out in a trembling whorl that folds and folds again, like smoke, until you see pictures. I saw a wyvern tonight, with really flapping wings; the next time I drank, it was a mountainside. If I were a cocoamancer, I would know what it meant.

I've been playing hooky from writing for the last week or so, but not from the book. Google Sketchup ate my life again; this time, I come out of the daze with a rough idea of what the Slow Palace looks like:

Some windows and doorways are missing, some outbuildings and gardens and fountains, but the floorplan is there, the basic shape of the place, which is a great aid to writing. There are a few things later on that depend on some fairly precise geometry; it's very good to have them worked out, and to know that they work.

I returned to the keyboard tonight, feeling guilty but accomplished, and the words came easier than I expected. Ghirardelli peppermint cocoa, I can report, is an excellent lucubrant.