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happy...results to be posted later. :)
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So I got a call tonight that was supremely surreal . . . and it's your fault, folks.
I know, I know. This is kind of unprecedented (or is it?), but I'm going to have two concurrent contests. I do this with a bit of trepidation because goodness only knows what some of you wacky types are going to come up with! But, here we go:
Anyone out there know Romanian or Russian?
Last night The Helvetica Quartet* won second place in a pub quiz, and today we proudly sport our victory trophies — alcohol-themed tee shirts. Mine is a kicky baby-doll number with a Jameson logo splashed across my boobs. Do I drink Irish Whiskey? Generally speaking, no. But I do look smashing in a good emerald green, so I’m pleased all the same. I’m really enjoying these quiz nights, but this most recent installment of trivia and strife may have cost me a little faith in the process … even though I understand that the M.C. had no way of knowing that — lurking within the seething throngs of cheerfully drunk trivia aficionados — she had a small table that was populated with grammar pseudo dominatrices. I say “pseudo” because it’s like this: having a well-versed and thorough understanding of correct grammar does not mean that any given one of us is (necessarily) likely to use it. We aren’t the sort of folks who go around with red pens, correcting the spelling inside bathroom stalls; and we aren’t even the kind of people who can remember, off the top of our heads, the rest of that whole “i” before “e” except after “c” rule. Nay. We are the kind of dorks who find it damn near hilarious to talk out loud in LOLCAT. So let it not be said that we are Accuracy Nazis when it comes to English language usage. HOWEVER. As we learned last night, if you sufficiently liquor up a woman with a master’s degree in that subject who furthermore writes for a living, and then you try to dock her team points over a correctly deduced apostrophe misfire, then by God you’d better be prepared to run faster and climb higher than a drunkenly irate author with a belly full of hard cider and jalepeno poppers. It was not my finest hour. Correct: The trivia question and its potential answers were unclear at best. Correct: This is about honor. It’s not about inebriated indignation. Correct: Use that excuse all you want, but it’s not going to cut it at the MLA. Correct: Of course it’s a big deal! There are free tee-shirts at stake! Cherie: Wiktory! * Me, Aric, Ellen, and Maudelynn. [Crossposted to/from my website. If you'd like to comment, you can do so either here or there.]
As it's public at this point, I thought I'd mention that my brilliant, demanding, saavy, [list reduced for space] editor Anne Hoppe will be working with Brenda Bowen at the new Harper imprint, The Bowen Press. (Article on Brenda from PW). Congrats to Anne for working with her and to Brenda on the new imprint. ( longer version ) So, the short version is that I'm happily under Harper's new The Bowen Press imprint. NOT WORK: My giant pkg of bath things arrived. I have a Sugar Bath (which I've not tried before so am quite curious abt), more Dead Sea Salts (i ran out), a lavender bath oil, & 4 new bottles of bubblebath (2 fav & 2 new scents). There's just something innately good abt indulgent baths. Off to indulge and then more writing . . .
Here’s today’s progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and Bonus! extended deleted scenes from the Civil War: Project: The Boneshaker Things Accomplished in Real Life: Two loads of laundry, including bedding; sent off book review; corresponded extensively with distant friends and colleagues; learned my way around my twitter account a little better; determined that I might be far too boring to maintain this twitter account; decided that maybe I’d just use it as a link dump or something, but I don’t want to ditch it yet; spent a downright silly amount of time chatting in gmail with my college roommate and a fashion-fixated Australian woman. Reason for Stopping: Came to the end of my chapter. Also, it’s Tuesday night — and that means that The Helvetica Quartet shall ride again … or at least, we shall drink and giggle and participate in a pub quiz over in West Seattle. Ergo, I ought to brush my hair or throw on some respectable clothes or something. Also [:: glances out the window ::] I need to drag out my rain boots. The weather is sucking ass.* Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 191,842 * I hear that — starting tomorrow — it’s supposed to get pretty for three or four days in a row … but then the weather will return to its regularly scheduled ass sucking. Oh yes. You can count on it. [Crossposted to/from my website. If you'd like to comment, you can do so either here or there.]
I mentioned how my closet decided to collapse the other day . . . Spouse went & bought a whole new closet system, installed it, & pretty much sorted the wreckage. Some dry cleaning is in order. Drywall dust pattern just isn't the look I prefer. In the re-hanging of clothes I found the jeans I've been missing for months. These are please-don't-leave-the-house-in-those jeans . . . so faded that the are almost white. I picked them up in a Goodwill in Carlsbad CA about 6 years ago during a serious weight shift period when I dropped 3 sizes a a couple months (I was a bit stressed abt something at that point & had no appetite, couldn't sleep). I realized that these jeans are the right size for what I am now . . . and am bizarrely gleeful about this. My $3 jeans are perfect . . .
Spain the Cat has developed a real fondness for cheese slices — which she prefers to consume directly off the couch. Yes, that’s right. I have to tear the cheese into pieces and let her lick them off the leather. Gruesome? Perhaps. But it beats the hell out of shoelaces and hair twisties.
(1). Those of you who’ve read or seen Dreadful Skin may remember that it was illustrated by a guy named Mark Geyer — the same fellow who illustrated Stephen King’s The Green Mile. If you’d like to get an advance peek at some of the artwork for my next Subterranean offering, Those Who Went Remain There Still, then you should click this link and go looking for the hillbillies and the bird monsters. (2). Because I am a procrastinating dork, I spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time today noodling with my livejournal’s settings and appearance. Now, I think, its color scheme and general mood is more in tune with my formal webpage. Erm. Sorta. (3). I have succumbed to peer pressure and started a Twitter account. I’m not sure how useful I’ll find it, or how often I’ll use it, but here it is, if you’re interested. Feel free to add me. I’m sure it’ll become less of a mystery to me over the next few days. (4). Here’s today’s progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and Bonus! extended deleted scenes from the Civil War: Project: The Boneshaker
Things Accomplished in Real Life: I spent the weekend preoccupied with freelance work and Emerald City Comic Con [see previous post], but today I got Draft Zero accomplished on all outgoing independent projects. Reason for Stopping: I’d like to see Draft One accomplished on two of the three projects by this evening. Also, I’m trying to upload a video of Spain the Cat licking cheese off the couch, because it is gently hilarious. In the event that YouTube ever agrees to host the damn thing, I’ll post it here this evening. Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 188,332
...I'm watching TV right now, which I don't usually do when I write anything because it distracts me. And it is distracting me today because I found I couldn't really compose this profound post about how once you put yourself out in the public eye, you sort of lose some of your humanity and become an object. But, that's kind of a dense thing to do while watching last week's episode of American Idol. So, I think I'm going to have to do something a little simpler.
( Read more... ) Being a parent means that my actual job is to spend time hanging out with the two coolest people I've ever met. How could I not think being a parent is the best job ever? It's not the right path for everyone, and some of my dearest friends are pretty sure it's a hellishly unappealing job. . . but for others, it's The Best EVER. I'm pretty gleefully on that list. Happy Mother's Day to the rest of you who chose this job. [PS And, Mum? Here's a very public note that you kick ass ;) You set a great example . . . a little tough to follow, but I'm trying.]
Yesterday I did Emerald City Comic Con; but alas, I will not be attending Day Two. I have deadlines which must be addressed, and besides — my phone number has been dispersed like so many dandelion seeds, so if anyone wants to tear up the town after convention hours, I’m easy to find. For now, I have a book to finish reading, a review to write, and two small articles to tackle. Yes, I’m blogging instead. I know. So yesterday was damn-near perfect. I arrived at the convention floor fairly early, and immediately commenced Internet Bingo … which involved a series of text messages back and forth between the pre-approved Yeah Let’s Totally Meet Up or Something crew and standing in a few lines. In this manner, I was able to visit briefly with Ed, a man with a most excellent hat, and Joanne, who had promised to grievously abuse my phone number. I roamed around with Joanne and her boyfriend Mark for awhile, including a jaunt through a line to see Jamie Barber; but it cost $25 to have him sign his name on anything, so I bowed out of that queue. Unless he was signing his name on a check made out to me for $25, I couldn’t see the point.* Likewise, Julie Bentz was in attendance, and I felt like a total dumbass when I realized that she was both Rita on Dexter and Darla on Buffy/Angel. How I never made that connection (since I’m a fan of both franchises) I have no earthly idea. I saw her when she was pretty much alone, and I kind of wanted to approach her and do a little “OH HAI! You’re really great!” … but I got the impression that maybe she wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t want to bother her. And, of course, I waited my turn to chat up Wil. He and I have a few friends in common, and we’d exchanged a brief comment or two here and there online, so I figured it wouldn’t be the weirdest of all possible things if I just waited through the crowds and said something awkward like, “Erm, I believe we’ve met on the internets.” And then I assumed he’d make a politely confused face and say, “Oh yes. Miss …um … well, it’s quite nice to meet you. Gosh, look at that line. Well, moving right along … ” But instead, I got a marvelous warm welcome that revealed he knew who I was(?!) he’d read my books(!?!) and Jesus H. Christ in a little red hat, he’s been known to read this blog(!?!?!). Only sheer astonishment prevented me from doing a little bootydance right there in front of God and everybody. And as if these revelations weren’t enough to make my afternoon, he was warm and friendly and funny, too. I hope he doesn’t read this and conclude that he’s narrowly escaped from a fangirlish freak-out or anything. It’s not like that; I was just so thoroughly charmed to learn that he was every bit as pleasant as I’d been promised. It really did make my day.** Following this delightful development, I left the premises in search of lunch. I moseyed over to Pacific Place (because it was close and I am lazy), and there I visited with Psynde — who was rocking out in the Barnes & Noble. She made me sign books on my day off, that tricky little tyrant! But she was so much fun to chat with that I’m prepared to forgive her, just this once. And maybe next time. We shall see.*** Later, my husband appeared and together the pair of us wandered the convention floor in search of schwag and toys. This incarnation of ECCC was much bigger than the year before last — which was the last time I attended — and I was pleased with the offerings. But eventually we called the convention “Done” and went back home, where we ate chips and salsa, goofed off on the internet, watched TV, and awaited further instruction from the out-of-towners. Further instruction came around 6:30 when Wil called about drinks and supper. Down at the Tap House we met up with him, and Joanna and Mark again, plus Bill and Henrietta. The Tap House was crowded and loud, but posh in an odd way that included Wheel of Fortune being played on very expensive TVs over a glorious glass-and-brass bar … which is to say, it was peculiarly swank. I dug it. The beer selection featured an assortment of tasty flavored ciders (SCORE), and the food was good and reasonably quick. It would be no exaggeration to say that copious geekery did fill the next few hours. In case I haven’t said so lately, sometimes I feel like I really am the luckiest girl in the world. I love these events, and I feel deeply privileged to be even the most minor, peripheral part of this convention community. The weekends may wear me out, but they make me so ridiculously damn happy that Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be attending ’till I’m old and gray. It took me long enough, but I finally found my tribe; and all omens to the contrary, it turns out that we’re all right after all. * As we learned later, this arrangement might have been imposed upon him — and not his personal preference. I don’t know, and I’m not judging. The practice is pretty common. ** Some years ago I was very excited by the opportunity to meet and briefly work with a writer whose work I really adored … and let’s just say it made me wary about the differences between an online persona and meatspace manners. Don’t start guessing. It’s no one I would claim to know or be friends with, and no one you’ve ever heard me talk about here. *** Because I can never trust the internet to accurately convey jocularity, let the record reflect that I am kidding and Psynde is completely awesome. She’s highly supportive of local authors and very enthusiastic; we think of her as the B&N version of Duane over at the University District bookstore. [crossposted to/from my website.]
choking-- Must work now . . .
The last time I visited home back in November, a bunch of us were sitting around a table at Hair of the Dog on a dead night. Our waitress was a friendly acquaintance of ours who was in a popular local band, so not surprisingly the conversation turned quickly to music. At one point the question came up, "what was the best show you'd ever been to?" Most of us had to think about it but my answer was immediate: "Hum at the Exit/In back in 1998." A male and a female scientist embark on a deep-space mission, assigned by the government to study a new form of cellular life. During the long journey the male scientist keeps a private journal of his growing feelings for the female scientist. Upon arriving they discover the new form of life is a parasite, that they have both become infected by it, and it is changing them. It changes them in different ways; the guy grows weaker and weaker, while the woman begins displaying strange new abilities and knowledge. He comes to rely on her to keep him alive as the infection takes hold of him, but never confesses his love due to guilt that he wanted to be her hero but has come to need her instead. As he weakens to the point of death, it becomes apparent that the organism was deliberately engineered, that they were set up as the test subjects, and that the female has become a new form of life, the next step in human evolution. He dies(?) unceremoniously. Matt Talbot's emotionally distant vocals over the roiling layers of guitar perfectly illustrate still waters running deep, as the narrator on DIH struggles to stay professional despite his growing feelings and fading faculties. The album's not just appealing because it's a throwback to the 70's era of spacerock albums with bizarre premises that happens to actually come off well. It's also one of the heaviest rock albums ever recorded--there is literally no point to listening to this album unless you're listening to it on the best equipment you have, as loud as you can stand it. (btw, this video is not a "scene" from the album narrative but is related to it. It's a metaphor for the metaphor. Listen to the album enough and you'll probably figure it out.) Downward Is Heavenward is easily one of the top 5 modern rock records of all time. I don't mean for me personally, I mean objectively, and I'll defend the notion to the death. Unfortunately it only sold about 10,000 copies and is long out of print. *** I was going to go off on a little narrative about what I was doing exactly ten years ago today, but (except for this show of course) honestly it wasn't that interesting. My sophomore year of college was deliberately uneventful, as I tried to scrub my cerebral cortex of the pointless and stupid shit of the year before. I had come back from spending the intervening summer in Vermont, somewhat rejuvenated from my first true "traveling" experience, and spent most days drawing and reading and wanting to be left alone. By May, my newfound soporific inattention had already led to getting myself into new pointless and stupid shit; but it was, and I honestly mean no offense to the two girls involved, rectified easily enough, and doesn't bear a dry retelling. *** Anyway. It's ten years later to the week of the best concert I ever went to. And here it is. The actual show, recorded on May 5, 1998, which you can stream, download the entire show in MP3 or FLAC lossless format, or grab it a piece at a time. It's completely free and legal. And you can hear the 19-year-old me raspingly babbling like an idiot at the beginning of the second track, because they were playing my favorite song of theirs. Click here to stream and/or download Hum, Live at the Exit/In in Nashville, recorded on May 5, 1998.
Wil Wheaton totally made my day.
Before I forget . . . new stuff was added to the to-do list. Other things were changed. . . (Changes/adds in bold) ( schedule ) ***************************** Copied from the Library of Congress announcement (under the cut): ( Read more... ) OTHER: Thanks for the music suggestions in the last post . . . Suggestions of all genre s are welcome. I'm not a fan of ONE genre. I'm just in the mod with teeth & growls right now. Back to the text . . .
Sorry about the quiet over the last couple of days — I’ve been working, that’s all. But today, I’m going to squeeze in a little playtime. If you’re here in Seattle, come on out to Emerald City Comic Con,* at the trade center downtown. I’m a shortish, skinnyish, 30-something with glasses and bright orange hair. If you see me, say hello or something. * I’d link them, but their site seems to be b0rked at the moment. [crossposted to/from my website.]
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grateful
nervous
curious
energetic
sleepy