You may remember this stage of my writing neurosis from last year--it's called the FOR CRIMINIES SAKE SOMEONE REVIEW MY FREAKIN' BOOK!
*sigh*
Uhm, yeah-- I'm not good at this part. (I'm not good at any of the parts-- what the hell is wrong with me? Why would I want to do this for a hobby--not even a JOB but a HOBBY!!! Someone sign me up for a shrink, right now. And a month at the nuthouse, just me, my laptop, and my crocheting--because they don't allow pointy sticks donchaknow. And then, when I've finished RAMPANT, you can let me out for another 8 months, because the short people haven't let me write in a frickin' week!) Anyway, I'm jonesing for some reaction for Bitter Moon II-- I don't even know if the damned book is actually shipping yet because I haven't gotten MY copy, but, well, I'm antsy. You all know this-- you've all talked me down from it before, but there are some nervous butterflies you can't kill with soda-pop and ice cream, and these are them. I'm just going to have to live with them until a few people read the book as she is published--because so far, only one other person (Needletart) has seen anything close to the real final version. My fingernails are bloody and worried, and that's just the way it's gonna have to be.
Anyway, I still haven't found the damned computer cords, which is too bad, because I've got some serious startitis, and that's always entertaining to photograph-- besides that, the short people have grown in the last few months, and I do love to show them off. (It's weird and sad-- when my computer isn't uploading, I take fewer pictures. I'm thinking I need to take pictures for their own sake and just hope for the best, don't you? Yeah. I'm a bad mom--we've discussed this before...)
Anyway, to startitis. In the last week I've started: A hat in this cool 'art inspired' sock yarn by Opal for the Cave Troll, a dress in Rowan worsted cotton/acrylic for Ladybug, a new pair of socks in moochi/moshi (Crystal Palace yarns--if you get a chance to fondle, I mean grope, I mean test this yarn's hand, do so, but expect the Homer Simpson drooling reaction--come prepared with kleenex), baby socks in the peacock colored Louet for a friend, and a pair of worsted weight socks for my friend at school. I'm doing the worsted weight socks toe-up (hee hee--I can't get over my adolescent reaction to the sound of that..."Man, them socks is TOE-UP!" heh-heh, heh-heh, heh-heh) because Mr. Sparrow's feet are, well, size 14 or thereabouts, and I'm pretty sure there's just enough yarn for a short cuff and a bind-off at the ankle. I'm using Big Sock Mexico--one of the earlier self-striping paints, and although it's not particularly MY colorway, it's about as masculine as I get. (Had to knit from stash--wasn't THAT a hardship...) At any rate, if he hates the color, he'll be more inclined to wear them in the house, which is what they're for.
Oh yeah-- and one final started project. This one's fun, because this is where knitting and writing meet. The pattern is mine, and it's called "Lady Cory's Punk Goth Brocade" and I'm going to finish a pair (in this DECADENT AND SINFUL malabrigo/nylon sockyarn-- again, call the Homer Simpson Drool police because you'll need that jumbo kleenex--it is TO DYE FOR...*snork*) and write up the pattern for a little slice of hell, uhm, I mean challenge that Julie and I have cooked up and then use it for the challenge. Anyway, I'm trying to decide what to do with the final pair of socks... the color is this tarnished azure/turquoise that just totally flips my switch as one of Cory's signature colors (along with sunrise peach:-) and there's a couple of beads in the cuffs (could be better placed--I'm going to fix that in the next pattern incarnation) and if they turn out the way I think they might, they could be pretty awesome. (They could also suck large. This is me. The knitting, the writing, the parenting--it's all a crapshoot--you people know this. You tune in to watch the train wreck, it's part of the fun!)
Anyway, I was playing with the idea of making them a reward for the first person to review the book, but wouldn't that be unethical? I mean, bribing people with handknits...usually it's pretty harmless, but, well, this is pretty dire! I can see the fraud trials now:
"People shelled out a hell of a lot of good money for this furniture sized piece-o-crap book--and you say you gave it five stars because..."
"I couldn't help it your honor... malabrigo sock yarn--do you have any idea what kind of weakness that inspires? And BEADS! It was insane! For malabrigo sock yarn and beads, I would have given a monkey and a typewriter five stars!"
I mean, it would undermine my credibility, wouldn't it?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
I think I've hit a wall..
some sort of exhaustion wall just popped up and I splatted into it--but fortunately I'd already cleared the 'Supernatural' hurtle, which was a good thing, because tonight's episode ROCKED. (Poor Dean--to have the absolute truth about himself shouted into a high school hall, when he'd tried so hard to hide it... OUCH!) Of course the whole episode hit home--it's been a rough week on the school front.
Two years ago, when my professional life fell completely apart and I went mildly (severely?) insane with a mix of hormones, exhaustion, computer conspiracies, a nightmare in a size six, and a vainglorious prickweenie who hated my guts, I sort of 'pulled back' from my students. I realized that I placed too much value in my students' view of me--on some levels that is truly satisfying, because those are the people I am working for, but in the long run? They will leave me--and the people I work with need to feel respected, because we're stuck with each other for LIFE! Besides, the students' view can act like a funhouse mirror--the things they see and enjoy might not always be my most flattering attributes as a teacher, so I started to put some distance there. At least that way, I thought, a nightmare in a size six will never be able to rip my heart out again, right?
Obviously I wasn't entirely successful--I think the number of kids represented in Bitter Moon II probably proved that (has anyone read it? Did they like it? Is it getting to you yet? Does it suck... wait, Amy, focus, focus...), and this week I got close again, and, well, not all the stories are pretty. I've always known it--but it hurts, and I want to sleep and write and read and knit and basically recover. I also want to come up with something to make a colleague going in for surgery in a couple of days--nice guy... wait, amend that--AWESOME guy--and I can't figure out if he'd want socks (very large feet--I'd use chunky yarn) or a blanket, or maybe just a stack of movies or something... (yes, as odd as it sounds, not everybody is comforted by knit goods...) The sad thing is that I probably will freeze with paralysis and self-consciousness and not produce anything but a "Good luck!"
Anyway, I think I'll close with a mild rant about work--and I'm pretty sure this won't offend any of my colleagues, because, well, I think it contains some unanimous sentiment:
Going to the bathroom
At Home:
Run down the hallway the bathroom.
Shuck drawers.
Sit or stand as necessary.
Hit the toilet cheerio.
Wipe or tap.
Stand up.
Wash hands.
Dry them.
Get the hell out of there before the entire family crashes the door because you've had five seconds of privacy to yourself.
At work:
Kick kids out.
Lock the door.
Run across the quad.
Discover the lock is broken in the nearest door.
Run to other door.
Discover your key doesn't work at the other door.
Run to next building.
Interrupt a special education class in the common room of the other building ante-room.
Kill some ants on the counter as you wait for the person in front of you.
Get into the bathroom.
Shuck drawers.
Sit or stand as necessary.
Hit the toilet cheerio.
If you have to wipe, grab handfuls of the toilet-seat covers, because odds are good you'll be missing toilet paper.
Stand up.
Get hands wet.
Reach for soap--are sadly disappointed.
Try to seduce a paper towel out of the dispenser.
It doesn't put out. You are sadly disappointed.
Open the door with your elbow, go to the paper towel dispenser over the sink by the bathroom.
You are sadly disappointed.
Run to paper towel dispenser in the room next to the bathroom anteroom.
You are sadly disappointed.
Wipe your hands on the ass of your jeans on the way out the door as you run past the bathroom you couldn't let yourself into and to your classroom, where thirty kids are looking avidly to see if you have toilet paper stuck to your foot because they all know you've been taking a piss.
Thank the Goddess, they are sadly disappointed.
Think about writing a bitter e-mail to the effect of 'Goddammit I'm an adult can't I take a fucking piss without making a federal production out of it?'.
Get caught up in the class period you're teaching and forget the e-mail.
Repeat the entire process in an hour.
Think seriously about adult diapers.
Go home and be grateful for the five other people trying to crash your potty time at home--at least you know there'll be soap.
The end.
Two years ago, when my professional life fell completely apart and I went mildly (severely?) insane with a mix of hormones, exhaustion, computer conspiracies, a nightmare in a size six, and a vainglorious prickweenie who hated my guts, I sort of 'pulled back' from my students. I realized that I placed too much value in my students' view of me--on some levels that is truly satisfying, because those are the people I am working for, but in the long run? They will leave me--and the people I work with need to feel respected, because we're stuck with each other for LIFE! Besides, the students' view can act like a funhouse mirror--the things they see and enjoy might not always be my most flattering attributes as a teacher, so I started to put some distance there. At least that way, I thought, a nightmare in a size six will never be able to rip my heart out again, right?
Obviously I wasn't entirely successful--I think the number of kids represented in Bitter Moon II probably proved that (has anyone read it? Did they like it? Is it getting to you yet? Does it suck... wait, Amy, focus, focus...), and this week I got close again, and, well, not all the stories are pretty. I've always known it--but it hurts, and I want to sleep and write and read and knit and basically recover. I also want to come up with something to make a colleague going in for surgery in a couple of days--nice guy... wait, amend that--AWESOME guy--and I can't figure out if he'd want socks (very large feet--I'd use chunky yarn) or a blanket, or maybe just a stack of movies or something... (yes, as odd as it sounds, not everybody is comforted by knit goods...) The sad thing is that I probably will freeze with paralysis and self-consciousness and not produce anything but a "Good luck!"
Anyway, I think I'll close with a mild rant about work--and I'm pretty sure this won't offend any of my colleagues, because, well, I think it contains some unanimous sentiment:
Going to the bathroom
At Home:
Run down the hallway the bathroom.
Shuck drawers.
Sit or stand as necessary.
Hit the toilet cheerio.
Wipe or tap.
Stand up.
Wash hands.
Dry them.
Get the hell out of there before the entire family crashes the door because you've had five seconds of privacy to yourself.
At work:
Kick kids out.
Lock the door.
Run across the quad.
Discover the lock is broken in the nearest door.
Run to other door.
Discover your key doesn't work at the other door.
Run to next building.
Interrupt a special education class in the common room of the other building ante-room.
Kill some ants on the counter as you wait for the person in front of you.
Get into the bathroom.
Shuck drawers.
Sit or stand as necessary.
Hit the toilet cheerio.
If you have to wipe, grab handfuls of the toilet-seat covers, because odds are good you'll be missing toilet paper.
Stand up.
Get hands wet.
Reach for soap--are sadly disappointed.
Try to seduce a paper towel out of the dispenser.
It doesn't put out. You are sadly disappointed.
Open the door with your elbow, go to the paper towel dispenser over the sink by the bathroom.
You are sadly disappointed.
Run to paper towel dispenser in the room next to the bathroom anteroom.
You are sadly disappointed.
Wipe your hands on the ass of your jeans on the way out the door as you run past the bathroom you couldn't let yourself into and to your classroom, where thirty kids are looking avidly to see if you have toilet paper stuck to your foot because they all know you've been taking a piss.
Thank the Goddess, they are sadly disappointed.
Think about writing a bitter e-mail to the effect of 'Goddammit I'm an adult can't I take a fucking piss without making a federal production out of it?'.
Get caught up in the class period you're teaching and forget the e-mail.
Repeat the entire process in an hour.
Think seriously about adult diapers.
Go home and be grateful for the five other people trying to crash your potty time at home--at least you know there'll be soap.
The end.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Chicken and Ketchup
Okay--my older daughter's obsession with Top Chef has just got to stop.
We've already discussed this--calling me a cook is like calling 50 cent a skein acrylic "yarn". Yes, it's true in the technical sense, but nobody wants to eat at my house just like nobody wants to knit with that "yarn", right?
Well, it only makes it worse when I hear Tom Collicheo's voice in my head with every kitchen disaster. For example, tonight?
Tom: "Okay, now take me through your thought process here..."
Me: "Well, you said you wanted healthy, American food on a budget..."
Tom: "Yes, but you served tater-tots covered in cheese--how is that healthy?"
Me: "But that's what the chicken and carrots were for!"
Tom: "And about those chicken and carrots... how could you conceive of a situation in which someone might want to put ketchup on chicken and carrots!"
Me: "Doesn't ketchup go with everything?"
Tom: "Now this just means you don't know your flavors. It's obvious to all of us that you don't belong anywhere in the kitchen. Please pack your knives and go!"
Me: "Whooopeee! I'll treasure this dismissal from the kitchen for the rest of my life!"
(Later, tearfully, as I pack my knives and go...) "Okay, I did my best, and if that's not good enough, well someone can hire someone who just knows what the hell they're doing, that's all. I do regret being a disappointment to my family though. And giving the leftovers to the dog--we all regret that."
And in other news...
My daughter, Chicken, and I have come up with a new expressive gesture: We flip each other the fish.
It all started when she was giving me shit about something or other, and I was sitting on my chair with a kid on each arm and a cat on my chest. I wanted to hold up three fingers and tell her to "read between the lines," but I didn't have a hand to spare. I held up my sock-covered foot.
"Use your imagination," I told her dryly.
She's the one who came up with the expression, "Flipping the fish."
I like it--it's a lot more esoteric than flipping the bird, don't you think?
And on that, I think I'll let you go... for one thing, I've just cleaned the table and I still can't find the cord for the damned camera, which is too bad, because I actually took pictures. *sigh* It's getting to be sort of a curse.
We've already discussed this--calling me a cook is like calling 50 cent a skein acrylic "yarn". Yes, it's true in the technical sense, but nobody wants to eat at my house just like nobody wants to knit with that "yarn", right?
Well, it only makes it worse when I hear Tom Collicheo's voice in my head with every kitchen disaster. For example, tonight?
Tom: "Okay, now take me through your thought process here..."
Me: "Well, you said you wanted healthy, American food on a budget..."
Tom: "Yes, but you served tater-tots covered in cheese--how is that healthy?"
Me: "But that's what the chicken and carrots were for!"
Tom: "And about those chicken and carrots... how could you conceive of a situation in which someone might want to put ketchup on chicken and carrots!"
Me: "Doesn't ketchup go with everything?"
Tom: "Now this just means you don't know your flavors. It's obvious to all of us that you don't belong anywhere in the kitchen. Please pack your knives and go!"
Me: "Whooopeee! I'll treasure this dismissal from the kitchen for the rest of my life!"
(Later, tearfully, as I pack my knives and go...) "Okay, I did my best, and if that's not good enough, well someone can hire someone who just knows what the hell they're doing, that's all. I do regret being a disappointment to my family though. And giving the leftovers to the dog--we all regret that."
And in other news...
My daughter, Chicken, and I have come up with a new expressive gesture: We flip each other the fish.
It all started when she was giving me shit about something or other, and I was sitting on my chair with a kid on each arm and a cat on my chest. I wanted to hold up three fingers and tell her to "read between the lines," but I didn't have a hand to spare. I held up my sock-covered foot.
"Use your imagination," I told her dryly.
She's the one who came up with the expression, "Flipping the fish."
I like it--it's a lot more esoteric than flipping the bird, don't you think?
And on that, I think I'll let you go... for one thing, I've just cleaned the table and I still can't find the cord for the damned camera, which is too bad, because I actually took pictures. *sigh* It's getting to be sort of a curse.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Uhm, squee?
Well, first of all, because you can never get enough of this sort of thing (wanna bet?) I'll give you this:
And second of all, ladies and gentlemen, I give you
Bitter Moon II: Triane's Son Reigning
Ta da! That baby weighed in at 2 lbs. and 615 Trade Paperback sized pages. It hurt like a sonovabitch to push out, and with the exception of you wonderful people, nobody will read it. Seriously--this book is more likely to hide in warehouses and clog up amazon.com's arteries than anything else I could possibly put out. Lookadit, for sweet Triane's sake-- it costs more than thirty dollars! You could buy a footstool for that much money--and it would weigh less!!!!
Now I was wondering how I'd feel about this--I mean, this isn't my first time at the fair, and this was SUCH a bear, you know? But I think that when the picture (and the blurb with the summary, and ACTUAL copies of the book instead of just virtual copies) show up on the website, I'll be happy. I mean, well, REALLY happy.
Because it is long--but I think it's good. And I've said all along that I wanted to write good stories--not popular ones. I was e-chatting w/Knittech today, and I told her that I probably could write to formula--I'm not too stupid and the formula isn't opaque--we can all spot it and I think I could probably mimic it at will. But it would be like going out and buying a bunch of funky-cheap acrylic yarn and crocheting scrunchies. I could do it--I could make me a boatload of smucking fugly scrunchies and sell them at craft fairs and use the proceeds to buy me some real yarn, which I could work on when I'm not turning out scrunchies.
But my knitting time is precious to me--I don't get a lot of it, and when I get it, I want to be using something gorgeous that makes my heart beat faster and makes me dream in fiber.
I make too many sacrifices (okay, this is the last time you'll hear me whine about that) to write and to publish these books and to give creative birth to my own damned babies to put out something I don't love.
I love this book. If no one reads it but my editors (and guys, it may take a while, but your copies ARE coming! As soon as they arrive at my doorstep, they'll get sent to yours!) it was still worth writing.
HUZZAH! BITTER MOON II IS FINALLY OUT!
Holy Goddess, Merciful God, let it not suck, cannyagimmehallelujia.
Amen.
And second of all, ladies and gentlemen, I give you
Bitter Moon II: Triane's Son Reigning
Ta da! That baby weighed in at 2 lbs. and 615 Trade Paperback sized pages. It hurt like a sonovabitch to push out, and with the exception of you wonderful people, nobody will read it. Seriously--this book is more likely to hide in warehouses and clog up amazon.com's arteries than anything else I could possibly put out. Lookadit, for sweet Triane's sake-- it costs more than thirty dollars! You could buy a footstool for that much money--and it would weigh less!!!!
Now I was wondering how I'd feel about this--I mean, this isn't my first time at the fair, and this was SUCH a bear, you know? But I think that when the picture (and the blurb with the summary, and ACTUAL copies of the book instead of just virtual copies) show up on the website, I'll be happy. I mean, well, REALLY happy.
Because it is long--but I think it's good. And I've said all along that I wanted to write good stories--not popular ones. I was e-chatting w/Knittech today, and I told her that I probably could write to formula--I'm not too stupid and the formula isn't opaque--we can all spot it and I think I could probably mimic it at will. But it would be like going out and buying a bunch of funky-cheap acrylic yarn and crocheting scrunchies. I could do it--I could make me a boatload of smucking fugly scrunchies and sell them at craft fairs and use the proceeds to buy me some real yarn, which I could work on when I'm not turning out scrunchies.
But my knitting time is precious to me--I don't get a lot of it, and when I get it, I want to be using something gorgeous that makes my heart beat faster and makes me dream in fiber.
I make too many sacrifices (okay, this is the last time you'll hear me whine about that) to write and to publish these books and to give creative birth to my own damned babies to put out something I don't love.
I love this book. If no one reads it but my editors (and guys, it may take a while, but your copies ARE coming! As soon as they arrive at my doorstep, they'll get sent to yours!) it was still worth writing.
HUZZAH! BITTER MOON II IS FINALLY OUT!
Holy Goddess, Merciful God, let it not suck, cannyagimmehallelujia.
Amen.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Now THAT'S Diehard Fandom...
Yeah... I did it. I took Chicken to see My Bloody Valentine 3D-- Jensen Ackles was in it, it was like a compulsion. And although I probably would have had a better time at Inkheart (and definitely wouldn't have been exposed to any internal organs or exploding pick-axed eyeballs during the viewing) I have to say...
I could watch that man sleep and be entertained.
*sigh* Sad. Just sad.
I mean, I'm not even a cougar--cougars are sleek and sexy and coiffed and shaved and blonde and can wear high heels. I'm sort of large and frumpy, and abstracted--I'm more like a land manatee. Land manatees should be embarrassed to lust after tender veal, but, well, there it is. Even in a slasher movie, he's tender and juicy... mmm mmm mmm...
Of course, Chicken and I were embarrassed when it was over--too much conspicuous veal consumption in public you know... and Big T was way too sensible to see a slasher flick. He went for the politically relevant 'Milk'. As Chicken and I were walking out of our movie, I told her, "I'd put money down that the first words out of his mouth are going to be "Now I can Watch Brokeback Mountain!"
And, uhm, guess what I'm listening to even as I post? Uhm hm... you guessed it. I love this movie--but it's too sad for me right now so I'm blogging instead. (The soundtrack alone is enough to send me into the sniffles...)
And the final, ultimate irony of the night?
Well, there was the ubiquitous naked girl scene in the slasher flick... and I (belatedly) remembered that Milk was pretty mature... and we figured that, irony of ironies, Chicken and I got to see a naked woman and Big T got to see a couple of naked men. Well, it was the most in depth thing WE were going to get out of our night at the movies, that's for DARN sure!
I could watch that man sleep and be entertained.
*sigh* Sad. Just sad.
I mean, I'm not even a cougar--cougars are sleek and sexy and coiffed and shaved and blonde and can wear high heels. I'm sort of large and frumpy, and abstracted--I'm more like a land manatee. Land manatees should be embarrassed to lust after tender veal, but, well, there it is. Even in a slasher movie, he's tender and juicy... mmm mmm mmm...
Of course, Chicken and I were embarrassed when it was over--too much conspicuous veal consumption in public you know... and Big T was way too sensible to see a slasher flick. He went for the politically relevant 'Milk'. As Chicken and I were walking out of our movie, I told her, "I'd put money down that the first words out of his mouth are going to be "Now I can Watch Brokeback Mountain!"
And, uhm, guess what I'm listening to even as I post? Uhm hm... you guessed it. I love this movie--but it's too sad for me right now so I'm blogging instead. (The soundtrack alone is enough to send me into the sniffles...)
And the final, ultimate irony of the night?
Well, there was the ubiquitous naked girl scene in the slasher flick... and I (belatedly) remembered that Milk was pretty mature... and we figured that, irony of ironies, Chicken and I got to see a naked woman and Big T got to see a couple of naked men. Well, it was the most in depth thing WE were going to get out of our night at the movies, that's for DARN sure!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Being Proactive
Having recovered from my ego-bruising rejection, I decided to take a positive, proactive stance in the campaign to get my work published by someone besides myself. To that end, I have written and formatted my own rejection letter--you know, just to speed the process along and spare everybody some time, trouble, and pain:
Dear Agent/Publisher-- In the event you decide to reject this manuscript, please check the appropriate box:
( ) I accidentally spilled coffee on the manuscript and decided not to bother.
( ) Your lead heroine reminds me of my sister in law, and I hate her.
( ) You used the 'F' word too many times and I was raised a devout skankless abstainer
( ) The ending is not prototypically happy and made my head explode.
( ) I have a terrible case of diarrhea and therefore my attention span is less than that of a two-year-old's on a slushee and so I understand nothing that you wrote and it's all your fault.
( ) Your long words confuse me. Don't bother me again.
( ) Non-traditional narrative styles scare me. Shame on you.
( ) You didn't suck my toes enough in your introductory letter. Learn some humility and learn to bend over.
( ) I spent my lunch whipping other authors into writing four books a year because they have name recognition and I'm just too tired to bother.
( ) Your hubris at self-publishing must be punished and I'm just the rat-bastard to do it.
Thank you, sirs, for the time it took you to check that box and put this back into the self-addressed stamped envelope I provided for you--I'll slink away now to bother you no more and write in obscurity forevermore.
What do you guys think? Would it work
Dear Agent/Publisher-- In the event you decide to reject this manuscript, please check the appropriate box:
( ) I accidentally spilled coffee on the manuscript and decided not to bother.
( ) Your lead heroine reminds me of my sister in law, and I hate her.
( ) You used the 'F' word too many times and I was raised a devout skankless abstainer
( ) The ending is not prototypically happy and made my head explode.
( ) I have a terrible case of diarrhea and therefore my attention span is less than that of a two-year-old's on a slushee and so I understand nothing that you wrote and it's all your fault.
( ) Your long words confuse me. Don't bother me again.
( ) Non-traditional narrative styles scare me. Shame on you.
( ) You didn't suck my toes enough in your introductory letter. Learn some humility and learn to bend over.
( ) I spent my lunch whipping other authors into writing four books a year because they have name recognition and I'm just too tired to bother.
( ) Your hubris at self-publishing must be punished and I'm just the rat-bastard to do it.
Thank you, sirs, for the time it took you to check that box and put this back into the self-addressed stamped envelope I provided for you--I'll slink away now to bother you no more and write in obscurity forevermore.
What do you guys think? Would it work
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
*whimper*
Okay-- I supervised a basketball game last night-- the supervision was fun, but I'm SO tired... and I have a staff meeting tonight as well. I'm thinking I'll get home, plant my keester, and dream about days when I could go walking four days a week!
And now I have two whimpers and an 'awww' for you:
*whimper* 1-- There's really only one reason why you would stop at a gas station for nothing but an emergency packet of Immodium AD--the, uhm, 'Anti-Diarrhea' in the 'AD' is pretty self-explanatory. However, that didn't stop the gas-station clerk from asking me "Hey, how are you to day?"
I looked at the Immodium in my hand and then looked back at her. "Unhappy," I said bluntly.
She blinked slowly and rang up my package. I think she got the point.
*whimper* 2-- Jack and Teague were rejcted by Loose-Id. Now, I'm pretty sure the reason they were rejected was that there was too much backstory--but that's not what my torturer, I, uhm, mean, the evaluator said. Now, as one of you has pointed out (very rightly) I should take the criticism and use it to make myself better--or I can chuck it in the can. But since the critic told me that
A. The proglogue was unnecessary (?)
B. I needed to 'show and not tell' more (??)
and C. If I avoided unnecessary prose I could invest more in the story (???!!!) I think I'm going to chuck it in the can.
Hemmingway got gushier about the emotional shit than my two sexually awakened werewolves. I'm pretty sure the unnecessary prose was the backstory, 'showing not telling' has NEVER been my weak suit, and I know at least two of you told me to beef up the prologue so we knew what exactly these two guys were DOING for a living.
But other than that, I think I'll keep the e-mail so I can print it out on a regular basis, rip it to shreds and feed it to the dog. It will make me feel better.
And finally...
*awwwww*
My little Cave Troll is doing his 'Superstar' week at school. Basically, it's an entire week about his favorite subject--himself. He gets to bring Boris the Bear home so we can journal every day about what Boris does and sees, and he has already brought a poster to school with pictures of his family to talk about, and his scarf, so he can show people his two favorite colors, and a printed version of the song "Sunshine on my shoulder" that he colored, and will teach to his class. I do hope we don't hear from the administration about how it's bad to tell kids to get high on sunshine, because that would really piss me off--and crack me up--which is always a bad combination. Tomorrow, he gets to bring in buttons to count. Mate suggested different colors of yarn, clipped from the skein, but I just couldn't bear to go around mutilating all those poor innocent yarn skeins. Buttons are much better--and we can still use them when they're done sharing Superstar time with Cave Troll, the cutest little Superstar in our sky:-)
And now I have two whimpers and an 'awww' for you:
*whimper* 1-- There's really only one reason why you would stop at a gas station for nothing but an emergency packet of Immodium AD--the, uhm, 'Anti-Diarrhea' in the 'AD' is pretty self-explanatory. However, that didn't stop the gas-station clerk from asking me "Hey, how are you to day?"
I looked at the Immodium in my hand and then looked back at her. "Unhappy," I said bluntly.
She blinked slowly and rang up my package. I think she got the point.
*whimper* 2-- Jack and Teague were rejcted by Loose-Id. Now, I'm pretty sure the reason they were rejected was that there was too much backstory--but that's not what my torturer, I, uhm, mean, the evaluator said. Now, as one of you has pointed out (very rightly) I should take the criticism and use it to make myself better--or I can chuck it in the can. But since the critic told me that
A. The proglogue was unnecessary (?)
B. I needed to 'show and not tell' more (??)
and C. If I avoided unnecessary prose I could invest more in the story (???!!!) I think I'm going to chuck it in the can.
Hemmingway got gushier about the emotional shit than my two sexually awakened werewolves. I'm pretty sure the unnecessary prose was the backstory, 'showing not telling' has NEVER been my weak suit, and I know at least two of you told me to beef up the prologue so we knew what exactly these two guys were DOING for a living.
But other than that, I think I'll keep the e-mail so I can print it out on a regular basis, rip it to shreds and feed it to the dog. It will make me feel better.
And finally...
*awwwww*
My little Cave Troll is doing his 'Superstar' week at school. Basically, it's an entire week about his favorite subject--himself. He gets to bring Boris the Bear home so we can journal every day about what Boris does and sees, and he has already brought a poster to school with pictures of his family to talk about, and his scarf, so he can show people his two favorite colors, and a printed version of the song "Sunshine on my shoulder" that he colored, and will teach to his class. I do hope we don't hear from the administration about how it's bad to tell kids to get high on sunshine, because that would really piss me off--and crack me up--which is always a bad combination. Tomorrow, he gets to bring in buttons to count. Mate suggested different colors of yarn, clipped from the skein, but I just couldn't bear to go around mutilating all those poor innocent yarn skeins. Buttons are much better--and we can still use them when they're done sharing Superstar time with Cave Troll, the cutest little Superstar in our sky:-)
Monday, January 19, 2009
And the bad news is...
Okay, good news first.
The good news is, I awoke this morning, after having finished a pair of fingerless mitts that I WILL have pictures of eventually (because I'm keeping them) and after watching four episodes of Season 2 of yummy-youngsters in a cool car with guns and ghosts (Uhm, Supernatural) and I felt GREAT.
Take on the world great. Accomplish stuff great. No foot-pain great. Cold on its last legs great.
I took advantage of it. I did three loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, took the kids to the park and chased them around in circles, got home and swept the entire house, cooked dinner including a green, did the dishes, started a pair of baby socks for a grandmother-to-be who deserves to spoil unmercifully, started a 'dress' for my princess Ladybug who will probably 'help' me knit this right into a tangle of hot-pink Rowan cotton blend, helped the Cave Troll do his "Me Poster" for his homework, got Ladybug into a bath while Mate got the Cave Troll showered, helped Big T understand politics, and watched the Power-Puff Girls marathon with all of the kids because they're awesome (both kids AND Power-Puff Girls).
So that's the good news.
The bad news is that it was 70 degrees all week, the Kings won in overtime last week, and it's possible we managed to elect neither a jackass OR a moron this year.
I'm sorry, y'all. The bad news is I might have just opened the 4th seal to the Apocalypse. I'll try to whine more in the future and make sure this NEVER happens again!
The good news is, I awoke this morning, after having finished a pair of fingerless mitts that I WILL have pictures of eventually (because I'm keeping them) and after watching four episodes of Season 2 of yummy-youngsters in a cool car with guns and ghosts (Uhm, Supernatural) and I felt GREAT.
Take on the world great. Accomplish stuff great. No foot-pain great. Cold on its last legs great.
I took advantage of it. I did three loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, took the kids to the park and chased them around in circles, got home and swept the entire house, cooked dinner including a green, did the dishes, started a pair of baby socks for a grandmother-to-be who deserves to spoil unmercifully, started a 'dress' for my princess Ladybug who will probably 'help' me knit this right into a tangle of hot-pink Rowan cotton blend, helped the Cave Troll do his "Me Poster" for his homework, got Ladybug into a bath while Mate got the Cave Troll showered, helped Big T understand politics, and watched the Power-Puff Girls marathon with all of the kids because they're awesome (both kids AND Power-Puff Girls).
So that's the good news.
The bad news is that it was 70 degrees all week, the Kings won in overtime last week, and it's possible we managed to elect neither a jackass OR a moron this year.
I'm sorry, y'all. The bad news is I might have just opened the 4th seal to the Apocalypse. I'll try to whine more in the future and make sure this NEVER happens again!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Finishitis...
Done list:
Finished "Girl Mittens" for grandmother-in-law (alas, no pictures.)
Finished "Two color scarf" for friend (alas, no pictures.)
Finished hotpad and retro dishcloth for friend (alas, no pictures.)
Received picture calendars ordered in early December from Wal-Mart (you've seen a lot of those pictures, actually)
Sent all of the above to final destinations.
Went to Babetta's to buy more sockyarn (because, you know, I might have run out.) (Mini Mochi, btw--YUM!)
Bought lunch for family
Ate lunch
Am *this close* to finishing fingerless mitts I started last spring.
Took kids to gymnastics.
Finished the final galley edit of Bitter Moon II: Triane's Son Reigning
Sent it off to the publishers and cried.
TO DO:
Cook dinner for children
Start a new project because I've been very good about finishing stuff and I'm owed a started project by the universe at large.
Take a nap
e-mail Lady in Red sometime today or tomorrow because I miss her and she's awesome
Call my friend to see how her trip with her husband's ashes went.
Go on a movie date with my husband. (Alas, no 'My Bloody Valentine 3D.)
Take the kids to the movies tomorrow. (Where I get to see My Bloody Jensen Ackles' Valentine 3D with Chicken. Because we're sick that way. And we promise to walk out if he bites it in the first ten minutes.)
Chew nails and knuckles bloody for the next two months as I wait for the book to come out and for some feedback. (I love you all, you know it, but no amount of reassurance is going to make this part any easier. I am eternally grateful for the fact that you try anyway. Please don't stop.)
Take a deep breath, woman up, and get back to work on Rampant. Cory and Green are in bed, making moon eyes at each other... something good is gonna happen soon!
Finished "Girl Mittens" for grandmother-in-law (alas, no pictures.)
Finished "Two color scarf" for friend (alas, no pictures.)
Finished hotpad and retro dishcloth for friend (alas, no pictures.)
Received picture calendars ordered in early December from Wal-Mart (you've seen a lot of those pictures, actually)
Sent all of the above to final destinations.
Went to Babetta's to buy more sockyarn (because, you know, I might have run out.) (Mini Mochi, btw--YUM!)
Bought lunch for family
Ate lunch
Am *this close* to finishing fingerless mitts I started last spring.
Took kids to gymnastics.
Finished the final galley edit of Bitter Moon II: Triane's Son Reigning
Sent it off to the publishers and cried.
TO DO:
Cook dinner for children
Start a new project because I've been very good about finishing stuff and I'm owed a started project by the universe at large.
Take a nap
e-mail Lady in Red sometime today or tomorrow because I miss her and she's awesome
Call my friend to see how her trip with her husband's ashes went.
Go on a movie date with my husband. (Alas, no 'My Bloody Valentine 3D.)
Take the kids to the movies tomorrow. (Where I get to see My Bloody Jensen Ackles' Valentine 3D with Chicken. Because we're sick that way. And we promise to walk out if he bites it in the first ten minutes.)
Chew nails and knuckles bloody for the next two months as I wait for the book to come out and for some feedback. (I love you all, you know it, but no amount of reassurance is going to make this part any easier. I am eternally grateful for the fact that you try anyway. Please don't stop.)
Take a deep breath, woman up, and get back to work on Rampant. Cory and Green are in bed, making moon eyes at each other... something good is gonna happen soon!
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