Author Archives: Eugie Foster

Coming down from HP6

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Ate up the last of blackberry pie V2.0 and coming down from my HP6 binge. Very sad. So today, I’m making another pie! I shall be most bummed when the blackberry bushes stop producing. They’re already winding down. Matthew reports that most of the bushes look like they’re on their last legs, and we’ll be lucky if we get another decent pick. I think, if they can hold out for another day or so, that we’ll have enough berries for one more pie after this one. Four pies and plenty of berries for ice cream, that would be a pretty impressive crop for something that springs up uncultivated and unplanted out of our backyard. Sweet. Even three pies and an excess of ice cream berries is quite the windfall.


Writing Stuff

Did a couple editing passes on a rejected story before sending it out. No new words, but at least I haven’t fallen off the Club 100 bandwagon.

Club 100 For Writers
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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (NO SPOILERS)

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Went to the library yesterday to check out Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I’d put a hold on it before it came out, but I was still pleasantly surprised that I was able to get it so quickly. Spent last night staying up way too late reading it, then woke up way too early to finish it. Unfortunately, in between there, I checked my email, popped out to LJ, and promptly had the ending utterly spoiled for me. At which point I shut down my computer and resolved not to have any other outside contact with the world until I was done.

Bastards!

I don’t understand the glee which people get when they ruin the enjoyment other people get out of something. Mean-spirited much? I’ve been being so careful not to encounter any spoilers, and then someone posts the ending climax in big, bold letters as the top post in their LJ without a cut or warning or anything. It wasn’t anyone on my flist, but just someone whose post I saw in a community and hopped out to their blog to see who they were. I still finished the book, but the whole impact was lessened, and I can’t help but wonder how it would have hit me if I hadn’t known what was going to happen. Guess I’ll never know now.

After my marathon reading session, I fell asleep for the rest of the day. Now I’m trying to play catch-up on all the things that needed my attention when I was either reading, offline, or sacked out. My sleep-wake cycle is whacked.

Pie V2.0

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I have achieved another blackberry pie! A more attractive specimen than my last effort, I think:

Packed in another cup of blackberries, and I still ended up with a flattish top. And the blackberries seem to have taken on a reddish cast in the baking, moreso than the previous one. Don’t know why. Still very yummy. I am, ye verily, quite pleased with my pie efforts to date.

Today’s the last Dragon*Con all-staff meeting. I should be full-up on staff now. Hurray!


Writing Stuff

Still no rejections in the mail. My hope and anticipation are getting frisky. I’ve now got a couple stories at markets that have officially exceeded the response times I’ve been seeing posted at the Rumor Mill. I’m trying to stay grounded, but it’s hard.

Unwinding. Decompressing.

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It’s quite ridiculous how long it takes me to recover from a holiday these days. I feel like I’m smack dab in this gray haze of confusion. I can’t sleep but I’m exhausted and having the hardest time concentrating. Nothing that a few more long naps won’t fix, I’m sure. But the important thing is we’re all back home. Hobkin was quite excited about returning from skunk camp, so much so that he was a squirming fuzzy basket-case on the car ride. He snooped out the biscuit I’d stuck in my pocket first thing, and then devoured it in a crumbly mess, leaving me, the car seat, and himself covered in bits of biscuit. That’s my baby. He’s snoozing peacefully under his hutch now, looking like a furry angel. We had some quality cuddling time, and all is well.

Watched Ella Enchanted which arrived via Netflix. It was much better than I’d expected, and proof that Shrek has most definitely spawned something–fairy tale-type stories told with modern, hip characters and sensibilities, accented by classic rock music. I like it. We zipped through some of the extra features on the DVD afterward. There was a brief Hollywood sound byte from the author of the novel, Gail Carson Levine, asking the hows and whys of her inspiration. She said she wrote it as an assignment for a class on writing children’s fiction. She couldn’t come up with anything, so she decided to do Cinderella. Urk.

Matthew went out to see if the blackberry bushes were still producing, and they were! He picked a nearly full Tupperware container’s worth. We went to the grocery story, since our cupboards were bare, and I got another crust mix. The plan is to make another pie today.

Slowly catching up on all the to-do items that have accumulated in our absence. Achieving progress.


Writing Stuff

Sent back the Escape Pod contract for “The Life and Times of Penguin.” The editor said that it’ll be about a month before “Penguin” is slated for publication, but he hopes less than two.

Also went over the edits from Cricket for “The Raven’s Brocade” and “The Tanuki-Kettle” and mailed back my a-ok as well as the answers to some questions my editor had marked for my attention. Definitely need to get back to work on that folk tale I’m in the middle of.

Home again home again.

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Back home in Atlanta. The house is still standing and all is well. I’m too wired to sleep, which is why I’m awake at . . . 5AM. Five in the morning?? *facepalm* I’ve got much to do, mail–both e and snail–to catch up on, and Dragon*Con and Tangent work that needs my attention. But generally, I’m just glad to be home. My domicile is my sanctuary and my retreat; it’s where I recharge my soul. No matter how much I enjoy going out and doing things with people I love, I’m always relieved to get back and sleep in my own bed, surrounded by familiar things. Assuming I can get to sleep . . .

Our flight in was delayed by a couple hours due to a rogue t-storm, but at least it wasn’t canceled like our flight out. There’s a certain irony to being delayed by a thunderstorm during a drought. Their first rainfall in weeks and we brought it with us from Atlanta. Probably about as much rain as we could have fit into our suitcase too.

fosteronfilm‘s folks hired a limousine to pick us up and take us to the airport. The first limo was a white stretch. It sported champagne glasses (that we didn’t drink anything out of), soda and beer in little refrigerated compartments (that we didn’t partake of), and a set of televisions with attached VCRs (that we didn’t watch anything on.) It also had a moon roof–which I did peer out of–and sun roof, which I didn’t. Pretty swank. Apparently the cost of hiring a limo to get to the airport from Matthew’s folk’s house is pretty comparable to hiring a taxi, so my in-folks think, what the hey, why not travel in style? The second limo was much less ostentatious. It was just a regular Grand Marquis, no stretch. But the second limo driver took us through the winding back ways to avoid traffic congestion due to a couple accidents, and also through secret “service vehicle only” entry roads to O’Hare. He got us to our gate in plenty of time, but then we had to wait around anyway because of the delays. There were a lot of cross-looking people at the airport all harried and anxious. Airports really aren’t conducive to soothing.

Once the flight back to Atlanta got underway, it was absolutely lovely. There were some gorgeous clouds we flew through and over. Our flight timing was such that we took off just as the sun was setting and were treated to the sight of fluffy monolith clouds shading gold and silver by turns. I just knew there was a fairy city in them if I only looked hard enough, where fey creatures with huge feathered wings soared. After I spent some time peering out my window in delight, I grabbed my camera and started clicking. Didn’t see any of the cloud city denizens, though.


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A Day at the Races

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Having a lovely time with fosteronfilm‘s family. There’s quite a drought going on up here. The grass is brown and dying, and apparently the corn crops are a loss this year. Weird. On Friday we had flash flood conditions in Atlanta.

The in-folks treated us to a day at Arlington Park yesterday. I’ve never been to a horseracing track before. It was huge. And very white. We were inside–thank God, it’s hotter in Illinois than it is in Georgia, which is just wrong–sat in shaded air conditioned splendor overlooking the track for the whole afternoon, nibbling on brie and chocolate cake. Very decadent. Nine races in all. fosteronfilm and I bet on six of them, and promptly lost our twelve dollars. We’re so not gamblers. But our philosophy on it was that the money was paying for the enjoyment of having a horsie to root for, so it was all good.

The horses were beautiful. There was some excitement in the final race. In the jostling to the finish line, a horse went down, throwing his jockey and knocking another one off his mount. The second rider got to his feet, very shaken, but walked off the track without needing assistance. But the first jockey went down in a throng of horses, and while I know that they’ll do their best not to trample a person, there was really no way for them to not step on him. He went rolling under their hooves and when the horses were past, he wasn’t moving. I wonder if he got kicked in the head. The ambulance guys came running and immediately went to work on him. The track didn’t give any details about his status. I still have no idea if he’s okay, or even alive. I plan to do some Googling to see if I can find a news article about it. A sobering finish to the day.

[Edit: Just found this article on the accident. Jockey and horse are still being evaluated and their injuries treated, but at least I know the jockey isn’t dead.]

I also wonder about how the horses are treated. They looked incredibly well cared for–they were sleek and spirited. But there’s also a listing on the program to indicate whether the horse is on Lasix, which is apparently some sort of drug. And, of course, it was very hot. I do tend to think the horses probably have a decent time of it. At the very least because they’re worth so much money. If people are going to make the financial investment into racing, they really can’t afford to abuse, neglect, or starve their horses. I hope.


Writing Stuff

34-day reprint SALE of audio rights to “The Life and Time of Penguin” to Escape Pod. “Penguin” is going to be made into a podcast! I’m so jazzed. I’m a total Escape Pod junkie. Ever since I discovered these folks, I’ve been jonsing to have one of my stories turned into an mp3 reading. And even better, Stephen Eley, the editor, is going to try to get a little girl to read the part of the, err, little girl. *happy dancing*

Safe at the in-laws

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After some frustrating travel fits and starts, fosteronfilm and I are safely at the in-laws. Details of the ordeal to be posted later. In brief, aside from our flight being cancelled, my hubby is apparently considered a security risk by the airline. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him wear his Resident Evil: Apocalypse t-shirt to the airport. The words “evil” and “apocalypse” might be too much for the transportation security officials . . .

The folks are on dial-up, so LJ updates by necessity will be brief.


Writing Stuff

35-day reprint SALE of “Second Daughter” to The Sword Review. Thanks keesa_renee for encouraging me to submit to this new market. Woohoo!

In praise of GI cocktails

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Had a very, very bad day yesterday. Apparently, the monsters that had invaded my GI system were lying in wait, lulling me into a false sense of complacency. Okay, I probably shouldn’t have had the cold pizza and the orange soda for breakfast, but it’s not like I haven’t done stuff like that before with no ill effects. Felt like a herd of camels was standing on my stomach while a tiny demon with razor-edged claws tried to tear its way out of my stomach lining. This happens to me occasionally. It’s rare, and usually I can head it off with a determined application of antacids early on–it’s like a migraine of the stomach–but this time I couldn’t or I acted too slowly. I’m cursed by really crappy gastro-intestinal genes. Both my parents have the most appallingly delicate stomachs. My mother gets motion sick if she looks at a boat–I’m not exaggerating–and my father is prone to ulcers. Anyway, the last time this happened (many years ago) I ended up in the ER after an ambulance ride. It’s the kind of pain that leaves you writhing on the bed, twisting and contorting from pain, when you wish someone would slug you, hard, in the head, so you could pass out.

Had my follow-up with my “behavioral health” doctor and almost canceled since I was in so much pain, but I figured, he’s an MD after all, he can prescribe something, right? Last time, all I needed was a GI cocktail. I got Matthew to drive me in, since I didn’t think I could manage it. My poor hubby was distraught, didn’t know what to do but hated seeing me in so much pain. Let me just say again, that I am really unimpressed by my psychiatrist. He was unable to prescribe me anything, as he wasn’t that sort of doctor. He suggested I go to the ER or the Adult Medicine department on the floor above, which is what I did. But exactly what sort of medical degree does he have that he couldn’t prescribe me or ask a nurse to mix me up a bit of Lidocaine and Donnatal in a Mylanta infusion?

The Adult Medicine receptionist was a bit confused as to what to do with a walk-in since I didn’t have an appointment. She kept trying to tell me that “you can’t see a doctor because you didn’t schedule an appointment” and I told her, “yes, I know I don’t have an appointment, but I was here for a follow-up appointment and I just want to see a nurse or physician’s assistant who can give me something for the pain since my alternative is to go to the ER. I’m here now, and in a LOT of pain.” This dialogue was repeated several times (while I’m barely able to keep myself from doubling over in pain) until finally she stuck me into the waiting queue. An agonizing time later, I got to see a triage nurse who tched at my breakfast choice and checked my vitals before finally getting me the GI cocktail I needed. Nice take-away-my-pain woman. Nice. *pets*

I fell into blessed sleep once the cocktail took effect. My ordeal left me shaky, stomach-wise. Had a bowl of plain, white rice for dinner, and then a bit of pasta several hours later when I started feeling hungry. My insides are making gurgling noises now, but it’s so much better than the alternative.

For my own future reference, a GI cocktail consists of:

10 ml of Viscous Lidocaine
10 ml of Donnatal
30 ml of Maalox/Mylanta

I wonder if I would have been able to get faster treatment if I’d been able to ask specifically for it. When I was talking to my psychiatrist, I wanted to tell him “I just need this, dammit” but it had been so long since I’d been in the ER, I couldn’t remember what they’d given me, although I knew it was pretty straightforward. Now I’ll have the recipe. Wish I could get Lidocaine and Donnatal OTC so I could quell the pain as fast as possible next time.

Blah.


Writing Stuff

I’m excusing myself from Club 100 yesterday. Gut-twisting agony is not a good writing productivity aid.

I did, however, sign up to be a mentor for Absynthe Muse because I want to do some paying-it-forward, and I wish I would’ve had a writing mentor when I was younger. I might have stuck with it then if I’d had an experienced pro to encourage and steer my craft, and walk me through the process of marketing.

Bad morning, no biscuit.

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Ooof. Hobkin woke me up at 7, most insistent that he was starving and if he didn’t get breakfast right now he would surely eat fosteronfilm‘s toes. While it was tempting to let my hubby go toe-less for the let-Eugie-sleep-in cause, I dragged myself up and fixed the skunk a snack. Did the ungrateful fuzzwit thank me? Feel inclined to snuggle after his meal? Nope. As soon as he finished eating he scampered away under his hutch where he is now happily snoozing. But could I get back to sleep? Of course not.

*grumble skunk stew for dinner grumble*


Writing Stuff

New Words: 250
This folk tale is just not gelling. I wonder if I should put it aside and try something else.

Club 100 For Writers
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