Drove Matthew to the airport this afternoon. Snapped a picture of Matthew and Hobkin napping together to cheer me up until Matthew gets back:
I think Hobkin’s beginning to feel the stirrings of Spring Fever. He’s been extra frisky. And yesterday he was intent upon wrestling my arm into submission. While my obstreperous limb was being thrashed, I took a picture of the fierce mêlée. I think Hobkin was offended by the flash. Or maybe it was my giggling. Continue reading
Packing Matthew up for Utah. He’s going off to emcee the TromaDance film festival. (TromaDance, sponsored by Troma Films, is one of the You-name-it-dance glut of independent film screenings at Salt Lake City and Park City that Robert Redford spawned with SunDance.) He’s also going to do a commentary track for the DVD of Roadside Attraction, one of the shorts featured in Dragon*Con’s 2004 Film Festival. Matthew gets to party with all the film happenings that are going on this week and rub elbows with film luminaries, and I can’t go because I have to work. Plus Hobkin would probably blow a fuzzy gasket if we sent him off to skunk camp again so soon after Christmas. Still, fooie.
So it’s going to be just Hobkin and me this weekend. I hope to get a goodly chunk of writing done. Realistically, I suspect there will be some vegging before the mass-entertainment altar of viewing, and unproductive fiddling and surfing on Mr. Computer. Maybe some napping too. I’ve also adjusted our Netflix list so as to get all the chick flicks this weekend that Matthew keeps pushing down the queue.
Words: 500. The novel continues to kick my ass. Thinking about switching gears again and working on a short piece. I seem to have a brain barrier erected against completing longer works. Dammit.
500/day
17
I’m managed to addict myself to coffee, and of course the requisite mega-doses of caffeine, again. Despite the reasonably functional chunk of gray matter that I carry around in my skull, I continue to believe on some illogical, irrational, and just plain dim-witted level (despite the overwhelming excess of first-person evidence to the contrary), that I can counter the effects of one drug with another. The Clonazepam that I’ve been taking to nick the edge off my wing stub pains makes me groggy and muzzy-headed, so I slam various caffeine-delivery mechanisms and end up muzzy-headed and twitchy. And then when I stop taking the Clonazepam, I get headaches if I try to quit the caffeine administration.
And my wing stubs still hurt.
Stupid body.
“A refreshing look at a traditional tale. Eugie Foster has written an enchanting little tale that keeps the reader interested until the very last word.”
–Lesley
And discovered this fine review of “Returning My Sister’s Face” from the Science Fiction Romance Newsletter:
“‘Returning My Sister’s Face’ by Eugie Foster is a ghost story about avenging wronged love in a medieval oriental setting . . .The author maintains a sense of suspense throughout, and the narrative style is so compelling I could almost hear the slow, dignified plinking of ancient oriental music as I read it.”
–Joyce Ellen Armond
Due to either the caffeine OD, or the Clonazepam residue, I was tempted to bite off my own fingers, giving myself a Really Good™ excuse for why I didn’t write today. Alas, I only ended up gnawing on a knuckle or two, then forced myself to toil on the novel.
Words: 500 And they were all crap.
500/day
16
Thanks to the unexpected munificence of benefactors known and unknown, I spent most of yesterday gleefully making scores of little LJ icons.
It’s amazing how much fun that was. I am, unabashedly, a geek. And receiving the tacit support and encouragement for my humble blogging efforts really made my weekend.
Thank you.
Saw that “Perfidious Beauty” will be the lead story in the Embark to Madness anthology, which delights me. The editor said they’re aiming for a May or June publication date, so I won’t have it by Fantasm, but will for Dragon*Con.
Maybe I’ll manage to finagle some words on the page today.
Because I didn’t feel like doing any work. I went to this website and played.
Here’s my default LJ icon in the style of Botticelli, Mucha, Modigliani, and Manga:
I tried it with a few more pictures. Continue reading
Exotic nighttime marvels, storytellers, and illusion permeate Vera Nazarian’s (norilana) Dreams of the Compass Ross. The template of a story within a story is classic and timeless, from Shakespeare (A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, Taming of the Shrew, Hamlet, etc.) to Ray Bradbury (The Illustrated Man), and Nazarian utilizes it flawlessly.
She displays her skill as a master tale spinner, effortlessly weaving together different character, theme, and plot threads into a shining tapestry. While on the surface Dreams of the Compass Rose is made up of a collection of short stories, when taken together it is a glittering whole that transcends its parts.
Appropriate for tales featuring mad tyrants, quixotic gods, and luminous mortals, Nazarian’s prose is rich, full of colorful imagery and fluid dimension. But Dreams goes beyond the mere trappings of fantasy, expounding upon the nature of wonder, illusion, and love. Scheherazade would have been proud of her modern-day sister-in-storytelling.
All in all, a satisfying and delightful read.
Still hurting, but went in to work anyway. I am the master of my wingstubs, dammit! Yeah, right. At least it’s the weekend.
The cold temperatures and my flat keyboard at work have my wingstubs in an uproar. I hurt, so I took today off from work.
Started my rewrite on the SF story that went through Critters. Hoping to have it out to market tomorrow.
Also sent the huli jing story up to the Critters queue. It should go up next week.
Words: -300 via several editing passes.
500/day
14
Matthew lobotomized Mr. Computer last night. There was swearing, terror, drama, and many reboots. I hid behind my laptop, comforting it and trying to shield its little CPU from trauma by covering its speaker ports. This morning, when I woke up, everything seemed peaceful. The router is sulking and refuses to listen to impassioned pleading, some programs need reloading, and my email settings have to be restored, but all in all the surgery appears to have been a success. Huzzah.
In other technology related mishaps, I succeed in frying my ergo keyboard at work. Oopsie. Tea and electricity are not friends. So, defying the eleventh commandment (“Eugie shalt not tinker with hardware”) I took the thing apart. I figure, it’s already broken, right? I popped out all the keys (is there some sort of law that states if little pieces of plastic can fall in unreachable places, they will? I ended up on my hands and knees beneath my desk about a dozen time), and was astonished at how blicky things were. Crumbs, dust, unspeakable filth. I did a half-hearted job of cleaning that, and then tried to pry the plastic thingy under that off. But it defied my efforts. I’m not sure if it’s glued in or just simply very well set. The thing is, I’m sure the part I need to get at is underneath it. There’s a thin, plastic protective sheet-thing underneath it–which I suspect is there to keep moisture out, hah!–beneath which is the circuitry stuff. I need to be able to get at the circuitry in order to clean it . . . err, maybe with isopropyl alcohol? Or would that fry it more? Hmm. This is probably why there is an eleventh commandment.
My well intentioned efforts have left a pile of keys and a rather grungy looking base on my desk. Left it there for the cleaning lady to puzzle over. Think it might be time to requisition a new ergo keyboard . . . probably what I ought to have done immediately instead of trying to fix the thing. Or, err, called tech support.
And my wingstubs hurt more from having to type on a flat keyboard. Ugh.
Words: 500 words
500/day
13
Cold cold cold cold cold. And I forgot to set my alarm last night. What woke me was the morning sunlight, beaming through the window, a sight I don’t see at this time of year until I’m on the road. Urk.
I should be happy I managed to wake up at all. I took a clonazepam last night because both my wingstubs and my back were hurting me. Slept great, but it left me woozy and light-headed this morning, not to mention disinclined to wake up. And my wingstubs still ache.
Story (by Robert McKee) got me contemplating ye olde novel again. I hammered out an outline in five acts with scenes and everything. I figure I need a solid foundation of structure if I’m going to finish it this time around. Have the first chapter written, although I’m dissatisfied with my setting. I’m confident I can make it richer and more interesting than what I have currently. I’m also trying to avoid committing the heinous crime of a prologue. I wrote the damn thing because I needed to have a good feel of the backstory, but I’d much rather figure out a way to incorporate the information into the storyline than use it. *ponder ponder ponder*
Words: 1500 – Mostly planning and otherwise gearing up for The Novel™. Brainstorming, outlining, world building, character construction, and a bit of futzing with prose.
500/day
12
