Well, I'll be watching Torchwood with Kiah, and...
Kiah: "Why are cannibals always country bumpkins?"
Me: "I don't know. They should be in the city sometimes."
Kiah: "They should be hipsters!"
Me: "YES! 'We spent too much money on jeans, so we couldn't afford food.'"
Kiah: "'Why are you doing this?!' 'Because we don't have money for food!' 'But we just went shopping for jeans!' 'Exactly.'"
Me: "And then they eat their friends!"
Kiah: "'We ate Henry because he was really loud.'"
Me: "'And he didn't like Sigur Ros.'"
Kiah: "'He was always playing Top 40 hits.'"
Me: "...I really want to write a story about hipster cannibals now."
The creation of stories is a mysterious process, you see - almost spiritual. Collective unconscious, muses, the genius in the walls, etc. Very weighty stuff. Difficult to explain. *puffs pipe*
Friday, March 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Excerpt: Or Your Money Back
From Or Your Money Back. The POV is Seb, a dream who was brought to life and is now working for his creator.
_________
I am beginning to learn the business of The Dream Doctor. Thaddeus says it’s a slow season for dream actualization, so there are fewer clients to admit. Even Gail the protester seems to realize this, and she spends more of her time in front of the shop talking on her cell phone than hoisting her sign and shouting at passers by. I tilt the blinds beside my desk sometimes when I get bored and watch her eat her lunch. Every day she brings an orange, and she peels it a bit at a time, biting into the exposed flesh like it’s an apple instead of breaking away the individual segments. It leaves a mess on the sidewalk for me to clean up, but asking her to bag it herself only results in an argument - according to Gail, if God grew it from the ground, it’s not littering. I’m not sure God is mentioned in the city littering laws, but she leans so close to my face when she argues with her eyes so wide that I’m a little afraid to confront her with the facts.
Because of the slow stream of clients, it’s easy for me to get in time for my routes. And the routes are where most of my learning occurs.
I learn that I am in the business of wants. No one needs what we are selling - not really. For some, like the boy in the middle of the map who asked for a six-foot tall tiger emperor, their commission from The Dream Doctor actively complicates their lives. This boy’s mother complains to me because her son’s tiger has declared the house his kingdom and demanded to make a throne room out of her craft room.
“Derek never plays with him anymore,” she tells me, rolling her eyes. “‘His royal majesty’ has made a mess of my scrapbooking supplies, and he used up most of my beads making himself a crown.”
I add her comments to her client page. “Would you mind if I spoke to the, uh, emperor myself?”
“Do what you want, but he doesn’t speak English,” she shrugs with a small huff. To herself, she adds, “Wish I’d thought to get the Fail Safe.”
I try to ask my predecessor’s questions to the massive tiger who’s seated on a throne of cardboard boxes in the craft room, but all I get in return is growls.
A man living in a squalid rental house near the park has an elderly woman with large sheer wings living on his back porch. The entire time I’m talking with him, she’s puttering around in the kitchen, baking cookies. There are piles of cookies scattered all across the countertops, cookies on the end tables in the living room, cookies stacked precariously on the banister leading upstairs, and cookie crumbs everywhere. The man eats three cookies while answering my survey questions, and his dream offers me one. It’s warm and gooey, a perfect blend of bittersweet chocolate and toffee.
“Does she cook anything else?” I ask.
“Why?” says the dreamer, as if I’ve asked something incredibly stupid. That’s when I notice the pizza boxes stashed under the kitchen table.
One older widow on the top right corner of the map has at least twelve dreams living in her house, all of them cats. As I sit in her parlor between a stack of old magazines as tall as myself and a collection of ceramic angels, trying not to make a face at the mildewy air, she introduces me to all of her cats by name. All of her dream-cats were once real cats she had - and, she informs me, all of her real cats are destined to one day be reborn via Thaddeus’s business, assuming she dreams about them. I can’t tell the difference between the real cats and the dream cats.
A young woman in an apartment complex near the shop has a pet hedgehog that rides in her shirt pocket, whispering directions to her when she gets lost. I think this is my favorite use of Dream Doctor technology - until, that is, her boyfriend points out to me that she could have bought a GPS device instead and wouldn’t need to feed it.
Yes, it’s definitely a business of want. Listening to the dreamers talk about their dreams fills me with wonder. How can one world contain so much want? I was content when I was a figment of Bella’s imagination - I wanted nothing, needed nothing. Now, I find myself eyeing everything appealing around me, trying it on for size in my mind: clothing in shop windows, apartments I visit, lives belonging to other people. I think of what Sky asked me about wanting someone other than Bella, though, and I still can’t imagine that.
But I am beginning to figure out something I do want, above and beyond the shop windows and casually tried-on lives. A calling, maybe, like he was talking about. I think…I think I want to help someone. And I think I know just the someone to start with.
_________
I am beginning to learn the business of The Dream Doctor. Thaddeus says it’s a slow season for dream actualization, so there are fewer clients to admit. Even Gail the protester seems to realize this, and she spends more of her time in front of the shop talking on her cell phone than hoisting her sign and shouting at passers by. I tilt the blinds beside my desk sometimes when I get bored and watch her eat her lunch. Every day she brings an orange, and she peels it a bit at a time, biting into the exposed flesh like it’s an apple instead of breaking away the individual segments. It leaves a mess on the sidewalk for me to clean up, but asking her to bag it herself only results in an argument - according to Gail, if God grew it from the ground, it’s not littering. I’m not sure God is mentioned in the city littering laws, but she leans so close to my face when she argues with her eyes so wide that I’m a little afraid to confront her with the facts.
Because of the slow stream of clients, it’s easy for me to get in time for my routes. And the routes are where most of my learning occurs.
I learn that I am in the business of wants. No one needs what we are selling - not really. For some, like the boy in the middle of the map who asked for a six-foot tall tiger emperor, their commission from The Dream Doctor actively complicates their lives. This boy’s mother complains to me because her son’s tiger has declared the house his kingdom and demanded to make a throne room out of her craft room.
“Derek never plays with him anymore,” she tells me, rolling her eyes. “‘His royal majesty’ has made a mess of my scrapbooking supplies, and he used up most of my beads making himself a crown.”
I add her comments to her client page. “Would you mind if I spoke to the, uh, emperor myself?”
“Do what you want, but he doesn’t speak English,” she shrugs with a small huff. To herself, she adds, “Wish I’d thought to get the Fail Safe.”
I try to ask my predecessor’s questions to the massive tiger who’s seated on a throne of cardboard boxes in the craft room, but all I get in return is growls.
A man living in a squalid rental house near the park has an elderly woman with large sheer wings living on his back porch. The entire time I’m talking with him, she’s puttering around in the kitchen, baking cookies. There are piles of cookies scattered all across the countertops, cookies on the end tables in the living room, cookies stacked precariously on the banister leading upstairs, and cookie crumbs everywhere. The man eats three cookies while answering my survey questions, and his dream offers me one. It’s warm and gooey, a perfect blend of bittersweet chocolate and toffee.
“Does she cook anything else?” I ask.
“Why?” says the dreamer, as if I’ve asked something incredibly stupid. That’s when I notice the pizza boxes stashed under the kitchen table.
One older widow on the top right corner of the map has at least twelve dreams living in her house, all of them cats. As I sit in her parlor between a stack of old magazines as tall as myself and a collection of ceramic angels, trying not to make a face at the mildewy air, she introduces me to all of her cats by name. All of her dream-cats were once real cats she had - and, she informs me, all of her real cats are destined to one day be reborn via Thaddeus’s business, assuming she dreams about them. I can’t tell the difference between the real cats and the dream cats.
A young woman in an apartment complex near the shop has a pet hedgehog that rides in her shirt pocket, whispering directions to her when she gets lost. I think this is my favorite use of Dream Doctor technology - until, that is, her boyfriend points out to me that she could have bought a GPS device instead and wouldn’t need to feed it.
Yes, it’s definitely a business of want. Listening to the dreamers talk about their dreams fills me with wonder. How can one world contain so much want? I was content when I was a figment of Bella’s imagination - I wanted nothing, needed nothing. Now, I find myself eyeing everything appealing around me, trying it on for size in my mind: clothing in shop windows, apartments I visit, lives belonging to other people. I think of what Sky asked me about wanting someone other than Bella, though, and I still can’t imagine that.
But I am beginning to figure out something I do want, above and beyond the shop windows and casually tried-on lives. A calling, maybe, like he was talking about. I think…I think I want to help someone. And I think I know just the someone to start with.
Yes, I have sombrero pictures. No, I'm not posting them here.
I searched Google Maps for the universe's crotch, but all it brought me was a bunch of sports equipment and gun stores and a bookshop in NYC's West Village. So, either the universe's crotch isn't on Google Maps, or its location is in a retail store. Equally likely options, I think.
Life in general has improved a lot since my last post, so to borrow a tradition from the Very Longest Thread on Ravelry, I'm going to post...
Five Cheerful Things:
1. The agent hunt is underway! This gives me a big dumb grin. I've gotten nothing but rejections so far, but I find the whole process oddly thrilling. (The last time I queried literary agents, I proclaimed myself a letterhead hunter and started tacking rejection letters up on my wall like trophies from a big game hunt. Writer friends have told me this isn't normal behavior. They're probably just jealous because they lack safari hats.)
2. Hobbes may be an old dog with an old dog bladder and old dog ears, but he still seems to be enjoying himself. And because of the hearing loss, he can't hear the front door opening anymore when he's sleeping on the couch. Which means instead of waking up and doing his "OMFG A PERSON BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK" routine when I get home from work, he's been waking up to me petting him. Which means I get to come home to a sweet old dog sleeping in a patch of sunlight.
(Five seconds after this peaceful sight, he's awake and breathing the dreaded Stink at my face, usually while I've got my mouth open to say hello, and then there's gagging and a momentary plea for the merciful hand of death. You can't smell the Stink through the internet, you lucky reader.)
3. My birthday was last Thursday, and several cheerful things happened that day, which I'll condense into one item on the list: I got the day off work, my brother washed all my dirty dishes, and my friends took me out to Boca Chica for dinner, where a waitress put a tiny pink sombrero on my head and gave me a free sundae that was about the same size as the sombrero. Oh, and I baked show-offably good cookies.
4. Supernatural, a show that's given me years of fangirlish glee and more than a couple of plot ideas - a show that I never expected to reach the five seasons its creators had planned for it (because how do weird little shows that I love ever live that long?), has been renewed for a sixth season. I'm a little embarrassed by how happy this news makes me.
Actually, fuck embarrassment. I LOVE THIS SHOW! I love the characters! I love the world! I love that it tells the kinds of stories I would write if I were on the show's writing staff, but twists them so they're even better than what I'd come up with! I don't think I've ever been this invested in a TV show. Every time I think about having one more year of that, I start grinning.
5. I'm not on fire, falling out a tenth-story window, or being chased by zombies at this particular moment. Always something to celebrate!
My knitting mojo is still gone, and I've had to place a moratorium on new projects due to lack of time (thanks, school!), but the projects I've got in progress seem to be coming along nicely. I'll post some writing tomorrow.
Life in general has improved a lot since my last post, so to borrow a tradition from the Very Longest Thread on Ravelry, I'm going to post...
Five Cheerful Things:
1. The agent hunt is underway! This gives me a big dumb grin. I've gotten nothing but rejections so far, but I find the whole process oddly thrilling. (The last time I queried literary agents, I proclaimed myself a letterhead hunter and started tacking rejection letters up on my wall like trophies from a big game hunt. Writer friends have told me this isn't normal behavior. They're probably just jealous because they lack safari hats.)
2. Hobbes may be an old dog with an old dog bladder and old dog ears, but he still seems to be enjoying himself. And because of the hearing loss, he can't hear the front door opening anymore when he's sleeping on the couch. Which means instead of waking up and doing his "OMFG A PERSON BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK" routine when I get home from work, he's been waking up to me petting him. Which means I get to come home to a sweet old dog sleeping in a patch of sunlight.
(Five seconds after this peaceful sight, he's awake and breathing the dreaded Stink at my face, usually while I've got my mouth open to say hello, and then there's gagging and a momentary plea for the merciful hand of death. You can't smell the Stink through the internet, you lucky reader.)
3. My birthday was last Thursday, and several cheerful things happened that day, which I'll condense into one item on the list: I got the day off work, my brother washed all my dirty dishes, and my friends took me out to Boca Chica for dinner, where a waitress put a tiny pink sombrero on my head and gave me a free sundae that was about the same size as the sombrero. Oh, and I baked show-offably good cookies.
4. Supernatural, a show that's given me years of fangirlish glee and more than a couple of plot ideas - a show that I never expected to reach the five seasons its creators had planned for it (because how do weird little shows that I love ever live that long?), has been renewed for a sixth season. I'm a little embarrassed by how happy this news makes me.
Actually, fuck embarrassment. I LOVE THIS SHOW! I love the characters! I love the world! I love that it tells the kinds of stories I would write if I were on the show's writing staff, but twists them so they're even better than what I'd come up with! I don't think I've ever been this invested in a TV show. Every time I think about having one more year of that, I start grinning.
5. I'm not on fire, falling out a tenth-story window, or being chased by zombies at this particular moment. Always something to celebrate!
My knitting mojo is still gone, and I've had to place a moratorium on new projects due to lack of time (thanks, school!), but the projects I've got in progress seem to be coming along nicely. I'll post some writing tomorrow.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Good News, Bad News -or- My New Hobby: Threatening the Universe
It's been a tumultuous two weeks. Allow me to break it down for you.
Good news: I spent the first week of February getting a good chunk of writing done.
Bad news: ...while I was at jury duty, not getting selected for a jury, listening from afar as hordes of orcs ravaged my workplace, set fire to the consultants, and forced my boss to run sobbing into his office. At least, this is the picture that's been painted for me by the consultants. It may be an exaggeration - my office didn't smell like orc when I got back.
Good news: I've been making good progress on reading The Princess Bride aloud to my dog, a goal I took on for 2010.
Bad News: ...because I figured out last week that Hobbes is quickly going deaf, and I feel the need to finish reading him the book before he can't hear my voice anymore. Yes, it's irrational. Yes, I'm a crazy person. But I've had this dog since I was ten years old, he loves it when people talk, sing, or read to him, and reading aloud has always been a passion of mine, yet somehow I've never read an entire book to him. It seems wrong.
Good news: I won't have to shovel the deck stairs of my apartment next winter!
Bad News: ...because last week I found out that the bank is foreclosing on my building, so I have just over six months left in this apartment I love so dearly before the bank starts trying to sell it out from under me. This apartment where I was planning on spending three more years. This apartment that was so perfect for me because on top of its unique space, its proximity to everything I need to get to, and the fact that there are freaking fruit trees in the back yard (fruit trees, people!), it's owned by a friend of mine who has been the best landlord I've ever had.
So you understand why I haven't been blogging lately. I've spent this last week stomping around fuming and making threats to punch the universe in the crotch. My friends say, "And how will you find the universe's crotch?" and "But you have very small hands," but goddammit, I'm sure Google Maps can give me a vague idea, and if I need to sculpt a giant fist, there's always paper mache.
But then, on the other hand...
Good news: Thanks to feedback and a kick in the ass from a fabulous new writer-friend and beta reader I found through Ravelry, I now have a polished draft of Or Your Money Back that's ready to be shopped around to literary agents! Which I'm planning to start doing this week! And I'm so excited about it that every thought that has anything to do with the querying process ends in an exclamation point! I should print out address labels! I think there's still some nice paper in my desk drawer at work! Do I have envelopes?!
Bad news: No, I think I used up all my envelopes! (But I'm sure I can borrow some from work!)
Yeah, that's it. I've got a query letter almost ready to go and a list of my four top pick agents sitting on my desk! I've been excited to start the agent hunt since I finished the first draft of this novel, and this week I'm finally doing it! I'm hoping that all the crap that's come my way these last two weeks is the universe's way of balancing out something really awesome that's on its way. Maybe something publishing related, even.
And if it isn't? Well, then, I'll plow ahead on the agent hunt and spend my spare time making that giant paper mache fist.
Good news: I spent the first week of February getting a good chunk of writing done.
Bad news: ...while I was at jury duty, not getting selected for a jury, listening from afar as hordes of orcs ravaged my workplace, set fire to the consultants, and forced my boss to run sobbing into his office. At least, this is the picture that's been painted for me by the consultants. It may be an exaggeration - my office didn't smell like orc when I got back.
Good news: I've been making good progress on reading The Princess Bride aloud to my dog, a goal I took on for 2010.
Bad News: ...because I figured out last week that Hobbes is quickly going deaf, and I feel the need to finish reading him the book before he can't hear my voice anymore. Yes, it's irrational. Yes, I'm a crazy person. But I've had this dog since I was ten years old, he loves it when people talk, sing, or read to him, and reading aloud has always been a passion of mine, yet somehow I've never read an entire book to him. It seems wrong.
Good news: I won't have to shovel the deck stairs of my apartment next winter!
Bad News: ...because last week I found out that the bank is foreclosing on my building, so I have just over six months left in this apartment I love so dearly before the bank starts trying to sell it out from under me. This apartment where I was planning on spending three more years. This apartment that was so perfect for me because on top of its unique space, its proximity to everything I need to get to, and the fact that there are freaking fruit trees in the back yard (fruit trees, people!), it's owned by a friend of mine who has been the best landlord I've ever had.
So you understand why I haven't been blogging lately. I've spent this last week stomping around fuming and making threats to punch the universe in the crotch. My friends say, "And how will you find the universe's crotch?" and "But you have very small hands," but goddammit, I'm sure Google Maps can give me a vague idea, and if I need to sculpt a giant fist, there's always paper mache.
But then, on the other hand...
Good news: Thanks to feedback and a kick in the ass from a fabulous new writer-friend and beta reader I found through Ravelry, I now have a polished draft of Or Your Money Back that's ready to be shopped around to literary agents! Which I'm planning to start doing this week! And I'm so excited about it that every thought that has anything to do with the querying process ends in an exclamation point! I should print out address labels! I think there's still some nice paper in my desk drawer at work! Do I have envelopes?!
Bad news: No, I think I used up all my envelopes! (But I'm sure I can borrow some from work!)
Yeah, that's it. I've got a query letter almost ready to go and a list of my four top pick agents sitting on my desk! I've been excited to start the agent hunt since I finished the first draft of this novel, and this week I'm finally doing it! I'm hoping that all the crap that's come my way these last two weeks is the universe's way of balancing out something really awesome that's on its way. Maybe something publishing related, even.
And if it isn't? Well, then, I'll plow ahead on the agent hunt and spend my spare time making that giant paper mache fist.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Countdown to rumpusing
Max is with the test-knitters now and officially has her own pattern page on Ravelry.
I rather like the cover page.
I rather like all of it, actually, but it remains to be seen if the pattern makes sense. This is one of those times when I'm afraid I'm secretly writing gibberish and no one's had the heart to tell me.
I rather like the cover page.
I rather like all of it, actually, but it remains to be seen if the pattern makes sense. This is one of those times when I'm afraid I'm secretly writing gibberish and no one's had the heart to tell me.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I don't even.
I'm going to throw some numbers at you.
$201.42.
This is how much a friend on Ravelry just donated to Doctors Without Borders (MSF) to win a custom short story from me and a gorgeous necklace from FrkHansen (who will soon be opening an Etsy shop for her jewelry, upon fear of tackling by the herd of Ravelers who now covet her work).
$425.01.
This is how much another Ravelry friend donated to MSF last night to win a custom colored pencil piece from me and another gorgeous FrkHansen necklace, which his fiance is now planning on wearing for their wedding. (425 is also about the number of times I've had to fan my hands at my face to keep from crying out of joy and gratitude since this whole thing started.)
$3,329.42.
This is the amount of money that has been donated to emergency relief funds at places like MSF and the Red Cross from the Completely Pointless and Arbitrary Group Group's charity auction in the last three days, as of the most recent update to their tally. It's not a lot when compared to the big picture of all that Haiti needs now and in the coming months, but coming from a group of this size, it's amazing.
And what's as amazing to me as the numbers is the good nature of the people I've been interacting with on this auction. Not only has there been an astonishing amount of generosity, but even in the most heated bidding wars, everyone has been friendly and supportive of one another whether they're winning or not, never losing sight of the fact that this is all for a good cause. (And of course, this being the group that it is, there have also been copious pervy jokes and tangents about selling our dogs for necklaces.)
I've spent most of this weekend staring at my computer screen, trying to put together the words for how astounded, grateful, and proud I am about what this community is doing - and how lucky I feel to be a part of it.
I still don't have those words.
$201.42.
This is how much a friend on Ravelry just donated to Doctors Without Borders (MSF) to win a custom short story from me and a gorgeous necklace from FrkHansen (who will soon be opening an Etsy shop for her jewelry, upon fear of tackling by the herd of Ravelers who now covet her work).
$425.01.
This is how much another Ravelry friend donated to MSF last night to win a custom colored pencil piece from me and another gorgeous FrkHansen necklace, which his fiance is now planning on wearing for their wedding. (425 is also about the number of times I've had to fan my hands at my face to keep from crying out of joy and gratitude since this whole thing started.)
$3,329.42.
This is the amount of money that has been donated to emergency relief funds at places like MSF and the Red Cross from the Completely Pointless and Arbitrary Group Group's charity auction in the last three days, as of the most recent update to their tally. It's not a lot when compared to the big picture of all that Haiti needs now and in the coming months, but coming from a group of this size, it's amazing.
And what's as amazing to me as the numbers is the good nature of the people I've been interacting with on this auction. Not only has there been an astonishing amount of generosity, but even in the most heated bidding wars, everyone has been friendly and supportive of one another whether they're winning or not, never losing sight of the fact that this is all for a good cause. (And of course, this being the group that it is, there have also been copious pervy jokes and tangents about selling our dogs for necklaces.)
I've spent most of this weekend staring at my computer screen, trying to put together the words for how astounded, grateful, and proud I am about what this community is doing - and how lucky I feel to be a part of it.
I still don't have those words.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Read this.
An absolutely perfect rant on gay subtext, the need for GLBT heroes, and how slash fiction plays into that.
My favorite passage:
Fiction has always been vitally important to me. When I was growing up, TV shows were my safe place to retreat to when life sucked. But there were virtually no queer heroes in them, and those few queer heroes who existed had either no romantic interests or romances that ended in tragic deaths. I stayed deep in the closet until late college, and looking back, I wonder if part of that was due to the influence of the stories I loved on TV. When your safe place tells you, "There is probably no one like you, and people like you only die horribly anyway," it's hard not to take that to heart.
This is why GLBT characters end up in my own writing often. This is why, two years ago, when a central character in the novel I was writing surprised me by starting up a same sex relationship in a subplot, I pulled it to the foreground. Because it needs to be text, not subtext.
I'm writing myself a new safe place. With any luck, someone else will find themselves in the heroes here, too.
My favorite passage:
I want those main characters to fall in love and make out because it means that fans of their characters will have to come to terms with their gayness, exactly like they would have to do in real life. It's one thing to start out a book, like Swordpoint and Havemercy did, introducing your main characters as gay from the start. Because from the outset the reader knows, the reader can choose whether they approve, or tolerate, or whatever. They can put that book down and walk away.A-FUCKING-MEN.
But reality doesn't let you choose. Reality is when your best friend turns to you and says, "the thing is, I'm gay," and your entire world turns upside down.
The most empowering aspect of slash for me is that it takes beloved, known characters, and strips away their heteronormativity. Yeah, countless people have accidentally discovered Harry Potter slash on the internet, and gone "ACK MY EYES" and hit the back button as fast as they can, but that also means that for half an instant, countless people were forced to grapple with the idea that someone they loved was gay, even if that someone was a fictional character. And maybe they didn't get it, but maybe that moment brought them closer to acceptance or tolerance or empathy.
Fiction has always been vitally important to me. When I was growing up, TV shows were my safe place to retreat to when life sucked. But there were virtually no queer heroes in them, and those few queer heroes who existed had either no romantic interests or romances that ended in tragic deaths. I stayed deep in the closet until late college, and looking back, I wonder if part of that was due to the influence of the stories I loved on TV. When your safe place tells you, "There is probably no one like you, and people like you only die horribly anyway," it's hard not to take that to heart.
This is why GLBT characters end up in my own writing often. This is why, two years ago, when a central character in the novel I was writing surprised me by starting up a same sex relationship in a subplot, I pulled it to the foreground. Because it needs to be text, not subtext.
I'm writing myself a new safe place. With any luck, someone else will find themselves in the heroes here, too.
Friday, January 15, 2010
ATTN: Ravelers!
If you're on Ravelry and you'd like to help a good cause and get some neat swag in return, check out the Completely Pointless and Arbitrary Group group's CPaAG loves Haiti and wants to help thread! It's a charity auction and an entertaining read, too. I had to push back my lunch break today because I couldn't tear myself away from an auction of canned jams and fruits, and I wasn't even bidding.
I've got two things up for auction: a custom drawing (penciled or inked) and a custom short story. If you're on Ravelry, go check it out!
I've got two things up for auction: a custom drawing (penciled or inked) and a custom short story. If you're on Ravelry, go check it out!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
A cavalcade of hats
It started with Kiah's hat. That's the one that opened up the flood gates.
See, I'm not a hat knitter. I swear I'm not. I actually don't really like knitting hats. But when I find a hat pattern I really enjoy, it pushes the Temporary Insanity button in my brain and makes me think I love knitting hats and want to marry hats and raise a whole family of woolly little hats with names like Hatthew and Margarhat. This is a serious affliction.
Because when it happens, like it happened with Kiah's hat in Ysolda Teague's Icing Swirl Hat pattern, it gets...scary.
Like so:
I've got chills just looking at it. That's my former roommate Abby dressed as Mary Tyler Moore on Halloween, sporting another Icing Swirl that I knit her in a few evenings.
And this, knit a short while later, is a Ribbed Beanie in Malabrigo Chunky for my landlord. (Which my landlady nearly fell over praising. I tried to explain to her that it was just a plain black ribbed beanie, but that had no effect.)
Then came the (blurry) colleague retirement hat - Helping Hat, Knit Picks Swish Bulky.
And a bastardized Icing Swirl for me, knit in my own thick and thin handspun (the first stuff I spun on my wheel) with colorwork and a thick brim. It's become my default winter hat because it's so warm, but it's not terribly pretty.
Then a shortened Scotty's Hat in Cascade 220 for my mom.
A last minute "Did my mom just trick me into saying I'd knit Opa a hat for her to give to Opa for Christmas?" hat, improvised in leftover Malabrigo Chunky.
A Fish Hat in Cascade 220 for my brother, shown here pouting about his impending digestion.
And finally, my first project knitted entirely in 2010, a happy, sunny Icing Swirl Hat for myself in Cascade Baby Alpaca Chunky. Pictures don't do this hat justice. It's such a bright yellow it's like wearing a miniature sun around - perfect for January.
This, I hope, is where the hatalanche ends. I've texted hats to let them know it's over, and I'm moving on to the sweaters that have been sitting unfinished in my craft area since October.
See, I'm not a hat knitter. I swear I'm not. I actually don't really like knitting hats. But when I find a hat pattern I really enjoy, it pushes the Temporary Insanity button in my brain and makes me think I love knitting hats and want to marry hats and raise a whole family of woolly little hats with names like Hatthew and Margarhat. This is a serious affliction.
Because when it happens, like it happened with Kiah's hat in Ysolda Teague's Icing Swirl Hat pattern, it gets...scary.
Like so:
I've got chills just looking at it. That's my former roommate Abby dressed as Mary Tyler Moore on Halloween, sporting another Icing Swirl that I knit her in a few evenings.
And this, knit a short while later, is a Ribbed Beanie in Malabrigo Chunky for my landlord. (Which my landlady nearly fell over praising. I tried to explain to her that it was just a plain black ribbed beanie, but that had no effect.)
Then came the (blurry) colleague retirement hat - Helping Hat, Knit Picks Swish Bulky.
And a bastardized Icing Swirl for me, knit in my own thick and thin handspun (the first stuff I spun on my wheel) with colorwork and a thick brim. It's become my default winter hat because it's so warm, but it's not terribly pretty.
Then a shortened Scotty's Hat in Cascade 220 for my mom.
A last minute "Did my mom just trick me into saying I'd knit Opa a hat for her to give to Opa for Christmas?" hat, improvised in leftover Malabrigo Chunky.
A Fish Hat in Cascade 220 for my brother, shown here pouting about his impending digestion.
And finally, my first project knitted entirely in 2010, a happy, sunny Icing Swirl Hat for myself in Cascade Baby Alpaca Chunky. Pictures don't do this hat justice. It's such a bright yellow it's like wearing a miniature sun around - perfect for January.
This, I hope, is where the hatalanche ends. I've texted hats to let them know it's over, and I'm moving on to the sweaters that have been sitting unfinished in my craft area since October.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
A letter to 2010, with visual aids
Dear 2010,
Where is my flying car? I was told by now there would be flying cars, and so far you have disappointed me. Hell, I'm not picky - a hoverboard will do in a pinch. But something needs to fly me to work.
Especially since 2009 left this in front of my door:
I'm not even going to show you what's on the stairs.
I don't mean to speak ill of your brother, 2010, but you've gotta admit, he had kind of a jerky sense of humor. I mean, trying to trap me inside my apartment with a layer of ice on the welcome mat, just days after Christmas? The welcome mat. Come on.
And before that, when 2009 killed the hard drive on my laptop in the middle of a semester, in the middle of several writing projects? And then, less than six months later, when he killed the logic board while I was in the middle of a novel revision? I had the same instructor both terms, so I couldn't even use "my computer ate it" as an excuse without looking like a liar.
So many people I know labeled 2009 the Year of Suck, I can't even count them all. And parts of the year really sucked for me, too. But there were upsides, especially in the realm of projects.
2009 was the year that I finished my first novel that wasn't about Tiern. It was the year I designed my first knitwear pattern (and the second, which I swear I'm still working on!). It was the year I started spinning and bought my lovely wheel, Mal, who's still one of my favorite things I own. It was the year that rekindled my love of fan fiction, which in turn brought a weird sense of balance to my writing. It was the year I got my own apartment, which immediately filled with wool and notebooks.
2009 was also the year I met scads of friends online - most notably on the Very Longest Thread on Ravelry, an epic chat made up of people so friendly and accepting that they made me feel supported in everything I did. (Here's to a millionth post in 2010, Fredizens!)
So, 2010. I think we need to sit down and make some agreements.
You see this shiny little MacBook Pro? His name is Tony Stark, and he's less than a week old. His external hard drive (not pictured because the stacks of CDs I've been importing into iTunes are hiding it) is Jarvis. Please keep them in good condition through the following year. 2009 was a total fucker to me regarding technology. Don't be like him.
This is the manuscript I finished in late 2009. This year, I want to clean it up to the point where I can send it out to literary agents. I realize that whether or not it piques their interest is totally not up to me, but maybe you could give them a little nudge? This is the first time in my life I've had what feels like a genuinely salable novel in my hands, so if ever there was a time for me to have stunningly good luck regarding the publishing industry, this year would be it.
In 2010, I'm going to finish a couple of different novels. One is a this young adult fantasy thing that shouldn't take long - maybe January and February.
The other is the final book in the Fantasy Series What Ate My Life (not pictured due to sheer bulk). I've got a couple other projects I'm interested in writing, but these are the main two. If I get them done during you, 2010, I'll be ridiculously pleased with myself. Please don't prevent me.
I'm going to finish my Sylvi coat during you as well - preferably before it gets warm again. It's been sitting on my desk so long that apartment wildlife have begun to view it as a natural part of the landscape.
Now, 2010, I'm not going to bog you down entirely with major goals and pressure.
For instance, can we just agree that spinning is awesome and should continue unhindered? I won't make any goals for spinning in 2010, because I want nothing more than to keep enjoying it.
And mittens! I'd love to finish these Cotton Reel Mittens I've been knitting, but I don't actually need them until maybe next fall. Also, they don't have to be of any particular quality, since I'm new to colorwork, the yarn is all scraps, and I kind of love the idea of having a pair of idiosyncratic but adorable mittens.
And I would like to DIG UP A DINOSAUR! But that's not a major deal, either, as you can see.
So far, 2010, I don't think you have anything to worry about. You've been doing a pretty good job. I kicked you off at an awesome New Year's party, dancing to ridiculous music and wearing a fedora. I've gotten a lot of sleep in your first few days, and even so I managed to catch the sunrise yesterday morning. I watched The Princess Bride with the Fredizens and started reading the book aloud to Hobbes (something I've been meaning to do for years).
And there was doodling!
And a great discovery!
(Dunking the cookies in Nutella cancels out the ridiculous "health" notion they advertise and makes them totally NOM.)
So, 2010, I think you'll be fine. Keep being laid back and fun. Don't let anything major break. Be kind.
And for the love of all that is good and holy, don't listen to 2009. He's a bad influence.
Love,
Nicole
P.S.
Where is my flying car? I was told by now there would be flying cars, and so far you have disappointed me. Hell, I'm not picky - a hoverboard will do in a pinch. But something needs to fly me to work.
Especially since 2009 left this in front of my door:
I'm not even going to show you what's on the stairs.
I don't mean to speak ill of your brother, 2010, but you've gotta admit, he had kind of a jerky sense of humor. I mean, trying to trap me inside my apartment with a layer of ice on the welcome mat, just days after Christmas? The welcome mat. Come on.
And before that, when 2009 killed the hard drive on my laptop in the middle of a semester, in the middle of several writing projects? And then, less than six months later, when he killed the logic board while I was in the middle of a novel revision? I had the same instructor both terms, so I couldn't even use "my computer ate it" as an excuse without looking like a liar.
So many people I know labeled 2009 the Year of Suck, I can't even count them all. And parts of the year really sucked for me, too. But there were upsides, especially in the realm of projects.
2009 was the year that I finished my first novel that wasn't about Tiern. It was the year I designed my first knitwear pattern (and the second, which I swear I'm still working on!). It was the year I started spinning and bought my lovely wheel, Mal, who's still one of my favorite things I own. It was the year that rekindled my love of fan fiction, which in turn brought a weird sense of balance to my writing. It was the year I got my own apartment, which immediately filled with wool and notebooks.
2009 was also the year I met scads of friends online - most notably on the Very Longest Thread on Ravelry, an epic chat made up of people so friendly and accepting that they made me feel supported in everything I did. (Here's to a millionth post in 2010, Fredizens!)
So, 2010. I think we need to sit down and make some agreements.
You see this shiny little MacBook Pro? His name is Tony Stark, and he's less than a week old. His external hard drive (not pictured because the stacks of CDs I've been importing into iTunes are hiding it) is Jarvis. Please keep them in good condition through the following year. 2009 was a total fucker to me regarding technology. Don't be like him.
This is the manuscript I finished in late 2009. This year, I want to clean it up to the point where I can send it out to literary agents. I realize that whether or not it piques their interest is totally not up to me, but maybe you could give them a little nudge? This is the first time in my life I've had what feels like a genuinely salable novel in my hands, so if ever there was a time for me to have stunningly good luck regarding the publishing industry, this year would be it.
In 2010, I'm going to finish a couple of different novels. One is a this young adult fantasy thing that shouldn't take long - maybe January and February.
The other is the final book in the Fantasy Series What Ate My Life (not pictured due to sheer bulk). I've got a couple other projects I'm interested in writing, but these are the main two. If I get them done during you, 2010, I'll be ridiculously pleased with myself. Please don't prevent me.
I'm going to finish my Sylvi coat during you as well - preferably before it gets warm again. It's been sitting on my desk so long that apartment wildlife have begun to view it as a natural part of the landscape.
Now, 2010, I'm not going to bog you down entirely with major goals and pressure.
For instance, can we just agree that spinning is awesome and should continue unhindered? I won't make any goals for spinning in 2010, because I want nothing more than to keep enjoying it.
And mittens! I'd love to finish these Cotton Reel Mittens I've been knitting, but I don't actually need them until maybe next fall. Also, they don't have to be of any particular quality, since I'm new to colorwork, the yarn is all scraps, and I kind of love the idea of having a pair of idiosyncratic but adorable mittens.
And I would like to DIG UP A DINOSAUR! But that's not a major deal, either, as you can see.
So far, 2010, I don't think you have anything to worry about. You've been doing a pretty good job. I kicked you off at an awesome New Year's party, dancing to ridiculous music and wearing a fedora. I've gotten a lot of sleep in your first few days, and even so I managed to catch the sunrise yesterday morning. I watched The Princess Bride with the Fredizens and started reading the book aloud to Hobbes (something I've been meaning to do for years).
And there was doodling!
And a great discovery!
(Dunking the cookies in Nutella cancels out the ridiculous "health" notion they advertise and makes them totally NOM.)
So, 2010, I think you'll be fine. Keep being laid back and fun. Don't let anything major break. Be kind.
And for the love of all that is good and holy, don't listen to 2009. He's a bad influence.
Love,
Nicole
P.S.
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