There’s only forty real people in the world

And some of them are hamburgers, as Captain Beefheart would say.

I’ve been mentioned on Instapundit.  It’s a very strange experience, kind of like the first time I was mentioned in Locus.  http://pajamasmedia.com/instapundit/

Here I was with my cup of coffee, seeing what the world had been up to before I was fully awake, when lo and behold, there was my name at the top.  (Under in the mail.)  Before my eyes focused I wondered what I’d done during the night while I was asleep that was so newsworthy.

I’ve bought more SF/F books on Glenn Reynold’s recommendation than I care to list, so finding myself mentioned in his blog was sort of like "oh, wow.  How small the world is."

What Matters Most When All Is Said And Done

Thought out of nowhere — or perhaps not since I’ve "faced" this in many books and stories, from Tom in Draw One In The Dark facing the Great Sky Dragon and knowing there’s no way he walks out of there alive, to the girl in Something Worse Hereafter — in the Wings collection — who knows she’s dead, but there’s a second death and not how permanent, to probably countless others I’ve forgotten.

Those last few minutes fascinate me.  Oh, people die in their sleep, people die without knowing they’re going to die, but I suspect most of us are starkly wide awake for the end and we know there’s no return, that this time there will be no save.  We come into the world without knowing ourselves, and all the time we’ve known ourselves we’ve been alive.  How is it to face the undiscovered country?

Continue reading “What Matters Most When All Is Said And Done”

A scandalous Ballad

Or reason # 235 why Sarah ended up QUITE warped.

When I was reading Tess D’Ubervilles, there was some line to the effect that the working poor are rocked to sleep with stories of disgrace and misfortune.  If that’s the case I’m not sure what being rocked to sleep with medieval ballads makes one.  I do know I was a sickly child, and my parents went through everything they knew from music hall songs to medieval ballads, to keep me from crying.

I thought it might be interesting to translate these.  This one should probably be "the mower"  since scyther doesn’t really exist in the dictionary.  Indulge me however.  The last thing I want to imagine is that this is about garden machinery.

This exists in many versions — at least I’ve seen two printed that do not accord with the one I learned from family.  And I’m not going to lie and say it was transmitted orally in my family from the beginning.  Chances are slim.  we are a literate family and as such our knowledge comes from books as well as from speech.  However it came to me, here it is.  And to quote Pratchett you know the moment you’re dealing with a bastard daughter and St. John’s (The summer solstice) you’re in for some… interesting stuff.

A further note — I didn’t really try to rhyme, because that goes beyond my abilities in English.  I’m none too hot with meter in English, for that matter.  I just tried to get the flavor and sense of it.  And the story, of course.

 

Oh the great ruler of Rome

He had a bastard daughter

Whom indulged so much

That she had grown quite improper

Noblemen, dukes and earls

Men of the cloak and of the sword

All came begging for her hand

And all she denied with a word

Continue reading “A scandalous Ballad”

Who was that pink-masked man?

When I went grey at twenty eight, I started an odd journey with hair dye.  To begin with, while all I had were cruella-deville stripes, I used herbal dyes, or stuff that washes in/washes out. 

But then pneumonia — the worst one, which put me in ICU for eleven days — made the rest of my hair go white, till it was about 50%.  At this point I made a horrible discovery.  I have resistant-grey.  I.e., I can dye my hair till the cows come home, a week later it will be white.

Only as the next ten years went by, I found it was less "white" than "colorless".  My hair started looking like aluminum siding after fifty years in the sun.  I looked OLD — also hair and face did not look right together.  I settled into this thing where I would dye before cons, and pray it stuck long enough.

And then three or four years ago, I surfed the net for "resistant grey."  I ended up on the blog of a woman with my issue who was trying out all the brands and seeing which gave better coverage.  She’d been doing it for a while and nothing but the old, old brands worked, same as for me.  Woman lamenting she couldn’t use Feria and some of the nicer ones.

In comments, a comment I’m sure I don’t remember exactly but which ran like this "What on earth would you women do, without us f*gs to help you?  Have you never heard of Gray Magic?  Order some from Amazon, use it with any dye you want and dye your hair any color you like."

It’s been years, and I’m not even sure what blog I read this on.  However, Gray Magic has been keeping my hair the brown it used to be even between cons.  Allelluiah.

And thank you to that pink masked gentleman wherever he may be. <G>

The Rhythm is Gonna Get You

The Rhythm is Gonna Get You

In haste, because I’m actually still trying to write – it’s been a very odd day – and I have my Greek and Latin mid terms tomorrow, for which I’m somewhat less than prepared. (By which you should understand I’m flying by a prayer AND the seat of my pants.)

A brief exchange with my husband – who came in to find me playing Mika and rolled his eyes :D – reminds me that I had meant to write briefly about music to write by.

I don’t know if other writers have it. I know a few who do. I also know at least one who writes in front of the tv or movies. (I confess the only time I have written in front of the TV was my third Shakespeare book which was written in its entirety in about the month after 9/11. I didn’t feel I could take my eyes off what the world was up to just then. And writing only happened when sitting in front of the news.)

Now, as I believe I mentioned sometime before, when I’m asked if I’m a plotter or a pantser I always have to say "both." Because I write lovingly intricate plots, ahead of time. Then I sit down to write and ten chapters in I find the characters are not who I thought they were, or everything has gone strangely awry. Which forces me to sit down, unpick my plot and rethread it in a way that makes sense for where I am now. This happens every ten chapters or every fifty pages, whichever comes first.

Continue reading “The Rhythm is Gonna Get You”

Treat Your Writer Well

Particularly when you’re the writer.

I don’t remember where I read that beginning writers antecipate that their career will be — as their school career often was — a series of people, overawed by their amazing writing ability, patting them on the back and instead it most often resembles a series of kick in the teeth.  I do know after twenty years of trying to be a writer and watching people try and many drop by the way side that those who don’t get used to the kicks and learn to heal from them don’t last.  This is no field for wounded souls, even if we are all, more or less, emotional walking wounded.  (Not sure why, but that’s a consideration for another post.) Continue reading “Treat Your Writer Well”

The kitten who came in from minigolf

So what’s the last thing a Sarah needs on a month with two cons?  You guessed it.  Another Kitten to train, right?  And integrate into the house?

Just before RWA and World Con we went minigolfing.  On the course was a little cat — starved, FILTHY (I’ve never seen a cat that filthy.  The "then" picture was after baths with normal kitten shampoo, Gojo AND Dawn dish soap (All recommended by our vet.)  Before that he looked yellow.  Take kitten, dip him in vat of corn oil.  Let him dry.  Rub some crisco on him.  When we got him, he looked about like that.  It further took three rubbings with corn startch and brushing out to make his fur stop clumping.  He was, our vet said, seven to eight months.  He’s been with us… three?  And he is a total brat.  He lives, as my older son says, in a permanent state of hunger, but then he’s grown a lot (both directions.)  He has a permanent purr and thinks EVERYTHING and everyone is a toy.  He has some sort of fight going on with D’Artagnan over Euclid’s affections.  (I’m SO not going there.  There are TWO girl cats in this house.   Well, they’re all NOMINAL girl and boys, but still…)  I think I’m breaking them of NOISY fighting.  A clap of hands usually does it.  NOT ON the cats, you sillies.  Just mid-air. Though I’ll admit particularly when they’re doing their fighting while I write "I have HAD enough of this," also brings instant, wide-eyed silence.

Anyway, attached are pictures of Havelock, aka Mr. Ridiculous Plume (his tail has a kink in the midle, so when he walks, it rotates.)  It’s really hard to get him with his eyes open these days, unless he’s begging for food. Continue reading “The kitten who came in from minigolf”

I told you to watch this space

Everyone, attention, please!

Those in your various alternate forms, please resume human shape. 

Listen up.  I told you to watch this space.

I’m honored and humbled to announce that I’m part of a group blog with some wonderful writers:

Dave Freer

Laura Resnick

Louise Marley

Rowena Cory Daniells

The blog is called Mad Genius Club — writers division.

I supply the mad part of it, in case you wonder.  {G}

Monkey has his first post up, in advance:

http://madgeniusclub.blogspot.com/

And no, I’m in no way abandonning this blog, which will continue to be its normal mix of personal stuff (with occasional outbreaks of mini-onions (NOT MY mini-onions) in reply to it, videt multi-culti-tuttifrutti.  (And yes, Russell, if you are reading this, I AM very mean. : D ) writing, cats, and absurd events with occasional writing advice or complaints about how it is going.

HOWEVER the Mad Genius Club will be MOSTLY writing, so you might want to check it out.  This week, we’re introducing ourselves.

Go on, take a look.

Sarah