Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike and Sunday Book Promo

77 thoughts on “Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike and Sunday Book Promo”

1. To the traitors, the inverse of Lady Godiva- no chocolate, only this: painted in tar, rolled in feathers, tied up, and ridden out of town. Hilary, Nancy, Chucky, Alexandria, Elizabeth, Dan, Michael, Walter, Jane oh, too many to mention, traitors all, and shame to us that we have not yet.

   1. This is not the first.
      Nor is it the second.
      Though some might find it the third – do NOT touch.

2. Looks at bookcase in illustration, looks again.

   Say, you DO have a great rack!

   I was going to rail against the inequities of modern publishing but I cannot tear eyes from that truly luscious rack. I am stunned, I am agog, I am mazed, I am stupefied, I am gob-smacked.

   Word counted fifty, which means I am done.

3. The United States of America have become the Disunited States of Trumplandia, plagued by bizarre cryptids, Cthulhu megaliths, and alternate reality wormholes (Emphasis mine.)

   Bet I’m not even mentioned, despite that. *smirk*

   1. you’re NOT bizarre. 😀

      1. That’s not what my coworkers claim.

      2. having met the beast, I reserve judgment.

         1. Odd, you didn’t seem all that reserved.

            1. No reservations needed, it was a walk in place

      3. Not bizarre, just silly.

         1. How would . . .oh wait.
            Of all people, you would know!

            1. He has some of the strangest impressions.

               1. He trip in the snow?

                  1. No, but I just salted the ice lest things get… even worse.

                     1. I’d salt it to my truck, but that’s my lawn.

      4. You leave him alone. He can be bizarre if he wants to.

         So there. 🙂

4. “Stay clear of that bird!”

   “It’s just a dang bird. Who cares?”

   “It’s of Rallidae, you fool!”

   “Rallidae, Shmaallidae, so what?”

   “We already encountered two. You know what that means, don’t you? THIS is the deadly one!”

   “Oh, come on. What nonsense. It’s just a dang bird. Here, watch.”

   *BZZZZZZT*

   1. Oh.

      Oh, now I get it.

      Nice one. ^_^

5. Also: moo.

6. Rails? Something a certain new troll has never seen, let alone got off

   1. I’m worried about two “no one can be that stupid” commenters in two days. We normally get one every six months. Anyway BOLO.

      1. Fun thought. Were a bunch of folks claiming that Trump was empowering extremism. Perhaps this Omar thing really has.

         What if, rather than statistical clustering, we are looking at a new normal.

         Imagine a world where there are puppy kickers strange new respecting /me/ for decorum, ‘compassion’, and sound policy. XD

         No matter how bad things go, at least they won’t be going that bad, that way.

         1. See:

            STRUGGLE SESSIONS
            Peggy Noonan advises us to “get ready for the coming struggle session.” What’s a struggle session? The term comes from Communist China’s cultural revolution of the 1960s. Noonan explains:

            In the struggle sessions the accused, often teachers suspected of lacking proletarian feeling, were paraded through streets and campuses, sometimes stadiums. It was important always to have a jeering crowd; it was important that the electric feeling that comes with the possibility of murder be present.

            Dunce caps, sometimes wastebaskets, were placed on the victims’ heads, and placards stipulating their crimes hung from their necks. The victims were accused, berated, assaulted. Many falsely confessed in the vain hope of mercy.

            Noonan sees “the spirit of the struggle session” in contemporary American politics. She attributes it in part to the internet, in part to the “extremity of our politics,” and in part to loneliness.

            [SNIP]

            I take it that after a while, even the most venomous social media posts can feel inadequate as an expression of rage. Moreover, a social media mob can, to some extent, impose “struggle sessions,” not so much on its enemies — for now, anyway — as on those who, in general, tend to agree with the mob, but not angrily or wholeheartedly enough.

            Noonan is right to conclude that “none of [this] portends good.” What it portends, I fear, is cold civil war.

            1. Noonan strikes me as perhaps decades late and trillions of dollars short.

               In the idiomatic, not literal sense.

               As for forecasts, I think my judgement isn’t up to it today.

   2. Huh? What did I miss?

      1. We’ve a new infestation the past couple of days. Another claim Sarah is obviously a Mormon, and that is one of the more coherent statements.

         1. through the weirdest chain of logic i’ve seen…

            1. AND things I dind’t actually know, btw, since if I pick names at all I pick them for meaning. And often my subconscious did the work and didn’t tell me. “Athena Hera Sinistra, the girl with no mother and the mother of the gods” was something I didn’t even know until a CHARACTER said it.

            2. A friend who knew this last one in another blog years ago says he’s true to form, and probably not a moby, just someone in desperate need of mental health help.
               Perhaps a little worse than he used to be.
               Uh.

               1. Perhaps amazingly, I had not encountered the term ‘moby’ before or at least not in any memorable way. Had to look it up.

               2. sigh… ok, i was still holding onto the troll/false flag theory.

                  1. me too. But it seems the “clinically insane and off meds” theory holds.

         2. Well, there are Mormons among the Huns but Mrs. Hoyt isn’t one of them.

            1. About a third of my fans seem to be Mormon. I don’t have a problem with them, but to my knowledge I’m not one, nor do I put crypto-Mormon messages in my books.

               1. In general, I consider “crypto-Anything messages” in books/stories to be “dog-whistles”.

                  That is, something that exists mainly in the “minds” of the readers. 😈

                  1. I generally just point out that the belief that there are secret messages in communication is generally known as “clinical paranoia.”

                     1. What if the person seeing the “hidden messages” is a Professor of Literature? 😈

                        1. Especially then.

                           1. 😆

                           2. because the curtains ARE BLUE.

                  2. An exception would be for crypto-sporidium.

                  3. I forget who said it, but if you’re hearing dog whistles doesn’t that make *you* the dog?

                     1. Even ox figure that out.

               2. Perhaps, then, a new book? Entitled “Mormons From The Crypt”? Or “Mormons, Decrypted”? (Most of my nieces and nephews are Mormons.)

               3. Isn’t that what you would say if you were putting crypto-Mormon messages in your books?

                  It’s the Kafka-trap for you
                  It’s the Kafka-trap for you
                  No one cares for you one bit
                  When you’re on the intenet.
                  It’s The Kafka-Trap!
                  It’s the Kafka-Trap!
                  IT’S THE KAFKA TRAP!!!
                  (To the tune of “It’s a Hard Knock Life” from Annie.)

                  1. LOL. er…. but WHY would I?

                     1. Probably a transparent attempt to ride the coattails of that popular Broadway musical, The Book Of Mormon.

                        1. I really want to join this game, but I hesitate to, due to worry that someone might actually believe it.

                     2. The same way some bands started putting backwards messages into their recording, to mock those who claimed such?

                        “WARNING: The Surgeon General has determined that playing your records backwards may be hazardous to your phonograph needle.”

                        Of course, you could have have someone claiming there are secret LDS messages in some book, and have them sing whilst keeping time by lightly thumping an apple… }:o)

               4. But if you take the opening paragraph from Darkship Thieves, translate it into Mayan and then reverse it and add up the numerical values in Hebrew, it reads: “Hie to Kolob, Orin.”

                  Explain that!*

                  *Note to morons: Satire

            2. We’re infested with them!
               (~_^)

               1. Not a bad infestation.

         3. He’s beyond the understanding of mortal ken.

            1. 1+

            2. The Immortal Ken knows and understands All.

            3. there is no ken, yeh ken?
               He sure don’t ken.

      2. I’m wondering “How do I miss these things?” Are they new comments in older posts, or is our wonderful hostess cleaning out the stupidity between times I check her blog?

         1. no cleaning. Yep. New comments on posts a few days old.

            1. Thanks. Now I feel silly for missing that. Good lord, that commenter appears troubled. I hope he gets the help that is needed, rather than triggering ACW2 and/or committing atrocities.

7. The railings were old, splintery wood but since the bridge was tiny it hardly mattered. They didn’t need to be touched for safety. More important were the muddy tracks that crossed the bridge and went upslope on the other side of the creek. There the faint trail turned and vanished. 50!

8. Roger rushed into the room, babbling, “They’re hostile! Hostile! And I hear you’re setting up a railroad to send things to them? It’s too late to try for appeasement!”

   Bill carefully lined up the sights on the invaders’ command ship.

   “Not railroad”, he said as he pulled the trigger. “Railgun.”

9. ‘Not that I am the even tempered person, I take the upheavals of life with a certain measure of calm.  But today was just not the day to push my temper.  Who thought it would be cute to rearrange my reading corner?’ I began to rail.  OH! … that elephant!  Kawaii! 

10. “‘Rail! Rail! Against the dying of the light.’
    It always gives me goosebumps, it’s just *so* cool.”

    Sabrina’s companion, only slightly older, tried hard not to roll his eyes.

    The platinum-haired woman at the next table looked up from her corned beef and cabbage and said, “It’s ‘rage, against the dying of the light’ actually, in the original at least, rage not rail. Sometimes the difference is very important.” She spoke as if to the empty air, and there was not a trace of irritation in her voice and barely any perfectionist punctillo.

    Bill held his voice to near a whisper. “Ever heard of a “woker” before, Brina?”

    “Shh!” she hissed. “Yes!”

    “So stop being one. She looks like Susan Willoughby.”

    This time the woman at the next table looked at both of them, as she picked up her wine glass, some new pale-white with the merest hint of bubbles. “It’s all too easy, by comparison, to rail. Even if that is a big step up from simply ranting. it’s still nothing but talk. But to rage — and I don’t just mean get angry and throw things of course — but rage in the old Dylan Thomas sense, let the anger be your fuel or your rocket propellant… that takes character, and guts.”

    And she smiled, as if at the fondest remembrance, in the most wistful of ways, before she raised her glass and took a tiny sip. “Turns out I was a true believer in ‘Proof of Principle or Run Home Whining’ before I ever heard the words, and hacking my old Raspberry Pi down on the startup-file bare metal by the time I was tall enough to ride the Good Rides at the State Fair. But it took the ‘oh-ohs’ to really get me going. We Were Eight Years in Power in oh-eight, the Pink Peril and their Nude Green Eel in oh-eighteen, the Nullification in oh-twenty, and all the rest you’ve read about in every recent-history course you’ve ever run. ‘Rage, rage, against the dying of The Light!’ Rage *with* the machine, against The Machine. Good times, good times, even in evil times.”

    And she shivered, delicately, as at the memory of the most delicious pleasure. One that had only mellowed, but never faded, over all the years in between.

    “And it’s been said my ears are barely inferior to the average house cat, so I do hear things. And I’ll buy you both anything in the bar, on one condtion, long as you’re willing to prove your age of course, if you join me in a toast.”

    And Susan Willoughby smiled her old merry, wistful, reactionary smile again.

    “It’s from an old poem, too. ‘Long live freedom and d*mn the ideologies!'”

    “Yes, Ma’am,” said William Harkness’ nephew. “We’d be most honored.”
    And the smile suddenly on Sabrina’s face was like the sun. “Both of us.”

11. Sort of OT: Barnes and Noble here is stocking Martin Shoemaker’s book. WOOT! Will get a copy tomorrow.

    1. Hopefully they’ll sell as fast as a comet.

    2. Local RPG/SF store had it this week, a friend bought a copy.

12. “Stop pretending,” said Selinda, her voice icy. “You didn’t rail in the lands of mankind when they respected you for being an elf.”
    “They didn’t,” said Bredon. The hoarseness of his voice shocked him. “Respect me as an elf.”
    She froze. Her gaze darted about. Finally, she managed, “You lie.”

13. The stairs had no rail. Whether that was meant to make them hug the wall and fall prey to a monster there, she could not tell. Even reaching the floor unbothered might mean only they had not hugged it.
    Spells of soft falling were good for peace of mind, too.

14. A thought inspired by Trumplandia up there:

    Will the lunatics continue to rail against him long enough for “Trump Derangement Syndrome” to make it into DSM-6? 😛

15. Howard walked all the way round #806, checking the protective wards on the boiler and firebox. The yard crew had already checked and oiled the bearings on the 2-4-2 locomotive, so he didn’t redo that. He did, though, finish his magical inspection by climbing up and checking the water tank; it wouldn’t be the first time that someone forgot to fill it, and you couldn’t add the water later.

    Satisfied, he went down into the cab and found the clacker. Ready for firing, please, he keyed. A switcher wasn’t a glamorous locomotive, but the fire sprites were homebodies and didn’t care for the inter-city trips. It cut down on smoke in the yard, though, which was nice.

    Understood, firing, sounded back. Howard settled in to wait, and listen for boiler trouble, of course.

    1. Oh, the self-revealing howling that would induce!

       1. If you have a crack in a pipe join you can get a howl from escaping steam.

16. The 14th Amendment says the state cannot do that, but if nobody is granted standing to argue that point is it merely an isolated tree falling in the forest?

    Don’t Take My Constitutional Republic Away from Me
    By Sarah Hoyt
    What do you do when your most important possession is being taken away?

    How you answer depends on many things, including “what can I do?”

    But right now, if you’re an American, you’re in precisely this position. Our arrantly ignorant speaker of the House, and those who aid her and abet her have more or less stop disguising the fact that they no longer even pretend to hold your vote sacred or to respect the Constitution.

    In my case, my rights are being stolen in many ways, some of them courtesy of my state. …

    1. I don’t know. Some of us think we need a lawsuit.

    2. I wonder if eight-year-old Sarah heard of both Denver and Dover, and thought they were the same place. (Seems like an easy enough mistake to make.)

       1. I’ve wondered about that, but I honestly think I’d seen a picture and Denver on an overcast day has the sort of light that makes you think of the seaside.

17. “She’s off the rails,” complained Leyda. “Ever since she fainted, she’s completely bonkers!”

    “Right,” said Anisa. “She just sits at her desk, glassy-eyed, like she doesn’t know where she is.”

    “And the singing! Before, she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but now she’s got the most beautiful voice.”

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