C.B. Potts's Blog, page 47

This is not the morning post

but boy, oh, boy, comics fans, it is sad to see the inevitable extrapolation of continually failing to treat female characters as anything but eye candy. Read this: Axe Unleashes Arnarchy on the Comic World.

In the story, it says this: It's the first crowdsourced soft-porn fantasy adventure in comic format!

While I am by no means an authority on the subject, it strikes me that that sentence can not possibly, by any stretch of the imagination, be true. Does anyone know if it is true? (And yes, I...

Monday Morning: Here We Go

It is so cold today. There's snow coming down now, spiteful snow, a few handfuls at a time, here and there, just to prove that it can still fall if it wants to. Last night, I was full of grand plans and intentions; I've got thirty books sketched out, more or less - no reason I can't have that all written by March, right? And a short story every week, and of course, boring, mundane pays the bills work: I can do it all, if I fold time in just the right way.

I think I need Dr. Who's Guide to Temp...

Here We Go

Thought I'd make things easy for you. While virtue may be inherently laborious, what you're about should be effortless. What is easier than the fall from grace?

It's not particularly early, but it is bright and cold.  Nadia's just come downstairs to claim the electric blanket and watch Phineas & Ferb (just about the best show ever!) I don't think Harmony will be down for hours yet: she was up very late beading.

It's New Year's Eve. We're aiming for sedate, serene, calm, and I wish the same for ...

Thursday

If you have a cat, and you take this cat, one fine and frozen day, to the hollow in the field that fills with water and freezes, a smooth, glassy oval beneath the sky, and you throw the cat onto the ice, it will spin and yowl and scramble, claws extended as far as they will go, desperate for some purchase. The search, of course, will be in vain, and the hollow's not that big; before you know it, Puss will be on her feet again, not much the worse for wear.

That's sort of how I feel; catlike.  N...

Wednesday Morning

Blergh.  I am still not 100%; I'm not sure I can even see 100% from here.  (Insert something clever about  not being able to see 99% for all the trees; I would but my brain aches.) Errands this morning; a week's worth of post to go through; web copy to write in abundance. Apparently I've less than 72 hours to get Older Daughter ready for OMG fall formal dance as well.  Wish us all luck.

Monday

My innards are in revolt, although I'm not really sure against what - our diet of late has not been particularly adventurous. But never no mind that; instead, I will beg off blogging for a bit here, and will rejoin you all when I'm not quite as green.  It's strange.  I love green.  I love to wear green.  I don't really like to be green, though. Not at all.

Friday Afternoon, A Second Part

Finding Old Margie's replacement turned out to be trickier than the Council ever expected.  For one thing, there aren't many people who know how to call winter in.  In fact, many villages didn't have anyone doing the job at all. This discovery caused a great resurgence of hope among the Council that the whole thing could be chalked up to a mild winter and coincidence, until it was discovered that those other villages had people who persuaded the mountains to keep still and to spur the summer ...

I am slightly behind

Story will continue forthwith, but perhaps not today when work seems to need me an awful lot (which is okay, as I have an awful lot of bills some days...) All I need is a twin.  Or two. 

And now it is thundering.

But I am having a better day that Quaddafi, that's for sure.

Wednesday Morning Part One

Old Margie had but one job to do in the village, and it was this: Every year she would go up into the hills, and call the winter in. For this service - the summoning of snows, the welcoming of wild winds - the village supplied for her a small cottage, with a roof that only leaked when it rained and room for goats.

Old Margie had been calling in the winter for as long as anyone remembered.  She was a hundred years old if she was a day, and Harold Racette, a documented 89 years old, claimed that...

Lunch break

I have been diligently productive today, I have.  Six articles written already; there is something magical about having this house empty and quiet that makes getting work done easier.  You'd think I would have thought of this by now, you know...

I've been pondering the phenomenon on online bullying.  This week, a friend is choosing to unlock portions of her journal she's kept locked down due to a stalker person; I've read many high profile female bloggers talking about the effect online commen...