Lilith Saintcrow's Blog, page 141

Happy Holidays, and all that

I STINK OF ROSES.

The Edgar Allan Poe air freshener has come out. Which means it’s Yule! We had a very quiet celebratory solstice yesterday, and will open presents on the 25th, I think. Part of what I enjoy about being pagan is quiet holidays that take a lot of pressure off.

The blog will be on hiatus until after the New Year. Several of my books are on sale for the holiday season, and now is a good time to pick them up if you’re so inclined. After the New Year I’ll decide what to do about Patreon and plan the podcast. I’m excited! But before then, I’m going to go dark for a bit and rest as the days lengthen. The Year King is reborn, and I wish you all the merriest holiday of your choice. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you again soon.

Tiki!

Here’s leering at YOU, kid!

I used to have a whole collection of these. They kept getting broken. Hrm.

Hooky with a Selkie

My part of town

Yesterday I played a little hooky with my writing partner the Selkie. (She refers to me as her “bad angel” during these jaunts.) We hopped on out to City Liquidators, which is absolutely one of the weirder places in Portland. It’s tucked right up against a flying freeway, and the pavement there remembers much older days. There was a man sitting on the elevated sidewalk outside, holding a deep, intricate conversation with the closed window of a police cruiser. We gathered that before that, he’d been talking to the closed window of a silver Chevy sedan. Harmless, really.

Want some gigantic metal figs?

City Liquidators is hard to explain. They have pretty much everything, including all sorts of office furniture and supplies. You can get lost in there, and it’s funky and turn-you-around-sort-of-organised. We found what we were after, and a bunch of stuff we weren’t. Of course, with the Selkie and I, there’s always all sorts of stories buried in the odd corners. We wonder who used things before, we play “what-if,” and the conversation wanders from porcelain to plot holes with gigantic steps and sideways leaps.

A maze of chairs

As we came out, the Selkie, with a gleam in her eye, said “We’re right near Mother Foucault’s. You HAVE to see it. Come on.”

It was a couple blocks away–a different country, given the nature of urban geography–and as soon as we stepped inside I let out a breath of wonder. It’s my kind of bookshop–the instant I looked at the general lit section, I found a copy of Donoso’s The Obscene Bird of Night, which I’ve lent out but wanted back in my collection. Lit crit, history, philosophy–I was going through the shelves going “I have that edition…oooooh, they have thus-and-such…oh my God, I’ve been looking for this FOR FOREVER…oh, Mel, I need more time…oh God I have to buy this…” Of course the Selkie grinned her evil little grin, she’s been wanting to get me in there for a while. The owners are just as sweet as pie, and lovely people–we discussed Kieslowski and Donoso, as well as Braudel, and it was geek heaven for yours truly. Word to the wise, though–turn your damn cell phones on silent when you go in there, please.

Walking back, we noticed someone had pitched a tent under the freeway. They had obviously cleaned up the space around it, too–there was no litter or detritus. I wished them well, and hoped they wouldn’t get turned out of their safe little niche.

Then we popped out to Hawthorne. Chopsticks is closed, alas, but the Thai place where it used to be (Samui Thai) is a worthy successor. Their green curry is quite acceptable, even if just slightly too heavy on the eggplant, and their jasmine tea is lovely and fragrant.

Oh, the Gold Door…

There was also a trip to the Gold Door, but we didn’t step into Powell’s. I mean, we could have, but I’d already blown my book budget for the month in a HYOOOOJ way at Mother Foucault’s. A quick stop at Pastaworks, where a nice young man from Three Little Figs was there with their wares. I got a couple jars for the Selkie, and hopefully she’ll have a review of them in the near future.

I really like it when people are excited about their tiny little handcrafted things, and I like preserves, although not to the extent the Selkie does. Pastaworks also has a marvelous selection of chocolate, which was a must for various reasons, including hormonal ones. We are still on the quest for the perfect salted choco–it needs to have chunks of salt all through it, not just merely on the surface. It’s one of those quests where the journey is the entire reason even though the destination is nice too. Likewise, getting home to catalog my new treasures was a wonderful feeling.

The day was not over yet. The Little Prince had a choir concert after dinner, during with the audience got a little rowdy. The choir director, though, smiled gently as she picked up the microphone after a particularly loud bout of calling names and cheering. “I know you love your children, and I love them too,” she said, firmly. “But we work very hard on performance and audience etiquette as a part of our class, and I know you can all provide a good example. We need to teach our children the difference between a sporting event and a concert. Thank you.”

I couldn’t help myself. I started clapping. Apparently a lot of other people felt the same way, because the director received a rousing round of applause. Thank heavens for that.

So, and so. I fell into bed exhausted last night, and quite rightly so. But all the holiday shopping is done, and I got to hang out with the Selkie and talk writing, always a good thing that feeds my internal workings. It’s back to the grindstone today, feeling better for a small holiday.

Time to get Wednesday’s words out…

Out of Trouble

The weekend was spent in an orgy of housecleaning (frankly the only manner of orgy I have any patience for nowadays) and errand-running, since I’ve been scrambling to catch up with a bunch of stuff and have let both slip. The furious activity means that things are relatively clean and the Yule tree is up–the kids put the ornaments not his year, without me even needing to hand the delicate ones over. Not a single fight, eyeroll, pinch, or flutter of sarcasm was had.

I have marvelous children.

The dogs are also jingling festively–Odd is freshly washed–but not because I’m tormenting them. They have new ID tags on their collars, nice ones, just in case. Both are microchipped as well, but belt and suspenders (plus a third means of pants-holding) are always good. The old tags were getting a bit difficult to read.

Today I mail off proof pages, make a list of stuff to do next, record some pronunciations for an audiobook, squeeze a short run in between everything, maybe even get my hair trimmed. It irks me to trim it when it’s still so short, but I do want it to grow in nicely, and since C is in remission (oh, heavens, thank you) I can let it. I have AMAZING bedhead, even though I have nowhere to stick spare pencils when I’m proofing. This means I don’t go to bed with pencils and pens festooning my head–a bright lining to every dark cloud, I guess?

Piano practice proceeds apace. I’m working through a Junior Hanon book–the regular Hanon was too frustrating for my skill level, and the Princess talked me into using the Junior one like she does. She’s discovered she likes playing ragtime best, her teacher is surprised and pleased. I’m still chugging away at a Bach polonaise, and have finished my review of the first lesson-book, which means I’m back in the second lesson-book and plonking ahead with grim determination. There are things I want to get good enough to play, but that won’t happen without a lot of consistent practice. I suppose it keeps me out of trouble.

And, incidentally, out of video games. I got bored with the latest WoW extension–not precisely bored, I guess, but when you’re in-garrison trade chat is on, and it’s wearying to have that unmoderated sewer sitting on your screen while you’re trying to upgrade your barn, for God’s sake. So I deleted the whole thing off my hard drive and have turned off any subscription. I just don’t have the patience for some aspects of multiplayer anymore, though I loved the idea of customizing one’s own garrison and fighting off invasions, and I like the auction functions. I did try Guild Wars, but since I can’t window it and it takes forever to get anything crafted, I lost interest.

I’m hoping this is just a phase, because I do like gaming, but all the stuff that comes with multiplayer is just too toxic, and the dopamine hits just aren’t enough to justify the time sink, the expenditure, or the putting up with trade chat. It’s like all Barrens all the time, with a healthy dose of GG dudebro, and none of that is appealing. It makes me wonder how much money game companies are missing out on by not moderating chat a little more. Of course, given how awful chat is and how much they’d have to pay someone to mod it, they probably break even.

So instead of gaming, it’s practicing piano and reading. I’m working my way through stuff in my collection I don’t remember reading, and planning on making a dent in the towering TBR pile. It might end up giving my brain more to chew on in the long run, but I miss rep grinding or dungeon clearing with a good group.

Oh well.

photo by:


hillary the mammal

STORM WATCHER Re-Release!

All Mariamne Niege wants is to finish her thesis and get a job. Unfortunately, she’s a Guardian now, and her visions of the future have grown so intense she’s blind to the world while in their grip. Her Watcher, Hanson, is sleeping on her couch and scaring her roommates when he’s not shepherding her through the visions and calming her worsening nightmares. Then the earthquakes start, warning of an even bigger disaster—a cataclysm that could level her beloved city and claim countless innocent lives. A disaster her visions say are triggered by Hanson, even though he’s sworn to protect her.

Hanson joined the Watchers to atone for a life of lies, but the only way he can stay close enough to Mari to protect her is to use some of his less-than-honest talents. She is the only witch who can ease the agony of being a Watcher, and the only woman in the world he wants. Then Mari’s house is broken into and her roommates slaughtered, and in order to save his witch, Hanson is going to have to become more vicious than the Dark—even though it might mean losing her forever.

That’s right, the second of the Watcher books, re-edited and with a brand-new cover, is now available in ebook! The paper edition takes longer to propagate out, so please, please wait a bit until you see the new cover at your book retailer of choice!

I’m really glad to get these books redone and prettified. I have a soft spot for the Watchers. Longtime Readers will also be happy to know that everyone’s favorite demon librarian, and the Society group, are also scheduled to be re-edited in 2015. Pretty cool, huh?

Scurry Scurry Scurry

I have a monstrous headache but that’s all right, because my copy of the Public Domain Review book came! I love the PDR, it’s one of my very favorite websites. Their shop is full of wonders, as well. Much recommend, many geeky happy.

Also, I have hot tea, so that’s good. Today has been a mad scurry, scurry, scurry, doing all sorts of errands and putting out all sorts of fires. (You can tell because it’s taken me until four in the afternoon to post anything.) My day began with a chat with one of the Prince’s school counselors. (Nothing awful, just checking in and fine-tuning. I am that most terrifying of beasts: a concerned mother.) Then there were school supplies to wrangle, a trip to the grocer’s to undertake, a massive knucklebone brought home for the canine population of Chez Saintcrow, other to-and-fro-ing. I got home, inhaled a salad, and then went straight for the choco. Being social before 10am, and especially being social while unwashed–though neatly attired and with the Fabulous Hat firmly wedged on my head to cover the bird’s nest–is never my idea of a good time.

Speaking of the bird’s nest, my God, how do people with short hair do it? It’s been so long since I’ve had hair that qualifies as “short” that I am a little at a loss. It just does things I don’t want it to do, constantly. On the bright side, there seem to be some grays in there. I have been waiting for gray hairs for AAAAAAAGES. I think with my eyes I could really rock some frizzy gray hair.

Stay tuned for some more re-release news tomorrow, and stay dry, chickadees. It is extremely rainy here, which is just the way I like it, and moss is growing over everything. But I have dry feet (finally) and hot tea (ahhhh) and…oh, God, there’s a stack of proofs to get done.

I knew I was missing something.

No End of Good

Mrphle. Grrr. Ack. Bleargh. *coughs* Erm, I mean, good morning. I’m back from my weekend off. It did me no end of good.

*looks around* So what’s going on?

Well, the dogs are sleeping–Odd Trundles is settled on my bed, and it will take a nuclear bomb to get him loose before he’s finished the important business of the Morning Nap. Miss B had all four paws in the air and was dreaming when I rolled out of bed, and she had a bit of difficulty sorting herself out that had rather bled over into the rest of her day. I think the dream may have involved small dashing bits of prey, because she keeps looking in corners and under things, getting her snoot into all sorts of dust and trouble and so far rooting out nothing but a couple chew toys. The Mad Tortie is alternating between grilling herself on the office heater and inviting herself to my lap for cuddles.

Bandit misses Critic, his partner in cavy chew-crime. Being snuggled by big pink monkeys isn’t enough, and I feel sorry for him, but I am not getting another cavy. We’ll never be free of them if I keep their population at two. I will care for poor Bandit to the best of my ability, he shall want for nothing, but once he goes, I will NEVER AGAIN have rodents in my office. I just can’t even.

The neighbors are putting out Nativity scenes. I always have the idea, this time of year, to get two Nativities and alternate setting them out with same-sex holy couples. You know? Baby Jesus with Two Mum Marys. Baby Jesus with Two Dads. The only thing that stops me is the expense, really, and the fact that I can’t decide whether to start doing a Cthulhu Nativity with armed garden gnomes creeping up on the Tentacled One instead. It would certainly give the neighborhood association something to talk about.

Recent events have put a dent in my work schedule, so now I’m playing catch-up. At least I’ve Dealt With the problems in No Uncertain Terms, and updated my email filters to boot. God, how did we ever survive without filters? It’s unthinkable.

Anyway, happy Monday. I’m pleased to see nothing burned to the ground while I was–

*is handed sheet of paper*

Oh. Well. Erm.

Time to get back to work…

photo by:


barbourians

Not dead.

No, really. Not dead. Just had a couple of really un-awesome days. If I owe you an email on anything, it’s not going to happen until Monday. Sorry.

Tea and Irritation

No huge post today. We’re almost out of milk and the Agent Zero revisions are calling my name. I finished the sample chapters for Agent Trinity yesterday, so there’s that, and the story is bubbling and boiling in the back of my head. Proof pages for Trailer Park Fae are due to land on my doorstep today, and I really need to decide which project I’m going to work on in addition to already-contracted ones.

Just to keep myself limber. Also, I like to produce something just for me even while I’m working on contracted stuff. Sometimes it ends up as just a trunk novel, but other times something sellable comes out. My “pad” of unsold novels has gotten a little thin–there’s only three or four–so I need to thicken it a bit. I still haven’t decided what to do with Rattlesnake Wind, either.

So if you hear mad clicking and the occasional “oh goddammit” in the distance today, that’s just me revising, fueled by tea and irritation.

Mental Muscles

That’s right, Pack is on sale through the holiday season. A story to keep you warm, as it were.

Frost is thick over everything this morning. I’ll have to wait a bit before I head out on my run. Fortunately it’s a short one–I’ve finished one training program and begun another, this one designed to build my base. So it’s kind of like going back to square one, though not to the place where I couldn’t run for thirty seconds without gasping and wanting to puke and pass out, not necessarily in that order. Instead of pushing myself through a long run, instead I’m forcing myself to stop just when I’ve gotten warmed up. It’s exercising a different set of mental muscles, that’s for sure.

Also exercising a different set of mental muscles: piano practice. I now have the third minuet down and am working on refining it, and have moved on to a polonaise. I picked through the right-hand bit of it last night during practice. Going back to the beginning in my old lesson-book is beginning to bear fruit, I’ve slowed down and am playing even the three-minute-theory bits several times, really thinking about what it’s supposed to teach me. Since my teacher’s gone to Florida–I wanted to shift to another teacher, but the receptionist at the lessons-place was so rude and dismissive to me I decided not to–I’m left to pick through on my own, using the internet to answer questions I can’t figure out for myself. It’s nice to have a teacher, but it’s also nice to go at my own pace, beating my head on the problems in my own fashion. I’m sure I’m not playing Back right, of course, but it satisfies me and that’s all I care about now. Once I have the minuets in my fingers I’ll slow down again and play with the metronome. It’ll be a whole new series of problems for me to gnash my teeth over!

I meant to get the sample chapters for Agent Trinity done yesterday, but finishing The Poison Carnival seems to have scraped my brain dry. I barely squeezed a thousand words out. Today, though, I’m ready and raring to go, and my (short and freezing) morning run will be devoted to getting the next scene or two right inside my head. Later, the whole skeleton and arc of the book will become apparent, but right now I have to find the right beginning. Start well to end well, I guess.

I should also haul the Yule tree out of storage. The kids have been giving little longing glances at our neighbor’s light-bedecked house. Tis the season, and all that.

Back to it, then. Let us kick Tuesday in the pants, dear Readers.