Lilith Saintcrow's Blog, page 166
September 6, 2013
Little Umbrellas
September 5, 2013
Poor Mr. Krahulik
September 4, 2013
Selene, Daily Deal, And More
School Daze
September 2, 2013
Happy Labour Day
August 30, 2013
Indie-Squirrel-A-Gogo
Yes, you’re looking at an Indiegogo campaign to fund SquirrelTerror getting into book form sooner rather than later! The perks are pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. Anything raised over the goal amount will go toward other things coming out in ebook (and possibly paper) form, like Selene.
Big thanks to Skyla Dawn Cameron, without whom there would be none of this. I was all set to just let the squirrels go, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s done a yeoman’s job in editing, formatting, and being my advocate when I couldn’t advocate for myself. Skyla, YOU ROCK.
August 28, 2013
Fred and George Find Shelter
It’s Wednesday! Which means there’s a fresh chapter of Selene up. Also, in case you missed it…Squirrel!Terror is about to rise again. I’m pondering a Kickstarter campaign for it.
When last we left Fred and George, they were arguing about what exactly art consisted of, and pondering the nature of attraction. Little did they know, however…
Miranda the Oracle: “I can hear you, you know.”
“JESUS CHRIST! YOU’RE ALIVE!”
Miranda: “You’re a pair of ceramic squirrels. You’re surprised?”
“YOU’RE…CONCRETE. THERE’S A GNOME UP THERE WHO–”
Miranda: “Thank you, George. Willard will not bother me. Not after last time.”
“YOU, UH, YOU KNOW OUR NAMES?”
Miranda: “I know many things. Besides, you shout.”
“IT’S A BLOODY HABIT NOW. CAN’T HELP IT.”
Miranda: “I know. Your friend seems to have fainted.”
“GEORGE? OH, YEH. HE’S THE NERVOUS TYPE.”
Miranda: “It’s good you’re not. I have some things to tell you.”
“…THEY’RE NOT ABOUT WOMBATS, ARE THEY?”
Miranda: “What? No. Listen closely…”
“THIS? THIS IS IT? WE FOLLOW A STATUE’S ADVICE FOR–”
“NOT LIKE YOU HAD ANY BETTER IDEAS, SLEEPING BEAUTY.”
“IT WAS A TALKING STATUE, FOR GOD’S SAKE.”
“UM, FRED?”
“WHAT?”
“THERE’S THE SIGN.”
“WHAT SIGN?”
Miss B: “Hallo there! Miranda must have sent you.”
“AUGH!”
Miss B: “Bit nervous, isn’t he.”
“HIGH-STRUNG. YOU SOUND FAMILIAR–YOU FROM OZ? I MEAN, ARE YOU AN AUSSIE?”
Miss B: “That’s what they call me. Actually, I’m descended from Basque sheepdogs, so just don’t run.”
“DON’T RUN?”
Miss B: “It makes me chase you.”
“…WELL THEN. RIGHTY-O. I’M GEORGE, BY THE WAY. PAY NO ATTENTION TO FRED THERE, HE’S CATATONIC WITH TERROR.”
Miss B: “I get that a lot. I’m Miss B, and do address me with respect. So, what is it you need? Any friend of Miranda’s, you know.”
“WELL, HONESTLY, THINGS SEEM PRETTY MARVY HERE. FOOD EVERYWHERE, NICE PEOPLE. WE JUST NEED TWO THINGS.”
Miss B: “And what would those be?”
“WELL, SHELTER OF COURSE. MIRANDA SAID TO ASK YOU ABOUT THAT. AND A BIT OF ALE WOULD GO DOWN NICELY.”
Miss B: “Are you even old enough to drink? Never mind, there’s a convenience store. Cletus the Gentlecritter Masque runs it.”
“FAB! AND…NOT TO BE TOO BLUNT OR ANYTHING, BUT THAT LOOKS AWFUL EMPTY.”
Miss B: “I think he’s waking up. Yes, it’s empty. I won’t tell you about the last inhabitants–”
“OH, COME ON NOW.”
Miss B: *whispers*
“HOLY MARY. REALLY?”
Miss B: “Really. So…yeah. It’s empty, I’ll open it up for you and give you the keys.”
“BLOODY BRILL! YOU’RE A RIGHT GOOD SHEILA, YOU ARE.”
Miss B: “…I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“IS IT GONE? TELL ME IT’S GONE.”
“SHE. HER NAME’S B, MISS B. SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED, GET IT?”
“…YOU CANNOT WATCH ANY MORE MOVIES.”
“NO, REALLY! SHE GAVE ME THE KEYS. WARNED ME NOT TO RUN BECAUSE SHE LIKES TO–”
“YOU SPOKE TO IT?”
“WELL, YOU WEREN’T ANY HELP.”
“IT WAS HUGE! AND TEETH! AND–”
“SHE’S QUITE NICE, FRED. A REAL LADY. COME ON, LET’S SEE WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.”
“IT’S A BIT EERIE.”
“YEH. LAST TENANTS WERE…WELL, ANYWAY. IT’S SECURE, RIGHT? AND THE MISS TOLD ME ABOUT A CONVENIENCE STORE, FOR LAGERS AND SUCH.”
“YOU ALREADY KNOW WHERE TO FIND ALCOHOL. SPLENDID.”
“LOOK! INDOOR PLUMBING!”
“WHY ARE WE ROOMMATES AGAIN?”
“BECAUSE I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN PUT UP WITH YOU, FRED. THAT’S WHY.”
“WELL…ACTUALLY, THIS IS…SPACIOUS. AND QUITE NICE. GOOD LIGHT.”
“SEE? THAT MIRANDA DID US A GOOD TURN, SHE DID.”
“YES, INDEED. I’LL HAVE TO WRITE A THANK-YOU NOTE. AND UNTIL WE FIND A WAY BACK TO MELBOURNE–”
“I ENT GOING BACK, FRED. YOU CAN IF YOU LIKE, BUT I’M THINKING THIS IS BETTER THAN OLD MELBOURNE. NO COMPETITION FOR FOOD! AND GUESS WHAT?”
“I TREMBLE IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR FORTHCOMING DISCLOSURE.”
“THAT’S MY PONCEY FRED. MISS B TOLD ME THERE ARE NO WOMBATS!”
“…WHAT AN IMPRESSION YOU MUST HAVE MADE. VERY WELL, IF WE’RE GOING TO BE HERE, LET’S START CLEANING UP.”
“OH, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, YOU AND THE CHORES!”
“YOU OWE ME. START OVER THERE.”
And lo, Fred and George have become resident in the backyard. I wonder what will happen next…
August 27, 2013
Fred and George Go Exploring
Fred and George had escaped, and found out they weren’t in Melbourne anymore. There were perils unknown in this new place…
“EEEEK!”
“WHA–OH MY GOD!”
Phil: Chill, little dudes. It’s just Willard.
“HE’S ROTTING!”
Phil: We call it flesh-challenged. Don’t worry, he only eats concrete. You’re safe.
“WAIT A SECOND. YOU’RE AMERICAN!”
Phil: Molded and cast, yep. You want a hit off the bong?
“GEORGE, RUN!”
“HIDE HERE, GEORGE. IT’S SAFER. IF ANYTHING IS SAFE. WE’RE IN AMERICA!”
“AMERICA? WHERE THEY HAVE BIG MACS?”
“AND SUVs. AND GIGANTIC CERAMIC-EATING SQUIRRELS!”
“FRED, CALM DOWN. YOU’RE GONNA PASS OUT, YOU KEEP BREATHING LIKE THAT.”
“CALM DOWN? WE’RE NOT EVEN IN THE COMMONWEALTH!”
“BUT THERE’S PROBABLY FOOD.”
“I DON’T CARE!”
“BLOODY AMERICANS.”
“THEY DIDN’T SEEM SO BAD, FRED.”
“WE’LL NEVER DRINK PROPER TEA AGAIN! OR EAT TIMTAMS! OR–”
“FRED, SLOW DOWN. LOOK, IF WE GOT HERE, WE CAN GET BACK.”
“BUT WE’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO WASH THE SMELL OFF!”
“YOU’RE A BIT OF A BIGOT, THERE, SQUIRE.”
“JUST BECAUSE I’M NOT INDISCRIMINATE WITH MY AFFECTIONS–”
“LOOK! LOOK!”
“DON’T RUN AWAY, DAMN YOU, GEORGE. I’M JUST GETTING STARTED.”
“I’M KING OF THE WORLD! AGAIN!”
“NEVER. EVER. WATCHING. A MOVIE. EVER.”
“WELL, THAT’S ONE THING ABOUT AMERICA, RIGHT? MOVIE THEATRES! POPCORN! CHEAP DVDs!”
“WE HAD THOSE IN MELBOURNE TOO!”
“BUT AN AMERICAN MOVIE IN AN AMERICAN THEATRE–”
“GEORGE, FOR GOD’S SAKE, FOCUS. WE HAVE TO GET HOME.”
“SUIT YOURSELF. I’M GOING TO STICK AROUND A WHILE.”
“FINE. STAY IN THE CULTURAL ARMPIT OF THE GLOBE. I’M GOING TO–”
“FRED.”
“SHUT UP. I’M GOING TO GO HOME, WHERE THERE’S DECENT TEA AND BILLYS IN THE BACKYARD AND–”
“FRED!”
“AND PROPER BISCUITS AND NO ROTTING THINGS–”
“FRED! STOP!”
Mad Tortie: Did someone say tea and–What the hell’s this?
“DON’T MOVE, FRED.”
“IT’S SNIFFING ME!”
“JUST DON’T MOVE.”
Mad Tortie: Seriously? This is what we’re doing nowadays? So gauche.
“OH PLEASE GOD DON’T LET IT EAT ME–”
“I DON’T THINK IT’S A WOMBAT.”
Mad Tortie: Mph. Call me when it’s teatime.
“WAIT, IS IT BRITISH?”
“JUST KEEP MOVING.”
“I COULD SWEAR IT SAID SOMETHING ABOUT TEA.”
“I’M JUST GLAD IT DIDN’T EAT US.”
“DEFINITELY NOT A WOMBAT.”
“WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT WOMBATS? YOU’RE OBSESSED.”
“HER NAME WAS CYNTHIA, AND SHE WAS SCARY.”
“THE SMELL’S NOT THAT BAD. IT’S LIKE FRESH AIR, BUT WITHOUT EUCALYPTUS.”
“NO DUST, EITHER. IT’S QUIET. REALLY QUITE CHARMING, IF YOU OVERLOOK THE–”
“OH, DON’T START, FRED. CAN’T YOU EVER ENJOY ANYTHING?”
“I ENJOY PLENTY OF THINGS!”
“WAY I FIGURE IS, THERE’S FOOD, AND NOT A LOT OF COMPETITION, AND IF WE CAN JUST FIND SOME SHELTER, WE’LL BE ALL RI–HOLY MARY, WHAT’S THAT?”
“IT’S A…I DON’T KNOW.”
“IT LOOKS LIKE FOOD, AND SMELLS LIKE FOOD, BUT IT TASTES LIKE…”
“LIKE WHAT?”
“LIKE BENEFIBER. OR METAMUCIL. THE PLAIN STUFF, NOT BERRY FLAVOUR.”
“DON’T EAT IT! YOU DON’T KNOW IF IT’S SAFE!”
“TOO LATE. CRIKEY, I WON’T HAVE ANY TROUBLE GETTING THE LOAD OUT WITH THIS, WILL I. THERE’S ENOUGH FOR MONTHS.”
“MUST YOU REDUCE EVERYTHING TO YOUR BOWELS?”
“YOU KNOW, FRED, SOME OF THIS MIGHT DO YOU A WORLD OF GOOD. YOU’RE ALWAYS SO CRANKY.”
“COME ON.”
“NOW, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT.”
“SHE’S VERY…”
“BIPEDAL?”
“WOT? SHE’S VERY NAKED. NO FUR AT ALL, LOOKS LIKE.”
“IT’S ART, DUMBASS.”
“LOOKS MORE LIKE PAGE THREE TO ME.”
“IF YOU WOULDN’T READ CHEAP TABLOIDS–”
“YOU’RE BLUSHING.”
“I AM NOT!”
“FRED, ARE YOU…YOU ARE! YOU’VE GOT A BONER FOR A BIPED!”
“I DO NOT, GEORGE. YOU’RE SO GODDAMN GAUCHE.”
“YOU AND YOUR PONCEY FRENCH–”
“I’M WARNING YOU.”
To be continued…
August 26, 2013
Fred and George’s Great Escape
So Fred and George, having been denied love, fled for their wee ceramic lives.
“RUN!”
“BUT I LOVE HER!”
“I DON’T CARE, RUN!”
“YOU DON’T WANT ME TO BE HAPPY!”
“I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE EATEN ALIVE! NOT EVEN BY A WOMBAT!”
“WOMBAT? WHERE?”
“I THINK…WE’VE LOST…THEM.”
“OY, LOOK AT THIS.”
“WHAT? IS IT FOOD?”
“SMELLS AWFUL.”
“IT DOES, RATHER. WHAT IS THAT STUFF?”
“DON’T KNOW. GOD, YOU’RE OUT OF SHAPE.”
“WHAT?”
“WHY ARE YOU PANTING?”
“I’M NOT…OH, NO.”
“AUGH!”
“IS IT A WOMBAT?”
“OH CHRIST JESUS, YOU’RE IN ITS FOOD BOWL! RUN!”
“IT EATS THIS? NO WONDER IT SOUNDS LIKE THAT–”
Odd Trundles: New friends? New friends?
“FRED? FRED! WHERE DID YOU GO? WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? FRED, COME BACK! I’M SORRY I PISSED YOUR BED THAT ONCE! I’M SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING!”
“UP HERE, DIPSHIT. HELP ME.”
“BUT, FRED…WE DON’T HAVE NO OPPOSABLE THUMBS.”
“JUST SHUT UP AND PUSH.”
“THIS IS MORE LIKE IT.”
“WHAT’S THAT SMELL?”
“I DON’T THINK WE’RE IN MELBOURNE ANYMORE.”
“WELL, WHERE THE HELL ARE WE THEN? TASMANIA?”
“I THINK…MAYBE CANADA?”
“ISN’T THAT ON MARS?”
“GEORGE…OH, JUST NEVER MIND.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“I TOLD YOU I HAD TO PISS. ROUGH NIGHT, THAT WAS.”
“YOU’RE DEFECATING IN A–WHAT IS THAT?”
“SCRATCHY.”
“I CANNOT BELIEVE WE’RE FRIENDS.”
“NOBODY ELSE CAN EITHER, YOU’RE SO UPTIGHT.”
“LOOK AT THIS. IT’S JUST SITTING HERE.”
“FOOD! FINALLY! FRED, YOU’RE THE BEST!”
“THIS IS GREAT. AL FRESCO. MARVELOUS.”
“THAT WAS AN INCREDIBLE DUMP.”
“THANK YOU FOR SHARING.”
“I FEEL A LOT LIGHTER.”
“I’M SURE YOU DO.”
“SO. WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
“I THINK IT’S A LONG WAY DOWN.”
“I’M KING OF THE WOOOOORLD!”
“GOD. YOU’RE NEVER WATCHING ANOTHER MOVIE. EVER.”
“BUT IT WAS GREAT! I CRIED. SO DID YOU.”
“I DID NOT.”
“I SAW YOU. YOU CRIED LIKE A BABY. YOU CURLED UP IN THE FETAL POSITION AND SUCKED ON A WINE BOTTLE UNTIL–”
“GEORGE, I WILL HURT YOU IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP.”
“AND THEN SHE WAS ALL LIKE, MY HEART WILL GO OOOOOOOOON–”
“COME ON, CELINE DION. TIME TO FIND SOME SHELTER.”
…to be continued
