Lilith Saintcrow's Blog, page 229

Food, Politics, And Hidden Costs

I’ll keep food out of politics when politics stay out of my food. (nonhipster mom)

I came across this NYT food blog (hat tip to Kitchenbeard for the link.) The comments are the most instructive part of the piece, don’t skip them.

As someone who delights in (you might almost say, is obsessed with) food, I think about this issue a lot. Food accounts for a huge bit of my budget, and I’m supporting three other people. Right now things are pretty easy, because there’s a supermarket within walking dista

Blast From The Past: Genre And Compression

Cross-posted to The Deadline Dames.

To round off last week’s post from the vaults, here is the post that immediately followed a year ago. I had planned to wax rhapsodically bitchy about how everyone puts genre fiction down, but others have done it better. So, here’s what I came up with a year ago, instead. Enjoy.

I woke up this morning with a serious case of the crankies. So if I seem a little bloody-minded, dears, that’s why.

I had a whole post about genre planned, but it would probably devolve in

Author Video!

So, you remember a while back I was moaning and obsessing over being on camera? Well…that was because Penguin hired a videographer (the inimitable Dicky Dahl, who was very nice) and induced me to talk about Strange Angels.

I’m not so keen on being on-camera, mostly because I am a huge nervous butterball. Still, it’s fascinating to watch how all the footage we shot got condensed and–what’s that you say? Shut up and link to it, Lili?

Your wish is my command. If the embedded player doesn’t work, clic

Boil It Down To The Page

It’s a projected eighty-degree day out there, so I closed up the house early and got out before noon to run errands. The UnSullen dragged the portable air conditioner out of the freshly-cleaned garage, and I just munched two sea-salt caramels that Someone Wonderful (the same wonderful someone who got me a copy of Dr. Tatiana’s Sex Advice For All Creation) left at the bookstore for my birthday.

Life is good.

I also got something wonderful in the mail recently–a copy of PN Elrod’s newest, The Devil

Perfectly Natural Loathing

I received a lovely letter from a Reader the other day. Here’s the kernel:

I just came across an article on your website where you discuss how you stumbled into writing young adult fiction. I recently finished my first manuscript. After the initial euphoria and happy ignorance……my feelings suddenly morphed into absolute hatred for my amateur creation. It’s been almost a month since i touched or even looked at the file. I had an epiphany last week that is marinating and is now letting me consi

The Lure of Free, and the Fickle, Heartless Muse

Ah, my sweet sweet Muse, why do you torment me? What I need is adult UF. What you gave me yesterday was Heathers-esque YA. I’m not precisely complaining, it’s just…we need to work together here, right? Not in different directions. Look, I have some bonbons here. Pretty bonbons all wrapped up in shiny foil. You like bonbons, right? That’s a good girl.

Now, let’s work on these short stories, what do you say?

It won’t work. She’ll take the bribe and do what she wants anyway. Fickle, heartless wench.

I

Hack Manifesto Redux

At around this time last year I wrote this, my Hack Manifesto. (The original is here.) Since I occasionally like to look back with my Friday writing posts, I offer it again for your perusal. The only thing I would add is my continuing uncertainty whether Kerouac was in the game for the stimulants or for Neal Cassady’s approval, but it makes no difference. He still took pride in his work, dammit. And I still get cranky about this very issue. So, enjoy!

Good morning. I hope you’re comfortable? Good

Copyedits, The Heyer Binge, And Headhopping

A few minutes ago, unwashed and severely lacking in sleep, I sent off the copyedits for Betrayals. There will be proof pages to eyeball in a little bit, of course, but I am feeling very much like the book is Put To Bed. Which makes me happy. The copyedits are about the time I get so sick of a book I just want it done so something else can eat my brain. So, I’m exhausted and drained but still feeling like a huge weight has been lifted. Now I get to please myself for the rest of the day.

Actually,

My Patience Is Not Endless…

G’morning. The cold has finally retreated under an onslaught of vitamin C, fluids, an air purifier (since we’re cleaning rather extensively here at Casa Saintcrow, the dust is puffing up–what? Look, I have books. LOTS of books. Books get dusty.) and a decent amount of sleep three out of four nights. It’s amazing to be able to smell again. I always feel half-blind when I can’t smell. One realizes how basic that sense is when one loses it. It almost makes me want to read Perfume again, but that bo

Damage and Story, Fine Weather, And Auditory Comfort

Good Monday to you, dear Reader. Head over to the Selkie’s blog for some thoughtfulness–she writes about service to damage vs. service to the story as different engines for creativity. If either works, fine–the trouble with using damage as your fuel is that you do tend to turn into a one-trick pony. Not to mention the damage, since it has such a large place in one’s career, tends to spill out over into other parts of your life in bad ways. I prefer service to the story, even though I’ve found it