Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 35

dress the hell up

Forgive me for this self-indulgent post. It's kind of a reminder to myself.

This morning, I wanted to dress up. I had nowhere to go. No one to see. Nothing particular to do. But I had purple hair and a new skirt and a spring day, so I dressed the hell up.

And I'm so glad I did.

I ended up at my favorite coffee shop, outside at my favorite table. Something smelled of dead opossum, but I didn't let that stop me. I wrote a few pages that have been bugging me, enjoyed my tea, and generally had a lovely time alone. Everything felt more special. My posture was better. And the words just flew out of my fingertips.

So here's my advice:

Dress the hell up, just because.

The end.

*

by the power of greyskull

When I looked in the mirror this morning, something was off.

I checked up and down, but nothing jumped out. I tipped my head forward and saw it.



Oh.

The patch of gray had broadened.

I have dark hair, and I found my first white hair when I was 15 at the local Turtles while buying Metallica's Kill Em All for my boyfriend, with whom I watched a disastrous amount of Ren & Stimpy. White hair is no stranger to me. And yet, all of a sudden, it's bothering me. As if before, it was this funny little quirk of mine, having a patch of white hair in the middle of my head. But now that I'm 34, it suddenly makes me feel strange, off, like something's wrong.

And I kind of hate that.

I've had my hair professionally colored a few times, but I don't really like the experience. It takes hours, it's expensive, and it's never exactly what I asked for. So I do a demi-permanent dye from Sally's at home. I use the same color ever time, have a bowl and brush, everything.

And I kind of hate that.

That's the thing about the Great Hair Color Debate, to me.

I'm not happy with either solution.

Half of society tells me to color it and look more youthful.
The other half of society tells me to be proud of who I am and let it grow.
But, honestly? I feel more like myself when all my hair is the same color.

When I was younger, dyeing my hair felt like a treat. I would go deep red, purple, auburn, or inky black. It was something fun to do, something safely rebellious-- which, as we know, is my specialty.

But now? It's just an annoyance. And I get to a day like today, where I feel totally awesome. I mean, 34 is good for me. I look so much better than I did when I was enviably young. And I feel so much better about myself than I did then. But I look in the mirror, and that patch of gray mocks me. Whether I color it or not, I'm acquiescing to a convention that I don't like.

The only solution I can see is getting royal blue dye and splashing that all over the gray. Then it's colored, but not conventionally, and I'm telling everybody exactly where they can jam it.

Damn the man; save the Empire! With hair dye! Or not? Argh!

*
Anybody else having the same problem?
*

thrift store fashion show

The first time I went to a thrift store as an adult, it was for costume scrounging. Skirts cost $30 and up online, but I found oodles of skirts for $5 or less. And then blouses. And then I realized that when you live in a super-wealthy suburb, other people are throwing away things much nicer than what you're buying off the 70% off rack at Target.

Plus, today's fashions? So not me. Or my body.

I don't do the 80s thing. Cut-off shirts and shorts, neon colors, baggy stuff? Just-- no.

So for the first time since my last high-school vest run, I went to my favorite thrift store today for non-costume purposes. I've decided to go back to my roots and wear what I like best: vests, jackets, somewhat old-fashioned but figure-skimming things. I spent $18.23, and here's what I got:


Black velvet vest from Eddie Bauer, size 4, with pockets: $4.94.
Perfect condition, feels lovely, fits like a glove. Yay!




Gray linen/cotton vest from H&M, size 10, with pockets and adjustable back: $3.93 at 50% off = $1.96. Lovely cream piping on the interior with extra buttons. Not the best photo-- I just realized I don't own a single white button down or white tee. Must correct that omission post haste.






Teal velvet jacket from Talbots Petites, size 10. $6.96 at 50% off = $3.48.
Amazing color. A little roomy-- could use some darts. Wee bit of crust on back, but that's easily cleaned.





Teal lace tank from Apt. 9, M, Nylon and Spandex. $3.93 at 50% off = $1.96.
The colors and details don't photograph so well, but the texture is lovely and wears comfortably.





Yummy skirt, 100% cotton, DKNY Jeans, size 4. $4.94
Beautiful skirt, flawless. Has glittery gold thread running through it, fully lined, nice ruffle along the bottom, pockets, and back tie. Summer, here I come!

*
Lessons I learned at my first non-costume thrifting:

1. Shop by color and texture first. And know your best colors! I used to shop for clothes in the colors I personally like, as if they were paint chips, but now I know better. I can only do jewel tones and black. No pastels, no cream, no pumpkin, no brown, no yellow, no that pretty shade of mauvey-purple that makes me look like a corpse. My favorite thrift store does things by color and then pattern, so I go straight to teal, plum, black, magenta, hunter, and royal blue, then skim the patterns.

2. Don't trust sizes-- I ended up with two 4s, two 10s, and a medium. I mean... whuh?

3. If it's not exactly perfect, put it back. I tried on this gorgeous black silk shirt that was utterly yummy, but one of the darts on the left made my chest look lopsided. Stupid darts. And there was this luscious chocolate velvet tank with lace that looked amazing on the hanger and awful on me. If you'll never wear it, it's not worth $1.96, so don't get sucked into the IT'S CHEAP, BUY IT trap.

4. Always check the washing instructions. If the skirt had been dry clean only, I wouldn't have bought it. I'm no good at that sort of thing.

*
So now I'm hooked on thrifting. Anybody else do their shopping used? =)
*

the most helpful class I ever took

First, a word of warning: I was a goody-goody.
I took every Honors and AP class I could cram in and studied metaphorical fugues in independent studies in between. I was fluent in French and pretty close in Italian. I went to summer classes in college, just because they sounded fun. And then I came home and read *more* books. So when I think back to helpful classes, I'm considering some pretty dorky stuff.
But can you guess the most helpful class I ever took?
Keyboarding.
At the time, in high school, I was furious. I even went to the counselors' office and tried to get an exemption. I had to tote my enormous backpack all the way down to the ass-end of G Hall, where the reprobates smoked outside the doors. I was in a class with people I'd never met before, since they spent most of their time in detention or waiting to beat me up outside of the art hall bathroom. And then, instead of studying, I typed.
A A A. ASDFG. HJKL:. Etc. ACK.
It was awful, painful, excruciatingly dull. I hurried through my typing exercises so that I could finish my homework for other classes early. I growled at grammar errors in the assigned paragraphs and grimaced whenever the teacher stood over my shoulder, judging me not by my big ol' brain, but by my fingers. It was so unfair.
I got an A, at least. A A A A.
But now, when I think about it, I'm grateful for that class. I can type almost as fast as I can think, and that means that the words just flow out. As fast as the story comes to me, I can record it. When I have to actually write in longhand, I get furious with my sausage-y fingers. My words flow together and flatten out until I can barely read what I've written. My hands cramp up, and I get ink all over myself, and I'm reminded that I would never have made it in Jane Austen's world. 
When I think back to all the worry and time I put into AP Calculus and how very little it effects my current life, I'm kind of bemused. I can't even remember my keyboarding teacher's name to thank her, but I owe her as much as I owe my AP English teacher.
Funny, how the things you resented at the time can one day make all the difference.
*

the perfect storm

Confession:
Remember in Clueless when Cher said Amber was like a Monet painting? It looks fine from a distance, but when you get up close, it's all messed up?

Yeah, that's me right now.

I have a deadline that seems insurmountable. A volunteer task that's as difficult as herding steampunk cats. Twittering and Facebooking and guest posts and interviews. A family to tend to, children to nurture, friends to adore, and a house to keep livable. Bookstores to visit, books to sign, mail to send, cons to email with proposals and hopeful smiles. Not to mention that I'm still in my first month of book sales and struggling to figure out how to keep sales numbers up when there's no clear guideline on how to do so.

In short, I'm a total mess.

I used to think that selling a book and getting published was my ultimate goal. And it's awesome, don't get me wrong. But it's not over when the book is on the shelves. I majorly underestimated the work that goes into being a professional writer. Deadlines mean you can't wait for the muse to come to you, and editors don't really care if you have outside commitments or a need to, you know, sleep. Right now, I want to be curled up in bed, listening to the rain and reading and dreaming of the next story. That's... not what I'm doing, and I won't be able to do it until, oh, June.

So if you talk to me, and I nod and have a crazy look in my eye, now you know. Inside, I'm freaking out pretty much constantly.

No rest for the wicked, huh?

*

new corset goofin'

I feel kind of guilty.
That corset was bought at a rock-bottom price from a company that makes them in China. But pinstripes and black leather and buckles? I COULDN'T STOP MYSELF. It's like a Naughty Steampunk Librarian corset. All of my other corsets are handcrafted by hardworking artisans, and I feel more than a little ashamed of myself for going cheap.
My guilt is somewhat assuaged by the fact that I found that vintage black jacket at a local secondhand store today and paid easily three times what I wanted to spend for it.
That balances out, right?
In any case, consider my stressful day partially soothed by the application of corsetry.

*Lunchtime Poll:
Which wardrobe staple makes you feel better on a yucky day?
*

wear a book by its cover

See that? Criminy hangin' out with Alexia Tarabotti, Cricket Bell, and Jamie Fraser, characters from three of the books that most influenced my writing career. Thank heavens Pennywise from IT isn't on there, right?
My dear friend Brent sent it to me as a surprise. He said it was cookies.
He lied, but I don't mind.
That's one of my favorite things about the internet. It's possible to find people of like spirit that you would never meet otherwise but whom you are so very glad to have in your life. Brent is going to take over the world one day, I'm sure of it. He's a blogger, a book reviewer, and a publishing intern, all while juggling the perils of high school with admirable poise, grace, and strength.
He's also pretty awesome on Twitter.
When I decided to start writing and get published, I didn't know a single person in the same boat. But the internet is a marvelous place, and I have met so many amazing people, including Brent. Authors, agents, interns, editors, illustrators, bloggers, reviewers, readers. I've found critique partners, allies, shoulders to cry on, people to high five, people to kvetch with, and most importantly, true friends, some of whom I've never met but will one day hugattack and nearly suffocate with my affection.
Thank you so much, Brent. You make me smile all the time.
<3

a steamy weekend

If you ever wondered what I would like like in a hat made out of playing cards and covered with feathers that vexed everyone around me... now you know.
This is also apparently how I would look as a vampire.
Thanks a lot, flash.

Last Saturday, I went to a marvelous steampunk event called S.T.E.A.M.Fest held by The Artifice Club, an Atlanta alternative history society of which I am a proud member. You can even see my little badge, that grayish smear under my neck. They actually let me in a club!
It was my first event as an official, real, "look-I-can-hand-you-a-book" author.
And it was AMAZING.
I met so many wonderful people, saw so many beautiful and mind-blowing costumes, gazed longingly at so many shiny things, and finally let myself buy a handmade leather belt bag from Aegis Steamcraft so I never have to worry about a purse again when con-ing.
Is it called con-ing? Con-going? Fangirling? Corseteering?
Whatever. I need both hands to gesticulate madly and hugattack people.
I attended a steampunk roundtable, a panel on bustling, a high tea, and a preview of the steampunk Tempest being put on by the North Fulton Drama Club. I had my first chocolate sea salt popsicle from the King of Pops. I saw hilarious improv comedy and watched an Englishman perform a German cabaret number that involved humping people's faces and leading us in a round of "It's Raining Men." I sat at a table with thirty other steampunkers and ate delicious pizza while our hats posed on the porch railing in a long line of feathers and velvet and goggles.
And I met a mime... that I didn't want to murder! Because he was cool!
All in all, it was one of the best times ever. And my dear friends looked amazing and drove me there and helped me carry books, because they are THE BEST:

All those corsets are from Damsel in this Dress, of course.
I also did my first panel, titled It Was a Dark and Steamy Night. The plan was to discuss writing a steampunk book, how to publish a steampunk book, and the general climate of steampunk literature, but as almost all the attendees were my friends and none of them really wanted to know those things, I winged it and discussed how writing romance scenes is like writing fight scenes and how mortified my grandmother would be if she'd known I wrote a book called Wicked as They Come.
(Note: I said the book name. It will now pop up on Google Alerts tomorrow, and I'll get all excited, and then realize it's just me. Baw.)
I also got to see The Gin Rebellion, a marvelous group I met in the green room at AnachroCon. They are such delightful creatures, and some of the best dressed people around.

Look at those pants! That waistcoat! The skirt! The gaiters! And there was even an accordion, and you know how I love those. Almost as much as bagpipes.
I simply can't say enough wonderful things about S.T.E.A.M.Fest!
I had never been to a con before this year, and I am quickly learning that con people are awesome people, and steampunk people are awesome people, and having an excuse to wear fun costumes is awesome, and just plain YAY.
If you'd like to experience the steampunk world yourself, we're having a Grand Steampunk Exposition of entertainment, art, vendors, and cupcakes at Barrington Hall in Roswell, GA on Saturday, April 28. Many of the S.T.E.A.M.Fest folks will be having an encore.
I shan't miss it.
But I'm going to need another costume...

*

let's bargain, luv.

Look, luv. We've both got needs.
You want more Criminy Stain, and I want more *you*.

So I propose a deal.
You tell *ONE NEW PERSON* about Wicked as They Come, and I'll send you a signed bookplate and a matching "signed by the author" sticker.
That's it.
Just one person. Talk one person into buying a copy.
After all, if we hit some lovely bestseller list, Delilah can probably talk her editors into some racy little e-novellas about me, instead of making you wait months to read about Mr. Murdoch and nearly a year to roll your eyes at that ridiculous harpsichordist, Casper.
Tell one person. Get them to by the book. Then email me and tell me about it at CriminyStain{at}gmail{dot}com. I'll need your name and address, too. Then I'll send you a signed bookplate, a 'signed by the author' sticker, and a card. I'll even seal it with wax, just for you.
Simple.
So what do you say, pet? Shall we seal it with a kiss?
*
Delilah here. Don't look at me. I can't control him.
I've never been able to.
But I will make sure the bookplates go out.
*

on prom dresses and cheese-its: two tales of REVENGE

Why am I barely contained by this random prom dress?
It's because of what happened to me yesterday morning while thrifting for Steampunk Queen of Hearts costume pieces. Here's the conversation as I recorded it on Facebook:
cashier at Goodwill: Is this for you? (holds up red prom dress)

me: Yep.

cashier: You... know it's a Juniors 5, right?

me: Yep.

cashier: *stares me up and down*

me: I'm deconstructing it, but thanks for the snark.

cashier: I don't know what that means.

me: *stares*
*
And people seemed to find that very annoying/hilarious. So I put on the dress for revenge!
Of course, my main revenge was on safety pins, as I busted two and will never actually show up to Goodwill to pull a Pretty Woman on said cashier, as suggested by my friends, because the dress would probably pop off at a very inopportune time, because my ribcage is freaking huge.
*
In any case, yesterday was a great day for thrifting and conversations.
For example, here's what happened at Barnes & Noble:
me: Can I sign these?
B&N guy: Huh?
me: I'm the author, and your manager said I could stop by anytime to sign stock. But wouldn't it be hilarious if I was totally making it up?
B&N guy: Wait, what?
me: Too late! You can't erase Sharpie!
B&N guy: You're... joking, right?
me: LIKE A HEART ATTACK.
*
And lastly, here's a conversation that happened between t.rex and me:
t.rex: HERE'S DIS CROSS I MADE AT SCHOOL. DEY KILT CHEESE-ITS WIT IT.
me: You mean Jesus?
t.rex: YEAH I MEAN CHEESE-ITS.
me: Tell me more.
t.rex: DEY HIT HIM WIT DIS CROSS AND HE DIED.
me: That's not actually true. They nailed his hands and feet to it, and he died.
t.rex: AND DEN DEY CUT OFF HIS ARMS AND ONE UB HIS LEGS.
me: That didn't happen.
t.rex: AND DEN HE GOT A CANE AND HIT DEM AND KILLED DEM.
me: Pretty sure Jesus never killed anyone. He's... kind of into the opposite of that.
t.rex: NO HE DID. HE GREWED BACK HIS ARMS AND LEGS AND GOT CANNONS FOR HANDS AND KILT EBERYBODY.
me: Are you confusing Jesus with Iron Man?
t.rex: UH. MAYBE.
me: Jesus died on the cross. Iron Man has hand cannons and beats people.
t.rex: DEY SAID AT MY SCHOOL DAT CHEESE-ITS CAME BACK TO LIFE.
me: That's what they say.
t.rex: AND I TOLD DEM ABOUT HIS HAND CANNONS.
me: I bet that was magical.
t.rex: YEAH, IT WAS PRETTY GOOD.
*