Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 38

cough cough EXCERPT cough vlog cough

Featuring an excerpt from my book.
This would be my second time reading out loud from it.
Funny voices, hair tossing, and blushing feature prominently.
Also vampires, mermaids, and carnivals.
I will get over my fear of reading my work out loud. I will. You will be my victims.
Besides, Google Analytics says only 100 people check the blog every day, and most of you are probably people who saw me with short hair in middle school or in my gingham bathing suit in high school, so WHO CARES?
In any case, ENJOY.
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there will always be unruliness. BUT.

Attention! Achtung! Baby!
If you read this blog by going to www.unrulyhelpmeet.com, I have bad news.
I'm switching entirely over to www.delilahsdawson.com or www.delilahpaints.blogspot.com.
Still unruly, just not willing to pay $13 a year for the privilege.
More later.
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p.s. GUESS WHAT I HAVE?

I'm busy stuffing 4-leaf clovers in them just for you.
There are 3 giveaways for 5 books going on right this second.
One of them involves a gift card for corsets and tiny hats.
Find them HERE.
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Pinteresting...

So I've succumbed to THE PRETTY.
Since Tumblr keeps spoiling things for me, I've turned to Pinterest.
I have boards for each of the books I'm working on, not to mention a couple just to track things that catch my eye.
If you're on Pinterest, too, follow me. I'll follow you. We'll pin things.
Click on the board you like to see more,except the first one, because it's a stubborn critter and refuses to link.


Note: I don't own these images, in most cases, and have done my best to provide source material. If you see something that belongs to you or needs a source link, please let me know, and I'll take it down or provide credit.
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everybody hop on the airship brothel

Diving back into Blud book 2, Wicked as She Wants.
60k to go, 1.5 months to do it.
Let's rock this dirigible, shall we?
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Any suggestions for songs that suggest a steampunk airship brothel, cyborg bears, an enchanted snow forest, or a drunken pianist who strongly resembles Louis de Ponte du Lac?
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extra krispy

Sitting on the back porch, eating a hot Krispy Kreme donut, reading on my Nook.
It was a good day.
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win some pulp and sexy

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Goodreads Book Giveaway



























Wicked as They Come









by Delilah S. Dawson

Giveaway ends March 20, 2012.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win







I've got 3 up for grabs this time. Winners will be autographed, and, if you're a blog follower, Facebook friend, or Twitter follower, I'll scribble in some extra added bonus secrets.

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heartsickness for the smallest things

A long, long time ago, I bought a wax seal.
I was fifteen. I don't remember where I bought it, only that I liked the warmth of the cast brass and thought that it was something a writer should do. The crest was either a very angry lion or a very small-winged gryphon, but it was rampant and pretty and managed, somehow, to look both tame and wild. I bought wax, too, a sparkly deep red that looked like jellied blood. And because I had the stamp, because I wanted to use the stamp, I wrote letters.
I wrote I like you letters and I love you letters and I don't love you anymore letters. I wrote to friends far away and slipped folded notes under dorm rooms at college. One time, I wasn't paying enough attention, and I dropped a sizzling berry of wax on my forearm. I knew that touching it would only spread the pain, so I gritted my teeth and watched it harden and sizzle before plucking off the bead. I still have the scar.

Once I got married and the internet became a constant, I didn't write so many letters. I put up my writing desk and my picnic basket of correspondence. I kept track with email at first, then with Facebook and Twitter.
And now, here we are. Today, I thought of my wax seal for the first time in years.
I needed it.
And I spent three hours looking for it and couldn't find it.
For nearly twenty years, it lived in a calligraphy box in my writing desk.
It's not there.
It's not in the studio, in the attic, in the basement, under my bed, or hidden in the secret box of secret memories that is hidden. I've found pocket watches, ponytails, Lego sharks, shaman armadillos, deer skulls, peacock feathers, crystals, an absinthe bottle, stones from Greece, a map from the Tour de France, a stone hippopotamus, juggling balls, a tin full of hay-golden four-leave clovers, and my collection of bellydance music.

I dug through all the notes I used to write, some of them stained with plain candle wax when correspondents tried to return the favor. And there was a conspicuous emptiness, right where that box should have been.
And it's kind of amazing, that something I haven't thought about or seen in years could make me so heartsick. That suddenly realizing it was gone made me long for it. I know it's somewhere nearby, just out of reach. I feel incomplete now. And all the other things I found don't make up for it.
It's an interesting feeling. I'm almost charmed that an object has this power over me.
Sometimes I dream of a room with walls scrawled all over with poems and stories I never finished. I'm going to imagine my seal and ink there, too.
The only alternative is to go quietly mad with heartsickness for the smallest things.

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p.s. Why am I constantly blogging, updating Facebook, and Tweeting?
Because I'm not working on a book.
Don't worry. I'll shut up soon.
Promise.
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Henry Rollins touched a picture of my book, and I freaked.

See that tiny little picture in the upper left-hand corner? That's my book cover. And it's mere inches from Henry's hand and scowl.
I'm kind of freaking out.
Back in 1998 or so, I was dating this nice guy named Ken who was the singer for a hardcore band, and he took me to loads of shows and introduced me to bands such as Weezer and Sense Field, and I became a big fan of Henry Rollins. We even went and saw him speak at UGA, and it was one of the most intriguing, interesting, high-energy, thoughtful performances I've ever seen. It blew my mind.
And now, whether or not he knows it, one of my heroes has held an effigy of my book.
In between this, getting an email from Barry Moser, and sitting behind Andre Benjamin at Thumb's Up a few years ago, I'm liable to get all twitterpated and fall out of my chair.
Did I mention I found a four-leaf clover today?
That one must have been wicked potent.
<3
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the key

Given the gift of a few hours alone, what do I do?
I get a tattoo, buy some movies from a closing Blockbuster, and suck down a chocolate milkshake.
It was a wild night, but the story is a sweet one.


That's the basis for the tattoo. It's a pen and ink drawing by artist Barry Moser.
Back in 1995, I found a first edition hardcover copy of his Pennyroyal Alice, which is still my favorite version of Alice in Wonderland ever. It cost me $75, and it took 6 months for me to save up with layaway. Mr. Moser was signing a different book at the Oxford Bookstore in Atlanta that spring, and I was so excited to go and meet him. Oxford was like being in a treehouse filled with glittery sunshine, and I had never met a real author/illustrator before, and I thought that they were some sort of mystical animal. Like unicorns. I stood in line, clutching Alice to my chest.
And he noticed me.
Out of hundreds of people, he saw me huddling behind my prized possession, and he called me to the front of the line. Back then, I didn't know that it was polite to buy the book the author was there to sign; I just saw his name listed in the paper and showed up, all hopeful and puppy-dog eyed. And he was so kind to me, so friendly, and he signed and personalized my book, which you can see here.

I've known for a while that I wanted a key, but I couldn't find the right one. I've been hunting through Etsy and Ebay and antique stores, trying to find the key that fit and practicing drawing them on my wrist with Sharpies. Then last week, it occurred to me that I should check the bookshelves. I pulled out Alice, and there it was.
As it's my book launch month, and I'm a riot of emotions, I decided to email Mr. Moser and tell him how very much his kindness meant to me almost twenty years ago, and that I still treasure his work.
And he wrote me back.
Just as kind, just as friendly, just as warm and magical. It made my day, my month, my year. And there was no longer any question about which key was the right one.
So, going with a theme, I asked local author and seriously awesome guy James Tuck to make the key real. And he did.

Book girl gets book tattoo from book guy based on long ago, book-related kindness.
It's a WIN-WIN-WIN-WIN situation.
In conclusion:
1. Barry Moser is an amazing artist, a gentleman, and a super nice guy.
2. James Tuck is a fantastic author and a great tattoo artist, and if you're in the Atlanta area, you should definitely go to Family Tradition Tattoo in Marietta, where he and Kevin and Melissa will take great care of you. But no matter where you are, if you like gritty urban fantasy, check out his book, Blood and Bullets.
3. Thank you so, so, so much for helping me out, Mom!
4. Kindness carries out in ripples and is never forgotten.
As for what the key stands for... that'll be my secret.
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TBR

Submitted in lieu of words: my current to-be-read pile.
Well, one of them.
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Anybody else have something good just waiting to be read?
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