Robin McKinley's Blog, page 178

Must Read Proofs

 

MUST.  READ.  PROOFS.*

 So let's have a few hellhound photos and maybe a dog joke** and then I am going to READ MORE PROOFS and then I am going to go to bed.***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some day I am going to get a photo of Darkness doing his sudden downshift sprint and nailing Chaos but I haven't done it yet.  Anybody who doesn't have running dogs themselves has no idea how impossible these guys are to photograph.  They're a mile away before you've pressed the button and that's even if you've got the camera...

Bleeeeerg etc

 

It has not been a good week, barring skylarks.  You heard about Monday on Monday.  Computer Men said they would return yesterday, bearing Peter's computer and my printer, but they have decided they are coming tomorrow.  They will, I hope, be able to return me to printability* here at the mews, but I have a Friday more Fridayish even than usual tomorrow, and so I will not be available to enable them to dedragon** the cottage desktop of its various little ways, like denying exit from the...

Guest postless Wednesday

 

Since I haven't got a guest post for today . . . let's have another story snippet, because my brain is presently consumed by all things pegasus, and is not going to produce a blog entry, at least not without bloodshed and major whining.  Which is also to say that I'm behind on my proof-reading and have spent the evening trying to catch up.  Arrrgh.

            So, this was the last one, and it's got the list of the previous snippets as well: 

Skylarks

 

 The Skylark

by John Clare

 

The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside

The battered road;  and spreading far and wide

Above the russet clods, the corn is seen

Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,

Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,

Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.

Opening their golden caskets to the sun,

The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,

To see who shall be first to pluck the prize—

Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies,

And o'er her half-formed nest, with h...

Another day like today

 

I can so do without days like today and furthermore I have frelling proofs to read.  It started with getting out of bed later than I wanted to, but this happens a lot when the ME is using me as the birdie in a game of killer badminton, so it's a kind of groan-where-are-my-glasses-groan-clothing-groan-greet-hellhounds-EEEEK*.  I'm usually a lot more awake after the greeting-hellhounds ritual.**

            So this morning I was in the middle period where I've got some clothes on and the...

Lullaby from Pegasus

 

Yes.  It worked.  Finally.  And no computers were killed.  (So far as I know.  Check with Blogmom to be sure.)  Although this one is behaving a little strangely. . . .

And yes, Finale and I still have a few little wrinkles to iron out, but THIS HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH FOR NOW and I'll try to get (for example) the ties sorted by, say, next Friday (or possibly Sunday) when, I hope, I'll have part two to post as well.

Click to view/download PDF.

Lullaby_from_Pegasus

Guest post by Wuffielover

The Frog Factory, or, Even Rabbits Don't Breed Like This!

Keeping tiny, adorable frogs in nicely planted and landscaped vivariums is all very well, but one day, you'll feel the urge to do something more. To make MORE tiny, adorable frogs. Or you might not, and what happened to me might happen to you, namely, you get some dart frogs and they start making babies no matter what YOU might have to say about it. Although, I confess, what I had to say was, "Oooo, EGGS! YAY!"

The best thing about...

In Which Our Heroine* Is Hysterical**

 

Computers are evil.  Computers are death.  Computers are bane and abomination.  I HATE COMPUTERS.  HATE.  HATE.  HATE.

            You may possibly remember that last Friday I had semi-promised you the first part of the lullaby from PEGASUS this Friday—?

            The day began badly.  I was just strapping hellhounds in to the rocket launcher when the phone rang, and it was Peter saying, in a commendably calm tone, that if I get any emails from UPS, not to open them.  Peter actually uses

Grand Matriarch

 

You all think I'm just plain Robin McKinley, middle-aged, mild-mannered* blogster, hurtler of hellhounds, ringer of bells, plonker of piano and tormentor of songs**, wrestler of roses*** and slave of chocolate, black tea and champagne.  Oh yes and I write stories for money.

            But I'm not these mere and simple† things.  I'm a Grand Matriarch of Fantasy.††  I know this because Putnams' marketing plan says so.  Snork.

            I'm still being used as a football by the ME, sod its...

Guest blog by Ajlr

Learning to play the piano when one is over 50 (2 of 2)

 

As the weeks and months of our music lessons went on and Ben took us patiently through the early stages of learning to read music, translating the notes from the brain to the hands, remembering what keys were what on the piano, understanding just how to use the keys and move the fingers around on the keyboard, I began to wonder if this would ever be something I could do to my own satisfaction. I've always found learning comes reasonably ...