Robin McKinley's Blog, page 189

Girls Who Do Things

Obviously this is a part of the previous/following post.  But the more times I enter the wondermark drawing*, the better my chance to win. 

So as someone who has built her entire career on writing stories about Girls Who Get Off Their Behinds, Stop Wringing Their Slender Hands, Get Out of that Skirt and Do Stuff, clearly this is the wondermark that must sit at my elbow**, and it was very thoughtful of a friend of mine to give me a signed copy of this particular strip for my birthday:

A Shameless Attempt at a Free Book

 

http://wondermark.com/thanksgiving-project/ 

Life has been a little complex lately* or I'd have had a hack at it sooner.  Do we all know and revere David Malki?  We do?  Then please note, all you bloggers and librarians, that you still have one more day to get your entries in.** 

I think this is the strip that 4,236,002 people sent me the link to to get me started, I having confessed I did not know David Malki and the wonder that is wondermark: 

http://wondermark.com/442/  *** 

And this one is a...

Guest post by Maren

Joan of Arc

 

I'm a natural skeptic, and a folklorist. Those are the only explanations I can offer as to why for most of my life I assumed that the stories we all know of Joan of Arc must be mythical and/or improvable. An illiterate teenaged shepherdess was suddenly inspired to chop off her hair, travel through occupied territory, convince the Dauphin to let her lead his army, and end a five-month siege where veteran commanders had failed? In 1429? Riiiiiight. It sounds, I dare say, rather...

Blazing NHS

 

Peter and I had a blazing* row this morning.

            About the NHS.

            Other couples fight about sex, money, in laws, who left the cap off the toothpaste tube, and who does the dishes.**  We fight about the National Health Service.***  Right.  Um.

            Peter had told me while he was still in hospital that I was welcome to blog about it, and he mentioned it again as we were fighting our way out of Zhar and Lloigor's tentacles† . . . I mean the car park.  Just don't abuse the ...

Thanksgiving

 

I brought Peter home from hospital today.  We're having scrambled eggs for supper.  Well, the eggs are duck eggs, so it's not just any old scrambled eggs.  And sausages.*  And kale with garlic and soy.  This last is compliments of Alastair, who is here to help wrestle Peter into submission.  Peter is not one of your amenable, mild-mannered, let-other-people-cope patients.  When I first brought him home this afternoon he was sitting down having a cup of (tepid**) tea and instructing me how...

Guest blog by B-Twin

GEMMA

During my childhood our family never had a dog. We had finches and guinea pigs^.

Upon finishing High School I headed off to Agricultural College and home became a relative's farm. College kept me busy for several years before I started my job as Alpaca Stud Farm Manager.

I've always loved dogs. The farm dogs were great – and they responded well to me – but they weren't mine. So once I had a job I decided that a dog was next on the list. The list of breeds to choose from of course is...

Rain and Song

 

It's raining.  Get used to it, McKinley, it's clearly the wave of the future.*  It took me over forty-five minutes to get home from my voice lesson today**, a journey that usually takes fifteen, thanks to—mostly—the weather.  It was also what passes for rush hour gridlock in a small southern city and as I groped my way hand over hand to Wolfgang from Blondel's front door and the wind gave me friction burns, I had thought about going home the back way, but the problem with little kinky...

Lo-text hi-cal Monday

 

I got up this morning possibly a little later than I meant to*.  The fact that once or twice I opened my eyes long enough to look out the window which was a solid grey blur** was not encouraging and with a pillow over my head I don't have to hear the rain.  Finally had to get out of bed because I started thinking which is fatal to sleep.

            It was still raining.

            I washed all the dishes.***

            It was still raining.

            I swept the floor.

            It was...

Shattered again

 

I spent yesterday going to a birthday party in Gloucestershire.  No, really.  Peter's next-younger brother's 80th birthday party.  Long-term readers will remember Peter's 80th birthday party two years ago next month*—chiefly memorable to me, unfortunately, because Chaos was scarily ill and I almost didn't make it to the party at all.**

            I thought I wasn't going to make it to this one.  PEGASUS has rendered most of my life null and void the last few months*** and from past...

Guest post by Annagail

Easy Ways to Make Your Head Explode– or, Thoughts on Common Pitfalls of Learning to Sing 

Singers hear the occasional comment about how voice lessons seem very touchy-feely compared to the average music lesson. A violin teacher may say, "Use more vibrato from your wrist!" and even if an observing student has no idea what vibrato is, at least one's wrist is pretty well identifiable. But in a voice lesson, one is much more apt to hear something like "Feel your inner yawn." In layman's terms...