Kiri Callaghan's Blog, page 15

The “Fuck It” Principle

There’s something to be said for hesitation. I mean, it exists for a reason. It makes us stop and think about possible consequences of our actions. Hesitation has helped us survive. It’s what stops us from touching the hot plate with that delicious sizzling food so we don’t burn ourselves. It’s often what seperates us from the other animals around us–that consideration, that forethought, that what we do will inevitably set a series of events into motion. So I do no, by any means, want to insult the concept of ‘hesitating’ or ‘thinking before you leap’.

I just think we’ve become addicted to it.

What started as a survival tactic has somehow turned into something that cripples us. We hesitate too long, we conjure up far too many consequences–some even so extreme the likliness of it even happening is ridiculously slim but still so terrifying that it paralyzes us. We find ourselves completely frozen in that ‘pre-jump’ moment.

So I’d like to propose The “Fuck It” Principle.

It’s a simple enough concept, and it’s done well enough by me that I feel obligated to share it.

The “Fuck It” Principle doesn’t throw hesitation or forethought out the window, in fact, for me, it’s actually an essential part of it. It consists of essentially being presented with a choice that you know could have some relatively impactful (emotionally or actual) consequences, evaluating your hesitation and then going for it. And I truly mean ‘evaluating’ your hesitation. Is this something you really want? So what’s actually stopping you? What’s causing that hesitation? More than half the time you’ll realize it’s a fear of failure.

So it comes down to simply… is the chance that you’ll succeed or that you’ll be happier doing something than not, more important than your hesitation?

There’s a great quote in Macbeth–which is terrible to reference, I guess because they were talking about killing the King… but let’s forget it’s in reference to regicide, shall we? Mackers starts to say, “If we fail–” and he’s cut off by Lady M who simply says “We fail.” That’s it. If it happens, it happens.

You want to talk to that hottie at the bar but are worried you’ll be shot down? You can either fret and hesitate and feel that lump of fear grow in you or you can take a breath, mutter, “Fuck it” and just go for it.

For me, what started it was dealing with my student loans. Staring this big financial monster in the face gave me an honestly crippling fear–to the point where I thought I could get away with working two full time jobs with no time for art/theater/writing and still be sane. This is a joke. I would have crumpled into a heap of tears (and did!) and sleep deprivation. So I weighed all my options, I accepted the things I couldn’t change and I simply said, “Fuck it, I can’t give up acting.”

Because of that, I’m now performing in a show I wrote. That alone has made me infinitely happier than being able to shoulder that student loan payment on my own.

It’s definitely something that requires risks and it’s definitely something that can end disasterously… but I think… I think I’d rather make big mistakes and have a story to tell than play it safe all the time. You may be able to prevent something bad from happening to you if you let those hesitations hold you in place, but you know what? Even more likely, you’ll prevent something amazing from happening.

I want little bracelets, instead of ‘WWJD’, they will simply say “FI” or “F**K IT” (Because kids could be looking at it and you should be considerate, damn it)  and every time you start to feel like you’re getting too much in your head, you’ll look down and go, “Oh yeah, I’m awesome.”

The Sphinx Project with Katherine Hawkings

So, essentially, I’m a total dick for not getting this out sooner. At first Katherine and I kept missing each other, and then life blew up and her interview was buried under a ton of emails.

So I’m hoping she can forgive the lateness here.

Katherine or Kate Hawkings is a sassy and quick-witted New Zealander fugitive making her way in the world of fiction. Certainly making her enterance with a ‘bang’, Hawking’s debut novel The Sphinx Project is a tale of action, sisterhood, adventure… oh, and the end of the world.

Our proganist ‘Michaela’ is much like any other teenage girl. She has dreams about boys, a guilty pleasure for ice cream and that stubborn insistence to run her own life the way she sees fit. Except unlike any other teenage girl, it isn’t parental rule that keeps her from those things–it’s being locked in a lab with her sister and friends. Being a test subject and a weapon is the only life Michaela has really ever known but when a devastating earthquake renders an opening to escape, all of that is about to change.

Except they aren’t the only test subjects to escape…

Kiri Callaghan: Have you always wanted to write a book?

Katherine Hawkins: In my earlier years I never really thought about it. One of my best friends, Joanne, was supposed to be the author. My future career changed every week. I did enjoy writing and making things up, but it wasn’t until much later that I realized you didn’t have to be a member of some secret society to actually write a book.

KC: What outside influences contributed to The Sphinx Project?

KH: The things that influenced me most in the early days were definitely the news articles. There has been a lot of talk over the years about the ethics involved in the use of chimaeras in science. At the time the debates were primarily related to legislation dictating the rules for their creation and destruction.

KC: Did you find yourself having to delve deep into any kind of research?

KH: No, not really. There were bits and pieces that I wanted to make sure I got right, but the cause of the heaviest research was never included in the final story.

KC: Did you have any prior interest in the Mayan mythologies or was it the 2012 hype that sort of sparked the idea?

KH: I’ve always loved mythology. When I was younger I had two children’s encyclopaedias that I read over and over again. One was about the history of the British monarchy, and the other was a huge round-up of mythology from around the world. I’ve always preferred Greek and Roman mythology, but I’ll take anything, really. The fact that there’s been quite a bit of hype about it recently definitely brought the idea to the forefront of my mind though.

KC: Who would you say is your target audience?

KH: Now that’s a tough one. It is a young adult book, but I’d like to think people of all ages would enjoy it. The thing with young adult books is they’re quite fast paced, to keep the readers interested. But you find a lot of adults like this quality in their reading too. If you were to look at the insights for my Facebook page you’d see that only a small fraction of the people who like it are actually in the ‘young adult’ age range.

KC: The book seems to have a very cinematic feel to it. Did you ever attribute cinematic qualities to it during your writing process? (Casting ideas, soundtracks, etc etc)

KH: I did look at pictures of actors when I was writing, but it was simply to inspire description. I find it easier to talk about something I can see in front of me. I also keep calendars with striking landscapes to help me set scenes. As for the soundtrack, I did listen to music as I wrote, but I never actually thought of a soundtrack.

KC: Without divulging any spoilers, what would be your favorite part of this process?

KH: Probably the first draft writing. It’s a time where I can cut loose and just type whatever daft ideas flow out of my brain without actually worrying about whether it makes sense or not.

KC: Something you encountered during the process that you weren’t expecting?

KH: The sheer amount of time it took to do things. The actual writing of the book only took a fraction of the time. It was the editing and revising that took the majority of the work.

KC: Any mishaps you encountered along the way?

KH: Hmmm… I’m sure there was, but off the top of my head I can’t pick one out… There was the whole ‘GAHHH!!!! I JUST DELETED 10,000 WORDS OF MY MANUSCRIPT’ panic in the early stages, but I think it actually helped make the story stronger when I rewrote it… well… I like to think it did… sob

KC: Any great strikes of luck?

KH: I had originally planned on having someone else edit the book, but came across Rhonda quite by accident. Without her I don’t think The Sphinx Project would have ended up anywhere near as good.

KC: Have you always wanted to self-publish?

KH: No. Self-publishing was a decision I came to after a lot of thought and debate. It was a really difficult choice to make, and even now I wonder if I chose right.

KC: Your advice to others who may want to self-publish:

KH: Research all your options. I don’t care who you are, there’s more you need to learn. And send out some queries. I regret not at least doing that. I’m proud of what I’ve done, but I’ll always wonder if the other path would have worked too.

 

You can find Katherine on Twitter, Facebook, her blog and Goodreads.

If you’re interested in buying The Sphinx Project, you can check it out on Amazon.com and Smashwords.com.

Is it Edible? – Soy Pudding

After the Cons

So conventions are finally done for a while…

Hi, how are you?

I'll be doing a few updates over the next few days so keep an eye open!

Gif by Hawk

So… I discovered while staying at Jess and Hawk's, you must be ridiculous only at your own risk… or something like this will happen:

Every little bit helps.

So looks like rough times ahead. I'm currently in the process of searching for a second job to keep the student loans at bay.

I'm sure it will work out, but in the event that anyone is feeling generous or what not, I'm making this Donation button available. It's kinda sad but it is what it is. Sometimes we get by on the mere kindness of strangers as it were.

I hope everyone is doing well. I'm looking forward to releasing new work in March.

“First” – Dragon Age Writing Challenge Submission

So some of you may know that I submitted an entry to the Dragon Age: Asunder Creative writing challenge. I don’t normally do writing contests or even write short stories, so this was kind of a big deal for me to just go ahead and take the plunge.

Now, I didn’t win and as cool as it would have been to pick David Gaider’s brain, I am still pretty excited about the whole process. (To be honest, I didn’t expect to even be a finalist as I reaaaally skirted the continuity line. It definitely isn’t something that’s mentioned but I like to think it’s something that could have happened in a character’s past. But I digress)

I accomplished two things that I’ve avoided as a writer. Yay, personal growth. Also, now that the contest is over, I can share it with all of you.

“First”

Maker only knew what hour it was. Dark. Is that a suitable time frame? It was too late for the drunks to be still stumbling out of taverns but too early for shop keeps to be setting up their stalls in the market. We’d all been stirred out of the barracks and ushered into the Chantry hall. No one really explained why. Knight-Captain Tavish had mentioned something about depending on the night’s outcome, they would need as many templars as possible. Whatever that meant.

Considering the Grand Cleric herself was present, it likely wasn’t a party…

The chantry doors lurched open; the sound echoed down the chamber, drawing all eyes and leaving silence in its wake. Half a unit of men flanked the accused as she stumbled inside.

She was a wild looking thing–almost fade-born in appearance; they’d have little issue painting her to the public as a monster if it came to that. Deep red locks tangled about a pale face, obscuring the difference between blood and hair. Chains clasped around her wrists and neck, leaving the skin raw and causing her to hunch over herself like a wounded animal under their weight. Yet, despite the elf’s restraints, the gag about her mouth and the faint limp in her walk, her presence spread a fear that was almost palpable in the chantry hall. Malificar. The word sat bitter and unspoken on every tongue.

Despite our position, safely huddled at the back of the crowd,  there wasn’t a single novice who didn’t look visibly uncomfortable; shifting from foot to foot or stealing glances from each other and passing forced smiles.

The templars themselves were a different matter. Their eyes were hard, lips deep-set in sneers, and a few hands even subconsciously rested on the hilt of their blades. It was comforting, really, to see that there wasn’t any bias mucking up the judgement of the court.

She was brought before the dais at the back of the hall to meet her judges: Grand Cleric Adeline, Knight-Commander Carrick of Denerim’s Chantry and First Enchanter Irving whose presence seemed only tolerated because it had been requested explicitly by Knight-Commander Greagoir.

“Aredyn Evani,” Carrick addressed her. He was a pious old bugger that even made Irving seem to have a youthful complexion. “You have been accused of fleeing The Circle, aiding in the escape of at least five other apprentices and conspiracy to destroy the phylactery vault in Denerim. These crimes are no less than treason, punishable by death.” He glanced side-long at Adeline. “However, Her Grace has reminded me that atonement may be found if a soul is truly willing to repent.”

Irving clarified the Knight-Commander’s words.  “My child, the Chantry has agreed to lighten your sentence in exchange for information about the location of your fellow conspirators.”

“Choose your defense carefully, Evani,” Adeline warned as one of the templars removed the binding around the elf’s mouth. “These words may be your last.”

Aredyn took a few moments–though whether she was mulling their words over or merely trying to regain feeling back in her lips, I couldn’t tell.  “First.” There was a fondness in her voice that treated the word like something precious; a low and musical sound that resonated throughout the entire hall. “That’s what they would have called me had I been born outside of city walls. I would have been the First.  I would have had a place. A Family. Respect. I would belong had I been born among the Dalish.”

I tried to lean over to Eryhn and ask what exactly a ‘First’ was but she jabbed my ribs with her elbow to shush me. Turns out if you do this in armor, it makes a loud clank that alerts the Knight-Captain standing a few feet away which awards both parties quite a glare.

Ha ha. Serves her right.

Eryhn shot me a look but I tried to look too interested in the trial to notice.

“But I wasn’t born that lucky, Your Grace. Instead, I was born in an Alienage. I was born in a slum where I was confined even before my gifts showed themselves and thus this is my birthright.” Aredyn lifted the chains around her wrists as if presenting them as evidence to the court.

“And had you been born among the Qunari, you would be fitted with blinders, shackled in chains at all times and have your lips stitched closed,” Adeline bristled with indignance.

“And how different of a life would that really be?” Aredyn countered with a boldness that would be considered sacrilegious in Her Grace’s presence. “In their tongue a mage is saarebas; Dangerous thing. Since before I was even old enough to understand why, I was called nothing less. Too well have I learned that it does not take a thread or chains to bind a people’s hands and mouth.”

“The Maker commands that Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” The whole room seemed to murmur the commandment along with the Grand Cleric. Creepy.

“We want control of our lives, not the world.”

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against His children.”

“Anyone is capable of corruption and the abuse of power–” Aredyn tried to speak over them but I had the sense very few were listening.

“They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.–”

“All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands!”

The room went suddenly quiet but I wasn’t sure if it was the volume of Aredyn’s voice that silenced them or if they were merely too shocked to hear a malificar speak the Canticle of Transfigurations.

“From the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.”

Her knowledge of the Chant of light was… impressive. Even growing up in the chantry, I certainly hadn’t memorized the blasted thing. Course… I did sleep through half of my lessons…

“In the past few days alone I have been beaten, chained, starved and gagged. Tell me, what provocation did I give you for that?”

Carrick attempted to speak up, “Had you not been discovered, you and your fellows would have destroyed the phylactery–”

“I attempted no more than any templar in your ranks,” Aredyn countered cooly.

“What?” Carrick’s face was turning red.

“Phlylacteries are a form of blood magic, are they not? Tell me, is it still hypocrisy if the Chantry sanctions it?”

“Aredyn,” Irving warned.

Carrick looked almost purple now.  “We are the Maker’s hand. His will dictates our actions.”

“I will not obey a god who first makes me what I am and then punishes me for it.”

Irving looked away. She had made her choice. As merely an apostate, there was hope. As both an apostate and heretic–she had sealed her fate.

“Who are the others?” Carrick seethed.

“What others?” Impish but defiant.

“The other conspirators. Their names.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I have multiple reports that you were seen meeting with a group of six or seven other individuals in Denerim, most of whom were also identified the night of the attempt on the vault.”

“If you’re so certain there were others, Knight-Commander, I suggest you track them down like any other mage.”

“Had they been mages and not mere sympathizers, we might have already done it and not required this trial in the first place!” It was as if Aredyn was standing at the foot of an Arch-demon without blinking an eye.

Adeline placed a hand on Carrick’s arm and for a moment his rising temper subsided.

It wasn’t going to last. You could practically see his blood boiling beneath his skin. Still, he attempted a calm tone of voice that strained towards a civil tongue. “The lives of your fellow conspirators are forfeit for their crime. Should you cooperate with this investigation, yours can still be spared.”

“Those who bear false witness, and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies.” Aredyn recited the chant as if she were reminding a child about the consequences of dishonesty. “The Maker may be a little murky about magic but his stance on lying seems pretty clear.”

For the first time, I really enjoyed scripture.

Carrick seemed less pleased by the verse. He looked to Grand Cleric Adeline like a mabari impatiently waiting for the command to attack.

Adeline stepped forward a little, steepling her fingertips in thought. “And this is all you have to offer?”

“I will never be the First, Your Grace.” Aredyn looked to Irving and offered a sad, apologetic sort of smile. Something passed between the First Enchanter and his former apprentice. Forgiveness, maybe? “But I am no longer content to be the last.”

Adeline pursed her lips and merely inclined her head towards the Knight-Commander.

“Remove her,” Carrick barked, true to form.

Strange, watching them drag her out, I felt… shaken. I wasn’t sure I agreed with her, but my better judgement–that part I admittedly tended to ignore–couldn’t deny the sense in her words. Even if it was a little blasphemous. Well, a lot blasphemous, actually. Little surprised they hadn’t run her through on the spot with the way she’d been talking but then again, I imagine that kind of thing is frowned upon in the presence of the Grand Cleric… Also inside the Chantry. Killing apostates inside the chantry is bad.  Probably.

“You don’t actually feel sorry for a malificar, do you?” Erhyn asked suspiciously, finally deeming me worthy of speech.

“No one said she was a malificar,” I commented evasively. “I even overheard Knight-Captain Tavish admit no one actually saw her do blood magic.”

“Does it matter?”

I wanted to joke. Something that would erase the the last ten minutes but as I looked back towards the doors, an uncomfortable tightness starting to grip at my stomach. There was nothing funny about what I’d just seen. “No… I don’t suppose it does…”

Ehryn rolled her eyes. “Come along, Alistair. We have to get back to the barracks..”

I lagged behind her. I’d never really liked the idea of being a templar but I was good at it. There was solace in that–there wasn’t a lot in my life I could say that about but…

Was this really something I wanted to be good at?

"First" – Dragon Age Writing Challenge Submission

So some of you may know that I submitted an entry to the Dragon Age: Asunder Creative writing challenge. I don't normally do writing contests or even write short stories, so this was kind of a big deal for me to just go ahead and take the plunge.

Now, I didn't win and as cool as it would have been to pick David Gaider's brain, I am still pretty excited about the whole process. (To be honest, I didn't expect to even be a finalist as I reaaaally skirted the continuity line. It definitely isn't something that's mentioned but I like to think it's something that could have happened in a character's past. But I digress)

I accomplished two things that I've avoided as a writer. Yay, personal growth. Also, now that the contest is over, I can share it with all of you.

"First"

Maker only knew what hour it was. Dark. Is that a suitable time frame? It was too late for the drunks to be still stumbling out of taverns but too early for shop keeps to be setting up their stalls in the market. We'd all been stirred out of the barracks and ushered into the Chantry hall. No one really explained why. Knight-Captain Tavish had mentioned something about depending on the night's outcome, they would need as many templars as possible. Whatever that meant.

Considering the Grand Cleric herself was present, it likely wasn't a party…

The chantry doors lurched open; the sound echoed down the chamber, drawing all eyes and leaving silence in its wake. Half a unit of men flanked the accused as she stumbled inside.

She was a wild looking thing–almost fade-born in appearance; they'd have little issue painting her to the public as a monster if it came to that. Deep red locks tangled about a pale face, obscuring the difference between blood and hair. Chains clasped around her wrists and neck, leaving the skin raw and causing her to hunch over herself like a wounded animal under their weight. Yet, despite the elf's restraints, the gag about her mouth and the faint limp in her walk, her presence spread a fear that was almost palpable in the chantry hall. Malificar. The word sat bitter and unspoken on every tongue.

Despite our position, safely huddled at the back of the crowd,  there wasn't a single novice who didn't look visibly uncomfortable; shifting from foot to foot or stealing glances from each other and passing forced smiles.

The templars themselves were a different matter. Their eyes were hard, lips deep-set in sneers, and a few hands even subconsciously rested on the hilt of their blades. It was comforting, really, to see that there wasn't any bias mucking up the judgement of the court.

She was brought before the dais at the back of the hall to meet her judges: Grand Cleric Adeline, Knight-Commander Carrick of Denerim's Chantry and First Enchanter Irving whose presence seemed only tolerated because it had been requested explicitly by Knight-Commander Greagoir.

"Aredyn Evani," Carrick addressed her. He was a pious old bugger that even made Irving seem to have a youthful complexion. "You have been accused of fleeing The Circle, aiding in the escape of at least five other apprentices and conspiracy to destroy the phylactery vault in Denerim. These crimes are no less than treason, punishable by death." He glanced side-long at Adeline. "However, Her Grace has reminded me that atonement may be found if a soul is truly willing to repent."

Irving clarified the Knight-Commander's words.  "My child, the Chantry has agreed to lighten your sentence in exchange for information about the location of your fellow conspirators."

"Choose your defense carefully, Evani," Adeline warned as one of the templars removed the binding around the elf's mouth. "These words may be your last."

Aredyn took a few moments–though whether she was mulling their words over or merely trying to regain feeling back in her lips, I couldn't tell.  "First." There was a fondness in her voice that treated the word like something precious; a low and musical sound that resonated throughout the entire hall. "That's what they would have called me had I been born outside of city walls. I would have been the First.  I would have had a place. A Family. Respect. I would belong had I been born among the Dalish."

I tried to lean over to Eryhn and ask what exactly a 'First' was but she jabbed my ribs with her elbow to shush me. Turns out if you do this in armor, it makes a loud clank that alerts the Knight-Captain standing a few feet away which awards both parties quite a glare.

Ha ha. Serves her right.

Eryhn shot me a look but I tried to look too interested in the trial to notice.

"But I wasn't born that lucky, Your Grace. Instead, I was born in an Alienage. I was born in a slum where I was confined even before my gifts showed themselves and thus this is my birthright." Aredyn lifted the chains around her wrists as if presenting them as evidence to the court.

"And had you been born among the Qunari, you would be fitted with blinders, shackled in chains at all times and have your lips stitched closed," Adeline bristled with indignance.

"And how different of a life would that really be?" Aredyn countered with a boldness that would be considered sacrilegious in Her Grace's presence. "In their tongue a mage is saarebas; Dangerous thing. Since before I was even old enough to understand why, I was called nothing less. Too well have I learned that it does not take a thread or chains to bind a people's hands and mouth."

"The Maker commands that Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him." The whole room seemed to murmur the commandment along with the Grand Cleric. Creepy.

"We want control of our lives, not the world."

"Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against His children."

"Anyone is capable of corruption and the abuse of power–" Aredyn tried to speak over them but I had the sense very few were listening.

"They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.–"

"All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands!"

The room went suddenly quiet but I wasn't sure if it was the volume of Aredyn's voice that silenced them or if they were merely too shocked to hear a malificar speak the Canticle of Transfigurations.

"From the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker."

Her knowledge of the Chant of light was… impressive. Even growing up in the chantry, I certainly hadn't memorized the blasted thing. Course… I did sleep through half of my lessons…

"In the past few days alone I have been beaten, chained, starved and gagged. Tell me, what provocation did I give you for that?"

Carrick attempted to speak up, "Had you not been discovered, you and your fellows would have destroyed the phylactery–"

"I attempted no more than any templar in your ranks," Aredyn countered cooly.

"What?" Carrick's face was turning red.

"Phlylacteries are a form of blood magic, are they not? Tell me, is it still hypocrisy if the Chantry sanctions it?"

"Aredyn," Irving warned.

Carrick looked almost purple now.  "We are the Maker's hand. His will dictates our actions."

"I will not obey a god who first makes me what I am and then punishes me for it."

Irving looked away. She had made her choice. As merely an apostate, there was hope. As both an apostate and heretic–she had sealed her fate.

"Who are the others?" Carrick seethed.

"What others?" Impish but defiant.

"The other conspirators. Their names."

"Don't be silly."

"I have multiple reports that you were seen meeting with a group of six or seven other individuals in Denerim, most of whom were also identified the night of the attempt on the vault."

"If you're so certain there were others, Knight-Commander, I suggest you track them down like any other mage."

"Had they been mages and not mere sympathizers, we might have already done it and not required this trial in the first place!" It was as if Aredyn was standing at the foot of an Arch-demon without blinking an eye.

Adeline placed a hand on Carrick's arm and for a moment his rising temper subsided.

It wasn't going to last. You could practically see his blood boiling beneath his skin. Still, he attempted a calm tone of voice that strained towards a civil tongue. "The lives of your fellow conspirators are forfeit for their crime. Should you cooperate with this investigation, yours can still be spared."

"Those who bear false witness, and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies." Aredyn recited the chant as if she were reminding a child about the consequences of dishonesty. "The Maker may be a little murky about magic but his stance on lying seems pretty clear."

For the first time, I really enjoyed scripture.

Carrick seemed less pleased by the verse. He looked to Grand Cleric Adeline like a mabari impatiently waiting for the command to attack.

Adeline stepped forward a little, steepling her fingertips in thought. "And this is all you have to offer?"

"I will never be the First, Your Grace." Aredyn looked to Irving and offered a sad, apologetic sort of smile. Something passed between the First Enchanter and his former apprentice. Forgiveness, maybe? "But I am no longer content to be the last."

Adeline pursed her lips and merely inclined her head towards the Knight-Commander.

"Remove her," Carrick barked, true to form.

Strange, watching them drag her out, I felt… shaken. I wasn't sure I agreed with her, but my better judgement–that part I admittedly tended to ignore–couldn't deny the sense in her words. Even if it was a little blasphemous. Well, a lot blasphemous, actually. Little surprised they hadn't run her through on the spot with the way she'd been talking but then again, I imagine that kind of thing is frowned upon in the presence of the Grand Cleric… Also inside the Chantry. Killing apostates inside the chantry is bad.  Probably.

"You don't actually feel sorry for a malificar, do you?" Erhyn asked suspiciously, finally deeming me worthy of speech.

"No one said she was a malificar," I commented evasively. "I even overheard Knight-Captain Tavish admit no one actually saw her do blood magic."

"Does it matter?"

I wanted to joke. Something that would erase the the last ten minutes but as I looked back towards the doors, an uncomfortable tightness starting to grip at my stomach. There was nothing funny about what I'd just seen. "No… I don't suppose it does…"

Ehryn rolled her eyes. "Come along, Alistair. We have to get back to the barracks.."

I lagged behind her. I'd never really liked the idea of being a templar but I was good at it. There was solace in that–there wasn't a lot in my life I could say that about but…

Was this really something I wanted to be good at?

Inspirations – The Girl Anachronism

Or as it will undoubtedly later be known as "That list about why I fucking love Amanda Palmer".

1.

neil and i got engaged two years ago, on new year's day…the first day of 2010.

i had played at symphony hall with the boston pops the night before, and then there was a raucous and historic new year's celebration in the attic my house, the cloud club. i don't think we've ever had that many dancing drunk people on the top floor at the same time, with music quite as bombastic, and quite that many people making out…. the floor groaning under the weight of the joy. the next morning, i was hung. OVER.

way hungover.

neil loves telling this story, and i always get embarrassed when he tells it. usually it's hard to embarrass me. so i'll tell it and maybe it'll be less embarrassing forever.

according to neil – and i do remember this – i told him i'd marry him in bed the night before.

but he said: you're drunk. we'll discuss it in the morning.

he had a good point.

in the morning, i told him i still meant it.

but we agreed that it was quite possible i was still drunk.

also a good point.

so we went out to eat.

but a little background: he'd been asking me to marry him for months; it was a running joke at that point.

he had the habit of turning to me a few times a day and saying, very non-nonchalantly: will you marry me?

and i'd come up with different creative versions of

No.

at one point, i think i started saying

Maybe.

….maybe.

but we both think i'd probably really decided on

Yes.

well before i was drunk on new year's eve, while i was putting on my costume backstage at symphony hall in boston.

i was a bundle of pre-rachmaninoff nerves and twittering (the old school way. with my voice) to my friend becca, aka becca darling, aka the beecharmer blog-keeper, aka melissa mahony in the "oasis" video.

neil walked into the dressing room to grab something and i turned to becca and said:

"what do you think? do you think i should marry neil gaiman?"

becca, in classic deadpan becca style, nodded.

i said

"you're probably right."

and i think that's when neil and i knew we were going to get married.

the new year's concert itself was a hit, and a quick youtube search will show you the boston pops backing me on both rachmaninoff AND lady gaga tunes (a first, i believe, at symphony hall in one evening).

and the afterparty, as i said, was epic.

and there i was….hungover.

it was a cold, clear snow-on-the-ground new england winter day, and after peeling ourselves out of bed, we walked down the slushy street to have brunch with my father jack, his wife donna, and my half-brother alex. settling down at the lovely trident cafe on newbury street, i ordered a burrito and a giant smoothie which i promptly threw up in the bathroom.

on the walk home, i was that wonderfully unsteady, buzzy brand of post-hangover-puking, and i remember having to hang onto neil to keep from yakking again in the street.

and as romantic as it sounds….well, it actually was a bit romantic. i felt his caretaking love for me like a warm blanket around my shoulders. i have issues with feeling cared for. i'm always suspicious that there will be a creeping judgment slithering under the surface, a price to be exacted. but all i felt was this english guy walking next to me, with his arm around my shoulder, grinning a wild grin and turning to me occasionally saying "i love you so much." i felt really, deeply loved in a way i never had. and that feeling had been growing there, having taken root a long while before that. i didn't know whether to trust it or not.

and

i don't believe in marriage, i thought to myself.

what am i doing?

i also remember thinking: i may never find a person, a lover, who loves me this much without casting judgement on who i am, what i do.

(on a side note: neil says that one of the moments he realized that *I* really loved *him* was the time he was sick with the flu in a texas hotel room. he puked in the bathroom, and when he came back to bed i still made out with him. that's love, he said.)

we turned the corner into a little alley that leads from massachusetts avenue to my house. in a little clearing he got down on one knee, in the snow.

i said yes.

and he had no ring, so he drew a ring on my finger with a sharpie. and he kept refreshing it for the next few days.

-Amanda Fucking Palmer

2. She calls herself 'Amanda Fucking Palmer'.

3. She travels around playing a ukelele and does 'ninja performances'.

4. The Short Film "Statuesque"



5. She never seems to use capital letters.

6. She spent 6 years as a living statue.

7. "The Perfect Fit", "Coin Operated-Boy" and "Girl Anachronism" (To name a few)

8. Amazing taste in clothing and shoes.

9.

"it's funny: sometimes i forget that people are judging me. most of the time i'm so fucking high on my own ideas and impulses that i forget someone might disagree with a single one of them.

this is, i think, the only way to ever move forward.

this is, i think, the only way to make art.

not good art. not bad art….

ANY art."

10. For better or worse, I feel she is genuine.

You inspire me.

And more than anything.

You remind me–even in the dark–I am not alone.

Thank you.

Hello 2012

My New Years Resolution is simple, but simeltaneously simply just what I need. I am going to focus on what inspires me. Beautiful things. Ugly things. Things that make your mind numb because it falls into a tizzy just trying to wrap around them. Things that reach you by some means or other.

Things like this. This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Thank you, Ali Baker (@alibakes) for sharing this over twitter with the rest of the world.