Aftermath, continued

 

Life is trying to slither back into its usual current.*  I had some out-of-schedule handbells yesterday which were unnecessarily exciting both because I haven't handbelled properly in a fortnight or so and because Niall and I were ringing with Titus, who is the one who rings both his bells in one hand because a stroke crippled his other side.  This is horribly confusing to us other ringers anyway, plus that for reasons of size and weight** Titus usually rings the treble and the two—and one of your crucial clues in handbells is when the frelling treble leads, and by the time you've figured out if that ding was the treble or the two it's too late.  Gah.  But it was fun in a kind of climbing-K2-without-ropes way.  And at today's voice lesson, because I am mindless twit, I'd forgotten the accompanist's copy of The Ash Grove and Nadia made me sing it without the piano.  With her sitting there looking at me and listening.   ARRRRGH.  Mostly at my voice lessons I'm so wound up with what Nadia says that I don't have time for thoughts of my own—which is a good thing—but in this case, before I went into free form meltdown I laser-beamed at myself a reminder that one of the great things about my brush with the Muddlehamptons*** has been finding out that I'm not actually that fussed about singing with other people around, and surely then I can frelling translate this to singing unaccompanied for my very own voice teacher who has never said a mean thing yet (and is very good at keeping a straight face†)?!?  She kept me busy enough that I nearly wasn't thinking about her just sitting there . . . and at the end she said, one of the things you came in here less than six months ago wanting to change was to make your singing less timid.  That is not a timid sound you're making. 

            I think that was meant to be a compliment. . . .

 * * *

Angelia wrote in response to my:  I suppose I could have a separate category of Invisible Costumes. . . .

 This is a scary idea–invisible costumes would mean lots of naked pictures!

Nonsense.  You're forgetting one of the basic rules of the competition—that this is a (more or less) family friendly blog and only costumes that would NOT get you arrested if you wore them on the street were acceptable.  Invisible costumes would either be worn over street clothes or draped tactfully over furniture.  Or compliant domestic fauna.  Or flora.  I'd quite like to see an aspidistra carrying a sword to go with the weightless invisible armour. 

EMoon 

You acquire Merit in all universes for not having ripped the throat from the "Sunshine sequel" questioner. And Ajlr has a crown of stars for coming up with the best way to intervene to save the situation.

Ajlr certainly has a crown of stars coming†† but . . . several of you have commented on the surprising lack of blood on the floor†††.  But I tend (reluctantly) to think that the rules are different for live gigs.‡  If you're going to write to me—including posting a comment to the forum and, because I'm a rabid cow, I would include if you're going to post to Facebook or Twitter too—then it FRELLING WELL BEHOVES YOU TO DO YOUR FRELLING HOMEWORK FIRST.  This means you have a cruise through the Q&A on my web site, and you do a search on the blog.  You could search 'SUNSHINE sequel' for example, and what you wanted to know would come up pretty quickly.  You're sitting at your computer anyway, I don't think you have much excuse.‡‡ 

            I think greater leeway may have to be allowed at live gigs.  Live gigs exist as little real-time and real-life windows to allow contact between an author and her readers—and also to sell books, although this is more the window-frame than the numbers on the balance sheet:  it's a rare author appearance that genuinely pays its way.  But your passport is still your wallet—witness that Forbidden Planet asked that you also buy a book if you wanted me to sign other books you'd bought elsewhere—and the fact that you've made the effort to be there.  That's your time and energy, you know?  And this counts, in great big letters of fire.  There is NOTHING WORSE than a live gig WHERE NO ONE COMES.  Don't ask me how [well] I know this.  And the time and energy someone uses to go to a gig is (usually) a lot more than the average punter needs to use sitting in front of their computer hitting the 'search' button.  So I don't think we can expect everyone who turns up at an author gig to have a clue.  The thing is they came. 

Vikki K

Oh goodness! I wish someone had told me my horns were crooked!  

I wish someone had told me the part in my hair was crooked.  Having said that, my hair parts itself.  Hannah has just been trying to tell me that I should part it farther over to one side or the other.  Yes, I daresay.  But it won't stay there.  My hair is just curly enough to be ungovernable.  If I part it farther over I would have to wet it down and brush it flat for weeks, it would still stand up like an incipient Mohawk and it would flop back the way it wanted the moment I stopped.

            I'm afraid I thought the crookedness of the horns was deliberate.  All part of the, uh, atmosphere.

HorsehairBraider 

I LOVE the sparkly tights and shoes. You know, I have this Elvis jacket that would really go well with those… and I don't think the shipping is TOO much from here to there… and I have a nice box it would fit in…

Wait a minute . . . Elvis?  I want the glitter jacket in the silly signing competition!

            I was doing laundry this morning and pulled the tights out of the laundry bag and threw them into the bathtub—I think they may be ex-tights anyway, they just don't make glitter like they used to—but I'm going to try handwashing them, and this will force me to remember.  But I'd already forgotten the tights were there when I got back to the cottage this afternoon and when I went hastily into the bathroom—a known bat vector—and saw the huddle of black tights in the middle of the tub, I had a brief but dramatic nervous collapse.  They could have been another assemblage of lost frightened baby bats—about eight of them.  Or twelve . . . aaaugh.  

EMoon 

. . . a male friend to whom I mentioned the (unspeakable) question emailed this: "Well, next time you correspond with Ms. McKinley you may tell her at least one fan adores her work and hasn't a single stupid question to ask… and if he did have a stupid question, he would be petrified to ask it, for fear of having karma bite his butt." 

My bark is much worse than my bite (usually).  On the other hand, if he has sensitive eardrums. . . .

* * *

* Slop.  Splash.

** Niall's handbells are little and light, but even so if you have weak hands or are trying to ring two in one hand, the difference between the front pair and the back end pair is considerable.

*** I had to miss the Muddlehamptons' concert at the last minute for reasons beyond my control, and we've now broken up till September.  But the start date is now in my diary and I should be able to defend Thursday evenings better with a run at it this time.  

† Keeping a Straight Face Whatever Your Student Does is a required course in Singing Teacher College. 

†† It's probably being sworn at by a celestial jeweller even as we speak.

††† I didn't want to embarrass the Nice Man.

‡ Which may help explain my lack of enthusiasm for live gigs.

‡‡ I don't get a lot of street mail any more.  I don't know what I think about the occasional handwritten letter that says, Where do you get your ideas?  And, You should/have to write a sequel to SUNSHINE!, beyond arrrrrgh.  But the 'do your homework' reflex engages as soon as anyone (a) sends me a self addressed stamped envelope with an American stamp on it (b) writes/emails Hi!  I'm a teacher/librarian/random grownup at x school in Maine/New England, will you please come to our school since travel expenses will be CHEAP?

            And on the subject of unreasonable expectations:  I do not donate books to unknown and fortuitous charity auctions.  Bottom line?  I can't afford it.  There's the book itself, the postage, the packing, and the time all of this takes—several dozen times a year.  Or would, except I don't.  I've said this a number of times on a number of occasions and in a number of places—including here and the web site.  The requests keep rolling in.  And most of them are so obviously written by the yard—Your Name Here at the top of the standard begging letter.  I daresay organising a charity auction is difficult and frustrating—but possibly one of the reasons it's difficult and frustrating is because whoever is running it hasn't thought through how they're going to acquire the stuff to auction.  Maybe I'm the only author on the planet who deletes robot solicitations on sight.  But I kind of doubt it.