And speaking of novels involving ferrets, my dad sent me this Robert Bateman jpg yesterday:
At the NaNo wrap party I realised that thanks to my NaNo research, I knew more about ferrets than my writer-type colleagues. There was something vaguely embarrassing about the discovery.
Twelve days after The End of November, I awoke with a strange desire to read Balsamic Moon. So I’m about to do a quick spell-check, go out to pick up a new ink cartridge, then print out a draft.
Before I do, however, I must put a CD on. CBC Radio Two was originally playing some kick-ass Mozart. Now they’re playing sappy choir carols. I’m so not in the mood for this today.
I was just Googling for a display case, and I found an eBay store that specialises in them. Terrific! I called their listing up, and one of the first things I read as the text appears is Bat Display Case: Holds 6 Bats.
Maybe it’s the witch in me, but I immediately envisioned a display case with six bats hanging upside down inside it, blinking through the glass.
Then, of course, the image finally loaded, and with vague disappointment I saw six baseball bats lying horizontally on a rack.
It just seems so… prosaic. I liked my idea of a bat display case better.
Ah, yes, working in the book world is so taxing, you know. Rubbing shoulders with the talented and famous… it’s a task that someone must perform, and I have nobly dedicated myself to the path. For example, here is a shot of me hanging out with Dave Duncan.
Yes, that Dave Duncan.
To see more, you can go check out the Nebula/Melange Magique Con*Cept’03 photo gallery.
I have a public who requests updates. I am touched.
A big thank-you to all who came out to support my husband’s studio launch on the weekend. All five members of Studio Elements were touched (and decidedly overwhelmed) by the response and enthusiasm displayed by the attendees. I think everyone sold a piece of artwork, too, which was unexpected; it was a party, not a show, after all. You just can’t hold back popular demand, however, or deny good art.
We also had the Montreal NaNo wrap party, where we discovered that many of us had story elements in common (apart from the psychic ferrets, I mean). We also played t!’s annual game of NaNo Questions, where queries such as “If your novel were a food, what food would it be?” and “Describe your novel in ten words or less!” were posed. It was a riot to hear the answers from such a varied group of people. The room was humming with creative responses from creative-types. So, overall, it was a remarkably artistic weekend.
The art theme continues this week as I make a Yule gift for a friend, which cannot be detailed here as she is quite likely to have the surprise ruined for her. You’ll all be kept up to date with appropriate vague references.
The Changeling game that Roo (dubbed “the very cute pagan gamer geek girl” by admiring friends who met her on Saturday night) and I have been discussing for the past little while is becoming more and more likely to actually happen, which makes me jump with joy inside, being as gaming-starved as I have been for months. It’s really making me think about when children lose their completely enchanted view of life. Playing with my goddaughter this weekend (whom, by the way, delivers the very best spontaneous hugs, complete with back-patting and sticky kisses) raised the same question. When do we lose that completely open, joyful celebration of absolutely everything we see? When do we begin to trap things inside, to deny our individual interpretation of life, to conform to consensual reality simply in order to make things easier? And, the ultimate question: why? Playing Changeling will allow me to further explore these questions. Plus it’s just going to be downright fun, ‘cos it’s with cool people and will no doubt involve large amounts of candy and giggling. Think the ultimate sleepover or the best day off from school and you might hit on the general feeling.
On a completely different note, my dreams have been remarkably vivid these past few days. I don’t know about how others dream, but my dreams tend to involve pop culture figures, most recently the Lord of the Rings film characters. The cast from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel pop up frequently, too. (There was a run last spring where my dreams featured the Buffy cast performing a different Gilbert & Sullivan operetta weekly.) My latest dreams involve lots of swords being passed from person to person as symbols of their identity. Entertaining, but one does have to wonder what it’s all about. (No, this is not an invitation to psychoanalyse me; it’s a rhetorical question.)
Or maybe it’s just all about the gorgeous costumes that my subconscious mind dreams up.
Hmm. Almost makes me want to drag out my toy sewing machine and get back into the construction of absolutely beautiful outfits with little to no practical purpose.
Final word count of Balsamic Moon: 50,215
I thank the Goddess that tomorrow is December.
Freaky Coincidence Number One: I typed the final three words of my novel to the loud, triumphant, sweeping final bar of Howard Shore’s Fellowship of the Ring score. There’s nothing like the soundtrack to your life displaying excellent timing.
Freaky Coincidence Number Two: November 30th just so happens to be the ancient Roman festival of Hecate of the Crossroads. Synchronicity, nothing.
This novel will just have to be dedicated to Hecate, something along the lines of:
Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 48,114
Slog. Slog. The prose isn’t as bad as anticipated, but it’s still uphill all the way to 50K.
See Autumn fit in five minutes of typing here and there in between teaching, preparing for new classes she has never taught before, working for the US publisher, working for local freelance projects, all with looming deadlines.
See Autumn misplace her glasses so that computer work takes twice the toll.
Sigh. There’s a NaNo sticker circulating about that proclaims I’ll sleep in December. That describes my life rather appropriately at the moment.
Oh yes, this just in (well, not really, but I forgot to blog it yesterday): in Friday’s mail I received my counter-signed contract and a rather flimsy printed cheque, the appearance of which belies its value both financial and psychological. And of course, because it’s in US dollars, I can’t simply deposit it through a bank machine; I’ll have to take the car on Monday and head out to Pointe-Claire to deposit it in person with a teller at my bank branch.
So voila: I am a Professional Editor. Eep.
I am a tired professional editor with no idea where her glasses are. To bed with me.