Here I am, in Toronto. My parents were in mock miff that there was no new blog post this morning, so here. Never let it be said that I don't fulfil my parents' expectations.
A nice, uneventful trip from Mtl to T.O. last night; for once, it wasn't raining. The OPP were out in force, though, as it's a holiday weekend and the end of the month, so it took us a bit longer to get here than usual. A spectacular sunset and a fingernail's curve of a glowing moon made up for it, though.
I had a cafe mocha for the first time on the way. Nice, but I'll save it for days when I want coffee instead of cappucchino. It's not quite as sweet.
Apparently my mother made deliberate mention of my "alternative religious choice" when my grandmother was down last week. She noticed a book on reincarnation my mother was reading and it turns out that she's a firm believer in the phenomenon. It seemed like the appropriate time to bring up the deep dark family secret, so Mum began to explain the whole living with awareness thing until finally she just used the W-word. My grandmother seemed quite interested in the whole concept and agreed with several of the principles. Apparently "the Sight" has cropped up in the family line before. Go figure. That's something I never would have known about if that particular book of my mother's hadn't been on the coffee table. So there -- the deep dark family secret is out, and its turns out not to be such a dark subject after all.
Lovely weather down here - sunny with cloudy periods, a nice twenty-ish degrees... and absolutely no schedule to stick to. Lovley, I tell you.
I just signed my non-disclosure agreement. One more step towards careership with this publishing company.
(Yes, I'm dancing. Tap-dancing little owlies everywhere. Mind your step.)
I got free books in the mail today!
Okay, I have to write reviews on them, but they're free books! I love this job! (Freelance writing, that is.)
Friends are at the Toronto WorldCon this weekend (affectionately known as TorCon), revelling in the total immersion of things speculative. The irony of the situation is that I, too, will be in Toronto this weekend. Just not at TorCon. Alas.
(I should get Ceri back for being In The Presence of Neil Gaiman Without Me by writing a single story for her which contains all four assigned story points I haven't yet addressed. Ha.)
Eeeeeee!
Today is the day I mail my press packet to the U.S. publisher. There’s a confidentiality agreement on its way, so they must be serious enough about wanting me. The butterflies in my tummy today, however, are almost worse – no, they are worse – than the day I sent off my CV and cover letter. I’m currently running on nervous-excited adrenaline.
No, I’m good. I’m fine. I have a black folder, my business cards, a small photo, and I've selected excellent samples of my writing. It’s a good cross-section of first-person, academic, analytical, and educational styles. I have my colour services pamphlet that I drew up some time back. The writing will be printed out professionally tonight, then into the folder it will go, along with a hard copy of my CV, a one-page summary of my experience (I’ll just rewrite my awesome cover letter!), and a hand-written note telling my contact that I’m actually ten years older than my photo makes me look. (Seriously. Well, no; the picture makes me look twenty-four. I’m thirty-two. So eight years older.)
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I’m excited!
If I could harness these butterflies, I could probably reach the moon.
Ladies, Gentlemen, and Honoured Others:
I am overjoyed to introduce the new version of Courts of Chaos!
Long dormant, while The Lazy Mage toiled with little tolerance for compromise behind the scenes and under cover of dark HTML, the new Courts rise with shining promise for the future.
Welcome back!
(By the way, that electrician never showed up yesterday. Anyone for a round of kneecapping with blunt objects?)
Since my mother addressed an e-mail to her Darling Lost Daughter this morning, methinks 'tis time for another Update.
Status: Warm. I think I have pulse, too. That's good, right?
Detailed Status: I lost my sense of humour somewhere along the way a couple of days ago. If found, please return it; it's lonely. Also, I am moving into An Anti-Social Phase (TM). It's not that I don't love you, it's just that after two weeks of a wonderful high, I'm cocooning.
Good Things: My hair is behaving. The humidity has broken.
Bad Things: My cats are insane and pains in the neck. Especially the one who thinks the waterbowl is her personal playground.
Synchronicitous Events: I had a wonderful history of the qabala class on Saturday afternoon led by one of my strudents. While I know the basics of the qabala, I knew nothing about the history of the thing. A day later, I was reading a book which took a side trip and addressed qabala history, both mystical and factual. It was nice to (a) refresh the info I learned on Saturday, and (b) feel smug because I already knew it.
Irritating Events: You may remember the day over a month ago when my radiators were finally torn from their moorings after an earlier false start. Guess what? The electric heaters were scheduled to go in a couple of weeks ago; the electrician never showed up. Today, he was scheduled to show up first thing in the morning. If you check the time stamp, it's just past eleven. I'm staying home today instead of going in to work just so that the electrician can do his thing. If he does not show up again, I Will Have Blood For This.
Something You Ought To Have Guessed: I picked up The Two Towers DVD yesterday. I know, I know; we'll own the extended edition too. But not for another three months or so, and we only saw this one twice in the theatres.
More Something You Ought To Have Guessed: I will so be in attendance for the nine-hour LOTR extended marathon in theatres this December. Join me?
Overheard on the Radio News: Mars is "just 56 million miles away." It's all relative, you know?
I'm immersed in writing stories and reviews for the next three days. Then I'm in Toronto for Labour Day weekend, visiting my parents. Combined with my Anti-Social Phase (TM), this means you won't hear a lot from me. Unless, of course, something happens for which I must rant or rejoice.
My husband has finally moved into his studio space, and while I'm grateful, I'm sure he's even more relieved. We got to unpack a couple of his boxes that hadn't been opened since our move six months ago, and lo and behold, in one of them I found a tiny box of my things too. It held copies of press releases I'd written, articles, things like that. In amongst them, though, I found an old file box of business cards left over from my F/SF bookselling days, and I opened them and sorted through them, just for kicks. I found some odd stuff.
Like William Gibson's fax number scribbled on a slip of paper.
And Cory Doctorow's Charles Atlas-style business card.
And Forrest J Ackerman's full-color photocard.
All in all, it was an interesting trip down memory lane. Besides, it was a terrific lesson on how-not-to-design-a-business-card. The majority of them were disastrous from a marketing point of view - no charisma whatsoever.
I'm thrilled, thrilled, thrilled that my husband is now officially Set Up in his artist space. I'm equally overjoyed that he's decided to spend at least an hour every other day working there to relax. I love being there too, so this might be an answer to those restless evenings were we can't settle down but have no real idea of what we want to do. I'll grab my laptop, he'll grab his sketchbook, and off we'll go.
Make no mistake - we know exactly how lucky we are.
A couple of individuals have written inquiring as to my dead-or-alive status. Wow - I take a couple of days off and my public misses me. I feel all warm inside.
Status: Alive.
Detailed status: I burned my left thumb in the steam from a boiling kettle this morning. I'm such an idiot. Then I thought my tea would be too hot to drink and forgot about it. Nice to see that some things just don't change, isn't it.
Events of the past two days: Work, work, work.
Career update: Talked to that US publisher yesterday. They want me to write an editorial letter on two book proposals with my opinion on changes and improvements, and submit it tomorrow morning as a sort of test run. They also want (gulp) a press packet: a folder with a pretty CV, some writing samples, a one-page detailing my expertise (think an in-depth bio), and a photograph.
Freelance update: Work, work, work. My original source that went on hiatus at the beginning of the summer has revived, hurrah!
The Great Canadian Novel update: Touched up the penultimate chapter, and rewrote the last chapter to keep my protagonist where she was instead of sending her to Europe. Europe is definitely the end of the novel. Now that barrier has been removed, I feel much more optimistic. Next step: coming up with an outline for the three chapters between now and Europe. Writing without an outline to this point has been fun, discovering what was happening in my protagonist's life and all, but now I have to think about what's gone before and handle all my plot threads deftly. I think I've done a good job doing so on the fly (hmm - now that I think about it, my attitude concerning the unfolding of this novel has been very serial-like: no retreat, no revision, no regret!) but at the end I have to be cautious as well as inventive, or the whole thing will fall flat.
Story exercises I have been given which I have completed: Two.
Story exercises that I have been given which are incomplete: Three. (None exist in any sort of typed form. They're all in pencil notes in a notebook.)
Story exercises that I have been given which I haven't touched at all: One.
Plans for the next two days: Work, work, work.
So you've been warned: I'm likely to not be terribly communicative for the rest of the week. It's nothing personal. It has to do with making money to feed my cats and myself (oh, fine, yes, and buying books and new music which I haven't done in oh so long), and securing a glorious tailored-for-me-and-no-one-else career. I'm sure you understand.
Hurrah! I'm coming at you from three inches lower than usual!
No, our apartment building didn't sink. My husband finally took three inches off the legs of my desk. This will, I hope, reduce shoulder strain, wrist strain, and back problems.
I freely admit that most people will find this work surface too low. I, however, am not most people. With a short torso, I usually find my shoulders hunched up in an effort to get my arms into a manageable position to work on the desk surface. Sure, I could raise the chair, but then my knees bump into the keyboard shelf, and my feet dangle, creating - yes - more back strain. For a few years I've been struggling to balance between the two issues, raising or lowering the chair just to get some short-term relief from the previous position.
I love my new desk.
And there was a message on my machine Friday from that US publishing company saying that they had a ton of news and updates for me, and they were hoping I'd like them and still feel like coming aboard the project.
Are they kidding? I spent the rest of the day chanting, "They still want me, they still want me!"
Okay, so I do have one Arthurian soundtrack: First Knight, because it's Jerry Goldsmith.
But I didn't want to listen to it, so I put on Chicago instead. Yeah, I know; major thematic shift.
Who has our Merlin soundtrack CD?
I ask because I'm currently listening to a King Arthur opus on Saturday Afternoon At The Opera, and I don't want words while I write, but now I'm on an Arthurian music kick. And, stunningly enough, we don't own any Arthurian-related music. Except - that's right - the Merlin soundtrack.
Only it's not here. And I vaguely remember lending it to someone over a year ago.
Was it you?
(Note to self: Update ye olde Wishe Liste...)
Hmm. Apparently my blog was choking in new versions of a couple of browsers. Hopefully this fixes things. (Deepest of thanks to my neighbour at 221b Girouard Street for the advisory!)
The Alan Moore Fan Site quotes Kevin O'Neill on LXG (no, I haven't seen it yet, and likely won't until I come across it in a Video Rental Emporium someday):
Also, O'Neill gave his thoughts on the film, currently in theaters, based upon the series he and Moore created. He "actually liked" it. "We knew for a year that they weren't adapting the comic," says O'Neill. "They just bought the premise."
Meanwhile, rumours that Moore's ABC line will fold all lament the loss of Top Ten and hope that League will indeed continue, but no mention is made anywhere of Promethea, one of the best books I've read in a long, long time, and currently the only serial I still purchase on an issue-by-issue basis as opposed to in collected graphic novel format.
It's personal, isn't it.
I thought so.
Well, after a week of sound sleeping, I'm back to the very-awake-at-night situation. Sigh.
I've tried the warm baths, the warm sedative herbal tea, gentle music, blah blah blah. More light, less light. Big pillow, small pillow. Cats, no cats. I really, really don't want to get hooked on the sleeping pills my doctor prescribed in case of extended sleep deprivation. So naturally I'm probably under-using them. Whatever.
To the woman who walked past me on her way to the specialty grocery store:
You may not ever wear a floral pattern with stripes. Not even if they're both small prints. Not even if they're both the same black-and-white scheme.
You may not. Verboten.
The end.
Happy very first birthday to my precious little kittens, who are kittens no more. Nix and Cricket officially enter Cathood today. (Thanks to everyone who fed all our fur children over the weekend, by the way!) They grow up so fast. *sniff* Remember when they were just handfuls of fluff?
I slept over twelve hours last night. In fact, over the past five days I've spent an alarming amount of time asleep. Okay, a couple of events down south were extremely energy-draining, which might explain the need to recuperate; but I seem to be careening to insomnia's opposite extreme in general. (I oughtn't complain. Paze mentioned last night that a parent is supposed to look not at what a toddler eats in a single meal, but rather at what s/he eats in a week. Perhaps I ought to address sleeping in a similar fashion?)
Neat stuff I picked up south of the border:
- a new thermal mug in stylish black and brushed metal. I'm using it now. My tea will take hours to cool off. Muah-hah-hah.
- a beautiful pale green light wool wrap with Celtic knotwork along the edges. My husband bought it for me while I was gazing at it, all open-mouthed.
- a funky flowy dark red top with three-quarter sleeves, a wide neckline, lacing and embroidery. I love it.
- a jingly anklet. I've always wanted one of these. (Yes, this and the previous acquisition point to the bohemian Gypsy streak buried somewhere deep in my soul, which rarely comes to light.)
- my very first MagLight. Whee!
- a stunning, stunning pendant cabochon of green amber in a simple silver setting. This was a mentor-gift from the protegé assigned to me over the weekend. We do this to help new people integrate with the group, get to know people other than the ones with whom they travelled down, and to ease the culture-shock they might be feeling as a result of their first private festival. (My Tradition deliberately schedules this private event to get city-bound folk into Nature for at least four days, as well as to touch base with the physical part of the group mind and soul.) I was given this pendant by my protegé on the first day of the event and it rendered me speechless. Such an extravagant gift for someone you've only just met! But he called it a heart-gift, from his to mine, and a thanks for being part of his new experience. I'm still overwhelmed, but part of the long hard road I've been on has addressed learning to accept gifts and compliments in the spirit in which they're offered. In several ways and for several reasons this gift was appropriate, and I have no right to deny or diminish the love with which it was presented. I'd been feeling rather plain, too, since I'd left all my pendants at home, so I wore it all weekend.
- a clergy certificate. Did I mention that part yesterday? (Okay, okay, I didn't come home with it, but it's in the works. I'm proud of it. Let me be proud.)
- assorted candles, etc., as gifts.
After a day of re-adjusting at home, I find that I can't quite walk a straight line (I appear to be listing to the left), and I still seem to be missing things I reach for. Camping isn't supposed to relax you this much. I feel as if I've passed the point of relaxation and gone right to spaced out. It's not a bad spaced out, though; it's more like I'm in a mild dream state, which is infinitely preferable to the strung-out state I was in before we left. (Odd how you don't realise how tense you were until you're not any more.)
I should try to bottle this, for future pick-me-up situations.
I can't exactly provide a more in-depth commentary on my camping experience this weekend, so for now...
I passed my clergy exam. With flying colours, apparently, though numbers will not be released. And I aced the practical, which was ground-breaking and deliberately crushing, apparently in order to make a point to a certain number of my evaluators (I love politics, don't you?). It was a real high to have people whom I respect as spiritual leaders involved in various impressive paths, traditions and positions come up to me over the weekend to tell me how impressed they'd been with my performance. I have every right to be proud of my achievements.
In circle, you may now call me "Lady Autumn". I've damned well earned it with blood, sweat, and lots of tears: tears of frustration, joy, and anger in various amounts at various times. I've taken my oath to serve and to walk the clerical path, and I've been warned that it just gets harder.
The theme of the weekend was "Bring it on!" (most of the time - at certain points it was "Don't make me get Canadian on your ass!"), and you know, after the stunning proof in the pudding (of Friday night in particular and the last five days in general), I can say that with all confidence regarding the rest of my life, now. So, bring it on. I've proven that I can deal with a tremendous amount of stress, upheaval, and pain over the past few years, and come out swinging. I'm only human, and I'll still make mistakes, but by the gods, I can hold my head high and be proud of who I am, who I've become, and the choices I've made. I can help others survive, and seek, and witness for them throughout the changes in their lives, too.
It's not what I ever thought I'd end up doing with my life, but destiny rarely drops you a neat little schedule at your birth to paste into your baby book.
Well, that’s it; we’re off to pick up the van, then catch a quick nap, and then away we go.
Just to keep you all going while I’m away, though, you can think about the telephone call I just had with the acquisitions editor at that US publishing company, where we felt each other out, decided we were friends and were equally enthusiastic about the project. We talked about availability, what the position would entail, and so forth. Come Monday when I’m back, we’ll be speaking again to hopefully finalise things since she’ll have actual numbers and projected dates and such.
I’m pretty stunned. Mind you, so is she. Her publishing editor told her she’d never find anyone with publishing experience. Not only did I fit that prerequisite, I also have the educational background for review and analysis, and I’m knowledgeable about the field the series would cover. Both of us are rather impressed that this has fallen into place.
This truly feels slightly unreal.
For all of you who have been asking me (and why me?), the third Potter film is being released next May (yes, a Harry Potter film and the Hellboy film within the same month - it's too much happiness).
Nifty photos:
Michael Gambon as the new Dumbledore
I was struck by how much older the kids look (yeah, yeah, I know, a year between films) until it was all put into persective for me. Someone at pointed out that if you calculate by the year in the first book (which is 1991), Harry (and Neville, come to think of it) turned 23 last week. Gulp.
Digging through my files for driving directions to our campsite in Pennsylvania (give me a break, we only do this once a year, okay?), I found two things that made me smile.
The first:
Scribbled on the manila envelope where I put last year's info (complete with all the exits leading to Friendly's restaurants) I found my Highway Haiku:
Bridge May Be Icy
Buckle Up For Safety Please
Right Lane Closed Ahead
(Yeah, that last one is composed entirely of road signs. And I'd completely forgotten about the three humungous raven statues in the field just over the border, on the west side of I-81.)
The second:
A white envelope that only had my name on it. I opened it and pulled out three print-outs of submission requirements to three major publishers. On top was a sheet of paper with huge letters on it:
The sign was a colleague's gag at work a couple of years ago, when we were joking about possessed hardware after our network was set up and from the back office he could fool around with printer that sat next to my work station. But it made me smile, because I found it in with those manuscript submission guidelines.
If I make it, they will come, indeed.
Damn. Had a blog post about amusing misspellings on a website, but I can't post it because it revolves around a gift for someone.
Drat.
But I did find something else: a new liqueur called Absente. It claims to be "a dazzling emerald green spirit, distilled in the tradition of Absinthe, from a potion of botanicals without the wormwood." It substitutes Southernwood, or Southern Wormwood (same artemisia family, same absinthol oil which gives it the characteristic bitter taste) instead to make it legal.
For all you bohemians out there, the site also provides recipes and serving instructions. (Dear Gods - the Energizer is just scary.)
Yes, she scores again!
I stopped by my not-so-friendly neighbourhood Salvation Army thrift shop this morning (seriously; the depressed staff always seem like they never want to be there) and found another super-sexy pair of hip-skimming, ankle-enhancing Buffalo jeans, in black. I paid $4.99 for them.
Muah-hah-hah-hah.
Oh, yeah; and I found a light brown pair of jeans to go camping in that actually fit me, unlike the rest of my camping clothes.
Sometimes I wonder about this sudden onslaught of girly-girlishness that seems to have possessed me -- you know, cosmetics, higher heels, highlights in the hair, sexy midriff-baring tops, jeans that actually show the shape of my legs... and then I look back over my life and think, hey, why not? If it's taken me thirty-two years to reach the if-not-exhibitionist-then-at-least-less-introverted stage, then so be it.
Or it could be that I started working with Freyja as my goddess-form this spring.
Whee! At last, the sky is falling!
I really want to open the windows so I can hear the rain, but the air in here is cooler than the air outside thanks to a morning of sealed egresses and our brave little air conditioner.
Must... not... open windows... to hear... rain...
Well. No need to open the windows. Now I can hear it hitting the ground through the glass. I wonder how long this will last?
I have finally added a link to the left for my Wish List.
I'm sure I'll think of more.
So I checked the weather in Pennsylvania, just to know how to pack for this week's camping trip:
27 degrees Celsius (or 38 with humidity -- that's 100 F!) and thunderstorms now through Thursday.
Hmm. Sounds like Montreal.
Guess I'll be packing light clothes and raingear. Oh joy, oh rapture.
The gods love Goldschlager.
S'all I'm saying.
Nixie just yawned and arched her back so hard that her front and back paws slipped on the polished wood floor and bumped into each other.
There ought to be a law against such cuteness.
