Victory!
As you can see, the images are back on the Owlyblog. Owldaughter is back up and running!
So the site was only down for ten days in total. Irritating, but it was all worked out. My old host graciously transferred the domain over without charge as an apology for the misunderstanding (which surprised me simply because I'm so used to corps not caring).
Now I just need to finish straightening out my email.
Update: And... done! All Owldaughter email addresses are operative! Of course, if you sent anything to one in the past ten days, it was lost...
I just lost a decent post and I'm in no mood to recreate it. So, the salient points:
We're playing a bunch of neat stuff. One symphony, many shorter pieces. Most actual chamber pieces, some with vocal accompaniment from a Hudson music group. Good rehearsal, everyone bright and bushy-tailed.
There. It hardly conveys how terrific an evening it was.
We have a hyacinth that has grown from a little green sprout into a huge, glorious, forget-me-not-blue flower. I got up this morning, and the entire apartment smelled like spring.
That coupled with the nice hot rosemary tea I have on my desk makes for quite an enjoyable morning.
Yes, you know you've always wanted one. Now you can make your very own felted pointy hat! Simply visit the Pointy Hat Page page for full text and illustrate dinstructions. Go on -- be the most fashionable witch on the block!
Before you update your links:
I might not have to change the domain name after all. My previous web host appear apologetic for their screw-up and have offered to transfer my Owldaughter.org domain to me and waive the $190 USD fee usually involved as a result of this sort of situation.
Stay tuned.
Aha.
Due to irreconcilable differences with my previous host, my domain name will be changing. By the end of the week, all Owldaughter content will be accessible at:
And yes, the Owldaughter email accounts will be up and running again, just with the new suffix instead of the old.
I love bureaucracy.
Did we forget to send a huge thanks out to everyone who showed up to toast HRH on Wednesday night? I think we did.
Damn, but it was good to see everyone again. Over the course of the evening we must have watched about thirty people come through the pub to say hi or sit down for a bite. Eventually we all gave up on sitting down and stood around with our drinks, and it was a lot more comfortable. Ceri reports hearing a couple of strangers making their way through our crowd muttering uncomplimentarily about how it felt like a house party. And what's wrong with that, I'd like to know? Hurley's is the traditional spot for gang birthday evenings, so of course by now it feels like we own the place when we get two dozen people in on a quiet night. The waitress knows us, and enjoys us; she's also grateful for our patience. Most of us have worked in the service industry, and we know what it's like to be the only person on the floor. She even gave HRH a drink on the house, complete with hailing him as the King.
Everyone got to catch up on who was doing what, which was grand. HRH was thrilled with his group gift of the Dremel (which is good, because now we all want to (a) borrow it, or (b) get him to make stuff for us), and even more touched by the amount of folks who stopped by. So thanks, everyone; you did wonders for his flagging spirits.
This has been a frustrating day.
It began when the power went out around midnight last night. Well, it didn't go off, exactly; it fluctuated in various stages of brownout, setting all the sensitive electric sensors for emergency lights and alarms in the building off at irregular intervals.
By this morning, neither HRH or I had had really decent sleep, and the apartment was stone-cold once again. At various times through the night we had each arisen to unplug power bars and sensitive electronic devices in an effort to protect ourselves from frying expensive stuff. Of course the digital alarm clock wasn't functioning, due to the lack of continuous power, so we sort of awoke later than we normally do. HRH had begun developing a nasty cold last night, and he was in no shape to squire our goddaugher off to daycare this morning, so I went instead. Of course, the single battery-powered clock we had in the house was half an hour fast, so I discovered on the way to pick her up that I had thirty minutes to kill. I did, with a doughnut and hot chocolate.
After dropping her and her dad off at various places, and having checked the prices on small filing cabinets, I returned home and discovered that the power had still not come back up to any level of useful application. Trusting my intuition, I booted up my laptop on battery power and found an urgent edit sitting in my inbox. This, paired with the book reviews due today, meant that I had to cancel my lunch date with MLG.
The edit's done, and the book reviews are almost there too; I've done longhand work and now that the power is finally back on, I've been transferring them to the desktop computer. I took a break earlier to go pick up that parcel which I missed on Friday, only to discover that it hadn't reached the post office yet.
Yes, it's been frustrating.
On top of it all, my Owldaughter domain seems to have fallen between the cracks in accounting with my old web host. Skippy came over Friday night and we set up a new hosting space, but my domain still seems to be in limbo - technically still held by my old host, but not paid for (long story, which involves hosting as a gift from someone else whose payment info expired, requiring the substitution of my own info to renew service). I've been having problems extracting any sort of useful information from the support team for the last three months, in an attempt to avoid a snarl-up somewhat like this. My efforts have been in vain. (And yes, the lack of return communication was the key reason I chose to take my business elsewhere.) So this has resulted in more frustration.
Now, however, the sun has reached an angle to shine in through the back window, which means that spring is nearly here. I managed to finally get through to my doctor's office, and as a result I not only have a renewal of my medication, but I also have an appointment to discuss these headaches and worrisome sensitivity to light with her next week.
Perhaps Monday has seemed worse than it actually is simply because it came right after a fantastic Sunday. The class I taught on Norse and Druidic methods of magic was great; the healing ritual I participated in was phenomenal; and on top of it all, I got to game last night too.
Today is just such a... Monday. You know?
Fnyeah. Perhaps Ginger's right; we should just declare all of February a holiday.
Ceri, Scott: you guys just rock.
After an afternoon of feeling odd, and frustration about my lift home and the timing thereof, I found a flat-screen monitor and a brand-new light tablet waiting for me. All the weariness and annoyance about the lift vanished.
I love the monitor! It's so... clear, and not-flickery! I'm waiting to install the light tablet until I have the new computer as well. (New for me, that is. The monitor is also of the new-for-me persuasion.)
Speaking of boxes, the cardboard box that the monitor came in is now occupied by two cats, who meow every once in a while, just for fun. I believe the need to be inside cardboard boxes to be genetically programmed into household felines.
I went out this morning to run a couple of errands before an interview at noon. One of those errands involved picking a parcel up at the post office, which I'd missed when delivery was attempted on Tuesday.
When I got home I checked the mail. Sitting there was a new parcel pick-up slip, for the delivery I'd missed while at the post office picking up the original parcel.
Sigh...
Happy Ash Day!
Yes, today marks the first day of the Celtic tree month of Ash.
"It feels more like my birthday today than it did on Monday," HRH said when he woke me up this morning. "I'm in a great mood."
That likely has more to do with the thought of cider and Brie than Ash Day, but it tickles him nonetheless.
"Soon to be a Major Motion Picture"
Why does this prase even exist? It's not like anyone would intentionally bill their film as a minor motion picure.
"Major disaster"
Isn't every disaster major? That's why it's a disaster, and not a mishap.
Sigh.
Caught up in the project editing nightmare and the race against the deadline, I managed to miss the second anniversary of Owls' Court last Thursday February 12.
I must really have been fried to miss the hordes of tap-dancing owls wearing pointy party hats and blowing noisemakers.
When did it get to be two in the afternoon? Ten to two, to be perfectly specific?
I woke up at six this morning and decided that it was evidently fate. So I got up, appreciated the nice warm sun pouring in the front window for a few minutes, and began editing/writing this damn chapter right away. I think I'm finished. I want to walk away from it for a while, then go back and read it objectively as possible, to see if I can tell what I wrote from what he wrote. (I tried to imitate his style of writing. No point in showing him up, right?)
So I'm now going to go huddle under the afghan and a pile of cats with more hot herbal tea. I've been drinking bouillon and elderflower tea since I woke up, fighting this dratted cold. I've had the shivers even though I turned all the heaters on as high as they'll go, have two sweaters on, socks and slippers, with the space heater pointed right at me. I did acknowledge before I fell asleep last night that playing the cello whilst in the throes of Early Cold is easier than singing, which I've done before as well. It's less stressful on the throat.
Thanks to everyone for your support regarding yesterday's concert. Ceri even gave me a generic-string-instrument-shaped box of delicious Mozartkugeln marzipan and hazelnut chocolates as a congratulatory gift, with apologies for not being able to find a Beethoven-themed one. (t! and Paze suggested drawing a scowl and messy hair on the picture of Mozart to make it more Beethoven-y.) Gifts always surprise me. I don't mean to sound like HRH, but really, people coming to enjoy my concerts are more than enough of a gift for me. I didn't even get to see my in-laws; I thought they'd rushed off because I'd been grumpy after last week's concert, but HRH assured me that they just didn't want to be in the way. Over three hundred people were at this concert; that's a lot of folks milling about afterwards, so I can understand.
I had a terrific time with my parents afterwards as well. They took us back to their hotel room where they had a bottle of both red wine and white wine, Camembert, mushroom pate, and crackers. (My parents always travel in style.) Then we went out to an Italian restaurant that my family's been going to as long as I can remember. It's grown from a tiny one-room little house to a huge multi-room establishment, and they're in the process of expanding yet again. The house wine, which I remember being nice, just wasn't as good as my dad's pinot noir. Apparently my taste is ruined, now, and I've been hopelessly spoiled.
The new strings on the cello performed wonderfully. One always forgets how good new strings sound: fresh, rich, and mellow. I think it was one of the reasons I enjoyed playing the symphony so much in performance (apart from the fact that a live audience always boosts the quality); the sound issuing from the instrument was so much better than the dull sounds I'd been making up to that point.
Right. Hot tisane and cats, ho.
In a live rematch, it has been decided that Beethoven and I tied.
And I just might go back for the Bruckner after all.
Beethoven won.
The Ninth is going to sound fantastic. I don't think I'm going back for the Bruckner Mass in F minor in May, though. I just can't keep up; I'm not good enough. It's been a terrific challenge, but I don't have the time to devote to Cantabile as well as chamber orchestra. Besides, they've scheduled the four Bruckner rehearsals on Sunday afternoons yet again, and I'm tired of having to miss or skip out halfway through classes I'm supposed to be teaching.
I know I have a bad habit of underestimating my talents and skills, but last night was embarrassing and depressing. The technical expertise required in the fourth and first movements are just beyond my current abilities. The entire section agrees that the technical challenge is above what they're usually called on to do (and I can just imagine what Beethoven's musicians must have said to him), but they still manage to pull off a significant percentage of the required work. I feel clumsy and klutzy, and I wonder what I'm actually contributing to the orchestra. Too often I lose my hold on what I'm doing and end up sitting there helplessly, trying to figure out where the heck we are, and where I can next come in with some sort of confidence.
There's a difference between undervaluing yourself, and knowing that you're just not quite good enough. If I had the luxury of time to really focus on working the music, I might stay on. With my schedule the way it is, however, I think it's better all around if I focus my energies on chamber orchestra, teaching, and the slew of editing work.
I gave this a really good shot, and I'm proud of the fact that I did it. I adored the Puccini, and the Elgar was a bear but I mostly pulled that off too. I think back to how I felt when I joined chamber orchestra, and I stuck through that because my awkward playing was due to nerves and being tremendously shy. The technical challenges are different there (chamber vs symphonic!), and I do really well. I passed the nerves and new-girl shyness quite a while ago in Cantabile. I know I'm not where I ought to be in order to perform adequately.
It's been fun, though. And the actual performance of the Ninth will be phenomenal, despite my fumblings.
It hasn't been an easy week. Today's "I-can't-believe-this-author" moments included the discovery that he's left out about fifteen pages of text and rituals here and there - he just never wrote them. Guess who picks up the slack?
The good news is that they extended my deadline to Tuesday (because Monday is President's Day!), and thank goodness, because I had no idea I'd have to get this creative. Someone's evidently looking out for me on this project, because I have all Monday to do it now. All the impressive work I've been pulling off has garnered me a nice break. (Look - karma in action!)
Anyways, HRH just came home and handed me a Kim Possible valentine and a box of hand-made chocolates with a big grin. "You didn't have to do that," I said, melting completely. (Firstover the Kim Possible Valentine - you have no idea how much of a kick I got out of it - and then the chocolate.) "I know," said HRH. "But you've had a hard week." He knows how disgusted I feel about artificial celebrations like Valentine's Day, which are pushed by commercial operators and socialise people to think that being part of a relationship is the Right Thing and expected of everyone. Spending money doesn't make you any more special to someone. Sure, it's nice to be spoiled sometimes, but I'd prefer to be spoiled on an occasion of HRH's choosing. Although the laugh's on me this year - apparently it's fun to give me stuff when I don't expect it, and since I don't expect anything on Valentine's Day, well...
In fact, I got two Valentines today. The first was from my goddaughter, which was simply adorable. I have both of them pinned up on my bulletin board.
Dress rehearsal for the Beethoven tonight. Let's hope all goes well.
While we were waiting for my glasses to be ready, we popped into the pet store and as usual I spent too much time with the birds.
I love birds of all forms, but intelligent bids really fascinate me. They tend to like me, too, trying to catch my attention in any way they possibly can. On a slow afternoon a few years ago, a bird handler invited me into the restricted area, and a young soft buttercream cockatiel fell in love with me, sidling out of her cage and up my arm to lean her head against my cheek, murmuring softly to me, and stretching a wing out every once in a while. She loved my hair, and was very sorry to see me go when I finally had to leave, half an hour later. My own heart almost broke. I didn't have the two thousand dollars to leave behind in her place, however, and so we were parted forever.
There's something wonderful about the bright eyes of birds, and how they act when different people are around. When I walk into a bird area, they usually cluster at the fronts of the cages and either screech so I turn to look at them, or flap their wings a lot. They flirt incessantly too. The first time HRH saw it happen and watched incredulously as I had conversations with them, he called me Polgara (and if you read David Eddings, you know why).
Roo has told me stories of her lovebird, and I had lovebirds hopping up and down at me today as well, saying, "Look at me, look at me!" I love talking to her canary when I'm over at her place, but as beautiful as he is, I don't think a canary is for me. I've had finches and a dove, but finches are too small to really interact with, and the dove, well, wasn't so bright. We have cats, sure, but as the bird handler told us today, she has cats and two cockatiels that walk around freely; the cats know not to bother them. (One wonders what kind of scars the felines display as proof of their acquisition of bird ettiquette.)
So when we have a larger home, and I have a room of my own, there is a bird in my future. Perhaps a conure; perhaps a lovebird. Who knows?
One hundred and eighty dollars later, I now have new lenses in my second-to-last pair of glasses to use at home, and my last year's pair will stay in my purse. Now I theoretically can't leave my glasses at home next to the computer, which is what's been happening.
Something's wrong with my host server for Owldaughter; the control panel also seems to be rejecting my password so I can't log in to find out what's up.
Wrote my foreword for the first book being released by the new imprint yesterday, and sent it off this morning. They've already pulled a quote from it to use as cover copy.
Eep.
Update: Ah. My host is migrating servers yet again. It would be nice if they warned us.
Another day of burning brain cells at this manuscript. I'm just finishing up my foreword for it, after a long nap and some dinner. I'm exhausted. Tomorrow is more editing of the final chapters that came in this evening, as well as an optometrist appointment, another set of glasses, and a dress rehearsal for the Beethoven.
Ibuprofen and cat naps are my friends.
If the author uses the words "you should" one more time in this manuscript, something dies. In a messy fashion, very likely.
The only things keeping me sane right now are Evanescence, Howard Shore, and a bottle of ibuprofen.
A wand is a power tool and a ritual instrument for invoking deities.
I kid you not.
And no, the author didn't mean it in humourous reference to the potenially high-energy applications of the wand. Maybe I have power tools on the brain these days, or maybe this is just poorly worded.
Every once in a while I just throw back my head and howl through this editing process. Sometimes in agony, sometimes with laughter. This one was a bit of both.
We just picked up the photos.
One entire roll didn't take; something went wrong with the camera. The other roll doesn't have a single usable picture on it; they're either too bright (resulting in blinding white skin, red eyes and fuschia lips), or underexposed.
My emotions can't decide whether to let me be angry, or just cry.
I'll make an appointment with a professional studio this week. I was trying to avoid this because I hate sitting for portraits. I was more comfortable with someone I know doing the shots. Professional pictures always turn out with me looking like I'm wooden, with a hideous plastic smile. The really horrible part about this is that the poses and shots on the film that came back were good; just over or underexposed.
I think the anger is definitely turning into a desire to just cry.
Looks like the spammers have finally figured me out. The latest non-sequitur subject header that fell into my inbox read bibliography minerva coronet.
I think I'd like winter to be over now.
On the structure of a Haydn symphony:
I love being with people when they figure something like this out. The excitement is catching. It was just what I needed on the drive home.
Edited to reflect a different emphasis Feb 9, 9:42 am. And that pesky word "not" was shifted as well.
I feel like I've been run over by a truck.
When I look back over the weekend, I wonder how I survived it. (The likely answer? Sugar. But I digress.)
Chamber orchestra rehearsal Saturday morning and early afternoon: brilliant. Teaching our first level 2 class of the session: fantastic. An unexpected evening off, when I'd been looking forward to some thought-provoking discussion with friends, but HRH's cold got the better of him and there was no way I was trying to park out in narrow snow-covered streets. I prepped for the first lecture of the level 3 session instead: wonderful. The actual delivery of the level 3 lecture this afternoon: excellent. Yes, everything seemed fine until I got to the Beethoven rehearsal this afternoon, where I started to fumble and my energy began to flag.
All I wanted to do was sit back and play lovely, liquidy Andantes or Largos. Instead I was plunged directly into the fourth movement, where I rattled around in the Masteosos and Prestissimos, trying to settle into the rhythm. I was given a slight respite at the end for twenty minutes or so when we worked a bit of the third movement, but then it was rushing home, not being able to find parking nearby, lugging the cello home through snowbanks, a quick bath, an even quicker bowl of spaghetti with homemade sauce (thank you, my love), lugging the cello back to the car, and off to the chamber orchestra concert.
Where, yet again, turnout was disappointing. Not personally, mind you; I had four people there. If, as our conductor pointed out, we all had four people come to hear us play, we'd have an audience of almost two hundred.
I think the lack of audience affected our performance. I personally think that our Saturday morning dress rehearsal had more life and energy to it than did tonight's performance. Anyone who's ever performed knows that a good audience has a significant impact on the morale and output of the artists involved. The small audience we had was enthusiastic and appreciative, but there's something about glancing up at the conductor and noticing a sea of empty space dotted by a few people behind him.
Ah well. There's always July. The July concert is always packed. And rumour has it we'll be playing our May concert in Hudson, so we'll have a new location from which to draw attendees.
Speaking of audiences, my parents will be in town for the Beethoven next weekend. I'm looking forward to it immensely, as I haven't seen them since Christmas morning. So I'll have both sets of parents in the audience next weekend - that's a treat!
I thought I had tomorrow off, but on the way home I remembered that I'd promised to have those final two chapters edited and back by tomorrow morning. That was terribly optimistic of me. I intend to feel dreadfully sorry for myself for the rest of the evening, and perhaps some of tomorrow mornign as well. By noon, it wil be gone, and I can get some more research done.
Speaking of research: anyone know Bruckner's Mass in F Minor? What's it like? It's the main programme for the May 1 Cantabile concert, and I don't want to commit to four Sunday rehearsals in April, dividing my time between teaching and rehearsing, unless I absolutely love the piece we're to play. And there's rumours of the orchestra doing Strauss' Death and Transfiguration before the mass.
I can't think that far ahead at the moment. I can't even think past Monday at noon.
Just got back from our chamber orchestra dress rehearsal, and damn, we're good!
The music we're playing this time around is so pretty and bright (except for the Adagio by Albinoni, but it's dramatic, so it provides a good contrast to the rest!), and it's just what people need in February, after yet another dump of snow. The church we're playing in -- St Paul's Anglican on 44th Ave in Lachine -- is an arched church done in warm panelled wood, and stone, with beautiful windows and lighting. And -- get this -- it has a carpet. It's a good thing I wore a t-shirt and a cardigan today, because when I arrived I realised it was too warm for a sweater. Such a nice change from the cold, echoey church we usually play in during the winter! The sound is phenomenal, too -- nice and rich. All in all, it's the ideal setting for a winter night of chamber music.
I brought tea along with me this morning in my shiny thermal mug, and I picked up a granola bar on the way. "Can you eat and play cello at the same time?" my stand partner asked. "Sure," I said perkily. "I can multi-task. Got my tea, got my breakfast, got my Haydn. What more could I want?" I adore Haydn, and today's rendition of the London Symphony no. 104 made me smile the whole way through. In fact, most of the pieces we're playing make me smile. I have to curtail my foot-tapping and bouncing to the music, I think; it's just that I'm enjoying myself so much that I can't help it. It's nice to see other musicians reacting the same way as well. A performance is always enhanced indescribably when the performers have a good time. I'd love to play regularly on a Saturday morning. The people are so much more relaxed. Mind you, I think the wonderful place we played in had something to do with that as well. The school auditorium we rehearse in is grey and cold, and we're all tired after a day of work. Today had a very different vibe. I really think the environment has a lot to do with it. Warm colors, warm air, cheerful decor; such a nice change from the auditorium, and the concrete of the Valois church.
I love chamber orchestra because we actually play Baroque and early classical music, two of my favourite periods. This time, we have two stellar oboeists (not one, but two!) who are playing the Albinoni Double Oboe Concerto. I adore this concerto -- mind you, I love most Baroque concetos, but you so rarely hear oboes! However, to my disappointment, our conductor regretfully cut three-quarters of the orchestra out of it this morning. The church is so wonderful acoustically that the enriches sound, and as a result the orchestra -- even when playing pianissimo -- was drowing out the oboes. So we reluctantly turned to concertino style, and only the first two musicians of each section are playing accompaniment. As disappointed as I am, I have to admit it sounds phenomenal.
It's going to be a fantastic evening! And it's closer and much easier to get to than the other church in Valois. The 191 bus from Lionel-Groulx stops right on the corner of Broadway and 44th, and the church is a block and a half up on the west side. I used to take the 191 all the time, and the bus ride to this venue is less than half an hour. (Yes, that link takes you to the schedules. On Sunday night, the 191 leaves Lionel-Groulx at 7 pm exactly, and you'll get to the church for about 7:20.) Or, you could always wheedle a lift out of someone with a vehicle. The more people you fit in a car, the more people could split the cost of a ticket for the driver as a thank-you.
For an evening of excellent music in a beautiful setting, the travel time and only ten dollars are a small price to pay. If you missed the last one, don't miss this one! If you've never experienced the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra in performance, this is the concert to catch as a brilliant introduction. Check the Performing section of the righthand sidebar for address and programme details.
It was lurking.
Just sent off those chapters, and I'm taking a good long break before looking at the next ones. I currently have an aromatherapy jar with lavender oil going right in front of my keyboard, both for the headache and to counteract the smell of burnt eggs that's been hanging around since a neighbour got off to a bad start this morning.
My cello strings still haven't arrived, so I'll have to play this weekend's concert with my old ones. Not great, but not the end of the world; it's the Beethoven next weekend I'm more worried about.
After a migraine which removed me from the end of our weekly afternoon writing jam, and prevented me from the much-anticipated Changeling game last evening, I feel bruised all over this morning. Migraines creep up on me; they masquerade as regular headaches until about four hours later I realise that the multiples of Advil I've taken have done absolutely no good, sound is bothering me, and light is hurting my eyes. At that point there's nothing to do but curl up in a dark, dark, quiet room and sleep it off.
Ceri, your pizza was fabulous, and just what I needed when I woke up from a nightmare of being attacked and unable to breathe or swallow. It seems that I fell asleep on my stomach and turned my face into the pillow at some point.
I had a warm bath with lavendar oil after I ate, and that helped a bit too. (That and drinking over a liter of water; but I digress.) Cricket ended up walking around the edge of the tub when I got out. She made one careful tour, and I complimented her on her elegance and dexterity and told her to get down. Naturally, being a cat, she ignored me, and started round again. Three-quarters of the way through, she slipped and fell into the four inches of water left in the draining tub. Being quick of mind, I slammed the bathroom door shut and grabbed her with a towel. I started to dry her, but she was a squirmit and insisted on being let down. I set her on the bathmat where she calmly licked all the wet parts I hadn't dried off. She wasn't freaked out, which makes sense; Cricket's the one who flips the drinking dish to play in the water on the kitchen floor. She was probably more annoyed at breaking her tub-walking record than anything else.
So I'm fragile but functional this morning, which is a good thing because I only got thirty pages into the set of chapters I have to have edited by this afternoon, and there's still ninety-six pages to go. I don't know what it is with this author - it almost seems as if he's using an old draft, because I know we've fixed some of this stuff before...
I truly dislike photo shoots. The one that I have just suffered through was, in fact, relatively painless. Probably because my husband was the photographer.
Why did I force myself through this dreadful process? Because, dear readers, it's in my contract that the Publisher has the right to use my name and likeness to promote the new series. Hence the need for a likeness to send down.
We used two alternating cameras, just as extra insurance. Different hairstyles, different clothes, different poses. Glasses off, glasses on.
Now we have three rolls of film to develop (yes, there was one in our camera already, and no, I have no earthly idea what's on it - oh, wait, Elim (muah-hah-hah), and various Yule celebrations, including the now-traditional shot of myself and Roo. Right.)
I'll get them same-day processed, then HRH and I will pore over the various shots to choose the three best, and I'll have them enlarged to 8 x 10 formats. Then I'll Purolate them down to Boston, accompanied by the signed contracts that arrived in today's mail.
If nothing else, I'll have piles of photos to send to my grandmother and my parents and such.
As of today, my imprint specialist contract should be in the mail. I'll get it next week, sign it, and then somewhere along the next four weeks get a tidy US check to sink into my bank account to help chase away the winter blues. Half will go onto my Visa; the rest will sit and gather interest. And then, then I will go out and look at sewing machines. And a filing cabinet.
I took a look at the first date I scribbled down in my notebook that's reserved for work with this publisher. On August 6 I had the first phone conversation with my contact, where we began to throw ideas back and forth and the position of series editor was brought up.
On Friday, it will have been six months since that day. I didn't sign an official contract until October, but I started working with them before that.
Six months. Half a year.
Wow.
Ceri has been talking about submitting short fiction to magazines, and I've been talking about pitching this non-fic anthology series to my publisher, and I've only just had the realisation dawn upon me.
If this goes through, I'll be the one sending rejection letters.
Ouch.
Also on the subject of selecting stories: I've been having trouble nailing down the specific selection criteria in this proposal. Stories must feel sincere; check. Stories must involve original, out-of-the-ordinary situations; check. Stories must have appeal; check. Stories must be in sympathy with the theme of the anthology in question; check. My publisher wants me to expand upon the criteria I already have.
Other than that, what do I say? How am I going to choose the stories? Honestly, writing down that I'm basically going to be using the Force and trusting my intuition in the process of story selection and approval is going to get me and my proposal laughed out of the office.
So help me out, dear readers. When you read an anthology, and one story or chapter sticks out (for positive or negative reasons), can you describe why? How do you put that je ne sais quoi into words? What makes a certain piece of writing special, and the others flat? Why does one succeed, and others fail?
After another hour-long marathon conversation with my publisher, during which we discussed my late-February/early-March trip down to pitch this anthology series, I made a startling connection.
I've done this before. It was my thesis defence.
You write something, people read it, and have their own opinions. You show up in person before a scary panel of those stony-faced people, re-present your arguments with confidence and style, and then field questions in order to convince them that your conclusions are sound, and they should not only give you a degree, but hail you as a new light in the academic sky.
In this case, the only difference is that the something I'm writing is a six-page detailed proposal for an anthology series, and that they won't give me a piece of paper to hang on my wall if I convince them; they'll give me a contract and money instead. (You know - all those things that a degree doesn't automatically do, but we all wish they did.)
So no, it's not a glitch in the Matrix. It's one of those moments where I'm relieved, because I now have an experience to which I can equate the current situation; I'm no longer working in a vacuum. It's also a moment where I now can have genuine mini-nervous-breakdowns, because now I have a memory to build on and make even bigger and scarier when I envision delivering the pitch in a boardroom south of Boston.
Kind of good; kind of bad.
Mind you, I did kick ass during my thesis defence. I take comfort from this fact.
In a new interview in Empire magazine, director Mike Newell lays to rest the speculation that GOF would be split into two movies. "As far as I'm concerned it's absolutely possible to do it in one. I think it would be slightly embarassing to do it in two," says the director in the March issue of the magazine, available on newstands now.
"Slightly embarrassing." Interesting phrasing, that.
And -
Mother Owl Stops Work at NASA: A great horned owl has decided Pad 39A of the Kennedy Space Center in Florida is the perfect place to hatch her eggs. NASA has stopped work at the site until the babies are born. Just look at that expression - you'd stop work, too.
Apparently there's another owl nesting where Atlantis is to be launched in the fall too. Coincidence? Maybe Great Horned Owls are monitoring our space program.
(Both tidbits found at The Leaky Cauldron.)
Is it too much to ask that the electricity we pay for stay on for at least three days in a row?
Yes, we lost power again last night. Four hours of no heat during the coldest part of the night means that we lost all the warmth stored up in the apartment once more.
I no longer care what the reason may be - whether it's the major NDG power transfer system finally dying due to old age, or the lousy wiring job in our apartment possibly shorting out the entire block - I just don't care. I'm tired of resetting clocks, alarms, and volume levels. I'm tired of having to blast all our ineffective heaters just to get things to a comfortable temperature so I can function like a relatively normal human being again.
At first it was charming - we'd light candles, sit and chat quietly, watch the snow fall. Then it became slightly irritating, as the power would cut out when I needed to reach a deadline, make dinner, was expecting a call, was in the process of finishing something valuable on the computer, or some such thing. Now it's just an instant anger-inducing inconvenience that makes me growly no matter what I'm doing, even if it's as benign as reading on the sofa with a pile of cats.
Forty-seven days until spring. As the days count down, the temperature will rise, and people will consume less electricity, reducing the stress on the outdated power grid. Perhaps then we'll experience fewer interruptions in our electrical supply.
I'm trying to be optimistic about it.
No one told me that Mainframe did a fourth season of ReBoot after a couple of years off.
What kind of friends are you?