The kids are watching Speed Racer. Watching this, I am sometimes amused and sometimes aghast at the transparent moralizing and the downright chauvanistic treatment of several cultures. But then I remind myself it’s anime from the bloody 60s and I should lighten up.
Heh. Good advice even on the worst of days.
The garage is cleaned out. There’s 20 neatly-tied and stacked garbage bags of just plain trash, the DH got home yesterday and I put my foot down about a dump run this morning for the stuff that couldn’t be bagged. I keep going into the garage every hour or so just to look at how neat it is. The Sullen One worked like a dog for two days to help me get it all squared away.
I am reminded of the portrayal of teenagers as sullen, surly, and lazy throughout much of our media and culture. While I often find teens overly dramatic, and while my perspective is changed by being roughly twice their age or at least a decade older, I usually have no problem getting their help. Most teens seem to be glad to help if their efforts are appreciated–and if you’re flexible about how, exactly, the job gets done. Case in point? I’ve learned it’s much better to just tell the Sullen One, “I want this clean” or “I want this to get from here to there.” If I leave how to accomplish said feat entirely up to him, it gets done and he feels Adult and Important at solving the problem himself.
Mind you, this doesn’t work with every teen. But generally I find I have a lot less trouble dealing with the poor dears than the media would lead me to believe. I’ve often wondered if an iron curtain drops once someone hits 20, barring all memory of what it was like to be a teen at the mercy of hormones and a culture that expects you to be a shiftless, destructive, angst-ridden pimple on the ass of existence.
*sigh*
One more thing and I’ll stop sermonizing today, I promise:
/soapbox. But really, isn’t a blog supposed to be a soapbox?
Today I’m catching up on some work and emails, and heading into the third Kismet book–the unfinished one, since I’ve revised the two finished ones. There will probably be another round of revision before ARCs and stuff, and I’ve got some time–I’m sure the production dept. is sick of me by now.
Today I also CAN HAS HOT WATER!
*celebrates*
The installers got here a bit late, but I told them “Things like this never go off as planned” and they relaxed a bit. I guess they get overworked and yelled at a lot, which does not make sense to me. The LAST people I am going to piss off are baristas, cops, and plumbers. I need coffee, order or at least a reasonably facsimile of it when I get pulled over, and hot water/toilets.
Anyway, the younger installer, Steve, looked a bit like Jake Gyllenhall, with electric-blue eyes. (I told him so, but he didn’t know who Jake was.) He was the expert, and his novice (I didn’t catch his name) was Hardy to his Laurel, physically, and a very sweet jolly gentleman. They dragged the old water heater out and took it away, and let me tell you, when a plumber says, “Oh. Goddamn” when they pull your thirty-odd-year water heater away from the wall, you can start counting your blessings. Let’s just say there was a rust problem.
Anyway, the new heater went in, was earthquake-strapped down–but I tell you, if the Big One hits, a water heater is the LEAST of my worries–and I gave them both root beer before they left. All told it took forty five minutes to an hour, and most of that was draining the old water heater and filling the new one, then bleeding the air out of it. (Which the Little Prince was just so excited by. Mummy! The faucet is TALKING!)
And forty minutes after that we had hot water. Not intermittent hot water. Not shifting-values-of-tepid water. But HOT water.
*beams*
And the garage is in manageable shape. I’ve got one more wall to work along which is mostly empty boxes and restacking things. Then I’ve got to wash two boxes of baby clothes, because I’m keeping them, water damage or no, with some white vinegar to get the smell out. After a trip to the dump it should all be kosher.
It really is easier doing things myself. At least I know it’ll get done. *sigh*
Anyway, to finish up today, here’s a devil-is-carrying-ice-skates moment for you. Reagan-era Presidential advisers are spitting mad about the gutting of our civil rights and Bill of Rights, and calling for impeachment. If even these devil’s handmaidens are shouting for the impeachment of a President in their own party and “intellectual”(ahem) tradition, shouldn’t we be? At least a little?
My guest blog is all about how sexy dishes are–when a man’s doing them. No, really. Don’t run away screaming. I find dishes and laundry totally sexy when I’m not the one doing them–when instead some hot hunka luuuurve is so in tune with my needs that he loads the dishwasher.
*time passes*
I should not eat cereal while blogging. I just dumped half a bowl of it over myself. Maybe I was a little too excited at the thought of someone else doing the dishes. I should get some coffee, this isn’t going well and I think the problem is lack of caffeination.
*more time passes*
Jesus.
You know, I’m beginning to suspect I’ve pissed off a deity with my irreligious self. I was supposed to have Monday and Tuesday to myself since the DH and the kids were out camping. But plans changed, and the DH dropped the kids off Sunday because of a job in Chehalis or thereabouts. Which is fine, I love my kids–but I was really looking forward to some down time. Because being in Seattle all last week doing bodyguard duty before a court date was not relaxing.
But when I got home from Seattle I discovered the water heater leaking. Not a trickle and not a flood, but definitely leaking somewhere between the two. Enter me calling Sears to get a new one, and finding out just what they charge to install one, which is more than the damn appliance itself by an order of magnitude, and is not clearly noted on the website.
And here I thought Sears were the good guys.
Fortunately the Easygoing Landlord will split the cost with us, since we’re good tenants. He’s always been good to us. But then there’s the garage.
I’ve been asking a certain someone to clean it up for five years. It never gets done. So now my happy ass is doing it. I know I shouldn’t, it’s just teaching that someone that if he slags off long enough I’ll eventually end up doing the unpleasant task. But there’s piles of stuff now water-damaged and smelling, and I have officially Had Enough.
Beware the woman who has Had Enough, for she will throw out your old cowboy boots that don’t fit anyway. She WILL get rid of your collections of meaningless junk. She WILL take your head off when you ask how her day has been.
I did manage to get groceries delivered yesterday, because there’s no goddamn way I’m taking both kids to the store when the Princess is in helpful mode (God bless her, but every help is accompanied by roughly eight thousand words as she keeps up a running commentary on EVERYTHING) and the Little Prince is in his:
mode. Fortunately I am not the British Raj, so my response to his going limp and holding his breath is dumping him on his bed in Time-Out and going on with my day. Sometimes a kid that young just needs a reset, alone in his room. Sometimes he needs to know the rules haven’t changed and Mummy isn’t going to put up with that crap. And sometimes he just needs to be by himself until he can behave.
God, I wish you could do that to adults. Time-Out is the only punishment I’ve ever used on the kids. It’s the worst thing they can think of, because a) Mommy’s disappointed; plus b) it’s self-directed, they can come out when they can behave and no sooner, c) it utilizes the power of shunning in short doses, and d) it gives Mummy a break during which she can repeat to herself I will not eat my own young so many times she almost believes it.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the garage. While I’m getting it ready for the water heater peeps to come and save me from the flood, I might as well go through, tidy up, and get rid of a load of crap. Then I’m looking at a purge of the book collection and doing all the filing I’ve been putting off. Now that I’m not scrambling to get three books ready for production two months apart, it might be doable.
On the good hand, and the reason why I suspect the gods do not totally hate me, I got a babysitter (the Sullen One, shoving me out the door because I NEEDED a moment or two of adult time) for a couple hours and went to Ikea with the Selkie.
OMG. How have I lived this long without the wonder that is Ikea? It is so soothing. So organized. Yeah, there’s a crowd of idiots there on any given day, but still–there are ARROWS ON THE FLOOR showing me where to go so I don’t get lost.
I could get lost walking down to the corner store, but I’m thinking the arrows might help.
Conversation between me and the Selkie at Ikea:
Me: I’m not coming back here without you. I’d never find my way out.
Selkie: There’s arrows on the floor. Just follow them and eventually you’ll get out.
M: But what if I lose them? It’s possible, you know.
S: (patiently) They’re on the floor. *pauses* They live there, honey.
M: (distracted) Oooh! Dishes!
I don’t know why she hangs out with me sometimes. I’m like a spastic cocker spaniel. Only without the piddle-on-the-carpet thing.
So I’m finishing my coffee and going to clear the garage a bit more for the water-heater folks. Hopefully later this afternoon we will have Reliable Hot Water and a dry garage.
In honor of The Devil’s Right Hand’s release, and also in honor of me not being out of town or sick as a dog this Monday, I think it’s time for some Reader Questions!
Today I’ll be answering a few questions I get over and over again.
Is there another Steelflower book?
There is. It’s tentatively titled Steelflower’s Song. Unfortunately, I only have two or three chapters of it finished, despite (mostly) knowing the story arc. The production schedule for the Dante books has really been hellish, ha ha, and finishing those beasties pretty much has me drained and vegetative.
IN short, I’ll get to it as soon as I can, because I love Kaia and I can’t wait to tell the next few installments of her story.
Will you sign my book?
Much as I would love to, I don’t do a lot of signings. Travel costs are responsible for most of that, as are the costs of raising children and the fact that I’m not making a living wage at all.
However, if you’d really like your book signed, or want a signed copy, you can contact Cover to Cover Books. I work there on a sporadic basis, so it’s very easy for me to sign books there and I am quite willing to do it. A slight fee for postage if you live far away might apply, and for that I’m sorry.
You can also contact Duane Wilkins (aka Mr. Wonderful)at the University Bookstore in Seattle or Peter the Magnificent Sci-Fi Man at Powell’s at Cedar Hills Crossing. I see both of them fairly regularly, between shuttle trips to Seattle and attending events at the Beaverton/Cedar Hills Powell’s, and either one generally has a few signed copies in stock. Again, if you’re not local, you may have to pay postage. I really am sorry about that.
On the other hand, if you see me at a signing or elsewhere, I always carry a pen. And I’m always happy to meet a dear Reader. If I turn pale or start stammering, it’s because I’m really quite shy, especially when it comes to my work. I am always thrilled to pieces to find out someone likes it, they really like it!
End Sally Fields impersonation. *grin*
Now for a question that requires a very different response.
Why do the Valentine books have so much repetition?
I see that a lot in forwarded reviews and in Reader emails. In Working For The Devil I was very much a junior writer. (I’m still junior in craft, but no more, alas, in age.) The same kind of applies for Dead Man Rising.
I tend to write very fast and lean, and I suspect part of the problem is the editors want to make sure Readers get the most bang for their buck, so they’re looking for a bit more muscle on the bone. Plus, I think a lot of publishing tends to de-value Reader intelligence–not because editors think Readers are stupid, but because they want to err on the side of clarity. So I’m asked in revisions to explain, explain, and explain more. The fact that some esoteric things are commonplace to me by virtue of my lifestyle and studies doesn’t help, I suspect. Add to that five rounds if not more of revision, between my own drafts, revision letters, copyedits, and proof pages, and if I have any bad habits when it comes to repeating myself they shall verily mushroom in such a warm, oozing culture.
Another part of the problem is that I’m very visual. I see a book happening in my head, with crazy camera angles, CGI, the works. So I tend to assume everyone has that window into my brain and can see as clearly as I do. Unfortunately, writing hasn’t yet achieved that level of telepathy, so I’m often asked for paragraphs of description in a scene that is otherwise very lean and mean just so Readers and editors can get a mental “handle” on what I see in my head.
Add to that the fact that my books might not be someone’s cuppa tea for other reasons, and disaster looms. I can only answer, in the end, that writing is like any other art. You keep practicing not to become perfect but to become better, because perfection doesn’t really happen with human beings. If the “repetition” bugs you, sorry. I’m working on honing my craft, and I thank you for the feedback.
Dammit! I can’t wait for another Watcher book! What’s going on?
The next Watcher book, Mindhealer, should be coming out soon. You can email the publisher for more news, because I’ve learned never to say anything definite when it comes to production schedules. To do so only invites chaos.
You seem very comfortable with paranormal stuff…
Most of the time, the question is phrased as above. Yes, I’m pretty comfortable with paranormal/spooky/parapsychic stuff. For a variety of reasons, mostly because I have a taste for the stuff ever since reading my first horror novel and discovering sci-fi and fantasy, also because I’ve had some Genuinely Weird Experiences. I think EVERYONE has at least one Genuinely Weird Experience in their lifetime. How you respond to it–either by closing the door or by accepting that the universe is far weirder than out human brains are entirely comfortable with–largely defines a person’s tolerance for the woo-woo. (Not “New Age white-light buy-this-crystal” woo-woo. I’m talking “inexplicable, synchronous, statistic-defying, terrifying, and awe-inspiring” woo-woo.)
My tolerance for woo-woo is pretty high. So it creeps into the books, by hook or by crook. Plus, it’s like playing with shiny toys. You can break all sorts of rules in all sorts of intriguing ways. Mayhap my anarchic tendencies have something to do with it as well.
Well, that’s about all the questions I have time for. I need to go see if I can sleep tonight. After a long stretch of fairly-good slumber, mostly helped along by heat exhaustion and stress dealing with family stuff, insomnia looms threatening this early, early morning. If I get to bed in the next twenty minutes I might have a chance. Wish me luck.
Oh, and I hear Barnes & Noble has displays of the first three Valentine books (with the new covers) up in a few stores. If anyone manages to see one and snap a pic, I’d dearly love a jpg or two of it. And much thanks to the nice folks at Barnes and Noble for the vote of confidence. You cannot know how thrilled I was to hear that piece of news.
There’s a cool video on Spiked Humor about horimono–basically, yakuza tattoos. It’s short, but there’s some great Muse-crack and information in there, as well as some good images.
As for Muse crack and good images, here’s more Mika. This song in particular is feeding a creepy hellbreed in the current novel.
Mmmh, nice.
On a different, less-happy note, here is what the government has been doing in our name. I remember growing up I was always so proud to be an American, because we were the Good Guys. I am sad to report this does not seem to be true even cosmetically anymore. And it has happened despite the objections of good, rational people. I guess tyranny is easy; true democracy comes hard and at a price–the price of an informed citizenry unlazy enough to get up off their buttockses and care about the world. Instead, we have Fox News, Murdoch buying the Wall Street Journal, waterboarding, and an invasion the country doesn’t want but can’t stop because of Rove & Cheney’s gutting of our system, made possible by years of consolidation by the conservative wing. Paleoconservatives who say Bush & Co. aren’t “real conservatives” are blowing smoke out their rectums. The conservative agenda is a class-based agenda, and they have taken over. What we see now is the direct result of allowing that to happen.
As usual, Eric Idle says it best. (Warning: don’t click if you don’t like strong language.)
ANYWAY, I’m back at home after most of a week spent under high-stress conditions a few hundred miles away. I think I got heat exhaustion twice, but I was able to be a Help and Support to my sis as well as getting some neat presents for a whole bunch of people. As usual, Monty Python is a sure cure for WHATEVER ails me…
After all the heat and the confusion, it was nice to get home, go for a bike ride with the Princess, sleep in my own bed, go out for Mexican food, and spend six hours last night rebuilding our wireless network from scratch because something crashed.
Ah yes. I’m definitely home. Not thinking of going anywhere anytime soon.
I hope.
Here’s my favorite Looney Tunes. It’s the horse. it just slays me every time. And believe me, after this weekend I needed a laugh. Especially a big belly laugh, hopelessly snorting and wiping tears from my cheeks.
It is totally awesome to be able to drive home in about half the time it usually takes because one hits the “sweet spot” in traffic. It is even more awesome when the driving-home is about a hundred and eighty miles.
So…most of this morning was spent watching the wheels of justice. Sitting in a courtroom is interesting, especially when the judge is smart as a whip and verbally coherent. The good news is, once our (I say “our” because family support was in evidence) case was called, it took less than ten minutes to get everything squared away and the problem resolved.
*big sigh of relief*
Thank you for the letters and calls expressing support. It was wonderful to receive each and every one of them.
No, I’m not going to say more. I’m just happy everything turned out well, nobody is hurt, and the innocent were protected. To view law in progress is to watch something mind-numbingly finicky, but as I’ve said before, better the rule of law than no law at all. I would much rather solve things in the courtroom, with all its procedure and details, than by the alternative.
I am looking forward to being home soon, and even have a Hello Kitty present for the Princess, which will engender much squealing. I also have some vanilla bath salts.
That means bath. I agree with hobbitses–better is wine, if drink we lack, and Water Hot poured down the back!
I also scored a used Norton Critical (annotated) Jane Eyre, with no highlighting in it. SOOPER SCORE!
The hotel here is a little less than perfect (the room service has been unnecessarily rude, and for what I’m paying a night I do expect a room without peeling wallpaper, thank you) but my usual Seattle haunt was full-up when I was making reservations. *le sigh* But the view in thsi room is spectacular, and free wireless is a Good Thing.
Off I go to read. Perhaps in the BATH. And I cannot wait, absolutely cannot WAIT to get back to work. Life is fine, but revisions have to get done, ya know.
So updates will be spotty until Wednesday/Thursday. I am dealing with some family stuff. Nobody is hurt or dead, there’s just some Stuff that needs to be taken care of. Supporting your fam sometimes means standing by just in case. *grin* Of course I will say more later.
For right now, all good wishes are appreciated. And your patience while I deal with this stuff, too.
