I Can Has Dungeon Pleez?
First thing: I will be signing at the University Bookstore, on University Way in Seattle on Friday, January 18, at 7pm. Along with the uber-fabulous Richelle Mead! There will probably be a whole contingent of urban fantasy authors in the audience, a la Mark Henry and Kat Richardson (at least, I’ve heard they’re going to be at the party) and a swell time will be had by all. (If you’re going to be there and I haven’t mentioned you, my apologies. I don’t know WHAT exactly will happen or WHO exactly will be there, always a recipe for a great party.)
I just need to get the oil changed in the car today before I drive up to Seattle on Friday morning. Jiffy Lube will hold my hand all through this process, I’m sure. They’re always amused by how frightened I am of the whole thing. “No ma’am, no car has ever exploded while we’ve done this. They don’t pay us enough to make them explode.”
But enough of that. Writing. I’m writing today.
All right. I’ve got the protagonist in the dungeon chained to the wall. He’s noble, so the cell’s clean at least, no visible rats, and the chains haven’t started to rub yet. I’ve got all sorts of fun planned for him–a visit from his parents, a visit from his wife, the sudden reversal of fortune and a devil’s bargain…
…so why, in the name of all that’s holy, am I staring at steampunk pretties like this (this is pretty much the mental image I have of Saul in the Kismet series, except without the Edwardian stuff, which defeats the whole “steampunk” thing he’s got going on but hey, it’s my fantasy life, dammit) and this (photo on the far right? the Selkie and I have agreed this is Delgado, of the Society series.)
A writer can look at things like these for a loooooooooooong time. (A girl can look for even looooooooongerrrrrrr.) I see echoes of the characters inside my head in lots of Web stuff and even on the streets. It all goes into that little well in my head, the one that I draw images from. Sometimes I wonder, like Humbert Humbert, if my casting these people/images in fantasies (that I write down instead of trying out play out in real life) harms them in some nebulous way. But then, I’m not Humbert, so I think I’m pretty safe.
I think this is the reason why the Internet is such a fabulous boon for writers. We get to look at all sorts of things that feed our Muses to the brim, and that is a wondrous thing. From the comfort of my home I can surf the Uffizi even, or the Louvre. This to me is pretty much made of awesome.
But I need that dungeon. I need to chain this character up and make him hurt, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to hurt him if I keep staring at the PRETTIES, omg the pretties.
*sigh* It’s hell, this writing life. Heh.
Hope your day has similarly pleasant frustration, my ducks.
