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bear by san

March 2017



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rengeek fucking silence

you think i'm alone but being alone's the only way to be.

I wrote 1100 words on *Gotham Jazz today, and have realized that I need a novel mode of death. I did come up with two or three great pieces of Nifty Shit for the worldbuilding and a character I'm really excited about (and a plot twist I want to save for book three, which is kind of dumb when I haven't sold book one yet), but I still have no real plot. I'm very tired still, and wondering if I should take the rest of the year off. If I can talk myself into it, because the problem is I get bored.

The really curious thing about living in the future is that we know we're doing it. I dunno if it's the psychological effect or The Year 2000, or America's First Hawaiian President, or smartphones, or Vanuatu slipping beneath the waves, or the Current Zombie Apocalypse, but it seems as if everybody, all of a sudden, is really truly aware that this is The Mythical After Time, baby. And, as predicted, even in the future we still have to take out the garbage.

The S1ngularity always creates as many problems as it resolves, you know?

"It's okay if I die. Just make it a slow, slow, slow death."

On those rare occasions when I drink soda, when I finish a bottle, it makes me miss my spotty dog. (Signy, a rescue Great Dane who shared my home for many years. Alas, like all Great Danes, even her giant heart was insufficient to sustain her life force for long--though she did live to eleven. Here's a picture of her looking like a Gloos, which was her nickname. Here's a couple of her with her life-partner, Marlowe The Cat Too Dumb To Know Fear. And here's one for good measure, of the world's most adorable mastiff, Paladin, while I am missing pets. He was worried because I was fixing his bunny.) 

Anyway, Signy would beg for empty soda bottles, you see. She liked to carry them around and make them go "scrunch!"

Good girl.

*I am using this to indicate presumptive titles, the way linguists use it to indicate reconstructed Indo-European words


Very handsome creatures. =) Signy and Marlowe are especially charming together. =)

The very worst part of having pets is that knowledge that you will outlive them. My moosedog (not Great Dane big, but still big) is about five, and it seems like his hips get a little more sore everyday, which just feels like an ill omen, you know? (the rational part of my brain is very small. =p )

Stupid mortality, anyway.
I would love for everybody else to live forever. As long as I don't have to. :-P
Novel mode of death? Other than being fed hot type from an old-style Linotype? Or being skinned to play an important part in a very limited edition of someone's book (one hopes not their own)?

Ah, silly me. Of course, you want something original or innovative, right? What technology level and cultural background are you looking for? Among your readers I'm sure many interesting ideas can be created, and some might not be absurd (well, not very).

Best wishes, of course!
Not looking for suggestions, actually, but thank you.


Hi, passer-by here.
Had to say that anyone who posts pictures of the missed ones has a strong heart. And now when I hear the plastic being crushed in the recycling bin I will think of a great dane. Good girl.
Very good girl. Thank you.
I'm seeing a giant dog pattern here. Was your Great Dane convinced he was a lapdog? Or at least small enough to fit into laps? A friend of mine has a young Great Dane (I think he just turned one a month or so ago) who keeps trying to fit into her lap. Makes for very silly pictures!

All such beautiful critters!
She was a sofa dog, mostly. Although she was tall enough to rest her chin on the table to see what was for dinner.
*so tired that she reads "novel mode of death" and mentally defines it as "opposite of the short story mode of death"*

Lovely pet-pictures. Being presently owned by my very first cats, I have to say that it is a wonderful and scary thing.
With a novel, you hit over the head. With a short story, you have to stuff it down their throat.
When my current black lab was a puppy, she was little enough that the gallon milk jugs came up to her chest. We'd give her the empty ones and she'd put her front paws over and push with her back paws to skate around. That had to stop when she got big enough to shred the plastic and swallow it, but she still sniffs excitedly at empty milk jugs when we put them in recycling. She's six and if she could live forever, I'd say yes. Signy's pictures are gorgeous.
It was lovely to see pictures of Signy, Marlowe and Paladin again. Such handsome animals, all three of them.
Marlowe is still alive and well, AFAIK, with my ex. I wonder if he misses his spotty dog, too.
but of course.
Such lovely critters. My pack has, in the last year, gone from four to two, and I miss my Deuce-dog and Garion-the-blockhead. I love giant dogs, but every time I remember trying to lift my medium-sized lab for his last trip to the vet, I keep thinking when I get another (which won't be for a while, I hope), it'll have to be one I can lift on my own, 'cause it took me and my dad and two towels to get poor Garion up off the floor.

Edited at 2010-12-19 12:32 pm (UTC)
Awww. Poor guy.

I can lift the Briard on my own. Getting the mastiff to the vet when he was having a heart attack was... an experience. And there were two of us.
My dog Sara was a Great Dane/St. Bernard cross. Lovely dog that looked like a Rhodesian Ridgeback on steroids. She made it to 9, which I suppose is about what was expected. I love the giant dogs, and I'm seriously considering a Leonberger when I get my house, but the short life-span is just heartbreaking.

Signy was gorgeous--and the pictures of her with Marlowe are charming. Paladin was quite handsome, too.
The first full day she was with us, I had gotten up early (before dawn) to get the dogs out before work, leaving my then-husband in bed. I was outside with both of them, and suddenly the kitchen door flew open and there was my ex, disheveled and upset. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Of course," I said. "I'm just taking the dogs out."

"Oh," he says, and I see he's holding the small black cat. "Because Marlowe was standing at the door, screaming like something was killing him."

She was His Dog. No two ways about it. He'd pin her head down on a desktop and wash inside her ears, while she made the most horrible faces. But she wouldn't pull away, because he had his paw on her head. Nevermind that her head was as big as he was.
Signy would beg for empty soda bottles, you see. She liked to carry them around and make them go "scrunch!"

My dog does the same thing, though he is much, much smaller. ^_^

It must be a dog thing...

Our husky dog also loves soda bottles. She watches us pour our glasses (if it's a big bottle) and waits impatiently for it to get close to empty. Of course, it's also the loudest toy that she has, so we try to wait to finish a bottle when we're not trying to write/listen/talk on the phone, etc.