April 24th, 2007

comics invisibles king mob

splendid isolation, i don't need no-one

Monkey: Cat, where are you?
Cat: I don't hear you.
Monkey: Cat, are you under the bed?
Cat: I don't know you.
Monkey: Cat? Are you in the closet?
Cat: Help me! This alien monkey is stalking me!
Monkey: I put out food.
Cat: I don't want your filthy bribes. Primate.
Monkey: *returns to chair*
Cat: I still don't know you.

*time passes*

Monkey: There's still food.
Cat: I'm not speaking with you, Primate.
Monkey: Aha! But at least you acknowledge my existence! Wiktory!
Cat: ...

*time passes*

Cat: Primate, you are blocking my access to the window with the birds behind it.
Monkey: This chair is big enough for the both of us.
Cat: No, it ain't.
Monkey: Suit yourself.
Cat: Oh, look. Kibble. A good thing this wasn't provided by a perfidous Monkey, or I would have to spurn it.
Monkey: ...

*time passes*

Monkey: Cat? Where are you?
Cat: I've been on the chair beside you for the last fifteen minutes. You were too busy watching Doctor Who to notice.
Monkey: ...
Cat: If I were a tiger, I would have eaten you.
Monkey: Lucky for me, you're not a tiger.
Cat: Indeed. Instead, I have to wait for you to die.
Monkey: Well, you may have to wait a while.
Cat: *looks shifty*
Monkey: Cat? Are you contemplating something I should know about?
Cat: Um. No?
Monkey: Good. Keep it that way.
Cat: It would just be sad if anything were to happen to you, is all.
Monkey: Good. I agree.
Cat: Then the replacement monkeys might have to take me back. And pay attention to me. And not make fun of me on the internets. And feed me treats. And I might get... spoiled.
Cat: *looks shifty again*
Monkey: *sleeps with one eye open*

*time passes*

Monkey: Cat, get off my copy of Archaelogy, please.
Cat: It's a stupid magazine anyway. What is that, written on a third grade level?
Monkey: Fifth.
Cat: I rest my case. Turn off the light, Monkey. I'm sleepy.
Monkey: Are you going to sleep in the bed? Because I thought you hated me.
Cat: Well, the other monkeys are better.
Monkey: *reads*
Cat: You're getting sleeeeepy, Monkey. Very, very sleeepy. Sleeeeeepier and sleeeepier....
Monkey: *yawns*
Cat: Sleeepier and sleeeeeeeeeeepier.....
Monkey: *turns off light*
Cat: Oh, and move your head. It's on my pillow.

*time passes*

Cat: Monkey! Monkey! Monkey!
Monkey: *snork* ....Wha?
Cat: THE GARBAGE TRUCK IS GOING TO EAT US ALL! RUN! RUN!
Monkey: ...okay, I'm up now. Would you like some breakfast?
Cat: Is the monster gone?
Monkey: Down the block already.
Cat: In that case, yes please. Caviar and ham?
Monkey: Friskies?
Cat: If we're on hardship rations, I suppose. Oh, and Monkey?
Monkey: Yes, Cat?
Cat: ...I'm glad you're not dead after all. I think the mimosa might be, though.
Monkey: Alas, I think you're right. I knew I should have repotted it right away.
Cat: Lazy Monkey. Move over on that chair.
spies mfu hustle napoleon & albert our a

pointlessest blog post evar

I just got around to watching Hustle 4x1.

It is to love.

Collapse )

Yeah, you're doomed. Hustle, Doctor Who, and at least another month of new eps of Criminal Minds. Just put this blog on your "fan" filter now.

At least the BBC seasons are short.

I did actual work this morning/afternoon. There was hours and hours of formatting and pasting and so forth as I created proposal ToCs for two short story collections (one Promethean Age, one comprehensive-since-Chains.) Which was not actual writing, but I think counts as work.

And then I made garlic bread for lunch.

If I were a good bear, I would go for a walk now.

I suspect I am not a good bear. Even though I just had about six hundred thousand calories worth of garlic bread and red wine for lunch.

But I might do some math instead.

Maybe I will go for that walk. And then come home and do my math and play guitar.

314.7 miles to Rivendell. That's like virtue, right?
  • Current Music
    chirping birds, playing children, and somebody doing something with sheet metal
  • Tags
writing gorey earbrass unspeakable horro

begin as you mean to go on

Well, I'm supposed to be working on short stories through the end of May, and I have a stack of unfinished ones here. So it is time to invoke the First Line Meme, with its superstitious baggage that posting the first bit of unfinished stories eventually leads to their finishing.

I'm down, actually. Only ten shorts in the queue, and I suspect that two of those may wind up abandoned for all time.

So, here's what I would like to get done this year:


Novels:


All the Windwracked Stars
(this will be a ground-up rewrite, but I have seventy pages done.)

He was born white, until she burned him.



Ink & Pen [the novel formerly known as the first half of The Stratford Man: this one needs revision, but I won't know what sort of revision until I know who will be editing it, as the editor who bought it is leaving that publisher. This is, as you might expect, a source of some ongoing stress.]

Christofer Marley died as he was born: on the bank of a river, within the sound and stench of slaughterhouses.



Short Fiction:


"Bone and Jewel Creatures"

As Bijou grew more frail, her creations grew more Byzantine.



"Dark on Wednesdays"

The Tower of Babylon rose through the veil of transplanted jungle foliage and piped-in orchid scent to scrape a desert sky burned almost colorless by the Nevada sun. Visible the entire length of the Las Vegas Strip, it collapsed in fire and fury six times daily, six days a week, wind conditions permitting.

For a premium, you could ride it down.



"The Death of Terrestrial Radio"


The first word was meant to be spoken quietly, if it should ever be spoken at all.



"King Pole, Gallows Pole, Bottle Tree"

The ghosts from the dam always come in the summer.



"On Safari in R'lyeh and Carcosa with Gun and Camera"

"We wouldn’t be having this problem if you'd flunked Algebra."



"Periastron"

After the tipping point, recursion becomes a fatal cascade.



"Skull Ring"

All in all, Ang had expected death to be a bigger deal.




"Smile"

It's harder to get good roles when you're dead.



"Wehrwolf"

The secret to getting away with murder is to tell no living soul. The secret to getting away with lying is to believe with all your heart.



"Your Collar"

When they dragged you from your labyrinth, they collared you in gold.





Tomorrow, I start working on "King Pole, Gallows Pole, Bottle Tree."  Oz has spoken. Meanwhile, there's a fanfiction bunny throwing me clever lines of dialogue without a plot attached.

That is not overly helpful.
criminal minds reid mathematics

(no subject)

Radicals are much easier than I ever remember them being. This is hardly like math at all. I think I will finish this chapter tomorrow, mostly because I am too lazy to finish it tonight.

On the other hand, trying to remember where all the sharps go on a guitar neck is hard. And my fingers dislike it.

Win some, lose some.