September 5th, 2008

can't sleep books will eat me

one bedroom one bath a/c worked fine 'till yesterday

Yes, it's September, and after spending a good part of August sleeping with the windows open, I am back to huddling in the A/C waiting for the weather to break. 80 degrees and 90% humidity already at 8:54 AM. I tell you what.

The cat appears to have had a fine night of rearranging me last night, judging by the glitterballs on my pillow and the kink in my neck. Thank god she's an indoor cat, so I get glitterballs rather than bits of vole. It's a mark of esteem, really. As is her current parade along the back of the couch singing arias and rubbing against my neck.

The good news is, climbing with the Jeff tonight after all, and if I can get enough work done, I may go down a little early and work on a bouldering problem. Of course, I am signally failing to get that work done currently. I claim it's because I'm waiting to figure out whose POV this next scene should be in. I got ~2400 words of "Smoke & Mirrors" yesterday, though, putting the total word count at 17,777 (isn't that cute? I didn't even do that on purpose.) which means that I've gotten four days in a row of at least two thousand words. That makes me feel good, and also like my writer-brain is functioning properly again.

I expect I will finish this thing, in draft at least, by Monday. I have the Awful Troof to write, and then the Climactic Space-Battle and the Earth-Shattering Kaboom.

Remnants of TS Hanna are expected to come through over the weekend, bringing rain and cooler temperatures; this will work out well for the running schedule. (I like running in the rain; my bulky heat-retaining northern European/Slavic body likes external cooling.)

Yesterday's only exercise was archery, at which I stank; I let my blood sugar get a little too low and was having stability problems. Including a moment of epic fail where I let my release slip while still drawing and put an arrow into the sheetrock eight feet off the floor. Le sigh. Fortunately, we were on the walk-up range, so I did not have to do the Walk Of Shame in front of the crowd over on the automatic range.

Of course, then I can come on the internets and tell six thousand of my closest friends all about it.

Right. Time to get this scene written and also drink some tea.
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    CPR--Where We Live

god, you know, it's hard to keep the fighting clean

Obviously, now that I have unboxed my new steamer (the same as the old steamer, a Black and Decker that I originally got when I still lived in the garret on Charter Oak Street with ladegard, which conservatively puts its age at ~12 years, so I guess replacing a thirty-dollar piece of equipment that I use almost daily it isn't such a blow as all that), made tea, cleaned out the hutch, bagged up about twenty-five old empty tea tins and put them away in the hall closet, and sorted and thrown away a cache of old mail from 2007, the next step is to take a nice long shower, because I still have not written a word.

Come on, boys, give me some sugar.

This sorting and cleaning has led me to a couple of discoveries.

1) Oh, yeah, the ice cream maker. That's where that went. Tomorrow I should get peaches and make ice cream while peaches are still in season.

2) Yes, I know I have a birthday coming up. Please, don't buy me tea. I know, it seems like an easy gift idea, and you can tell yourself "Well, at least she can use the tins." Except really it's not. Because I'm terribly fussy about what tea I drink, and I generally buy my own, mail order, in vast quantities from and, and I don't drink tea in bags except for when I am at conventions or one Sunday a month when I go to Fall River for a D&D game, and see above, the ~25 empty tea tins I just cleaned out of the hutch. (It might have been thirty.)

No, really, please god. No more tea. Because if you send it, I will guiltily attempt to drink it, and that will keep me from getting through the vast quantities of tea already in my tea cabinet (Yes, I have an entire tea cabinet) which is slowly going stale because I keep guiltily drinking other tea I don't actually like as much. Exceptions to this rule: kelliem, the Russian stuff you sent was awesome. Of course, I bought more when I finished it, and haven't gotten through the second tin yet because of Tea Guilt....

Vicious cycle.

3) I have got to break down and buy a dust buster, because the floor robot does not do crevices or corners or the bit behind the power strip under the computer table. I keep asking my mother for a dust buster for my birthday, and instead she buys me tea.*

4) Nor do I actually need a new teapot, though I do keep wishing the blue one from Target would break so I can get one I like more. Alas, the old hideous ugly white china one with the giant cabbage roses and the cracked-and-much-glued lid, which I did like in spite of it looking like the pride of your great-grandmother's china collection, broke instead. This is not really a tragedy, however, as I still have the glass one with the infuser basket that's good for green and white tea (the infuser basket does not allow black tea to expand sufficiently, however, and you can't use it without the basket because of the design of the lid) and the blue one from Target with the stupid hollow handle that gets hot, and the black cast iron Japanese tetsubin. And the tiny little black one-serving one that I am pretty sure stillnotbored sent me as a housewarming present, unless that was also kelliem.

In my lifetime, I have now broken three teapots, I think. I had the Japanese one with the black and red dragons that I bought in Provincetown when The Jeff and I were dating, which had a long and happy life as netcurmudgeon-and-my Midnight Teapot of choice. (I still have two of the cups that went with it, though.) I had the plain green earthenware one very much along the lines of a Brown Betty, which held about ten cups of tea and saw me through two apartments and part of my stay in Las Vegas, before I realized that it was mineralizing around the cracks and I should probably throw it away before the day when I filled it with ten cups of boiling water and it exploded. And there was the abovementioned Hideous Monstrosity with the cabbage roses, which was a gift from my former mother in law and made excellent tea, and poured really well.

Yes. I'm hard on the furniture. I am still on my first electric kettle, though. At umpteen years and counting.

And now it's time for that shower, and then possibly some further displacement activity, or maybe actual work.


*This joke unfair to my mother, who actually has not bought me tea in quite some time.
writing semicolon

I ask because this has been bugging me for *days* now....

Yes, you all can stop telling me I've been Thogged. I know. And while I can't complain about the attention, I'm becoming obsessed by a related question. You see, I keep looking at that sentence, and now I need to poll the audience, because I can't see what's wrong about it. Dependent clause still refers back to the subject of the sentence, right, and not the intervening adverbial phrase?

Sentence in question is:

The stool wobbled under her when he took her hands, the one leg shorter than the others that his father hadn't mended in fifteen years gone past.

Test the sentence by removing the adverbial phrase:

The stool wobbled under her when he took her hands, the one leg shorter than the others that his father hadn't mended in fifteen years gone past.

Let's take out the prepositional phrase too.

The stool wobbled under her, the one leg shorter than the others that his father hadn't mended in fifteen years gone past.

No, that still looks right. Am I misremembering my grammar that badly?

...I think I need a new career...
writing gorey earbrass unspeakable horro

(no subject)

[14:31] stillsostrange: Where does this scene go?
[14:31] matociquala: How does this scene start?
[14:32] stillsostrange: "Don't you want it?"
[14:32] stillsostrange: (but is not as porny as that might be)
[14:32] matociquala: ...
[14:33] matociquala: Okay, since currently I have in this room, Reyes, Todd, Brady, Villette, the CotW, and two victims and their 7 month old twins...
[14:33] matociquala: ...
[14:33] matociquala: brainwash pls.
[14:33] stillsostrange: snerk
[14:34] stillsostrange: This book needs more porn
criminal minds fate

(no subject)

[22:17] stillsostrange: Write my scene, then
[22:17] matociquala: I have a worse fate.
[22:18] matociquala: I have to write a transition.
[22:18] stillsostrange: booo
[22:21] matociquala: Oh, apparently my transition is just Todd saying "God, I hate stakeouts."
[22:21] matociquala: You know, Duke is really nice to have around as a character.
[22:21] katallen: heh
[22:21] matociquala: He understands narrative.
[22:21] matociquala: And he's *Helpful* about moving it.
[22:21] stillsostrange: heee
[22:21] stillsostrange: I'll take a dozen
[22:21] matociquala: *shares*
[22:22] tanaise: It's all about the helpitude.
[22:22] matociquala: Yeah, Todd, you're right. I don't need a scene setting up the stakeout.
[22:22] tanaise: Also, it's about remembering to wash this lettuce when I make a salad again tomorrow.
[22:22] matociquala: I just need the readers to know that  we are about to have a long boring stakeout.
[22:22] matociquala: Which they will not be shown.
[22:23] matociquala: *cue montage of Todd bouncing a rubber ball against the wall while Brady paces and the pile of Snickers wrappers by Chaz's chair grows ever taller.*
criminal minds reid mathematics


Gah. Chaz is making me do physics homework for one line of introspection. Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaz.
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