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bear by san

March 2017



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bear by san

Stream-of-Consciousness Pie.

...and nolove on the rewrite for Ideomancer. Alas. At least it was quick.

This is the thing I hate about selling something. Or worse, more than one something in quick succession. I start to think that maybe I'm on a roll, and the next few won't be rejections either. Nothing more destructive to my writerly Zen and my samurai sense of acceptance of death than hope.

But three rejects in a row have pretty much taken the edge off that, and I'm back to cheerful fatalism now. Alles gut.

And I sent two stories out yesterday, including one that had been trunked for five months while I figured out how to fix it--because I maybe fixed it. And I tried a new market for the first time--Brutarian--so we'll see how it goes.

I'm getting in touch with my Yankee roots by having pie for breakfast; it's Key Lime pie, admittedly, and not something healthy like apple or strawberry-rhubarb (healthy pie, you ask? Well, yes, of course--it has fruit in it! Pumpkin is also an acceptable breakfast pie. And you'd better not be eating cheese Danish or a chocolate croissant (Las Vegas also does not have a single place to get a decent bagel or pain au chocolat) while you're making that face, is all I can say.) but it is pie.

I got ten hours of sleep last night, which is unheard of. It was actually a bit too much--I woke up at 5:30 refreshed and went back to sleep because of the level of sleepytrons being generated by the boy, the four cats, and the gently snoring mastiff in the bedroom. (The Dane slept in the rec room, for some reason. She's not into this communical sleep time the rest of us enjoy) I wonder if I'm coming down with something, or if that is just an oversleeping headache.

More tea! It's the cure for everything.

And we might get to see The Triplets of Belleville on Monday. It's at Las Vegas' only art theatre. That's right, nearly two million people in the metro area.

One art theatre.

And there's never any problem getting in.

And people wonder why I mock this town.

And now, we recommence our paper edit. Page 842 on the printout, act IV, Scene xii. Hannah said there was some skimmable stuff hereabouts. I'll have to see if I can find it and ferret it out.

For those of you who play the Shakeseparean game, the death toll so far is eight killed, one exiled, unless I'm forgetting somebody.

That's not counting Kit, by the way. He's dead before the book starts, after all.


You're still on a roll~

*chowing down on coffee cake, chocolates & coffee* Best part of being an adult is that you can do whatever you want. The guilt part is stupid leftover training from childhood and should be dispensed with as soon as possible.

Mmmm. Strawberry-rhubarb pie...

One art theatre

You know, if you wanted to convince me to move there and keep you company in your misery...this wasn't the way to do it ;)

- D
MMMmmm, key lime pie! Also, scientists recently found that the cinnamon in apple pie (and everywhere) has all sorts of beneficial effects -- at first they thought it was the apples, but nope, it's the cinnamon. AND I loved The Triplets of Belleville. Note the fact the the grandmother is Portuguese -- an lj friend from Portugal pointed that out.
Two million? In Las Vegas? Please, please tell me you're counting Henderson and Boulder City.

Cause it was less than a million when I lived there (granted, 20 years ago,and dear God how did that happen? The twenty years, I mean, not living in Las Vegas).



Actually, I just checked the census data, and it looks like my numbers were off--the 200 census lists Clark County with about 1.4 million, but I know I read 1.8 million somewhere, recently.

Of course, the census misses people--especially illegals--so it's possible that 1.8 million was an adjusted guesstimate.


How strange. I just sent something off to them moments before reading this. Good luck to us both!
Amazing how important the dead characters can be to a story, isn't it?

Sometimes opn account of their influence, sometimes as literal characters still involved in the events of the plot.

Random blathering

What is this thing called breakfast?

::That would be the most important meal of the day. You know, the one you don't eat::

Oh, shush. I'm just not capable of eating that soon after I wake up.

Pah on rejections. They know nothing. Good luck with Brutarian. Sympathetic hugs on the art theatre thing.

More SM. Want more, want more. Absolutely nothing wrong with a good Shakespearean body count.

As for Kit, he's the poster boy for "Pretty Spry for a Dead Guy"--and oh my god I cannot believe I just put that into my head I might actually have to *arrange* it now--and is probably throwing a tantrum right now about not counting.

My, I can talk a lot of rubbish ;)