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tonight a special memory serves me [Jan. 6th, 2012|03:21 pm]
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Sorry. I just. I mean. I always thought of Paul Banks when I wrote about Dart's looks. But THAT PICTURE OH MY GOD.

ETA: Non tumblr-stretched version here!

My inner Becca just went a little weak-kneed. Then went back to wanting to alternately fuck Tommy's brains out and punch Tommy in the throat.

But still.

(Actually, my inner Paul [Appleby] even went a little weak-kneed, but we all know the guy's queer as a three dollar bill and just doesn't know it, right? Right.)
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[May. 14th, 2011|03:30 pm]
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There should be an annotated version of The Resurrectionists that uses John and Meghan's comments, I swear to god. They're so much better than the text. I'm sitting here editing from John's version and I know Megh's cracked me up hard on the last draft, too.

As a sample, from the bit I just edited (which is full of such rad hilarity leading up to this point, too):

Tom, meeting her stony glare with one of his own, only slightly different for the hint of smugness about the mouth and eyes, said, "Miss Hannah, it's nothing for which your admirable beau ought to feel ashamed. As I have long said, God has not left him without resources--and surely He would not be so cruel to the rest of our sex as to endow one man with every desirable quality. What woman would deign to speak to the rest of us?"

Hannah's smile twisted into something cruel, and she drew herself up to her full five-feet-and-four-inches. "So it is not only envy, but also jealousy. I daresay you're right to feel as much, Mr. Brandon. Absolutely right." [Oh, snap! - John]

I laughed so hard it hurt. Oh my god.

I now have this unshakable image of Paul, after Hannah flounces off, going, "Oh, snap! You just got served, sucker!"

And Tom being like, "Fuck that noise, man--haters gon' hate." As he straightens his cravat.
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[Nov. 18th, 2010|02:30 pm]
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Fuck you, Paul.

That is all.
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I didn't realize that you wrote poetry; I didn't realize you wrote such really awful poetry [Oct. 4th, 2010|12:54 pm]
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I have so much fucking work that wants done, I am twitching to get back to work on Resurrectionists, I need to go to the store since we have no fucking food in the house...

But all I want to do is curl up with my new Rimbaud book and ignore everything. Also, possibly work out until I drop from exhaustion.

I think RPP slush must be delayed for another day or two. I'll do the stuff to sort out Black Medicine Thunder and then I'll go to the store, come home, and work on Resurrectionists. I think if I can just get some work done there, I'll be back on the right track. Plus, I miss it really badly. Was supposed to be done by now. Got a long, long way to go, but I'm ready to bite the ass off a bear at this point.

Not getting anything done for a whole week makes me miserable, apparently. And misery = Rimbaud and working out. God.
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when the cadaverous mob saves its doors for the dead men you cannot leave [Aug. 13th, 2010|09:25 pm]
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Of course my train home is 2 hours late, because Amtrak hates me. So here I am, sat in 30th Street Station unable to really form a rational thought because all weekend all I’ve been doing is thinking. Which would be great if it didn’t mean thinking as if I had sprung fully formed from the early 19th century—as in I feel compelled to use words like “daresay” and a lot of useless adverbs.

Anyhow this seems a good opportunity for me to record my thoughts on this rather impressive half a week here in Philadelphia, since I’m not otherwise usefully employed. For the first time in quite some time. I meant to do it last night, and the night before, but well we see how that turned out. Again, all that thinking. I'm not made for it, you know.

So the general idea on Wednesday was just to get here and get to it. Of course my train was late, but not so very, so I got here around 11, checked in, got sorted out, and still had some extra time. I took a cab to Society Hill, thinking I could see Dr. Philip Syng Physick’s house. (He was the professor of anatomy at the time at UPENN—also had a big fucking house in the necessary neighborhood, had just gone through a messy divorce of note, and invented soda. As a medicine, but Aldo was still fairly impressed.) Alas the house was not open, so I just roamed Society Hill and picked out a few likely houses, gauged the nearness of Physick house and Powel house, etc.

And so a little later than initially planned I made it to the Pennsylvania Historical Society. I’m glad I went here first, because they were the toughest—very intense about what you could and could not take in and out, made you pay for a locker to store the contraband, all that sort of thing. But I met their requirements somehow and got a nice librarian to explain to me how to get them to bring me the goods. I had already printed out call numbers and that sort of thing, so I sent them off in search of the personal effects of various persons of whom I had never heard before. Mostly Julia Rush Williams (daughter of Dr. Benjamin Rush, who would’ve been not long dead, being of half a generation before Dr. Appleby himself, and the most famous doctor in America at the time. So she would've been raised in a similar, but far more limelight-ish household) and Gertrude Gouverner Ogden Meredith. The former would be maybe 5 years older than Becca, but married and turning out babies already. The latter was older, but only by 10-15 years; also married and well into the babymaking process. I liked her letters the best because she was a writer and completely hilarious. I liked her sons’ letters too—there were more from William Morris Meredith, who was a state Rep for PA, but I liked Samuel’s better. He was younger, at school in New York, and insisted that he couldn’t possibly have written his mother as much as she liked last week because he had a cold that was so bad he was about “to go and hang myself!”


Anyhow I played historical voyeur from about 1pm to 7.30pm, which got me plenty of interesting phrases to use ala Heyer-research, and then toddled off for some overpriced wine and an excellent dinner. (What I saved on the inexpensive hotel, I generally spent on dinner. I’m okay with that.)

The next day to the Mutter museum—or rather their library. The librarian there was particularly helpful, and they didn’t care what I took in or out. What I learned about Bec and Hannah the day before I learned about Tom, Francis, and Paul there. (Though admittedly, Samuel Meredith‘s letters were VERY Paul. Obviously.) I was handed actual notebooks purchased at Front Street stationers (hey, now I know where they got their school supplies!) and scribbled in by these would-be physicians: lectures in anatomy by Dr. Physick, material medica, chemistry, surgery, etc. (Most of these notes were from winter terms on either end of '26, but I'm okay with that. I still say this book should happen in the spring/summer just so I can end it on Jul 4 1826. It's just that cool.) I now know all kinds of fascinating Latin terms that no doctor would ever use today—and some that they would! I also know precisely what Dart would’ve done for Tom’s bullet wound and what Tom would’ve done for Paul’s face. (Also spotted the occasional bored/distracted doodle, which was in its way even more awesome.)

Incidentally, it’s no wonder the mortality rate was so high. God, Lister could’ve come a bit sooner, couldn’t he?

Sadly my body sabotaged me about four notebooks in—which was okay since I only had one more I was thinking of looking at anyhow, and the cheerful librarian was nowhere to be found for the last hour even if I had wanted it. I ran downstairs to see the museum for an hour, then fucked off at closing time for the library with a head full of disturbing and fascinating medical anomalies. I ate at the typical chain restaurant Ruby Tuesdays, indulging in the veggie burger and, in much greater quantities, the restorative Jack and Coke.

By then you might imagine my back was fucking killing me, hauling my shit around Philadelphia for a few days like that. Granted, there’s pretty much nowhere in Philadelphia that takes more than 10 minutes to reach—at least so long as you’re in the city proper—but it’s still a pain in the ass when your back sucks like mine. Never mind that, there is research to be done! But my point is that that’s not quite the body issue I was having (if you’ll take my not so subtle hint) and so I spent the evening after that with a little paper cone of Godiva chocolate covered strawberries, crap decaf hotel coffee, and the History Channel. Then I curled up in a ball and, thankfully, slept the worst of the pain off.

Yes I felt better in the morning, I’m glad to say! So I got up and had the morning Luna Bar and hotel coffee, then made my way to the Library Company. The librarian there was a sweet middle-aged woman who helpfully did as her emails had promised and showed me how to find the exact newspapers I needed. I spent the morning flipping through the National Gazette and Literary Review for March-July 1826, snapping photos of interesting ads, notices, and happenings about town, happy in the knowledge that I now knew precisely what Paul was carrying tucked under his little arm all day, Becca and Hannah were fighting him for, and Tom was mocking heartlessly. Major topics of interest were Mr. Jefferson’s financial difficulties, the theater (naturally—hell now I actually know what was going on in it!), random ass foreign politics (particular interest in the English and French, but also stretching to the oddly far eastern), sensational murders, fires, &c., the stock market, the exhibition at the Institute of Fine Arts, and whether or not Genl. Jackson the dubious Hero of New Orleans might be a candidate for President in the next election. (Spoiler alert: he was.) Even found an advert for a newly minted copy of The Federalist and a lot of discussion of a duel between Calhoun and Randolph that was all very condemning and generally delicious.

Anyhow, I took lots and lots of reference pictures of it, so here’s hoping my camera loves me when I get home. I can hardly believe I remembered to bring the thing, it was so fucking useful. Knock on wood.

Today was also different, though. This day, I decided to eat lunch. For the past two days I had just been sneaking out for ten minutes, a bottle of water, and a pack of crackers. But today I retraced my steps to Society Hill (the Library Co. being just next to HSP, and therefore in familiar territory) and stopped at a Jimmy Johns for a cheese and mustard on the way. I swallowed it whole en route and returned to Physick House, where I took a tour with a strange and motley crew of other visitors and voyeurs (a middle aged man and his old ass, chatty, amateur historian father + a very probably gay couple, who snerked with me a lot). Most useful, and I hopped a cab back so as not to make the whole adventure last much more than an hour.

(I found out that Raphael Peale was buried nearby and wanted to go and pay my respects, like Paul would've wanted. Oh well, next time!)

Then I finished up with The Aurora and Franklin or whatever it was called—the decidedly more democratic flavored Philadelphia paper, but I only made it through the spring. I needed to look at the Philadelphia Visitor’s Guide and Directory for 1825 (1826 was not available, but I think I’ll survive), which pretty well answered my remaining questions.

I left a good 20 minutes before the sweet little librarian would’ve had to throw me out on my ass, repaired to the nearest Italian bistro for a well-timed martini. I also ate half of about everything I ordered (pasta primavera should probably not be swimming in butter, because that is gross; that said, the house wine was all right, and the crème brulee rather good).

And then I went off to pick up the bags, which the hotel had been so good as to watch for me all day, caught a cab, and here I sit. Well, I did have to remind Balaji to buy Interpol tickets, as they went on general sale this morning, but that’s about all the excitement after entering 30th Street Station. Certainly nothing like a train arriving. Not one going south, anyhow.

In short (see, I almost wanted to say “In fine”—it’s happening again, goddammit!!) it was a useful, worthwhile, and excellent research trip. I hope to god my pictures worked. I took a lot of notes by hand in the HSP and I transcribed a lot of the most important pages (the anatomy lectures in particular) at the Mutter. But it wasn’t at all useful to do that today with the tiny little newspaper articles and—yeah. Lots of the letters just need to be seen in situ—no that’s not the phrase I want, goddammit I’m turning into Bertie Wooster misusing this Latin bullshit. It's one of the few we art historians know, though. Anyhow, you know what I mean. Even if the camera busts somehow it will have been worthwhile. If it doesn’t, it will have been incredible value for the dollar.

And now it says it's 2hrs 15 minutes late. I think I need another drink, the last 3 are really wearing off. Also, this bench is like a church pew. Which is uncomfortable, though probably not for the reasons my mother would hope.
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The obligatory recap [Dec. 29th, 2009|02:08 am]
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In re last year's pseudo-resolutions and goals:

First up: The Resolution. Sort of discussed this on ye olde author blog, but I'm not going to explain why I talk about my characters like they're real anymore. I feel like I'm making excuses. You know why I do it, don't pretend you don't. And if you really don't, that's cool, you probably don't care anyhow.

I actually did that! Not that it was difficult. I did see one dumbfuck doing a blog post about how weird it is to talk like that, but it was on the fringe of my little circle, so I magnanimously ignored it. If you can't say something nice, snark about it in private. So there we go.

I do hate explaining myself. Almost as much as I hate people who think I ought to. Glad it only took me 29 years to figure that shit out.

And on to the goals...

The Resurrectionist will get written.
Well fuck me, I did it! It hurt, but honestly, I haven't had that much fun writing in a long fucking time. Four PoVs, maybe not that smart. But if I can save it, it'll all be worth it. Also, Tom is loud. He's not a specific sort of muse like some of them-- those are kind of rare comparatively-- but he's more a collective sort of something that's always been there with me. Haven't written someone that easy for me since a vampire. Jesus.

And in Becca, I had a character I could honestly say I liked, for once. I don't know that she's likable at all, but I think I'd genuinely like her if I knew her. I can't say the same for Hannah or Paul-- though I suppose they'd both be entertaining as acquaintances.

The Inhuman War/Sheehy thing will get written.
Didn't do it, but I made up an excuse a few months back. See, I was going to do it for Nano, but then November rolled around and I thought, ah fuck, you know what, I'm tired after that Resurrectionist debacle, and I really need to relax. Plus... that should be a graphic novel.

Come on. Michael the Archangel burning down a DC bar, a black mass in La Voison's Potomac-overlooking penthouse, Vlad the Impaler pulling a "Luke, I'm your father", and Icarus dripping invisible wax all over Brian and Grady's DuPont Circle apartment. It'll be great!

... maybe not. But I still want to do it, goddammit.

The Audio File will get queries in my usual small batches, undoubtedly. I should also say here that Wolfton Paranormal will probably see another round after that
Didn't do the former for much the same reason, and more immediate. I did a few drafts, but scrapped it for the upcoming script. So it was sort of invalidated. Wolfton, however, did get another round of queries!

The merc thing, I think, will really come together.
This apparently happened yesterday. (As in, I figured out the entire first arc of conflict-- it was missing something. Now it's not.) So I guess that counts.

I can write another dozen shorts.
Nope. Well, when I made these predictions last year, I didn't really understand what it takes for me to complete a satisfactory short story. I don't want to say that I can't work on demand-- I can absolutely work on demand. But if the project doesn't hit me with inspiration immediately, it's not going to. I know it's dumb to work in absolutes, but... fuck it. Anyhow, invites and stuff balance this shit out, if you ask me. Not bothered!

Oubliette and Camp Town, after their reworkings, will be submitted to small presses.
I totally forgot I made this prediction/goal! I did both of these, and expect to hear back about both within the next month. Oubliette's been out forever, but that's how it works. Scripped probably won't take as long... but it won't be instant!

Sequel wise, I'll likely write the next Wolfton, Izzy book, or re-vamp (haha... punny... sorry) James.
I didn't, but I'm having G dreams again. Did I mention this last week? It's been going on for a while.

G's dreams fucking suck, by the way.

That's not a bad haul I guess, since I made excuses for all the shit at which I FAILED SPECTACULARLY. Well, almost. Sweet.

Appropriate icon is appropriate.
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An anatomy of kisses and a teacher who tries [Sep. 18th, 2009|06:45 pm]
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I read through The Resurrectionists over the last two days, just kind of skimming and making sure shit aligned. I also cut out a few little scenes that I could already feel needed it, and shortened some shit, but only when it was really obvious and required no tweaking of other scenes. I did knock it down about 2k though. I mean, the book's just that long.

Pretty sure it can stand to lose another 20k without blinking, because the biggest problem I can see is my fucking ridiculous verbosity. Yeah, I did take on a lot with the four MCs, but my gut tells me it was enough to excuse 100k, not 120k. Big fucking difference.

Anyhow, it's not as bad as I thought it was. Not good, but I'm hopeful, at least, that some day it could be.

I made some notes in the file, just as comments, for my own reference and for the first two victims, and hit send. I won't be ready to touch it again for some months, but at least I'll know its out there, and that'll keep me from fucking with it any more. Now I can relax, play LotRO, and maybe write that Greek short, since it's still haunting me.

Also, ficitonalized account of Richey Edwards' life "as he might've told it"?

Dude. In fucking. poor. taste. You can't do shit like that while friends and relatives are still living with it. Christ. He's not fucking Anne Boleyn.

I think the man made it fucking clear he wanted to be left alone, anyhow.

I feel a blog entry coming on, but I'd better let it sit for a day so I don't spew vitriol and make an even bigger ass of myself than is absolutely necessary. If nothing else, blogging as a "professional" has been good for making me keep my fucking mouth shut.
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Drug them and give them star prizes, lock them away in high rises [Sep. 17th, 2009|12:42 am]
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122k and some change. There's a scene I left out with Hannah and Will at the end, but I don't know if it's necessary. A lot of the shit in the end was just tying off a few loose threads (not all, of course!), mostly pre-written or me tying pre-written shit together, and doesn't feel very good. And I could make a list of the major problems I already suspect will make my life hell when I go back to do a second draft.

But if anyone were to ask me how much I cared right now, I would have to say with no compunction: not at all.

Because the rough draft of The Resurrectionists is fucking done. Go me.

Excuse me while I blast Kasabian and revel in all the fucking NOTHING I'm going to do for the next few days.

(Oh, apart from the thing where I obsessively read over the whole thing and tweak it, which will do me absolutely no fucking good because I'm past seeing the forest thanks to all these goddamn trees everywhere. WTF who put the fuckers there, anyhow?)

All told, I gotta say, that was awfully fucking fun.

Why can't I stop saying fuck?

Oh right, because I had to use real words for most of that book. Jesus Christ, that hurt!

ETA 1am: Oh sweet, I just got the preliminary Harvest Hill PDF to check out, too. Looks fucking cool, man.
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'cause harmless medications abound, and you're not sick; you will make it [Sep. 11th, 2009|06:34 pm]
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I did sweet FA yesterday, and I have no real excuse. I was up til 5AM the night before reading Faro's Daughter (um, yes, love Max, love Deb, second favorite Heyer couple ever!) so I got off to a slow start, and managed somehow to piss away too much time composing a cop-out of a spec fic post... which admittedly, I'd been intending to do this month anyhow, but my state of mental disarray made it all the more necessary at the time. My brain was stuck in a loop where it kept writing the same scene over and over, and couldn't get rid of two songs on repeat in the meantime: Crying Lightning and Only If You Run. Again, over and over.

It started to feel a little crazy, to be honest, but mostly in an interesting way.

Anyhow, it triggered an adolescent urge to go to mad excess-- a common response of mine to almost any stressful situation-- so in the evening I got spectacularly trashed watching the Steelers squeeze out a win over the Titans in the season opener. Consequently, I wasn't too excited about waking up today. Nevertheless I did, and sent my husband off to Duke for two days, then sat down and finally forced myself to look at all the shit I have to do to finish writing the book I've been working on (with large gaps of interruption, admittedly) all summer. The good news there is that I do actually have my ducks in a row in terms of what wants done-- I know what to write and where to put it, which is the most important thing.

But it means so much re-writing of scenes I already had, and so much complicated weaving together of these four separate storylines, as they're now coming together for a massive pain in the ass explosion, that it's super fucking daunting.

I was discouraged, is what I'm trying to say.

But I listened to some random ass last.fm radio for a little while to knock the AMs and JP out of my head, fucked around as much as possible, and little by little woke up enough to begin processing. Then I put on Mozart and managed to script the majority of the scenes waiting to be written.

About 6PM I decided I could finish this book to my satisfaction after all, and that it was, in fact, going to be great fun.

I don't know why I feel the need to record this here, except that it's another example of how very, very easily I come out of a funk when I damn well please.
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and I hate that little game you play [Aug. 1st, 2009|02:50 am]
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Whoa dude, it's August!

Hmm I'd better get to fucking work on this book, for serious. Of course, I only have tomorrow to do up what I can for this week, so I'll need to kick some super serious ass (by which I mean fill in some of the insane amount of script littering this fucking HD... and backing it up every five seconds. Computer. Dying. Poor thing!) Then it'll sit still for a week, at which point I'll be twitching and will likely bust out of the gate as quickly as possible. But still. Dude. August.

According to my latest Plan that'll give me September for a quick Wolfton fix (aww, I totally miss them...) and queries, and a Jonah skim/round of begging for help (because I'm still not sure I'll be able to change anything about his plot since it's like... pretty straightforward, man.)

Plus scurrying Sheehy preparation so they're good to go in November. Being a little more ambitious this time, with much harder PoVs that switch back and forth and a full 80k expected. But if last time is any indication, the challenge will be good for me! Other good news on that front: new Arctic Monkeys album at the end of this month. (How nice of them to give me a birthday present like that. Okay, so it's the day before my birthday, but still. Close enough!) Just in time for me to listen obsessively for a month, figure out which song is for what, and overuse it for this book... assuming it works. Which, well, all their other stuff does, and if Crying Lightning is any indication, this will too. So fuck it!

I predict much of November will be spent plugged into my iPod in DuPont circle typing furiously. Sounds fun.

Anyhow. The symphony was fucking kick ass last night. Lots of crickets during the Pastoral (and I really liked the way the guy directed it-- better than my Karajan recording, which kinda surprised me. That one never surprises me anymore, except by how much I like it every time I hear it. I don't care if Beethoven isn't cool, I fucking love the guy! Mostly for his piano stuff... but seriously.) The Mendelssohn was rad, even if the violinist seemed kind of nervous in how she played it-- pushing things. But it was beautiful anyhow.

And Copland is always amazing. Damn dude. So cool. Although I admit that I was listening to Corral Nocturne and suddenly wondered if maybe Serge Pizzorno was into Copland too, since he seems to have stolen some Wild West flavor from the man on this last Kasabian album.

And then I realized I'd probably be struck dead for my blasphemy and purged the thought as quickly as possible.

But we had wine and Whole Foods dinners and bare feet on the lawn the whole while.

I had something else to record here, but I went to handle the laundry and forgot. That's what happens when you do laundry at 3am. Bed!
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I'm a classy honey kissy huggy lovey dovey ghetto princess [Jul. 14th, 2009|06:38 pm]
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Writing update crap )

I posted a reprint of a story of mine, "Lime Green Closet", at the site. The rights went back to me a few months ago and I don't feel like resubbing it anywhere-- figure it's just as well up there as free content... and some day someone might care! Anyhow, I like the story, it's pulpy and fun and fairly me-- or at least part of me.

Back hurts today. I don't really have time for it to go bad, so I reckon I ought to start eating Aleve.

Doctor tomorrow. Awesome.
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a different kind of sickness, lacking any interest [Jun. 24th, 2009|05:37 pm]
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[Current Music |Mozart - Elvira Madigan - Allegro maestoso]

I'm not sure how, but I just outlined The Resurrectionists properly and... huh. Guess I do know where it's going and how. Damn, dude.

I mean, it's mostly Paul emoing, Tommy cockswinging, Becca bitching, and Hannah trying to hold their shit together and be a ray of weirdly intelligent sunshine, (with Dart being mysterious, Anne being silently ANGREE, and Will being clueless but hot, because everything I write needs one of those, preferably blond) but yeah. I have a story. I have scenes. I have loads of script and almost 5k written.

As it turns out, it's a lot of weird relationship issues injected with some creepy graverobbing and corpse animation. So it's pretty much inline with my MO, I mean to say.

I'm gonna write me a book, for real! (Snippet at the blog today. Don't read the feed version-- Cory caught me in a misleading typo and it hasn't updated yet!)

Also, more beta reading this morning, though my brain was only halfway on. Now I'm about to do more still. Like to get to chapter 4 today, which at this rate will be easy as pie. It's always amazing how much fun beta reading is for people I actually know. They're all, like, good.

Proving once more that fandom is the shit, thanks.

Also, I love Franz Liszt. In case you forgot. I listened to my "solo piano" list for him (I have a different one for concerti and symphonies, come on!) and man. He's seriously my dead boyfriend. Like whoa.
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ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl [May. 29th, 2009|01:08 pm]
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Okay I lied.

I didn't fix 9 yesterday. I came home with a giant slice of veggie pizza and a six of Newcastle after dropping Balaji off at the Metro (he car pools with some dude to Duke), ready to work. Then halfway through the six I was somehow on the couch watching Henry V, and the pizza was gone. That was fun! So I just finished the rest of the six (plus a few more) and ended up bending John's ear about Dart, Quinn, Polly, Paul, and my general plans for Prostitute Zombie in Philly to follow. And flower golems. Then I gushed at Reenie about Connor's duster in Freakangels. Oh dear.

S'okay though, I actually feel better today than I have in a while (could the phlegm be moving out?! YAY!), so I'm about to get started right now. As in really right now instead of, vaguely some time today. Once I get this first changey bit worked out, I'll be good to go.

ETA: Also, it looks like they're going to name the baby Shristhi. So cute! And she has so much hair! What's up with white babies being so damn bald? Babies look much less alien-ish with a nice head of hair.
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so say something stupid-- you know that you love to [May. 9th, 2009|12:20 pm]
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[Current Music |Interpol - C'mere]

Important note: Alex Kapranos actually has an ass, and it is good. This was an important scientific discovery we made Thursday night, so I thought you might care.

Okay, I know you don't, but I'm just suggesting you should rethink that stance.

I'm back in Arlington, if you haven't guessed. I have been since late last night, but after we ate our dinner of gourmet dosa I started to notice that I was getting a little drowsy (or maybe it was just because waiting for the subway was the first time we'd held still for that long in a while?). In retrospect, from the first Yuengling around 2pm Thursday to that dosa, it was just waiting to catch up with me-- 48 hours of jumping around like a jackass and 10 hours of sleep all told, eh, I'm not as young as I used to be I guess. Ha! I return triumphant and full of awesome things, thoughts, and happiness with Marvel and the world in general-- including singing frogs. Thanks again Reenie, we tore that shit up! (And thanks to Ben for putting up with me being high on Franz. He's a brave, darling dude.)

I don't really get why people are bitching about Wolverine. I've been waiting for how fucking long to get Gambit on screen and he was great, man. Kinda too pretty, but since he was like Baby Gambit it worked. And... SCOTT AND EMMA!!!


That kid needs to always play Scott from now on, if anyone's wondering. Wow.

Hmm what else do I need to squeal about? Really, I don't even know. Oh wait, I think I actually will start reading Amazing Spider-Man again! I bought one and it was actually pretty kick-ass. There it is.

I got some good stuff down on the train. I can't decide how much I want to figure Dart into the Resurrectionist thing now, but I'm toying with a few interesting ideas. Obviously he's very secondary, but his whole illegitimate son status and his mother's particular situation could give him a very interesting take on Paul's whole creepy thing with the prostitute. So you know, I might throw out everything I wrote down (which was mostly conversations with Dart/Tommy/Becca, which I now realize would get ugly, but might not be worth delving into more than cursorily, and just as a way to fuck Tommy off... which she might do, bless her), or I might not. But it was a good exercise, and this little Dart Novella (WHAT THE FUCK CAN I CALL IT?! ARGH!!) really served its purpose in terms of opening up and preparing me for the Resurrectionist.

Really, all I need to do before Thursday is finish up with Amanda's novel, and go through Wolfton. I think I'll print out the first couple of chapters and take them, but... maybe not the whole thing. I mean, she has it. Who knows, I reckon I'll get an instruction email from the Pennwriters people soon. And until then I'm going to think about it as little as possible. I now realize that being a writer is already pretty much the biggest acting job in the fucking world.

Thanks, Dad, for all the prep work on that.

Mkay, Star Trek now. My life kind of rocks, this weekend.

Okay, it really rocks. I can say it.

--whoa, I just got the read-and-critique guidelines from the Pennwriters people when I went to press send. Freaky, dude.
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reading forwards from my mirror to my heart [Feb. 24th, 2009|03:02 am]
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I didn't do a damn thing today. Well no, I did a bit, but it was administrative in nature. Balaji's off for a few days as of tomorrow afternoon, and for some reason when he's about to leave I never get as much done.

I still somehow forgot to eat all day and ended up eating an ENTIRE Chipotle burrito for dinner as a consequence. And we finished watching Frankenstein: The True Story, which I saw for the first time strung out on vicodin at my parents' and thought was the coolest shit ever. Turns out it's pretty decent even when you're not all relaaaaaaxed. It has James Mason in it (I always hear Eddie Izzard's impression of him when he opens his mouth, and probably will forever now) and that guy who played Romeo in the Zeferelli Romeo and Juliet, mostly memorable for the fact that my Freshman English teacher covered his bare ass with a fan when we watched it in class. (But she looked herself. We were rather annoyed. Incidentally this is the English teacher who's good friends with my parents and comes to Thanksgiving and such with us. She rules.)

These days I can't help but think over and over, "My god, he's so like Tom Chaplin, but kind of cute." And I need to go and listen to Perfect Symmetry again.

Now I need to find the other 70s Frankenstein. The one that completely massacres the story and has Dr. Frankenstein getting crazy amounts of play.

No really, it's RESEARCH. Not quite as great as blood smiley faces, but pretty good man. I'm cutting out the Regency stuff for a moment for a foray into 16th century Scotland, though. Then I'll go right back. But I'm so excited to write something where the men wear neck cloths. (And dig up dead bodies regularly. Speaking of which, those are other books I must read!)

This alone should be enough to get me moving on my edits. So I'm finally going to pass out with that as my last coherent thought, I think, and after I've seen my husband off, it's on.
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you know you should be glad [Feb. 24th, 2008|12:17 pm]
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Okay so moving on!

Organizing Research Part 2: Philadelphia Strikes Back )

That's all for the "neighborhood" edition of today's research. Possibly more coming, though it wouldn't be my photos, mostly old engravings. Have to take my library books back soon so I want to be sure I get everything documented from the scans I made before then...
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just some rage and three kinds of yes [Feb. 23rd, 2008|05:30 pm]
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[Current Mood | cold]
[Current Music |Interpol - Mammoth (Erol Alkan Rework)]

Organizing things here, since it's a simple way to create a document that'll make sure I have my notes in one place... and tagged so I can get them all on the same page as I make more.

Here's some initial Philadelphia stuff, my own images in this bit. I scanned a bunch of plates from the history book I have, but that'll come later when I'm organizing my book notes. Yippee.

Organizing Research: Part I )

Part 2... after dinner? Yes. After dinner. I've been organizing my notes and shit all day, lest I leave it for too long and something escape me. God forbid!!
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