Musings of a SilverRose

From the depths: O'Charleys, and a young and naive me

2009-11-17T11:55:00.001-06:00

In the midst of doing The Paying Job, someone near me either starting eating something or using something that brought memories swimming up from wherever memories hide when you don't need them. It smells like an orange, only not. Maybe like fake orange. Cleaning supplies, or hand lotion, or orange candies that leave your hands sticky.

And I suddenly remembered when I was working at O'Charleys. It would end badly, when the fact that I was screwing around with the kitchen manager would get us both fired. But it was a good job. My first bar and grill - the money was good, and they didn't notice that I wasn't legally old enough to work there. (In my defense - I put my actual birthdate on the application. And in theirs - it's not like I didn't know I wasn't old enough, and I applied anyway.)

The smell reminded me of cleaning off tables. Don't ask me why this smell triggered memories of that particular restaurant, because all cleaning products used in restaurants more or less smell the same, but there it is. There's a special silence in a closed restaurant, that's not really silence at all. There's clinking and swishing and weird mechanical sounds coming from the dishwasher. There's scraping and cursing and clanging from the kitchen. There are vacuums and mobs and swishing cloth and rustling silverware. And the bar has its own tinks and rattles and clanking glass. But there are no voices. Sometimes the servers sang to themselves, or the cooks swore or kidded with each other, and sometimes you could hear the liquid deluge of syllables in Spanish as the dishwasher and bussers talked. But those aren't voices, not really. Not the way that a restaurant is loud during the day. No conversations all heard at once, no "miss!" floating up out of the din to catch your ear. In fact, your ears are totally at rest. You're not listening for your name, or for that ubiquitous "miss" or "sir" or "hon", or for someone to say "I'll ask her for napkins when I see her again," or the dreaded "where is she?" You don't actually have to listen at all. All the sounds going on around you are quiet sounds that you can, for once, completely ignore.

And I would wander around the restaurant, counting sugars and inspecting the level of salt and pepper; sometimes cleaning gum off the bottoms of chairs. And it was peaceful. Sometimes the cooks would bring a six-pack in and we'd all have a beer while cleaning. (Yes, I know. But there you have it.) Sometimes we'd all gather at the bar and Jim would give us his latest concoction to try.

(I once asked my father if I could date Jim - ten years my senior. He said no, and I replied with something snarky considering his age and that of his wife. Yes, I remember what I said. No, I'm not going to repeat it. It was terribly clever to the 18-year old me, though.)

And then I'd go home, or, toward the end, I'd run off with Jordan, playing games that I wasn't nearly old enough to understand the rules of. And we'd fall into bed and get up in the morning and go back to work, taking separate cars and leaving ten minutes apart. He was a manager and I was not. That was enough to get us both fired, and it did, when someone found out.

And sometimes I would take a coworker home with me, though I cannot for the life of me recall her name now. And she'd stay at my place. And that 18-year old me? Vehemently denied that anything was going on between us. Which it wasn't. I remember taunting Jordan once when he twitted me about there being something between that other server and I.

And I would go on to lose that job, get a tattoo, find out that there really should have been something going on between that girl and myself, and retain fond memories of the smell of Jordan's car. And orange scented cleaning supplies.

Overheard in the Office

2009-09-30T12:50:00.003-05:00

I used to follow a blog that was called "Overheard in the Office," or some such. (Oh, hey, here it is.) I found it mostly funny - sometimes a bit crude - but I always found myself thinking "I must work with the most boring people in the world." Well, I work in the finance division of Megabank - that probably makes sense.

Then today, coming back from lunch, I heard "it's only sodomy if - "

Figuring I must have misheard, I inserted myself into the conversation, to have it repeated to me. It was "it's only sodomy if you have to say 'hey, doc, how are you doing that with both hands on my shoulder.' "

Oooookay. Apparently, they're having all the interesting conversations when I'm not listening.

Why I Love my Girlfriend

2009-09-21T08:38:00.002-05:00

Last night, we stayed up past 11:00 discussing Mozart, Trent Reznor, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Metallica, the Cure, Alanis Morriset, and Tori Amos, all in the same conversation. Likely more, but I'm probably forgetting some.

Highlights:

Me: "See, it's when Trent Reznor stopped being pissed off that his music stopped being so good."

Shoryl: "Then David hit the 'I'm an artist, but I have a coke habit and need to write hits' years..."
Me: "That's the section of his music I like, right?"
Shoryl: "yeah."

2009-09-18T14:57:00.001-05:00

I’ve finally picked up a book that’s been in my TBR pile for … well, I can’t quite remember when I bought it. And I can’t quite remember what actually made me want to start reading it.

I’ve started reading Neal Stephenson. This is fairly far away from my normal reading habits, and I don’t think the story would keep me entertained for long if it weren’t for the absolutely amazing grasp of language and nuance. Stephenson is a master of language. And even if I don’t understand the mathematical and scientific principles he’s espousing (I don’t), and even if I don’t know my English history well enough to get all the of the events (I don’t), I could never fail to thoroughly enjoy a book that has pearls such as this strewn carelessly over every page.

Many words are said, but they make no more impact on Daniel than Mrs. Goose’s incoherent narratives about cutlery leaping over coelestial bodies and sluttish hags living in discarded footwear.

There’s a vivid joy in Stephenson’s writing that transcends every aspect of his work. The narrative, the characters, the history, and the science – it’s all there, but all the elements act like mirrors to reflect that luminescent prose.

Oh, yes. The book is Quicksilver. There’s no doubt in my mind, a mere 80 pages into the book, that I’ll be buying the other Baroque Cycle books, and likely Cryptonomicon and Anathem as well.

I’m also amused that – 80 pages in – I’ve finally put together that one of the characters is a Waterhouse, come to Massachusets from England. I am,distantly and oddly, related to this man.

Suns keep marching

2009-09-03T08:47:00.002-05:00

Another 700 words on Suns last night, and I'm very pleased with them. The sculptor still wants to be a crotchety old man, but I'm resisting. I've just introduced his partner, found out that said partner is also a sculptor, and broke off right where Maatrya is trying to find some way to let them know she's family.

I worry sometimes about the subtext of the novel. I'm not out to write about the challenges of being queer in a world where fertility is the highest blessing, but it feels like that's where it's going. On the other hand, with so many forces tugging Maatrya every which way, I think I can turn this into a suitable theme. Love, real love, brings you home. And it doesn't really matter who you love, or how much of an outsider you feel like before it happens. Sounds mushy? Yeah. I dunno; blame Shoryl.

I'm having a lot of fun writing this scene, even though I'm more than a little convinced that it's meandering and probably not going to survive the revision intact. But I'm having fun, and that's the point. I expect to finish this scene tonight, giving me a satisfactory close to the first 3 chapters. This weekend, I'm sitting down with printouts and trying to make those chapters a little more coherent, then handing them off to Shoryl to read.

Out of the morass, and into the city

2009-09-01T08:15:00.003-05:00

I finished the no-good scene that was giving me trouble, and I was off and running last night with about 600 words of some pretty good description and dialog. My sculptor seems to be having a personality crisis, however, as half the time he's written as a crotchety old man, and the other he's much younger. I think I want him to be younger, else I risk running into a trope I don't plan on using.

'Sides, a young gay couple ... I could run with that. And it would make the sculptor the one person who really doesn't want anything from Maatrya - which is exactly what I need him to be.

Mostly Good

2009-08-31T12:01:00.002-05:00

So, I've got Suns plotted, mostly. I have the first 3/4 plotted thoroughly, at any rate. And the weekend yielded about 1200 words (200 more than I was shooting for). All of this is good.

The words themselves, however, are crap. I cringed when I wrote them, cringed when I reread them, and cringed when I couldn't figure out how to make them better. The information in the scene is critical - the delivery is quite a bit less than stellar. But I'm moving on. I hate to leave such a big chunk for the rewrite, but hopefully by that time I'll figure out an entertaining way to present the information. Right now, it's all talking heads. And subtext? There isn't any.

But, hey, I finished the scene, so I get to go to the next one. Good, yes?

Tori Amos last night

2009-08-06T10:31:00.003-05:00

First, my official review:

Tori Amos is an excellent songstress and musician - you can learn that by listening to her albums. But only in person do you really get to hear the power and majesty of her voice and emotion. Old favorites like "Silent All These Years" and "Pretty Good Year" were even more breathtaking as Tori went solo with her piano. And those bound to become new favorites from her latest release, such as "Give" and "Strong Black Vine" had the audience on their feet and roaring with approval.

The venue itself was perfect for her delivery, surrounded by lushness of another age in the State Theater in Minneapolis. The set designers and techs were spot on with some breathtaking lighting displays that did nothing to distract, but everything to shine the spotlight perfectly on Tori herself. The only complaint was the footlights that flashed directly at the audience at times, nearly blinding those of us on the main floor.

The whole experience was orchestrated to bring you along with Tori as she stepped through the frequently ersatz landscape that drives her music.

Opening act(s): I would be remiss if I did not include a footnote regarding One EskimO. Not merely "just" an opening act, One EskimO set the stage magnificently for Tori's set, with soaring instrumentals and Kristian Leontiou's amazing vocals.

Warning! Nostalgia ahead:

On the way to the theater, Shoryl and I followed a group of young women. The layered clothing and slouching, rolling walk were the same as I remembered. I could have been going to a concert for any alternative band from high school. I smiled at the smell of clove cigarettes. The audience seemed comprised of these disenfranchised teens - and those of us (and I do include myself) who were the disenfranchised teens of the 90s.

Tori Amos came into my life the same way most of the music of that time period did - lying on a mattress on the other side of town next to the boy I was wholly infatuated with, listening to Tori Amos, The Cure, Alice in Chains, Primus … It was all new. We were doing deliciously adult things (we thought). Listening to the music, thinking about how the world worked, what we would do with it, what it was doing to us. And yes, some of those other “adult things,” too.

Those demigods
With their nine-inch nails
And little fascist panties
Tucked inside the heart
Of every nice girl

And there was Tori singing, about, as one reviewer put it, “sexual and spiritual angst.”

And when they say "take of his body"
I think I'll take from mine instead

I didn’t have any spiritual angst, and sexual angst was just over the horizon, but it still spoke to that free floating, existential angst that you pick up from the atmosphere as a 16 year old girl. I look at my sister who’s now at that stage, and while we don’t have much in common personality-wise … yeah, I see it again.

They say you get stuck in the fashions of your high school years. Each song from Little Earthquakes or Under the Pink made me think fondly of where I was when that music was still a little daring, hinting at things I hadn’t really figured out yet.

When she began the opening notes to “Silent All These Years,” it all came back. Walking to his house in the middle of the night and climbing through the window, running off to a park in the middle of an afternoon, sneaking into the ballroom of the convention center to make out in a storage closet. It was all there, waiting for me, with her music.

But after that one intoxicating summer, other things and other people caught my attention. I drifted away from the angst of the alternative crowd to country music. Where I could still have melodic angst, but sometimes got to have rousing, foot-stomping happy moments too. I lost track of Tori Amos and the other artists of that time and place.

Her music came back to me, as many of those bands have, with Shoryl. My beloved audiophile, with whom I’ve revisited, reassessed, relearned what I love about music, and that time in music in particular.

And then, when she played some of the songs from her latest album, it came to me how far I’d traveled from the person that had first heard her music. Tori’s early albums had said something new to me, something that, as a teenager, I was just stepping into. She’s still pushing out the angst, and when sex and religion collide, it still produces her best music. “Strong Black Vine” hearkens neatly back to “Icicle.”

tie you down cause boy I can
save you from that evil faith

Leaving, I was reminded that I am not, in fact, seventeen anymore. And while I would not give up the wondrous and ever surprising nature of my relationship with Shoryl for those tumultuous months with Brad, I could wish that I was still young enough to come out of a concert without yawning and noting with some unpleasantness that it was 10:30, and already half an hour past my bedtime.

They say you were something in those formative years
Hold onto nothing
As fast as you can
Well still pretty good year

May flights of literary muses wing my to my rest

2009-07-31T10:58:00.003-05:00

Taken by way of Kait, go take a look at this article, referred to on Kait's blog as "Hell Yes, I wrote that book."

I'm Rosie the Riveter! That's so much cooler than being some languid writer with a faraway look in my eye and not enough food.

That truly is an awesome article. Yes, I may talk about my “muse”, but that is to be read as "subconscious". Yes, I may talke about my “characters,” ditto.

Really, it’s all compartmentalization, but I certainly do not hold with the idea that my Self wanders off and does something else while various other entities take over the hands. Sometimes I’m surprised by what I write, but I’m also surprised about what I happen to think about, what emotions I feel, and what I dream. It doesn’t mean that any of it isn’t inside my head.

So, for any of you that doubted my sanity, rest assured: I am insane about many, many things ... but not about my Muse coming to life and possessing me.

Lots of writing, nothing to report

2009-07-30T13:52:00.003-05:00

I've been writing ... Gods, how I've been writing. Unfortunately, it's all been for The Paying Job, which leaves me absolutely no motivation to write fiction.

The last week has consisted of management asking "When?" And me replying "You know that each of these procedures is between 10-15 pages of documentation, and that there are over 80 of them, right? And that I have to sit with the reconcilers and learn each process before I can write about it, right? And that the lower-than-management-but-higher-than-me Powers That Be have been handing me stylistic changes to make on 26 procedures already written? I'm working on it."

So. I've written 6 procedures this week, roughly totalling 65 single-spaced document pages. Sadly, all of it has been at *mumble* an hour, and none of it on Dawning Sun.

Perhaps while Shoryl works on the Great Lego Sort this evening, I'll dig back down into my sources and notes and come up with some scenes. Or perhaps I'll just hug some yarn. Only time will tell.

What I've been doing when not writing

2009-07-27T21:11:00.003-05:00

The Great Lego Sorting:

Trying to separate three people's legoes (legos?) into sets.

Past the first hurdle

2009-07-27T18:07:00.002-05:00

Dawning Suns has passed 5000 words. Now, during Nanowrimo, I would do that during one day's sprint, but the difference is that I'm actually thinking about what I'm writing this time. Sadly, I'm not liking it any better. Too forced, too bland, too boring ... you know how it is.

Next hurdle is, of course, having three chapters complete. Three chapters are what you sell your book with (to some publishers), and so they have to pretty much stand up and dance. Like the frog. With the tophat. You know.

So once I get to the end of chapter three, and hopefully around 9000 words or so, I'm actually going to stop and edit. I know that They tell you to just get the rough draft out first, then edit, but there it is. Have to be contrary.

I've gotten some more notes about the short story affectionately named "Steampunk Ireland." I think I'll be using that one as my "busman's holiday" When the sands of Egypt get to be too much, I'll slip over to the stilted language of Victoriana and the cool depths of Irish bogs. Something like that, anyway.

Am I boring anyone yet?

2009-07-23T09:43:00.000-05:00

Seriously, is this just riveting or what? Short posts with word counts, mmm, tasty.

I could go back to talk about knitting. I have this lace shawl I'm working on...

(Don't know what my word count is for today, as I haven't written them yet.)

So very close...

2009-07-22T20:17:00.001-05:00

I was going to skip writing tonight. Then, I was going to sit down and get a few words while Shoryl ran downstairs to do laundry.

About 600 words later, and I'm stunned and delighted at the plot twist that just cropped up from my ever helpful (when not obnoxious) subconscious. It's a beautiful thing, and I never could have plotted it.

I'm now within spittin' distance of 4000 words, and about half done with Chapter 2. Things are looking up. Someone remind me of this post when I'm in the middle and stuck? Kthx.

Once a project manager...

2009-07-21T15:28:00.003-05:00

Dawning Sun is coming along, now at nearly 3400 words. I took a break to let life happen, and to let my brain sit on it, because I was writing as I figured things out, and it wasn't working. I'd write everything I'd worked out, then stop, trying to work out the next bit.

I'm going back to plotting; this seat-of-your-pants writing is too damn hard.

I have this ... possibly neat idea of how to do this. It may end disastrously, or it may be just what I needed to combine other people's happy visual plotting with my rather straight-laced outline and timeline plotting.

Clustering has never really worked for me. Not linear enough. But I had this idea to combine the Snowflake Method with a Work Breakdown Structure. My smallest discrete tasks will be scenes. I will take with me one lesson I learned from "pantsing" it: even outlines can be changed. Nay, outlines must change as the characters change the demands of the story.

And I had a thought about The Priestess that might just give me some real insight to her. Necessary, as I'll be introducing her in the next scene.

(Edited, because apparently, I don't know my "discrete" from my "discreet." Ahem.)

Why doesn't anybody tell me these things?

2009-07-13T19:19:00.001-05:00

Actual excerpt from a conversation regarding suns, made by me:

"Wait a minute - there's a lost dynasty? Why doesn't annybody tell me these things? It's not like I'm writing it or anything."

Sometimes my subconscious just does all the work on its own. I only strive to be fast enough to write it all down.

(No real words today, but significant plotting.)

Dawning Suns: The Price of Fame

2009-07-09T19:34:00.001-05:00

450 words today, which brings me to 2595. It's about time to figure out how to wrap up this particular scene. Maatrya has inadvertantly made herself famous, and is now having to deal with the perennial rock star issue of having too many people want to bed her for the prestige. Oh, the quandry.

“Pleasant evening?” Nekhari’s words held a barb deep within them, but Maatrya was now too tired to unveil it.

“An evening of foolish women brought on by my own foolish actions.” Maatrya dropped to the pallet next to where her sister crouched, wincing a little as the thin reeds failed to save her fully from the unyielding nature of the tiled floor.

“I thought you might have enjoyed such a run of women all trying to warm your back for you,” Nekhari tilted her head to the side in inquiry, and again Maatrya heard the sting in her seemingly pleasant words. She narrowed her eyes to glare at her sister.

“You can't really think I've bedded all of them!” She faltered. “Do you?”

Suns, and Ireland

2009-07-08T20:13:00.003-05:00

Um. Hello. I've been writing over ... there, somewhere. I've got 2145 words on Dawning Sun so far, and some fun worldbuilding bits on the steampunk short story I seem to want to pursue.

From today's work on Dawning Suns:

They stood, and the light shifted so that she could no longer see their expressions. For a moment, she gazed at the long, finely boned calves even with her head, and entertained that she might have made a mistake. But her mind shifted into reverie as she remembered the sound of wings and the movement of hair loose in the breeze, and she did not see the women leave her and return to their own pallets.

(I know; it's just description, but that's all I really wrote today. The dialog I wrote was ... not some of my best. How do you hit on someone you're not interested in? And how do you reject the person who's hitting on you when you know they're not interested in you?)

And from the Steampunk Fae:

His workshop, when she dared broach the door, had yielded little in the way of specific clues, though she did find a schematic pinned down by two errant clock hands. The enigmatic words “newgrange, 11pm, not ours” scrawled across the bottom were not in Charles' customarily neat hand, but Anna was forced to conclude they were his.

Which is how Anna came to be booking passage to the back end of the English empire, armed with various watchpieces and one slightly battered prototype dichromaton to find her errant husband.

Why, hello there

2009-07-07T08:28:00.002-05:00

Someone is talking in my head. (I'm a writer; this isn't all that uncommon).

What do you get when you mix steampunk, Irish pishogues, the daoine sidhe, a quirky sense of time, and a wayward groom? I'm not particularly sure either, but I'm getting there.

Dawning Sun, unexpected encounter

2009-07-02T12:14:00.003-05:00

361 words on Dawning Sun today, giving me a net of 834 after some light edits.

It's odd writing one scene in pieces like this. I'm used to writing a scene all in one go (which means I need to write for as many days as I have scenes, at a minimum). These low word counts, though, are easy to squeeze in during my day at work, and I'm finding that I'm actually enjoying it. Of the five goals I set myself for this scene, I've woven in three of them. I'm not sure how my description is holding up, but, hey, that's for rewrites.

And I've now completely lost track of my word counts overall, so I'll just be tracking by using the progress meter on the right. Maybe if I make a blog post and do nothing else, I'll count the words then.

They didn’t pace so much as glide, each step a testament to the lightness they
felt so close to the source of the Middle River.

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 7494 (accurate as of 6/17/09)

The Sun Rises

2009-07-01T13:58:00.004-05:00

You can't see it on my progress meter because it's under 1000 words, but I started Sun today. (Working title: Dawning Sun) I'm 475 words in. I have no idea what I think of it yet, but there are words on the page. I'll make them better later, right?

The second time Maatrya saw the man she was married to was the day she was married to his son. Technically, of course, she’d been married to Ara’shari for seventy days, ever since the high, keening aula had gone up in the city of Tharam to signal Ara’menhi’s descent to the Lower River. For seventy days, she had woken to the dawning sun and the keening of the women around her. She knelt with the others, throwing herself on the turquoise and gold relief of the Great River that graced the quarters of the Most Royal Wives when she was required to, tearing at her hair and smearing the mud made from her tears and the ever blowing sand on the torn linen that fluttered around her. Those had been torn the first day of the aula, of course, and she’d been kneeling on the tiles for most of her waking moments since then.

Pride Weekend!

2009-06-29T21:04:00.005-05:00

My camera and I got a workout. Here's a short sampling. The whole glorious full color weekend can be found here.

(I've been plotting, but no actual writing. And between Pride last weekend and CONvergence next weekend ... I'll get back on the wagon next week.)

Interesting bits for today

2009-06-17T14:51:00.002-05:00

Nefertiti and Ankhenaten formed a divine triad with the Aten, who was genderless. This resolved the problem of an unreachable, unknowable god for the masses who generally revered fertility. As the Aten was genderless, it was sole creator - something difficult to accept. Ankhenaten and Nefertiti, then, were seen as completing the traditional triad. Where, in the previous state faith, this was usually a god, his consort, and his son (see Isis, Osiris, Horus), now it was the creater god and the royal couple. The royal couple was the agent of this fertility, represented by the preponderance of images showing the royal couple with their daughters. Temples to the Aten now, instead of having a figure of the god (who, as literally the *light* of the sun could not have a human/humanoid body) had images of the royal couple. In effect, the state religion became one of worshipping Ankhenaten and Nefertiti as the divine inheritors of the Aten.

All other state deities were outlawed and no offerings were to be made to them (making their temples and clergy poor very quickly, and the throne very wealthy). However, the "minor religion" relating to Bes, Taweret, et al appears to have continued to flourish. Since these were regional deities that were primarily associated with superstition and magic, they posed no threat to the Aten's role of sole creator, and were therefore regarded - by the king, at least, as unimportant.

Tombs, rather than having images of the gods or the inhabitants, began to feature the royal family instead, and they were prayed to even while alive (thus transfiguring the "divine ancestor" narrative of pharoahs to "divine in the flesh.")

I have two story arcs in my head (soon to be written down). When I get the third, I'll be ready to start actually plotting this thing and really writing. I hope to have it all ironed out by the completion of my first read through of Nefertiti. So excited!

Oh, and "Step 2" of the process started as soon as I narrowed down my research to Nefertiti, which was sometime around ... last Friday, I think. My research gathering is now focussed, which is why I've started these (probably boring) posts with research information that I want to not forget. I need to spend some serious time in front of my computer with Liquid Story Binder and a soda or five.

Consecutive days of writing: 008
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 7494

Digging in to Nefertiti

2009-06-16T15:38:00.003-05:00

Ew. That was not the most inspired post title ever. Here's what grabbed my attention today:

The temple-city of Amarna, which was built, then abandoned and destroyed
Nefertiti comes from obscurity - basically wedded from nowhere - and begins taking on a more substantive role after only a year of Ankhenaten's reign.
Nefertiti's "sister" - who arises out of similar obscurity, then disappears from the narrative. She is shown in the paintings, but takes no part in the Aten worship.
Ankhenaten's remarkable "conversion" in his third year - and the enthusiasm with which Nefertiti embraces it.
The temple at Hwr-benen, where no males - human or animal - are depicted on any of the walls, but Nefertiti and her eldest daughter always are.

Gah! I'm going to have to go through this carefully after I've read it the first time. There's just so many little gems that instantly become plot points, I'll never remember them all.

Consecutive days of writing: 007
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 6508

Today's Daughter of Isis Notes

2009-06-12T13:15:00.002-05:00

Professional mourners ... king's "harem" (difficulty in translation) ... honorary priestesses ... assasination orignating in harems ...

Queen Tiy -> Nefertiti (married to Ankenaten) -> Tutankhamen -> Queen Ankhesanamen (see p207) History in (The Royal Harem)

(Female Kings) - good stuff on some of the lesser ones, most interested in Nefertiti's connection to the heretical pharoah and Hatchepsut, of course. Next books should give me something definite, but 18th Dynasty seems the way to go.Queen Tiy being Amenhotep IV mother. He marries Nefertiti, who gradually leaves the picture after her daughter's death, replaced by the "young prince" Sen...something. Author made brief allusion to questions regarding Ankenaten's sexuality, when discussing that there were none with Hatchepsut. Where did Nefertiti come from?

My Muse is working with this, and some of it is becoming clear. Nothing definite, just yet, and I don't want to conscribe it by limiting it on paper. But there's enough ambiguity in that royal line to keep me busy for awhile.

Hatchepsut -> Tiy -> Nefertiti -> Ankhesanamen? Quartet of ruling women, yes, but what's my love story?

Consecutive days of writing: 003
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 6187

Sun Jots

2009-06-11T15:33:00.002-05:00

Still reading Daughters of Isis

the importance of art (no superfluous painting/sculpture) (Introduction)
the sexual division of worship and duties (Work and Play?)
the importance of music (Work and Play)
food and dining, dinner parties, sacredness of bread (Mistress of the House)
making linen (Work and Play)
professional mourners, djeryt (Work and Play)
"trained security monkey" (Work and Play)
pets: dogs, cats, monkeys, geese (Work and Play)
body lotion, perfumes (Good Grooming)
Importance of hair and wigs (Good Grooming)
Kohl as protection from the sun, and other cosmetics (Good Grooming)
jewelry as amulets (hair toys, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, girdles .... earrings?) (Good Grooming)

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 6007

Djeryt

2009-06-10T14:12:00.003-05:00

A kite. Female mourners would dress up like this to represent Isis or Nephthys - representing death.

Nephthys is not a goddess with well-defined characteristics, but she may, generally speaking, be described as the goddess of the death which is not eternal.

From TourEgypt: Nephthys

Conflicts and Empires

2009-06-10T09:04:00.001-05:00

I’m slowly honing in on the plot for Suns. Er, sort of plot. Here’s the problem (and this is always the problem): I have characters. I have a world, or at least part of one that I can later flesh out. What happens? What’s the conflict?

Um. Conflict, right. I’m more interested in what’s going on inside people’s heads than I am in the external events. Which makes for fascinating reading for me, but not so much of a novel.

I’m thinking some sort of coup or radical political disaster because, hey, that’s how I lean. Which brings up another thought that gives my brain something to play with: is it possible to write, for an American audience, the tale of a coup that does not succeed? That is, could I write a book that has the established order challenged by an outside force that’s not necessarily evil, and have the established force prevail? How much moral ambiguity do I get to play with there?

Reading the books that I do, they tend to fall under one or the other type: an evil (something) is looking to overthrow the Good Guys, generally with nihilistic intent, and Our Heroes need to stop them. There, that’s most of fantasy. Then, there’s the Evil Corporation/Government/Society that’s repressing the individual, and Our Heroes must overthrow them. That would be science fiction. Can you actually write a book that’s Our Heroes are part of the established regime, and they’re fighting against Someone Else’s Heroes (maybe misguided, but not evil) and Our Heroes manage to keep the current government, etc, etc in charge?

Are we wired now to think that all governing bodies are corrupt and should be overthrown? Or that all that oppose us are necessarily evil and must be repelled? How does that work?

Fantasy may not be the place to explore that … but it might be. And Egypt, where most people were pretty satisfied with the social structure – satisfied enough that it managed to survive mostly intake for nearly 3000 years – might be the place to do it. I can’t work out precisely how that would work, but it’s an idea I’ve been kicking around for awhile. Indeed, it might work better if I ever revive the Mythic Heights project.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 5859

A Familiar Quandary

2009-06-08T10:12:00.000-05:00

I do this every book I try to write, and nearly every story I conceive of. There are historical time periods that capture my imagination, that spread out before me full of panoply and grandeur – and stories. But I face an impasse: do I use history or do I make it up?

There are virtues to both paths, of course. I can either weave magic into existing British history (a la Judith Tarr), or I can make something up that looks kind of British (a la nearly every epic fantasy novel of a certain type.) I can tie myself to something closely resembling historical events in Venice (think Dangerous Beauty), or I can fashion something that looks like Spain, evolves like Spain, but isn’t Spain (Guy Gavriel Kay, for instance).

I can use the richness of Ancient Egypt and tie myself to the historical facts as recorded, or I can craft something that suits the story better. The advantages to using Egypt-as-it-may-have-been? It’s all there for me. I have the names of the gods, the myths, the rituals, the language. If I make something that suits me better, I get to play with that history, make it something else. I can make Khenepres and Hatsepsut contemporaries. I can have a slave race that may or may not be monotheistic escaping from a brutal tyranny. I can have a princess of another people hiding with the ruling class while a war is fought in her name across the sea. And I can have it all happen at the same time if I want.

But then I have to start from scratch. I need a language, a culture, names. And how much snipping, revising, and phutzing is appropriate? While I don’t think I’d have a line of Egyptian lesbians pounding on my door to tell me how I’ve done it all wrong and treated their culture with disrespect, what if I did the same with something more modern? What if, say, I wanted to create a story about a colonized country breaking free – but still keeping their slaves? Would this revision of early American history – not called that, of course – offend? Or is it all just fiction?

Regardless, I need to make some sort of decision on this, or I will continue to research times and places that fascinate me, make up stories in my head, and then … let them go. Nothing on paper, because I don’t know if it’s tied to history or not. And the bitch of it is, I can’t seem to make up my mind. Last week, I was all set to use Egyptian history as it is now known, and this week, I think I should just mirror it into a different world, so I can make it into the story I really want to tell.

Oh, for Kay’s talent at playing with mythology! If I could just create one world, and make it like our history, only not. Of course, now that I say that, I have Ideas.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 5481

Casting the Net

2009-06-04T13:08:00.003-05:00

I'm on the first step to researching for Suns now. It's casting the net - using Google-fu and library-fu to find what I need, what I don't need, what I never knew I needed, what I won't possibly use, and what fits precisely and exactly with what I wanted, even though I didn't know it existed.

I'll have a lot of material when I'm done. Most of it will be not precisely trash, but allowed to compost in the back of my brain as not quite necessary just now. For instance - do I want to put my story at the collapse of the Old Kingdom? It has some attractions that fit with the plot, and I could through Exodus in there, which would tickle me. Or do I want to set my story in the New Kingdom? It's glitzier there - faster, fancier. Do I even want to put it at the end of the New Kingdom, and get to play with all the gradeur that was the reign of Ramses II? Or, would I rather make Hetsapsut my backdrop, and imagine what her country was like? What about Ankehaten - the monotheist pharoah? All fascinating time periods, but, like reality tv, all but one will be eliminated, and I won't need the research on that time period - this time around, anyway.

The first round of books and DVDs are winging their way to my home even now. I suspect I'll need a second round, and then I'll make my decision and move on to Step 2. (Which is lacking a good metaphor right now. But it's the step where I'll exhaustively research what is relevant to this story. And start talking to the voices in my head.)

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 4975

Consumerism and Rites of Passage

2009-06-02T21:27:00.002-05:00

Just a little evening armchair sociology. (Of the incredibly pompous and overly simplistic variety, because I'm tired.)

In the absence of ritual, are we buying our rites of passage? Or, since these new rites of passage become ceremonial and ritual, are we using money to substitute for community? Or something like that. I'm tired, and this is the wrong environment for Big Thoughts. However, consider a few ritual purchases: buying your first alcohol on your real government ID; buying your first car; buying your first home. If you believe Blue Cross's new ad campaign: buying your first health insurance. (For me, it was buying my first sofa. I've always been a bit odd.) For that matter, buying your first bedroom set. I would add buying your first cell phone and your first computer, but that's a bit dated now, as I assume that most people under the age of 25 or so are getting their first cell phones and computers from their parents. (I bought my first cell phone sometime in the late 90s. I hated it; my husband insisted. It was the size of the center console of my car. Anyway.)

I bought my first new TV today. Well, Shoryl and I did. I keep thinking this can't possibly be the first time I've bought a TV, but it has to be. My parents obviously had their own; had my husband not had one, I would have remembered being dragged somewhere to get one; EWT and I never had the money. So this must be my first TV.

Huh. I don't think it's a rite of passage, necessarily, but does stand out in my mind. Maybe someday, I'll even buy my first dining room set (I'm on my second sofa purchase).

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 4685

Blazing Sun

2009-06-01T13:55:00.004-05:00

So, er. I went on vacation. It was lovely. I didn't write down a word.

But now. Now I'm back to work. And I've written today, something important. I've started the first Sun novel. Not the actual writing, not yet. But the Muse opened and words flooded me. I saw my protagonist, saw the price she will pay to save her society. I have a glimmer of her love interest. I have a mere inkling of what the other Sun books might be. And I don't even have a name of the competing evils that will be working throughout the books. I haven't - quite - figured out the Kaballah thing yet, but I'm close.

I have a character. I have a first scene (that I don't understand, but can see). I have 442 words that came straight from the Muse through my fingertips. And I'm excited.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 007
Word count since 4/30/09: 4393

Executive Decision

2009-05-19T13:22:00.004-05:00

I’m making an executive decision today. Yesterday, at work, I finished up the end of a very grueling to write 23 page procedure. I didn’t remember until last night – in bed – that I was also supposed to write something a little more interesting. Having made it through the weekend, I was dismayed to think that I would miss Monday. Then I reviewed my rules.

“I will write some words, somewhere, every day for the next year”

“I will consider any plotting, outlining, brainstorming, or other “writerly”
activities as writing, so long as it produces something that can be written
down.”

I don’t see anything in there excluding tech writing (I am so retroactively smart). Did I have to think very carefully about what I was writing, including content, delivery, voice, and arrangement? Hell, yes. Therefore, I wrote.

In the spirit of, um, still making it up as I go along, I’m not going to post the total in my word count (though at a guess, it was somewhere around 3500 words). I am, however, going to allow myself to increment my consecutive day count. It’s an executive decision based on a rule that I made up for my own amusement anyway.

I think we all carry around these little rules in our heads. Some of them are just because they’re habits. Consider: I have a very specific way of eating a plain sandwich. If I get a sandwich that’s not cut in half, I rotate the bread so that the “rounded” side is up, then I take a bite from the upper left corner, followed by a bite from the upper right corner. Then, I eat across the remainder of the top. After I’ve eaten the top of the sandwich, I rotate the sandwich clockwise, so that the previously left side is now up. I eat down that side in rows until the sandwich is gone.

No, really, I’ve studied myself doing it. I can’t figure out why, exactly, I hold this rule as to how a sandwich is eaten. My best guess is that it keeps me from getting mayo or other condiments on my cheeks or the corners of my lips. But there it is. I have a rule about eating a sandwich.

Something less esoteric? Okay, there’s a “rule” that you match the color of your wine to the color of your meat. Red wine with red meat, white wine with poultry and seafood, and blush for particularly light meals. When you work in certain restaurants, they teach you this rule, so that should a patron dare to display ignorance and ask you what wine they should order, you can suggest the appropriate pairing. The first time someone orders a steak with a white wine (particularly a light and fruity white wine), the server’s natural tendency is to ask them if that’s really what they want. Politeness generally makes the server just smile and jot down the customer’s preference, but it throws you. That’s not your rule.

So we’re all carrying around these little rules in our heads, and then we come across someone that doesn’t follow them. Someone who eats down through the middle of their sandwich. Someone who orders a robust red with a chilled pasta salad. Someone who thinks god is a girl. Someone who thinks an SUV is an appropriate car for a “compact” parking space. Someone who walks down the left side of the hallway. It’s a shock. And I think how we deal with it says a lot about how our internal meters are set. There are some things I shrug off. And there are some things – like walking down the “wrong” side of the hallway – that just make me jittery.

Any road. There you have it. We make executive decisions every day, all day. And so does everyone else.

I think I can tie this in to writing. Not grammar rules – I’m not interested in those. But each character is carrying around this matched luggage set full of Rules. And who they are depends on how they handle it when someone else’s Rules clash with theirs.

Also on the writing front, the Muse and I are nearly to speaking terms. We’re going very softly and slowly, she and I. But I noticed today that I’m not avoiding my writing blogs/boards/feeds anymore. And we’ve started asking questions about the Sun project.

What is it about sun/sand that has me interested? How does that relate to sigil magic (the real meaning behind my fixation with Kabbalah)? Maybe there’re some things that can only be done when the light of a specific phases of sun strikes it? Maybe there are people, religions, conflicts, themes embodied in those phases of sun? What are the rules that “everyone” knows? What are the rules that are enforced publicly – and what are the rules that my as yet unknown characters hold in their minds?

Consecutive days of writing: 007
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 3819

Perspective

2009-05-17T21:27:00.003-05:00

Only a small thought today, but at least I haven't forgotten:

I was always kind of smug about being able to get out of the house within half an hour after I woke up in the morning. I have reasonably easy to care for hair, and I don't wear makeup.

Then I realized that it takes me between a half an hour and an hour and a half to get ready for bed each night. Hrm. Not so smug anymore.

Consecutive days of writing: 006
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 3002

2009-05-16T22:38:00.001-05:00

So I'm sitting in the bathroom, desperately trying to come up with something to write about, because it's an hour past my bedtime, and I just want to go to bed, dammit, but I have this thing I have to do. And ... I've got nothing. Apparently, I don't think well on the toilet. Who knew?

But the point is - I remembered. Right before bed, and with nothing to write about, but still. Maybe tomorrow I'll remember in time to think about it and actually have something worthwhile to say.

Consecutive days of writing: 005
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2922

The Muse Weighs In

2009-05-15T12:14:00.003-05:00

So, Shoryl informed me as we walked that the Egyptians had three solar deities: Amon, Ra, and Horus. And reminded me that the Eye of Horus could indicate either sun or moon depending on the direction it was facing. This dovetails nicely with what my Muse has given me so far (The Rising Sun, the Blazing Sun, the Midnight Sun). I think some research is in order - which should be easy, given Shoryl's love for all things Egyptian.

My Muse has been throwing up a tantalizing string of images for me to remember: Xenosaga, Kabalah mythos, Ronin ~~(or whatever that book was called that I'm faintly remembering)~~ ... some other things that now that I go to write them down, I can't capture. Of course. But she's definitely working on something back there.

Now what I really need is some history, some political conflict, a good handful of characters with inner turmoil, and a secret. Throw in some ruins for good measure, and I'm all there. Whenever you're ready, Muse.

Consecutive days of writing: 004
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2831

The Oldest Profession

2009-05-14T11:28:00.005-05:00

I’ve just begun reading The Oldest Profession. I meant to bring it to work for some light reading when I need to get away from my desk. (Hush, you. Yes, I consider reading the history of prostitution to be “light reading.”) Unfortunately, it’s going straight back into my bag to be read at home. It’s not that the work itself is weighty, it’s actually delightful. But it was also copyrighted in 1968, so it’s a bit … unique. After reading just the prologue and the first few pages of Chapter 1, I have laughed out loud at least twice, exclaimed a few more times, and had the urge to take a good pen to the book.

Like Misquoting Jesus, then, I’ve put a blank piece of paper into the book to jot down my thoughts as I go. I’m not sure one piece of paper is enough, but we’ll start there. I think that I’ll try to post my thoughts as I finish each chapter, as, even if I’m speaking into a void, this should be highly entertaining stuff. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a book idea or three out of it.

I did write yesterday, over at Ravelry, though I didn’t get a word count. ~~Something else to do this evening while the roast is cooking~~. (Word count updated.)

Consecutive days of writing: 003
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2660

In or Out?

2009-05-12T13:17:00.003-05:00

So, it's true. Missing one day of writing does make skipping each succeeding day easier. But I persevere; buoyed by the fact that 2070 plus words into this little experiment, I have not failed. But, brain, that solution about the weekend could come any time now.

I've felt very inwardly focused lately. I've wanted to be alone with my thoughts, a good book, or my knitting. I've been staying away from my computer (which means staying away from WoW - a very outwardly focused activity). Writing feels somewhat like an intrusion on that. So it makes me wonder: is writing an inherently outwardly focused activity? Even outside of this blog (which, as internet content, is definitely outward bound), writers write to be read ... right? I know the act of writing in and of itself is worthy, and entertaining. There have been some things I've written that I have no intention of letting people read. And many people write in journals for emotional or therapeutic reasons. But I wonder - isn't even journal writing to get your thoughts out of yourself? To put on paper what's in your head or heart?

Regardless, just as I did not make allowances for major life events, I didn't make allowances for "changes of mood," which Gurney Hallack would remind me are only suitable for cattle, making love, or playing the balliset. (Cattle, Gurney, really?) So here I am. Trying to break my previous streak of 4 days.

I finished Abraham today. More thoughts may be forthcoming, but I hate to analyze a book that's so fresh in my mind. I'm thinking that perhaps writing my thoughts as I'm reading whatever it is I'm reading at the time would be a good exercise as well.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 004
Word count since 4/30/09: 2361

To Boldly Stay Home

2009-05-07T14:44:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I knew that Star Trek 11 was coming out ... eventually. I didn't know it was this weekend, though. I had put off looking it up or finding anything else out because, well, I'm not sure. Some of the shine had worn off, possibly. Additionally, it's hard to go to the movies with Shoryl because we never know what's going to be a problem for her. For that matter, directors seem to like to put in creepy guaranteed-to-give-me-nightmares critters wherever they can, so even the most benign movie contains some risk for me. (For instance, I knew there was going to be a problem with Return of the King. I'd read the book - the big evil critter was not going to surprise me. But that scene in Fellowship of the Ring where they're hiding from the Black Riders and there's a spider on one of the hobbits? What was up with that? Completely unnecessary.)

I think the lack of interest the new Star Trek movie is generating in me is not so much a product of the movie itself, but of the theatre. Movie theatres are generally noisy, sticky, cramped, and dark. It's just not the environment I would choose for a quality evening. While the theatre still holds some undeniable appeal - the best popcorn in the known universe; crowd zeitgeist; an environment free of distractions and lamp glare - it's just not, at this stage, where I want to spend my $16.00. I'd rather spend my $7.00 on renting it from Netflix, and just let it go at that. Make myself some popcorn, curl up in a comfy chair, maybe (maybe) turn the lights off ... it's all good. Besides, boring movies at home can be turned off and returned. And if I just must watch it the whole way through (or at least have it running that long), well. Let's just say that my chairs at home are much more conducive to your traditional "back row" theatre entertainments than movie theatre chairs, m'kay?

Does this qualify me for my official "cranky and old" membership card, or do I need to complain about malls, too?

Consecutive days of writing: 004
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 2070

Not One of my Better Days

2009-05-06T20:58:00.002-05:00

Feeling half-dead at the moment, which is no fun at all. Gave blood today at the office. Please insert appropriate rant on how lesbians can give blood and gay men can't. Have apparently also forgone sentences with actual subjects in them. Admitting to self that several straight hours of cleaning and moving after giving blood may not have been best idea ever.

Get moose and squirrel. Stop.

Consecutive days of writing: 003
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1710

Cure-Alls

2009-05-05T21:13:00.002-05:00

Do you remember hearing - maybe in school between giggles, or as a pick-up line that spectacularly failed - hearing that sex was a cure for the common cold? (Regionally, I suspect, this might differ. I've also hear that sex is the great cure-all, and that it's, ahem, "good for what ails ya.")

When I was in high school, a very nice young man that I failed to date (somewhat to my sorrow - it certainly would have been interesting) fumbled the line when he mistakenly told me that he knew "a great cure-all for sex." I don't think that he would have had many takers.

A very dear friend from roughly the same time period and I hypothesized that the "great cure-all" was, in fact, a half gallon of orange juice and a really hot bath. Over the years, I've found this to be a very useful outlook on life. Not only does it actually help if what ails me is a cold or congestion, it's also a less anti-social solution to when life itself ails me. Much better than, say, telling my coworker precisely and in great detail what I think of her.

I went home early today in one of those life-is-ailing-me moments, coupled with some stiffness and soreness from a car accident last night. Unfortunately, my bathtub is suffering an overabundance of ants, and there was no orange juice in the house. I substituted a handful of ibuprofen and a two hour nap. It might not have worked as well as the other would have, but it'll do in a pinch.

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1643

Not failure, but ...

2009-05-04T14:13:00.002-05:00

Was it anti-failure clause #6? I'm typing in a hurry before I leave work for the day, and can't be bothered to look it up. This was almost a very short experiment, as I completely blew off writing for the weekend. In my defense, I was moving at the time. However, my rules don't account for major life happenings (on purpose - else I'd never get anything done).

So now I need to find some way to keep doing this even when I'm not, quite frankly, goofing off at work. I'd feel bad, but I'm invoking anti-failure clause #6 (pretty sure it was 6). Instead, I'm calling this a learning experience: brain, we need to write even while not trying to waste time at work. Please get thinking about ways to do that. kthx.

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Longest previous streak: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1378

Good afternoon, Muse, may I get you something?

2009-05-01T15:08:00.003-05:00

My Muse is talking. Mumbling, really. She's playing with something shiny, but she's not prepared yet to tell me what it is. It's like the scene in The Neverending Story where the Empress is holding the one grain of glowing sand that contains innumerable possibilities. I'm not pressing her on it, not yet. There may be innumerable possibilites there, but they still need darkness and quiet to determine what they'll be.

Here's what she seems to be playing with, from the glimpses I've been given.

Many interesting bits there, though I've no idea what to make of them. I'm logging this post under "Sun" until a better project title comes to me. (If this is a project. No pressure, Muse.) Somewhat related: what is it that I have this obsession with divinely-appointed prostitutes?

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1244

A Matter of 10 Years

2009-05-01T13:28:00.003-05:00

It occurs to me how much my life would have been affected if I were either 10 years older or 10 years younger. It doesn’t really seem like much – Shoryl is 8 years older than I am, after all, and we only encounter teasing examples of an understanding gap. I squeal in glee over a song on the radio that I remember hearing in high school, and she remarks that she remembers that song from a job she worked. She was getting divorced before I graduated from high school. She recently saw a picture with a barely-waist high me in a cute dress – taken the year she graduated from high school. But really, it’s not a terribly large gap.

But let’s say that I was 10 years older than I am. I would have graduated high school in 1985. I would have been old enough to remember Reagan as more than just a distantly seen figure of my childhood. AIDS would have been a new and terrifying new force in the world. Amusingly, New Coke would have been released the day before my 18th birthday, probably leading me to drink Diet soda even earlier. The Challenger disaster would happen one year later, and it would probably shape more of my life than the memories of a nine-year-old. I would have been “in the closet,” most likely, and there’s a chance that I may have been part of the “bar scene” of the queer lifestyle. If I were entering the workforce immediately, it would be the beginning of pc-tech oriented jobs. It would have been an exciting time to begin working on a career – or even a less painful time to go completely off the deep end and endure an identity crisis for 10 years (which is what the non-alternative universe me was doing. Oy.)

10 years younger, and my entire world would have changed. I would now be only 22 years old, just starting out. The end of my adolescence would have been shaped by a world that was marked by being able to just recite a date as a marker of national terror. I would be trying to enter the workforce at one of the most difficult times in (my) recent history. Would I still be in school, continuing on to graduate work after deciding that getting a job wasn’t the best thing to do right now? This last election would have been my first – how exciting would that be? I wouldn’t really understand a world without cell phones or internet. Same-sex marriage would have been legalized in Canada the year I graduated, and I would have been just figuring out the whole queer thing as various states here try to figure out what to do about it. I would, almost certainly, NOT have ended up working in a bank as an accountant. It would be intriguing, I think, to go from a twenty-something to a thirty-something in the coming decade.

And, the most important thing of course, is that I would be too young for Shoryl, which would be the real shame.

Consecutive days of writing: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1105

Reviving the Musings

2009-04-30T11:38:00.004-05:00

I’ve just read a great post about writing every day, even if all you can manage is “can’t write today; too sick.” It made a lot more sense than most posts I’ve read about writing every day, which is a concept I’ve long bridled at. The idea, as I see it, is that all words generate more words. Writing here, making this post, planning to follow up on it … no, it’s not fiction, and some days it won’t even be terribly polished. But it will generate more words. And words will generate more words. And so forth. They don’t have to be stunning, prima donna words, just words.

I’ve long struggled with keeping this blog updated. Partly, I set my sights too high. I read all the same blogs other knitters/readers/political students/sociology buffs read. They’re wonderful. Frequently, they’re insightful, or funny, or poignant, or simply very, very good writing. Mine is – not. So I struggled to add interesting content, to add pictures, to only post what I thought others might find witty and entertaining. I had convinced myself that to claim my little piece of web property, I had to beautify the land, have open houses, and give away cookies. But, you know, Blogger has how many thousands of blogs? How many of them can one person read? How many of them are exactly what this is – one person speaking into the void, trying to increase the signal-to-noise ratio? How many of them are just convenient ways to journal? I had lost sight of the fact that this piece of property right here? This is mine. And if no one reads these words but me, they are still worth writing.

So I’m going to try an experiment. Some days, those words might be fiction. Some days, I might get an essay idea out of a random thought. Some days, I might just amuse myself. These are my rules:

1. I will write some words, somewhere, every day for the next year, beginning on April 30, 2009 and ending on April 30, 2010.
2. It will not always be here. It might be in a notebook that I carry around. It might be in a personal journal that’s too real to share. But words will make it onto paper/screen in some form everyday.
3. I will post my running count of consecutive days at the bottom of each post. I will not lie or cheat. If you don’t see a post here but my count increments, you can bet there are words somewhere.
4. To amuse myself, I’ll also track my cumulative word count. Because I’d like to see a big number getting bigger. (But 3 words is still writing for the day.)
5. I will consider any plotting, outlining, brainstorming, or other “writerly” activities as writing, so long as it produces something that can be written down.
6. I will not immediately launch myself into a despair-fueled drive to eat every item in the house containing sugar should I miss a day. Or a week. Or even a month. I will simply remind myself that words beget words, and try again tomorrow.

I think 6 rules are enough for right now. ~~Really, there’s no use setting myself up for failure~~. So quick to forget. I clearly need to remind myself of “anti-failure” clause #6, above. The virtue of this exercise is in the attempt. So by writing this post I’ve bettered myself. Even if I don’t write again for the next 364 days, I cannot fail. (Take that, self-esteem monster!)

Consecutive days of writing: 001
Word count since 4/30/09: 591

I don't know how it all ends

2009-01-05T15:37:00.001-06:00

I'm currently developing the novel idea. It's a rich and detailed world with unique and interesting characters, a fascinating backstory, and a very real, very imminent conflict.

The world is about to end. I know that much. I know why it's about to end. I know what events would, in a tragedy, cause the end of all (human) life on the planet.

I know that my protagonist and her companion are going to stop it. I have no idea how. None. Not even a "well, this might work." Nothing.

I've never been here before. Do people really start writing in this predicament? Have you ever written a story that you have no idea what the ending is? How do you deal with plotting? With figuring out what resources/knowledge/abilities your protagonist has to get to the ending?
But seriously? No idea how they're going to save the world.

Of people, and politics

2008-10-16T08:25:00.001-05:00

Okay, here's the thing: I was probably going to vote the Democrat ticket in this year's presidential election no matter who it ended up being. It's a choice I made back in the primaries, when Hillary was still running. Even though I had great reservations about her, I felt it was time: the country needs to be shaken up now and again, and it was time to do that.

But here's why I'm happy to vote for Obama: it doesn't come down to the issues, though they're important. It comes down to what Obama has - and what McCain doesn't. Of course Obama is a political opportunist - he's running for President, after all - and he'll say and do whatever he has to to get there. I'm not naive, and I don't believe everything either of them say. BUT. Obama is smart. Not just booksmart, either, which is denegrated for some reason in our country; it's more important to have "common sense" than "book learnin'." But he also knows people, and he knows how to get to them.

The entire Obama campaign has been proof that his strategy works. Look at his list of donors. Look at the speeches he's been giving. Look at the debates. He has made himself a brand name, a poster child, for the calm and collected intellectual. He manages to simultaneously calm and sooth worried individuals while awakening enough passion in those same people to believe that, hey, this is a representational democracy, and I am part of that. He has people knocking on doors, calling their neighbors, donating money, attending rallies, and even making homemade ads for him on that simple idea: that the voters matter.

Obama has, through either deft knowledge of sociology or very good advisors, tapped into the unrest and ennui that were the hallmark of American voters and turn it around. He's smart, he's clever, he's well-spoken. "Regular people" aren't supposed to distrust that. But they do. The media has been known to say things like Obama's been annointed, or that a messiah complex is running rampant his campaign - only Obama can save you from that terrible, cold world out there. And it's true that it feels like the campaign steps on that particular lever a bit too often. But it's working.

Selfishly, I want to see it work. There are not a lot of things that a President Obama could do to change the overall way I live my life. I have a steady job, a home I can afford, and a lifestyle that, if not opulent, is comfortable. Things like tax breaks and stimulus checks? Well, I think I got some dental work done with the last one, but if I hadn't gotten it, it wouldn't have mattered much - I would have waited a little bit longer, and that's about it. Tax breaks? I pay my taxes, and I don't really feel a pinch from it. I don't build the roads, or maintain all the agencies that do all those things that require a government. So that's okay. I'd like to maybe be able to move someday, and that requires selling a house that I wouldn't be able to sell right now, but that will clear up with time - with or without government mandates. About the only thing he could do was allow me to get married, but I don't think he can do that yet.

What can he do, then, that McCain can't? He can keep people involved. He can continue stirring up emotion toward reaching out, talking to people, and making community. He can prove, at least for a little while, that smart can win. And I want to support that. Let's face it - he's got, at most, 8 years. While we've seen what 8 years of disastrous policy can get us, at worst, Obama would be disastrous in a whole new way.

I'd like to think it's time for the smart, the eloquent, the determined, the clever to finally win one.

(Oh, and any Minnesotans that are reading this: I'm not voting along party lines. In fact, I'd like to urge you to keep Norm Coleman in office. He's a good guy, with a good clear vision. And Al Franken is just scary.)

I'll need to know this later

2008-08-22T13:30:00.001-05:00

Code as water would be a particularly strong metaphor for a Martian hacker; amniotic fluid = rebrith, re: ending.

Apparently I have to be poly somehow ...

2008-07-25T11:06:00.001-05:00

Dear NCAA Football,

We've had a lot of good times together in the past when you were the only sport I was seeing. And I hope we continue to have those good times - I don't want to stop seeing you anymore. But - that fight we had last year over the Big Ten Network? That was a pretty big fight, and I think I'm still a little hurt by that. We don't see enough of each other as it is, and then you had to go and say you couldn't find a way to get to me for half the season. But it's okay, that's all fixed now, right? I mean, you might be making me buy a new TV, but I'll do that for you.

It's just that when we don't see each other from January to August, I get a little lonely. Sure, that party we throw in January is a lot of fun, and the Draft is a nice little surprise visit, but that's hardly a fulfilling relationship for eight months, is it? Now, I'm not going to start hooking up with your friend, NFL or anything, even if he is way more popular than you are. But, well, I flirted a little with MLS the other night, and it was kind of fun. Not the same sort of passion you and I share, of course, but it was a fun night.

The thing is ... I've started seeing WNBA recently, and I think ... I think we really have something. She's nothing like you, of course, but she's got passion, and the excitement and fast-paced action that you and I share. And, I'm sorry NCAAF, but she's prettier than you are. I know people have always accused me of staying with you for your, ahem, players, but you know that's not true. And I don't think that's true with WNBA, but she is kinda nice to look at, I admit. Apparently, I like girls too...

I want us to stay together, NCAAF, and I'm really excited about you visiting me next month. But I think I want to see other people while you're gone. You're okay with that, right? We'll always have the winter. (NHL is still courting me, but I'm resisting so far. I might like to see him once in awhile, though, when you're not at the same party at the same time. You know how it is.)

Love,

SilverRose

Is This Good

2008-07-22T13:34:00.001-05:00

So I have this thing about spoiled food. I have a very low threshold. Milk smell a little funny? Gone. Leftovers spent a week and a half in the fridge? Throw them out - I don't even need to smell them. This isn't something I have in common with my housemates - particularly StemmedRose. And when I am being totally sane about it, I can admit that I go overboard a bit.

We had a little crisis at home over the weekend - the large basement freezer broke. All the food was, well, cold, but certainly not frozen. So between Shoryl, StemmedRose and I, we cooked an estimated 17 pounds of meat in one night - precook it to make sure it doesn't go bad, then stuff it back in the freezer for later use. Some food that was securely packaged just got put into a working freezer. I admit to being a little squidgy about this - how do we know it's good?

It may have something to do with working in a restaurant for many, many years. There's only just so long you can hold food - and at certain temperatures, in certain containters, etc - before you can't serve them anymore. Salad mix, for instance, is only good for about a day - maybe a day and a half. Soup can only be on the burners for about 4 hours before it starts to smell a little burt. And food can only be in the window for two minutes, max, before you can tell.

There's a lot of waste in the restaurant business. you've got to get the freshest possible food to the table (especially if your income depends on it). The funny thing is that restaurant leftovers don't last as long as leftovers from meals cooked at home - and I have no idea why that is.

So I'm trying to put this particular concern away for the time being. I'm trusting that it will be good enough, at least, for consumption. No one's gotten sick yet, and none of the meat was discolored or smelled anything other than like raw meat when we started cooking. But for the first time, I think I understand those people that are sure there are germs everywhere, and they're just sure to catch them...

(As a side note, one of the absurdities of life, free from me to you: "Eww! This smells awful! Here, you smell it...")

What I've done with my summer, pt 3

2008-07-13T12:31:00.003-05:00

CONvergence

There's just ... too much. I can't even remotely blog about it all, and I don't even know where to start. Here's a small slice of atmosphere, thanks to my camera. Believe me when I say - you had to be there.

What I've done with my summer, pt 2

2008-07-13T12:26:00.003-05:00

Pride

Much more fun this year. It rained Saturday, which was just fine with us, because it kept the crowds down. Sunday, we had Grandstand tickets, which made the whole parade a whole lot more fun. (Seats and shade and mimosas, oh my.) They retired the leather pride flag and commissioned a new one. My camera died halfway through the pre-parade show, sadly.

What I've done with my summer, pt 1

2008-07-13T12:15:00.005-05:00

(overview and cruise)

The short form?

True Colors Tour
Pride Boat Cruise
Pride Festival 2008
Star Wars at the Science Museum
Mini-golf at The Mall
Convergence 2008

The long form?
Look, I keep thinking I'm going to get better at this blog thing. There are so many things I want to remember: Larry Dixon's aides, working Art Show, finding my limits, 2AM insomnia ... but I don't even remember half of it any more. My camera is going to tell you what it remembers instead.

And next time ... hell, I'll probably do this again. But I renew my pledge to at least try to blog right after the event. We'll see. Until then - look, pretty pictures!

Pride Boat Cruise
An amazingly beautiful day, mostly clear with clouds straight from pastoral paintings. Cool on the water, warm on land. Gorgeous all around.

Does this mean I'm a real writer now?

2008-07-11T16:18:00.001-05:00

The book that I thought I was writing (Wanton Destiny) that I was, in fact, done with all the prewriting for, has just decided there's too much in it, and it's now two books long. (Henceforth: Destiny 1 and Destiny 2, until I get better titles.) And that's from the original Wanton Destiny, which had already been split into two books ... and is now three. Which means that my little nanonovel of 50,000 words will be contributing material directly to 270,000 words worth of material. (At least I'm following in notable footsteps: George Martin and Robert Jordan for instance.)

I think I need a little lie down.

I've got a progress meter that I'll be putting on the blog when next I update from home, because everyone's a voyeur at heart. And it'll stay at 0 words for a bit ... because now I have to plot the first book all over again.

Oh, and my vacation? Yeah, I'll blog that when I get the time and inclination. Not able to post pictures at work, and all that. At least, that's the procrastination excuse I'm giving myself right now.

I write.

2008-06-20T11:33:00.001-05:00

So some posts lately* have gotten me to thinking about something that, apparently, is a subject for frequent debate among writers. When does someone get to say "I'm a writer?" Let's be honest; this is obviously a deeply personal question for me. When do I get to say "I'm a writer?"

At first, I thought of it like a job. You know, "I'm an accountant. I'm a writer." But ... what does that mean, it's a job? Does that mean you make your living from it? Then I'm an accountant**. What if you make part of your living from it? Then I'm still an accountant, but someday I might be able to say "I'm an accountant and a writer." But what if you are in the stage where you only intend to make a living at it? Some can say that about their primary job - programmers that do contract work don't stop being programmers between jobs. So, then, I'm a writer and an accountant now.

But then I thought, hell, I don't tell people I'm an accountant unless they ask "what do you do?" in that focused way that means they want to know what I do to make money. A lot of times, when people ask the sorts of questions that are for getting-to-know-you purposes (yes, I have a song stuck in my head now, too), I say "I'm a knitter. I'm a costumer." So, hobbies count. So I can say, right now "I'm a writer." It's not a hobby I think I'm going to give up anytime soon, or one that may just be a passing fancy. I've been doing this long enough that, like my love affair with yarn, I'm in this for the long haul. Saying "I'm a writer" indicates a sense of permanency, something you're willing to identify yourself as being now and being in the future.

Maybe that's what it's all about at the heart. Maybe it's about permanency. It's not about the publishing world - that I still, despite my best efforts, do not control. It's not about the weeks/days/months you don't write. It's about the knowledge in the back of your head that you will write again - that you haven't abandoned that relationship, you haven't "given it up for good", it's just something you've done, you do, and you'll do again.

Nice to meet you. I go by SilverRose on the web. I'm an accountant, kinda. I'm a knitter, a costumer, a writer.

* No links, sorry; lazy

**Not really. But I'm like an accountant, which doesn't make for such pretty sentences, m'kay?***

***Just wanted another one. Today is all about the footnotes.

Welcome to the inside of my head, part 1

2008-06-10T23:42:00.004-05:00

(It amused me to number these - mostly so that I can be amazed and astonished when I get to part 1803)

I get insomnia sometimes - it's not that bad, and certainly not cause for concern, but it can be irritating. But since I've started writing again, it's downright surreal. Here's tonight's little insomnia gem, presented for your amusement:

I chuckled when I looked at the chit that was directing me to yet another stop on my hunt. This one, at least, was going to be fun.

***

The seedy little storefront was harder to find than I’d imagined. You’d think that in the middle of block 910 it’d be easy to spot a small, unsignaled shop. The eye misses what it doesn’t want to see, though, and there weren’t a whole lot of people that wanted to see this place. I was a little disappointed when the door didn’t squeak when I pushed it open.

A small creased man behind the counter looked up at my entrance and his eyes widened. I’m always amused when I have that effect on people. So I was trying to hide a grin as I approached him.

“I'm here for model number 827A,” I let the grin escape, showing my teeth. His widening eyes were joined by an increasing pallor of complexion. He started to stammer out some sort of bullshit, like he didn’t have that model - until I slapped the vid pics I’d found of his back room on the counter.

“You don’t have the clearance for that kind of surveillance!” He had a high, droning voice, like a florescent light.

“Sweetheart,” I drawled at him, “you’ve got no idea what kind of clearance I can find when I’m real determined. Now go get me the pretty little thing, and I’ll pay your normal price.” I held up my credit note, thumb over the print reader to display my balance. As the card turned a magnifiscent shade of turquoise - legacy of the most recent step of this bizarre job - I could literally see his resolve fading. It faded at about the rate that his face aquired color again. But he wasn’t going to let me walk out for just a few hundred, not now that he knew the market - me - could bear more.

“Can’t sell you that model anyway,” he leered at me, taking in the softness of my hips and breasts, “you know you can't purchase it.”

“Yeah? Honey, we’re an awful long way from the Tower, and nobody around here is going to care that I’m a girl. Besides, you can’t afford to let the Tower know you’re selling sexbots on the side. So who exactly do you think I'm gonna worry about?”

The tattoo comes in handy on my wrist at times like these. I rotated it slowly, letting the golden sun over my pulse come into view - and I made sure he got a good look at the pulsing light behind it. Signed, stamped and authenticated.

He swallowed, his little mouth and little brain working furiously. He looked at the credit note like it was his only salvation, and the tattoo like it was going to take him straight to the ninth level of the pit. Then he closed his eyes, but whatever he was praying to, I was pretty certain it didn’t live in the Tower.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You want a brunette or a redhead?”

“My tastes are simple, bring me a dark one.”

I smiled, rewarding him for playing so nice. When he returned from the back with my package, I smiled even more. It didn’t even fade from my face as I paid his rate - twice what he would have asked anyone else, and we both knew it. I didn't let it go until we reached the street and I stopped to look at the petite, somewhat overlush woman that was for all appearances walking next to me.

Why the hell had they sent me to go pick up a girl? And what possible use did they have for a queer Locator and a soulless walking toy?

(Working file title? Lesbian Sexbot. Eat your heart out, search engines.)

I so need to sleep now...

First, Predraft Your Novel ...

2008-06-06T15:28:00.000-05:00

So I've been (unsurprisingly) doing a little (a lot) of research on the actual process of novel writing. I have my idea, my characters, and my world - but how, precisely does that go from in my head into "out there" (imagine me waving my hands around in a vague manner)?

I've learned two very big things in this:

1. As in spinning, much of the work of writing comes from what happens before the words hit the page, and

2. There's such a thing as too much knowledge at any point in time. (I'm not saying I believe there's such a thing as too much knowledge - because I don't - but you really ought to give yourself time to absorb a good chunk before trying to pick up the rest.)

I just picked up spinning again, and I realized how adverse I was to all the, well, not spinning that happens. Prepare the fibre. Prepare it some more. Smooth it out. Prepare it some more. When it's almost spun - but not quite - then you can actually spin the darn stuff. Loathe though I was to admit it, all those steps really are necessary. And my spinning has improved because of it.

I thought I was ready to write Circe, I really did. And I was close - but I guess I needed a few more things. More structured scene notes. More information on my characters. More information about motive. It's all a little bewildering, and has left me asking "yes, but when do I get to write the damned thing?" I'm trying to remember that - just like predrafting fibre is spinning, prewriting, outlining, and organizing are writing. I'm getting it - but it's a hard lesson. And I know there comes a time when you have to stop preparing, and start doing. I think I've found where that spot is for me, and I'm ... almost ... there.

(Incidentally, I've just been introduced to Liquid Story Binder from Black Obelisk Software. Silly me, I though writers used - y'know, Word or something like that. Apparently, that's not the case for many wirters. It's rather overwhelming and has a steep (mountainous) learning curve. However, it looks like it might actually be a way to store all of these pre-writing writing tasks with the actual novel. I'll let you know how I like it when I'm done with the first book.)

Bone Tired

2008-06-05T18:31:00.001-05:00

Some prewriting from the other day. I was exactly this tired, and decided to write down how it felt for future use.

When you’re tired -truly strung-out tired - your eyes get gritty and heavy and hot. When you blink it seems to take longer than you think it should, and you see hot red light behind your eyes, and everything becomes a little sharper in the middle and a little fuzzier around the edges – light is more acute, but images seem to dance around and you have to frown a little to figure them out. Your head slumps to your chest, you chest caves in on your stomach and your back just doesn’t want to support your torso anymore and there’s this weird hollowness in your chest, almost like being hungry, but not quite. Every time you move a finger or a leg or an arm you feel like you’re straining against weights, except the weight feels like it’s in your bones, not outside of you. You can’t breath right because your chest is all sunken in, and the breaths you do take feel like they’re going to migrate into sleepy breaths – deep, refreshing ones that don’t make any noise or really move your chest at all. And you feel like whenever you stop actively moving that all molecules in your body stop, too, and that any period of quiet non-moving you do is going to sink you into sleep. And if you do make the mistake of being quiet, and not moving, and closing your eyes, that red burny feeling behind your eyes suddenly becomes blue, and cool, and you feel like you’re falling, except it’s just your head that’s falling, and your spine sinking down even more. And you realize that your eyes have been closed – or that they’re really open but that you’re not seeing things anymore. And you get a kind of singlemindedness because you know that you have to concentrate and if you don’t you’ll just … stop.

The Comforts of Home

2008-06-02T10:09:00.001-05:00

(or: smugness will never go unpunished)

I was, I admit, getting a little smug. My unloved yarn and fabric was going out into the world to make other people happy. I had resolved to be a careful and mindful purchaser. There's no need for deprivation, certainly, but I could be a little more aware of what I spent my money on.

On Saturday, my books got culled – another step toward living with less "stuff." I got rid of the books I no longer love and don't anticipate rereading (mostly vampire smut, oddly enough). Freedom! Less clutter! Woo hoo!

Wait – why is it so damnably hot up here?

My bedroom is on the third floor of a 100+ year old house. All of the heat both outside and in likes to congregate there. To combat this, we have an air conditioner in one window. Okay, so it's never going to be arctic up there (which pleases Shoryl), but it ought to be, I dunno, livable. Something less than 90 degrees, maybe. Surely that's not too much to ask of one air conditioner, a ceiling fan, and a stand fan.

But apparently it was. After sweltering all weekend, Shoryl finally looked at the air conditioner. I learned a couple of things last night: you are not supposed to have ice on the inside of an air conditioner, but you are supposed to be able to at least tell that the air filter has holes in it. Um. Oops.

So now we've cleaned the filter and have turned the whole unit off to let it thaw. I spent last night sweating, trying not to just lay on the bed and watch ice melt*. We thought we'd gotten it, put the whole thing back together, and turned it on. Nope. There is, maybe, ice where we can't see it. Or something. So it's still off. I fell asleep around 2:00 in the morning, when I think it got to something close to "bearable" in the room.

Less stuff is all fine and good – but I resolve to remember that, just as other people have treasured possessions they can't live without, so do I. I want my air conditioner back!

*A slightly more worthwhile endeavor than watching paint dry, since you can at least see some progress.

Chronicle and Timelines

2008-05-30T15:58:00.002-05:00

Shoryl and I are going to see Prince Caspian tonight. In digging around for information on the movie*, I came across a "correction" of an Associated Press article. I'm paraphrasing here, but basically it said that the AP had incorrectly identified Prince Caspian as the second book in the Chronicles of Narnia. It was the second book published, but once more were written, became the fourth one chronologically.

This has been bugging me for a long, long time. I have a very rigid belief about how one reads series. As a fantasy reader, you almost have to have at least something of a method of approach, since the chances that you're reading a stand-alone fantasy are vanishingly slim. Usually, we series readers putter along happily, devouring one book after another. When you're reading an author that's current, you snatch them up as they're published. Or, if you're reading a series that hinges upon knowing what came before, you read them in the order the author tells you to - also generally as they're published.

But what if you're reading a series made up of self-contained stories in a shared universe? What order do you read them in? Mercedes Lackey, for instance, bounces back and forth in time with her Valdemar series. Terry Pratchett - while he generally moves linearly through time - writes wholly "finish this book and the main plot is resolved" completed works with Discworld.

And CS Lewis wrote Chronicles of Narnia. While they share both a universe and a timeline, I'm up-in-arms about how they should be read. Fantastic Fiction gives me the following reading order:

1. The Magician's Nephew (1955)
2. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)
3. The Horse and his Boy (1954)
4. Prince Caspian (1951)
5. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
6. The Silver Chair (1953)
7. The Last Battle (1956)

Hold it. Stop, stop, STOP!

I had a gorgeous boxed set of the Narnia books when I was young. They're long gone now, probably in the great storage area debacle of which we will not speak. And I'm really regretting that now. Because the books in my set looked like this:

1. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

2. Prince Caspian

3. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

4. The Silver Chair

5. The Horse and His Boy

6. The Magician's Nephew

7. The Last Battle

Publication order. That's the way I read them, loved them. Did you know you literally can't buy a set numbered like that anymore? Trust me, I've looked.

This is the way I read any series: Valdemar, Discworld, Narnia. As a writer myself, I know that the author doesn't know the whole story when they put pen to paper for the first book. Oh, maybe they know the big points, but the particulars? Nah. The story was (generally) written as it was published, and that's how they're supposed to be read. Further, reading them in chronological order may reveal things to you that you just don't want to know. Reading The Magician's Nephew before The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe takes all the wonder out of Lucy's discovery of the wardrobe, and takes away the whole mystery of Narnia itself. The Horse and His Boy is only tragic in the beginning if you've read enough of the stories to know how things are supposed to work.

And reading the Storm Winds trilogy before you read the Herald-Mage trilogy would cause you to not understand precisely why there aren't Herald-Mages anymore. You see? You just can't mess with an author's intentions like that. You won't have the enjoyment of the stories as the author wanted to present them to you.

So tonight I'm going to go watch the movie Disney made of the second Narnia book. And hopefully, they'll also adapt the third book in the series: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

*Shoryl calls me an information junkie. It's likely true, but I'd need to find out more to be sure ...

Treasure Hunting

2008-05-29T12:22:00.001-05:00

Inspired by some of the posts, thoughts, and general zeitgeist of the blogosphere lately, I went on a treasure hunting trip yesterday.

Out came all of my tubs of yarn, all the works in progress that had been shoved into corners, all the little slips and pieces and remainders of yarn from actual finished projects (yes, I do in fact finish things on occasion). And I went through it all. WIPs that were unloved or no longer needed got ripped and reballed. Yarn for projects actually got put with the project they go with. And I critically examined every single ball of yarn to determine whether it was loved enough for me to give it a home.

It was part treasure hunting and part nostalgia, which is as a stash dive should be. There were some unlovely yarns in there: yarns I'd bought when I was desperately poor and didn't know any better, some yarns that had been given to me in swaps or as gifts. Some of them are from before I realized that I don't like to work in anything thicker than DK weight. Some, well, some I couldn't tell you how they ended up in my stash or what they were supposed to be. In all, an entire tub of yarns found a new home. The acrylics went to StemmedRose for prayer shawls. The sock yarn and wool went to Shoryl for her weaving. In all, only 3 skeins of yarn will be leaving the house completely. But they're not mine anymore.

My stash is now full of beautiful memories and beautiful yarn: the Irish wool brought home to me by Aunt Cheryl. The anniversary yarn for Shoryl and I. Several heartbreakingly beautiful sock yarns, lovingly held in reserve until they can be given proper attention. Laceweight that I can only aspire to be talented enough to do justice to.

The yarn stash dive was followed by the other stash dive - my fabric. All that remains of my large (and at times misguided) fabric stash are my costume fabrics and a few fashion fabrics that may one day become skirts. Less nostalgia, more criticism in this stash cleaning than the other, though there was some. The purplish penne velvet cloak my ex-husband used to teach me how to use a sewing machine, the white lace I made an entire dress out of, remnants from various sets of fest garb.

Both my stashes are now free (maybe only mostly free) of some misguided purchasing from when I worked at Jo-Anns. All I have left are treasures.

I'd like to end with some bit of wisdom or another to wrap this whole thing up cohesively, something about loving what you have, and letting go of what you don't love. But there's a lot of that out there right now, so I'll just point out that more space in my tubs means I have someplace to store things when I make more deliberate purchases in the future. And hey, I rescued three full sets of US 1 dpns from ripped back WIPs. That's gotta mean I can start some new socks now ... right?

Blows off the dust

2008-05-17T21:10:00.002-05:00

Um, wow. Just, wow.

How long has it been again?

You know, let's not talk about that. Let's leave the past in the past. Let's not declare this an attempt to smooth over the fact that I didn't blog in almost a year. Let's make a fresh start.

Cuz I just got remote blogging to work - finally! So while I won't bore you with what I've been doing in the past, I'll be able to bore you with what I'm doing now, or in the future. Things like:

"Circe took in a breath to tell Ellice what she had heard. But then she spied Philina waiting beyond the priestess, a frown marring the line of her broad mouth. Not in front of her, she decided, and clamped her teeth down on her tongue hard enough to make her eyes water. The priestesses would need to know, of course, but she wouldn’t give Philina the satisfaction of thinking Circe had, after her warning, made the ritual into a production. So she said nothing as Ellice unclasped the soaked chitoniskos from her shoulders, letting it fall to the earth. Nor did she let out her precious secret when the white chiton was pinned on her, tangible evidence of her passage into womanhood. Philina might be favored with the priestesses, but Circe had just discovered that she was the favored of a god."

Yep, I'm writing again.

I'm also knitting as usual, but I haven't been able to find my camera cord lately, so no pictures.

CONvergence and a partial sucess

2007-07-17T20:24:00.000-05:00

Well, not only are we back from Convergence 2007, we're even rested up.

You won't see any pictures of me in a fancy new dress. Truth is, I got my ass handed to me by pattern and fabric both. Every mistake you can make, every freak accident, every act of god that could happen on this project did.

Thankfully, it happened after I finished StemmedRose's dress. I'm pretty proud of how this turned out, and she loved it.

As always, click to enlarge the pic for nummy details

Here's some of my favorite photos from con this year:

This year's sign. Well, same sign, different room. We were on the first floor this time, so more people were able to take advantage of our lollipop tree during the day.

Some of our volunteers goofing off before opening. Which gives you a good idea of a) what you can see from our door, b) the volunteer shirts for this year, and c) how much fun we had. After last year, we decided we desperately needed help! Several volunteers came through for us, all of whom received a t-shirt.

We had a new drink this year that our patrons named "Hazmat." I won't give away our secret, but it was yellow. And frothy. The most popular guessed of flavors were coconut, buttered popcorn, and butterscotch. None of them were correct. We also had a nifty thing on the armoire, which looked great.

Some idea of what our room looked like when we were kind of busy. No one got pics while we were really busy...

Golden Ticket #3. This guy was particularly memorable because he kept asking us what the catch was. He seemed very unwilling to believe we were just going to give him a stuffed Cthoompa Loompa. He left after much convincing, though he probably still thinks we were trying to pull something. Only 3 Golden Tickets were redeemed this year.

You can blame Shoryl for catching me working. Just because we had volunteers doesn't mean that we didn't want to have some of the fun too!

Ah, weekends...

2007-07-01T08:27:00.000-05:00

Ah, weekends. I'm so very glad there's a weekend between Pride and Convergence. I suspect I always will be. Nothing forces productivity like a nicely controlled state of panic.

Formal gown for StemmedRose
Add loop to Shoryl's suit
Green ~~shirt~~, tie, and handkerchief for Shoryl
Green swing dress for me
~~5 Cthoompa Loompa plushies (no, really!)~~
Red Fraggle costume for me
~~Bows added to 6 t-shirts~~

My part of the work on the Cthoompa Loompas is done, and they are ready to be handed off to Dan for the final details (like painting). These are the free "golden ticket" prizes for this year:

Also finished where the bows for the shirts (but I don't want to ruin the suprise):

Shoryl's shirt went better than I had any right to expect:

Including nifty, under-the-collar buttons:

I stopped sewing earlier than I wanted to last night on the assumption that, after sewing two pieces of fabric together for a tie, and getting a V shape instead, I was too tired to operate the machine. So it's another long, long day ahead of me today.

Before I stopped, though, I did notice something strange about my sewing bin:

Ah ha!

A Day of Pride

2007-06-25T20:06:00.000-05:00

If nothing else, these make me proud:

Finally Done!

Okay, she makes me pretty damn proud, too:

My girl, snagging beads, in her new socks

We had a wonderful time at Pride on Sunday, though my camera didn't get much use. I did whip it out of my bag a few times to get pictures, like the one of Shoryl above, and these:

Geeks on Parade

Dykes on Bikes -- Shoryl promises that I'll get to be the girl on the back of her bike someday.

All in all, my first Pride was a good one. I even withstood 6 1/2 hours in the scorching sun, a picnic lunch, and several pests of the winged variety. Once we were done with the sun (and done shopping), Shoryl and I went out to dinner at a local oriental place, and came home to collapse into welcome air conditioning. Those pictures, however, I'm not allowed to show you.

**Thanks must be given to those who contributed to the development of the Pride Highs, without whom I never would have finished (at least, I'm sure they think so):

It's almost here again

2007-06-23T22:28:00.001-05:00

CONvergence is kind of like Christmas for me: it comes at the same time every year, I know I'll have many, many obligations to fulfill, and yet, it's a complete surprise each and every year.

Hiya! Your insane costumer is back, this time with 13 sewings days, and 3 full costumes and assorted fiddly bits to do before then. Now until July 4th. It's my own personal run-up to the con.

On the docket:

Formal gown for StemmedRose
Add loop to Shoryl's suit
Green shirt, tie, and handkerchief for Shoryl
Green swing dress for me
5 4 Cthoompa Loompa plushies (no, really!) <-- One is done!
Red Fraggle costume for me
Bows added to 6 t-shirts

Days 1 & 2: StemmedRose's formal

My camera was dead on day 1, so you missed the making of a mockup. Even though I'm using a paper pattern, a mockup was needed. Why?

Because StemmedRose is a kindred spirit. Why do something easy, when you can do something complicated? So I'm making the top from one pattern, and the skirt from another. The patterns specify different fabrics (one is for a stretch, one isn't), a different waist size, and different seams (one has princess seams, one is just side seamed). What fun!

And all of this ... in an incredibly frustrating (but beautiful, I admit) woven jacquard. Which unravels like there's no tomorrow.

That's my first attempt at a shoulder strap. Apparently, this particular jacquard can unravel faster than I can turn a tube when sewn at a scant 3/8 inch seam. So I widened the straps and increased the seam allowances to 3/4". That seems to have fixed it. The laces and loops at the back of the dress were supposed to be turned loops as well. They are not. There is no way I could turn those in this fabric, so they have been replaced with ribbon, which looks just fine.

Two days worth of work resulted in: mockup made and fitted, pattern cut out, skirt assembled, bodice assembled, straps made, lining assembled. Also, I cut the tissue for Shoryl's shirt. Not bad for two days, but I'll need to keep it up if I'm going to make it to con with everything done (and suffering from the smallest amount of sleep dep possible.)

What's Shoryl doing while I do this?

Well, remember the 2000 individually wrapped candies from last year? Shoryl did 200 of them. And true to form - felt the need to pallet stack them.

(Pssst! I finished the rainbow socks! Shoryl and I head out to Pride tomorrow, and I'll have pictures tomorrow night. Yay!)

Small Circles of Life

2007-06-06T13:47:00.000-05:00

It's been over a month since I blogged, and I could say it's been because I've been very busy. And indeed, this would be true. There are socks to knit, costumes to sew, work to do, and cleaning to be avoided. But, while true, it would not be accurate. A fine line, that.

More accurately, I've been savoring life. And my thoughts have been both too insignificant and too momentous to easily put into words. And perhaps a touch too private. But this blog is for me, yes? Those of you who come here to read what I'm knitting or to peruse my costume diaries may be forgiven if you skip posts that are not fibre related. This is one of those posts. And those of you who know me (or think you do) may be forgiven for skipping posts that are merely show-and-tell of my latest project.

My life is no more hectic or crazy than I wish it to be, as I'll admit in rare moments of honesty. As of right now, I have to finish knitting a pair of monstrous socks by the end of June, three costumes and assorted sewing by the beginning of July, three more costumes by the middle of August, and two more probable costumes by the middle of September. This is not, however, producing the expected panic. Perhaps this is because I am now completely overconfident in my abilities to sew anything in 8 days. But I don't think this is completely it.

My life has settled into small circles of events. Hm. Have to clean out the townhouse tomorrow of the rest of my stuff. Okay. Friday maybe go with Shoryl while she gets a tattoo. Okay. A part of my brain still says "Ack! Two sewing days lost!" The rest of me smiles and shrugs it off. Hello? Yes, shrugs it off. As in deals with it in a rational and controlled manner. How is this possible?

I'm content. I took a walk today. Outside. Those who don't know me fail to be mystified by this, but those who do ... are looking at the calendar and wondering what the hell I was doing outside in June. Was I pressured? At gunpoint? I walked under trees. I just did. And I maybe twitched at a fly or two. But there were many unidentified things in the air that did not make me twitch.

My life is ... good. I have an amazing woman, who loves me and whom I adore; a home filled with people that care about me; a job that, while not intellectually stimulating is not horrendous; hobbies that are intellectually stimulating. I don't know if it just took passing 30 to bring it to me (though I have my suspicions), but I'm content. I really don't feel like I have room to complain right now. Sure, there are still money problems, still critters that make me panic, still troubles to be dealt with. But in the face of all of this, I've found my place. It's like finding your sea legs, or being able to stand on the bus. It doesn't really change anything, but it makes the journey easier.

So none of this is world-breaking, or even particularly interesting to anyone but me. Perhaps next time I show up, I'll have some interesting pictures to show you of what I'm doing. Until then, I think I'll go meditate, then work on some sewing.

Oh, and I need to take toilet paper to the third floor. The small, mundane circles of life. And I'm happy to be here.

I'm alive!

2007-05-03T18:43:00.000-05:00

We were having some technical difficulties here at Chez SilverRose:

But after swapping out a CD drive, wiping one hard drive and slaving in another, all is well. And I can't really claim to be useless at figuring out hardware anymore. I am rather frighteningly intimately aware of what's inside this box now.

While I was performing surgery on the computers, I turned 30. For my birthday, Shoryl and StemmedRose threw me a formal dinner party. For my present to myself, I helped bring my Dad up to see me. (Who is theoretically reading this blog again, after proclaiming it boring and stopping.) Dan is courteously getting out of the way so that my dad is in the picture.... but all you can see of Shoryl is her ear where she's hiding behind me. Hmmm.

We had a lot of fun, and even managed to ~~candidly~~ ~~accidentally~~ completely purposefully get a picture of Shoryl and I being only friendly - for our desks at work. Once the picture had been taken, I put my arm back around her.

My knitting was mostly abandonned due to welcome social obligations, but I'm still working on the rainbow socks (dubbed "Pride Highs" by Shoryl). I've now turned the heel, and begun the oh-so-subtle patterning on the legs. So subtle, in fact, that I felt the need to put a giant arrow on the pic. Can you find the triangles?

Dharma asked me what kind of a toe I'm using. It's the Sherman toe (and heel, for that matter) which I found here. I have - in the past - had problems with this toe before, but this time, it went flawlessly. After how easy it was to acquire the yarn in the proper shades and sketch the pattern for the leg, I'm left with the inescapable opinion that these socks just want to be knit.

UFO Flashathon!

2007-04-23T22:34:00.000-05:00

Welcome to knitters airing their dirty laundry in public! At Chatters last Thursday, Robbyn, Ev, and I decided it sounded like a wonderful idea to show off where we hide our UFOs - and maybe a peak at what they are. Check out The Yarnpath for Robbyn's, and Strings 'n Things for Ev's.

Here's mine...

It all starts with a mild mannered bag. I wonder what could be in it.

Oh, dear...

But surely that's all, right? Well, I mean, other than my unmated socks.

Oh, and the Somewhat Cowl I've been somewhat working on.

Oh, yes, and my first floor sock.

Er, and my second floor socks (currently living on a futon on the third floor of all places). It's also apparently reading some Anais Nin. Goodness; it seemed like such a well-behaved sock.

Um, and those simple socks I started for Shoryl, that turned out to be not so simple, abandoned the instant the yarn for the rainbow socks got here.

And the rainbow socks themselves, posing with a kindred spirit.

Whew! Who needs to start something new; all I need to do is finish something once in awhile!

Saturday's Crunchy Question: Family

2007-04-21T17:17:00.000-05:00

(Okay, Friday came a little early for me this week.)

Revisitng Traditon

Cory!! had some excellent thoughts on tradition last time. I’ll address his comments more fully in another post (since they’ve generated a thought for a new post all on their own). But particularly, I’m fond of his assignment of all those “tradtions” that aren’t really traditions but are more important than habits, as being rituals. Now, being a member of a highly ritualized religion, I’m a bit embarrassed that it didn’t occur to me. Ritual has connotations of repetition, purpose, and forethought. Perfect for what I was looking for.

Background

This week, we’re going to talk about family. I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. It’s my 30^th birthday next week, and as a present to myself, I’m bringing my father up to see me. I’ve also managed to somewhat reconnect with my matrilineal family. And, I’ve been learning to live with Shoryl’s family. It makes me wonder how I define “family” (independent of the dictionary this time), and what creates that sense of family, as opposed to friendship or love.

First Circle: by Blood

There’s an easy and logical place to start. My father is family, because he’s directly related to me. Likewise with my aunts, cousin, and grandmother from my mother’s side. They’re related family, easily traceable, easily recognizable.

Now, there are people who I am directly related to by blood, that are not on that list. And I would not consider them family. My father has three brothers, each of whom I’ve met a handful of times, if that. They have spouses, and children. I don’t consider them family, either. Likewise, there’s a scattering of second cousins, great aunts, and assorted other members of the family tree on my mother’s side. Frankly, it seems silly to consider someone “family” if I can’t recognize them on the street.

I have a feeling this is different from many of you; I’ve heard of things like family reunions, but they’ve never been a part of my world. Perhaps when my dad is here in town, I’ll ask him why ours was never a close-knit family.

Second Circle: by Marriage

Once we settle the issue of family by those we are related to, marriages come into play. This naturally falls into two categories: yours, and everyone else’s.

In my family, my father has been married three times. The first was my mother, who qualified (of course!) as family-by-blood. The second woman, mercifully, I was only required to call family until she and my father divorced. And there is no way I consider that woman family any longer. Much like a tourist, she was part of our lives for a brief time, and then gone. The third woman, his current wife, married my father after I left home. Yet, she is definitely family. Other members of my family have married and divorced over the years, but they don’t have spouses now. And, in my family, and ex-spouse is not family. (Frequently also never talked about again.)

My own marriage made me family-by-marriage in Whitefox’s family. And, of course, made him a part of my family. Whitefox’s family did an admirable job trying to accept me and make me feel welcome. Yet, I never really felt like I belonged to them. They were trying to make me a part of their family, but I never considered myself part of theirs. Likewise, Whitefox was never really a part of my extended family. Part of this was due to the distance we lived from my family, and the infrequent contact. Part of it was that my family had a rather … unfavorable view of the marriage.

Dan’s family seemed to be setting themselves up to be my family, when the (in their minds) eventual marriage took place. They also tried to welcome me, but I knew that there was sort of a hidden agenda there. They wanted to see him married. So I was given status as somewhat less than a wife, until such time as that could be remedied. Since it obviously was not, his family and I really no longer have any contact. Indeed, we never had any real contact with one another excluding Dan. We were never family to one another.

Third Circle: by Adoption

Oh, I know what the dictionary means when it says “adoption” – adoption of children by parents. And if anyone in my family were adopted, it would be as if they were blood family.

But I chose my own methods of adoption, and here’s where it really gets tricky considering what is and what isn’t family (or familial obligations). Because Shoryl’s family, for instance, has accepted me with open arms, despite the fact that a marriage would take several acts of legislation. And I’m not just part of Shoryl, either. They have, apparently, accepted me as part of the family proper. Whether or not this would remain true if Shoryl and I stopped seeing each other is debatable, but for the moment, I am family to them. And they are family to me.

Here’s a telling difference, in my world: Whitefox and I lived with his parents for almost a year, and I was miserable every moment. Whenever we went to go see them after that, I was always slightly uncomfortable. I also had the opportunity to meet much of Dan’s family. And, despite how welcoming they seemed to be, I was never comfortable there, always standing on ceremony or retreating shyly into a corner. But here I am, happily living with Shoryl and her sister and her father. The house is a peaceful one. Not only has Shoryl’s family adopted me, but I’ve also adopted them.

Conclusions

Maybe that’s really at the heart of it. Family is a two-way street. Whitefox’s parents would have said I was family. Would I have said they were mine? No, probably not. Would my extended relatives claim kinship with me? It’s questionable, but some might, where I would not. Everyone in a family needs to think the same thing: we are family. Because you can claim someone is part of your family, and even treat them like they are, but if they don’t feel that same connection with you, it’s not family.

**This has been an opinion courtesy of SilverRose. If you’re still here, I’m grateful. Comments, thoughts, and arguments fervently requested.

It must have been love

2007-04-19T21:04:00.000-05:00

Still is, really. I am utterly enamored with my socks so far.

The sock has accompanied me everywhere. Here, you see it enjoying a pleasant night of gaming last night:

There are few bumps in the road ... weaving in ends, tensioning stripes, making socks to fit Shoryl, hoping I don't run out of yarn... but so far?

I am completely infatuated.

I shouldn't be this excited...

2007-04-16T18:09:00.000-05:00

But, really, all you knitters out there will totally get this.

I was going to tell you all about my weekend, and what's going on in my life, but this completely trumps that recitation:

This is the genesis of what could end up being a SilverRose original. (I know, I keep taunting you with the idea that maybe someday I'll design.)

Shoryl mentioned, off-hand, on Easter that maybe she would like rainbow socks. Now, I've never had a partner that is willing, nay, wants me to knit for them before, so I certainly wasn't going to pass that up. After doing some desultory searching for rainbow varigated yarn, Shoryl then mentioned that she might like stripes. Oh, and maybe some triangles?

Enter Ray. Ray is the wonderful, words-can-not-describe man behind Knitivity. (Go now, buy some.) He graciously offered to help me put together a special package of the "crayon box" colors I was looking for, in 100% fingering weight wool. The package arrived today, and the colors are amazing, and the hand of the yarn is wonderful. See that extra light green in there? That's the green I had chosen with the help of my crappy work monitor. Ray included both greens. Use the one you like best, he says, and use the other in another project. Ray? Should have trusted you. So go take a look (psst! He's got hand painted yarns....). This is me enabling you.

Me? I'm going to sit here and wind yarn into cakes, then cast on for Shoryl's socks.

Edited to add: And they're center pull skeins! That really work!

Tales From the Camera

2007-04-11T18:06:00.000-05:00

A relaxing and enjoyable few days have been had here at the Forest.

It was my first Easter with Shoryl and her family. And while Shoryl and I are not Christian, we still celebrate. Quite possibly this is because it would take a miracle to keep StemmedRose out of the kitchen.

The dishes were similar to what I'm used to from my childhood, but then again different. I sense a post about holiday observations and regional food somewhere in my mind; we'll see what comes of it.

But StemmedRose sets a lovely spread, fit to feed, as Shoryl says, "a small but hungry platoon). Shoryl, StemmedRose, and Pops are obviously thrilled to be sitting for one insane blogger:

If you look closely, you can see a partial image of your favorite SilverRose in the curio mirrors.

Today is April 11th, and while it doesn't really hold any special meaning for me any more, it does serve to illustrate what bizarre things hang on in our memories, even when we could use the room for something else. I happen to know that my very first "boyfriend" (I was 15, the quotes are necessary) is turning 30 today. Now, there were several in between then and now that I can't remember, but for some reason, I remember his. Slainte, Dennis, wherever you are.

And, hello? April 11? Past Easter? When we're all supposed to be wearing white shoes? Look what happened today:

Those of you who know me know that I'm all but dancing in the streets for joy. All those little six-and-eight-legged critters that I detest so much were lured into a false sense of safety, tricked out of their warm hideyholes, and then brutally murdered, suffering to the end. Just brings a warm glow to your heart, doesn't it? Er. Moving on...

I have been knitting lately, if not very much. (And not very faithfully - I've been skipping from project to project.) I'm roughly more than half the way through the short row heel for RPM and I gotta say ... I'm pretty impressed with this heel. It's looking a lot prettier than the first short row heel I ever did.

If I am diligent (but when am I ever), I could finish up this sock in time to start a new project I have planned. (HA! I say, to second sock syndrome. I laugh in your direction. I will use my sock needles for something else, and come back to RPM later.) Ahem. It is not wise to taunt the knitting goddess when I have 4 unmated socks patiently awaiting my attention.

But the yarn has to get here before I can start my next project. Want a hint?

A Room of One's Own, Part 1 of 3

2007-04-03T20:29:00.000-05:00

I know y'all are all voyeurs (aren't we all?), so I'm sharing the saga of moving Chez SilverRose into the Artists' Forest.

The part of my bedroom I've completed:

My desk. Look, that's my entire To Be Read pile. I dunno, it looks so nice up there that I might need to make sure I always have, um, 54 books I need to read. (It was so much less daunting before I counted them.) The red arrow is directing your attention to the computer knitting sock, RPM, in it's own basket.

The part that's not done:

Uh, yeah. That would be everything that goes in my bedroom that doesn't go on the desk, since the desk is the only piece of furniture in the room so far. But the furniture is coming on Thursday, I'm looking at paint swatches, and I bought a bedspread. Soon, it will be an actual bedroom, and not just a rather sparsely furnished echo chamber.

Friday's Crunchy Question: Tradition

2007-03-30T20:39:00.000-05:00

Background

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about various traditions. Really, this is a theme I tend to revisit whenever I’ve gone through a lot of changes in a short period of time. I need to feel grounded in something – feel like there’s at least one thing in my life that’s not moving too quickly for me to keep up with. Tradition, by nature, implies stability, repetition. But what, exactly, makes a repeated action a tradition?

Question

So we all “sort of” know what a tradition is. But what makes any action a tradition? Repetition, certainly, but how often? How many times before it suddenly gets upgraded from “that thing we sometimes do” to a tradition? What if you miss one (or more than one)? Can it be a tradition for just you, or is a tradition a social activity? Can you deliberately, consciously start traditions?

Debating Terms

Like many of the interests in my life, this stems from a concept we all “understand,” but a term that is rather vague. Is my meaning of “tradition” the same as yours? And, as is my habit (not tradition, not yet), I want to know what the word means, before I explore the concept itself.

Dictionary.com – my first stop:

tra·di·tion –noun
1.the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, information, etc., from generation to generation, esp. by word of mouth or by practice: a story that has come down to us by popular tradition.
2.something that is handed down: the traditions of the Eskimos.
3.a long-established or inherited way of thinking or acting: The rebellious students wanted to break with tradition.
4.a continuing pattern of culture beliefs or practices.
5.a customary or characteristic method or manner: The winner took a victory lap in the usual track tradition.

I’m not done yet. Since “tradition” is a concept (more than just a label like in my last question), I went to the Encyclopedia (well, Wikipedia, which, despite its faults, is fairly good at showing what prevalent usage is):

The word tradition comes from the Latin word traditio which means "to hand down" or "to hand over." It is used in a number of ways in the English language:

1.A meme; beliefs or customs taught by one generation to the next, often orally. For example, we can speak of the tradition of sending birth announcements.
2.A set of customs or practices. For example, we can speak of Christmas traditions.
3.A broad religious movement made up of religious denominations or church bodies that have a common history, customs, culture, and, to some extent, body of teachings. For example, we can speak of Islam's Sufi tradition or Christianity's Lutheran tradition.

However, on a more basic theoretical level, tradition(s) can be seen as information or composed of information. For that which is brought into the present from the past, in a particular societal context, is information. This is even more fundamental than particular acts or practices even if repeated over a long sequence of time. For such acts or practices, once performed, disappear unless they have been transformed into some manner of communicable information.

Well. That somewhat takes the wind out of my sails, doesn’t it? It appears that the prevalent view of what a tradition is has a few important points:

Cultural influence (or influenced)
Passed down or inherited

Now, these would be accurate for some traditions that I have experienced. It is traditional for part of the family to gather together at Christmas. During that time, we also engage in other traditional activities. Unfortunately, I have been separate from those traditions, due to many factors (time, distance, my own decision to not have children – therefore not having anyone to hand down traditions to…) This does not alleviate the feeling of alienation that causes me to occasionally think about traditions.

And it invalidates the notion that individuals, or one generation, can create their own traditions without the need to pass them on. Let’s say, for instance, that Dan and I had the tradition of going to Half-Price Books and Noodles & Co once a month. (We sort of did, for a bit. Though, as with all traditions in my life, it sort of dissolved.) It isn’t cultural influenced (nor does it have any cultural influence of its own), and it was not passed down from a preceding generation, nor would we be passing it down to anyone else. So, if it’s not a tradition, what is it?

I’m doing all of the reference sources here, so let’s round it off with a trip to a Thesaurus. I generally find Thesauri to be inadequate at best, as synonyms can’t always be used to mean exactly what another word does. But today, that’s what I want.

Roget’s says:

Main Entry: tradition

Part of Speech: noun

Definition: practice

Synonyms: attitude, belief, birthright, conclusion, convention, culture, custom, customs, ethic, ethics, fable, folklore, form, habit, heritage, idea, inheritance, institution, law, legend, lore, mores, myth, mythology, mythos, opinion, practice, praxis, ritual, unwritten law, usage, wisdom

Of these, custom and habit seem most likely to be what I’m looking for. I wasn’t too fond of custom, but here’s what I found for habit:

1.an acquired behavior pattern regularly followed until it has become almost involuntary: the habit of looking both ways before crossing the street.

A habit is not encumbered by needing to be either culturally significant, or by being passed down. It is indeed, exactly what I’m looking for. It’s still a bit ambiguous, because what in the world is “regularly followed?” And “almost involuntary” seems inadequate to describe something that’s usually done consciously, such as holiday celebrations.

So. I’m really not wedded to the idea of something like that as being a “habit.” It’s my habit to put my jeans on before my shirt in the morning. That habit seems a little less significant than, say, establishing the habit (with forethought) of going out with someone once a month to the same destination.

Unfortunately, all my quibbling aside, I’ve answered the question I began with:

A tradition is a culturally significant, repeated action that is passed down from generation to generation. It doesn’t matter how often one individual performs it; if it meets the above criteria, it is a tradition (such as wedding traditions .. that one hopes are only done once-a-lifetime.). A tradition, by nature of it being culturally related and hereditary, is a social activity. An individual can create a tradition, but, perversely, it can’t be labeled a tradition until someone from the next generation also performs the action.

So saith the dictionary, at least. Does this depress anyone else?

Next time maybe I’ll figure out what to call my (strike)traditions(strike) (strike)habits(strike) consciously repeated actions.

**This has been an opinion courtesy of SilverRose. If you’re still here, I’m grateful. Comments, thoughts, and arguments fervently requested.

The textiles post

2007-03-14T22:05:00.000-05:00

I know you've all been anxiously waiting for it (except you, Dad), so here's the blog post you've all been waiting for...

The textile post!

Er. ... .... ....

Okay, so maybe life has been a little hectic lately. And maybe, just maybe I haven't been knitting as much as I have in the past. So, what do I have to show you?

First Floor: Kitchen Knitting

This place is huge. So huge that I have knitting projects on every floor of the house, lest I have to run up and down stairs to get to it. In the first floor, we have the sock I work on when we're in the first floor sitting room (rarely), or when I'm trying to not over-stir dinner (much more frequently). This is just simple 3x3 garter rib, but it keeps me happy (and is easy to put down and pick up).

Second Floor: Computer Knitting

Here we see the sock that lives on the computer desk, destined to someday be the Michigan socks. I figure I need to have these done by August now, so I can wear them during the opening game. We'll see. This is, of course, RPM from Knitty.

Third Floor: Somewhat Cowl (Take 2)

...

Um, Somewhat Cowl (Take 2) appears to be hiding at the moment. I ... may not know exactly where it is. So here I leave you with a picture of what Somewhat Cowl looked like last time 'round. (No, I have not yet ripped this for the yarn. I keep meaning to, but my ball winder is probably hanging out somewhere with my Somewhat Cowl (Take 2)...)

Hello World

2007-03-13T20:22:00.000-05:00

HELLO WORLD.

SilverRose is live and happy at her new home in Artist's Forest. You see before you the temporary resting place of my computer, to give way to permanent housing when there's a room available to me.

In theory, I'll post more often now that my computer, camera, and I are once again collocating. I might even - no promises, now - tell you what I've been knitting lately.

We'll see.

Friday's Crunchy Question: Butch vs Femme

2007-03-09T23:02:00.000-06:00

So, here we are again. It’s Friday, and in an attempt to force myself to post more regularly (and to space out the textile posts), I’m introducing Friday’s crunchy questions. I’m a bit of an armchair sociologist, psychologist, biologist, and all-around theorist. Though I’ve never been formally trained, I love being able to look at the world around me and really think about it. Many of these questions will come from one (or more) of the various subcultures I’m a part of. So on Fridays, I’m going to post what my brain has been chewing on lately. And everyone can actually comment, and tell me what you think. I’ll revisit the topic the next Friday, before moving on to my next comment/theory/question.

Background

I met a man that Shoryl is friends with. Generally, I’m very reserved around people I’ve just met, but Shoryl tends to mitigate this tendency, so I was more talkative than usual. I noticed, though, that he always looked at me oddly when I spoke, then failed to answer me. I thought that maybe I was confusing him. After all, my little world can be very strange. When I brought this up to Shoryl on the bus the next morning she said it might be because “you think like a butch girl, but you’re so not.”

First, this made me think about how a “butch girl” would think, and why that isn’t expected of me. That very specific question led to more general pondering of what traits are commonly thought of as “butch” or “femme.” They’re convenient category labels to use, and there’s usually no question about which one a given woman would be. However, just because we can point at someone and say “she’s femme,” that doesn’t mean that we really know what exactly we’re pointing at. I am indeed femme, from the roots of my long curly hair to the tips of my high heels. But it must be something deeper than looks that we recognize when we slap on that label, else no statement would be able to be made about what a butch girl thinks like, and why it’s unusual for me to think that way.

The Question

What factors determine “butch” and “femme?” Is there a dividing line? Is there one definitive trait that says “I don’t care if you don’t have any other feminine traits, if you have ________, you’re femme.” Is it more than just a label to describe physical attributes – does it, in fact, say something about how you view the world around you?

To be clear, what I’m discussing here refers to artificially imposed labels – not necessarily how you or I view ourselves, but how I would view you. Therefore, I can say someone is “butch,” and they are free to disagree with me, but that’s today’s topic: when an outsider labels someone as butch or femme, what characteristics are they actually identifying?

Ready?

What do “They” Say?

I figured it would be a good starting point to figure out just what the majority of the world – as represented by various dictionaries – thought the terms meant.

Dictionary.com had this to say:

Butch: Slang. a lesbian, esp. one notably masculine in manner or appearance.

Femme: a lesbian who is notably feminine in appearance.

Interestingly, both definitions specify that the terms are used to refer to lesbians, and both mention giving the “appearance” of one gender or the other. I’ll come back to that in just a moment.

The Online Etymology Dictionary tells us:

Butch: "tough youth," 1902, sense of "aggressive lesbian" is 1940s.

Femme: from Fr., lit. "woman." Slang meaning "passive and more feminine partner in a lesbian couple" is first attested 1961.

Here, the focus is not on appearance, it’s on the role each partner plays in a relationship: passive or aggressive.

So, from the dictionaries, we have a place to start:

Both terms refer specifically to lesbians.
Butch women have the “manner or appearance” of masculinity, while femme women have the “appearance” of femininity.
Butch women are “aggressive” and femme women are “passive and more feminine.”

Why That’s Not Good Enough

So why isn’t this enough for me? They’re clear, concise definitions that, on the surface at least, are reasonably accurate. Indeed, they are reasonably accurate. But that doesn’t really get me any closer to what really defines butch or femme. Here’s why:

First, limiting the definitions to only lesbians takes the focus off of the use of the terms to describe a set of characteristics, and makes them focused solely on sexual orientation. What if you don’t know? What if you refer to someone as butch, then find out she’s straight? Do you say “Oops, sorry. I mean you’re very masculine and aggressive?” What if you’re referring to a woman that’s bisexual? (For that matter, is a “lesbian” any woman who dates women, or only those who exclusively date women? But that’s a question for another time.)

Next up is the idea that a butch or femme woman gives the “appearance” of either masculinity or femininity. I’m really not against that, and it’s largely what I’ll be talking about later, except for one thing: in an age where we can’t even decide what’s masculine or feminine within the same sex as the person who’s expressing it, how can we know outside of that? In other words, if we can’t decide when a man is “manly,” how on earth will we know if a woman is? Men knit; would they be “femme?” Women fix computers; would they be “butch?” (They might be – but is that the only characteristic needed?)

The terms “aggressive” and “passive” offer the same pitfalls. What is aggression, in this sense? Violence, or just knowing what you want and how to get it? Is passiveness giving in to your partner’s every whim, or is it being polite and reserved?

These definitions suffer from being both too restricting and too broad. On the one hand, we can only use the term to describe lesbians, and on the other, we’re assigning sets of characteristics that we can’t even define.

Can You Do Better?

Maybe; maybe not. I can certainly be more thorough.

Let’s go back to the “appearance of” masculinity or femininity. Quickly brainstorming, I came up with the following thoughts:

Body type
Dress and grooming
Habits and hobbies
Assumption of the mannerisms of “traditional” gender roles

These are all easy, recognizable things, and they’re meant to be. We are, after all, going for appearances.

But one of them is even easier than the rest, and that’s body type. Because she is, quite frankly, the most butch woman I know, and know well, we’re going to pick on Shoryl. (To be fair, we’re going to be picking on me, too.) We’ve seen Shoryl in a suit. She is slender and tall, with broad shoulders, a minimal bust, and muscular legs. She could, if she wanted to, pass for a young man with very little effort (and does, sometimes, whether she wants to or not). Shoryl’s body type lends itself to the “appearance of masculinity.” By contrast, I am of an average (female) height and plump, with ample bust and hips, and delicate ankles and wrists. There is absolutely no way that I will ever not give the “appearance of femininity,” no matter what I wear. Our body types lend themselves to a certain category.

In this case, it happens to be the category we identify as, but that’s not always the case. Shoryl’s sister StemmedRose is a fairly butch woman (and straight, hence the difficulty with that whole “lesbian” label). We might not have determined what, exactly makes her butch, but we’re working with the theory that it’s something you can “tell.” And StemmedRose is, while quite tall, also fairly Reubenesque in stature. She has a well defined, ample hourglass shape. Clearly, her body type is not what serves as an indication of her place in our artificial dichotomy. Body type can’t be the only determining factor, though it may be one of the first. What’s left?

Dress and grooming. So, when I showed you a picture of Shoryl, with her short, cropped hair and wearing a suit, what did you think? Monday through Thursday, she wears a dress shirt and tie to work. What does this tell you about her? Does it make her more butch? More masculine in appearance? Perhaps, but she’s also wearing earrings in both ears. Isn’t that a feminine trait, commonly? (Remember, we’re painting in broad strokes here). Let me assure you, when I wear a shirt and tie, it does not make me look particularly butch. A femme in a suit is still femme. Part of that is my body type, as discussed above, and part of that is made up of other factors. When I wear a suit, it’s “dress up.” And what do you do when you dress up? Put on makeup, of course. Add that to my long hair and delicate jewelry, and a suit is completely transformed on me. A suit does not give me the “appearance of masculinity” that it would for Shoryl. And part of that is grooming.

Well, we have one on each side of the issue again, so we’re going to continue to pick on StemmedRose for our middle ground. Like me, when StemmedRose dresses up, she’s likely to pick an actual dress. But she has short hair, too. Does it matter? As a costumer, I can tell you that the style of dress each of us would pick is an indication of our temperaments, but I’m going to rule that out as relevant only to a “professional eye.” So, she dresses like a femme, and has a butch haircut.

Dress and grooming often work hand in hand, but are clearly separate issues. This is complicated even further by the blurred androgyny in today’s clothing. Are jeans and a t-shirt masculine or feminine? Presuming they’re not tight, they’re virtually interchangeable. Earrings, necklaces? We face the same issues here as well. It’s more common than it used to be for men to wear jewelry. Dan wears more jewelry than I do, on a day-to-day basis. For that matter, Dan has longer hair than I do, which should not, in any way, be interpreted as a sign of femininity.

I’m going to pause for a moment to review what we have so far. Body type, dress, and grooming have all been ruled out as the sole factor when determining where someone sits on the arbitrary butch/femme scale we’ve created. As they should be, because there are exceptions to every rule. However, it’s becoming apparent that when all three factors agree, we can be fairly certain of the verdict. Shoryl, with her slim figure and short hair, in a suit? Very butch. Me, with my curves and long hair, in a dress? Very femme. StemmedRose, with an ample figure, short hair, in a dress? Ah, that we haven’t explained yet…

We move now from focusing on the physical appearance of masculinity or femininity, to the behavioral appearance of such. When you get to know someone a bit better, you can be more certain of the label you’ve previously applied – more information is available to you.

Habits and hobbies are a fairly straight forward category, and one of the easiest defined. As long as you don’t go too far back, you can say, “what’s a stereotypical hobby for a man or a woman?” I knit, crochet, sew, and spin. In recent decades, these have all been cast as “feminine” hobbies.^¹ Shoryl … well, Shoryl likes power tools. A lot. I’ve seen her light up with absolute glee when she describes her snowblower. She also makes chainmail. And plays video games. While “masculine” hobbies aren’t quite as defined, these aren’t traditionally feminine hobbies. What about our middle ground, StemmedRose? She beads and quilts – traditionally feminine hobbies. She also helps Shoryl around the house, willingly – and very capably. (Whereas I am willing, but require direction.)

As far as the assumption of traditional gender roles, I’m going to be brief, since this is already approaching massive size. We occasionally joke that Shoryl is the perfect gentleman. When we’re “dressed,” she opens all the doors, including the car doors. She also pulls my seat out for me if the waiter neglects to do it, and takes my coat. When we’re walking, I am on her arm. While this is indicative of our own choice of roles on the butch/femme continuum, it’s more about the roles we assume in our own relationship. Nonetheless, to a casual observer, the assumption of these roles is going to point firmly in the expected direction. Now, I don’t happen to know how StemmedRose acts on a date, having never seen it, but I’m betting she doesn’t open her partner’s door. However, is that because she’s assuming a butch role, or because her partner is always male, therefore having more “claim” to the traditional male roles?

From what we’ve seen so far, StemmedRose is coming down slightly on the femme side of our equation. So why do I put her in the “butch” category? It’s more than looks, more than hobbies and mannerisms; it’s attitude.

Past Appearances

We’ve more than adequately discussed appearances by now, and reached a conclusion that seems to indicate that, if all appearances agree, then that’s enough to apply a label of butch or femme. However, we’re still missing a piece of the puzzle. We haven’t been able to explain why StemmedRose scans as “butch,” nor have we answered the original question of how one thinks like a butch girl, though we’ve established how one can look like one.

Because of the depth of the topic, I’m going to leave the discussion of aggression and passivity alone for right now. I’m not conceding my point to the dictionaries – far from it – but, really, this is getting massive. Let’s just say we’ll discuss it at another time.

So what does attitude have to do with it? If we look beyond observer-on-the-street appearances, what do we find? Here’s some thoughts (because I love to make lists):

Poise
Thought process
Communication style

In poise, we have some of the answer to our question of how to label women like StemmedRose, whose appearance falls in a nice middle-ground. Anyone watching Shoryl, StemmedRose and I walking will make an immediate observation about the way we walk. Shoryl sometimes strides, and sometimes saunters, but she always unmistakably has the walk of a butch girl – brought on, I suspect, by combining a masculine walk with feminine hips. I sometimes sway, sometimes glide, and sometimes stalk, but whatever I’m doing, my hips are always in on it. Rather than swinging my legs straight out from the knee or hip, as Shoryl does, my stride comes sideways from my hips, which gives me an unmistakably feminine walk. StemmedRose walks with a purpose. Even in a dress, her walk comes more from the front, with little extraneous movement. Her stride is much more like Shoryl’s than like mine – which offsets some of the “femme” signals that her appearance gives her. Beyond walk, there’s an observable difference in how we carry ourselves. We joke that Shoryl lounges, and I lean. StemmedRose commonly stands with her hips aligned to her shoulders, her legs slightly spread, and her head up – all commonly “masculine” body language. I, despite all the injunctions to have good posture, almost always stand with a hip cocked. There are other things captured by the term “poise” as well, such as how we each hold our hands, our heads, and how we bend to retrieve something off the floor, but the examples above should be adequate to establish my point.

We’re finally getting to how I can think like a butch girl, but not be one, and why this might be confusing. With every possible criterion along the way, I’ve been firmly on the femme side of things – sometimes more than I would like (or like to admit). Anyone looking at me is likely to assume that I think in certain ways. But what are those?

While it would be difficult for a casual observer to discern thoughts, these can be perceived through speech patterns. Here, Shoryl, StemmedRose and I all agree. All three of us have a brusque way of speaking when we talk merely to exchange information. We tend to present the problem, our conclusion, and the points that led us to reach it. This essay, in fact, is an excellent example of that technique in my chosen medium.

What does this tell us about how “butch” women think? First, a small disclaimer: we’re painting in very broad strokes and, due to the nature of the subject, stereotypes are likely to occur. Not all stereotypes are negative, and can be valuable to learn what we assume about a particular group. You’ve been warned.

It tells us, actually, a great deal about how an outside observer (that’s important) thinks the typical woman thinks. The jokes are all old: women think with their emotions, they aren’t logical, they’re intuitive. Men, by contrast, are supposed to be logical, oriented toward problem-solving, and goal driven. Certainly there are exceptions to this rule – many of them. But we’re working within the collective popular opinion of American society. So, which of these two options sound more like how the three of us think? Yes, the world is going to see us as thinking like men. Since none of us are, in fact, men, we must be “butch,” since we’re giving the “appearance of masculinity.” Ergo, I think like a butch girl. But this isn’t enough to offset the preponderance of evidence pointing toward my being femme.

Conclusion

I think I’m finally ready to answer my question. Because it’s an awful long way up this post, let’s review:

What factors determine “butch” and “femme?” Is there a dividing line? Is there one definitive trait that says “I don’t care if you don’t have any other feminine traits, if you have ________, you’re femme.” Is it more than just a label to describe physical attributes – does it, in fact, say something about how you view the world around you?

The factors that determine the choice of a “butch” or “femme” label seem to group logically into two categories that I’ll refer to as appearance and expression. Appearance traits are those most likely to be observed by strangers on the street: body type, dress, and grooming. Expressive traits are more likely to be seen by people that know you: hobbies, poise, and communication. There doesn’t seem to be any one characteristic that leads to an automatic label, though body type and dress may be enough some in some cases. In general, someone is likely to be considered butch or femme depending on where the preponderance of evidence points. If there is an equal, or fairly equal, distribution between the two categories, the label applied is likely to be based on how well you are known by the person doing the labeling. Based on the label you are given, your thoughts and actions are expected to fall within certain parameters. This can confuse someone that sees a “femme girl,” and hears discourses on whatever esoteric topic is occupying her mind at the time!

So, I propose my own definitions:

Butch: A woman who exhibits many traits that are traditionally masculine in nature, including choice of appearance and self-representation.

Femme: A woman who exhibits many traits that are traditionally feminine in nature, including choice of appearance and self-representation.

**This has been an opinion courtesy of SilverRose. If you’re still here, I’m grateful. Comments, thoughts, and arguments fervently requested.

1 Regardless of the accuracy of such dichotomies, just go with it, okay?

Costume Diary: Zoot Suit Pursuit

2007-03-06T19:45:00.000-06:00

All posts in the diary for the Zoot Suit Pursuit:

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Redux

2007-02-27T20:25:00.000-06:00

Remember how I said the Zoot Suit wasn't done yet? Well, now it's done.**

As a reminder, here's what I needed to do:

~~Line jacket and sleeves~~
Take out "cheater cuffs" and sew them by hand like I was supposed to
~~Take facing of pants back into place (undone by my over~~ ~~zealous tightening of her suspenders)~~
~~Widen upper buttonhole on jacket~~

I left the damn cuffs in. Really, after all the work, I just didn't want to look at those pants cuffs one more time. But the rest of it... is done. Remember how it took me 8 days to make the suit? I was nearly as insane, and completed the finishing in a day. Well, slightly less than a day, really.

Want to know how I did it? Let me take you on a pictoral journey. (If I can remember what all these were pictures of...)

P.S. This is really freakin' picture heavy, y'all. I took 15 pictures during this process. Consider yourself warned.

1. Reintroduce the household cats to the suit.

2. Cut out pattern pieces.

That sounds deceptively simple, doesn't it? "Cut out pieces." Oh, sure, no problem, I can do that. Wait, this jacket isn't lined, which means there aren't pattern pieces. But there is a facing, which means the jacket pieces aren't the same shape...

Here, you see what I did. I took the jacket pattern pieces, put the facing pieces on top of them, and the cut off the part of the jacket pattern that was covered by the lining (allowing for seams, of course). This made pattern pieces that roughly resembled the non-lined, non-faced part of the jacket. Did I know this was going to work ahead of time? Hell, no! But I figured it was worth a shot. And damned if it didn't actually work. I'm so smart sometimes.

3. Sew the resulting mutant pieces together.

4. Pin.

Pin everywhere the lining touches the facing pieces. Pin all the seams in. Pin anywhere else you can think of. Then pin some more.

5. Bleed.

See, it had become something of a superstition here at Chez SilverRose: the costumes I bleed on are the ones that turn out. If I somehow manage to not, I end up with an ungodly mess that could only be improved by a little blood. This is only a problem when I am sewing an all white suit. And, following the advice in step #4, there were truly a ridiculous amount of pins in the jacket...

(Note: this step can be repeated as often as necessary. And no, I'm not going to tell you how many times I bled on it. Then Shoryl would know, too...)

6. Perform origami.

It was at this point that it occured to me that maybe I hadn't thought this quite through. Because there were two halves of a back slit, and I could only pin one of them down at a time... And the lining was going to have to be machine sewn to the fabric at the vents. I was faced with a quandry: pull out all (!) the pins I'd just put in, or think creatively. Yes, Virgina, it is possible to sew two pieces wrong side together that have already been pinned together with right sides together. It just takes some dexterity.

7. Pause to savor the cuteness.

Yes, this is an absolutely integral part of any sewing project. Any one who says differently doesn't have cats.

8. Sew the vents.

So, if I'm sewing the vents, why am I showing you this picture? Because this is the wonderful topstitching that previously graced the flap. That had to be taken out. I cried a little, maybe. Then I sewed the lining to the flaps, and put the topstitching back in. See why savoring the cuteness is necessary?

9. Hem.

Here you see a bit of the desperation that accompanied my previous encounter with this suit creeping back in. I would have liked nothing better than to hand sew the jacket hems, but even I knew I didn't have time for that. So I machine sewed them. Without measuring them. They are... mostly even. Even enough for a lining, at least.

10. Make the sleeve linings.

Corollary: Realize, as you are pressing the lining, that you made two right sleeves. Which would be great if Shoryl was a mutant. Seeing as how her arms are in the usual spots...

11. Make the sleeve linings again.

Being awfully damn certain this time that you have one of each. Really. You've heard the phrase "measure twice, cut once?" Mine was "check 8 times. Cut halfway. Check again. Finish cutting."

12. Take the suit to a new location. Introduce more cats.

Blog, meet Screech, Shoryl's baby. She was happy to see me. She was even happier to shed on Mom's white suit. And chase the pins.

13. Tack down the pants lining.

Remember? That was on my list. Why am I tacking down the pants lining when the jacket isn't done? Because Shoryl was getting ready as I was sewing. Which means she needed the pants first. The jacket, should it become necessary, could be finished in the car. (It wasn't necessary: I finished with, oh, about 10 minutes to spare.)

14. Sew the sleeve lining carefully to the already-sewn in body lining.

As usual, when I fall behind on sewing, my picture taking suffers. So there is no picture of me sewing down the body of the lining. It was boring anyway. Trust me; I was there. Not that this isn't, but ... never mind.

***

That's all the steps to actually making the suit. The jacket was lined successfully, the alterations were made, and Shoryl looked fabulous. I didn't take more pictures of her in the suit because, frankly, you can't really tell the difference when she's wearing it.

But there is one more very important step...

15. Check the look of the suit when negligently thrown across a chair.

I leave it to your own imaginations as to how that picture came to be.

**I lie. There's one teeny thing I have to do yet. But that's just adding a loop so Shoryl has somewhere to hang her badge. Doesn't even count, really.

I've tried, really

2007-02-20T17:14:00.000-06:00

So I've tried to publish numerous times from my email, and Blogger is, well. Not cooperating.

So. It's been awhile, yes? I have pictures on my camera for the final bit of the Zoot Suit Pursuit, but I can't seem to find my camera cord right now. Plus, my Dad has begun complaining that my blog is "boring." (Clearly, I did not get my creative genes from him. Hmph.)

So, what has SilverRose been up to since last we met?

Honestly, it's been so long, I'm not sure.
In non-textile news...

This has been a really interesting month. And not necessarily interesting in a good way, for the most part. Shoryl's lover went into the hospital the last part of January, so the first part of February was ... tense. She passed away on the 13th, and I've just gotten home from staying with Shoryl for roughly a week and a half, helping out.

During that time, we all packed up and went to Supercon again this year, in which I completely outdid last year's attempt to forget to take a picture of anything by not dragging my camera out at all. In my defense, I was, near as we can tell, suffering from my second bout with The Cold, enduring a bladder infection, and a sinus infection. But all that seems to be over now, with the exception of a lingering cough. I spent most of Supercon lying on one piece of furniture or another, with Shoryl bringing people to me that I ought to meet.

The weekend after that was Shoryl's birthday party, which was more or less successful. There were some logistical issues that were cleared up fairly quickly and everyone, as far as I can tell, had a good time. There were plans to attend another birthday party and a Valentine's party the next day, but Shoryl was dealing with Jenn's illness, and we opted to spend a quiet night in. (And I narrowly avoided an even more insane sewing... oh, wait, no textiles...)

Shoryl and I both took the day off on Tuesday, to sit with Jenn's family (okay, I was there to sit with Shoryl, but whatever), and on Friday they had the memorial service. By then, Shoryl and I decided that we had had enough solemnity, and we kept our prearranged Valentine's day date. She took me out to Vincent for dinner, which was wonderful. I got to play dress up with my good clothes, and be all refined. (Not so easy a task for this ex-truck stop waitress, let me tell you.)

The weekend was mostly quiet, and yesterday was also quiet, as Shoryl and I had President's Day off. (Have I mentioned the whole "love working bank hours" thing, lately?) I did make dinner for Shoryl, her family, Michael, and Mikey. Which, amazingly, turned out really good. I was given pork chops to work with. Only after I started did someone bother to tell me that Shoryl doesn't like pork. But she ate it, and told me I could make it again. I am vindicated.

Today, I returned to work after what seemed like forever, and returned home (also after what felt like forever).

All caught up? Good. Tonight, Dan and I are hiding from the world, and watching some more Season 2 of Animaniacs.

Whew! So, that's all the non-textile stuff in my life right now. Perhaps tomorrow I'll talk about sewing, and knitting (or lack thereof). Dad, you're excused. (Though you could comment once in awhile, you know.)

Really Interesting Things at Chez SilverRose...

2007-01-25T06:56:00.000-06:00

Really ... interesting.
...
Okay. Any time now.
...
Y'all, I got nothing. I mean, there are all sorts of things going on I'm sure, but either they're too boring, or a little too private for this blog. So I'm kinda left with, well, nothing.

Let's see.... I made chicken noodle soup last night. That went well. Seeing as how Dan, Shoryl, and I are all still suffering the lingering effects of The Cold, it was probably even a really good idea.

Tonight, I nap, and see Shoryl in the evening. Friday is Dan's company holiday party, and Sunday is a birthday party for Sami (turning ... 9, yes?). Big plans, I tell ya.

I cast on for a new pair of socks last night. Yes, yes, I have several going all ready, but I needed something new. Fresh. So. More socks.

Okay, now I'm starting to bore myself with this recitation. Carry on.

(Perhaps on Monday I will have actually had my camera with me at appropriate times, and share pictures.)

Is This Recovering?

2007-01-13T18:34:00.000-06:00

So, with the sewing madness done, last semester firmly behind me, and work finally, er, working out, what's a girl to do?

Get a cold, apparently. Shoryl's been fighting something for the last few days, so really the result was inevitable: stuffy nose, sore throat from drainage, tired and listless. Yeah, I got what she had.

Last night when I got home from her place, I crawled into bed and proceeded to sleep for 12 hours. 12 hours! I don't remember the last time I could sleep like that. Then, I was full of sloth as Dan and I spent a lovely relaxing afternoon together playing FFXII (which is slowly improving), while I knit in my pajamas. Well, I sort of knit. For most of the afternoon, I had at least one - and up to three - dozing piles of fluff draped over me. Who can resist that temptation? So, despite the 12 hours of sleep, I also dozed on the sofa...

Now, Dan's off babysitting. I was supposed to go with him, but the cold was threatening to royally kick my ass, so instead I have several hours stretching out in front of me that are, amazingly, totally unscheduled.

Let me repeat that: totally unscheduled. I can, in fact, do anything my heart desires, guilt free.

When I was in high school, Joey and I formulated the theory that an excess of orange juice and a good hot bath could cure damn near anything. Since that hasn't failed me yet, my evening will include: an excess of orange-strawberry-banana juice (the only juice in the house), a good hot bath, and maybe some time sitting in front of the computer playing Roller Coaster Tycoon and knitting.

The knitting? For the Red Scarf Project. I'll get you pictures as soon as the lethargy lifts and I find the camera, the camera cord, and proper lighting.

Tomorrow I have temple - including a make-up hour of meditation, and a dinner party. Monday I get the whole day off work, and I'm dragging Shoryl out shopping. (Hey, I may even bring the camera...) Tuesday school starts again.

But before all that happens, I need to tell this cold where to stick it.

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Days 7, 8, and 9 ... I think.

2007-01-02T19:53:00.000-06:00

So where did I leave off?

Ah, yes. The fly was done, and we were not discussing why putting a zipper in took a certain costumer two days and three tries.

I wasn't absolutely exhausted for this part of the affair, so I managed to take pictures:

Pants, for the penultimate fitting.

Nifty pleats, that do not, actually, emphasize her hips, which I was afraid they'd do

Hemming them up (Picture taken while Shoryl was attempting to take off her shoes.)

So. That was day ... 6 or 7. I'm not precisely sure anymore.

With the pants in a good holding pattern (requiring only hand work to be complete), I started the jacket:

Reivyn once again "helps" Mom

So, with the pants almost finished, and the jacket cut, I called it a night and went to bed. (Stay with me, now, I think this was ... Thursday night.)

So on Friday, I started putting the jacket together. This was, perhaps, easier than the pants, but not exactly the easiest thing I've ever done. Shoryl (sensibly) wanted a breast pocket (which the pattern did not call for), that I was, more or less, able to improvise. I got some completely unrecalled amount of the jacket done before collapsing into bed on Friday night.

Saturday (that's the 30th, y'all. Down to the wire, now.) I was supposed to get up after a refreshing 8 hours of sleep (8! It would seem like a holiday!) to sew morning to night. At 10:30, when Shoryl called to say she was done shopping and ready to come over, I was still in bed.

Hmph.

So instead, I got up at 10:30 Saturday morning and started sewing. This is about where I lost any interesting in photographing what I was doing. I took a sanity break Saturday evening, in which Shoryl attempted (quite successfully) to distract me from the suit I was making on her behalf. A few hours later - not really awake, but refreshed - I started sewing again.

Reivyn kept vigil with me.

Dan went to bed around 4:00 Sunday morning. I was still sewing. Shoryl came over for final fittings around 6:00 Sunday morning. I was still sewing. Shoryl crashed out on my sofa around 10:00 Sunday morning, until I made her go upstairs and sleep in a real bed. I was still sewing. She got up around noon Sunday. I was still sewing.

At 12:30, I sewed the last button on, and handed her the suit. She needed it by 1:00 that day.

Now there's some masterful level 4 procrastination for you. But perhaps next time I should build sleep into my schedule? Of the 27 hours straight I was awake from Saturday morning to Sunday afternoon, I estimate that I spent 20 of them sewing.

But, I gotta say, wasn't it all worth it? (Look at the lovely chains, y'all. That's Shoryl's work.)

If you're somehow still reading after all this, here are the modifications I made to this pattern. I would definitely recommend it.

Pattern calls for pockets made of fashion fabric, lined with more fashion fabric. I made the pockets out of lining, with fashion fabric on the flaps. This made them less bulky.
Because Shoryl is not, in fact, really shaped like a boy, I needed to add an extra dart to the waistline of the pants to insure a tight fitting waist. (This is affectionately hereafter known as the "butt dart.")
The pants taper at the hem. Were I to make this again (please, gods, no...) I would cut the legs straighter for more fullness at pants hem.
Added breast pocket
Added lapel buttonhole
Put in two buttons on jacket, instead of one.

But wait, there's more!

See, I'm not actually done with it yet - just close enough so Shoryl could wear it on New Year's. Here's what's left:

Line jacket and sleeves
Take out "cheater cuffs" and sew them by hand like I was supposed to
Take facing of pants back into place (undone by my over zealous tightening of her suspenders)
Widen upper buttonhole on jacket

I think there might be more, but I can't recall right now.

Gods, I need a nap...

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Unveiling

2007-01-02T06:57:00.000-06:00

"Hot damn!"

That's my girl. :) (And my suit!)

I've had sleep now, and I'm happy. Real post detailing the last 24 hours of sewing later tonight, but I just couldn't wait to put a final picture up.

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day ... something

2006-12-31T13:18:00.000-06:00

I've been awake for 27 hours.

The suit is done. Half an hour before Shoryl absolutely had to have it.

Pictures later.

G'night.

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day 5 & 6

2006-12-28T06:55:00.000-06:00

Let's just all agree that days 5 and 6 didn't exist, shall we?

Because otherwise, we'd have to face the startling possibility that an experienced and otherwise competent seamstress could sew the same zipper in incorrectly three different times - in three different ways over the course of two days.

And that's just too horrible to contemplate.

(Though the finished fly is indeed a thing of beauty.)

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day 4

2006-12-26T23:26:00.000-06:00

There are things you think about when starting a new costume: how will it fit, how do I make a men's suit for a woman, how the heck does a fly work, anyway? And then there are things you don't ask yourself until you've actually begun:

How do you see white stitches on white, textured fabric?

Why doesn't my serger have a thread catcher like Every Other serger?

When is Reivyn going to get tired of watching, and actually attempt to pounce the serger? (And if you click to look at the larger image, you'll see that Dan actually caught me glaring at her...)

Why does it look like I've accomplished so little? (Pockets and pleats, and that's about it.)

Wow, watching Mom sew is tiring...

(Tomorrow I'll tell you about the modifications I've made so far to the pattern. Generally speaking - remarkably few.)

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day 3

2006-12-24T13:31:00.000-06:00

The mockup has been completed (well, as completed as a mockup gets, anyway), fitted, and abandoned. However, it did fulfill its intended purpose: it showed me that I was cutting out a size that was too small. Mrph. Apparently, pattern designers think men don't have hips. Which is fine with me. However, considering this is for Shoryl, who has hips, some adjustments had to be made.

So I'm going up a few sizes, and going from there. And, because I'm insane, I'm not making another mockup, I'm just cutting directly from the fabric now. In theory, all I'll need to do is take the pants in a bit if they're too large. In theory. (Gods, I hate theories.)

To add a bit of complexity (because, y'know, who doesn't need more complexity...) since the suit is going to be white, I don't trust any of my marking pens. So I'm taking time to sew all the little "large dots" and "small dots" and "fold lines" so I'll know where they all are.

We're well into "why the hell do I do this to myself" territory now...

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day 2

2006-12-20T19:11:00.000-06:00

(My thanks to Guinifer for supplying a title that amuses me. :) )

So. I was going to take a day off to sew something other than the zoot suit, right?

Well, that was the plan. But in the blur that my days have become, I managed to buy hand quilting thread rather than thread that can actually be useful. In my sewing machine. So I had another day of work on the suit.

The mockup for the jacket is done:

It doesn't look like much, and it isn't not really. It's just about all the outer pieces that I need to fit it, and that's it. And I hate to say this, but ... Well, this is actually a pretty decent pattern. If you were to line it (which I am) and maybe check the fit of the dart fronts (which I am), this is a pretty good looking jacket.

Except for the collars. The collars do this ... thing. I can't describe it, and I'm still not certain what it is they're doing, despite trying the thing on when my flat patterning skills were defeated. (And that was funny. Shoryl is a small woman. I ... am not.)

I'm confident that I'll be able to figure this out when I'm actually making it (kinda), though it might take more than one try...

Tonight, at least, I will be taking a break from the suit. Then tomorrow is Solstice with Shoryl, and Friday is Solstice with the Temple. Then Saturday begins the week-long insanity so Shoryl will have a suit by New Year's.

I think I need a little lie down.

Zoot Suit Pursuit: Day 1

2006-12-19T19:28:00.000-06:00

(Okay, I'm trying to come up with a clever title for this costume diary, but I'm at a loss so far. Suggestions?)

Yesterday, I actually got started. There are 8 possible sewing days between now and delivery. Anybody in a betting mood?

So. Pattern purchased:

As always with commercial costume patterns, this is merely a starting spot. It is, in fact, just a really convenient way for me to know what all the pieces are shaped like. And the idiosyncrasies that pattern companies have never fail to amuse me. Did you know that neither the jacket nor the pants are actually lined, but the fly is? Seriously. And the pants pockets. Suffice to say, their priorities are not mine.

And as always, Step 1 commenced:

Gods above, I hate cutting. Hate it with a passion. Shoryl says I need to become rich and famous overnight so I can hire a cutter draper. I am so there. Seriously. Hate cutting.

Three hours later, I had this:

A pile of white cotton ~~scraps~~ pattern pieces that will someday become a mock-up. Because I am not making this suit without trying to figure it out first.

And that was the entirety of Day 1: cutting. Three solid hours of cutting. On the up side, Shoryl and I discovered that 3 hours is just about what a full charge on her cell takes. Because I was not about to suffer alone.

8 days. Really. I'm insane...

(Please excuse me while I go take care of a different sewing project. Due Friday. What, why are you laughing?)

Hey, remember me?

2006-12-12T21:07:00.000-06:00

Hi! It's your crazy costumer-knitter-accountant! School is done as of tomorrow, so I'm going to sit down and relax for the month I have off, right?

...

Right.

If you thought Reconstructing Wonka or the 8-Day Fest Special was insane, try this one on for size:

Shoryl wants a zoot suit. By New Year's Eve. I will be beginning sewing on the 19th.

The fabric has been purchased (the pattern has not). And, just to add complexity, we have a kitten that's never encountered sewing before to deal with, and a brand new serger I don't know how to use. I'll be making fully lined, tailored suit pants and a jacket. The shirts, ties, and handkerchiefs will come later. And she's on her own for accessories. I'm not that insane.

Yes, Christmas is in there, somewhere. Who wants to bet that I'll be sewing at holiday parties?

No, this doesn't even count as Day 0. Just a friendly note to convince y'all that I'm not dead, just still crazy.

Aarlene, I know you're laughing right now.

It's called "sick with worry"

2006-11-27T18:56:00.000-06:00

So maybe my list of the levels of procrastination wasn't complete enough. There's a level below Level 5. It's called "sick with worry." As in, "Okay, I give. I'm a terrible person, I left this too long, and now I'm just salvaging what I can and letting go of what I can't."

And gang, there might be an awful lot I can't salvage.

I have exams in two weeks. In one class, I haven't even taken any of the tests yet.

I have a full suit expected by New Year's Eve. That I haven't even started drafting yet.

I'm trying right now to get a divorce after five very long years.

I'm trying to keep my relationships both sane and happy.

Really? Blogging kinda fell by the wayside. Sorry. But, hey, I'm going to be sewing soon, so they're be a costume diary again soon...

Blogger not quite down yet....

2006-11-20T06:56:00.000-06:00

Seriously, there's been very little blogger death here at Chez SilverRose, though you wouldn't know it from this blog.

Well, I am still up and kicking, y'all, so no panicking. But, really surprisingly little knitting is issuing forth...

Basically, I really overdid it with school this year. In a staff meeting at work last month, a recruiter was saying that as a full-time employee, you would maybe only want to take one or two classes. Three if you really had no social life. Well, I have an ample social life .... and this semester I took 5 classes.

I will never do this again. If I do, take me to the hospital, because there is obviously something malfunctioning in my brain (even more than usual).

Between that and starting a new job, and running around town, I've barely touched my knitting. I think I've gotten maybe an inch or two of sock ribbing done in the last few months.

However, this will shortly become a sewing blog again, at least temporarily, because Shoryl wants a custom zoot suit by New Year's...

And I've now used just about all available time I have before I have to go catch my train. Here's some pictures of Dan's 30th birthday party to keep you busy until I post again.

(Evil and His Minions: yours truly, Tailor; Shoryl, Bartender; Ryan, Igor; Dan, the Evil One Himself)

(Igor as a Weapon)

(Not only can drunk Igors not dance; drunk bartenders can't sync.)

Yeah, well...

2006-10-22T18:18:00.000-05:00

Hm. Note to self: setting schedules apparently makes you incapable of following one.

Well, as you can imagine, I've been busy. I'll spare you the gory details, and just sum it up for you:

This is my desk, about 5 minutes ago, before I decided that it was time to take a dinner break and reassert my presence on the blog:

(that's "Accounting Simulation I" by the way.)

I did steal some time to knit this weekend, and I finished a super-quick, super-easy project (which is good,as that's all I'm really good for right now):

This is the Multidirectional Scarf pattern, using just under one skein of Lion Brand Homespun in, ah, something black and white. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, because I was hoping that the diagonals would be stronger. Unfortunately, the color seems to obscure the pattern. Due to a stray remark from Dan, this scarf is being christened "Snowstorm." It's up in the air whether this is a Dulaan scarf, or a scarf for me. We'll see. :) And, should you be looking for a super easy project, let me mention that I cast on for this on Friday night and wove the ends in on Saturday night. Just sayin.

Otherwise, things are pretty normal. The littest one is not so little anymore, and seems to have some hero worship for her big brother:

She's also madly trying to chase the cursor as I type this. At least she's not on the keyboard...this time. But there are several whole minutes a day that she's neither sleeping nor attacking. I remain hopeful that the trend will continue.

Leia remains aloof, however, she can be enticed to don a pirate's hat, if Ryan is persistant enough:

ARR! Time for more homemade chicken noodle soup (good), and accounting homework (not so good).

A schedule, damn it!

2006-09-19T21:45:00.000-05:00

To say that I misjudged my free time would be a grave misstatement - I had no clue! So, because of this, I'm putting my blog on a diet. I can't possibly find the time to post everyday, so I'm going to try posting on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday - days that I don't have class, and therefore have some time to write up a decent post.

And hey, three times a week is more than I'm managing right now, so consider it an improvement. :)

And today's a Tuesday, so... well, honestly I don't have a lot of time today, either. But that's not really a problem, since I have nothing interesting to talk about.

...

Er. See you on Thursday!

I never forgot you...

2006-09-14T17:04:00.000-05:00

Okay, okay. I've been promising pictures of my latest FOs (and other things) for awhile now, so today will be a picture heavy post. Tomorrow, I'll actually tell you what I've been doing with my time.

So. Consulting the camera, this is what I find:

Finished Yarrow Rib Socks

Gods know the actual date I finished these on, or how I did it, but they are in fact done. I've even worn and washed them once. I'm not fond of the little fuzzy halo Koigu gets when washed, but I nearly swooned at how soft they get. And I realized that I need to get a better shampoo, because this one makes for stinky socks.

Anyway, the specs:

Autumn Yarrow Ribbed Socks

Yarn: Koigu KPPM, some luscious color that I didn't even look at the ballband before I cast on. A gift from my KSKS pal.
Pattern: Yarrow Ribbed Socks, from Knitting Vintage Socks
Needles: The never-let-ya-down Susan Bates US 1's
Date Began: In the vicinity of August 12
Date Finished: Um. Before today.
Modifications: Now, my memory isn't the best, but I do believe I knit this pattern exactly as written.

I certainly wasn't going to leave my sock needles empty for long, so moving on we find:

The birth of a second sock

This is the second of the Gentleman's Shooting Socks, also from Knitting Vintage Socks. I'm embarrased to mention that I started this pair of socks sometime in late February. Well, they'll get their turn now.

Er. Sort of.

Introducing the LRT knitter!

Obviously, I can't be the Subway Knitter (not the least reason being that Minneapolis doesn't have a subway...). But I can be the Light Rail knitter. (One of them, anyway; I've met one more, and rumors are that a knitting legend is moving here. Maybe I'll get to see her knit on the LRT.)

I had every intention of knitting the Gentleman's sock on the train. In fact, I was (as evidenced by the 2 1/2 inches of ribbing). But I was quickly faced with a problem:

Q: When riding the train, it is good to a) have your hands free, and b) take up as little space as possible. To do this, you must put your filled water bottle in your bag. You've tested it and it does not leak. However, it sweats like crazy and gets your books wet. What do you do?
A: Knit the damn thing a cozy, of course.

So here you see a partially completed tube of knitting that will eventually (hopefully) soak up all the water that comes off the bottle on my way to work.

One final picture:

Willow: Hey, let's pretend we're twins!
Leia: OMG! But Mom might see us!

More tomorrow night. Blogger is a restricted site at work. :(

...

2006-09-13T21:53:00.000-05:00

Busy. Love you all. Posting later. (I owe you at pictures of at least one pair of socks.)

Maybe I'll post this weekend.

Random sidewalk encounters

2006-09-11T18:06:00.000-05:00

I had forgotten how interesting working downtown is. Today, as I was walking from one building to another between training sessions, I saw a man stopping people and shaking hands. He didn't seem to be handing anything out, but I ducked my head (can't make eye contact), and stepped off to the side. I was mildly surprised and irritated when he stopped me anyway. I got over it quickly when he introduced himself as Paul Ostrow, and would I mind voting for him in the DFL primary?

Wow. I feel kinda like I was approached by a celebrity. Heck, if this guy makes it all the way to Congress, I can say I knew him when he was shaking hands in the rain on Nicollet Mall. Sadly, I can't vote for him, because I'm not in his district. Pity.

Then, in a less happy circumstance, there were two elderly men handing out Bibles in front of my school. I understand wanting to hand them out; I really do. But something deep down inside me rebels at the idea that people are being stopped on their way into a state funded community college. *sigh* I guess that's not covered under solicitation...

A post with real pictures. Tomorrow. Promise.

Round 'em up

2006-09-06T13:08:00.000-05:00

Psychologists enumerate several major life changes that cause an increase in stress level. Wanna see my list?

Divorce - 73
Change in financial state - 38
Change to a different occupation - 36
Begin or end school - 26
Change in work hours or condition - 20
Change in eating habits - 13

So, basically, I'm taking on 206 points of stress right now. No wonder I feel like my life is a merry-go-round that's going too fast. Perhaps I might have taken on a bit more than I can juggle this time around, eh?

(Oh, and this isn't meant AT ALL to be a pity-fest. Just something I was thinking about today - just how many life changes can one person take at one time?)

Today is my last day at my temp assignment, and the people I work with took me out to lunch. As far as I know, this is the ONLY time my coworkers have taken me out to lunch, at any job, for any reason. And I only worked here for about a month. Pretty cool. Maybe I'm finally learning "people skills."

Tomorrow, I try to call a lawyer, get a tooth out, then sleep the day away. Monday, I start a new job. In between there's the usual: homework, tests, Christmas knitting, and, of course, Xenosaga.

Gee, I'm starting to think that I won't have time to make a Halloween costume for myself this year. :P (Aarlene, I know you're shocked that I'm admitting that I don't have time for a project...)

Perhaps tomorrow I'll talk a bit about nostalgia (or be nostalgic). Last night I found one of the very few possessions of mine that predate my marriage...

Oh, hey knitters? Join me in my deep sense of envy: Heidi-of-the-pirate-hat in Yarn Harlot's post? She's a friend of mine. (Maybe not a close friend, but a "hey, I haven't seen you in 5 years! How are your kids ... uh, what were there names again?" kind of way.) I know a Harlot-blogged knitter. And she's not coming to my city. *sniff*