magpie49

Things continue to come together over here. Yesterday we finished the last of our Major Stuff Shopping, and when the last thing gets delivered on Thursday, we'll officially have the place fleshed out - at least from a furnishing standpoint.

Not that we'll be "done" in any real sense. My dad says that when it comes to home ownership, you're only ever done for now. He's right, I'm sure. There are already a dozen little projects I'd love to fiddle with, not least of all the garden - which is, at present, a rectangular patch of backyard harboring dandelions, semi-wild onions, clover, and the tail-less cat.

The tail-less cat (henceforth TLC, as her name eludes me) showed up in our back yard shortly after we arrived, and at first, I thought she was a pregnant stray. A pretty little black-and-white longhair, TLC was too skittish to touch, and her pendulous tummy swayed as she waddled frantically away.

Poor kitty, I thought. I will feed her and lure her close, and maybe she'll have the kittens nearby - so I can catch them and vet them and home them and oh yes, I was making plans.

After a few days, she'd figured out I was a food-dispensing monkey - and I'd find her sitting outside the roses, waiting for me to open the curtains every morning. Just to make sure I would see her, and know that there was a hungry, pitiful, single-mother-to-be hoping for breakfast.

And then I met the neighbors, who had a good laugh about it.

Formerly a feral stray, TLC was taken in and spayed by these same neighbors - who have never successfully gotten her to stay indoors or wear a collar. She is, however, spoiled silly, routinely vetted, and amply fed.

On the one hand, I'm relieved. I'm always sad to see homeless animals, and it's just as well I don't have to find homes for half a dozen kittens. On the other hand, I could do without the turd presents the fat little scammer leaves outside our back door every day, now that I've stopped accommodating her.*

I'm told that she's an excellent mouser who has never successfully caught a bird to anyone's knowledge, and both of these points please me. We're right at the foot of a mountain, backing up to thick woods which are no doubt teeming with mice ... and we have a shit-ton of birds hanging around, not least of all because I feed them.**

Speaking of birds, though - we may have a couple of new under-the-porch-eaves residents: two of the cutest wee tiny purple-headed finches you ever did see. At first they considered the hanging planters, but after I knocked down an unrelated, long-abandoned nest from a corner, they seem to feel that prime real estate has unexpectedly opened up and the time to buy is NOW NOW NOW.

(Aside I: Obviously I would not have taken down the old nest if it had not very, very clearly been out-of-use for ages.)

(Aside II: Maybe it was haunted, and that's why nobody else took over the lease in all this time. Some kind of bird-atrocity was committed there, and word's gotten around. Maybe other birds called the nest, "The old McFeatherstone place" and teenage birds dared one another to go sit there by themselves ... and when the moon is full, they say that the ghost of Widow McFeatherstone hangs from the petunia planter while moaning, "I KNOW WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE WHEN DOVES CRY" and never mind now this just getting silly.)

Anyway, now they're checking out that freshly vacated corner, and I really do hope they move in.

Hm. Let's see, what else?

Well, today we went to the Chattanooga Market, which frankly blew our minds. The weekly (seasonal) market had just started up around the time we moved away, but it was pretty damn pitiful. Now it's a total circus - well stocked, with a lot of great local crafters, farmers, and other assorted people-with-stuff-to-sell. Well done, Chattanooga. Well done.

I spent a few bucks, brought home a few things, and plan to return, but here's hoping that next week it's not quite so damn hot. And you know it was damn hot if I'm complaining about it, because I'm the sort who keeps the AC set around 80 degrees if I'm left to my own devices, and if it's cooler than that indoors, I'm likely to jaunt around in a bathrobe. You can take the girl out of Florida, etc. etc. etc.

But damn. A few thousand people were crowded into a big old pavilion, and it was 95 degrees.

This having been said, the heat prompted me to sample the wares of a really great two-person soda company offering some seriously fantastic custom syrups. I had a "honey lime" beverage, and would cheerfully go buy another - or try out some of the other flavors. Now I just wish I could remember the company's name. I'll keep an eye out for them next time.

[Edit: It was these guys. Pure Sodaworks. Two thumbs up.]

Not a lot of news to report in home repair and improvement news. This is partly because we're coming up close to Done For Now - and now we're figuring out bills and services, and whatnot. The Perplexing Back Room is now a guest room, but it's big enough that yes, we use it as a game room too. We threw our old TV back there, hooked up the game system, and now we're just waiting for the seating to arrive. (On Thursday, see above.)

It actually looks pretty nice, despite the carpet. I took a picture or two for Twitter, but we've rearranged everything since I did so. The whole thing is still a work in progress.

The library/study has come along nicely, too. The husband's bookcases arrived, and are assembled, and are now holding up books - so yes, we are Officially Unpacked. [:: throws confetti ::] He still has some art to hang, but the place looks great.

If this meager tally sounds like a pitiful excuse for how little I've updated as of late, I would add another excuse to the pile: the copyedits for The Inexplicables landed a few days ago, and I've been eyeballs deep therein. I'm still not done, but I'm about 2/3 of the way through. I was going cross-eyed, so I thought I'd take a break and come over here to ramble.

Mission accomplished, I'd say.

Right. Well. Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone. Go hug a veteran. I have to wait to hug my two nearest and dearest veterans, as my dad and stepmom won't be here to visit for another few weeks - but I will surely make up for it then.

---

* In all fairness, she quit doing this after a week. And now she'll let me pet her sometimes, which is great. She's really a beautiful, sweet little cat. Just ... hilariously fat.
** "Feeding" is one of the many services I am likely to provide for anything that isn't actually a person.

...but one way and another, we ended up with one.

It's been a while. I've been reading and posting elsewhere on lj, but the blogging Muse has been persistently AWOL (probably on the beach with Aruba where my fiction Muse has been known to hole up when it's work time)(the pina colada bill for those two is off the charts).

We have had a very nice, almost-ten-day Camp. There have been Adventures with Family in Hospitals (OK now, and should continue OK, we hope). But! Pooka finally got his needles, and is finally doing better. And the rose population is exploding.

( See! Evidence! )

Do you like math? How about science? Do you also like wearing shiny baubles?

Then I have some goods for you over at Kokoba!


Physics Jewelry: Green Electron Radius


Math Jewelry: Pi, The Golden Ratio, And a String of Pearls

Coming soon: Avogadro's Constant, chemical formulas, and the speed of light.

Like anything you see? Use the coupon code ELLJAY for 15% off!

Thank you to everyone who weighed in on the name change question. I'm afraid some of you will be disappointed, though. I can't let Varis and Vargas appear multiple times on the same page (much as I couldn't handle Kieran and Kiril), but there will not be any cute in-text reasons for this. (Okay, I say that now, but I may think of one later.) I just have to change it. The first reader who actually notices will get a cookie.

The true lesson to be learned from this is: there's no such thing as a throwaway name. At least if one is writing a series, anyway. One never knows when Random Character Bob will show up again, and when he does, you may regret naming him Bob.

In other news, Agent F just passed out while watching Animal Planet an hour before her bedtime. This is an unlooked for windfall of writing time, if I can manage not to pass out.

Now through JUNE 1ST you can get 20% OFF at Faerie Garden Fancies if you used the Coupon Code MEMDAY2012...


Click through for more and don't forget to share with your friends! Thanks!

P.S. Don't forget, I am open to commissions as well!

I think the central problem I was having with my wip was knowing what my mc really wants.

And, well, here's the thing. It's probably one of the most basic pieces of advice new/aspiring writers are told, right? Figure out what your main character wants, and then figure out the obstacles, and write the story. To be honest, I always thought that was sort of self-evident. I mean, people who are totally satisfied are either smugly boring or deluding themselves, and neither case is something I'm interested in reading or writing about. Characters who *want* things, who must fight for their goals or defend against antagonists are worth stories. (Imvho, of course.)

And I thought I had that part nailed. My mc wants a solo in a ballet. Not just a two minute piece, but a part. A lead. And she's fighting her own body, other dancers, the preferences and prejudices of the company directors, etc. I know what she's willing to do to get it, and I know what the consequences will be. I know what happens next. 

But... it wasn't enough. And I couldn't figure out _why_ it wasn't enough, and I kept throwing things at the story, hoping they would fill the gap, and I kept writing around it and over it and under it and...

...it dawned on me, yesterday, that I've been looking at the whole thing through the wrong lens.

She _does_ want a solo. But it isn't the solo that matters. It's what that solo represents to her that _really_ counts. THAT is the story.

I mean, I could tell you I want to sell a novel. And that would give you some rough shape of who I am and what I want my life story to be - a far different picture than if I said "I want to join the army" or "I want to climb Mt. Everest" or "I want to run for Congress." But saying I want to sell a novel is only the surface of the real story.

It's the *why* I want to sell a story that makes the difference.

For some people, the dream of selling a novel is really a dream of fame or fortune. (*cough* I'm not saying these dreams are always realistic or attainable, mind you.) For others, it's about leaving a lasting mark or a legacy or proving something to someone who told them they couldn't. For some it's about winning an argument or making a point or sharing a truth.

For me... it's about opening a magic window. 

I remember - so clearly! - reading my first book all by myself. I was four and it was CASPER THE FRIENDLY GHOST and I recall that singular moment of clarity when the words arranged themselves in sentences and the sentences made pictures in my mind and it was sheer, startling, incredible magic. And then I discovered that every book made different pictures in my mind, that every book was like a magic window into some other world and I loved the experience.

And I want to write the magic words that will build a window like that for someone else.

So if I tell you _that_ is my dream, maybe you see me in more detail. Maybe you can imagine a 7-year-old girl in pigtails and glasses throwing BLACK BEAUTY across the room with a curse word she learned from her father but wasn't supposed to say because she saw in that book something ugly and horrible and so sad she sobbed for an hour. Maybe you see her later reading 101 DALMATIONS three times because it makes her happy to think dogs can help each other with a twilight bark. Maybe you see an 8-year-old reading BALLET SHOES five times back to back because she just found out she was advanced to the teen class and she's scared and excited and scared. Maybe you see a 12-year-old hiding under the covers with a flashlight reading Trixie Belden books and feeling brave and clever. Maybe you see a 13-year-old jumping when Golem climbs the platform in the elven wood because she forgot she was reading The Lord of the Rings and really thought she was there. Maybe you see a 23-year-old mother reading WAR AND PEACE out loud to a nursing infant by the glow of a nightlight in a rocking chair that belonged to her mother, looking for meaning in a time of change and uncertainty. 

My story isn't: I want to sell a novel. My story is: I want to make the magic that shaped my life. I want to share and participate in the moment of its creation. 

Anyway, I realized this as I drove around the farm in our gator thinking about my own life. And it dawned on me that I wasn't really paying attention to my character's true desires. 

Now that I have, I found the story hiding between the words I've already written. (The good news is, my wip wasn't as broken as I feared. Just incomplete.)

So, I'm back to writing. <3

I've been thinking I wanted a nautical themed summer bag and am really addicted to this hobo style so I came up with my own bag and just finished it!

I've put the pattern on my journal in case anyone wants to give it a go:

Follow me!

Happy hooking!

I named a character once in The Bone Palace, an offhand reference that didn't warrant an entry in the dramatis personae but is still in print. Now I find myself needing to write more about that character and a) not liking his name much anymore, and b) finding it a bit too similar to someone else who shows up quite often. How many of you would be wildly irritated if I changed someone's name between books? (I doubt most people even remember that he was ever mentioned, but somewhere out there is the reader who will.)