Lilith Saintcrow

Two things before I go collapse.

One, my weekly post is up at the Midnight Hour. It’s about the myth of the starving, suffering, irresponsible artist, and also about depression etc. Enjoy.

And this is interesting, even though it is a total “duh!” moment.

Eh. I’m cranky and tired. Time to curl up with a bread cookbook and slither in and out of lucid dreaming.

It’s good work, if you can get it…

That, dear Reader, is the sound of me waking up in the morning. Or not precisely waking up, but achieving verticality because little people need to be fed. I suspect this blog post will grow increasingly coherent the more coffee I swallow.

Let’s hope.

All right. So I managed to get to the scene where Jill’s car blows up. The Muse had to toss in another secondary character to do it (Gil, who I suspect has a Purpose later in the plot) and true to form, Her Royal Museness had to do this all last night at the last minute. A thousand words in twenty minutes later, and I was brushing my teeth when Important Plot Point #576 bit me right on the right cheek.

No, not the top cheek, either. It’s hell being a writer. I had to run out into the living room with a mouthful of mouthwash to insert plot point, because the Muse demanded it be done RIGHT NOW.

I suppose I should be grateful neither the DHM nor the UnSullen One even looked up, they’re so used to this sort of thing.

And I woke up with my back spasming today too. Waaaah!

So, in lieu of an actual post, since I have Nothing Very Interesting to say, I’ll just hit the links.

Richard Dansky at Storytellers Unplugged, in a post titled “Your Manuscript Was A Hamster And Your Editor Smelled Of Elderberries.” Awesome #1: Monty Python reference. Awesome #2: a post on critiquing, both on accepting critique and not being a jackass while giving critique. Awesome #3: murder by rutabaga.

Seriously, just go read it.

And ganked via Smart Bitches is this wonderful Gawker piece. Apparently Harlequin has decided Letters to Playboy was a great marketing technique and is doing something similar online.

Words fail me. I’m sniggering too hard. I suppose I am not a very nice person. But then, we knew that.

Now. Answer me honestly, dear Reader.

Am I insane for thinking this is so hellaciously sexy?

I just watched in openmouthed awe. So did the Little Prince, who is currently the only little person awake and ambulatory right now. He is perching next to me singing selections from Marriage of Figaro, via Looney Tunes, in a soft, crooning voice, stopping only to fire his “laser pistol” at imaginary encroaching worm-aliens.

It’s a wonder I can type with a straight face.

Have a good day, ducks. Watch out for plot points with teeth…

Good lord. Why is it that some books think every quandary can be solved by adding another secondary character? I already have ENOUGH to keep track of, and still haven’t blown up Jill’s car, dammit!

*rereads last paragraph*

Lord help me, I’ve finally gone insane. And fiction is responsible.

*shakes fist at Muse* You WENCH.

*wanders away muttering, determined to sleep tonight…somehow…*

It’s looking like Tuesday and Thursday will be busy days, full of dropping people off for classes and trying to keep the chaos to a minimum. I’m trying to get some writing in as well. Silly Lili, when will I learn?

Anyway, I think I see the shape of the rest of Redemption Alley lying under the cover of my subconscious. So far I’ve been obsessed with one little problem, which is: how exactly does one blow up an orange mid-70s Impala? I must find the proper way to do so and get it done in the barrio, so Jill can go home and find a nasty surprise waiting for her. *ebil laugh* I really do put my characters through the wringer, don’t I.

So it’s teatime and I’m sipping my chai, smelling the soup (chicken rice with vegetable stock and caramelized onions) and hoping the bread (I threw together an egg bread) will not come out too badly.

About the bread. Since you all seem to like cooking posts so much, I’ll mention the bread.

I took a cup and a half of warm water, a third of a cup of sugar, and dumped them in the KitchenAid bowl. (All hail the great dough hook!) After that came about two teaspoons of yeast (the yeast we bought is strong stuff, and I don’t need the extra quarter to half teaspoon that supposedly equals a packet) gets dissolved, and I toss in a half tablespoon dollop of room-temperature butter, turn the mixer on, and start adding flour. When the bread is still a sponge and everything is mixed, that’s when I dump an egg in. Once that’s mixed, more flour until the batter is sticky and soft but pulls away from the side of the bowl.

You let that rise forty five minutes to an hour until doubled, then it’s time to proof it. My method is simple: I run clean water through the coffeemaker. (This is how I make tea since I don’t have the patience for a kettle and I drink espresso in the mornings anyway.) That goes in a saucepan on the bottom rack, steaming, and I close the bread dough–now in its baking pan, which should be greased with Crisco, Pam, or whatever’s your pleasure–in the oven.

A note about Crisco: don’t overuse, don’t put your oven on too high, and for God’s sake flour the pan if you are forced to use the stuff. Believe me, I’m talking from experience.

I usually proof bread for only a half-hour or so with this method. The steam from the hot water makes a nice damp warmth for the yeasty little buggers in the dough. If you are equipped with a bit of foresight and use a baking pan for the water, you can leave it in the oven for the first ten-twenty minutes of baking to get a nice crust.

However, if you are like me–lazy–and use a saucepan, take it out before baking. (TRUST ME on this.) I usually bake bread at 350 for soft whites and egg bread, 375 for hard whites and wheat bread. Again, I set the timer for thirty to forty minutes, but I check the oven frequently after twenty-five and can smell the doneness of bread. Also, you can open the oven and carefully tap the top of the loaf. If it sounds hollow, it’s done, get it out of there.

A wire rack is your best friend when it comes to bread. Cool the pan off for a few minutes and then dump the bread out–it should come out easily. (All hail cooking spray!) The wire rack will make sure the crust doesn’t get soggy, because well, who wants that?

Tomorrow I’ll probably bore you to tears telling you about soup. But I figure there have got to be people out there as cooking-impaired as I am, and whatever I can share to make the chore of preparing comestibles just a little easier also contributes to world peace.

Or at least, peace in my little corner of the Internet. Which is all one can hope for, I guess.

Mmmmh. Bread.

So my buddy Meljean Brook was over at Bam’s blog, guest-blogging. Though she has a fine interpretive dance about the romance novel, Mick decided to…make a video.

About the five steps to creating a perfect romance novel.

And lo, it is hilarious.

Can’t talk. Laughing too hard. Blame Mick for this. BwahahahHAHAHAHAHA!

In other news, the pie I made yesterday? Gone. The DHM and the kids blame “pie crickets.” Apparently it’s a good thing such insects don’t have opposable thumbs or we’d REALLY be in trouble.

Thanks to all for the meat advice. I’m probably going to stick to soups and stews for the time being. I do not yet even feel brave enough for a roast.

But soon, precious. Soon.

*gollum*