Lilith Saintcrow

So the flush of feeling successful after finishing Say Yes is turning into a thudding plod of oh Christ I can’t do this when it comes to the gargoyle story. It would be fine if I could just settle and do it. But there are snowmen I have to ooh and aaah over outside (and they ARE very cute, those snowmen, especially the Easter Island one with a plant pot on its noggin). There is hot chocolate I must make and a ten-year-old who is learning the joys of ITunes. (Hey, it had to happen sooner or later.) And the laundry. And the beef stew. In short, a million things are begging for my attention.

And this gargoyle just wants to fight.

Well, that’s okay. I can give him a battle–I’ve sent in gnomes with guns and harpies.

When all else fails, gnomes with guns. *nods sagely*

They’re all slugging it out in an EvilMart. (Yes, it is what you think it is. No, I’m not going to use the actual name. I like EvilMart so much better.) And for some godawful reason known only to creative nymphs who dance in the craniums of poor wordslaves like me, the only soundtrack that will do for this short story is the Killers’ Day and Age.

Some days it really does not pay to even chew through the leather straps.

*headdesk*

Okay. Back to the gargoyle. Let’s see if I can get him on the plane to Paris with the girl, shall we?

Wish me luck.

God bless Romancing The Blog. Vibeke Courtney just wrote today about how short-sighted it is not to link from your site, or to only link to places who reciprocal-link. (She suggests using the target=”_blank” addition to your links.)

I do understand, like Vibeke, that you might not want people to navigate away from a site you’ve bought and paid for, this site that is your window to the world and has your merchandise for sale. This is your bread and butter. But someone savvy enough to find your site is savvy enough to bookmark it, and equally savvy enough to use their “back” button. I myself use the “open link in new tab” option when clicking links on one of the sites I enjoy, like Pharyngula or Digby or even my f-list. And I think my readers come back because I have content and I share neat things I find interesting. (At least, I hope so.) Having links throughout a post means you don’t have to Google whatever the hell I’m talking about.

Like when I say the Democrats have to not only win, but win by a large enough margin to cover up illegal Republican vote-stealing.

On February 5th, the day of the Super Tuesday caucus, a school-bus driver named Paul Maez arrived at his local polling station to cast his ballot. To his surprise, Maez found that his name had vanished from the list of registered voters, thanks to a statewide effort to deter fraudulent voting. For Maez, the shock was especially acute: He is the supervisor of elections in Las Vegas.

Maez was not alone in being denied his right to vote. On Super Tuesday, one in nine Democrats who tried to cast ballots in New Mexico found their names missing from the registration lists. The numbers were even higher in precincts like Las Vegas, where nearly 20 percent of the county’s voters were absent from the rolls. With their status in limbo, the voters were forced to cast “provisional” ballots, which can be reviewed and discarded by election officials without explanation. On Super Tuesday, more than half of all provisional ballots cast were thrown out statewide.

This November, what happened to Maez will happen to hundreds of thousands of voters across the country. In state after state, Republican operatives — the party’s elite commandos of bare-knuckle politics — are wielding new federal legislation to systematically disenfranchise Democrats. If this year’s race is as close as the past two elections, the GOP’s nationwide campaign could be large enough to determine the presidency in November. “I don’t think the Democrats get it,” says John Boyd, a voting-rights attorney in Albuquerque who has taken on the Republican Party for impeding access to the ballot. “All these new rules and games are turning voting into an obstacle course that could flip the vote to the GOP in half a dozen states.” from Rolling Stone

Yeah, I just thought I’d slip that in there. The Republican party is no longer conservative. Instead, it’s the party of power and privilege, looking to retain that oligarchic power and privilege by whatever means. But you knew that.

*sigh* Back on topic, Lili.

The “don’t link to anyone else!” thing is silly in the extreme. People come back to your site because you have content that is clearly arranged, informative, and fun. It can also be instructive, educational, or persuasive. If your site doesn’t link anywhere else, it’s a dead end. And no matter how fun or informative dead ends can occasionally be, they’re still dead. And you’ll be left wondering why nobody comes back.

Anyway. Enough of this, I’ve got revisions to do. Weasel Boy is shaping up, and the cats actually stayed off the treadmill this morning. Which was good, because I’d probably pass my spleen out through my nose if I laughed that hard again. Instead, for the past couple days the cats have been drugged to the nines by catnip spray the UnSullen Teen brought home. The funny thing is, when the cats get really high on catnip, they start looking for love in all the wrong places–stuffed animals, laundry, each other…

Then they get all cross-eyed and can’t hold down whatever they’re trying to, ahem, cuddle. So there’s three yowling cats staggering around, trying desperately to focus and hold down random cat-sized objects.

I have hidden the catnip spray. But I’m sure the cats will do something else to make me pass my spleen laughing. They’re good for that.

Over and out.

When you try to get other people in the medieval studies or academics_anon communities to do your homework for you, prepare to bleed copiously from the snarkage. Oh, it was glorious–hopefully the mods won’t take it off. Kudos to the Selkie for pointing me toward the snark this morning, I sorely needed it. I especially adored the Chuck Norris jokes and the Rickrolling lyrics.

I have figured out that I can shoehorn at least three scenes into Weasel Boy. They will be weight-bearing scenes, achieving a number of objectives–not the least of which is explaining why the heroine did what she did. “Weasel Boy” is, for those of you just joining us, a romance with were-wolverines. Which is pretty awesome if I can pull it off.

A number of you have asked about the cat and the treadmill. The story runs thus: the treadmill is in the sunrooom, because the sunroom has a concrete floor and I don’t make the whole house shake when I’m running on it. The sunroom is also where the cat dishes are. So, when I close the sunroom door, there is always a cat sitting and staring longingly through the glass. They aren’t hungry, mind you. They’re just wanting to be on the other side of the door, just like the Rum Tum Tugger.

The cats are also fascinated by the treadmill. So, when I open it up and climb on in the morning, sometimes they jump up on it and have to investigate. The investigation stops when I threaten to turn it on.

Anyway, yesterday morning I stepped up on the treadmill. Tested the ol’ running shoes, decided I’d better tie one a little tighter. I hate blisters. Anyway, got the shoes all settled, opened up the Economist from last week (I’m behind) and bounced a little, then clipped the safety thing on and hit the quickstart button for the treadmill.

Cue up an amazing yowl, a splat, a sneeze and another splat, and another yowl.

You see, the most idiotic cat–the lemur-looking one the Princess loves, her special cat–had climbed up on the end of the treadmill. When I hit the start button, he startled. And streaked for the glass door and the safety of the rest of the house.

But I had closed the glass door, because I’d opened one of the French doors leading to the back yard. (I like a bit of fresh air while I’m running.) He ran right into the glass door.

The idiot was still scared out of his mind, so he sneezed and launched himself again. Hit the door again. (There are two, count ‘em, TWO distinct noseprints on the glass.) Then he sat on the step, shaking his head and complaining.

By this time I’d turned the treadmill off, because after the initial leaping out of my skin I was laughing too hard to breathe or walk. I probably got more benefit out of laughing my fool ass off over that cat than slogging on the treadmill for a half-hour.

I finally gathered myself and let the lemur-cat into the house. Would you believe the idiot animal then spent the entire half-hour on the other side of the glass door, staring into the sunroom and letting out pitiful moans? Like he couldn’t wait for round two against the Big Bad Machine. This morning, however, he saw me getting into my running shoes and freaked out. He’s currently hiding under the Princess’s bed.

As if the treadmill’s going to come GET him.

The Muffin often remarks that dogs are companions and cats are entertainment. Some days I can’t help but agree.