Lilith Saintcrow

Cotton wool stuffing my skull. Stuffed nose. At least the cold doesn’t seem to be getting any worse. I can still hit the treadmill in the mornings, which is a step up from the last round–that was the Travel Cold From Hell. *shivers* Ugh.

I am in the stage of writing a Kismet book where I have an acute attack of nerves. Nobody’s going to like it, I don’t know what I’m doing, who do I think I am… The usual. The good thing is that I’ve done this so many times by now that I’m prepared for the emotional upheaval. The bad news is…emotional upheaval. And I’ve been writing this book under acid-test conditions, as it were.

I just keep reminding myself: if I could go through pregnancy, 11+ years of being a mother, and getting published in the first place, this is small potatoes. Well, maybe small yams. Or something. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.

Last night I did some yoga on the Wii. It was actually really cool. I’m avoiding Downward Dog (the trainer tells you to put half the weight on your arms, instead of keeping most of it in your legs) and the shoulderstand (what, do I look like I shoulderstand? Not on your life, buddy). But the Palm Tree, Sun Salutation, Grounded V, Chair Pose? Oh yeah. Those I can do. And I feel so good after it’s finished–I think it’s the deep breathing.

Of course, doing yoga with a head cold is hilarious. If only because of the noises one’s nose makes during the deep breathing section of the festivities.

And now, because I’m sure you’re bored of hearing about All That, a link!

Very short stories, courtesy of Wired. com. I love these, especially Margaret Atwood’s. I found a book of 50-word stories once, including one (maybe by Chekhov?) about a woman named for a wolf. When you have so few words, each one counts for more than itself.

And with that, I’m taking myself off to a lunch of tomato soup and yesterday’s bread. Yum. I just wish I could taste it through this damn cold.

The day when I want to retreat into lit crit is the day I know I’m on the mend. (About damn time too.) And when a random Simone Weil quote makes me want to read the Barthes I’ve been saving for a rainy day, not only am I on the mend but I am back to my regularly-scheduled insanity.

So today is a day of gentleness, if I can manage it. Claws in, paws padded, tone gentle, walk soft.

So, in lieu of a real post, here’s some links.

Start out with part I of Kaigou’s “Dear (Not Just) Urban Fantasy Author.” Kaigou covers a lot of ground, from the very simple fact that everything costs money to what it means for a character to grow up in an abusive household. You can concurrently or consecutively read RachelManija’s posts on PTSD. If you want to write characters dealing with violence, the effects of violence or abuse, these are really great resources. (Check out Rachel’s book: IndieBound or Barnes & Noble.)

If you’re not reading Pharyngula, why? PZ Myers is sharp, smart, and takes absolutely no prisoners.

For another side of the die, I can’t recommend Slacktivist enough. Not only is he reading Left Behind so I don’t have to, but he’s one of the few people of faith I think actually tries to live by the ethical code he says he believes in.

For the lighter side, there’s Kate Beaton, whose historical cartoon strips are pure awesomeness. I should also mention the Comics Curmudgeon. I’ve also grown kind of addicted to LOLCelebs, in a sort of “look, there’s a trainwreck I’m not a part of!” way.

I used to watch Jerry Springer in my mid-20s for the same reason. After about ten minutes of the Springer show, I felt pretty good abut my life, no matter how bad it got. I suppose that makes me a horrible person. And hat tip to Alt3Sparky for pointing me at Texts From Last Night. (Warning: SO NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Trust me.) It’s the same dynamic.

And just to round all of this out, I should note that today I am alternating between listening to Judy Henske, Jandek, and whatever Lady Gaga I can scrounge up on Youtube.

Apparently I am very confused. And now you can be too.

No, really. You can thank me later.

I have been working all morning, but it seems like I’ve gotten nowhere since that work is all of the invisible maintenance variety. Ugh.

* First, the serious: NPR won’t use the word “torture” when Americans do it. But when anyone else does, it’s fair game.

* Charles Kaiser pronounces the Washington Post dead, writes obituary.

* Now the geeky-cool scientific: the Sarychev volcano eruption seen from space, and the “volcano sunsets” it’s causing.

* Last but not least, the utterly freaking hilarious: the 2009 Bulwer-Lytton Contest winners are announced. SO WORTH the half-hour I spent reading them. (Hat tip to Kat Richardson for the link, and also for noting the winner hails from Federal Way, WA. Washington state rules!)

And that’s all, folks. Back I go to plugging away on the manuscript…

Yeah, when you stumble to the front door to let the cats out (because, of course, they will DIE IF THEY DON’T GET OUT THIS INSTANT) and see the sunshine, hear the birds singing, and even the thought of a bowl of Cheerios is too much effort…

…then, my friend, you know you stayed up too late last night getting your heroine in trouble.

I used to be able to pull all-nighters and be fresh as a daisy afterward. Then I hit a long jag of nothing but all-nighters. (It’s called early parenthood.) And when I surfaced from that at 30 I found out I had lost that ability. My body says, “Stay up all night and expect me to work the next morning? HAHAHAHAHA! You’re joking, right?”

Of course, it could have something to do with me staying up to write fiction instead of getting into trouble myself. Perhaps my body would be happier if I was out dancing or something. I do miss dancing. However, I do not miss the boozed-up jerkwads or some DJ’s idea of “cool” music shattering my eardrums with feedback when all I want is a beat. Oh, or my ride getting drunk and leaving me stranded.

Guess I’ve just gotten old and boring. I’d rather be hitting 50K on the YA and getting my heroine shot. You know, doing actual work.

Guess this means I need to turn in my “cool mama” card. Where does one mail those things back to anyway? If I can’t find a mailing address I’m going to have to keep it and just impersonate a cool mama.

Yes, I’m in a silly mood today. Can you tell? Here, have my morning earworms: one is Cutting Crew’s “(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight” and the other? Murray Head’s “One Night In Bangkok.” The mashup inside my head is a thing of beauty and wonder, but I can’t share it because video and audio editing software is not jacked into my brain yet. Sorry. You’ll just have to imagine.

The Internet has been all over Roger Ebert’s deliciously cranky review of the new Transformers movie. His review actually makes me want to go see it MORE, because my complaint about Transformers 1 was “Less girlfriend, more FIGHTING ROBOTS!” I don’t want fricking plot in a Transformers movie, for Chrissake. I want ROBOTS. LOTS OF ROBOTS DUKING IT OUT. I want 99.9% PURE ROBOT BATTLE. Plot is for, you know, actual stories. Not for marketing machines built on a Hasbro line, for Chrissake. (Were Transformers Hasbro? I forget.)

Okay. All silliness aside, it’s time for me to make another lunge at finishing up this book. See you around, chickadees.

Day Two of the Painfully-Squeezed Internet Addiction. I got through 3.5K yesterday, a difficult scene of female violence and another difficult scene of reactions. Characters aren’t acting how I thought they would, which is a good sign. Usually when the fire of creation is burning apace, the characters start surprising me. I just have to relax enough to let the Muse tell me how it really is.

I kind of wonder what brainwaves I’m using during intense writing sessions. I am aware of the outside world, but only in a small way–the mother in me keeping tabs on who’s where and what they sound like. The rest of me is sunk in a movie of the store, watching things play out and panning the camera around, making thousands of choices per minute (is that the right word? No, this is…) and generally feeling like a racecar or a cheetah going fast and hard just as it’s designed to. I could probably explain it better, but the timer is clicking by my elbow and I’ve only got a short amount of Internet “time” today.

I suppose I should thank Jordan Summers’s recent article on the Deadline Dames, about how writers are in danger of writing around Internet time and not the other way ’round. It really lit a fire under me to stop the nascent Internet addiction in its tracks. I also recommend Dame Devon’s post on daring to be bad. (There’s a reason I’m proud to be a Deadline Dame.)

And now for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Not too long ago I was talking with friends about propaganda cartoons–specifically, the WWII Looney Tunes propaganda cartoons featuring Stalin as “Uncle Joe.” I mentioned that I’d heard of a Walt Disney “educate the troops about VD” cartoon from wartime, but was never able to find it. The UnSullen One didn’t find that one, but he did dig up a most awesome one from the 1970s, courtesy of Jezebel. Enjoy. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

Off I go. Errands to run and wordcount to achieve. See you ’round, chickadees.