Quest for a dry basement: post the first

The rain has finally stopped (and it sounds like we didn't even get the worst of it: New England, you have my sympathies). Now the real work begins. My husband has a plan that will make water drain away from our house instead of into it. Something about a trench and some clay... it would take an engineer to explain it. Suffice it to say step one was dismantling our deck, which was built on top of the concrete patio (removal of which will be step two, but will require the aid of a professional).

I'm not a deck fan myself. I don't like to be up high. I like a patio, close to the ground, preferably under some trees. So losing the deck wasn't a heartbreak for me. Plus, it was getting kind of punky anyway; and the boards on the steps would tip when you walked on them - not a feature I look for in stairs.

So the deck is gone, and my back door now looks like this:

The space between the sliding glass door and the top of the concrete steps is somewhere between a big step and a little jump. Add to that fact that they're not on a level, that you have to step down to get to the concrete. See those metal brackets? They are all covered in rusted nails, all spiny and sinister-looking. And the steps have long twists of metal coming out where the fellow who put on the addition blasted out the space. See those pots in the background? Those are my tomato and pepper plants, the ones that need to be watered daily. Plus the patio is one of my favorite writing places, when none of the neighbors are leaf-blowing, melting styrofoam in their Coleman grills, or murdering their children (to be fair, I'm sure it only sounds like they're murdering their children).

Note: When trying to make a big step down do not hold onto the sliding glass door for support. It tends to move.

All this is just so when I don't blog for a while, you'll know I'm in the hospital with puncture wounds and tetanus. Oh sure, I could go out the front door and walk around the house, but it's such a long way...

Why I shouldn't watch Sesame Street

Big Bird: Telly, don't you want to boing?
Telly: No.
Maria: But Telly, you love boinging!
Telly: Not anymore. I fell off.
Big Bird: You fell off? But you're the best boinger on Sesame Street!

And of course there was a song, Boinging is For Me: "Boing fast, boing slow; boinging is the way to go..."

I swear, the writers of the show are only pretending this is all about a pogo stick.

*sigh*

I'm guessing by Monday I'll have ducks swimming in my backyard. On a somewhat related note, I should learn not to complain outloud over commas in books I'm reading. My husband sent me this e-mail this morning:

Kate

I opened, Aidan's windows,. Just, giving you a heads, up, because rain is likely.

Thank, you

Quin

Ha ha. Very funny. I better take out my swimsuit; I'll probably need it to work in the basement this weekend.

Vicarious thrills

I haven't blogged about basketball in a while (as if you missed it!). My home team, the Timberwolves, made the decision not to play Kevin Garnett or Ricky Davis for any games in the last two weeks of the season. Alledgedly, they had injuries. Not that this fooled anyone; by the terms of our trade to the LA Clippers, we would get a first round draft pick only if we ended up one of the ten worst teams in the league.

Yeah, that's a fun prize to watch your team chase. NOT!

The funny thing was, they still screwed up and won the first few games. But in the end we were the seventh worst team and so we get our draft pick. As if one player is going to matter. I feel bad for Kevin; I don't think he's ever going to take this team all the way.

But I have been keeping up with the playoffs. I took great pleasure in the Phoenix Suns beating Kobe Bryant and the Lakers. This is partially about me hating Kobe, but it's also a bit about liking Steve Nash. He always seems to be having fun when he plays; he's a joy to watch. Plus he's good. And that's not just me, he got MVP this year. He was MVP last year too, so hats off to Steve Nash! And a big thank you for spanking Kobe Bryant!

So now it's the Phoenix Suns against the LA Clippers. I'm torn on this one; I'd be happy for either team to win. I'm pleased that Sam Cassel has been doing so well with his new team. I think it was a mistake we ever traded him, and not just because of his skills as a point guard. We have so many young guys on the Wolves now, we could really use the leadership Sam has been showing with the Clippers.

(And I should really let the Kobe thing go. My boys got little Lego minifigures of NBA basketball players at their Lego Club a month ago - 3 to a box. Oliver got the box with Kobe in it and wanted to give it back, and he was rather loud in his protests against the Kobe. But I convinced him to keep it. It also had Steve Nash.)

A link for writers

This is a must read:

http://www.evileditor.blogspot.com./

I'm not sure who this guy works for, but he is hilarious. I haven't laughed this hard in a good long while. It's a bit like Miss Snark's Crapometer: he posts novel queries that people send him and makes... suggestions for improvements. I suppose a large part of the humor for me is a byproduct of being very nervous about making that query plunge when the novel is done (which is a ways off, but I like to get started early on the whole worry thing). But this quote really sent me off the deep end (Evil Editor's words are always the ones in the blue brackets):

Resolution is my 86,0000-word novel [If that's too many zeros, fine. If that's a misplaced comma, we need to talk.]

Of course it's possible this is only funny if you're a writer...

Two good fantasy novels!

So I'm back from my vacation, which was happily rattlesnake-free. I read three books - three books in a week! I can't remember the last time I did that. That's not true, actually, it was last July. I read the first five Harry Potter books while waiting for book six, which I ripped out of the FedEx man's hands and devoured in a day. So that was six books in two weeks, but it was mostly rereading which always goes faster for me.

At any rate, two of the three books I read were first novels from fantasy writers. Finally I found some good ones - and two in one week! The first was Doppleganger by Marie Brennan. Please, do not just this book by its cover:



Woman with tight leather, cleavage-baring outfit - I'm not a fan. Especially since the woman in the book wears clothing made from something called windsilk that covers every inch, including the face. Think ninja. But cover art gripes aside, I enjoyed this novel. It played on the theme of the price of magic, which is one I always get into. The plot unfolded in a very satisfying way, revealing the mechanics of the relationship between the witch Miryo and her Doppleganger Mirage (the warrior woman) bit by bit. Everytime I thought I'd found an unintentional loophole, it was neatly resolved. There is already a sequel in the works, and I could see this going series, but it doesn't leave anything unresolved at the end, only the sense of possibilities for more. Most admiringly, although there was clearly quite a bit of world-building going on, the book doesn't attempt to tell you everything about this place. The emphasis is on this story and these characters, no long essays on their political structures or what have you.

And none of my gripes from before pop up at all. In fact the literacy thing is an issue raised in the novel (albeit briefly).

The second book I read was a contemporary fantasy, which isn't what I write, but then again neither is high fantasy in fictional worlds. It's called The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl by Tim Pratt.

(Blogger is pissing me off. It says my image was uploaded, and yet it isn't here. So even though it has a better cover than Doppleganger I can't show it to you. You can take my word for it or see for yourself at Amazon.com here).

The plot is nothing new - a girl opens a door to another place (Dreamtime/land of fairy/medicine lands all rolled up into one), but doors to other worlds is an old favorite of mine; I don't think I can read to many stories on that conceit. And if the girl in question is one who writes and draws her own comic books... dude, I'm so there. Plus, this one has the addition of a cast of very engaging characters. They are all art students or former art students, and most have their own unique shadings of mental illness, but they all feel very real. My favorite was Denis, the obsessive-compulsive fan of modern art, who preferred intellectual approaches to art over emotional ones (the exact opposite of me, actually). Denis is an asshole, sure, but he's a very engaging asshole.

The third book I read was not fantasy or even fiction. It was The Opposite of Fate: A Book of Musings by Amy Tan. It actually came out before Saving Fish from Drowning, I'm not sure how I missed knowing it was out there (it certainly seems like Amazon.com emails me every time there is a new release remotely like a previous purchase). It's a collection of essays, many about her mother, all about writing in one way or another. It was a very interesting read, and I would particularly recommend it to other writers. It's not about the craft per se, not the way Stephen King's On Writing is, but the musings of a successful writer are always worth a read, in my opinion.

While reading Saving Fish from Drowning, I was wondering what drew me to her work. After all, I don't have mother issues, but I don't think it's Schadefreude that's drawing me to these stories about mothers and daughters. I think it's because Amy Tan seems to share my underlying world view, a sort of yin and yang between rational science and irrational magical thinking. Her books all have that interplay between them, where it's possible to simultaneously believe that there is no such thing as ghosts because there is no scientific proof and all those sounds coming from the atiic have very mundane explanations, and at the same time believe that there actually is a ghost up there. To believe that there is no such thing as fate while you stock up on good luck charms.

It sounds paradoxical, but that's just the way my brain works.

Just a quick post...

...to say I'll be going out of town for a week, so no more posts until I get back. We're making our annual pilgrimmage to AZ (here's hoping it's less eventful than last time). We're going to the Grand Canyon, so I'm sure there will be a post full of pics when we get back.

Friends and the First Amendment

So the woman trying to sue some of the writers of Friends for sexual harrassment lost her case. Here's the full paper, but those interested in the First Amendment can skip up to page 37 for the Concurring Opinion. Have I mentioned I'm the geek that likes reading this stuff? I have? OK.

Here's the gist: the woman was hired as a typist/transcriptionist, so her job was to sit in the writers' room and type up what was said (why can't I have that job? I suppose the lack of shows being produced in the Twin Cities area is a factor). Apparently she found the degree of sexual banter going on disturbing. It all sounds rather juvenile: a bunch of guys bragging up their exploits, pretending to masturbate, and defacing words and pictures to make them dirty. Sounds a lot like high school. Nothing was directed at the woman in question (a lot of it was in reference to the actresses, who probably won't sue but I wouldn't be surprised if they never again work on shows where those guys are writers). This woman just found the environment intolerable.

The paper is interesting. It makes references and comparisons to several other harrassment judgements. It really shows how pervasive harrassment has to be to be considered, well, pervasive. It's quite a few notches beyond the point where I'd be looking for a new job, that's for sure. I've never been in a workplace like that, so it's a bit disturbing to read about them. And yet this Friends woman I can't summon a lot of sympathy for, mostly because no one was actually talking to her. Partly because HELLO! Had she never watched the show before she took the job? Plus, sitcom writers toss out dozens of jokes for every one that makes it into the show (which is why that job doesn't appeal to me - I'm too in love with my own words to toss them out and watch them get shot down like that. Plus, me? Not so funny). Count the sexual jokes in just one episode of Friends than multiply it by, say, 20. That's a lot of sex talk. And it's hardly surprising if a bunch of writers trying to amuse each other go a lot more blue then prime time TV will allow.

Most of what they were doing sounds exceedingly juvenile anyway, too juvenile to be remotely threatening. One writer brags up the shot he had with one of the actresses that he didn't take. Sorry, now I'm laughing again. It's like your geek friend who could have nailed that cheerleader when she was all drunk at that party that one time but he didn't, but he tells the story a million times and it never becomes more believable.

But my favorite is this quote:

Reich also acknowledged he and others altered inspirational sayings on a calendar, changing, for example, the word “persistence” to “pert tits” and “happiness” to “penis.”

Now that's funny. Juvenile, but funny. Mostly because I have a strong dislike to "inspirational" anything, I guess.

What is missing in this picture is the corresponding circle. The woman in question apparently only worked with the male writers and listened to them drone on and on about their exploits in the writers' room and the break room and the hallways. (And the idea that writing only happens in the writers' room strikes me as kind of funny. But read the Concurring Opinion for the perspective of the creative merit of what's left on the cutting room floor - still protected by the First Amendment even though you didn't use it on prime time TV). At any rate, what this poor woman needed was some time with the women who worked with these naughty boys. I guarantee you they were having some laughs at the expense of their male brethren. I can see them discussing the guys' famous exploits, and speculating on the fine ladies of the Niagara Falls area these guys were scoring with. Certainly much fun was had at the expense of the fellow that could have made it with one of the actresses (I'm so not believing that).

What throws me out of a fantasy novel

For writers looking to query their first novel, Miss Snark recommends reading other current first novels in the same genre to get a good idea of what your competition is like (rather than comparing yourself to, say, George R.R. Martin, etc.). So I've been reading a lot of first novels these past few weeks. Or should I say starting a lot of first novels. I've only made it all the way through two: The Prodigal Troll by Charles Coleman Finlay (which was a bit too much like Tarzan for my tastes, but otherwise the writing was good and I expect his second novel will be one I really enjoy) and Crystal Rain by Tobias Buckell (which is labeled sci-fi, but with its focus on forgotten knowledge and old gods it kinda feels like a fantasy, but on the whole could best be classified as a kick-ass adventure story except no one has a shelf for that). Otherwise, I've been doing a lot of grumbling out loud while reading these things. Believe me, reading that Amy Tan book last week was like a tall, cool glass of iced tea on a hot, muggy day. Bliss.

The book I threw across the room last night was so bad even the commas were pissing me off (to which complaint Quin said, "What is it with you and commas? Have you ever brought up commas and not have it all end badly?" Which is true, but those are stories for another time). But I don't really feel like complaining about the writing (although if your MC does the exact same thing, like "cry out in horror" 3 times in 2 pages, that's pretty much the end of the book for me, OK?). I'm going to talk about the other things that throw me out of a fantasy book. Most of it has to do with research.

Now I love fantasy, it's my genre. Because I love it, I expect more from it. (Be glad I'm not your mom). So here is my semi-list of a few things that throw me out of a fantasy novel.

First one: hallways. There is some question as to when historically hallways came into fashion (read this debate if you're interested, it hits most of the points I'm thinking of), and of course it depends on what part of the world we're talking about, and how rich the homeowners in question are. Here's the grub: if you tell me your blacksmith's house has a hallway in it, I'm going to want to know how he heats and how he lights it (and what he wants the dead space for anyway). The idea of bedrooms branching off a hallway is pretty ingrained in our modern brains, but back in the day it was a lot more efficient to just heat one room and have everyone sleep there (particularly if they are poor and the weather's cold). The one room house makes a lot of sense to me, but you don't see it much in fantasy (everyone wants their characters to have more privacy, I guess). A step up from that is interconnecting rooms, each with its own fireplace. This was the model for even rich people's homes for a long, long time. It solves the light and heat issue and gives some privacy since the rooms have doors between them (which makes me think of Nicole Kidman and her ring of keys in the movie The Others).

On a related note, baby sleeping in its own room. Didn't happen until, what, the Victorian age (and again only with the rich). Still doesn't happen in most parts of the world. Even if the mother is rich, she has a wet nurse and the wet nurse sleeps with the baby. But a baby sleeping alone in it's own room? I don't think so.

Some people are bothered by food in fantasy novels. The whole how did Samwise get potatoes since that's a New World vegetable thing. Unless your novel is actually set on Earth in the past, this isn't going to bother me. What does bother me is characters in an arctic climate eating tropical food. Or someone eating fresh, red apples in springtime. Do some research. What's the climate like where your story is set? What sort of food would grow well there? What could be tough to grow but worth big bucks if you managed to get a crop in? And what would be a rare delicacy from a far off place? Read some history books about what life was like for the commoners back in the day: only the rich had anything like a varied diet.

Another deal-breaker: literacy. If every character in your story can read and write, I'm going to have a hard time swallowing it. Let's go back to the blacksmith with his spacious home (he was in the book I couldn't manage to read last night). He and his wife were leaving notes for each other around the house. Let's leave out the rarity of paper for a bit. This young blacksmith would have been working at his father's side, learning the trade, ever since he was old enough to hold a hammer (and I'm going to bet those weren't often just 8 hour workdays). When did he have time to learn to read? Who taught him? Why? He's a blacksmith: you come up and tell him what you need and he makes it. He doesn't take written orders, now does he? No one was writing books that would interest a blacksmith until after the printing press, not to mention books were just flat-out rare and very expensive.

Also, everyone in these books is always fully literate: no one struggles with unfamiliar words or has dyslexia or anything.

*sigh*

You can see how seldom I'm pleased by a book these days. If you don't mind, I think I'll dip back into George R.R. Martin for a bit. I have a novella of his I haven't read yet. Once that's recharged my batteries I'll plunge back into these new novels.

Then I'll probably write another list.

Saving Fish from Drowning

About a year ago I read I book I really hated called The Lovely Bones. The narrator is a dead girl who is raped and murdered in Chapter One, and the rest of the book is her watching her family move on. They move on very fast. They are all very serene and accepting. Even when Mom leaves to relive her youth, no one is particularly upset. Some therapeutic sex is had - in one case rather disturbing therapeutic sex. But it kept reminding me of a MST3K quote from the short A Date with your Family: "Emotions are for ethnic people." It didn't seem to be a book about real people, or at least not the sort of people I know and identify with. I said at the time that if Alice Hoffman had written it would have been much improved. Not that Alice's characters are particularly ethnic (I don't know why that quote was always in my head), but they are always emotional.

(And what was with the fixation on women and children as victims? The book almost seemed to imply that when men are murdered it's not tragic. Why? They must have been asking for it? They should have been strong enough to make it a fair fight? I just keep thinking of a kid that was killed in Brooklyn Park some years back. He was 18, honors student, already accepted to college. He was sitting on the steps of his apartment building talking to a girl and was shot in the head with a stray bullet. The fact that he was 18 and not 8, man and not woman does not lessen the tragedy for me). Anyway, like I said, hated the book.

Which pretty much brings us to the novel I just finished, Saving Fish from Drowning. Not by Alice Hoffman but by Amy Tan, which would have been my second choice I'm sure. This is also narrated by a woman who dies mysteriously in the first chapter. Now this book I like (although it's not my favorite Tan; that would still be The Hundred Secret Senses). Is it just that I have more in common with crotchety old Chinese women than I do with dreamy young girly-girls?

No. I've said before the actual writing in The Lovely Bones is, well, lovely. Alice Sebold was a poet before she was a novelist and it shows. No, I hated that book because nothing made any freaking sense. The girl dies and she sort of hovers about, dogs sing in choruses and there's ice cream. She never once wonders when she's getting to heaven or anything of the sort. Did she have no expectations for life after death? Doesn't she feel ripped off or lied to? And we're told she's watching her family because that's how she wants to spend her time, but we're never told the mechanics of how she gets inside their heads.

I'm a spec-fic writer. We're all about the mechanics of how.

So. Saving Fish from Drowning. The MC in this one is a Buddhist, but a Chinese Buddhist which as she tells us means a bit of this and a bit of that. Her expectations for the after life and how they differ from what she's experiencing are brought up more than once. In Buddhist thought, the soul does not go on to the next incarnation right away, so there she is floating and waiting. Her friends were going to go on a tour to China and Burma with her as their guide; at her funeral they say a little prayer that she will be with them "in spirit", so of course she has to go. And how does she get inside the minds of the other characters? The MC tells us it's something Buddha would have called "the Mind of Others", and how she understands this changes as the book progresses.

And the characters are very real. It's an interesting catalogue of all the ways people can miscommunicate. I particularly liked the character of Harry Bailey, who works with dogs and constantly thinks that people will respond to the same behavior controls that dogs will. Sometimes he's right and sometime's he's wrong, but he was always amusing.

The Stephen King novel Misery also plays an important (and nongratuitous) part in the story, which I found amusing since the two writers are friends and bandmates in the Rock Bottom Remainders.

Just a quick post (with pictures)

So the mold in my office has been dealt with, the walls painted, and the furniture back. For the curious, here are some pics:

The exciting paint-buying post, which is really about comics

Last night the whole family piled in the car and went to the hardware store to buy paint for the office. We have such good family fun! Oliver has been lobbying hard for Mace Windu purple; since I don't have particularly strong feelings about home decor or color options, we went with lavender (real purple would be much too dark in that room; it gets no direct sunlight). While the employee was mixing the color, my husband suggested we stroll down the mini-mall to the comic book store.

Like I'm gonna say no.

It's really a comics and collectibles store, so while Quin, Aidan, and Oliver looked at action figures I wandered the comic book section. I had half an idea to get another Hellblazer (origin for the movie Constantine), but they all have fancy titles, nothing obvious like Volume 1 or Volume 2, so I wasn't sure what would come next (an advantage of online shopping, you can always find out in two clicks of a mouse and never interrupt anyone doing their homework behind the counter).

Then I saw it. FRAY. I have heard of this Dark Horse limited run and always intended to track it down, but never quite remembered that I wanted to. And then there it was, a nice eight-issues-in-one-volume collection. The only one left. I think it was waiting for me.

For those not in the know, FRAY is a comic that Joss Whedon wrote about a vampire slayer in the future. I read all eight issues last night (my sleep schedule is so out of whack; it always takes a month for me to "spring forward" and usually even longer to "fall back". The government is evil. Wait, where was I?).

I would have dearly loved this comic when I was a teenager (I love it now, but you know what I mean). Back in those days I sought out all the woman-oriented Marvel titles - Dazzler, Firestar, Magik, Red Sonja - and while I liked them all in their own way, they were never quite there except for Kitty Pryde and Wolverine.

It's not just the writing in FRAY that is spot-on; the artwork is exceptional, particularly in regards to how the women are drawn. But that's apparently not a coincidence. As Joss says in the intro, "I had come to Dark Horse with one stipulation: No cheesecake. No giant silicone hooters, no standing with her butt out in that bizarrely uncomfortable soft-core pose so many artists seem to favor. None of those outfits that seem to casually - and constantly - reveal portions of thong. I wanted a real girl, with real posture, a slight figure (that's my classy way of saying "little boobs"), and most of all a distinctive face. A person."

At any rate, I was standing there in the comic store gazing longingly at my amazing find when Oliver comes up to me with a graphic novel of his own clutched tight to his chest. And he has a look on his face that says he knows he has to ask, but he also knows Mom is never going to refuse to make a comic book purchase. So he brought home Star Wars: Darth Maul. I'm not sure exactly what it is; he read it with dad at bedtime. Why he picked Quin I don't know; there was a lot of loud grumping on not knowing how to read comic books (Dude, top to bottom, left to right. If you can't tell which came first, they're probably meant to be simultaneous).

My son is already a comic geek. I'm so proud.

Warning: Not for sensitive viewers

Last night, my husband came down to my basement office and uttered what are perhaps my least favorite words in the world: "Do you smell something?"

Nothing good ever comes after that question.

He can't describe what he's smelling, and I don't smell anything, so we get to play 20 questions. "Is it a plastic smell? Is it a cat gack smell?" Finally we settle on an "earthy" smell, and he's localized it to the outside corner of the room. You know, the one with all the bookshelves. I unloaded one bookcase and moved it out of the room, then gave the other one a mighty shove (Thank you, adrenal rush) so he could see the corner.

Sure enough, it wasn't good. The best way to put it is to say the wallpaper was attempting to escape from the wall. It was bubbling and peeling in a very suspicious way. After a brief conference in which we discussed how we were intending to remove the wallpaper this summer anyway (I hate wallpaper, it always looks dirty to me; we've been taking it off the walls of all the rooms of the house systematically and my office is the only room left), Quin reached down, snagged a corner, and pulled it back.

Like I said, nothing good. But the deep chest cold I couldn't shake for February and most of March makes sense now, if I've been sharing airspace with this for who knows how long:

As you can see, the evil wallpaper is now gone. Evil carpet will have to stay for a while longer. Of course this sort of major home project has to rear its head when Quin is not only doing tons of overtime, he's going out of town for two days next week. So it's all on me (in a surprising reversal from his usual "I'm the only one qualified to do this" stance, I've gotten the spousal OK to take this on). There are four bookcases in that room, so every other room in the house is taking on the extra book load for a while. I have books coming out my ears. Not to mention, the biggest case I had to unload was Quin's books from college. Architecture books, coding, private pilot books. Everything big, everything hardcover. I went to bed last night very, very tired.

Today I stripped off the paper (and took the pics). Everything has been sprayed down with mildew and mold killer. Let me tell you, my office stinks. Worst of all, I discovered as I pulled the paper that it wasn't just this corner. It runs along the floor down both of the outside walls. Check it out:

Ugh. The suck part is that I have to work in that room. It's the only one with the phone line for the Dictaphone. And the weather, which has been warm for the past few days, is getting chillier again today. But it's not like I'm going to close those windows. I don't know what's worse, mold or mold remover.

Oh yeah, I'm smelling it now. So if it's been a few days, and you haven't heard from me you might want to stop by, just to be sure I don't look like this:

Gorram cat...

It being that spring time of year (and being that I live in MN), I started my garden indoors last week, planting seeds in starter boxes. I have a tray of sweet pea vines (which I've never grown before) and a tray of morning glories, which I do every year for our lightpost and trellis. The seeds sprouted just fine so I set them by the sliding glass door (being my only southern light option besides Oliver's room, which really isn't an option). I do this every year, and it's never been a problem, but this year we have a new kitty. A kitty with a taste for greens, apparently. I have been spending the last few days trying to keep him away from my sprouts, but he's nipped the tops of most of them (and spread a lot of dirt around in the process). Spike Spiegel has not been my favorite cat lately.

But then last night he started acting weird. He wanted to sit on my lap, but he wouldn't purr and he made weird moaning noises when I touched him. I got on the internet and googled "morning glories, cat" and found out they are toxic plants. I had no idea. The websites I clicked to all recommended an immediate trip to the vet. Having had my last cat die quite suddenly, I panicked. (Side note - cats are like kids, these things never come up during normal office hours). Having paid nearly $1000 to keep that last cat alive one extra day because I thought the emergency vets were telling me he'd pull through (when in fact it would have required many more $1000 days of care), I put my husband in charge of things this time. I'm not capable of saying "That's too much, go ahead and kill my cat". My husband, who is still hoping for a flatscreen TV by Christmas, can make those kinds of judgement calls.

So Quin called the emergency vet, and they gave him the number of some sort of veterinary version of Poison Control, but that was a $60 phone call. Quin suggested we wait until morning and see if Spike wakes up dead. I didn't find this funny. I was also not amused by his intention to get on the internet then and there and google "Wake up dead" because he thinks it's a Bible quote. By this time I'm very upset (also the game's about to start, in case you thought he was the only one with screwy priorities). So he makes the call.

In the end, we paid $60 for a vet tech to tell us our cat was tripping. She laughed, apologized for laughing, then called a vet who confirmed that Spike was tripping. Morning glories are hallucinogenic. Now I regret not handling the phone calls myself, as my husband is wondering how hallucinogenic they are, how many you'd have to eat to feel the effects, and how nauseous you'd be before they kicked in.

Numbercrunching with writing

You can always count on Tobias Buckell to tell it like it is. He did some number crunching regarding his short stories which is interesting. I was also about 15 when I wrote my first not-for-school story (and I wrote that first novel at 16), but my time since then has not been anywhere near as productive as his. But I also have two wonderful sons to show for my time so I can't kick myself too much. At any rate, I find the last figure he mentions particularly telling: Tobey figures he's made about $1 an hour at his writing overall. Hmm. I'm working on the third novel, I've written about 30 or so short stories. I've made a grand total of $25 from my writing (also when I was 16). I'm not crunching my own numbers, it will only make me cry.

Yet another Timberwolves post

On Tuesday I got to go to my second ever live Timberwolves game. This went much better than last year, although watching a 14 point lead dwindle away to nothing and having not one but two cliffhanger endings (the ref set the clock back 0.9 seconds after it ran down the first time because someone fouled Kevin Garnett) made for a high pressure evening all the same. I'm still liking Ricky Davis, he has a real flair to his play, but to be honest I think that individually the whole team is there. Reed, Blount, and Banks are playing better for us than they ever did for Boston, Rashad McCants is showing potential, and Marko Jaric still makes sweet steals when they let him play. Yes, they are there as individuals, but they are not there as a team. I think the reason we keep hosing things up in the final seconds is that the guys just don't know each other well enough; they don't gel like they should.

So I would say this year is a wash (mathematically we haven't been eliminated yet, but come on), but next year... Next year will be our year. Give these guys an off-season to gel and they've got it.

I'm not betting money on this, though. I'm an optimist/realist.

Poor little blog...

...you have been woefully neglected. The novel progresses slowly (see the handy-dandy little counter to the left). My goal is to be done by Christmas. There are two kinds of writers: writers who blast through their first drafts and then go back and rewrite (I envy them), and writers like me who take three steps forward than two steps back then three more forward... The upside of that is when I'm done, I'm done. I'll do one last read through to polish this and that, but nothing major. The downside is each chapter gets written and rewritten about ten times before I call it "done", and even then about every three chapters I back up and go over the old chapters again before I move on. I don't keep very close count of my words, but I would guess the 1000 words a day I write only translates to 1000 a week of keepable prose. So there you go. And forget about the month or two I spend on the outline. I am a pokey little puppy.

Good news: I've finished the short story that will be my WOTF entry this quarter, and I love it. It's my favorite thing I've ever written. Of course whatever I've just finished writing invariably becomes my favorite thing. But this is really good, and the research I did opened so many doors, I just might have to set a novel there someday.

You know, when this one is done.

My son, the android

Aidan was spinning in circles last night and then complaining of feeling dizzy. Oliver advised him to "just lower his dizziness levels. That's what I do!" Umm, OK. And this was before we let them stay up late to watch Futurama with us. It was the one with Beck in it, so Oliver was enraptured. They had to get to bed before Boondocks, however, even though it was the episode with "Mace Windu" (Sam Jackson). It's hilarious; he plays a son of a congressman/wigger and has a monologue combining his "say what again" speech from Pulp Fiction with Rumsfield's knowns/unknowns speech that's quite brilliant. But there's a reason they play this show on Adult Swim.

The bigger news is Oliver got a haircut, or half of one anyway. It happened while I was working. Apparently he had caked his hair with food one too many times for Dad, who cut him some bangs and then stopped. Quin says he was going for Dutch Boy, but I see Willy Wonka. Which I probably shouldn't have said out loud, because now Oliver wants to keep it that way. I'm not sure if that was why he was wearing a dress shirt and tie when I got up this morning; some things are just inexplicable.

Aidan also got a hair cut, but since he always wants his hair short, the results are somewhat less dramatic:

Things that make you go ewww...

Miss Snark had a post a while back where she asked what in a book makes you go ewww. I think between books and movies, there are three broad categories of things that will always turn me off: Serial killers, child abuse (particularly sexual abuse), and talking animals. I occasionally like things which deal with these subjects, but they have to be truly exceptional.

For instance, serial killers. Didn't like Silence of the Lambs or Red Dragon or, god forbid, The Cell. I like aspects of them; the acting might be good or in the case of The Cell the visuals are amazing, but I can't ger around the whole serial killer thing. People who like these sorts of things usually tell me they like them because they are curious about what makes serial killers tick. I guess I'm more interested in what makes normal folks tick than the rare extreme deviant from norm.

My exception in this category... can you guess? It's Seven. Why? I've asked myself this question a lot, because my distate for serial killer movies and my love of this particular film are proportional. I think it's a few things. First, this film is really more about Morgan Freeman and is relationship to life in the city than it is about serial killers. And Morgan Freeman rocks. Second, you never see the murders or the victims before they've been killed. There is no vicarious "thrill" watching some clueless chick who's about to get it. There are no scenes of actresses screaming or just being terrified. In particular, we neve see the scene where he gets Gwyneth. Granted, that's mostly for reasons of "what's in the box" suspense, but I can see a lot of writers or directors wanting to use it as an after-the-fact flashback or even intercutting it with the final scene. We never even see her head in the box; it's all implied. So kudos to David Fincher for not going there. The stalking and killing are so incidental to the plot the serial killer himself has no scenes until the very end of the film. And I love the way Spacey played him; he does not radiate evil. He's just this guy.

I can't think of any examples of abuse that I liked unless you include Lolita. I was expecting to hate that book but was quite entranced. I'd give the Kubrick movie a B.

The third category, talking animals, is pretty far afield from the first two, I'll admit. But it's the one that bugs me the most. Bambi, the Lion King, etc. etc. I just can't stand it; I don't know why. But there are probably more exceptions to this rule. Finding Nemo was great, and I enjoyed A Bug's Life as well. I loved Babe, although to me that's really a movie about a laconic farmer. I very nearly never saw this film because the annoying singing mice were so prominently featured in the previews and ads I was sure I would hate it. I do hate the mice, but the movie is good.

On a related note, here is a link to animals that don't talk: Garfield cartoons where all the dialogue except Jon's has been deleted. Now it's a sad tale of a desperately lonely man and his pets. Warning, the site tends to exceed it's bandwidth so you might have to try it more than once to actually get there.

"He works in profanity like Picasso worked in oils."

I recently noticed that Oliver, the younger son, was smacking himself in the head completely out of the blue. He did this a couple of times before I finally asked him why he was hitting himself. Turns out, like a good old-school Catholic, he was flogging himself for impure thoughts.

Let me back up a bit. My job is very repetitive, typing as fast as I can for my entire shift. For ergonomic reasons, I have to take non-typing breaks. I usually read for five minutes or check e-mail or something. Last weekend I decided to burn a new mix CD for the car. Since all my music is on the computer it's just a matter of picking out the songs and away we go. So I picked out a CD worth of songs that nobody likes but me. I started out with the Black Eye Peas, "My Humps", a very dumb, very catchy song. I decided to keep with that theme and do all up-tempo songs by women. Missy Elliot, Gwen Stefani, Salt and Peppa, that sort of thing. I labeled it "Girl Jams", tossed it in the car, and promptly forgot about it. (Do you know how often I drive alone in the car? Almost never. The whole exercise was not the most productive use of my time.)

Later, Quin took the boys to swimming. He saw the CD and put it in the player. I'm not sure why he thought something labeled "Girl Jams" would be something he'd like, or how he got Oliver to let him put on something that wasn't Beck. I should have put a parental advisory sticker on this CD, but honestly it didn't occur to me that they'd ever want to play it. They got through "My Humps" without incident, but then they hit Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl". Catchy tune, like a cheerleader thing, but the word "shit" comes up repeatedly. The bridge goes: "This shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S."

Unfortunately Oliver liked it a lot. He got it in his head and he can't get it out. But it has "sailor talk" in it, so he can't sing it. So when he hears the call of Gwen in his head, he hits himself.

Personally I'm not bothered by profanity. I suppose it's a love of language. I love the words of Shakespeare. I love the words of Quentin Tarantino. The problem comes with society at large; no one wants a foul-mouthed 4-year-old (particularly not his grandparents). So he's not allowed to repeat the bad words he hears. But he wants to. He complains when he hears "sailor talk" because it makes him "interested to talk that way". A world of words he wants to explore but can't. When you're older, dear. When you're older.

The other problem is that his bedroom is at the end of the short hallway that leads to the living room. He can sit in his doorway and see the TV when his father and I are watching grown-up movies (and that's when he's not out right sneaking into the hall). I recently rewatched the works of Kevin Smith back-to-back, and Quin and I watched all the American Pie movies last week. We caught the last half of "Pulp Fiction" on one of the movie channels. I'm not sure how much of these he hears from his room (I always turn the subtitles on because we tend to err on the side of low volume). But I think if Gwen Stefani makes him interested to use "sailor talk", what of Seann William Scott? As Fred Willard says, SWS works in profanity the way Picasso worked in oils (and you really see that if you watch the out-takes. He varies his profanity in every take. Quite the foul-mouthed improviser). I wouldn't call him Picasso mself; he's not yet working at the level of a Kevin Smith or a Quentin Tarantino.

Perhaps I have sympathy for Oliver since I had to clean up my own speech early on in my mom-hood. I know the siren call of profanity. Which is how we ended up watching half of a fullscreen version of "Pulp Fiction" on TV when we own the letterboxed DVD. It came up while Quin was channel-surfing and I begged him to stop. "I just want to hear the scene about dead nigger storage." And then: "We can turn it in a minute, I just want to hear Sam Jackson say 'Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker!' " Before I knew it we'd watched the rest of the movie. I can't watch Shakespeare without saying the lines with the actors; Tarantino is the same way.

What Force user are you?

I'm Obi Wan Kenobi. That's cool. Want to know who you are? Go here.

Warning: I'm pretty sure the maker of this test was once quoted as saying, "Women Jedi? There are women Jedi?" Also, some of the questions are pretty obvious, so if you are trying to steer yourself to be, say, Mace Windu, it's totally doable. Still, cool.

Why I am homeschool my boys

Well, there are lots of reasons. But if I were to write a mission statement, it would read a lot like this essay by Paul Graham. I hope for them to have this attitude towards their school now and towards their work when they're older.

I can like Ricky Davis

I can't find a picture of him in a Timberwolves uniform yet, but I can like him. Not because he scored 26 points last night (tying a franchise record for a player's debut game), although that was cool. It's because even when on the bench he was involved in the game, cheering the others on (giving Mark Madsen some serious competition in that department). He's looking to integrate with the team, and I have to respect that. And he seems genuinely geeked to have the opportunity to play with Kevin Garnett. It's hard to judge by just one game (my heart is a little harder to win than that, thank you very much), but I think I can like Ricky Davis.

What's that sound?

It's the sound of my heart breaking. Kevin McHale just traded away my Wally. He went in a package to the Boston Celtics with Michael Olowokandi (the only good news part of this), Dwayne Jones, and a future first-round selection. In return we get Ricky Davis, Mark Blount, Justin Reed, Marcus Blanks, and two second-round selections.

What a genius plan! We need a third shooter to win. So what does our VP do? He trades our second shooter (who is frequently the first shooter) for a bunch of defensive players. Yeah, that'll work.

This is probably good news for Wally. Boston is a lot closer to his home (New York), and I wouldn't be surprised if big things didn't happen for him in Boston. But it sucks for us. I don't see good things coming to us out of this.

And now I need a new jersey...

And this my friends is why the internet ROCKS!

I read a book in the fourth grade. Actually, I read lots of books in the fourth grade, but this one was special. This one made me want to be a witch (which led to a fire-and-brimstone lecture that I can still recall in vivid detail, but never mind). I have been trying for years to find this book again. The trouble is, I couldn't remember the title. I only remembered that I had read it in the fourth grade, that it was available from the Scholastic Book Club (all my friends had it), and that the title was long, lots of names including the name of the school. It was about two girls who wanted to be witches, and when they first met one was sitting in a tree wearing shoes that were too big for her.

Sure, you wouldn't think that would be enough to ever track that book down. I've been looking through the children's shelves at used book stores for years for a long title that would click in my memory but never found it. I've tried internet searches. I've even tried paging through every children and YA book with witches in it listed in the Library of Congress (OK, I did that before I had kids, when I had more time on my hands). But I never found it.

Then last week Quin found a book that he only vaguely remembered from his younger days called Black and Blue Magic. He couldn't remember the title either, but he searched for "boy, wings, potion, not Harry Potter" and found a librarian's website where she mentioned it by title and author. So he has his book now, and Aidan is looking forward to reading it (it's just a little beyond him now but he is very clear he does NOT want it read to him. He wants to do it himself. COOL!).

So I decided it was time to try another look for my own book. I googled all the nouns I could think of (do you have any idea how many children's books have witches in them? A lot.) I wasn't having much luck with Google, but I did find a website called Loganberrybooks.com which seems to exist just to help people find books they read as children but can't remember the title of. You post a summary and a bunch of people (they seem to be booksellers and librarians) take guesses. I decided to page around for a bit before posting anything and - joy of joy - there was my book! It was a wrong guess for a different book, but I knew once the guesser described it (heck, I knew from the title) that was my book. And it's still in print!

So now I've ordered it, and in less than a week I'll be holding Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley and Me, Elizabeth by E. L. Konigsburg in my hands again for the first time in... more years than I care to count up just now. I hope it's as good as I remember.

..and so we reach the end of another obsession

I watched the seventh volume of Samurai Champloo this weekend, the one with the last episode on it. There is no more (unless they decide to make a movie like they did for Cowboy Bebop. Please? Please?).

In some ways, I think the way Japanese shows run is the perfect story arc. 26 or so episodes. That's short enough to sustain an arc over all eposodes but long enough to allow for some asides (like baseball and zombies) (not together, but wouldn't that be cool?). Most TV shows are only good for a year or two before they start repeating themselves. As much as I loved season one of Lost and am eagerly awaiting the DVD release of season two in July or August, I share Stephen King's hope that they know when to stop. I loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but it's a perfect example of what I'm talking about. The show had closure at the end of season 5. Then it had two years of denouement. (For added irony, keep in mind that season 6 is my favorite).

Samurai Champloo left me simultaneously satisfied with the closure yet hungry for more. How cool is that? I found it particularly interesting as I have read some history books about this period in Japan's history (when the shogunate had forbidden Westerners to enter their country - they only traded with the Dutch, and the Dutch were only allowed on a single island in the harbor - and when the persecution of Christians was happening). But I've never read a version told from the Japanese point of view. I particularly liked the symbolism of the sunflowers (think pretty weeds). And yet I couldn't really call their view anti-western; the show is intentionally steeped with hip-hop culture.

But perhaps the true reason I love the show is Jin and Mugen. They remind me of my sons. Aidan is somewhat like Jin (serious and mild-mannered), but Oliver is a Mugen all the way (wild and unrestrained). Mugen has a line: "Well, now that you told me not to, it makes me want to do it!" which is Oliver to a T. It's probably just as well we don't have a daughter. If she were a Fuu I wouldn't be able to leave her unattended for a minute or she'd be abducted and forced to work in a brothel.

Ok, now I'm pissed

Someone is making a live-action Beowulf movie. They're shooting it in Iceland. Sounds cool, right? It certainly sounded cool to me. I checked out the trailer on their website. The 13th Warrior is a more faithful retelling. Not to sound like I'm knocking The 13th Warrior, that movie was fun and based on a cool idea, but it was made by people who didn't feel that historical research was of any merit. If you don't believe me, perhaps you'll believe The Viking Answer Lady (she rocks).

So what is the great sin of this new movie? They take one of the coolest mother characters in all fictiondom and turned her into a son. The Dark Mother smiting the men who killed her boy is now a son avenging his father (because there was such a dearth of movies about that). By crikey, I'm pissed.

On the upside, the performance capture/computer animated version Bob Zemickis is making from the Neil Gaiman/Roger Avary script has Angelina Jolie as Grendel's mother, and nothing says Dark Mother like Angelina Jolie. It's practically type-casting.

Crystal Rain

The first three chapters (plus prologue - with a map!) of Crystal Rain are now up here. I'm loving it so far. It's kind of cool reading it this way, a chapter at a time, like a serial. Cool in a "that's the end for today? But what happens next?!?" kind of way ('cause you know I'm going to plow through the last two-thirds in like a day as soon as I get my hands on the book next month). Interesting for me is the way he writes dialect (not so much in the prologue, but it really comes to fore in Chapter One). It's easy to follow and a joy to read out loud (I'm a geek, I read dialogue out loud. Sue me). There are no apostrophes or strange spellings, and I'm sure Steven Pinker would say it's more grammatical in a linguistic sense of the term than standard English. I'm digging it.

Martin Luther King Day

So today is Martin Luther King Day, which does mean something a little more than there is no mail delivery today. It means the Timberwolves are playing at noon, so finally I get to see a game that my husband is missing because he's working.

In all seriousness, my older son is eight now, so I figured he was old enough to have a real discussion about who MLK was and why he is important. I hit my all-time favorite source for anything, wikipedia.org, where I found a complete transcript of the "I have a dream" speech as well as a Real Player video version of the entire speech. Up until this point, I think the most I've ever seen was just the very end of it. It's well worth seeing the entire ten minute speech (who doesn't have ten minutes?) to appreciate what a powerful orator MLK was. But you'll want to have that transcript handy, some of it is a bit hard to hear.

I had to pause the speech a few times to explain segregation, discrimination, and the civil rights movement. Aidan nods along, yes he understands what I'm explaining, and listens to the whole speech (which is a long time for him to sit still, particularly since it was a challenge to make out the words).

As usual with these teaching moments, it all came crashing down. We only had a halfday of school so Mom could watch the game, and of course the sportscasters are observing the holiday by interviewing players and coaches about what MLK means to them. Aidan watched them talking to the Timberwolves coach Dwayne Casey:

And Aidan says to me, "So, is that a black man?"

See, when I was talking about segregation and discrimination and the civil rights movement I had neglected to defined the terms "white" and "black". I can understand his confusion, looking around his world it doesn't look like two distinct groups. He has a cousin of mixed race. The kids he plays with at the park come from all over the world. He's played with kids from Russia and Chile and India as well as China and Africa (quite a few with parents that don't speak English). He sees a lot more diversity than I ever did at his age, and I went to a public school. He doesn't see two distinct groups; he just sees a spectrum of colors.

I think Martin Luther King would have liked that.

Oh yeah, and go Wolves!

The first one's free

Tobias Buckell is posting chapters from his novel Crystal Rain, which will be out in February. Loyal readers of my blog will know I'm a huge Buckell fan, so this is pretty exciting (plus, who doesn't love free stuff?). I believe the plan is to have the first third up there by the time the book hits stores. The excerpts are being posted here. Did I mention this was free?

Just some quick instructions

Go to okgo.net. Make the appropriate selection for your video player under "A Million Ways" Dance. Enjoy.

Ayn Rand versus Thomas the Very Useful Engine

Well, my sons have a new obsession. Trains. They got mildly interested last year after we took them to see The Polar Express. We saw it at the IMAX in 3D, which was really cool, but on DVD it's much less compelling. The characters have no names and there is no logic behind anything that happens. It's like a Steven Seagal movie for the younger set: It's been five minutes, something has to explode. Not to mention the lesson learned is to stop asking questions and just believe what you're told (yeah, I know they're talking about Santa Claus, but it's still an evil thing to tell kids). And don't get me started on the creepy zombie children.

For Christmas this year the boys got a Lego electric train (which is more interesting than a regular electric train that just goes in circles because you can build your own train cars, and Oliver can build some pretty whacked-out cars). Since then they've both been mad about trains. So my husband came home one night with a stack of Thomas the Very Useful Engine DVDs (he's a shopaholic, but that's a whole other post).

And I thought I hated The Polar Express! This show is just like watching electric trains go round and round. Although I like it when the engines steam up; there's more smoke pouring around than in a Cheech and Chong movie. But again mostly I hate the message (and this shows really pushes its message). These engines are very neurotic about whether they are being Useful enough. That is their only goal in life. Most of the engines are green and blue, and in one episode they threaten to repaint the only red train because he's just too proud of being different. Apparently he proved his Usefulness enough in other ways, because he's still red. The creepiest by far is when one of the engines hid in a tunnel while it was raining, and the station master went out with a bunch of bricks and walled him in because he wasn't being Useful enough (and he stayed there until the next episode).

But it was when the station master gave Thomas two passenger cars, Annie and Clarabel, as a reward for being a Very Useful Engine that my husband finally suggested I keep my opinions to myself, as the boys were actually enjoying the show (I made some remark about the best hunters and warriors always getting two wives. Also, I probably griped that the only female characters were passive passenger cars and not active engines).

Still, it's the idea that the highest goal in life is to be Useful to others that bugs me most. Which made me think, what would Ayn Rand think of this show? She must be spinning in her grave. I have nothing against helping others, of course, but the emphasis this show puts on self-sacrifice for the good of others and the disdain it has for people who actually take pride in their work and abilities is extreme. I just think that societies get on better when everyone works hard at the sorts of things they like to do for the rewards they want to have (like the industrialists in Atlas Shrugged) rather than everyone putting aside their own desires (like being red in a world of blues and greens) for the good of others. But then that's why I'm a capitalist, not a socialist.

Ringo Starr narrates one of the DVDs, and George Carlin does the other. That and the Cheech and Chong subtext is all the enjoyment I can get out of this show. I count the years until they are old enough to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer with me. *Sigh.*

I might be a Luddite

If you've never been to my house, you're probably wondering why I'm posting this picture (or saying to yourself "nice marker work on the walls there"). If you have been to my house, you're probably wondering where the microwave went to.

The previous owners built this little nook for their absolutely massive microwave (it's nearly bigger than our proper oven). It says "Kenmore" on the front, but I would swear it's a prototype. I am certain it predates at least three decades worth of radiation safety guidelines. We don't use it for much, as it takes four and a half minutes to heat up a cup of water (hence the electric kettle on the right there; I need boiling water for tea, not just marginally hot water).

Ah, but I should be using the past tense, as our microwave finally expired shortly after Christmas. Since we used it so little, this hasn't affected our lives much. I did price some microwaves, but in the end even the cheapest seemed a bit much to pay for the three or four times a year we have a hankering for popcorn. I'm sure I can work out how to cook it on the stove (the way the pioneers did). Or there's always Jiffy-Pop (which the boys might like better anway, 'cause it's fun).

So we are now microwave-less. And as you can see, I cannot resist the urge to fill any empty space with books. It's a little dark, but there are two layers of books in there, mostly homeschool stuff that was stowed away in a closet where I kept forgetting I had it. Plus some cookbooks (in case you thought we were studying PASTA).

Aidan was a little put out when I was moving the (extremely heavy) microwave out of the kitchen. "So we're going to be without a microwave for the rest of our years?!?" (He's eight).

So that leaves only the refrigerator and the drier as appliances that were in the house when we moved in here. And I have my eye on the fridge. I think the sands in its hourglass are just about up.

My work space

Some of the other writers whose blogs I read have been posting pics of their workspace, so I thought I'd join in. Here is my office, which is both my writing space and where I do my "day job".



My attempts to get a picture of myself inside my workspace have been less successful. I tried taking it myself by putting the camera on a box, clicking the button, and sliding my chair back to the desk real fast. The best one of these (let me stress, best) makes me look like I'm working stoned:

So I enlisted some help (that would be my husband), but the best of these is this one, where I look like a shiny, punch-drunk zombie:

Perhaps after midnight is just too late for this sort of nonsense.

My New Year's resolution

For Christmas Eve this year, I got a short story rejection. Then for New Year's Eve I got another one. Happy Holidays. The Christmas Eve one didn't bother me much, but the second one bit. It was a story a really liked ("Seagull and Raven" for those of you keeping score), and it didn't even make the quarter-finals, which I've been doing consistently up to this point. I read the story again. I still really like it. It will be interesting to see what becomes of my entry of this quarter, since I only sent it because it was the only thing I had ready. It's not really the same in tone as most of WOTF, almost horror. Wait, I write horror? At any rate, I feel better about sending that one now as I had felt so good about this completely snubbed story it's clear I have no sense of what they are looking for. Maybe they'll like this new one. Who knows?

And I just realized, I sent "Seagull and Raven" on to the Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, who rejected me on Christmas Eve. Ah, the old swaparoo. That's not really a coincidence; I send everything to FSF first because they respond in about 10 days. Then they go on to other mags, the ones where I don't hear back for 2-3 months.

At any rate, my New Year's Resolution is to get more rejections.... I mean to send things out more. All my short stories are waiting in slush piles right now, except for the one I decided would work better as novel #3, but that's not a heck of a lot, actually. So, resolution #2: Write more stories. So I can get more rejections. Maybe #3 should be, read Wil Wheaton's blog. Because nothing makes me feel better about story rejections than reading his account of the auditioning process. I can always say at least I'm not an actor.

A little game to play

Here are the rules:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.

And here's my sentence:

"But he was back in a moment, drifting awkwardly through the air as he massaged a cramped calf."

I'm willing to bet no one will know what this sentence comes from. It's hardly "Call me Ishmael".

PS: Googling the sentence is cheating. It will give you an author but not the book. It will also give you a little Frodo/Sam slash fiction. Slash fiction, one of many things I just don't get...

Special Issue! The Timberwolves Episode Guide

I am publicly admitting it: I was not on board with Buffy from episode one. I had heard about the show and was intrigued, but it premiered about the same time as my first son and I was busy. Also, I thought I was a little too old to still be watching shows about high schoolers.

But my coworkers at the Red Cross midnight shift were huge Buffy fans. I knew when a new episode had aired because it would be all that was talked about in the break room. So you can say I got into Buffy from the oral tradition.

But I didn't start actually watching the show until Entertainment Weekly did a complete episode guide complete with character descriptions of the first three seasons. Also, Buffy was going to college and I figured I wasn't too old to watch a show about college students. That and I was working a more normal job (only after working the midnight shift could a job that starts at 6 a.m. be called "normal").

So what's the point of all this? Well, it occurred to me that if someone wanted to started watching Timberwolves on TV, and that someone felt they couldn't really get into it because they didn't know the players, what that someone needed was a Timberwolves episode guide. Or rather, just the "character" descriptions. I'm a fiction writer, everything I see on TV is fiction as far as I'm concerned, and everyone I see is a character on a show. So, here are our characters:

Kevin Garnet (21, F): Don't even tell me you don't know KG. He's solid, he's a star, and he's a gentleman. I don't just mean he's a teamplayer, although he is. The Wolves took some local Katrina kids Christmas shopping as part of their Fastbreak charity work, and while the others were helping the kids find Xboxes and walkmans, KG was helping them pick out clothes (and harrassing them to try things on to be sure they fit; there was no point in getting them clothes they would never wear). Well, I found it funny. KG is coolest when he starts facing away from the basket, then spins and shoots like he's got eyes in the back of his head. The man always knows where the basket is.

Wally Szczerbiak (10, F-C): You can pronounced that like "Zerbiak". He's dad was a basketball player from Eastern Europe who played in the US and Europe (Wally was born in Madrid but grew up on Long Island). He was uneven last year but had a few spectacular games. This year he's playing at all-star level, which is really fun to watch. He averaged more than 25 points a game in December. Plus, he's been working on his defense (as in, he's actually playing defense). My jersey is a Szczerbiak ('nuff said).

Troy Hudson (16, G): Point guard with a mean 3-pointer, although one of the changes with our new coach Dwayne Casey is that the point guards focus on ball movement rather than making their own shots. T-Hud is on my computer wallpaper. I like the way he bounce/skips when he dribbles (it might be because of the hair; if he were bald it probably wouldn't look so fra-la-la when he's moving down court). Troy was second guy to Sam Cassell last year, and now he's second to Marko Jaric, but he's a great off-the-bench player. He has chronic leg/hip troubles that put him on the injured list, though. He also raps (as T-Hud), but unlike Ron Artest, he has no conflict about what he'd rather be doing (definitely a basketball player first).

Marko Jaric (55, G): Jaric is new to the team this year from our trade with the Clippers (we gave up Sam Cassell, which is said because I always liked Sam. He looked like Yoda or ET, but in a good way). Marko is our starting point guard, good with ball movement and very quick on the steal. He's scoring is only middling, however. He's another Eastern European (born in the former Yugoslavia), and his father was also a basketball player in Europe. He has a sort of studious vibe, like he's trying hard to do what's expected, but he's also fun to watch (if that makes sense).

Trenton Hassell (23, G): Mostly their as a defensive player, but he can score some crucial 3-pointers.

Michael Olowokandi (34, C): Tall and lanky with this hair that seems to have a life of its own (Quin thinks he's letting it grow out so he can start dreadlocks). He's from Nigeria, the son of a diplomat (so he grew up in England). Up through last year I couldn't stand him, he never seemed to be trying or taking anything seriously, always late for the plane or getting arrested in clubs. But he seems to have really clicked with the new coach's style. He is mostly their to block and get rebounds, but he's been getting some points lately too, and he actually looks like he enjoys being in the NBA (and for as much as these guys get paid, they should all look like their having fun, in my book).

Eddie Griffin (41, F): I have a soft spot for Griffin. He had a brush with the law over the summer for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it seems to have really gotten his head in the right place. He's very focused on his game, but he seems shy. He had a personal best game last Wednesday (best point total, but he also had a double double because he was on the rebounds). He ducked out of the locker room to avoid the press. Then he played really abominably on Friday, trying for 3-pointers when he should have passed the ball. I think the praise freaked him out. But I'm sure he'll find his focus again.

Rashad McCants (1, G): Our draft pick and hence a rookie, but he has potential. Granted, he seems to think he's a star already and is looking for the refs to throw calls his way, and given the choice between a solid shot and an opportunity to showboat, he'll pick the showboat. But that's cool, he's young yet, and KG in particular seems to really enjoy playing with him. I think KG is looking for a younger player to act as mentor to, as Sam Mitchell was for him, and McCants may be the one. He's worth keeping an eye on.

Richie Frahm (24, G): Another new guy (coming to us from Portland). He looks too young to be playing in the NBA (and when did I get to be older than most NBA players? When did that happen?). He's uneven yet, but he's made some impressive 3-pointers, especially in the season opener.

Anthony Carter (7, G): I like AC. I'm sure he's colossally tall, but he looks stocky like a Tolkein dwarf. It must be the neck; he has a seriously thick neck. He's our third point guard so he doesn't get a lot of minutes. He had a really spectacular game once last year which was fun to watch since he usually doesn't get much play time. He's an aggressive player, but not unprofressionally so.

Ronald Dupree (12, F): He's new and doesn't get a lot of minutes. He does have really skinny legs (even for a basketball player).

Mark Madsen (35, F): Former Laker. Nickname is Mad Dog (I don't know why, he seems so nice). He's there for defense (Shaq has a better freethrow percentage), but he's also the team's #1 cheerleader. Whenever they show the bench during the game, Mark is on his feet, fist pumping, cheering the rest of the team on. He may not get many minutes, but he's presence is invaluable. Personally, I think part of the reason we tanked last year were his injuries. Without him there, the others just don't play as well.

Nikoloz Tskitishivili (17, F): You know, I've not actually seen him play (I work three nights a week, so I only catch about half the games). Apparently he speaks six languages and has the nickname "Skita". According to his bio, his favorite players as a kid were Kevin Garnett and Kobe Bryant. So that was like, what, two years ago? Eek! These guys make me feel old.

Dwayne Jones (11, F-C): We have a player named Dwayne Jones????

Bracey White (6, G): We have a player named Bracey White??? These guys must be new.

If you're a number cruncher, everyone's stats are here. And if you're a visual person, they all have pics (and bios) up here.

Two more people need mentioning. The first is our brand new coach Dwayne Casey. I like him. He's done wonders for our team, motivating the slackers and getting Wally to focus on his defensive game just to start. I guess the guy has no family: he lives, breathes, and eats basketball (or something like that). And when he's mad, he gets this look in his eye... I'm glad he's not my dad, that's all I'm saying.

And then there is Freddy Hoiberg (32): He's not on the team this year. He had surgery over the summer to fix a congenital heart valve defect, and he has a pacemaker now and is still getting his strength back. If he does get to play again, he'll be the first NBA player to play with a pacemaker. I hope he does; he's a solid player with a positive attitude (definitely has that farmboy from Iowa vibe, married his highschool sweetheart, the whole nine yards). You can see him sitting behind the bench; he still works with the Wolves in practices (I've heard his name come up in particular when Frahm was nailing 3-pointers during the season opener). It's gotta suck for him, being at all the games but never getting to play. Best wishes to Freddy.

Things to watch for as a team: I mentioned the new coach has put the focus on defense (as in, you play solid defense or you don't get your minutes). There were 20 turnovers in the last game against Orlando. It was pathetic and sad. But on the whole they are playing much better this year than last. KG and Wally are both on spec; we're just looking for someone to step up and take the role of third scorer. Will it be Griffin? Jaric? McCants? That's going to make the difference between making the play-offs or (like last year) not.