For the dwindling few who read this blog - and I'm not actually sure about any readers at all, save one (hi, Cute Shoes!) - it is perhaps apparent I haven't had much to say here, or even just link here, in the past couple of months. There actually are some Draft posts I thought were in the works, but which are ageing and getting no attention. And there is one post on my mind, but which I have not sat down to write. The key words to remind me what I want to say haven't faded from mind (a good sign), but that's not progress.
Yep, family has had my attention. When someone spends close to eight years dying on you, it can come to absorb the focus off and on. Crises even arise; and yet, bizarrely, nothing seems to happen. If this seems a contradictory statement, please understand that you are blessed; for those who understand, my prayers will be with you.
Work, too, got hairy there for some months. At this point, that's neither excuse for not writing (which is fine, as I have been - at least, some) nor not cropping up here, so I'm not sure it signifies. It's just one of the usual excuses we see from writers online.
The house is fine, as far as that goes. And Penelope and Gossamer are SPLENDID, which goes very far indeed.
Weather has been a bummer. Far from six more weeks of winter, it seems to me what Punxsutawney Phil gifted us this year was just six more weeks of RAIN, or at the very least, grim weather indeed. This is not to say it's been cold. Far from it, we've had alternating temps from the 70s to the 40s for weeks, which is almost worse than extended cold, because (a) people have sinuses, thank you, and (b) it's not a pleasanter day when the rain goes from "dank" to "muggy" in twelve hours, sinks back, and then swells again, over and over. One hardly knows what to wear out the door. But, more than anything, the unrelenting DRAB of it all is wearing.
I candidly admit, recent years of drought - given the privilege of an unstinting clean water supply - seemed to me, if nothing else, *prettier* than this by comparison. Okay, maybe unrelentingly heated, particularly a few years back when 100+ got to be too frequent in summertime. Sure, I wished we had rain then. But this isn't normal either, it's not the natural seasonal barter present in the Piedmont/just-shy-of-Tidewater region.
There comes a time in every season, when they behave normally (my memory is long), when you look at your rows or hangers or what-have-you of sweaters and stylish, warm coats and things, and think, "Ahh, yes, it will be good when springtime comes" and you remember the way it feels not to have to lug out a load of outerwear just to walk outside. Or when you are hot and sweaty, look at the endless sleeveless tops and things, and think how cozy a turtleneck will be, some starry evening soon while you contemplate holidays.
What we have right now, though, is more despairing and less sparing. It's been a pitiless year for many - the storms a SUMMER ago in Puerto Rico still have not been dealt with, and here we are on the brink of another storm season. Knowing how much worse than merely "grim" the weather has been for so many, it's out of proportion for me to complain.
Still, the depression of weather becomes the low-pressure system in life itself. A winter's slog, family time stolen by illness, smaller celebrations dragged wanly through rainstorms, the hundred things not even bothered with under leaden skies. The constraint upon enthusiasm or enterprise.
Blogs fall by the wayside.
But I haven't forgotten this place is here, even if there IS nobody really reading these days. One assumes people have better things to do, too - goodness, I certainly hope so. I'm only even here myself, prattling a bit while some electronic business tediously feeds itself slowly to fruition while I wait for it.
Stay tuned for me to actually *have* anything to say. It'll be more poetic, and even contain actual substance.
Hoping all my readers, (Reider and otherwise) are well and coming through winter with loved ones, inspiration, and outlooks all intact.
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Monday, February 19, 2018
Saturday, May 27, 2017
Commentated
In the past month, comments here have dried up entirely. It doesn't seem to me the content has changed, so I muse about the possibility that summer has led to less traffic.
Unfortunately, it is hard to tell. My traffic stats have for the best part of a year now shown massive bot traffic, from the U.S. It used to be when my "viewership" was up, I'd see Russia all over my posts. Anymore, though, it's domestic traffic, curiously enough all Mac. I'd indulge vanity and think I had a geek stalker but the levels indicate bot, not human.
There are still days Russia dominates the fake traffic around here, and we've always got Asia. But the major point here is that my actual readership appears to be gone.
And just when things have been getting so exciting with the WIP, too.
The point of THIS wallowingly self-indulgent post is this: what content is worth commenting on? Right now, is it better just to leave the blog fallow, wait out vacation season, and not worry that nobody's around much anymore? Or are all of you lurking and yawning ... ?
I have an idea for a good post. But it's possible I may be wasting my time.
(And yes, I know I need to shill this place on Twitter for stats' sake; it does work. BUT it does not ever result in comments.)
Unfortunately, it is hard to tell. My traffic stats have for the best part of a year now shown massive bot traffic, from the U.S. It used to be when my "viewership" was up, I'd see Russia all over my posts. Anymore, though, it's domestic traffic, curiously enough all Mac. I'd indulge vanity and think I had a geek stalker but the levels indicate bot, not human.
There are still days Russia dominates the fake traffic around here, and we've always got Asia. But the major point here is that my actual readership appears to be gone.
And just when things have been getting so exciting with the WIP, too.
The point of THIS wallowingly self-indulgent post is this: what content is worth commenting on? Right now, is it better just to leave the blog fallow, wait out vacation season, and not worry that nobody's around much anymore? Or are all of you lurking and yawning ... ?
I have an idea for a good post. But it's possible I may be wasting my time.
(And yes, I know I need to shill this place on Twitter for stats' sake; it does work. BUT it does not ever result in comments.)
Thursday, October 20, 2016
Spamabot
Am I the only Blogger user who's getting MASSES of bot traffic - now not from Russia or Korea, but from the US? On Macs? Every two hours almost on the hour, every day for over a month, there are 32-38 hits all in one go.
The problem with domestic bot-ification is that I've lost all sense of any actual readership (down, I know, of late; I haven't been linking my posts on Twitter, and my content isn't what it could be).
So, as shamelessly shill-ful as it is to beg for comments: who else is getting this sort of bot-ery?
The problem with domestic bot-ification is that I've lost all sense of any actual readership (down, I know, of late; I haven't been linking my posts on Twitter, and my content isn't what it could be).
So, as shamelessly shill-ful as it is to beg for comments: who else is getting this sort of bot-ery?
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Collection
Let's start off today's Collection post with several members of Janet Reid's community ...
Paul Lamb takes a look at one particular anachronism (interpolated spectacles) in a piece of art, and I am brought to mind of the way people like to go all guitarist and whinge about modern anachronisms in drama, art, or writing, like it's some sort of newfangled SIN. Which: sigh. No, we've always brought ancient tales into our own worlds. (I'm also of the opinion that Interpolated Spectacles would make a great name for a band.)
Julie Weathers, possibly the Head Reider at Janet Reid’s blog/community, has a nicely in-depth post on the mid nineteenth-century riding habit (and her work!). With a variety of images, for my fellow costume nerds!
I want to thank E. M. Goldsmith for this link … Chuck Wendig, Huffpo, cake-eating, and monetizing Stockholm Syndrome. On the ethics and economy of a billion-dollar enterprise and unpaid writers. (Worth a click beyond for The Tale of the Depends Duping.)
CarolynnWithTwoNs, or 2Ns as we call her at Janet’s world, has an insightful post about those who provide service every day. I’ve never been a restaurant server nor worked in retail, but as a secretary, and especially in my job now, customer service is my bread and my work was for years something I apologized for, so: yeah. Before preppies, yuppies, and the Reagan years, it was a point of PRIDE to be a union member, a factory worker, a person who actually produced something or served people.
To go along with Julie's historical costume research, The History Blog has a post on an 11,000-year-old engraved shale pendant, found in Yorkshire. I always love the theoretical decoding attempts of prehistoric artifacts.
Speaking of decoding, in my ongoing fascination with Ötzi the Iceman, the recent mapping of his sixty-one tattoos has struck me with the significance of the tattoo as talisman/healing magic. His ink marked the spots, where he suffered various painful ailments and injuries. The simple lines - incisions pigmented with charcoal - were not drawn as art, but represent the work of prehistoric medicinal practice. The mention of correlation with acupuncture points is an excruciatingly intriguing entre' to the eventual discovery we'll make, that ancient tattoo practices do present modern scientific value.
DIY, repurpose, upcycle - it's the new "Reuse, Recycle, Reduce" - and the old, old reason a fifteenth-century panel survived the Reformation, Also the reason I love palimpsests.
... and back to the Reiders. One of the things about her community is that, if you click on the commenters' profiles, you find the most devastating array of great blogs and pages. And so I share two posts from J. J. Litke: on primate skulls, and traffic, sorta. PLEASE do yourself the favor of clicking both of these: she's a great read, and a better writer. Be it on your own head if you miss the gift shop link in there somewhere.
Finally today, a blog I've been meaning to share for the movie lovers, and love-to-hate-rs (ish), Dreams are What le Cinema is For. I ran into this when looking for an image to use on a recent post where I mentioned the literal grace of Grace Kelly and got a bit schmoopy about memories of my dad. (Or I may not have posted that one; sometimes posts do shrivel and waste away.) Anyway, I quickly became addicted to the archives, and bookmarked it, because: camp! movies! a little cattiness! SHEER FUN! Woo!
Paul Lamb takes a look at one particular anachronism (interpolated spectacles) in a piece of art, and I am brought to mind of the way people like to go all guitarist and whinge about modern anachronisms in drama, art, or writing, like it's some sort of newfangled SIN. Which: sigh. No, we've always brought ancient tales into our own worlds. (I'm also of the opinion that Interpolated Spectacles would make a great name for a band.)
Julie Weathers, possibly the Head Reider at Janet Reid’s blog/community, has a nicely in-depth post on the mid nineteenth-century riding habit (and her work!). With a variety of images, for my fellow costume nerds!
I want to thank E. M. Goldsmith for this link … Chuck Wendig, Huffpo, cake-eating, and monetizing Stockholm Syndrome. On the ethics and economy of a billion-dollar enterprise and unpaid writers. (Worth a click beyond for The Tale of the Depends Duping.)
CarolynnWithTwoNs, or 2Ns as we call her at Janet’s world, has an insightful post about those who provide service every day. I’ve never been a restaurant server nor worked in retail, but as a secretary, and especially in my job now, customer service is my bread and my work was for years something I apologized for, so: yeah. Before preppies, yuppies, and the Reagan years, it was a point of PRIDE to be a union member, a factory worker, a person who actually produced something or served people.
To go along with Julie's historical costume research, The History Blog has a post on an 11,000-year-old engraved shale pendant, found in Yorkshire. I always love the theoretical decoding attempts of prehistoric artifacts.
Speaking of decoding, in my ongoing fascination with Ötzi the Iceman, the recent mapping of his sixty-one tattoos has struck me with the significance of the tattoo as talisman/healing magic. His ink marked the spots, where he suffered various painful ailments and injuries. The simple lines - incisions pigmented with charcoal - were not drawn as art, but represent the work of prehistoric medicinal practice. The mention of correlation with acupuncture points is an excruciatingly intriguing entre' to the eventual discovery we'll make, that ancient tattoo practices do present modern scientific value.
DIY, repurpose, upcycle - it's the new "Reuse, Recycle, Reduce" - and the old, old reason a fifteenth-century panel survived the Reformation, Also the reason I love palimpsests.
... and back to the Reiders. One of the things about her community is that, if you click on the commenters' profiles, you find the most devastating array of great blogs and pages. And so I share two posts from J. J. Litke: on primate skulls, and traffic, sorta. PLEASE do yourself the favor of clicking both of these: she's a great read, and a better writer. Be it on your own head if you miss the gift shop link in there somewhere.
Finally today, a blog I've been meaning to share for the movie lovers, and love-to-hate-rs (ish), Dreams are What le Cinema is For. I ran into this when looking for an image to use on a recent post where I mentioned the literal grace of Grace Kelly and got a bit schmoopy about memories of my dad. (Or I may not have posted that one; sometimes posts do shrivel and waste away.) Anyway, I quickly became addicted to the archives, and bookmarked it, because: camp! movies! a little cattiness! SHEER FUN! Woo!
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Personal Collection
It just started with a search string. Someone on AOL ended up on my blog with a set of words that intrigued me, so I looked where their search had led. It took me to some three year old posts.
And then I remembered The Sweet La's last month.
And I remembered remembering summer.
I found myself writing about Mr. X. In less than a month, I'll have known him thirteen years.
It took me to some feelossy-fizin. "Rejecting an ism, even knowing its actual face, because others find it ugly condones the perception of ugliness. "Yes, that is ugly - whoo - that's not me!""
And a nice thing Cute Shoes once did. Cute Shoes is a lovely and thoughtful friend.
And then I remembered The Sweet La's last month.
And I remembered remembering summer.
I found myself writing about Mr. X. In less than a month, I'll have known him thirteen years.
It took me to some feelossy-fizin. "Rejecting an ism, even knowing its actual face, because others find it ugly condones the perception of ugliness. "Yes, that is ugly - whoo - that's not me!""
And a nice thing Cute Shoes once did. Cute Shoes is a lovely and thoughtful friend.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Traffic Source
I'm used to seeing Russian sites and even the occasional Reider blog in my stats, directing traffic this way. Can't quite figure out, though, why the Wikipedia page for Jehovah has been sending hits to this blog a bunch lately.
Insert Quizzical Puppy Face here.
Insert Quizzical Puppy Face here.
 | |
| I don' geddit. But I'm bein' rilly RIIILLY good for G-d. |
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Collection
First off today, welcome and thank you to JEN Garrett, my 34th follower! Yay!
Next - I'm a bit late with the link, but yay more, for a tribute to writer Leonard Nimoy's birthday.
Megan Sayer has a lovely post about hope. It's hard. But, I've found, sometimes it's even harder not to.
Agent Carly Watters has good advice/encouragement - for the pre-published debut author. Just when I cool it on querying, of course (but she doesn't do my genre, so it's all right by me).
And now, a three-fer from The History Blog:
Scratch any archaeologist (but not on the lower back, their legs will never stop kicking) and you'll hear a midden story. This one may be a little adult for some readers (I'd call it NSFW), but it's still interesting history! Hint: sex toy. Yeah, we didn't invent those in the 20th century either.
Out of the toilet and into ... oh, wait. The sewer. Italian family finds 2500 years of history while looking for a broken sewer line. Man, it's boring when my toilet backs up. You know, by comparison. aaaaaaannnnd I'm okay with that. (Also with my parents not lowering me into the, erm, bowels of our home when I was twelve.)
And last, but least gross (though possibly disconcerting! and that is a pun!), 18th century Swiss automata. I'll embed the punnish clip below ...
Next - I'm a bit late with the link, but yay more, for a tribute to writer Leonard Nimoy's birthday.
Megan Sayer has a lovely post about hope. It's hard. But, I've found, sometimes it's even harder not to.
Agent Carly Watters has good advice/encouragement - for the pre-published debut author. Just when I cool it on querying, of course (but she doesn't do my genre, so it's all right by me).
And now, a three-fer from The History Blog:
Scratch any archaeologist (but not on the lower back, their legs will never stop kicking) and you'll hear a midden story. This one may be a little adult for some readers (I'd call it NSFW), but it's still interesting history! Hint: sex toy. Yeah, we didn't invent those in the 20th century either.
Out of the toilet and into ... oh, wait. The sewer. Italian family finds 2500 years of history while looking for a broken sewer line. Man, it's boring when my toilet backs up. You know, by comparison. aaaaaaannnnd I'm okay with that. (Also with my parents not lowering me into the, erm, bowels of our home when I was twelve.)
And last, but least gross (though possibly disconcerting! and that is a pun!), 18th century Swiss automata. I'll embed the punnish clip below ...
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Internetworking
So this thing where Janet Reid took Holy Week off blogging to pray, and then on Thursday opened the floor to all her Reiders (not just the usual commenters, but yay for all the lurkers who came forth with a word!), has been days of unexpected reading fun. She's got us networking, and it's bumped up my STAGGERING number of followers (31 to 33 now - yes, hold your breath in awe!) and led to some comments I've been so tickled to see.
I must apologize for being slow to say hello back to Maggie Maxwell. *Waves enthusiastically some more* Thank you for the follow!
Off for a bit of WIPping ... See y'all soon.
I must apologize for being slow to say hello back to Maggie Maxwell. *Waves enthusiastically some more* Thank you for the follow!
Off for a bit of WIPping ... See y'all soon.
Monday, March 30, 2015
New Followers!
Wanted to say hi and thanks to the most recent followers here at the blog - Angie Brooksby-Arcangioli and Colin, friends from the community at Janet Reid's blog, and Gabriela Salvador, of Pour La Victoire.
Thank you for coming!
Oh, and - Colin - happy late birthday! With the way I shy off of Janet's flash fiction contests, I completely failed to give you many happy returns - hope it's been a good start to a smashing year!
Thank you for coming!
Oh, and - Colin - happy late birthday! With the way I shy off of Janet's flash fiction contests, I completely failed to give you many happy returns - hope it's been a good start to a smashing year!
Friday, March 13, 2015
Quick Hello
There is material waiting to get up on the blog, even a perfectly lovely post all written - however, as it would take me a few minutes to hunt down links and format and get everything done, the blog loses out, these days, to query research and other types of networking. I have some burning thoughts even still waiting for formulation, so things aren't dead around here (just ask the 400-500 bots coming to visit every single day now ... and what the heck is that? It's like the time LeVar Burton retweeted me in my stats these days, but it's all Russia and France - and who knew France was so infested with bots?). Just not prioritized. I haven't even been able to comment on Janet Reid's nor Jessica Faust's blogs lately, though I'm at least reading the posts and getting lost in increasingly arcane food in jokes.
Just wanted to say to everyone - don't forget PI DAY tomorrow! 3.14.15 - and celebrate twice, at 9:26 and 9:26, if you're feeling extra fancy. "Mmm. Pie."
Since we don't have time for a real collection post, do enjoy Two Nerdy History Girls' two recent posts: one on using shampoo safely in your own home! and another (with video!) featuring NOT Princess Leia making a new dress from an old.
Okay, ciao for now. See you all soon (bots and all - sigh).
Just wanted to say to everyone - don't forget PI DAY tomorrow! 3.14.15 - and celebrate twice, at 9:26 and 9:26, if you're feeling extra fancy. "Mmm. Pie."
Since we don't have time for a real collection post, do enjoy Two Nerdy History Girls' two recent posts: one on using shampoo safely in your own home! and another (with video!) featuring NOT Princess Leia making a new dress from an old.
Okay, ciao for now. See you all soon (bots and all - sigh).
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Seriously, Blogger?
I get the little reCAPTCHA "you're not a robot" tool has been updated a number of times lately. I even like the new simple checkbox method. But ... I have to prove I'm not a robot on my own blog? Seriously?
Okay, maybe I'm not quite this far gone. But it is pretty stupid. The usual "upgrade means a step backward" tech feature.
Okay, maybe I'm not quite this far gone. But it is pretty stupid. The usual "upgrade means a step backward" tech feature.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Mighty Hot Wind
Years ago, watching “A Mighty Wind” with Mr. X, he had a head-shaker moment, in the midst of one of the more breathless faux-interviews about folk music’s supposed sweeping importance, when he was so inside the film he actually said, “I don’t remember it being this big a deal” basically.
Which, of course, was pretty much the point.
Mighty Wind is such a good mockumentary, you fall in like that, you forget it IS a joke at times – as with Spinal Tap actually selling albums in the real world, as with dog shows actually capturing the national attention every Thanksgiving now. It’s completely sunk into one of those things most people are aware of, but few people are quite as breathless (or windy …) about as those who dedicate themselves to X or Y or Z with the fervor of a calling.
And that breathlessness … I think there are times we all pick and choose those things we accept as epochal, and those we ignore or even frankly deride. I don’t get baseball, but there are those who would explode with testimonial passion if they heard me say it. Few people understand how ancient Frankish history could possibly be conceived of as interesting, but for me it’s a rabbit hole well worth the burrowing into, and I can curl up in it all warm and contented.
We all have our fan-child obsessions. If we didn’t, how would the perfectly astounding world library of documentaries survive – hagiographies of comedians, politicians, birds, towns, pieces of interesting infrastructure … ? Some are unintentionally hilarious (have you ever seen the “Pursuit of Excellence” series? The ferrets one is glorious), some you get into (American Experience and Ken Burns are terrifyingly good at this), some teach, some just provide slathering tongue jobs to celebrities. But they are everywhere, and an awful lot of people have begun to live lives unconsciously dedicated to inspiring this kind of breathless adoration in others.
See also: this blog. Not only do I get a bit wheezy myself on certain exciting subjects like Carolina dogs, pattern welded steel, and “Barbarians”, but I write the whole thing (as an unpublished one) as my “authorial platform” – which we’re actually *supposed* to do. When I’m dead, this blog will be the precious, precious snoflake in the internet’s blizzard of silliness and verbiage, paying homage to my own silliness and verbiage. My testament!
I’m not done with vanity yet, clearly.
If there are times “real” documentary such as the ferrets outing, and mockumentary like “A Mighty Wind” are indistinguishable, it’s hard not to think all of us veer into parody. For me, that’s dandy and amusing. I enthuse, but have never expected my blather to actually matter to any but the most particular, kind, and probably acquainted-with-me audience. I’ve worked to build readership, and had fun with it – and I do take seriously the fact that this is a major facet of my public face, even if it’s difficult to take seriously the notion that my public’s ever going to make documentaries about me, treasure the marginalia scrawled in my personal collection of books, or remember me when I’m dead longer than my nieces live.
My enduring aspiration, even with my work, which I honestly want to support, is to become that dusty book on a shelf which some desultory kid will discover on a disused relative’s bookshelf (and, yes, I mean that adjective to modify “relative” there), and accidentally fall into and unwittingly love, someday. All the rest is business. Worthwhile, hopefully rewarding in a real and financial way, gratifying in ways I can’t even imagine from where I sit. But beside the point of storytelling.
We can get breathless again tomorrow (or, perhaps, in January, when the agents say it’s okay!). For now. Just breathe. Maybe smile, too.
Chappy Channukah, Merry Holidays, Sweet Kwanzaa, Hippo New Year, and a blessed Christmas (and all the rest) to all. I’m so in this season. Hoping it is wondrous for all of you, too.
Which, of course, was pretty much the point.
Mighty Wind is such a good mockumentary, you fall in like that, you forget it IS a joke at times – as with Spinal Tap actually selling albums in the real world, as with dog shows actually capturing the national attention every Thanksgiving now. It’s completely sunk into one of those things most people are aware of, but few people are quite as breathless (or windy …) about as those who dedicate themselves to X or Y or Z with the fervor of a calling.
And that breathlessness … I think there are times we all pick and choose those things we accept as epochal, and those we ignore or even frankly deride. I don’t get baseball, but there are those who would explode with testimonial passion if they heard me say it. Few people understand how ancient Frankish history could possibly be conceived of as interesting, but for me it’s a rabbit hole well worth the burrowing into, and I can curl up in it all warm and contented.
We all have our fan-child obsessions. If we didn’t, how would the perfectly astounding world library of documentaries survive – hagiographies of comedians, politicians, birds, towns, pieces of interesting infrastructure … ? Some are unintentionally hilarious (have you ever seen the “Pursuit of Excellence” series? The ferrets one is glorious), some you get into (American Experience and Ken Burns are terrifyingly good at this), some teach, some just provide slathering tongue jobs to celebrities. But they are everywhere, and an awful lot of people have begun to live lives unconsciously dedicated to inspiring this kind of breathless adoration in others.
See also: this blog. Not only do I get a bit wheezy myself on certain exciting subjects like Carolina dogs, pattern welded steel, and “Barbarians”, but I write the whole thing (as an unpublished one) as my “authorial platform” – which we’re actually *supposed* to do. When I’m dead, this blog will be the precious, precious snoflake in the internet’s blizzard of silliness and verbiage, paying homage to my own silliness and verbiage. My testament!
I’m not done with vanity yet, clearly.
If there are times “real” documentary such as the ferrets outing, and mockumentary like “A Mighty Wind” are indistinguishable, it’s hard not to think all of us veer into parody. For me, that’s dandy and amusing. I enthuse, but have never expected my blather to actually matter to any but the most particular, kind, and probably acquainted-with-me audience. I’ve worked to build readership, and had fun with it – and I do take seriously the fact that this is a major facet of my public face, even if it’s difficult to take seriously the notion that my public’s ever going to make documentaries about me, treasure the marginalia scrawled in my personal collection of books, or remember me when I’m dead longer than my nieces live.
My enduring aspiration, even with my work, which I honestly want to support, is to become that dusty book on a shelf which some desultory kid will discover on a disused relative’s bookshelf (and, yes, I mean that adjective to modify “relative” there), and accidentally fall into and unwittingly love, someday. All the rest is business. Worthwhile, hopefully rewarding in a real and financial way, gratifying in ways I can’t even imagine from where I sit. But beside the point of storytelling.
We can get breathless again tomorrow (or, perhaps, in January, when the agents say it’s okay!). For now. Just breathe. Maybe smile, too.
Chappy Channukah, Merry Holidays, Sweet Kwanzaa, Hippo New Year, and a blessed Christmas (and all the rest) to all. I’m so in this season. Hoping it is wondrous for all of you, too.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Blogkeeeping
Inspired recently by some discussion in the comments at Janet Reid's blog, please note we have a new feature here at the old homestead. A slight scroll down on the right will show a Contact the Owner widget in the sidebar.
This emails me anything you have to say directly, without public commenting, and I stay on top of my messages on my personal time.
Thanks to French Sojourn for being my first contact! Cheers.
This emails me anything you have to say directly, without public commenting, and I stay on top of my messages on my personal time.
Thanks to French Sojourn for being my first contact! Cheers.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
"And, Reader, I Purchased It"
Surely, it is fated. THIS is the post that put me over 100,000 hits on this blog! And I called this morning - they still had the desk - and I paid for it.
As I understand it, the desk was much loved by its previous owner, a guy who had it for many years and ran a business - and was also at some point (I don't know whether it was when he had the desk) an assistant coach for the Dallas Cowboys. They're planning to tell him it's going to someone who'll love it, too - and he'll be so pleased.
I told 'em they could leave out the part about how I'm no football fan ...
Well, this poor desk is in for a change. But I think it'll find it interesting around here.
As I understand it, the desk was much loved by its previous owner, a guy who had it for many years and ran a business - and was also at some point (I don't know whether it was when he had the desk) an assistant coach for the Dallas Cowboys. They're planning to tell him it's going to someone who'll love it, too - and he'll be so pleased.
I told 'em they could leave out the part about how I'm no football fan ...
Well, this poor desk is in for a change. But I think it'll find it interesting around here.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
99,201 Pageviews
Today, I'm fewer than 800 hits from 100k, which means the counter should turn over within a week. Sadly, of late, more of the traffic than I like is coming from Moldovan bots on supposed-blogs "how to get rid of diabetes" and "halloween witch". Pleh.
Even so, I have worked hard for the past few years, actually trying to make this place thematic and bearable. Twitter has also been an effective way to share, and it's been gratifying to take an active hand in building the readership here. Still, it's the readers I "meet" at Historical Fiction Online and the authors whose blogs I follow, whose generosity has made this blathering (seem) worthwhile. Over the years, it's been a privilege and a pleasure to connect, even briefly and at the distance of the internet, with Elizabeth Chadwick and Ben Kane and Gary Corby and others.
Less than two years ago, I had fewer than 40k views, and had been at this blog for a few years. So this is gratifying. Thank you, everyone, for coming by!
Even so, I have worked hard for the past few years, actually trying to make this place thematic and bearable. Twitter has also been an effective way to share, and it's been gratifying to take an active hand in building the readership here. Still, it's the readers I "meet" at Historical Fiction Online and the authors whose blogs I follow, whose generosity has made this blathering (seem) worthwhile. Over the years, it's been a privilege and a pleasure to connect, even briefly and at the distance of the internet, with Elizabeth Chadwick and Ben Kane and Gary Corby and others.
Less than two years ago, I had fewer than 40k views, and had been at this blog for a few years. So this is gratifying. Thank you, everyone, for coming by!
Saturday, April 5, 2014
THAT House on the Block
The yard is badly in need of mowing right now - not only has spring finally arrived, but we've had a great deal of rain, so (where Penelope hasn't worn it out running along the fence - which will save me some weed-eating!) it's a bit thick. I won't say "lush", because what's really thick right now is the early-spring growth of rubbery purple weed flowers, which tend to be clumpy and fail to live up to the suburban ideal of pure green grass. My neighbors' homes have a lovely growth of Easter grass right now, but my place is not the beauty of the block.
It wouldn't take much work, nor much time - but since Wednesday I've had a fairly severe case of instant allergies, and mowing the grass, no matter how community-minded it may be, just is not on my list, even though in actuality I'd kind of like the time outside in a wonderful breeze, and the exercise. Note to intrepid suburban kids anywhere: if you showed up at my door right now, I'd gladly pay you to take care of this for me, providing gas and mower personally. Just sayin' - if you want a buck, the scruffy house on the block might be for you.
Today is the first day I've had open windows, and I did start the meds on Wednesday night. I think it's helped, at least as far as beginning to fight the overarching symptoms of seasonal allergies - itchy eyes, SNEEZING - but the more immediate symptoms - sore throat, congestion, laryngitis - are tenacious. They spawn further symptoms of their own - mouth-breathing, for instance, which then leads to chapped lips and feeling dehydrated, which leads to constant water-drinking, which leads to feeling bloated. I'm almost fascinated at the daisy-chain of cause, effect, and annoyance - but, honestly, I don't actually feel as rotten as, for instance, I sounded this morning at nearly ELEVEN a.m. when my mom called and I was still half-zonked on nighttime cold/allergy pills. Oops.
A bit of high-cacao chocolate being my preferred caffeine delivery method, I induced Godiva therapy after talking with her, and have done a lot at least upstairs. On the main floor, I need to shove enough furniture out of the way to remove The Winter Rug - yes, it's a stupid idea; dusty and heavy-breathing-inducing (and if I can't mow the grass, how can I move a 200-pound rug?), but it's my idea and I'm all into it.
And here we have the point of this post. I've written here many times about what it's like living alone, but the underlying issue is almost cultural. The nuclear family ideal, and its analogue, Living Independently, make "going out on your own" sound like the way we're all supposed to structure our lives. Living Independently, of course - that thing where we're expected to leave the nest at eighteen and live on our own until we create our own nuclear family with McMansion, starter-spouse, 2.38 children, and 2.38 cars - is the shaming device we use against such adults as have to go home to mom and dad for one reason or another. I internalized Living Independently really early, and am not ready to give it up (the idea of living with my mom if, G-d forbid, she were ever widowed again, for instance, is beyond my ability to tolerate). But it comes with its price. And its fears.
It's not just the daily inconveniences, when I have to do EVERY last thing in the world that needs to be done, and perpetually fall short, by the estimation of an awful lot of people who see fit to have ideas about what needs to be done in my house, personal life, etc. My finances, far from being my own as an Independent Woman, are the subject of MANY people's speculation and advice - and not just people I consider to be close family or friends. "You should buy a such-and-such car" is the easy expectation of people I hardly know with whom I casually mention I have been looking. Of course, mentioning such a thing is guaranteed to bring that on, but I don't even have a wife I can hide behind to demur on the more insistent suggestions of people who apparently know my needs better than I do ...
So it's an odd thing. The more independent we are in the society I happen to have grown up in, the LESS autonomy people ascribe to my way of living. People give advice to any and all, of course, but it *feels* like the advice to a single woman has a special insistence.
We've created a world in which "failing" to live independently is shamed and unnatural (natural as multi-generational living was for thousands of years before the 20th century), but doing so carries not only its own judgments, but also the fears and perils that go with ageing with no partner, no family, nobody in the home. It's not a minor price to pay for the pride and accomplishment of living on our own terms, and it's something I wrestle with all the time. The responsibility is both a matter of pride and chagrin - and, while I think I may be unable ever to be the person who'd blend again with my mom, or a geriatric roommate situation a'la The Golden Girls, I'm hardly gratified by the prospect of the next twenty or forty years of what it *really* means to be on my own.
Pride wins, with me (... apparently ...), but it's not because I never think about whether I could be wrong. I've fulfilled some of the expectations of my upbringing, and it's beyond me to honestly imagine anything I'd change. But that doesn't mean I think I've done everything just right. Life *shouldn't* feel like it's gone exactly right, I think in a way. If we felt completely righteous and satisfied - what would there be to work on in ourselves, or for others?
And who's going to do the dusting, with me here blogging? A good question. And I'm off ...
It wouldn't take much work, nor much time - but since Wednesday I've had a fairly severe case of instant allergies, and mowing the grass, no matter how community-minded it may be, just is not on my list, even though in actuality I'd kind of like the time outside in a wonderful breeze, and the exercise. Note to intrepid suburban kids anywhere: if you showed up at my door right now, I'd gladly pay you to take care of this for me, providing gas and mower personally. Just sayin' - if you want a buck, the scruffy house on the block might be for you.
Today is the first day I've had open windows, and I did start the meds on Wednesday night. I think it's helped, at least as far as beginning to fight the overarching symptoms of seasonal allergies - itchy eyes, SNEEZING - but the more immediate symptoms - sore throat, congestion, laryngitis - are tenacious. They spawn further symptoms of their own - mouth-breathing, for instance, which then leads to chapped lips and feeling dehydrated, which leads to constant water-drinking, which leads to feeling bloated. I'm almost fascinated at the daisy-chain of cause, effect, and annoyance - but, honestly, I don't actually feel as rotten as, for instance, I sounded this morning at nearly ELEVEN a.m. when my mom called and I was still half-zonked on nighttime cold/allergy pills. Oops.
A bit of high-cacao chocolate being my preferred caffeine delivery method, I induced Godiva therapy after talking with her, and have done a lot at least upstairs. On the main floor, I need to shove enough furniture out of the way to remove The Winter Rug - yes, it's a stupid idea; dusty and heavy-breathing-inducing (and if I can't mow the grass, how can I move a 200-pound rug?), but it's my idea and I'm all into it.
And here we have the point of this post. I've written here many times about what it's like living alone, but the underlying issue is almost cultural. The nuclear family ideal, and its analogue, Living Independently, make "going out on your own" sound like the way we're all supposed to structure our lives. Living Independently, of course - that thing where we're expected to leave the nest at eighteen and live on our own until we create our own nuclear family with McMansion, starter-spouse, 2.38 children, and 2.38 cars - is the shaming device we use against such adults as have to go home to mom and dad for one reason or another. I internalized Living Independently really early, and am not ready to give it up (the idea of living with my mom if, G-d forbid, she were ever widowed again, for instance, is beyond my ability to tolerate). But it comes with its price. And its fears.
It's not just the daily inconveniences, when I have to do EVERY last thing in the world that needs to be done, and perpetually fall short, by the estimation of an awful lot of people who see fit to have ideas about what needs to be done in my house, personal life, etc. My finances, far from being my own as an Independent Woman, are the subject of MANY people's speculation and advice - and not just people I consider to be close family or friends. "You should buy a such-and-such car" is the easy expectation of people I hardly know with whom I casually mention I have been looking. Of course, mentioning such a thing is guaranteed to bring that on, but I don't even have a wife I can hide behind to demur on the more insistent suggestions of people who apparently know my needs better than I do ...
So it's an odd thing. The more independent we are in the society I happen to have grown up in, the LESS autonomy people ascribe to my way of living. People give advice to any and all, of course, but it *feels* like the advice to a single woman has a special insistence.
We've created a world in which "failing" to live independently is shamed and unnatural (natural as multi-generational living was for thousands of years before the 20th century), but doing so carries not only its own judgments, but also the fears and perils that go with ageing with no partner, no family, nobody in the home. It's not a minor price to pay for the pride and accomplishment of living on our own terms, and it's something I wrestle with all the time. The responsibility is both a matter of pride and chagrin - and, while I think I may be unable ever to be the person who'd blend again with my mom, or a geriatric roommate situation a'la The Golden Girls, I'm hardly gratified by the prospect of the next twenty or forty years of what it *really* means to be on my own.
Pride wins, with me (... apparently ...), but it's not because I never think about whether I could be wrong. I've fulfilled some of the expectations of my upbringing, and it's beyond me to honestly imagine anything I'd change. But that doesn't mean I think I've done everything just right. Life *shouldn't* feel like it's gone exactly right, I think in a way. If we felt completely righteous and satisfied - what would there be to work on in ourselves, or for others?
And who's going to do the dusting, with me here blogging? A good question. And I'm off ...
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Also:
... why didn't anybody TELL me how absolutely rotten that Synopsis is, just right over there >>>>
???
It stinks!
Working on that. Sheesh, y'all. Feedback's always welcome, y'know. If I wanted a diary I wouldn't be writing here, and all this would be locked in a pretty pink vinyl book under my pillow. C'mon!
???
It stinks!
Working on that. Sheesh, y'all. Feedback's always welcome, y'know. If I wanted a diary I wouldn't be writing here, and all this would be locked in a pretty pink vinyl book under my pillow. C'mon!
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Take the Con 13
Triskaidekaphobia never made sense to me, and this year being the big one-three hasn't done a lot to turn me into a thirteen-o-phobe. As extraordinarily stressful as it's been, it hasn't been a "bad" year per se.
Which brings us to the inspiration, invigoration, and writers' nation that is: James River Writers' annual conference. We began this weekend, yesterday morning, with Gbari Allen Garrett, a young poet whose power with words was amazing. Carey Albertine gave us all the millennia of the history of writing in something like twenty minutes, and was winsome and enjoyable to meet, and an example of the support and enthusiasm that make the conference such a remarkably fine event. Chip Kidd, whom I missed being able to meet by only a few minutes - darn it! I didn't get his book signed! - provided a truly entertaining and useful look at the craft and science of graphic design, specifically cover design and the stories of how some of his own developed.
Unfortunately, we ran a little long and, because I hated to miss a minute of the opening plenary session - and, because I register early for the conference and was, therefore, at the top of the reservations list for one-on-one sessions with agents and hence was second from the top on *that* schedule, which commenced before the plenary session was over ... OOPS, I missed my agent. Gaaaaaaaahhh.
One of the many special and wonderful things about JRW, though, is that the Conference guests invited to participate are given the expectation that they should participate for the entire weekend, and should be available to attendees the entire time. And so, I hoped, at some point I might still be able to get in front of her. I wait-listed myself for any one-on-one I could get. And went off on my own. Spent some time with Leila which, while having little direct relationship to writing and working, was more than worthwhile in its own right. She is a friend I'm grateful to have.
And, at just the right moment, I got a call to come right over for a one-on-one with Victoria Skurnick. She turned out to be gratifying company, quite apart from being generous enough to take on an orphan pitch, so I followed up today by asking if I might interview her here on this blog. Stay tuned, because: she said yes! (Keep staying tuned, too, for Elizabeth Chadwick's interview, as she has the questions in her custody and I'm on her list, hopefully within the next couple of weeks.) The glint in her eye you can see in the photo at the link above is completely true to life, and it was one of the unique pleasures of the Conference, spending time with her and a couple other people, listening to a little cello music as we all sat out a session. Beautiful music, though we didn't get to hear enough of it.
Sharing a picture of Penelope the heartbreaker ... the Literary lunch on Saturday ... the turkey sandwiches and homemade chips today ... the wildly earnest boys and men ... the ideas that seem strange to a completely different perspective ... the charm of confluence and divergence ... the old faces, charming ... the new faces, almost nervous ... lots of turquoise and brown this year (including my own Saturday togs) ...
The thoughts stemming from "Revising Like a Rockstar" and "Finding the Right Feedback" - the questions asked and the posts you will see, yet to come.
The way, even beyond the end of the day yesterday, Deborah Grosvenor let me pitch her after all. And requested a synopsis and first chapter. (Victoria Skurnick, by the way, requested the full MSS. As she put it, now that everything's electronic, why request a partial? She can read or not read as much as she likes.)
A hallway chat with Paige Wheeler, the first agent who ever asked me for a partial - and who, now that I have revised, asked me to keep her in mind.
Though my "bite rate" on in-person pitches remains high (only one agent I've ever pitched didn't request at least a partial; and even she asked me to please query her when I complete Novel #2), I get a lot less squee-ish about that than I used to. As we know, my offers-of-representation rate remains at zero, so excellent pitch experience is only so useful.
Still, there is more to get out of an event like this - the interview, the option to re-query Paige Wheeler - the time spent with Leila, with Kristi, with Kristy, with everyone. Not least of which is the immense sense of gratitude that these women are my friends - that Kristi, our esteemed chair, has put on such a great Conference two years in a row. I'm so impressed with her, sometimes it's more than a pleasure to be her friend, but a privilege. She's that charming.
As may be clear, charm is not in short supply at the Conference, even though dear Miss Pen and Gossamer were not there. And yet, as much as it does to enliven my creativity, to satiate me socially, two days of surprises and stimulation are exhausting. Tomorrow, I'll be off work, and hopefully will relax and do nothing more than a bit of blogging and a bit more revising.
I hope to be able to send queries within two weeks. The interview - probably sooner. And the re-query as well, to Paige Wheeler.
So: more busy times for 2013. Will keep you posted. And here's hoping: it won't be bad luck at all.
Which brings us to the inspiration, invigoration, and writers' nation that is: James River Writers' annual conference. We began this weekend, yesterday morning, with Gbari Allen Garrett, a young poet whose power with words was amazing. Carey Albertine gave us all the millennia of the history of writing in something like twenty minutes, and was winsome and enjoyable to meet, and an example of the support and enthusiasm that make the conference such a remarkably fine event. Chip Kidd, whom I missed being able to meet by only a few minutes - darn it! I didn't get his book signed! - provided a truly entertaining and useful look at the craft and science of graphic design, specifically cover design and the stories of how some of his own developed.
Unfortunately, we ran a little long and, because I hated to miss a minute of the opening plenary session - and, because I register early for the conference and was, therefore, at the top of the reservations list for one-on-one sessions with agents and hence was second from the top on *that* schedule, which commenced before the plenary session was over ... OOPS, I missed my agent. Gaaaaaaaahhh.
One of the many special and wonderful things about JRW, though, is that the Conference guests invited to participate are given the expectation that they should participate for the entire weekend, and should be available to attendees the entire time. And so, I hoped, at some point I might still be able to get in front of her. I wait-listed myself for any one-on-one I could get. And went off on my own. Spent some time with Leila which, while having little direct relationship to writing and working, was more than worthwhile in its own right. She is a friend I'm grateful to have.
And, at just the right moment, I got a call to come right over for a one-on-one with Victoria Skurnick. She turned out to be gratifying company, quite apart from being generous enough to take on an orphan pitch, so I followed up today by asking if I might interview her here on this blog. Stay tuned, because: she said yes! (Keep staying tuned, too, for Elizabeth Chadwick's interview, as she has the questions in her custody and I'm on her list, hopefully within the next couple of weeks.) The glint in her eye you can see in the photo at the link above is completely true to life, and it was one of the unique pleasures of the Conference, spending time with her and a couple other people, listening to a little cello music as we all sat out a session. Beautiful music, though we didn't get to hear enough of it.
Sharing a picture of Penelope the heartbreaker ... the Literary lunch on Saturday ... the turkey sandwiches and homemade chips today ... the wildly earnest boys and men ... the ideas that seem strange to a completely different perspective ... the charm of confluence and divergence ... the old faces, charming ... the new faces, almost nervous ... lots of turquoise and brown this year (including my own Saturday togs) ...
The thoughts stemming from "Revising Like a Rockstar" and "Finding the Right Feedback" - the questions asked and the posts you will see, yet to come.
The way, even beyond the end of the day yesterday, Deborah Grosvenor let me pitch her after all. And requested a synopsis and first chapter. (Victoria Skurnick, by the way, requested the full MSS. As she put it, now that everything's electronic, why request a partial? She can read or not read as much as she likes.)
A hallway chat with Paige Wheeler, the first agent who ever asked me for a partial - and who, now that I have revised, asked me to keep her in mind.
Though my "bite rate" on in-person pitches remains high (only one agent I've ever pitched didn't request at least a partial; and even she asked me to please query her when I complete Novel #2), I get a lot less squee-ish about that than I used to. As we know, my offers-of-representation rate remains at zero, so excellent pitch experience is only so useful.
Still, there is more to get out of an event like this - the interview, the option to re-query Paige Wheeler - the time spent with Leila, with Kristi, with Kristy, with everyone. Not least of which is the immense sense of gratitude that these women are my friends - that Kristi, our esteemed chair, has put on such a great Conference two years in a row. I'm so impressed with her, sometimes it's more than a pleasure to be her friend, but a privilege. She's that charming.
As may be clear, charm is not in short supply at the Conference, even though dear Miss Pen and Gossamer were not there. And yet, as much as it does to enliven my creativity, to satiate me socially, two days of surprises and stimulation are exhausting. Tomorrow, I'll be off work, and hopefully will relax and do nothing more than a bit of blogging and a bit more revising.
I hope to be able to send queries within two weeks. The interview - probably sooner. And the re-query as well, to Paige Wheeler.
So: more busy times for 2013. Will keep you posted. And here's hoping: it won't be bad luck at all.
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