My works

 

Ha! I've got good numbers on my works!

Tingles in the Spine is very new. But I published it on smut Sunday and posted a link on my Tumblr, so it's gotten the full court of exposure. I'm terribly proud of it. It was something that I woke up thinking about and jotted down. Then I realized that it looked very much like a poem. So I made it one.

It's a Wonderful Life is my Christmas fic from last year. Doing well. And my snippet poem. I'm just surprised anyone read it.

221!

My much agonized over fic 'It's A Wonderful Life, Sherlock' has reached 221 hits. If that isn't a celebration, I don't know what is.

I'll throw a party when it gets to 1895.

Many thanks to AtlinMerrick for her support!

Happy Birthday Sweetheart!

Happy Birthday Martin! Hope it's a good one filled with much music and happiness!

#BacktoHogwarts

HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS! HOGGY HOGGY HOGWARTS!

Welp, missed the train yet again.

Best of #BacktoHogwarts

I am totally Hufflepuff.... Except I hate everyone and participation is EW. Stop touching me, leave me alone. NO, I don't want a hug. I want to go to the library. That's right, that means quiet. Loads of it. As in shut up and let me read.

Which is why I'm actually a Ravenclaw.

The great outdoors and I

Ah. The great outdoors. Wondrous. Green, lush, vibrant.

Nature. We love each other. The grass and plants and trees. The insects and wildlife.... They all love me and want to get closer to me.

The wonderful plants. Of which I am allergic: birch trees. Why. You are so pretty damnit. Of someone burns you anywhere near me, I turn into an itchy, burning, omg I can't see or breathe kind of mess.

Poison ivy, sumac and oak. Yes, the clue is in the name. But really? Like this? I had a violent reaction early this year, it was just vines. Not even any leaves yet. I wore long sleeves and pants. Soaked straight through. Someone asked me if I had been in a fire. No. Just doing yard work. My husband told me not to anymore. I was banned as a child too.

Mosquitoes. Ah. You. Slimy little bloodsucking bastards. The one part of nature I could do very much without. One night out of doors this past Saturday. Yes, just one.  I sprayed down with a deet containing spray. Are we sure it wasn't pheremones? 89 bites. Itchy, swollen, horrible. On the tips of my toes, my instep. My arms, back and neck. I wear jeans all summer for a reason. And they bite through them. My thighs. 89 bites.

But the good one for last. Bees and wasps. We actually like each other. Really do. Bees tolerate me well. I let them be, they don't sting me or pay me much mind. Wasps? We play. I catch them gently when they fly too near someone who does not love them. I feed them sugar water applied directly onto my skin. I let them swarm me. I have held up to 10 without problem. Seeing something like that does something to otherwise rational people though. They look at me like I am the devil. I fed a wasp once, from my soda can, a big fat drop on my palm. I watched him drink it all. He turned to face me, dropped his stinger to my palm, lightly touched down and flew away. It felt like a thanksgiving.

Good and bad all over. But mosquitoes? Urgh.

Time to write.

So... I've been working away. Actual work. And reading constantly.

And writing. In my head. All the time.

I have this whole stack of notebooks filled with story notes, and dialogue, and completed stories. They just sit there though. Somehow, I keep telling myself that they're not complete. I want to work them into something larger. I want them to be epic and moving novels. I want them to somehow work their way in to a whole cohesive work while I am not looking.

The truth of these things is that they aren't all going to be that way. There is always more editing to do. There is always a better way to put something. Some little niggling detail that is just still wrong.

Some of these pieces may someday work their way into a larger narrative. Some of them are finished. It seems like a good idea to admit that to myself.

So, I am gathering a set of fics together. I am going to write them out one last time. Type them up, then... wait one week,

If I have nothing to add at the end of that week... up they go.

It's nerve wracking. Imagining people reading your work. The first 10 thousand hits I got on my recipes was dumbfounding. The next 10 thousand... incredible. But recipes are not the seat of my soul. Not like these characters are.

 I do not imagine justice. I only hope to do them tribute.

Sleeping?

I was given a miraculous half day off this Saturday. I left work having been directed to sleep in.

I say my alarm for 9:30, because I still have too much stuff to do.

I have laid here for 4 1/2 hours hoping for sleep. I don't think the sandman is coming.

How did I get here?

Never have I ever wanted to be the boss.

I don't want to have people looking at me for things to do. I don't dream of an orderly shop, buzzing with customers and employees.

If anything, I wanted a sleepy little bookstore where people could curl up and read away. (I figured I would have to have won the lottery, because that's not making any money) I'm a strongly solitary introvert, who once went 3 months outside of work, with out speaking to a single person besides my husband. And only noticed afterwards. It was very relaxing.

I wanted to go to work, do a job and come home. I want to leave work problems at work. Why should I bring those problems home? What's so wrong with that?

I don't want to work at what I love. Make it work and sooner or later I'll hate what I used to love. I made some earrings for my mother once. She thought it was awesome. Wanted me to sell them. I told her I couldn't make that many of them. She suggested an assembly line, with her and my sister to help. I thought about it for about 5 minutes. I hated it. I take joy in the creation of each and every single piece of anything I make. An assembly line has no joy. Her pleasure is in the selling.

Someone please tell me how I got here.

I run a shop. A small, orderly shop, buzzing with customers and employees. Looking at me and asking me where's this, where's that? Is this in? What should I do now? Wasn't it a great day? So many people!

I haven't had a day off since early May. I've had a violent case of poison sumac, a cold, a pulled muscle in my shoulder and very little sleep since then. I've hired 2 people. And a landscaping service. I'm about to hire a maid too. And a plumber. Because it's hard to garden and do the outdoor plumbing work at 9pm. I have to make a doctor's appointment, but my doctor has no office hours before I need to go to work. She also leaves the office before I'm finished.

I spend 70-75 hours each week at the shop. I sleep around 4 1/2 hours every night.

And I'm tired.

BTW, I know exactly how I got here. My mom asked for help running the shop she started. And I said sure. Then she said, here, it's all yours!

And I smiled. Said, thank you, that's great.

Doesn't mean I'm not tired.

The Pause

My tea just knows. It says Pause.

After The Pause

From Neil

The Day After

From Amanda

I'm so sorry baby. You are strong. And you are fierce.

And you're having a boy.

A boy.

And I wept.

Safe Home

Amanda's Anthony is dying. I am getting all her twitter updates all day. Crying off and on, because someone who I love is hurting.

Thank you to Neil Gaiman for writing this piece on what is happening right now. He called it 'Existing in the Pause,' and it's very apt.

I have been trying to explain to my husband why it hurts so much. It's something I have to work out anyway. I think of us, the fans of Amanda, as an us. As a family. We trust each other. We may never have met, but still. If a concert came to town and someone was going and needed a place to crash, I'd probably offer up my spare room no questions asked. Because, you're family.

And Anthony, as much as her real father, is Amanda's dad. And she's my sister. Or cousin. I love her, she's family.

Reading the Art of Asking is like curling up with a good friend and hearing them tell their life story after having a couple glasses of wine. Like watching them vomit their heart on the pavement.

After I finished it the first time, I wanted to immediately reread it with a highlighter. And then get some paint and work on the cover. I hate to alter books - they are booooks. And I worship them. But this one is crying for it. That cool gray cover hiding under the dust jacket. Like bare skin. It's Amanda's skin.

But she made me think about the nature of family. And friends as family. And love. And Anthony is a big part of that. She's (and he) have inspired my own writing. And I have Anthony's books on my wishlist. Now would probably be a good time to read them. Go here for more information on Anthony's work.

Safe home Anthony. Safe home.

Congrats Congrats!

Oh congrats to my lovelies!

So much love for you both. Can't wait to hear the name!

Amanda

Jesus Amanda. What am I going to do with you?

Listening to your latest song and trying to hide all my tears at work. How do you always do that to me? It's not the most professional thing for the manager to do.

How do I explain that someone is spilling their soul out? If they can't hear it, how can I explain it to them?

In your post about it, you talk about the way things sound real. For me, it's always real. If I have to dig through and separate the sounds made by you and the sounds make by instruments or if you're right there, laying it all out. It's all real. Even if it's not true. It's all real. One tiny feeling is all it takes. Art is lies that tell truth. You know this better than most.

Truth is the biggest lie we know.

My god Amanda. For you, I turn into the crappy poet I was at 15.

Just listen to it.

Towel Day!!!

The Official

A nice article

(And the best image...)

My personal towel-day-wear:

(I broke my necklace last year)

Also, wearing the lilac for Alzheimer's awareness this year. RIP Terry.

Forever saddened I never got to meet Douglas. For many tears and laughs, please watch Neil speak about him.

Oot Says

Patrick's Reviews > Coraline

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/61530172

Patrick's review 

Aug 06, 14

5 of 5 stars

Read in August, 2014

I've read this book many different times in many different ways.

I read it off the page when it first came out. Later, I listened to Gaiman's narration of the audiobook when I was sequestered in the north woods of Wisconsin in a desperate attempt to finish book two. I watched the movie and enjoyed it.

My most recent experience of the book was listening to it with my little boy on a long car ride. I wasn't sure he'd be able to get into it. Not because of the vocabulary. He's very sharp for being 4.5. He's good with words. But sometimes he gets a little scared.

Despite my worries, he seemed to enjoy it. He paid attention, attention, asking for us to turn it back on after we stopped by the side of the road. A day later, he excitedly told me all about the story, apparently forgetting I'd been in the car too.

All of that was months ago. Fast forward to now....

* * *

"Dad," Oot said. "Do you know the guy who wrote Coraline?"

The question caught me by surprise. The two of us were driving to a party together, a friend was having a bonfire and I was amazed that he was thinking about anything other than smores.

"I do," I said. "His name is Neil Gaiman."

"Do you have his phone number?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"I do," I said.

"Are you his friend?"

That brought me up short. For Oot, that's a simple question. If you meet someone and play with them, they're you're friend. Easy.

For adults these things are harder. And it's doubly hard for me these days. My life has changed so much over the last five years, and my previously established metric for friendship doesn't work very well any more.

You see, for the majority of my life, a friend was someone who would, say, help me move a couch. Someone you could bum 10 dollars off of if you needed to. A friend was someone who felt comfortable enough to come over to my house without calling first. Then, if I wasn't home, they would let themselves in, eat out of my fridge, and start watching TV.

While I'm terribly fond of him, Neil Gaiman has never done any of these things.

Then again, neither have any of the other authors I've met over the last few years. I'm painfully aware of the need for new friendship metrics, but I haven't managed to develop a good set yet.

That won't make any sense to my boy, but still, I try to be honest with him whenever I can. "I don't know if we're friends," I say. "But we're colleagues."

"What's a colleagues?" he asks, right on cue.

"That means we know each other and do the same job," I explain.

"Oh yes," he says. "You're both authors."

It makes me proud when he says that. I'm proud that my boy knows I write books.

"Do you know his address?" Oot asks, and it takes me a while to realize that he's returning to his previous line of questioning.

"I do," I said, not bothering to point out that knowing where someone lives and knowing their address is pretty much the same thing.

"Can you send him a letter?"

"I could," I say.

Oot pauses for a moment then, and I realize that this has been the point of the whole conversation. He wants to send Neil Gaiman a message.

"What would you like me to write to him?" I ask.

"You should tell him he *sure* knows how to write a scary story...."

* * *

So there you go. You don't really need me to tell you how I feel about one of Gaiman's books at this point. You know I love his writing.

Instead, I'm offering up my boy's unvarnished opinion. Did he think the story was scary? Absolutely. But he still wanted us to turn it back on as soon as we were back in the car.

What's more, he was still thinking about Coraline months later. And it was the first book where he's ever shown any interest in contacting the author.

So. Bravo, Neil Gaiman. You've managed to win over two generations of the Rothfuss household.

I was...

I was just scrolling for pictures of Crepe Myrtles to show my husband when....



To be fair, there is a crepe myrtle in there...but seriously? wtf, internet, are you drunk?

Crazy

Heard a loud bang. Thought my shampoo had fallen into the bath. Looked around and nope! It was an anthology of ghost stories. oooOooo

Important!!

Why Artists Should Make A Will

Super important. Big thanks to Neil Gaiman for getting the word out.

This should apply to all FanFiction writers too. Get on it people.

Remember, the leading cause of death, is life. We won't get out of this one alive.

Agent Coulson

It is a stunning betrayal every time I watch that man die. That last tear tracking down his face.

Whedon, how much of his resurrection was planned? Because he seems integral to the future.

Many of your characters did not deserve death. Neither did he. But he was redeemed by the result. The way they worked together to avenge him.

It still felt like a grand betrayal. And thank you for giving him his future back.

#coulsonlives

Cutest things. Go Squirrel!

https://vine.co/v/h0UmUtZb6KH

"This squirrel has been hiding croissants in my garden. As if Islington wasn't middle class enough."

@MccarthyColm Mine had a chocolate croissant: https://t.co/yg4s0zfALe

— Ferdinand Kingsley (@ferdosnandos) April 5, 2015

Happy Birthday Loo!

Happy birthday to the glorious Louise Brealey!

Www.louisebrealey.com

Wonderful woman!

Mother F-ing Nature

Just so you know. Mother Nature, you are one weird broad.

Neil knew Terry

Neil knew Terry. He speaks of him well. And I wish- Well, I just wish.

I speak of them in my mind like I know them. Like they are friends. Like I have rights on them.

And I don't.

But they are friends to me. Terry is like the uncle that married into your family and you love much more than your aunt. He's the kind of person you would choose for your family if you really got that kind of choice. To me, he really was family. And Neil Gaiman is like that distant cousin a few times removed. The one with the really cool wife. The only ones you like in that branch of family.

I have definitely struggled getting this down. Because Terry Pratchett was like family. And this is hard. I'm still not sure I can say everything I want to say.

His books changed me.

Although it wasn't so much a change as a confirmation. I felt certain things, and knew them, but not in a way I could articulate. Until I read it. In his books.

Going Postal speaks of the power of words. And dreams. Reaper Man speaks of inevitability and hope. Small Gods teaches the fundamentals of godhood and the bargain of divinity. And The Hogfather explains how true belief can be, and it's impact on reality.

Terry taught me quantum mechanics. Our perception of the world is what changes it. The cat is both alive and dead. And sometimes... Sometimes I believe the box is empty. It is a cat after all.

He was a very brave man. He existed with this terrible specter of Alzheimer's for years. And he didn't give up hope and laze around. He got angry. He got motivated. And I will miss him.

He made the world a better place.

At least for me.

I miss you Terry.

Amanda Fucking Palmer

 OMFG

(article on Buzzfeed)

You guys create music, and worlds together... Now you're creating people. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart.

Now I feel the pressure to procreate myself. Damn. I gotta get on that.

Btw, congrats. ::runs around screaming:: My favorite people are having babies!!!

AO3

It's really annoying when AO3 logs you out after awhile. Just a surprise when you go to leave a kudos or comment and it's all weird.

Although, it's kinda cute when it does and then you go to read something and it's all: Warning! There could be adult content ahead. 

And I'm sitting here...Like I certainly hope so. 

Glad I'm not the only one.

Too many smarts

My smart tv and my smart cable provider don't get along. Leaves me with nothing available to watch, except the slowly purpuling face of my grumpy husband.

OOOK!

I will miss Terry Pratchett. So, so much. Here's a good article that said it well:

His death is devastating. Not just because it came so early, but because to millions Pratchett was more than an author: he was a friend, even if you never met him.

I made food for Terry. OnnaStick.

It would make a Dibbler proud. Meat of an indeterminate origin, on a stick. Only sorry I couldn't manage to pull together a yogurt sauce for it. Maybe tonight.

Pi(e)

I am not mathematically inclined. I am really really really good at estimating. This pie was estimated in its entirety. I am a bad nerd.

Happy Pi day anyway.

Apple Raisin Honey Pi(e)

1 refrigerated pie crust
3 large apples, diced
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
1/2 cup Honey flavored whiskey
1 tbsp Honey Date Balsamic
1 tsp Chocolate Olive Oil

Preheat the oven to 425°. Brig the pie crust to room temperature and set aside.

Mix the Honey Whiskey with the Balsamic and soak the raisins for at least 10 minutes. Dust the apples with the confectioners sugar and toss the apples and raisins together.

Roll the crust into a 9-10 inch pie plate. Pour the filling into it and drizzle with the Olive Oil.

Bake 35-40 minutes. Since this is a one crust pie, the filling may start to over-brown. Keep an eye on it and tent with foil if it gets too toasty.

Ridiculous Amounts of Tears

Terry Pratchett, author of the Discworld series, dies aged 66 http://gu.com/p/46tv7

WTH

Saw half of a commercial for a new catfood.

Legit thought it was for soup. Thinking to myself, hey, chicken and peppers in a soup. Looks good!

So dogs get pellets and slop and cats get food that looks better than my dinner?

The hell? Are cats pickier than me?

VS.

Real

Something to remember for all the Fandoms. Applicable to all.

Real, William Shatner

Abbington Army!

Amanda, hoping you had a lovely birthday. You're a wonderful and shiny person!

Just a little Reblog...

Just a little Reblog from Tumblr.

From the great goddess Ivy Blossom, may she ever wield pen.

http://ivyblossom.tumblr.com/post/112545241610/deleted-scenes-since-i-seem-to-get-a-lot-of

Wha?

Or, a bunch of snow and ice, a lack of plowing and someone trying to turn around at the bottom of a hill.

There were frustrated pterodactyl noises the whole way down....

My front end is crumply. I'm not best pleased about that. 

Nerdsad

LLAP

Live Long and Prosper friend. Until we meet again.

So...No.

Worst Advice Column

This column is situated under humor, but it's really not. I mean, really not.

Because someone is going to take this seriously.

‘Dear Checked Out. You’re disgusting,’ Barrington wrote in response to the boy’s query.

‘I don’t mean your attitude or your personality. I mean you, physically. You’re gross. You have puss oozing out of you face, your limbs are all wildly different lengths and you smell like a saddle after a long day’s trail ride. That’s why all the girls in your grade are dating juniors and seniors.

‘At 15, you are currently at the absolute zero of male attractiveness and I’m including when you’re in your 90’s and even a few weeks after you’re dead.’

This is all a big no.

So you take a kid, who definitely being a silly, but who is FIFTEEN, and you tell him he's disgusting? That he smells and is gross? 

What the hell is wrong with you?

This is the type of response you start typing without thinking. This is the type of response you need to apologize for later, because you made a 15 year old cry! He is probably insecure, and uncertain about his looks, self conscious enough as it is and you tell him, in print that he's disgusting? I don't care if the kid is oozing pus, you don't say that to someone.

This is more than just a humor column. This is trash.

just sitting here giggling

my god. just giggling like hell. scrolling through the Fawnlock tag on AO3. I just. Omg.

fandom.



my people are a strange people.

a really strange people.

Ships in the night

Shipping. We all do it. If we in fandoms do it more enthusiastically than most....::Shrugs::

I have some ships. I have my OTP, who doesn't? I am a believer in a few others, and there are some I don't mind.

I also have one other kind of ship. A ship I can't stand. A ship that make me queasy. And I can't for the life of me figure out why.  (Johncroft)

I can read Mystrade with nary an eyelid quiver. Good Johnlock will put me in a great mood. Even bad Johnlock is Johnlock.

I've even read some Mycroft/Mary that was interesting....

But... I accidentally read something in Johncroft almost a year ago. I didn't know how it would affect me. But I pretty much slammed my computer closed and felt sick. It was consensual and ... urk. It's just that it's an image that has haunted me ever since. My brain just says NO.

The Holiday

My favorite crying movie. Its got brilliant sets and absolutely the best characters. I am always saddened that Iris and Miles' story doesn't get the attention that Amanda and Graham get. They are hotter and sexier together, but the lack of balance makes their romance seem too sudden. They are sweeter.

But Arthur was extremely worthy of a main arc. He's such a genuine person and I would love a faux biopic on his life. He's fabulous.

And Graham. I love his children and their dynamic so much. He's really just beautiful with them.

An the ending just makes me cry in the best and happiest of ways.

Besides, watching Jude Law weep is a wonderful thing.

Condolences

https://twitter.com/Mjeshep

My condolences to Eve's family. Sending Fandom-Love. 

Insomniacs

It is less than ideal when two partners have insomnia. Especially at the same time. And more particularly when each is trying to hide it from the other.

My husband has had insomnia for the better part of the week. I've been experiencing it in bouts, off and on, for a year. I can get by on 3-4 hours. I prefer at least 5. I don't know why, but I just don't wind down as well as I used to.

He suffers. He tries too hard. He worries. Then he can't sleep from worrying. I don't worry. Worry makes it worse.

I keep a journal. And write stories about what goes on in my head. I don't tell my husband how little I sleep. And how often I don't. Because he will worry over that too and then where would the household be?

Besides, no matter how little I sleep, when the fit is on him, even I fall asleep faster than him. And if you've never experienced it, seeing someone sleeping when you are unable and desperate really makes you want to push a pillow over their face. No matter how much you love them.

~~

The most worrying thing about insomnia are the visual hallucinations. I sleep enough they don't get real. I get little flashes now and then though. Sometimes. On bad weeks. The crawling things are the worst.

I really don't like to mention them.

What I don't mind much at all, are the auditory hallucinations. That should worry me more I suppose. But see, I write. And it's useful. So much more than useful.

My mind will marinate an idea or a situation over and over. And then I can hear the conversation. My sleep deprived brain constructs actual dialogue. Pretty damn good dialogue too. All I have to do is take the dictation.

And yes, before you ask, I have considered-and thoroughly-if I was going mad. And I'm not. I've done my research.
~~

So. I do try to sleep. If I can't, I don't worry too much. I give up after about an hour. Then I write and read. Then try again after an hour or two.

Sometimes I really need to write my mind clear. Even if I didn't have a real goal when I put pen to paper.

Tonight is probably one of those nights. The glow of the phone is making my eyes tired. And that's lovely. I wish my husband was having the same luck. We don't sleep together as often as we like to. Fairly opposing schedules. Right now he gets up for work at five am. We both hate our alarms waking the other.

Ah. I feel the dragging of my eyelids. Thank you glowing phone. Most helpful. A little over 3 hours remain before I need to get up. I hope he sleeps by then.

Oh to be at Barts...

Oh to be at Barts now that this day is here...

On this day. This holiday. This birthday if you will. One day I wish to stand here. One day, on this day.

This, the day of their meeting. This the day of the start. No matter what year, it is always the day of their meeting.

It matters to me.

Glasses

I have got to start remembering to take off my glasses before I roll over to sleep.

The nose piece pokes awfully and then I've hurt myself awake again. :(

Holiday

This coming Thursday is something of a holiday for me. The 29th of January.

Its the day they met. The day two worlds came together. The day it began.

My world lives with you. My New Year's day.

Its just special to me.

Ungh

I hate you internet. Go away. Bad fanfiction. Bad. Need to sleep!

Oops

I accidentally British-ed dinner.

I had some breakfast sausage to use up, some tomatoes and peppers that were looking a bit off. Some leftover mashed potatoes that needed using and only one egg left.

I think...I think I just made a fry-up.

Sad

I asked my brain for one quiet day. One day of work done and things accomplished. What I got was 2 new story ideas, one continuing story idea, a headache and 2 hours of writing.

At least I made it to the bank before it closed. And there was sushi.

Also. I'm cold.

Exciting News!

Oh! And Congrats to Loo on her recent article. You go journalism girl! http://www.redonline.co.uk/red-women/blogs/Miriam-Gonzalez-Durantez-Interview-Louise-Brealey