I hope you're all enjoying the wonder of the holidays. I know I am, so much so, apparently, that I've neglected to post for a few days. Heh, heh...hmmm..yeah.
Anyhoo, Christmas was excellent. I got my first MP3 Player ever! I was pretty late in my decision to hop on the MP3 bandwagon, and when I did a little research I decided that I wanted a Creative Zen Micro - and that's exactly what my parents got me! Whoohoo!
They also got me lots of biographies of famous writers (Jane Austen, Ernest Hemingway, Amy Tan, etc - crap, now that I means I have to go out and read Austen, Hemingway, and Tan!) Also, I got cute little bath kits, bubblegum, bubble bath, and of course - lots of money and gift certificates, most of which I spent today when Sisters #1 and 2 dragged me and Dad off to the mall to cash in on the crazy Boxing Day deals.
I did pretty well - I got Madonna's new CD, the Black Eyed Peas' and Kanye West's old CDs, Weezer, Fullmetal Alchemist #2, the soundtrack to 13 Going On 30 (because it had that Billy Joel song I was dying to hear - "Vienna"), and Robin Hobb's Shaman's Crossing, Christopher Moore's The Stupidest Angel, and two pairs of earrings. Of the Christmas money, all I really have left is the 25$ Chapters Gift Certificate from Uncle #1, and I'll soon use that when the whole family goes out on the Official Post-Christmas Insanity Book Run. Excellent!
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
I have links now!
I've mentioned in a few of my posts that I've been reading authors' (or writers') blogs, and so I finally defeated my laziness and put them up on the site.
True, Brokthor Goreflinger's blog is not technically that of a writer (specifically, he is an "Illegal Acquisitions Engineer" - a professional pillager), but it looks like it might be fun to read, and may follow an interesting storyline, once he publishes more than one post.
Christmas holidays are going excellently - I finished all my exams, and have been spending the free days reading through the Entertainment Weeklies and Locus issues that I've allowed to pile up due to my studying, so that I can hurry up and get cracking on my booklist already! Read read READ! Write, write WRITE!
I've finally started writing the first draft for "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater". It's not going to well, but I'm going to fight through it to the end and see what comes out of it.
True, Brokthor Goreflinger's blog is not technically that of a writer (specifically, he is an "Illegal Acquisitions Engineer" - a professional pillager), but it looks like it might be fun to read, and may follow an interesting storyline, once he publishes more than one post.
Christmas holidays are going excellently - I finished all my exams, and have been spending the free days reading through the Entertainment Weeklies and Locus issues that I've allowed to pile up due to my studying, so that I can hurry up and get cracking on my booklist already! Read read READ! Write, write WRITE!
I've finally started writing the first draft for "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater". It's not going to well, but I'm going to fight through it to the end and see what comes out of it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
A Very Different Christmas
I guess once the snowball starts rolling, it's not going to stop until it reaches the bottom of the hill. More things are changing this Christmas, in order to make these holidays easier for the members of our family. We got a new tree, for instance. Our last one (we've never had a real tree in our house for Christmas, it's messy and stinky and probably not very environmentally sound), well, I can't remember not having that tree.
Every year, the family would put it together, than fumble and swear and grouch in tune to Bing Crosby holiday songs as they carefully arranged the lights - they were small, pastel-coloured fairy lights on strings, and we were always rearranging them to make sure the lights were distributed evenly, and one string always blinked no matter what we did, so we always had to arrange it so that it was on the back of the tree where we wouldn't notice it so much. Then came the gold-and-silver tinsel garland, and then came the ornaments.
The ornaments were much more fun to put on than the garlands and the lights, and everyone cheered up at that point.
Not this year. This year, Mum got us a lighted tree - one with the lights already on it and already evenly distributed. And we completely abandoned the garland. It's narrower than our old one, and the lights are different. I've spent my whole life accustomed to the fairy lights, to waking up in expectation to go down and see those fairy lights, and right now I can't help but distrust the new look, at least for a while. The bulbs that have come already-wrapped on the tree are larger, and come in bright, sharp primary colours. I can't account for why I feel so different just because there is a different set of lights, but I just do. I'm sure I'll grow out of it, or move out of the house - whichever comes first.
Also, I handed in my essay today, and had a surprisingly helpful tutoring session with my Philosophy professor. Tutoring usually doesn't help me, it's just my way of lessening my guilt at getting bad grades by telling myself "that I did everything I could", but I think I actually got the message this time. I guess we'll see. The waiting for the last exam is killing me though - to hell with time to study, I want the exam to be right now, so that I can get over it and can stop worrying for the rest of the Christmas Holidays.
Every year, the family would put it together, than fumble and swear and grouch in tune to Bing Crosby holiday songs as they carefully arranged the lights - they were small, pastel-coloured fairy lights on strings, and we were always rearranging them to make sure the lights were distributed evenly, and one string always blinked no matter what we did, so we always had to arrange it so that it was on the back of the tree where we wouldn't notice it so much. Then came the gold-and-silver tinsel garland, and then came the ornaments.
The ornaments were much more fun to put on than the garlands and the lights, and everyone cheered up at that point.
Not this year. This year, Mum got us a lighted tree - one with the lights already on it and already evenly distributed. And we completely abandoned the garland. It's narrower than our old one, and the lights are different. I've spent my whole life accustomed to the fairy lights, to waking up in expectation to go down and see those fairy lights, and right now I can't help but distrust the new look, at least for a while. The bulbs that have come already-wrapped on the tree are larger, and come in bright, sharp primary colours. I can't account for why I feel so different just because there is a different set of lights, but I just do. I'm sure I'll grow out of it, or move out of the house - whichever comes first.
Also, I handed in my essay today, and had a surprisingly helpful tutoring session with my Philosophy professor. Tutoring usually doesn't help me, it's just my way of lessening my guilt at getting bad grades by telling myself "that I did everything I could", but I think I actually got the message this time. I guess we'll see. The waiting for the last exam is killing me though - to hell with time to study, I want the exam to be right now, so that I can get over it and can stop worrying for the rest of the Christmas Holidays.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Christmas, Yay! Finals, Boo! Parties, m'eh...
Seasons' Greetings!
I've just had two exams, and I fearfully await the completion of two more, plus a take-home essay exam that I have planned but haven't written yet. I only thank God that the professer who asked for the essay is this cynical bohemian type who considers himself above caring about the rules of MLA citations, and doesn't give a fig for the amount of research you do. Yay for me.
I took my Classics exam - I expected it to be hard (I had to leave a disquieting number of questions unanswered on the midterm, and crawled out of there with a 75%), but this time I managed to study the right areas so I finished off the 3-hour exam in 30 minutes feeling relatively proud of myself.
Japanese was this morning - it was that delicious mixture of easy/difficult that comes from a subject that takes a great deal of work to master, but it so very entertaining to study that remembering everything is far from an impossible task.
In an hour and a half I proceed to my English final - a tricky piece of work that requires me to remember the names of Victorian poets and essayists (like WB Greg and his loathsome "Why are Women Redundant?" paper along with F. P. Cobbe and her intelligent rebuttal: "What Shall We Do With Our Old Maids?"), and what they were supposed to symbolize, and then write about them. I'm a little nervous about this one - I had no trouble remembering the novels I read, but for the papers and poems (as well as some of the discussions that took place regarding such fickle pieces) I admit that I drifted in and out of paying attention to them.
After that, however, the weekend is free for me to write that essay for Film Studies and read up on Symbolic Logic. Symbolic Logic is another sticky whicket - I got 97% on the Midterm, but the later half of the course was a shade more difficult, but thankfully the exam is cumulative.
More good news - it's cold again! How I have longed for a white Christmas! For the last few years, our winters have been unseasonably warm and brown. People used to blame it on El Nino, but El Nino is supposed to stop after a few years. In November, the temperature dropped drastically and we got layers of snow, but then in the earlier weeks of December these horrible warm winds came in and ate it all up. It's very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas when outside it looks like it's mid-March. Now its back to a lovely -19 degrees Celsius, and there is snow, but not a great deal of it. It's settled in fits and starts, coating everything in a delicate, thin layer like a sprinking of icing sugar. One day of -5 and all of that will be gone, and we'll be back to mud and puddles again, so I'm hoping that more snow comes down soon.
I may have mentioned that we are not having Christmas dinner at our house this year - instead it has been decided that we are going to Uncle #3's house (Uncle #1 being Dad's brother, and #2 being Mother's brother who is younger than her, but older than #3). Mum had been the pillar our family has relied on for the Christmas Feast since Nana and Papa's self-imposed exile to Condoland, and her wish to relinquish the duties this year has jabbed a sharp stick into the anthill, so to speak, with all the relatives flailing about to come up with some sort of alternative, and saying many things they didn't really mean that have placed a shadow over our anticipation of the festivities.
As amusing as it is to discover that Mum and her siblings can still engage in the verbal equivalent of hair-pulling and snowball-chucking and tattling to an extent that rivals the bitchfights I still hold with my sisters,I do hope they can mend everything by the time Christmas truly rolls around.
I've just had two exams, and I fearfully await the completion of two more, plus a take-home essay exam that I have planned but haven't written yet. I only thank God that the professer who asked for the essay is this cynical bohemian type who considers himself above caring about the rules of MLA citations, and doesn't give a fig for the amount of research you do. Yay for me.
I took my Classics exam - I expected it to be hard (I had to leave a disquieting number of questions unanswered on the midterm, and crawled out of there with a 75%), but this time I managed to study the right areas so I finished off the 3-hour exam in 30 minutes feeling relatively proud of myself.
Japanese was this morning - it was that delicious mixture of easy/difficult that comes from a subject that takes a great deal of work to master, but it so very entertaining to study that remembering everything is far from an impossible task.
In an hour and a half I proceed to my English final - a tricky piece of work that requires me to remember the names of Victorian poets and essayists (like WB Greg and his loathsome "Why are Women Redundant?" paper along with F. P. Cobbe and her intelligent rebuttal: "What Shall We Do With Our Old Maids?"), and what they were supposed to symbolize, and then write about them. I'm a little nervous about this one - I had no trouble remembering the novels I read, but for the papers and poems (as well as some of the discussions that took place regarding such fickle pieces) I admit that I drifted in and out of paying attention to them.
After that, however, the weekend is free for me to write that essay for Film Studies and read up on Symbolic Logic. Symbolic Logic is another sticky whicket - I got 97% on the Midterm, but the later half of the course was a shade more difficult, but thankfully the exam is cumulative.
More good news - it's cold again! How I have longed for a white Christmas! For the last few years, our winters have been unseasonably warm and brown. People used to blame it on El Nino, but El Nino is supposed to stop after a few years. In November, the temperature dropped drastically and we got layers of snow, but then in the earlier weeks of December these horrible warm winds came in and ate it all up. It's very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas when outside it looks like it's mid-March. Now its back to a lovely -19 degrees Celsius, and there is snow, but not a great deal of it. It's settled in fits and starts, coating everything in a delicate, thin layer like a sprinking of icing sugar. One day of -5 and all of that will be gone, and we'll be back to mud and puddles again, so I'm hoping that more snow comes down soon.
I may have mentioned that we are not having Christmas dinner at our house this year - instead it has been decided that we are going to Uncle #3's house (Uncle #1 being Dad's brother, and #2 being Mother's brother who is younger than her, but older than #3). Mum had been the pillar our family has relied on for the Christmas Feast since Nana and Papa's self-imposed exile to Condoland, and her wish to relinquish the duties this year has jabbed a sharp stick into the anthill, so to speak, with all the relatives flailing about to come up with some sort of alternative, and saying many things they didn't really mean that have placed a shadow over our anticipation of the festivities.
As amusing as it is to discover that Mum and her siblings can still engage in the verbal equivalent of hair-pulling and snowball-chucking and tattling to an extent that rivals the bitchfights I still hold with my sisters,I do hope they can mend everything by the time Christmas truly rolls around.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Nominations!
Patrick Dempsey's received a Golden Globe nod for Best Actor in a Television Series, Drama!
And both Jason Lee and Steve Carell have been nominated for Best Actor in a Television Series, Comedy!
I'll definitely be watching the Golden Globes this year.
And both Jason Lee and Steve Carell have been nominated for Best Actor in a Television Series, Comedy!
I'll definitely be watching the Golden Globes this year.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Another Story Takes Wing (and movies are reviewed!)
*sniff* They grow up so fast...Yes, I did it - I followed up on my declaration that I would do the final polishes to "Desert Muse" and sent it out on Friday.
Yes, it was at the very last minute, but that's the norm for me - most of what I've done has been performed at the last minute, including my birth (wouldn't you know it, the day before they were going to induce labour, I came out all on my own, ha ha ha). But now it's out, and I feel satisfied. There was a long line at the post office, though - so many people trying to beat the Christmas rush created a Pre-Christmas Rush Rush. Human nature at its finest, eh?
I've been studying over the weekend - exams are coming up. I've been re-reading my Victorian poetry for the English final, and once again I'm surprised at how much reading Tennyson's Idylls reminds me of George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series. The descriptions of sword and shield, of battles in the lists, and especially the behaviour of Guinevere in Lancelot and Elaine - she could have been Cersei for how bitchy she was in that poem, what with her contemptuous disdain for Arthur and insane jealousy towards Lancelot for wearing Elaine's favour during the tournament. Whoo-boy.
Still, I did have some free time. Watched some good videos on the weekend - Fantastic Four and Lucky Seven, an ABC Original Movie starring Patrick Dempsey that I happened to find at the local video store (instead of the specialty Old Video store, which requires me to take a 40-minute bus ride there and back if I want to rent Mr. Dempsey's more classic films like Loverboy, Happy Together, and Run. Yes, Run. I want to see it. Stop looking at me like that! )
I'm a Marvel comics fan, and while my tastes tend to run more towards Spider-Man, I do have a working knowledge of the Fantastic Four. The film version was generally panned, and I can see why - the plot is silly, they never fight the Big Bad Guy until the very end (and then they defeat him by pouring cold water on him - I'm not kidding!), and it generally makes no sense whatsoever. However, I enjoyed it immensely. This film, unlike Hulk and DareDevil, tended to swing more towards humour, most of it based on the dynamics between the Four. Despite everything else in the film, this they did pitch-perfectly. The dialogue was sharp and funny, the interactions hilarious, and the characters spot on. Jessica Alba as the Invisible Woman didn't do very much, to be sure, but they didn't give her much to do other than look pretty and take off her clothes in public (!), which she does reasonably well.
Ioan Gruffold as Mr. Fantastic was better - he managed to portray a lot of Reed Richards' kooky, oblivious science-nerd charm, and they explained the creation of his superhero name with a hint of wit ("yes, yes, you're great, you're Mr. Fantastic!). Still, he couldn't hold a candle next to Chris Evans and Michael Chiklis as the Human Torch and the Thing, respectively. Chris Evans portrayed the Human Torch as a complete asshole - which is the Human Torch to a tee. It was great fun to see him square off against the Thing. Chiklis played the Thing with admirable charm, macho humour, and, yes, sadness - he was the most "human" of the characters, if you'll believe it, because, really, he's the one who got the short end of the Super-Power-inducing-Ion-Storm stick.
Lucky Seven was pure silliness. In an hour and a half, the movie contained a ridiculous, plot-starting life plan, a lawyer who hates her job and would rather paint, bagels and schmeer, a fake relationship (that ends in real sex!), two weddings, a man who quit his Wall Street job and gets dumped in the bargain, and a difficult choice between two gorgeous guys. Which should the motherless protagonist choose - the sexy, successful, loved-by-all-of-her-friends, blond venture capitalist? Or the sexy, somewhat less successful, had-his-tender-heart-broken-before, green-eyed Irish-American bagel shop owner? Money or bagels? Financial security or SCHMEER?
To put it in clearer terms, our Motherless Protagonist becomes motherless through cancer, but not before the soon-to-be-deceased matriarch plans a timeline of advice to help our Motherless Protagonist get over being Motherless. In the timeline, she plans for our Motherless Protagonist to go the Summer Camp, run for Class President, get a Law Degree, and settle down with her Seventh Boyfriend, He who is Prophesied to be The One For Her.
Fast-forward several years, our Motherless Protagonist has just broken up with Boyfriend #5: He Who Cheats, and runs into Blonde Venture Capitalist. Sparks and fireworks fly, but our Motherless Protagonist is frightened to take the relationship any further - after all, dating Blonde Venture Capitalist would make him #6: Almost Had Her, and she's destined to be with to #7: Wedded Bliss, and Blonde Venture Capitalist is just so perfect - he's rich, her dad likes him, and he buys her chocolate strawberries! She wants to have his Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies, but she can't defy the Dead Mother Prophesy!
So, she decides to make him #7 by a technicality - she takes up Bagel Boy (that would be Dempsey) on his offer of accompanying him to his brother's wedding and pretending to be his girlfriend in return for free bagels. She seeks to fool the Dead Mother, thinking that if she's publicly declared to have Bagel Boy as her boyfriend, that will make him #6: Close But No Cigar, thus pushing Blonde Venture Capitalist into the coveted #7 spot.
Yes, Poor Bagel Boy needs a Pretend Girlfriend - when his free-spirited bagel-loving nature inspired him to quit his Wall Street job for small business paradise, his gold-digging fiancee dumped him at the altar, and he needs the Fake Significant Other present at his brother's wedding to convince his clingy relatives that He's Over The Bitch. More chocolate strawberries, hands-on croquet lessons, and kayaking mishaps ensue, and pretty soon they're making the sweet, sweet, off-screen luuuuuurve (as the Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels would say). However, Bagel Boys wants a Real Relationship now, but our Motherless Protagonist dumps him (at a Pancake House, no less!) because she's in a rush to have Blonde Venture Capitalist's Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies now that he's firmly seated upon the #7 Throne.
However, (surprise, surprise!) Free-Spirited-Bagel-Loving-itis is apparently a sexually-transmitted disease, and our Motherless Protagonist finds out that she's become far less enamoured of her Time-Wasting-Lawyer Job, and of her Not-Free-Spirited-Enough Blonde Venture Capitalist, and finds that she much prefers Free Bagels with Schmeer to Chocolate Strawberries. Cue realization that Dead Mom's Prophesy was to be taking Figuratively, Not Literally! Cue Money-Shot of Patrick Dempsey's Smile! Cue Wedding Bells! Cue Credits! Cue mad, guilty giggling!
Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, Dempsey was very good looking. Was it better than Tales from the Whoop: Hot Rod Brown, Class Clown, starring a teenage Tobey Maguire, a film I watched during my recovery from Spider-Man withdrawal? God, yes. Was it worthy of an Oscar? Hell, no. Here's to guilty pleasures!
Yes, it was at the very last minute, but that's the norm for me - most of what I've done has been performed at the last minute, including my birth (wouldn't you know it, the day before they were going to induce labour, I came out all on my own, ha ha ha). But now it's out, and I feel satisfied. There was a long line at the post office, though - so many people trying to beat the Christmas rush created a Pre-Christmas Rush Rush. Human nature at its finest, eh?
I've been studying over the weekend - exams are coming up. I've been re-reading my Victorian poetry for the English final, and once again I'm surprised at how much reading Tennyson's Idylls reminds me of George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series. The descriptions of sword and shield, of battles in the lists, and especially the behaviour of Guinevere in Lancelot and Elaine - she could have been Cersei for how bitchy she was in that poem, what with her contemptuous disdain for Arthur and insane jealousy towards Lancelot for wearing Elaine's favour during the tournament. Whoo-boy.
Still, I did have some free time. Watched some good videos on the weekend - Fantastic Four and Lucky Seven, an ABC Original Movie starring Patrick Dempsey that I happened to find at the local video store (instead of the specialty Old Video store, which requires me to take a 40-minute bus ride there and back if I want to rent Mr. Dempsey's more classic films like Loverboy, Happy Together, and Run. Yes, Run. I want to see it. Stop looking at me like that! )
I'm a Marvel comics fan, and while my tastes tend to run more towards Spider-Man, I do have a working knowledge of the Fantastic Four. The film version was generally panned, and I can see why - the plot is silly, they never fight the Big Bad Guy until the very end (and then they defeat him by pouring cold water on him - I'm not kidding!), and it generally makes no sense whatsoever. However, I enjoyed it immensely. This film, unlike Hulk and DareDevil, tended to swing more towards humour, most of it based on the dynamics between the Four. Despite everything else in the film, this they did pitch-perfectly. The dialogue was sharp and funny, the interactions hilarious, and the characters spot on. Jessica Alba as the Invisible Woman didn't do very much, to be sure, but they didn't give her much to do other than look pretty and take off her clothes in public (!), which she does reasonably well.
Ioan Gruffold as Mr. Fantastic was better - he managed to portray a lot of Reed Richards' kooky, oblivious science-nerd charm, and they explained the creation of his superhero name with a hint of wit ("yes, yes, you're great, you're Mr. Fantastic!). Still, he couldn't hold a candle next to Chris Evans and Michael Chiklis as the Human Torch and the Thing, respectively. Chris Evans portrayed the Human Torch as a complete asshole - which is the Human Torch to a tee. It was great fun to see him square off against the Thing. Chiklis played the Thing with admirable charm, macho humour, and, yes, sadness - he was the most "human" of the characters, if you'll believe it, because, really, he's the one who got the short end of the Super-Power-inducing-Ion-Storm stick.
Lucky Seven was pure silliness. In an hour and a half, the movie contained a ridiculous, plot-starting life plan, a lawyer who hates her job and would rather paint, bagels and schmeer, a fake relationship (that ends in real sex!), two weddings, a man who quit his Wall Street job and gets dumped in the bargain, and a difficult choice between two gorgeous guys. Which should the motherless protagonist choose - the sexy, successful, loved-by-all-of-her-friends, blond venture capitalist? Or the sexy, somewhat less successful, had-his-tender-heart-broken-before, green-eyed Irish-American bagel shop owner? Money or bagels? Financial security or SCHMEER?
To put it in clearer terms, our Motherless Protagonist becomes motherless through cancer, but not before the soon-to-be-deceased matriarch plans a timeline of advice to help our Motherless Protagonist get over being Motherless. In the timeline, she plans for our Motherless Protagonist to go the Summer Camp, run for Class President, get a Law Degree, and settle down with her Seventh Boyfriend, He who is Prophesied to be The One For Her.
Fast-forward several years, our Motherless Protagonist has just broken up with Boyfriend #5: He Who Cheats, and runs into Blonde Venture Capitalist. Sparks and fireworks fly, but our Motherless Protagonist is frightened to take the relationship any further - after all, dating Blonde Venture Capitalist would make him #6: Almost Had Her, and she's destined to be with to #7: Wedded Bliss, and Blonde Venture Capitalist is just so perfect - he's rich, her dad likes him, and he buys her chocolate strawberries! She wants to have his Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies, but she can't defy the Dead Mother Prophesy!
So, she decides to make him #7 by a technicality - she takes up Bagel Boy (that would be Dempsey) on his offer of accompanying him to his brother's wedding and pretending to be his girlfriend in return for free bagels. She seeks to fool the Dead Mother, thinking that if she's publicly declared to have Bagel Boy as her boyfriend, that will make him #6: Close But No Cigar, thus pushing Blonde Venture Capitalist into the coveted #7 spot.
Yes, Poor Bagel Boy needs a Pretend Girlfriend - when his free-spirited bagel-loving nature inspired him to quit his Wall Street job for small business paradise, his gold-digging fiancee dumped him at the altar, and he needs the Fake Significant Other present at his brother's wedding to convince his clingy relatives that He's Over The Bitch. More chocolate strawberries, hands-on croquet lessons, and kayaking mishaps ensue, and pretty soon they're making the sweet, sweet, off-screen luuuuuurve (as the Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels would say). However, Bagel Boys wants a Real Relationship now, but our Motherless Protagonist dumps him (at a Pancake House, no less!) because she's in a rush to have Blonde Venture Capitalist's Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies now that he's firmly seated upon the #7 Throne.
However, (surprise, surprise!) Free-Spirited-Bagel-Loving-itis is apparently a sexually-transmitted disease, and our Motherless Protagonist finds out that she's become far less enamoured of her Time-Wasting-Lawyer Job, and of her Not-Free-Spirited-Enough Blonde Venture Capitalist, and finds that she much prefers Free Bagels with Schmeer to Chocolate Strawberries. Cue realization that Dead Mom's Prophesy was to be taking Figuratively, Not Literally! Cue Money-Shot of Patrick Dempsey's Smile! Cue Wedding Bells! Cue Credits! Cue mad, guilty giggling!
Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, Dempsey was very good looking. Was it better than Tales from the Whoop: Hot Rod Brown, Class Clown, starring a teenage Tobey Maguire, a film I watched during my recovery from Spider-Man withdrawal? God, yes. Was it worthy of an Oscar? Hell, no. Here's to guilty pleasures!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Blasphemy!
I've attributed my love of reading to my parents, who had exceptionally good taste in the choices of children's books they read to me, and let me read once I was old enough. The Mouse Who Wanted a Cookie, The Missing Piece, the entire collection of Beatix Potter's books, and A. A. Milne. Mum always used to read to us the stories of Winnie the Pooh, and I love Milne's poems, especially "King John Was Not a Good Man". I watched the Winnie the Pooh animated series when I was little, but I grew out of it quickly, and it was never a favourite. I never watched the movies, either.
However, I never really minded what Disney was doing with the stories - until now.
Reading Neil Gaiman's blog over at http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp, he brought to attention the fact that Disney, for it's next animated Winnie the Pooh series, has decided to replace the Christopher Robin character with a "six-year-old tomboyish girl", as yet unnamed, in order to "bring a breath of fresh air to the franchise". WTF?? You can read the article at http://www.usatoday.com/life/television/news/2005-12-06-winnie-the-pooh_x.htm.
That, my friends, is heresy! What were the folks at Disney thinking? I'm trying to imagine the nitwits in the boardroom going over why, exactly, they saw fit to dissect the childhood memories of millions of people to tear out the beating heart of the A. A. Milne story and replace it with an cold artificial thing of mechanical moving parts that pumps sugar and anti-depressants in place of blood.
Maybe they thought that since there is only one female character in the Pooh crew (that would be the Roo's mum), that they were alienating the toddler girl audience. Balls. BALLS, I tell you. Girls and boys alike loved the books and the cartoons. Christopher Robin and the Rabbit character are suitably androgynous, and really, three-to-six year-old girls do NOT care - they like the stories. Since when has a four-year-old darling, with chestnut curls and the money of her doting parents in equal abundance, ever said, "Gee mommy, I don't like Winnie the Pooh. I feel alienated because there is no female character with whom I can relate to, and so the story has no emotional relevance for me anymore."
ARGH! Dammit, Disney - go back to doing what you do best: which is making faithful adaptations of fairy ta...wait a minute...
Damn. I guess this is just a regular workday for the Mouse House, then.
However, I never really minded what Disney was doing with the stories - until now.
Reading Neil Gaiman's blog over at http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp, he brought to attention the fact that Disney, for it's next animated Winnie the Pooh series, has decided to replace the Christopher Robin character with a "six-year-old tomboyish girl", as yet unnamed, in order to "bring a breath of fresh air to the franchise". WTF?? You can read the article at http://www.usatoday.com/life/television/news/2005-12-06-winnie-the-pooh_x.htm.
That, my friends, is heresy! What were the folks at Disney thinking? I'm trying to imagine the nitwits in the boardroom going over why, exactly, they saw fit to dissect the childhood memories of millions of people to tear out the beating heart of the A. A. Milne story and replace it with an cold artificial thing of mechanical moving parts that pumps sugar and anti-depressants in place of blood.
Maybe they thought that since there is only one female character in the Pooh crew (that would be the Roo's mum), that they were alienating the toddler girl audience. Balls. BALLS, I tell you. Girls and boys alike loved the books and the cartoons. Christopher Robin and the Rabbit character are suitably androgynous, and really, three-to-six year-old girls do NOT care - they like the stories. Since when has a four-year-old darling, with chestnut curls and the money of her doting parents in equal abundance, ever said, "Gee mommy, I don't like Winnie the Pooh. I feel alienated because there is no female character with whom I can relate to, and so the story has no emotional relevance for me anymore."
ARGH! Dammit, Disney - go back to doing what you do best: which is making faithful adaptations of fairy ta...wait a minute...
Damn. I guess this is just a regular workday for the Mouse House, then.
Best Birthday Gift EVAR!
Guess who's coming to town two days before my birthday!
GEORGE R R MARTIN! For his Canadian Book Tour!
I'm SO THERE!
GEORGE R R MARTIN! For his Canadian Book Tour!
I'm SO THERE!
Home For The Holidays!
NO MORE CLASSES! Squeeeeee!
Sure, I have to study my butt off for exams, but still - I don't have to sit through the completely ridiculous and unnecessary subject Symbolic Logic anymore! Huzzah!
Yesterday, I celebrated by going to Karaoke with the Mixed Chorus afterwards. The place was packed, and as such I didn't get to sing more than one song before I felt it best to go home so that I could wake up at a reasonable time to start studying. It was very fun - the two DJs were really crude, but I grinned and beared it. The whole room would sing and dance to the more popular songs, to the point where some songs had to be sung from memory because the dancefloor in front of the screen projecting the words was too packed with dancers.
"Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia's Greatest Love Machine!"
"I've got friends, in loooooooow places...."
"Play us a song, you're the piano man...."
"It's now or never, I'm not gonna live forever, I just wanna live while I'm alive - IT'S - MY - LIFE!" This was especially popular.
The two social organizers of the choir had really good memories, it seems - after I sang, both of them sought me out to tell me how good it was that I came, and that they hoped I would come again. (I'd like to - but I'll either have to find a ride for next time, or save up for the $20 cab ride home) Their attention baffled me - it was just karaoke, but to them it seemed to be as if I'd passed some bizarre initiation ritual to be really "in" with the Mixed Chorus (despite the fact that I missed half of this year's Christmas concerts due to cold and cough).
Oh, and the song I sang?
"Can't Buy Me Love".
"Oh, so you like the Beatles?" *blush* "No, I like Patrick Dempsey." ^_^;;;
Sure, I have to study my butt off for exams, but still - I don't have to sit through the completely ridiculous and unnecessary subject Symbolic Logic anymore! Huzzah!
Yesterday, I celebrated by going to Karaoke with the Mixed Chorus afterwards. The place was packed, and as such I didn't get to sing more than one song before I felt it best to go home so that I could wake up at a reasonable time to start studying. It was very fun - the two DJs were really crude, but I grinned and beared it. The whole room would sing and dance to the more popular songs, to the point where some songs had to be sung from memory because the dancefloor in front of the screen projecting the words was too packed with dancers.
"Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia's Greatest Love Machine!"
"I've got friends, in loooooooow places...."
"Play us a song, you're the piano man...."
"It's now or never, I'm not gonna live forever, I just wanna live while I'm alive - IT'S - MY - LIFE!" This was especially popular.
The two social organizers of the choir had really good memories, it seems - after I sang, both of them sought me out to tell me how good it was that I came, and that they hoped I would come again. (I'd like to - but I'll either have to find a ride for next time, or save up for the $20 cab ride home) Their attention baffled me - it was just karaoke, but to them it seemed to be as if I'd passed some bizarre initiation ritual to be really "in" with the Mixed Chorus (despite the fact that I missed half of this year's Christmas concerts due to cold and cough).
Oh, and the song I sang?
"Can't Buy Me Love".
"Oh, so you like the Beatles?" *blush* "No, I like Patrick Dempsey." ^_^;;;
Monday, December 05, 2005
The Writing Track
I haven't been keeping up on reading my authors' blogs, and I probably should. Reading about other writer's progress makes me all frantic to keep up, and spurs me to write more. ^_^
I should probably think about setting up a list of all the links to the author's blogs I visit, because most are quite fun to read. Some, true, aren't really by authors, but by people connected one way or the other to books and writing. Those would be Ms Snark, Literary Agent (misssnark.blogspot.com) a very helpful agent from New York who answers dozens of questions on her blog every day - to the extent where many doubt her claim that she actually is a literary agent, seeing as she spends so much time answering writer's questions. Bollocks! If she wasn't an agent, then her answers wouldn't nearly be so well-informed as they obviously are.
The second exception would be Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels (www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com), written by women who are unabashedly devoted to the Romance novel industry, but not afraid to call them on their shit, when they see fit to produce shit.
Still, moving on - I've been riding along with a fairly even pace through George R. R. Martin's Clash of Kings. A Feast For Crows appeared in the mail a few days ago, and I'm in a rush to catch up so I can start reading the new book.
I've noticed something about novels and writing style - depending on the style, I read books slower or faster. I use the metaphor of a track - reading George R R Martin and JK Rowling is like riding a rollercoaster on a neverending slope downward - I'm drawn in and in and keep reading faster and faster until I reach the end. They're that good. Other authors have a style that's read more awkardly - Ian. R. MacLeod, for instance. Reading Breathmoss and Other Exhalations was like driving a rickety stationwagon over an unpaved dirt path littered with giant rocks and gaping potholes. Bounce, bounce, jolt, bounce - very rough, very meandering, very slow to get through.
My style, well, I enjoy it, the way a child might enjoy a jostling cartride along a flowering forest path - it goes all over the place, and it's hardly smooth, but I have a sentimental attachment to it. I think it all goes back to adjectives. Speech tags, upon closer examination, don't really grab my attention unless they're grossly misused. Adjectives, though, and the tongue-twisting names and new concepts often introduced in science fiction and fantasy, can provide obstacles in a writer's style, a rock on the path, if you will. A good fantasy writer, something I'm desperately striving to be, should learn how to add all those touches in such a way so that the passage of reading is smooth and uninterrupted by confusion.
So, I'm trying to do that for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. It's working, but mostly because I tend to unwittingly copy style from the author I'm currently reading - George R R Martin. I'll have to polish it more into my own style (presuming I even have one yet...^_^;;) during re-writes and revision.
Now, I'm back to school and waiting at the mailbox - I'm expecting the last of my Christmas presents (I'm done all my shopping!), a rejection/acceptance letter from CICADA Magazine, books from Green Man Review, and Locus, the December issue with an interview with Robin Hobb!
I should probably think about setting up a list of all the links to the author's blogs I visit, because most are quite fun to read. Some, true, aren't really by authors, but by people connected one way or the other to books and writing. Those would be Ms Snark, Literary Agent (misssnark.blogspot.com) a very helpful agent from New York who answers dozens of questions on her blog every day - to the extent where many doubt her claim that she actually is a literary agent, seeing as she spends so much time answering writer's questions. Bollocks! If she wasn't an agent, then her answers wouldn't nearly be so well-informed as they obviously are.
The second exception would be Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels (www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com), written by women who are unabashedly devoted to the Romance novel industry, but not afraid to call them on their shit, when they see fit to produce shit.
Still, moving on - I've been riding along with a fairly even pace through George R. R. Martin's Clash of Kings. A Feast For Crows appeared in the mail a few days ago, and I'm in a rush to catch up so I can start reading the new book.
I've noticed something about novels and writing style - depending on the style, I read books slower or faster. I use the metaphor of a track - reading George R R Martin and JK Rowling is like riding a rollercoaster on a neverending slope downward - I'm drawn in and in and keep reading faster and faster until I reach the end. They're that good. Other authors have a style that's read more awkardly - Ian. R. MacLeod, for instance. Reading Breathmoss and Other Exhalations was like driving a rickety stationwagon over an unpaved dirt path littered with giant rocks and gaping potholes. Bounce, bounce, jolt, bounce - very rough, very meandering, very slow to get through.
My style, well, I enjoy it, the way a child might enjoy a jostling cartride along a flowering forest path - it goes all over the place, and it's hardly smooth, but I have a sentimental attachment to it. I think it all goes back to adjectives. Speech tags, upon closer examination, don't really grab my attention unless they're grossly misused. Adjectives, though, and the tongue-twisting names and new concepts often introduced in science fiction and fantasy, can provide obstacles in a writer's style, a rock on the path, if you will. A good fantasy writer, something I'm desperately striving to be, should learn how to add all those touches in such a way so that the passage of reading is smooth and uninterrupted by confusion.
So, I'm trying to do that for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. It's working, but mostly because I tend to unwittingly copy style from the author I'm currently reading - George R R Martin. I'll have to polish it more into my own style (presuming I even have one yet...^_^;;) during re-writes and revision.
Now, I'm back to school and waiting at the mailbox - I'm expecting the last of my Christmas presents (I'm done all my shopping!), a rejection/acceptance letter from CICADA Magazine, books from Green Man Review, and Locus, the December issue with an interview with Robin Hobb!
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Cancel Christmas!
There were good things and bad things about today.
Bad things first - I'm still coughing up a storm, which meant no Choral Rehearsal for me today, which means I can't perform during the Choral Performance tomorrow. It's a tragedy, I know, but maybe I'll be in better health when I go to karaoke with the chorus on our last rehearsal this Wednesday.
Also, I made my first attempt to find a replacement sweetie for my Mum's snowballs. Snowballs and fudge used to be a Christmas baking tradition at our house, but with my development of a dangerous allergy to pecans, snowballs have become verboten and we've had to look for other baked delights to fill the sad-looking void next to the squares of chocolate fudge on the seasonally-decorated plate.
I found a recipe call Mocha Bites - which mixed instant coffee and cocoa and butter together into small, round coins that were rolled in sugar afterwards. Mum and I (mostly Mum, because of my cough) made them, but when they came out and were finished, the reaction was less than stellar. My mother said they were too bitter, my sisters said they weren't as good as I had hoped. My dad ate one, and said "They're not bad." I ate them, and while I thought they were nice, they were dry. They were the kind of dessert that I wouldn't hesitate to eat if they were being served at a stranger's house, but not the kind of cookie that I would want representing Casa AnimeJune.
Horribly disappointed, I tossed all three batches into the sink (after eating fifteen). Afterwards, however, Dad and Sisters #1 and #2 wailed, tore at their hair, and demanded why, why, why had I been so heartless and wasteful as to dump those delicious cookies into the sink? They then proceeded to salvage as many of the cookies from the garbarator as was possible (about half a dozen). Well, excuuuuse me.
Good news now - we've cancelled Christmas!
By which I mean, we've refused to hold a Big Christmas Dinner at our house. We've done it almost every year since Nana and Papa moved to the condo, and while it's a pleasant affair for those who eat the food and retire to the cheapseats with coffee and fudge afterwards, it's a pain in the butt for those of us, and I mean the people who own the house, who have to clean it up afterwards. It's tiring and frustrating and has to be planned very meticulously in advance, and very often Mum and Dad are too exhausted to enjoy Christmas dinner as much as everyone else.
Relatives have suggested other alternatives, but none of them were appropriate, and would, if they didn't make it even harder than it already was, make the dinner more uncomfortable for the guests as well. So, we've decided to do just hold a Christmas dinner for us, Mum, Dad, me, and sisters #1 and #2 (#1 has volunteered to cook the turkey - she's in Food Sciences). And it's not a complete cancellation of Christmas, and nor are we isolating ourselves from our family members. We're still going to have a big Christmas Eve dinner at Nana and Papa's condo before going to Mass, a gettogether that is, allegedly, much more popular with the aunts and uncles and cousins than our dinners.
I think it's going to be a pleasant change - the work that went into the big Christmas Feasts had arisen to the point where we dreaded the approach of Christmas - and it should never go that far.
And, I've already bought all my Christmas presents. Huzzah!
Bad things first - I'm still coughing up a storm, which meant no Choral Rehearsal for me today, which means I can't perform during the Choral Performance tomorrow. It's a tragedy, I know, but maybe I'll be in better health when I go to karaoke with the chorus on our last rehearsal this Wednesday.
Also, I made my first attempt to find a replacement sweetie for my Mum's snowballs. Snowballs and fudge used to be a Christmas baking tradition at our house, but with my development of a dangerous allergy to pecans, snowballs have become verboten and we've had to look for other baked delights to fill the sad-looking void next to the squares of chocolate fudge on the seasonally-decorated plate.
I found a recipe call Mocha Bites - which mixed instant coffee and cocoa and butter together into small, round coins that were rolled in sugar afterwards. Mum and I (mostly Mum, because of my cough) made them, but when they came out and were finished, the reaction was less than stellar. My mother said they were too bitter, my sisters said they weren't as good as I had hoped. My dad ate one, and said "They're not bad." I ate them, and while I thought they were nice, they were dry. They were the kind of dessert that I wouldn't hesitate to eat if they were being served at a stranger's house, but not the kind of cookie that I would want representing Casa AnimeJune.
Horribly disappointed, I tossed all three batches into the sink (after eating fifteen). Afterwards, however, Dad and Sisters #1 and #2 wailed, tore at their hair, and demanded why, why, why had I been so heartless and wasteful as to dump those delicious cookies into the sink? They then proceeded to salvage as many of the cookies from the garbarator as was possible (about half a dozen). Well, excuuuuse me.
Good news now - we've cancelled Christmas!
By which I mean, we've refused to hold a Big Christmas Dinner at our house. We've done it almost every year since Nana and Papa moved to the condo, and while it's a pleasant affair for those who eat the food and retire to the cheapseats with coffee and fudge afterwards, it's a pain in the butt for those of us, and I mean the people who own the house, who have to clean it up afterwards. It's tiring and frustrating and has to be planned very meticulously in advance, and very often Mum and Dad are too exhausted to enjoy Christmas dinner as much as everyone else.
Relatives have suggested other alternatives, but none of them were appropriate, and would, if they didn't make it even harder than it already was, make the dinner more uncomfortable for the guests as well. So, we've decided to do just hold a Christmas dinner for us, Mum, Dad, me, and sisters #1 and #2 (#1 has volunteered to cook the turkey - she's in Food Sciences). And it's not a complete cancellation of Christmas, and nor are we isolating ourselves from our family members. We're still going to have a big Christmas Eve dinner at Nana and Papa's condo before going to Mass, a gettogether that is, allegedly, much more popular with the aunts and uncles and cousins than our dinners.
I think it's going to be a pleasant change - the work that went into the big Christmas Feasts had arisen to the point where we dreaded the approach of Christmas - and it should never go that far.
And, I've already bought all my Christmas presents. Huzzah!
Friday, December 02, 2005
Striking While the Iron is Hot
Yesterday, my cough worsened to the point where it felt like I was being uncomfortably squeezed around my mid-section everytime I hacked something up - the effort it took for coughing strained my diaphragm and the muscles of my back.
So I stayed home, drank soda, read George R R Martin, fiddled with my homework (it's dwindled due to the approach of exams, but I'm become horribly lazy concerning it all the same), and wrote some more pages for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. By the way, that's just a working title - my mother thought it was gimmicky, and I have to agree, but it was the only think I could come up with at the moment.
However, I haven't had any trouble writing down for that story. It's amazing - sometimes I have to force myself. Reading the Willow King is stillborn - I have no passion left for it. I think the reason is that I'm writing Boy right when I'm feeling passionate about the story - and the act of writing creates momentum for the passion that keeps me writing. If I plan a story (like I did for Willow King in August), but don't write it, it goes to seed. I have to keep writing if I want to keep involved with the story - that's what helped me finish The Shining Empress, because I kept writing at it regularly, and it keep the iron hot, so to speak.
Well, live and learn, I suppose. I can always come back to Willow King and try and ressurrect it someday, but for now, I'm going to focus on Boy.
Also, I've been dilly-dallying for Desert Muse. Next week - I will send the story into the Challenging Destiny. You all heard me. I'm going to do it - if Mum can't read over it in time, well then, too bad.
So I stayed home, drank soda, read George R R Martin, fiddled with my homework (it's dwindled due to the approach of exams, but I'm become horribly lazy concerning it all the same), and wrote some more pages for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. By the way, that's just a working title - my mother thought it was gimmicky, and I have to agree, but it was the only think I could come up with at the moment.
However, I haven't had any trouble writing down for that story. It's amazing - sometimes I have to force myself. Reading the Willow King is stillborn - I have no passion left for it. I think the reason is that I'm writing Boy right when I'm feeling passionate about the story - and the act of writing creates momentum for the passion that keeps me writing. If I plan a story (like I did for Willow King in August), but don't write it, it goes to seed. I have to keep writing if I want to keep involved with the story - that's what helped me finish The Shining Empress, because I kept writing at it regularly, and it keep the iron hot, so to speak.
Well, live and learn, I suppose. I can always come back to Willow King and try and ressurrect it someday, but for now, I'm going to focus on Boy.
Also, I've been dilly-dallying for Desert Muse. Next week - I will send the story into the Challenging Destiny. You all heard me. I'm going to do it - if Mum can't read over it in time, well then, too bad.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Fa-la-la-la-la
On Monday, the Mixed Chorus and I performed for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. It took place in a giant theatre that glittered with lights and had acoustics so perfect that a man in the back row couldn't pass wind without the conductor on the stage hearing it.
My voice remained out of order right up the point where I was supposed to sing, and then, suddenly, I could. Not well, and probably not even on key, but I could sing, and so I did. It made me feel a whole lot better - I felt less like a fraud (like I did when we performed at the United Church before) by lipsyncing, and when I get the Christmas CD I'll know for sure that one of the two hundred voices is mine.
Mum, Dad, Nana and Papa loved the show. Mum wants to go next year, even if I'm no longer in the Chorus, although she's vowed to arrive earlier next time. She and Dad arrived fifteen minutes before the show, but since it's general admission, they were relegated to the fourth, and highest balcony. From the stage, it seems to high up it almost appears as if it's leaning forward, balanced only precariously on top of the third balcony. My mother was so terrified by the heights that she had to hold her program in front of her face to hide the gap but still look at the stage.
Still it was a wonderful show. The handbell ringer show was most entertaining. The sound of the bells is okay, but most of the fun comes from watching the male ringers, who have to ring the largest and most awkward of bells. Since the largest four are bigger than a man's head, ringing them is not a graceful affair - I mean it should be an Olympic sport. They can only ring them by lunging the arm right from the shoulder, and then they have to put it down quickly (and gently) and leap for another bell to ring it just in time. One man moved so frantically he tore his music book.
So, I had a good time, my parents had a good time, and I'm getting better. I can talk now, although I've developed a cough. But I don't really worry anymore, the Big Concert is over.
My voice remained out of order right up the point where I was supposed to sing, and then, suddenly, I could. Not well, and probably not even on key, but I could sing, and so I did. It made me feel a whole lot better - I felt less like a fraud (like I did when we performed at the United Church before) by lipsyncing, and when I get the Christmas CD I'll know for sure that one of the two hundred voices is mine.
Mum, Dad, Nana and Papa loved the show. Mum wants to go next year, even if I'm no longer in the Chorus, although she's vowed to arrive earlier next time. She and Dad arrived fifteen minutes before the show, but since it's general admission, they were relegated to the fourth, and highest balcony. From the stage, it seems to high up it almost appears as if it's leaning forward, balanced only precariously on top of the third balcony. My mother was so terrified by the heights that she had to hold her program in front of her face to hide the gap but still look at the stage.
Still it was a wonderful show. The handbell ringer show was most entertaining. The sound of the bells is okay, but most of the fun comes from watching the male ringers, who have to ring the largest and most awkward of bells. Since the largest four are bigger than a man's head, ringing them is not a graceful affair - I mean it should be an Olympic sport. They can only ring them by lunging the arm right from the shoulder, and then they have to put it down quickly (and gently) and leap for another bell to ring it just in time. One man moved so frantically he tore his music book.
So, I had a good time, my parents had a good time, and I'm getting better. I can talk now, although I've developed a cough. But I don't really worry anymore, the Big Concert is over.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Murphy's Law
I sorry I haven't been keeping up on my posts.
I also haven't been keeping up on my writing either.
Or my homework.
And I've succumbed to my music addiction. I can listen to music an do absolutely nothing but daydream for hours on end, even when it gives me headaches, as it often does.
I'm feeling really bad - I caught my mother's cold. Worst part is, it gave me laryngitis.
I've never lost my voice. Ever. My voice is important to me. I talk, I sing, I talk some more. Laryngitis has gone through my family maybe four times in my lifetime - it's hit every one of my family members at least once, but never me. There was one time when all of them lost their voices at once - that was a happy time. I could blather on all I wanted because they couldn't tell me to shut up loud enough for me to acknowledge them.
Yesterday, I got laryngitis for the first time. Guess what today was: the freakin' Mixed Chorus Concert! I couldn't sing! I had to lipsync through the whole thing, and the way this thing is progressing, I'm going to have to lipsync through all my other concerts too.
Life's not fair. I can speak in lower registers, but higher pitches are lost to me, and I'm a Soprano II! When I laugh, it comes out as a dry cackle. So not fair. And tomorrow my parents are coming - they paid money to hear me sing in the choir - what's the point, if I can't even contribute? Have I mentioned how unfair all of this is?
However, I am making small progress with The Boy Who Would Be Queen, but Reading the Willow King has fallen by the wayside. I was so passionate about it before, but now it's spent. Hmmm....
Not. FAIR!
I also haven't been keeping up on my writing either.
Or my homework.
And I've succumbed to my music addiction. I can listen to music an do absolutely nothing but daydream for hours on end, even when it gives me headaches, as it often does.
I'm feeling really bad - I caught my mother's cold. Worst part is, it gave me laryngitis.
I've never lost my voice. Ever. My voice is important to me. I talk, I sing, I talk some more. Laryngitis has gone through my family maybe four times in my lifetime - it's hit every one of my family members at least once, but never me. There was one time when all of them lost their voices at once - that was a happy time. I could blather on all I wanted because they couldn't tell me to shut up loud enough for me to acknowledge them.
Yesterday, I got laryngitis for the first time. Guess what today was: the freakin' Mixed Chorus Concert! I couldn't sing! I had to lipsync through the whole thing, and the way this thing is progressing, I'm going to have to lipsync through all my other concerts too.
Life's not fair. I can speak in lower registers, but higher pitches are lost to me, and I'm a Soprano II! When I laugh, it comes out as a dry cackle. So not fair. And tomorrow my parents are coming - they paid money to hear me sing in the choir - what's the point, if I can't even contribute? Have I mentioned how unfair all of this is?
However, I am making small progress with The Boy Who Would Be Queen, but Reading the Willow King has fallen by the wayside. I was so passionate about it before, but now it's spent. Hmmm....
Not. FAIR!
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Subject No. 24
I have fifteen dollars in my pocket (okay, now it's ten, because I bought some chips and a bag of M&Ms today - I'm starting to get a cold and feel crappy) because I took part in a Science-Fiction psychology test.
It was quite entertaining - I was given a list of names and asked to check off the names I recognized as fantasy authors, and then I was given a pile of book covers with the author's name blotted off and asked to sort the covers into piles I thought shared the same narrative content. I was subject number 24 in the test.
Before that, I had to do the same with mystery novels/writers, as a "controlled" variable - because while I read almost entirely Fantasy fiction, I don't read very many mysteries. So now I have $10, and I'm planning on using it to rent a Patrick Dempsey movie or too. It's a little difficult, because most of his movies were made in the 80s, and were never really significant enough to merit a conversion to DVD (with the exception of his more popular movies Can't Buy Me Love and Loverboy) I have to go to specialty independent video rental places to find his movies. Mind you, I'm just going to watch his movies, and only when I have the time and don't have to work on projects or study. I am not - as my mother would have you believe - "stalking Dr. McDreamy".
Also, I've started reading George R R Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" trilogy for Green Man, and I'm already being sucked back into that world again. I love those books. I find I read them differently now. For the longest time, I relied very strongly on mental visuals when I read. First, I pictured them in my head as anime characters (this helped for Robert Jordan's books, because they became very episodic like anime), then I took to playing "movies" of the books events in my head, casting famous celebrities as the characters.
In Robin Hobb's "Tawny Man" trilogy, for instance, I pictured Hugh Jackman as Fitz, Anthony Hopkins as Chade, Gwyneth Paltrow as the Queen, Jennifer Aniston as Starling, and (I hope Robin Hobb forgives me), David Spade as the Fool. Of course, all the actors, when they're in my head, are good actors, so it works out fine for me.
Unfortunately, this allows me to read slower than I could - it took me a while to go through "A Song of Ice and Fire" the first time, even with Mel Gibson as Ned Stark, Nicole Kidman as Catelyn, a young Elijah Wood as Bran, Tom Cruise (!) as Littlefinger, and the fantastic Peter Dinklage as Tyrion. So now I'm not trying overhard to visualize it now, or play movie scenes in my head as I read it, because I actually have a deadline now to bring in the reviews, and it's in less than a month. So I'll have no time to watch Happy Together, For Better And For Worse, or Some Girls until the Christmas holidays, at least.
It was quite entertaining - I was given a list of names and asked to check off the names I recognized as fantasy authors, and then I was given a pile of book covers with the author's name blotted off and asked to sort the covers into piles I thought shared the same narrative content. I was subject number 24 in the test.
Before that, I had to do the same with mystery novels/writers, as a "controlled" variable - because while I read almost entirely Fantasy fiction, I don't read very many mysteries. So now I have $10, and I'm planning on using it to rent a Patrick Dempsey movie or too. It's a little difficult, because most of his movies were made in the 80s, and were never really significant enough to merit a conversion to DVD (with the exception of his more popular movies Can't Buy Me Love and Loverboy) I have to go to specialty independent video rental places to find his movies. Mind you, I'm just going to watch his movies, and only when I have the time and don't have to work on projects or study. I am not - as my mother would have you believe - "stalking Dr. McDreamy".
Also, I've started reading George R R Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" trilogy for Green Man, and I'm already being sucked back into that world again. I love those books. I find I read them differently now. For the longest time, I relied very strongly on mental visuals when I read. First, I pictured them in my head as anime characters (this helped for Robert Jordan's books, because they became very episodic like anime), then I took to playing "movies" of the books events in my head, casting famous celebrities as the characters.
In Robin Hobb's "Tawny Man" trilogy, for instance, I pictured Hugh Jackman as Fitz, Anthony Hopkins as Chade, Gwyneth Paltrow as the Queen, Jennifer Aniston as Starling, and (I hope Robin Hobb forgives me), David Spade as the Fool. Of course, all the actors, when they're in my head, are good actors, so it works out fine for me.
Unfortunately, this allows me to read slower than I could - it took me a while to go through "A Song of Ice and Fire" the first time, even with Mel Gibson as Ned Stark, Nicole Kidman as Catelyn, a young Elijah Wood as Bran, Tom Cruise (!) as Littlefinger, and the fantastic Peter Dinklage as Tyrion. So now I'm not trying overhard to visualize it now, or play movie scenes in my head as I read it, because I actually have a deadline now to bring in the reviews, and it's in less than a month. So I'll have no time to watch Happy Together, For Better And For Worse, or Some Girls until the Christmas holidays, at least.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Another Novel
Reading The Willow King is not going as planned - the words don't seem to come out on paper the way they've been forming themselves in my head. I'm still going to work on it, but I think the reason it's dull now is that when I was passionate about the idea (during the summer), I didn't go past creating an outline because I wasn't finished The Shining Empress yet.
And now I'm passionate about another novel idea (The Boy Who Would Be Queen). So, I'm going to start to write that too. I can always do two novels at once - when I'm stuck on one, I'll start on another, or work on some short stories (I nixed the "Daughter of the Moon's Companion" idea, and replaced it with "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater" idea) instead. So, I'll be able to keep myself busy as long as I like. I think in this case, I need to strike while the iron (or idea) is hot, and not wait it out - I can always go back and revise it later.
During the upcoming Christmas holidays, I'm going to force myself to write everyday. Write and read. Because I want to get as much done as possible.
And now I'm passionate about another novel idea (The Boy Who Would Be Queen). So, I'm going to start to write that too. I can always do two novels at once - when I'm stuck on one, I'll start on another, or work on some short stories (I nixed the "Daughter of the Moon's Companion" idea, and replaced it with "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater" idea) instead. So, I'll be able to keep myself busy as long as I like. I think in this case, I need to strike while the iron (or idea) is hot, and not wait it out - I can always go back and revise it later.
During the upcoming Christmas holidays, I'm going to force myself to write everyday. Write and read. Because I want to get as much done as possible.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
When Irish Eyes Are Smiling...They're sexeh
Okay, this post has very little to do with writing, but I'm going to indulge myself, so bear with me.
As a young woman who loves television and movies, it is only natural that I express a certain preference, if you will, for certain actors whom I deem Sexeh and Hott. I've had brief crushes that ended very badly - like Matthew Broderick (Ferris Bueller's Day Off: *heart* Inspector Gadget: *ew*), David Spade (yes, I know...), Rob Schneider (seeing The Animal trailer: Hmmm....Seeing The Animal movie: *ew*), etc....
But while looking at my current roster of Actors I Deem Sexeh and Hott, I notice a particular similarity in all of them.
They are all Irish! Or of Irish descent.
Yes, yes, I still like Tobey Maguire and Topher Grace, but since they haven't been in anything recently (and I'm being forced to wait until 2007 to see them both in Spider-Man 3), they've been put on the backburner, so to speak.
But the ones that are currently on the Sexeh and Hott list, I don't see it as coincidence that they come (or their grandaddies came) from the Emerald Isle. I'm of Irish descent, and my family is very possessive of our Irish ancestry (my dad's a Scotman/Pole, but he's officially "adopted" Irish culture), so maybe this is manifesting itself in my taste for actors.
I'm not the kind of person who goes and looks up their biographies and pretends to know anything about their personal lives - that comes across as creepy. Take it as shallowness - I don't love them, I simply really enjoy watching their performances due to their superior acting skills and smouldering good looks. The Top Three, right now, are as follows:
1. Patrick Dempsey
Yup, good ol' Doctor McDreamy has made hospitals a pleasant place to be again. All the men on ER are ugly, or scarred, or brain-tumoured, so I have to go to Grey's Anatomy for good old-fashioned handsome doctors. Well, technically his character's a surgeon. He's the one who's only of Irish descent, but c'mon, if the Isle hadn't existed he wouldn't have been here! Plus, he shares my birthday...(^_^), but that isn't totally important, because so does William "She Bangs" Hung (-_-;;;)
2. Liam Neeson
He's good and dependable - you can always count on him to be in a good movie. He's the kind of man you notice, even in the few stinkers he's been in (Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, and The Haunting). Plus - unlike Dempsey, he has dozens of classic films to look back on and gawk at his handsomeness. He has a very unique facial structure that's interesting to look at, so while he's not conventionally handsome, he's very good-looking. I saw him recently in Kinsey (which was a little awkward), Batman: Begins (Irish Ninja!!!), Les Miserables (as Jean Valjean - the poor, tortured mayer with a past...), and Schindler's List. Plus, he has a sexy accent.
3. Cillian Murphy
He's relatively new to the whole Hollywood scene, but I hope he gets a great deal of work so I can look at him some more. He's very androgenous (in his upcoming film Breakfast on Pluto, where he cross-dresses, it's a little disturbing how authentic he looks in drag), but gorgeous when he's acting like, er, a man. I haven't seen 28 Days Later yet, and he had only the tiniest of cameos in Cold Mountain, but he first caught my eye as the devilish doctor Jonathan Crane in Batman: Begins, and later as an (equally devilish) assassin Jackson Rippner in Red Eye. He manages to remain Sexeh and Hott even after being stabbed in the throat with a pen and forced to cover up the wound with a woman's scarf. More movies for him, please!
I also acknowledge Celtic hotties like Colin Farrell, even if they're not to my taste. I tip my hat to Irish mothers - you make very pretty babies. Keep doing it.
Okay, the weirdness is over. (Hopefully) I'll return with some actually relevant posts later.
As a young woman who loves television and movies, it is only natural that I express a certain preference, if you will, for certain actors whom I deem Sexeh and Hott. I've had brief crushes that ended very badly - like Matthew Broderick (Ferris Bueller's Day Off: *heart* Inspector Gadget: *ew*), David Spade (yes, I know...), Rob Schneider (seeing The Animal trailer: Hmmm....Seeing The Animal movie: *ew*), etc....
But while looking at my current roster of Actors I Deem Sexeh and Hott, I notice a particular similarity in all of them.
They are all Irish! Or of Irish descent.
Yes, yes, I still like Tobey Maguire and Topher Grace, but since they haven't been in anything recently (and I'm being forced to wait until 2007 to see them both in Spider-Man 3), they've been put on the backburner, so to speak.
But the ones that are currently on the Sexeh and Hott list, I don't see it as coincidence that they come (or their grandaddies came) from the Emerald Isle. I'm of Irish descent, and my family is very possessive of our Irish ancestry (my dad's a Scotman/Pole, but he's officially "adopted" Irish culture), so maybe this is manifesting itself in my taste for actors.
I'm not the kind of person who goes and looks up their biographies and pretends to know anything about their personal lives - that comes across as creepy. Take it as shallowness - I don't love them, I simply really enjoy watching their performances due to their superior acting skills and smouldering good looks. The Top Three, right now, are as follows:
1. Patrick Dempsey
Yup, good ol' Doctor McDreamy has made hospitals a pleasant place to be again. All the men on ER are ugly, or scarred, or brain-tumoured, so I have to go to Grey's Anatomy for good old-fashioned handsome doctors. Well, technically his character's a surgeon. He's the one who's only of Irish descent, but c'mon, if the Isle hadn't existed he wouldn't have been here! Plus, he shares my birthday...(^_^), but that isn't totally important, because so does William "She Bangs" Hung (-_-;;;)
2. Liam Neeson
He's good and dependable - you can always count on him to be in a good movie. He's the kind of man you notice, even in the few stinkers he's been in (Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, and The Haunting). Plus - unlike Dempsey, he has dozens of classic films to look back on and gawk at his handsomeness. He has a very unique facial structure that's interesting to look at, so while he's not conventionally handsome, he's very good-looking. I saw him recently in Kinsey (which was a little awkward), Batman: Begins (Irish Ninja!!!), Les Miserables (as Jean Valjean - the poor, tortured mayer with a past...), and Schindler's List. Plus, he has a sexy accent.
3. Cillian Murphy
He's relatively new to the whole Hollywood scene, but I hope he gets a great deal of work so I can look at him some more. He's very androgenous (in his upcoming film Breakfast on Pluto, where he cross-dresses, it's a little disturbing how authentic he looks in drag), but gorgeous when he's acting like, er, a man. I haven't seen 28 Days Later yet, and he had only the tiniest of cameos in Cold Mountain, but he first caught my eye as the devilish doctor Jonathan Crane in Batman: Begins, and later as an (equally devilish) assassin Jackson Rippner in Red Eye. He manages to remain Sexeh and Hott even after being stabbed in the throat with a pen and forced to cover up the wound with a woman's scarf. More movies for him, please!
I also acknowledge Celtic hotties like Colin Farrell, even if they're not to my taste. I tip my hat to Irish mothers - you make very pretty babies. Keep doing it.
Okay, the weirdness is over. (Hopefully) I'll return with some actually relevant posts later.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Mom Test
I've officially completed the peer- and self-editing process for "Desert Muse". I've tinkered with it as much as I dare, and so I will soon submit it to the "Mom" test.
All the major criticisms and editing were done with the writer's group, so the "Mom Test" is just to have one more pair of eyes search over it for typos and obviously misspelled words before sending it in to a magazine.
Reading the Willow King is, well progressing - it's a little hard. I'm focusing mainly on dialogue, when I should be using description, but I can always go back and revise it when I finished - I just have to get the ideas converted into text first.
Also, I've updated my site again! The picture for my profile is really a caricature of me, anime-style. I'm not planning on posting my real name or an accurate photo until I'm actually published - and then it will be my Author's Website.
Also, don't be afraid to comment! If I don't reply, it doesn't mean I'm angry, it means I'm rendered speechless by the glory of your wit and skill!
All the major criticisms and editing were done with the writer's group, so the "Mom Test" is just to have one more pair of eyes search over it for typos and obviously misspelled words before sending it in to a magazine.
Reading the Willow King is, well progressing - it's a little hard. I'm focusing mainly on dialogue, when I should be using description, but I can always go back and revise it when I finished - I just have to get the ideas converted into text first.
Also, I've updated my site again! The picture for my profile is really a caricature of me, anime-style. I'm not planning on posting my real name or an accurate photo until I'm actually published - and then it will be my Author's Website.
Also, don't be afraid to comment! If I don't reply, it doesn't mean I'm angry, it means I'm rendered speechless by the glory of your wit and skill!
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Light A Candle...
...For Arrested Development, peeps, one of the funniest shows on television.
Fox has cut down its episodes from 22 to 13, and the show has now been pulled from the schedule and put on haitus. While some people believe it's due to Jason Bateman's surgery, other entertainment sources believe this is simply the final nail in the coffin of a great show. Why weren't you people watching it?
This was a show so good, that if you showed in it Britain, they would be the ones making a lesser European copy of it.
Well, one can't blame Fox. Fox, the network reviled for cancelling Firefly before the first season was even over, is not at all at fault for Arrested Development. It kept the show on for three years - gave it three seasons, three chances. People practically chucked Emmys at them, but still, ratings were low. TV is still a business, and Fox was uncharacteristically generous in keeping Arrested Development alive for as long as it did. I tip my hat to you, Fox.
And if this really means the end for Arrested Development, one must turn to other sources for quality television. Like NBC's American The Office. Yes, yes, it's an American version of a British show, but it's built itself up to be quite entertaining. At first, it was tough to get used to, because Steve Carrell is a much more caustic and deliberately offensive boss than Ricky Gervais' version. However, when one watches it, Steve still manages to convey his character's desperate, pathetic loneliness. Plus, Jim and Pam (the American equivalents for Tim and Dawn) are adorable to watch.
Rainn Wilson (as sycophant Dwight) poses a much more menacing figure than the rail-thin UK version, but he's still hilarious. In yesterday's episode, you catch a glimpse of him gearing up to ask Michael Scott (boss Carrell) for a raise by listening to rock music and playing air-guitar in the stairwell, screaming "You know why I deserve this raise? Because I'm AWESOME!"
If you don't want to watch this Office just on principle (or loyalty to Gervais), then try My Name Is Earl, which is on NBC right before The Office. It's a sweet-natured morality show and a raucous white-trash comedy all rolled into one. Who knew Jason Lee had it in him? See the show - he's captivating.
Fox has cut down its episodes from 22 to 13, and the show has now been pulled from the schedule and put on haitus. While some people believe it's due to Jason Bateman's surgery, other entertainment sources believe this is simply the final nail in the coffin of a great show. Why weren't you people watching it?
This was a show so good, that if you showed in it Britain, they would be the ones making a lesser European copy of it.
Well, one can't blame Fox. Fox, the network reviled for cancelling Firefly before the first season was even over, is not at all at fault for Arrested Development. It kept the show on for three years - gave it three seasons, three chances. People practically chucked Emmys at them, but still, ratings were low. TV is still a business, and Fox was uncharacteristically generous in keeping Arrested Development alive for as long as it did. I tip my hat to you, Fox.
And if this really means the end for Arrested Development, one must turn to other sources for quality television. Like NBC's American The Office. Yes, yes, it's an American version of a British show, but it's built itself up to be quite entertaining. At first, it was tough to get used to, because Steve Carrell is a much more caustic and deliberately offensive boss than Ricky Gervais' version. However, when one watches it, Steve still manages to convey his character's desperate, pathetic loneliness. Plus, Jim and Pam (the American equivalents for Tim and Dawn) are adorable to watch.
Rainn Wilson (as sycophant Dwight) poses a much more menacing figure than the rail-thin UK version, but he's still hilarious. In yesterday's episode, you catch a glimpse of him gearing up to ask Michael Scott (boss Carrell) for a raise by listening to rock music and playing air-guitar in the stairwell, screaming "You know why I deserve this raise? Because I'm AWESOME!"
If you don't want to watch this Office just on principle (or loyalty to Gervais), then try My Name Is Earl, which is on NBC right before The Office. It's a sweet-natured morality show and a raucous white-trash comedy all rolled into one. Who knew Jason Lee had it in him? See the show - he's captivating.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
My Baby! My Baby! An Editor's Attacking My Baby!
I received another critique for "Desert Muse" today from someone in my writer's group, who seemed like a pro.
While the general message was, "Your story was very good", I completely forgot about all of that, and instead looked at all the strikes and comments he did to my story! He tore it to pieces! He had this cool editing progam that made speech bubbles with his comments in them all over my manuscript. He did admit that my writing was florid and wordy. He cut out many things and said I needed better descriptions of visions and time.
It hurt. It really did. I wasn't angry at him, really, more angry at myself. He acted like he was pro (he could be an actual published writer, I suspect), and with all the strikes made to my work I felt like I had just broken in on his classy dinner party while wearing a mud-spattered paper bag. I embarassed myself in front of a professional writer with a horribly amateurish manuscript! How will I ever be a writer? Look at all the horrible mistakes I made!
I'm always reading in Writer's Digest and in writing guides how every writer, professional or not, often has moments when they feel that their editor has just molested their story, and begin to search police stations to see if there's a warrant out for a mysterious figure notorious for slashing innocent manuscripts to death. I hate to say that I didn't think it would happen to me, but I did. There's that crazed over-confidence again - I send in my story with absolutely no idea how anyone in their right mind could possibly find anything the matter with it. It's easy to accept criticism when it comes layered in swathes of glorious praise - and it's hard to accept compliments when they come edged with heartless correction.
I know I'll get over it, eventually, and it will certainly come in very handy next week, when I will polish off the final draft of "Desert Muse" and send it in to Challenging Destiny. Good criticism is like yucky cold medicine - you never feel good about taking it until later.
While the general message was, "Your story was very good", I completely forgot about all of that, and instead looked at all the strikes and comments he did to my story! He tore it to pieces! He had this cool editing progam that made speech bubbles with his comments in them all over my manuscript. He did admit that my writing was florid and wordy. He cut out many things and said I needed better descriptions of visions and time.
It hurt. It really did. I wasn't angry at him, really, more angry at myself. He acted like he was pro (he could be an actual published writer, I suspect), and with all the strikes made to my work I felt like I had just broken in on his classy dinner party while wearing a mud-spattered paper bag. I embarassed myself in front of a professional writer with a horribly amateurish manuscript! How will I ever be a writer? Look at all the horrible mistakes I made!
I'm always reading in Writer's Digest and in writing guides how every writer, professional or not, often has moments when they feel that their editor has just molested their story, and begin to search police stations to see if there's a warrant out for a mysterious figure notorious for slashing innocent manuscripts to death. I hate to say that I didn't think it would happen to me, but I did. There's that crazed over-confidence again - I send in my story with absolutely no idea how anyone in their right mind could possibly find anything the matter with it. It's easy to accept criticism when it comes layered in swathes of glorious praise - and it's hard to accept compliments when they come edged with heartless correction.
I know I'll get over it, eventually, and it will certainly come in very handy next week, when I will polish off the final draft of "Desert Muse" and send it in to Challenging Destiny. Good criticism is like yucky cold medicine - you never feel good about taking it until later.
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