Dec

Looking Back and Looking Forward

So it’s almost new years again and I don’t know where the year’s gone. I’ve done a lot, a lot of crazy things a lot of fun things and a lot of things I never thought I’d do.

So I never really make resolutions because I make enough lists it would make a normal person crazy but this year I’m going to because there are a few things I really want to put some effort into.

1. I’m going to knit down the stash. I’m going to do my best to knit with yarn only from my stash. The only exception for this rule will be for designing things such as sweaters.

2. Along with this I’m going to knit down my queue on Ravelry. Currently it stands at 5 pages and a 176 projects. It grows faster than I actually knit the projects so I think it’s time to whittle it down a little. Also this will get me some finished knits that I really want.

3. I’m actually going to work on submitting my writing to get published. I’ve written a lot this year and it’s had a pretty positive responce so I’m going to go for it.

Things that are not resolutions but that I am just going to do are things like learn how to milk a goat, making cheese, and even working with my shepherd Kodiak to learn how to herd sheep.

The year in review…

We got chickens.

Lots of Chickens….Some which we ate and some which lay eggs…

We got some goats and I fell in love…

We got some gooses…

I started getting eggs from my chickens…

We picked 3 metric tons of blackberries…

I also learned how to can…

We adopted Tank a little brother who has really become a sweet addition to our family…

We rented a ram so we can have lambs this spring…

We added some pygoras to the farm…

We are hoping to expect turkey babies sometime this coming year…

39 days ago Short URL 2 Comments

Goats/La Mancha/Memories/Pictures/Pygora/Sheep/Writing

Nov

Authors Are Not Knitters

Well, some are I guess by the game of numbers, but for the sake of my post I’m not talking about those cross overs.

For the last few months I’ve been following more and more authors either on twitter or on facebook. I’m always interested in to how their minds work, how they write, and what their styles are. There have been some lovely experiences and there have been some that have made me feel bad about myself, what I read, and what I write. When the first post came through I frowned and thought that it was just a bad day this person must surely be having. We all have those, we all post about them in one way or another and then we move on. The world understands.

Then the posts became more frequent and frankly, more hateful. I unfollowed this particular person on twitter and am now contemplating doing the same with facebook. Is it life changing? Not at all. Is it frustrating? Sort of. The posts in themselves are not as terrible as I’m sure others could be but the nature of them I feel was that of a 13 year old boy not getting enough attention. This particular author calls out others by name (but not enough to link them so that the author would know about it), calling their work dumb, uninspired, and the readers of that particular book vapid. (He did not actually call them ‘vapid’ but I inferred that). This post has happened twice in the last week’s time, and more like it prior. I’ve had enough. I’m a polite person (usually) by nature and I believe that each person should be treated with respect and dignity. This kind of behavior rubs me wrong in all sorts of ways.

Frowning at this post, this tiny snippet of nothingness asking his followers to forsake this “crappy” book for one by another (which I have read and haven’t written a review because I still don’t know if I actually LIKE it) made me think…”This guy obviously doesn’t knit.”

That’s pretty random right? Well not so much. Knitters as a community understand each other I think at a more base level than any other sort of hobby community. We all do the same exact thing. You can’t knit any better than anyone else. You can have projects that turn out better but you can’t actually knit better. Why? Because the knit stitch for you is exactly the same as it is for me or for the Queen of England (does she knit? I think it’d be lovely if she did!). It’s the same. The yarn may be different, the gauge, and the drape but it’s all the same stitch. Sure, some projects turn out better than others but it’s all relative.

Give two knitters the same skein of yarn, the same gauage and ask them to make plain socks and you will come out with two pairs of perfectly wearable socks. I very much doubt that one would be a clear winner. And here’s the serious kicker, even if there was both knitters are gracious about it and will not draw attention to it.

Knitters are kind to each other even if we don’t care for the project being worked on we appreciate the spirit of the knit. I’ve never before heard a knitter call out another for a crappy project. (Crazy design is different mind you). Never have I read a post that would declare that all knitters knit this sock over that other sock because it is “smarter”. How crazy would you sound if you publicly declared a sound knitable design that brought hours of pleasure “stupid”? Knitters would laugh at you and tell you that you have missed the whole point. Not everything has to be entrelac fair isle complicated just to bring pleasure, people, we love the garter stitch because of it’s ease and sometimes, it’s just the right thing.

I think the world would be a better place if more people knit. They’d push aside this nasty better than you attitude and realize that a knit is a knit for everyone and a purl is just the back side of a knit. No matter the arrogance you knit with, your stitch is still the same as mine and they are both equally as good.

Let’s remember to get off each other’s cases, pick each other up, and knit.

81 days ago Short URL 2 Comments

Books/Craft/crochet/Fantasy/knit/Knitting/Spin/spinning/thoughts/Writing

Oct

Cape Of Disappoinment Was Not Disappointing

First of all, thank you so much for all the nice comments on my Frankenfine short. It’s kinda eating my brain right now and I have dropped about 20,000 words in the day & a half since I wrote those first few paragraphs and am now taking a short break.

Also, has anyone had any experience publishing with Amazon? I don’t mean self publishing, I mean real publishing, if so I’d love to talk to you!

So yeah, on to the real reason of the post. The Mr and I went camping with the dogs to the Cape of Disappointment. Basically, for those of you not in the know, the Cape of Disappointment is where Lewis & Clark first camped when they reached the Pacific ocean. They found it…Disappointing.

It was amazing. Our campsite backed up to the beach and though the raccoons were crazy bad we had an amazing time. We experienced another disrepsectful dog owner who thought that leashes were for other people but other than that it was amazing!

We found a rope on the beach which meant that we had an instant toy.

One thing that surprised me was the dogs and their rock climbing. I’m not a rock climber or hopper by any means. I just am not that balanced on my feet. Kodiak though is amazing. He’s like super rocket dog and totally fearless.

we went to the Sea Side Aquarium which was small and a little campy but neat. They had seals that you could feed for a dollar and let me tell you, those seals were SPLASHY. Some splashed to get your attention, some splashed to get fed, some just splashed you. It was adorable.

I also saw this which still makes me laugh. Yes, make sure to continue to keep hoeing (because your pimp might be mad if you don’t!)

We learned all about light houses which are frankly cool.

111 days ago Short URL 3 Comments

Books/Fantasy/Writing

camping/cape of disappointment/Washington

Oct

Frankenfine

This is so completely random but I had to kinda pull it out of my brain so I could focus. Inspired by Kim! (Yarny Old Kim) and ridiculous.

Basically I was trying to find THE book for my trip to Minnesota but all I was seeing was vampire romance bs. Seriously, I’m so sick of vampire romance I could PUKE. If you love them, I’m sorry and you might want to skip this paragraph because I’ve got myself into rant mode.
Reasons why I hate vampire romance stories:
1. Blood is gross people. It’s not sexy, its not erotic, its gross. It’s not alluring to have someone drink your blood, it’s gross. If you don’t believe me or think it’s all hotness go find yourself some authentic Icelandic Blood Sausage. Now take a bite. Not your bag? It’s not mine either. Wanna know why? It’s like 90% BAKED BLOOD. Yeah. Now stop with the blood licking. Ick.
2. Vampires are dead. Yes they are ‘alive’ dead but they are still dead. And cold. COLD. So um, vampire lovers would be…cold. Have you ever slept on a water-bed that didn’t have the heater on? I have. It sucks all the heat right out of your body. You have never BEEN so cold. Put two and two together. It’s not sexy.
3. Vampires are angsty and that’s just annoying. I don’t want to think about grown men or women acting like bratty teenagers. “Oh wah, I live forever and no one understands me and I’m a monster wah” Yeah. Annoying.
4. No one ever writes anything original about vampires. It’s a tired mule that needs to be shot. Lets put this poor bastard out to pasture for 10 years before we revisit it.
5. Cover art. It makes me see red, literally. It’s all pretty boys and sultry girls peeking out from the darkness of the cover. Some have blood in the corner of their mouth, some on their fangs, some are in the throes of passion in blood. It’s all the same, it’s all teenage deviant art bs that needs not to be a cover.

- end rant-

wow. I feel kinda better. But yeah, back to what I was originally saying. Kim commented on my comment on Facebook about new story ideas and was all “OMG Frankenfine!” and I laughed so hard I snorted coffee (which hurt BTW). Then I was all, “That’s AWESOME” and then it ate my brain. So I vomited up a few paragraphs into word so I can move on with my life.

-FrankenFine –

I ran my fingers through my hair and watched as a clump pulled out. I frowned at the section and sighed as I dropped it into the bathroom trash. Right now my hair was shoulder length and butter blond but it wouldn’t last for long. Nothing ever did.

If you saw me on a dark street or in passing you’d assume I’m quite normal. You’d assume wrong. See I’m not human, or at least not really, I am technically made up of human parts but that’s only because they are easy to come by. Since none of my bits originated with me they tend to wear out and need to be replaced. It’s not as unpleasant as it sounds. Humans die quite frequently and with the right connections I get my pick of the choicest parts. New scalps of fine hair, eyes, ears, sometimes if I have been particularly rough even limbs and faces. The only thing that doesn’t seem to wear out completely is my core structure and my skull. I guess that’s a blessing because if it did it might be easier just to hope into a new body every couple of months.

Now before you start getting all grossed out or think that I’m some asshole I want to get a few things straight. I didn’t choose this existence; I didn’t put myself in a position where I’d be cursed for eternity to need other people’s replacement parts. I was created piece by piece by someone who was a little out of his mind. And by ‘a little’ I really mean he was ape shit crazy pants. But I guess you have to be mad to be a mad scientist right? That’s usually how these things work out. I had my mad scientist and I wasn’t his first ‘creation’ but I am certainly an improvement over that hulking giant that could barely put together a sentence. Yeah, so I didn’t choose this but I make the best of it I can. My name is Kate. Katherine Frankenstein if you want to get all technical, and yes, it is that Frankenstein, I would be his second ‘creature’ though I don’t like to call myself that. I didn’t get a book, I didn’t kill a bunch of people and unless you really looked at me close you’d never know I was different from you, which is exactly how I like it.

I own a grungy bar for people on the fringes like me. It’s a hole by all sense of the word but that usually keeps humans out. Being in this business is good for me because it means I have a lot of night hours and people don’t look too hard at you through the darkness to realize you’ve got a fine line of stitches holding your face on.

It was eight o’clock which was my unofficial time to cruise into the bar. I rolled my Indian into the spot behind the bar next to the dumpster and into the gate – I’d had too many drunk-ass patrons piss or puke or knock over my bike not to keep it gated off. I pulled off my helmet and after locking up the gate I headed into the bar through the back door. The Swarthy Pig had been my bar for the last twenty years and I’d just about gotten it the way I liked it. It was dingy and permanently dirt stained, the bar was dented and chipped and names had been carved into it but was smooth and wouldn’t snag your shirt. The booze I served was simple but I had all variations of it. If you wanted a dollar beer I had it, if you wanted a fifty dollar glass of scotch I had that too. What I provided was a place that no one would get in your face, where no one would look at you too closely or wonder why you were so pale. My patrons were fiercely loyal as they were diverse, even I didn’t know the real story behind half of them.

I dropped my helmet and my backpack in the office before heading up front. I slid behind the bar unnoticed and as I passed the massive bar keeper I slapped his rear with a hard crack. “Looking good tonight Jimmy,” I smiled as I leaned on the old wooden bar next to him. He turned and gave me a narrow eyed smile showing me full fang. A lot of people wouldn’t play rough or even tease a werewolf but I’d known Jimmy for a long time. He was as badass as they came but I’d pulled him off the street at a very bad time in his life and turned him around, for that I’d sort of become his alpha, but I just considered him one of my best friends.

Jimmy stopped growing at about six feet seven inches but that didn’t mean he had stopped filling out. He was broad and heavily muscled as a bear though only his arms showed any real definition. He was fair haired and green eyed with a sharp angular face and a permanently broody face. He was one damn attractive man but he didn’t play well with others which meant he had no pack and made him a constant target for other wolves. I lived in a territory patrolled by a large pack and had made an agreement with their alpha when I had first taken Jimmy in. I’d keep him out of trouble and they wouldn’t look for any. At first their alpha had laughed at me but I have friends in low places, good friends in really dark crazy places and he doesn’t laugh anymore. After a few fights and a few unfortunate deaths he stayed away from the city or called me when he’d be in so there wouldn’t be any surprises. Apparently wolves really hate surprises. That day I’d unofficially become a pack of two and had the full respect of a few key werewolves.

“Looking fine yerself, boss,” he replied as he slid a beer to the guy across who was busy staring down my shirt. “Hey!” he growled in the way only a wolf can, “You don’t want me to make you be respectful.” The man looked up with wide eyes, grabbed his beer and left without a word.

I smiled, I couldn’t have really blamed the guy, I was wearing a pretty revealing shirt tonight but I liked that Jimmy felt the need to say something. Tonight I was wearing my favorite black leather pants with braiding along the sides, a lace camisole over a black bra and a leather vest over that. I’m kind of a biker chick and unlike most of the girls you see on the back of a Harley I can pull it off. It’s not like I really have to work out to keep myself like this but I watch myself and make sure if I need replacement parts they are fine quality. I’m on the shorter side topping off at about five foot five and petite. The doc, I think, was a little bit of a perv though because I’m small waisted but I’ve got the bust of a Victoria’s Secret model and a rear that wouldn’t be out of place in some rappers music video, both of which make finding clothes an issue. I’ve got dark blue eyes that are just on the verge of navy which I think is my favorite thing about myself. My face has changed a lot but the core remains the same, I’ve got high cheek bones, a hard jaw and a pouty mouth that women spend tons of money at the plastic surgeons trying to get.

116 days ago Short URL 8 Comments

Books/Fantasy/Writing

Jul

Sheep, Socks, And Sandy

Today apparently the letter of the day is “S”. This last weekend the Mr and his buddy drove down to California and picked up our 7 Icelandic sheep. I can’t tell you how nice it is to have them up here. They are going to be able to keep my pastures trimmed neatly and save the Mr some major mowing time.

They have settled in really well. I don’t think they’ve ever seen so much green grass and they are happily munching what the goats have decided they don’t like. We are keeping them in a smaller paddock for a few days to acclimate them to the property. I have their fibers in bags and will be sending it for processing shortly. I’m thinking about making it all into yarn, thoughts?

Our good friends who own the ranch where we were boarding them had the sheep shorn before they came up which was really nice. They look a little silly right now but it helped them keep cool on the trip. I remember them being pretty shy and skiddish (Icelandic sheep are a primitive sheep and don’t flock and don’t warm up to people like some of the other larger breeds of sheep) but they are much more friendly than I remembered. They come up for feeding and I think they are starting to learn that since the goats think I’m ok then I must be I don’t ever expect them to follow me around like the goats do and beg for attention but they don’t run away which is nice.

On another random note, this week starting Thursday is Sock Summit! My good friend Sandy and her husband are coming up. I’m so excited to see them! Sandy is originally from Wisconsin and me being from Minnesota we instantly clicked when we met at a knitting group in California. I’m taking a few classes (a pattern seminar from the editor of Knitty Amy Singer, and a dying seminar with Tina Newton). I’m really excited (and a little nervous) about this. I’ve wanted to go since I first started knitting 4 years ago but I couldn’t justify flying and staying in Portland by myself. This time I live across the river from Portland and can go home and stay in my bed at night. I don’t know if I’m more excited about the marketplace or the seminars!

Are you going to Sock Summit if so I’d love to meet you!

In knitting related news I’m working on 2 cardigans at the same time. I’m really happy with both of them so far too. It’s amazing how fast something knits up when you don’t have to write a pattern for it!

The first is Daffodil with a striped garter stitch yoke. It’s a fingering weight pattern but I never use the right yarn for the right pattern. I used silky tweed and did the math for the gauge. I used purple for the stripes. Something I normally wouldn’t have. I like the charcoal but I’m still on the fence about the purple. It’s not my normal choice but I was trying to go for something other than ochre and acid green. I wish I would have gone with acid green. Maybe I’ll do a short sleeved version in my original color choices. I think I’ll get a lot of wear out of this cardigan though. It seems very wearable and light enough to wear around the house from fall to spring. The second is Larch but it’s a big grey blob right now. It’s going to be super pretty and wearable but the details were tedious (beautiful, very thoughtful but tedious none the less).

I haven’t written in a week but I’ll get back to it soon. I’ve hit a point where I know how this is all going to end. I had to take a step back and write up a battle plan. I’ve got diagrams with arrows, skirmishes and planned attacks. I think it would be easier to write a fiction crime novel at this point where you don’t have to put a war onto paper. Maybe not. I’m actually excited about finishing this self imposed project because I um, have something else that has been eating my brain. It’s individually smaller but collectively larger and I’m in love with it. So yeah. Mildred is huge and Mildred will eventually need a title that is not “Mildred”. Maybe when I am done with this I will have a blog contest on “Name My Book” Maybe, I don’t know if I’d get enough entries to make it worth while or not.

So yeah. That’s mostly my life these days. I have some farming stuff going on, and I’ll be putting up some Tarhgee fiber for sale. If I were to have some Icelandic spun up what weight would you as a knitter prefere?

Jun

Knitting vs Reading vs Writing

I’ll admit. Writing it starting to win out. I set myself a goal to have Mildred finished by the end of summer. That might seem like plenty of time for you all but in reality I’m doubtful of my deadline. I have no eclipsed 500,000 words. That’s right, it’s a lot of stinking words. I’m starting to get those questions, “are you going to publish it?”, “when are you going to be done?”, “can I read it?”. Well, here are some answers, “I’d love to publish it, but since last time I checked I am not a publisher I don’t know. When I am done I will do what needs to be done to try and bring this story into the world. But it will be another long and maybe painful process. I’m not focusing on it right now because I need to focus on how Mildred is going to end.”

“I have no idea when it will be done. I write and write and write and feel good and comfortable about what I write though I know I could probably go back and add paragraphs upon paragraphs of description and action to enhance bits. I will be done when Mildred decides she is done and no sooner. At least now I know where I am going. This has been a completely organic process. I didn’t start out intending to write a story (or now as some family members are calling it “epic). I wrote five little paragraphs that amused me (and apparently others). I need to finish this because I am queen of leaving things half done. It will be done when it is done and hopefully that is by the end of summer.”

“Ug, the “can I read it” question. See the thing is I’m still embarrassed that I write a blog some days and that people read it. I didn’t grow up in a showy family, we did what we did very well but we don’t talk about it because “it might give you a big head”. I struggle against this and the Mr often will frown at me and push me a little outside my comfort zone but for right now I’m still embarrassed by Mildred. Part of me thinks that I might have written 500,000+ words that are complete crap and that my storyline is predictable and generic that my characters are unlikable and dumb. These might not be things that are true or at least completely true but that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about looking like a looser. Sometimes I wish I would have taken an interest in softball or running or mountain biking or rock climbing. No one ever thinks those people are losers, (although I don’t get why a softball has to be the size of a grapefruit) or laughs at their hobbies.”

So yeah. I’ve been writing a lot. On any average day I’m putting in about 5,000 words if not more. I’m still knitting but it’s summer and my knitting always slows down in warmer weather. I finished my second (and larger) Weave It shawl. I can’t tell you how much I love this shawl. the colors, the texture, the size, it’s really one of my favorite knits so far.

I changed the increases per Monika’s suggestion and it now looks a million times better. I have finished my final High Desert Shawl also. I still love this pattern but I think I’m done knitting it for a while

I also have knit a swatch.

And sent it off to a certain knit magazine. Fingers crossed. Also thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I appear to have a fig and a walnut tree in my back pasture. I will be honest and say that I have never had a real whole fig (I’ve had a fig newton!) but am sure they are lovely.

So most days this is where I can be found. WRiting while Tank sleeps. When he is ready to wake up for the day I stop and we go run around but until about 11:30 each day I’m writing furiously trying to finish something I never intended to start.

230 days ago Short URL 4 Comments

Books/Craft/Fantasy/Goats/knit/Knitting/Pattern/photography/Picture/Pictures/The Story Of Mildred/Writing

Apr

Living With Passionate Purpose

It has now been 7 months since I moved from California to Washington where my husband had started his business and we were finally ready to live in one place together in a more settled lifestyle. Before I moved it was grueling, heart breaking, lonely, and stressful. I spent 5 months alone – dotted with visits from the Mr every 2 to 3 weeks. I continued to work at a job that I hated, for a boss that hated me and did everything in her power to make me feel worthless, stupid, and always in fear of loosing my job. I popped antidepressants by the handful and went back to the doctor to have my dose increased. I lived with up to 10 panic attacks a day, riddled with anxiety I hid it the best I could while I was at work, often going to the bathroom to cry silently.

Then the business took off and it was finally ready to leave behind California and it’s madness (along with in-laws I sorely miss) and stake a claim in the south-western Washington. The first few weeks were chaotic at best but we have settled into live in our semi-rural home nestled in acres of pasture, trees, birds, and all sorts of wonderful wildlife. The Mr had picked out the most wonderful house and property. Since I was still living in California and packing I saw only a few poorly chosen pictures captured by the real estate agent so I wasn’t prepared. The house is lovely, it’s set up well, not to large, has plenty of storage (with a second unattached garage), 5 acres of enclosed pasture and a wonderful barn that makes me all sorts of happy.

Still, something seemed to be missing. I spent my first few months knitting ferociously, reading, cooking, cleaning, unpacking, exploring, and spending copious amounts of time with Tank on walks. We added chickens, turkeys, geese, and ducks to the property giving it a sense of purpose and giving us a sense of satisfaction in growing something that was meant to nourish our bodies as well as our spirits. We had been lost in the fold of Californian greed, and frankly, it hurts. Raising our livestock fills a need to create and harvest that is intensely satisfying in a way that is hard to explain. It’s hard to put into words that this chicken has lived a good, well cared for life and now will nourish the family that raised it. That the vegetables will grow and their harvest will be reaped and enjoyed more than any store-bought lettuce ever has. Wool shorn from my sheep and spun into yarn and knit into a sweater will be a better sweater than any ever offered by a designer.

We are returning to the land as my Father in Law puts it. The odd bit is that he seems to say it with pride. We never expect anyone else to understand why we have chosen the life we are living – and of course this is only the tip of the iceberg - but we certainly don’t expect understanding and such acceptance. We love it, but most people would rather not raise chickens and turkeys for the dinner table, though many do it for eggs. Raising livestock isn’t hard but it isn’t as easy as dropping by the store after work and grabbing some chicken breasts. What it lacks in ease it more than makes up for in environmental impact, sustainability, and wholesomeness. I know where my birds come from, I know they are healthy and what they eat. I know they have no extra hormones and that they have never suffered (except when they are slow to get into the coop at night and I pick them up, and they will tell you this is suffering in the worst sort!).

I finally have realized in the last couple of weeks what was missing. I was missing my stress, my worry, my anxiety. I wasn’t taking any anti depressant (which I had been doing every other 6 months or so for the last couple of years). I’m happier than I have been in years and frankly, after that long, it’s a little odd. Yes, I’ve been always pretty happy, I have an amazing husband, an amazing family, amazing friends, and an amazing dog, but there was always a tinge of misery I hid from the world. Now though, even on the worst days, even on days when no chicken wants to go into the coop at night and I have to pull them out from under the coop, kneeling in chicken poop in the process, or when Tank finds coyote musk and rolls in it happy as can be I am happier that I could imagine. I am happiest now when I am the dirtiest, most tired, and most sore because it means I am doing something meaningful, something with purpose. I didn’t realize before how much I needed this but now that I have it I don’t think I could give it up. It might not be the life for everyone but I think I have finally found my best life.

Mar

Never Knew Another – A Review

Never Knew Another is a stunningly beautiful novel. There are few other words that I can think that would be describe reading this quick 200 + page book besides them although I would add eloquent, original, and intriguing. The reader is invited into the world of two walkers (humans that can change into wolf form with the help of a skin across their backs) on a journey to hunt out demon children and cleanse the earth.

Click on picture to go to the authors site to learn more!

It all began as they happened upon the slain body of Jon, Lord Joni, in a circle of stained, burnt and dead grasses. The blood spilled was so foul that nothing living could continue living after having come into contact with it. A special talent of the walkers (whom we never learn their true names) is to see inside the memories of the fallen demon child. The memories intermingle with past and current events in a wonderful and interesting way.

The reader follows Jona as he begins upon his path to what will finally be his ultimate doom. Can a demon child be a King’s man and enforce the law? Can someone born tainted do good? These concepts come up more and more as the book goes on as the characters question their motives, their blood, and their very existence.

All in all Never Knew Another is a must read novel. It’s quick, beautiful, well written and leaves you wanting more (the author has stated that this is book one of a series). The storyline and plot is original and well thought out and beautifully executed. Lovely, dark, and graceful this story is sure to capture your imagination.

338 days ago Short URL Comments

book review/Books/Fantasy/reading/Writing

J. M. Mcdermott/never knew another

Mar

Break It Up

I went to the Patrick Rothfuss book signing last night in Beaverton, along with 400 other people. There was a 3 hour wait and Powell’s ran out of books. I had reserved my copy even though the woman on the phone 2 weeks ago told me I wouldn’t need to and they would have plenty of copies. I bought my book, looked at the crowd and went home. Book unsigned. I was a little disappointed but frankly, and I hope no one would ever take offence to this, but I can’t think of anyone I’d stand in line for 3 hours just to smile sheepishly and watch as they struggled to spell my name. Maybe Jesus. Maybe. Or GOD but only the old school smiting one, I’m not about peace and bunnies. (How many did I just offend? It’s ok! God has a sense of humor, I’m a Unitarian!). Thankfully the Mr understanding my sullenness brought up sending my book to Pat to sign so I went home and looked it up. The man has a FAQ section just for this purpose! Yes, you can send him your book with return postage and he will sign it as long as you send him something neato. I’m thinking about knitting another hermit crab and sending it. Something cool for something cool is a totally legit trade. So I’ll read the book and send it over the summer after much of the fan boy craziness has worn down.

I think fans forget that writers are people too, with lives, and spouses, children and dogs. They write, but that’s not all they do and I think it’s easy to forget that. Speaking of writers have you walked by a shelf and seen Never Knew Another? No? Well go search it out because it’s getting a post all it’s own in the next few days.

On the same thought I’ve been having hobby issues lately. It feels like there isn’t enough time in the day to get all the stuff I want to get done completed. I wake up, I surf my favorite blogs, check my email (though it’s only junk these days), cruise Ravelry, and sit down to write. I drop out between 3 and 5 thousand words before noon at which point Tank demands we go do doggy stuff. So off to the dog park we go where he makes me smile, (and sometimes yell) and does wonderful puppy stuff. Then back home I write some more because I need to get Mildred done. We both need closure. By 5:30 I’m making dinner for the Mr and I and when we are done I’m pooped. I haven’t knit as much lately and felt a little guilty about that until I realized that I never really knit that much between February and June. I have started spinning again, and inhaling books again and battling dirty dishes on a daily basis again. (Stupid dishes out number me, how does that seem fair?)

: Here is a random picture of a bird at my feeder to break up the many words you are reading.

So now I’ve taken a little step back (because things are only going to get more insane in the next few months when our number of sheep will increase, turkeys arrive and planting needs to be done) and looked at what I do and why I do it.

1. I have deleted some people I used to watch from my flickr stream (I didn’t even know I could do that) because of a few reasons.
A. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, except that while I have commented on your pictures you have never done the same. I don’t need you to comment but I won’t follow people around because they are internet popular anymore.
B. I can’t remember why we ever followed each other. It was probably knitting related but you are most likely Ravelry popular and I’m not and for some reason it hurts ego every time you post and it’s loved by 1 million knitters even if you decided to knit poop out of poop spun yarn. (that of course is an exaggeration!)
C. I wasn’t seeing pictures by people I really know and really care about because so many others dominated my page. It made me a bad friend and that sucks.
2. I have deleted a whole bunch of blogs from my google reader much for the same reason as flickr. I rarely believe that anyone is so busy or important (with exceptions) that you can’t respond to comments. I think it’s rude frankly. If you blog just for you, awesome, these are just my feelings right now in this moment.
3. I have clicked “Hide this user” all over facebook. Just because I like Dirty Jobs doesn’ t mean I need you talking about your damn show all the time Discover. Yes, I <3 Mike Rowe but I <3 him less when I see multiple posts all over my news feed. Frankly, Monica, Shawna, Will, and Phil are way more interesting to me.

So yeah, I know everyone goes through this about once or twice a year. It’s needed. We have become so overloaded from all the information I think it causes depression! So that’s my Thursday rant. Tomorrow I will work on a review of Never Knew Another and then will dig into Wise Man’s Fear. It’s obviously book season.

And for no reason at all, here is John Quincy Adams with a Ham! There is a fantastic little exhibit at Powell’s City Of Books in downtown Portland. All the presidents have ham! It’s funny and well done. If you’re local go check it out.

339 days ago Short URL 3 Comments

Books/Fantasy/photography/Picture/Pictures/Portland/reading/thoughts/Writing

never knew another/wise mans fear

Mar

Something A Little Different

I’m still writing. I know I don’t talk about it much because frankly, it’s still a little embarrassing. It’s like saying that you are learning how to ballroom dance then having all your friends watch as you trip on your fringe and fall flat on you face. At least that’s how I perceive it. I know I have the most supportive family and friends ever and you guys all totally rock. If you have a kindle or a reader I can totally send you a version to read in PDF but Mildred is huge. It’s gotten to the point where I’m a little embarrassed to say that it’s well over 600 pages and over 350,000 words. I remember when I was so impressed with myself for writing a straight 1,000 words. Anywho, it’s hard for me to admit I write because I always worry about failing once it’s done. I have a keen need to be better, faster, and all around more awesome than anyone around me, and frankly, it’s not competition because it’s not about anyone but me. Thankfully my cousin Rebecca shares this “Bigger, Better, Faster Syndrome” and we can laugh how we are crazy.

Tomorrow I’m going to the Patrick Rothfuss signing in Beaverton (HA! BEAVERTON) for his release of The King Killer. The Name of the Wind (his first book in the series) was the first and only book that has ever made me cry. (Well beside when Dumbledore died but everyone cried at that!). His writing is so elegant and beautiful that he’s kind of become a writer I compare myself to, like “is this sentence as good as one of his? No? Then rewrite it.” I do this with Tad Williams too so maybe that explains why I’m still writing after 600+ pages?

Recently tho I’ve had a development. I have been writing Mildred completely organically and frankly had no idea how she’d end. Laying in bed one night overly tired but not able to sleep it came to me, the whole end unfolded and I cried. I cried because I had no idea it would be that way but now that I have seen it, it truly is the only way it can end. So yeah, I know where I’m heading, I don’t know how soon I’ll get there though.

In the mean time this popped into my head today while I was in the shower (very much the way Mildred first did). I dig it and may write a short. (And here is a picture of Tank looking nuts because this is how I feel 80% of the time.)

“Son of a bitch” I yelled as I grabbed my shin and made my way wincing to one of my dining room chairs. I may be what the humans call an angel but it still hurts like hell when I bang my shin into a sharp edged drawer.

I’m not like you, and I’m definitely not human, but I would be loath to call myself an angel. Angeles conjure up images of sickening precious moments figurines, babies in diapers shooting heart shaped arrows or beautiful women in long flowing white gowns with huge white swan wings. I am none of those things. I may work for Them upstairs but I don’t fit nicely into your preconceived stereotypes, mainly because they piss me off. I did say “Them”, meaning gods. There are many of them just as there are many of anything that exists. It would be like thinking there is only one star, one ocean, one rat, there are always more than you think, always more than you see.

Looking at me you’d think I was normal enough. I appear to be a woman in her middle thirties with blondish shoulder length hair, bright green eyes, a round Scandinavian face and a couple of extra pounds. I’m neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, pretty nor ugly. I’m right in the middle where you will forget about me just as soon as you see me, just as I’m supposed to be. I say appear to be in my thirties because that’s how I look to humans, in fact I’m roughly (because I stopped counting some time ago) the age of those mummified mammoths they find. I’ve been here protecting and watching over humans since they first were plopped on this spec of dirt. I’m immortal and before anyone starts thinking that’s as cool as it gets let me sort a few things for you. Being immortal means you are old, seriously old, and I’ve never met a happy chipper people lover whose north of one hundred. So excuse me if I’m not employee of the month anymore. Humans tend to get on your nerves after a while. Yeah I love ‘em like I have to and protect them from the boogeyman but the fact is humans are a lot of stinking work. And that’s if they don’t start whining. So I’m a little grumpy at best, you’d be too. Second, I’m not rich and awesome like the Highlander which kind of stinks. A lot of my stuff gets blown up or set on fire in the whole smiting process so I live modestly on the build it yourself designs of Ikea. Finally it’s nearly impossible to find an interesting book anymore. When you’ve lived as long as I have you’ve heard almost every story anyone could ever tell.

My name is Ariel and I’m kind of a big thing, but that’s another story. My job is to watch over the humans and keep them from those that would bring blackness into the world. I’m not talking about the pit either; humans think that the pit offers up the greatest evil ever created, well it doesn’t. The ones from below just think differently and maybe are a little bit impulsive, and weird and maybe they like to have a human snack now and then but there is worse out there. The great adversary does reside in the pit but still he’s not really my focus, mainly he fights with Them but lately it’s been akin to two old guys fighting over chess. I watch for things that make the pit dwellers quake and then I kick some ass. I don’t start each day looking to smite someone because frankly, it’s a lot of work and not everyone needs to be smited. If living this long has taught me anything it’s just to let some things go. Mainly I try to be as normal as possible by human standards, run my little book shop and try not to use my fiery sword on the asshole in 3B who thinks he’s Neil Peart at two am on a Wednesday. If there’s anything I hate more than televangelist (and as a rule all angels do) it’s would be drummers.

341 days ago Short URL 2 Comments

Books/Fantasy/photography/Picture/Pictures/reading/Writing

book signing/mildred/name of the wind/patrick rothfuss/Tad Williams

Mr Poopers Day Out

Filed under Writing …