stillsostrange: (Elsa Bloodstone)
So, if you missed the update to yesterday's entry, my fears were confirmed. I had an abscess in my gum, which has been drained*. I have a root canal on Tuesday. This caused me to miss my father's birthday yesterday, as well as Exquisite Corpse, and will cause me to miss a chance to wear the worm suit for work on Wednesday. This makes me rather crabtastic.

On the upside, my head is no longer a pulsing mass of putrescence and pain this morning, so I can go to work today. This is a positive because a) I'm dressing up for Comic Book Day, and b) I'm seeing Avengers tonight, and I would feel guilty if I did so after skipping work. On the slightly less upside, by 9 in the morning on the 5th of May, it was already too damn hot for my costume. For fuck's sake, Texas. Throw me a bone here.


* Before this procedure:

Me: "There is no optimal outcome that involves a mouth full of pus."

Dentist: "You said it, not me."
stillsostrange: (Default)
Today was an exciting day at the book mines. We unexpectedly closed at 4:30, due to finally finding an engineer to state the obvious: our building is a deathtrap that longs to collapse into rubble. So now we're closed next week for fifth opinions and estimates, and depending on how bad the news is may be closed longer than that. So I get a well-timed weekend off, and next week I can either take a vacation or pick up hours at another store.

Whee!
stillsostrange: (Default)
Yesterday at work I shelved a copy of Conan the Freebooter, which I misread as Conan the Freeloader. I was then left contemplating the Conan who crashes on your couch for a month, never buys groceries, and drinks all your beer.

And today one of [livejournal.com profile] j_cheney's posts has me trying to figure out how to mash-up Conan with Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. The poignant story of two women's friendship, while one becomes a priestess and one becomes a warlord bent on breaking open the gates of hell. This has potential, I think.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Found in the bookstore recently, a cover blurb (I think it was front-cover, but it might have been on the back) taken from a review:

"[Main character] is as hard-boiled as a four-minute egg"

Either this reviewer and I have different ideas about hard-boiling eggs, or the publisher decided a bitch-slap of a blurb was better than none at all.

--30--

Apr. 17th, 2010 12:52 am
stillsostrange: (Bone Palace)
Today, after staring at The Bone Palace for a few minutes too many, I said fuckit! and sent the draft in to my editor. I thought that would buy me a week of peace, at least. Instead, in a shocking turn of events, he got back to me in 40 minutes and signed off on the draft. The book is done.

Now I find myself with the task of making appendices. Appendices, people! I have graduated to a new level of fat fantasy writing.

And tomorrow I may get to wear the worm suit at the dayjob. Win!
stillsostrange: (Squirrelly Wrath)
Today I got to climb into the ceiling at the bookstore to find a dead mouse. In a trap the Orkin guy claims to have checked twice in the past week. (The stench has been there well over a week.)

Good times, good times.
stillsostrange: (Baby bats)
The Bone Palace

Draft 1.0



431 / 462 pages. 93% done!

Goodnight, book. Sleep well. I'll likely kill you in the morning.


Today's exciting dayjob adventure was bat relocation. A lost little Mexican free-tailed ended up in the store, and was found sleeping upside down in the kids' section. (Most adorable thing ever, of which I sadly did not get pictures.) So a coworker and I gloved up and retrieved him. As we hit the doors, I found myself saying "But it's cold and rainy and we can't just dump him in the parking lot!"

This is how our chiropteran friend ended up in a box in my car. I called a coworker's friend who works with bat conservation and left a message, and tried to find a vet on my lunch break for advice. The vet, unsurprisingly, gave me the party line of Don't touch the bat. Have nothing to do with the bat. I, unsurprisingly, ignored this. (No, I did not touch the bat ungloved, or snuggle the bat, or kiss the bat. This used up all my willpower for the next month. So! Adorable!)

After that came some frustration involving the bat rescue website being down, and me not wanting to call animal control. Then I remembered [livejournal.com profile] batwrangler, who answered her phone and gave me sage advice. My coworker's friend called back a bit later, and gave me the same sage advice. So after work I took Mr. (or Ms., as the case may be) Stellaluna to one of the bat bridges in town (where many of his relatives were still hanging out, having decided not to migrate) and let him go. He was still a little dazed when last I saw him, but crawling around and starting to perk up. Hopefully the trauma of being manhandled by giant monsters will wear off soon.

I took some bad cellphone pictures for [livejournal.com profile] batwrangler, but you have to wait till tomorrow for them. Or Wednesday, depending on how long tomorrow's deathmarch runs.

I need a giant bat to sit on my shoulder while I type. That would be soothing.
stillsostrange: (Bleak)
Dear Subconscious:

I do not need anxiety dreams, thank you. I know when my deadline is.

Noloff,

Me


Dear Bats Who Live Near The Bookstore:

Please don't die on our sidewalk. You are too adorable, and they won't let me stop and hold proper burial services in the middle of a workday.

Love,

Me


Dear Book:

WHY AREN'T YOU DONE ALREADY??!!! Interrobang!

Noloff,

Me
stillsostrange: (Default)
To celebrate [livejournal.com profile] mrissa's birthday, work took us bowling. I love my job.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Today's entry comes from a cover blurb.

"When [Author] is on fire, nobody can touch him."

That's right. Nobody. Not even ninjas.
stillsostrange: (Bitch please)
This time it's not titles that irritate me, but cover art. Particularly the art of the Venus Prime books. Exhibit A:



Seriously. That's a doped-up 10-year-old's face and a huge pair of tits, belonging to--I presume--the "beautiful and mysterious" main character. And all the covers are some variant of the same tits and glazed childlike expression. Reader, I squick. Squick squick squick!
stillsostrange: (Stuck)
Day two of store inventory. Only one more day to go. I may lose the ability to count past 25*. I have already lost the ability to write coherently or figure out what happens next in this stupid book. I managed to answer some interview questions and turn in a questionnaire for con programming, but that's all. Tomorrow I have to vote for the Hugos. Really for reals.


* We count stock in increments of 25. 25 books--scan, 25 books--scan, 25 books--scan, rinse and repeat for eight hours, until seven stores are counted. It's exactly as exciting as that sounds.
stillsostrange: (Yellow Sign)
Today I went to another store for inventory. I unlocked a display case to count rare books, and what should be in it waiting for me?

A signed copy of The King in Yellow, that's what.

Maybe my tattoo didn't start to writhe and sear my flesh, and maybe I wasn't struck mad and blind by visions of the King. Maybe. But the book came home with me anyway. I may regret this when I check my bank balance tomorrow, but I don't really care.
stillsostrange: (Drop bears)
And happy Father's Day, too.

I will be celebrating the longest day with...an hour of overtime at work. How exciting.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Today, I spent four hours dancing in a giant green worm costume. Best. Job. EVER!

Then, I got to do something else I'd never done before: drive in a hailstorm. That was less best.

But, the hail and various other attendant weathers mean that I can blow off the gym tonight. Which, after the amount of sweating I did in that worm suit, doesn't seem such a bad thing.

I want a worm suit to wear every day!
stillsostrange: (Default)
The good: having good Indian and coming home to chill with one's edit letter after work.

The bad: realizing that one has the key to the store's recycling bin in one's pocket, which one's coworkers need in the morning, and that it's too late to drop it off with the closing people.

The ugly: getting up at 7:30 to return said key.
stillsostrange: (Brigitte)
69. (vampire movie 14) Låt den rätte komma in - OMGLOFF! Sweet and beautiful and loffly. (Although it's probably a sign of my general character that at that first childish Hjaelp from the dark, I started cackling. Also, one needs a very strenuous screening process for ghouls [the Renfield sort, not the meeping sort].)


The work Christmas party had dolmas! And biryani! And after I'd already had my free martini and cider and beer, I found a serendipitous stray ticket and got a free absinthe! Nom nom nom. I am still somewhat expansive.
stillsostrange: (Brigitte)
Dreams
Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
53,576 / 75,100
(71.3%)


This book is the Grand Canyon. It isn't written; it's eroded.

These words were written to counteract the fail that was otherwise my evening. I completely forgot that puppy school changed schedule, showed up an hour early, and didn't have the gumption to wait outside in the wind and cold. I could have gone climbing when I got home, but I decided I'd rather watch CM. An hour later, too late to leave for the gym, I realized that CM was preempted. Boo, and also grr.


The dayjob has discovered my weakness. Namely, when confronted with a shelf of mis-alphabetized picture books, I become as OCD as a vampire confronted with scattered grain. This will be even a bigger project than putting all the Dragonlance novels in series order.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Nothing like an internetless dayjob to turn this into a ghost-journal. To recap:

Dayjob: fun
Puppy: bigger
Cats: roughly the same
Book: recalcitrant
Black Friday: looming

Mr. Hedgie, Gretchen's oldest and most faithful stuffy, only has one leg now. He bleeds green fluff. It's a hard life for faithful companion hedgie.
stillsostrange: (Default)
In half an hour I leave for the new dayjob. What an excellent day for LJ to be down.

The tragedy of this job is that none of the coffee shops lie conveniently between me and it,

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