stillsostrange: (Riff & Magenta)
I had plans to attend a summer solstice parade last night, and most of a Green Fairy costume assembled for the occasion. Then [ profile] mmaresca informed me that The Bone Palace would be featured in a Naked Girls Reading performance. Well, dear reader, parades happen several times a year in Austin. Gorgeous burlesque dancers reading my books aloud--not so often. The reader turned out to be Zaftigg von BonBon.


After the show I blushingly introduced myself and got a glittery hug, which means that I have actually found the fabled auctorial glamour. Even awards that come with tiaras are not so glamourous.

I am suddenly incredibly motivated to finish The Poison Court.

In other news, my gym recently acquired a heavy bag. It is my new best friend. I spent ten minutes on it this morning, and now my knuckles are bruised. I want to punch things forever.
stillsostrange: (Hungry)
This is just to say that I did a pull-up today. Two of them, in fact. Sadly, there was an hour in between those two, but hey. I did a pull up. I am officially a valkyrie. I'm also running two miles at minimal intervals. With any luck next week I'll be running 2.25 miles.

In other news, Poison Court is closing fast on 20k. And we're still in the first round of plot twists. Long book may be long. I'm also watching Hannibal, because bulletproof kink. I blame Tumblr. And also bulletproof kink.
stillsostrange: (Default)
So, a) over the past month I've become completely smitten with Avatar: The Last Airbender*, and b) I turned over the TV to the childer tonight with two-thirds of the series finale left to watch. This virtue pains me, and makes it hard to concentrate on the chapter I'm rewriting. I keep getting distracted by googling pictures of June and Mai. Not June/Mai yet, but this virtue can't last forever.

Think I could Kickstarter enough money to hire the animation team to make an adaptation of The Bone Palace? If not, I'll be reduced to begging for fanart of Mai, June, and Isyllt kicking ass in barfights and drinking tea**.

* It may come as no surprise that Uncle Iroh is my one true love. And yeah, I totally cried at the Mako tribute episode.

** THAT IS A HINT, people.
stillsostrange: (Prometheus)
I have lost the ability to write coherent essays, so I will break up my thoughts with bullets instead.

Spoilers, of course )
stillsostrange: (Prometheus)
So, I could attempt to write a somewhat thoughtful and complex response to Prometheus. Or I could write Michael Fassbender's name a hundred times surrounded by glittery hearts.

When I'm done with that, and my hand stops cramping, I may try the thoughtful approach again.
stillsostrange: (Hungry)
Here is Sir Anthony Hopkins reading "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." If you need me, I will be in my bunk.

stillsostrange: (Default)

If Gina Carano won't inspire me to get out of bed in the morning and run, I don't know what will. Or inspire me to do squats until I can choke Michael Fassbender someone out with my thighs.

Also, I could watch her beat up pretty boys all day long.
stillsostrange: (fatale)
And that, Mr. Ritchie, is how it is fucking done.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Late to the party as usual, I have just discovered Sherlock. Sweet Fishes, and I thought Benedict Cumberbatch was pretty in Tinker Tailor. I now want him to play every dragon in the world--including Morkeleb. I also have very high hopes for all Smaug and Bilbo's conversations. As well I bloody should, since those were always my favorite scenes.
stillsostrange: (Default)
I don't know enough about the birth of psychoanalysis to judge A Dangerous Method on its accuracy, but I would consider myself a reasonable judge of Michael Fassbender in waistcoats. And that film had a lot of Michael Fassbender in waistcoats. Perfectly nice waistcoats. Containing Michael Fassbender.


I'm sorry, what was I saying?
stillsostrange: (Brigitte)
A very productive day: I picked up my new glasses (they have stripes, for speed), talked to my tattoo boy about my next piece, and wrote over 3,000 words. The book is still Frankensteinian, but becomes sleeker and sexier. Like Udo Kier in Flesh For Frankenstein.

Dreams of Shreds and Tatters

10036 / 80000 words. 11% done!

And I did all this in spite of discovering Fuck Yeah Udo Kier. The gifs from Blood For Dracula are hypnotic. No one vomits blood more sexily than Udo Kier.

stillsostrange: (OTP)
Ralph Fiennes. Gerard Butler. Coriolanus

I think that's all that needs saying.
stillsostrange: (Elbow sex)
While I don't like to get too carried away when externalizing my characters (e.g. That whole, oh, I don't write the stories, it's all the characters school of writing), it does sometimes feel like I'm having tiny conversations in my head. Tonight's went something like this:

ME: I need to cast the demon-king of Samarkan't. I think we need Clancy Brown. (Browses GIS)

ISYLLT: Clancy Brown is hot.

ME: Seriously. Possibly the hottest guy to ever run around in a skull hat. Also the tallest.

ISYLLT: And who's he playing again?

ME: The demon-king of whatever this Nongol city is.

ISYLLT: This calls for a necromancer.

ME: Yeah, probably. Too bad you're not in this book.

ISYLLT: What do you mean I'm not in this book?

ME: Not in it. This is not a Necromancer Chronicle. You're getting into trouble somewhere else until someone pays me for TNC #4.

ISYLLT: You can't have a plot that requires flirting with a hot demon-king and not have me. This is not a job for amateurs.

ME: I didn't say anything about flirting--

ISYLLT: You yourself said he was hot.

ME: I don't think that's the point...

ISYLLT: That's why you haven't sold book 4.
stillsostrange: (Default)
Please enjoy Steve Naghavi's cheekbones.

stillsostrange: (Stomp)
Tonight I saw Das Ich, breaking my curse of missing them under ridiculous circumstances. This was a life-list concert. The show was ausgezeichnet, of which I had no doubt. I didn't realize from the videos that Stefan is pocket-sized. I wanted to steal him! It's possible I made a high-pitched squealy noise every time he walked by. (A quiet high-pitched squealy noise, of course.) They're also sillier on stage than I'd imagined, which is so adorable words fail me. Nothing is cuter than perky goths.

The pinnacle of squee came after the show, when Bruno came out on the dance floor for "Ribbons", and then vanished again. My heart grew three sizes, and then exploded into glittery black shrapnel.

They recorded the show, and Stefan shoved the mike in my face during "Kain und Abel", so it's possible embarrassing footage of me screaming in German will eventually make its way to the internet.
stillsostrange: (Blood)
I failed at seeing Deathly Hallows, but I celebrated Black Friday by buying new gothware and concert tickets. I was going to come home and write, but...

Blood Maidens came in the mail today.

It sat in the mailbox long enough that it's currently sucking the warmth out of me, which is appropriate. I'm almost scared to open it. I've been waiting for this book for nearly fourteen years. Traveling With The Dead is my favorite book ever.

I don't think I'll be getting much else done tonight.
stillsostrange: (The Drowning City)
I just bought my plane tickets for WFC, and today I found out that The Drowning City went back for a second print run. My baby novel is grown up!

Also, Helen Mirren with a sniper rifle.
stillsostrange: (Baroness)
I got stood up by my gaming group tonight, so in a fit of book-avoiding masochism I turned on G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra. Oh, reader. Why do I do these things?

The first two thirds of this movie weren't actually as bad as I'd expected. Chris Eccleston was as adorable as ever--with bonus Cobraspotting accent--proto-Cobra was remarkably competent, and there was a hot Destro/Baroness/Storm Shadow vibe going on. (I am an oldschool Destro/Baroness shipper, and normally nothing could fuck with that OTP, but for Byung-hun Lee I'll make an exception.) And Joseph Gordon-Levitt seemed to be having fun with his lines, which is all you can do in that situation.

But, oh, the horrible, awful, nogood backstory they slapped on the Baroness. The only thing worse than killing the bad girl is to "redeem" her in a way that removes all of her agency. I hope the writers can feel me force-choking them, wherever they are.

And goddamn it! I want Cobra Commander screaming "DESTRO!" That is what he does. I wonder if JGL would do that for me, if I ever meet him...

This affront to the Baroness and my childhood must be answered. It'll have to get in the queue with the other angry refutation novels I need to write.
stillsostrange: (Rilke)
I bring you this because I love you.

Part 1 of an unsold 1958 television pilot starring Vincent Price and Peter Lorre as crime-fighting art dealers. There are not enough exclamation points in the world to convey my love for this. I want to travel immediately to the alternate dimension in which this show was filmed for five seasons.

Part 2:

Part 3:
stillsostrange: (Dark City)
I run out of memes and content grinds to a halt. I am currently watching Funeral In Berlin, and my love for Michael Caine's Harry Palmer is moving from effulgent to boundless. And look, it's the bank from Run Lola, Run!

I will pay someone lots and lots of money to write me Harry Palmer and the Philosopher's Stone. If you don't, I may have to do it myself.


stillsostrange: (Default)

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