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| Monday, May 28th, 2012 |
haikujaguar
|
7:03a |
Black Blossom, Part 70: The Right Name.
We continue Black Blossom, the novel that follows The Aphorisms of Kherishdar and The Admonishments of Kherishdar. It is a form of quasi-communal storytelling, as described here. Feel free to ask questions, converse or react as you wish in the comments; the Calligrapher and I are at your disposal, as time permits us both. And don’t fear… your questions are shaping the narrative. Read closely in the future and you may see yourself referred to there.
Black Blossom, Part 70
A Story of Kherishdar as Translated by M.C.A. Hogarth
Reck this: Once there was an aridkedi, a country Merchant, who was known far afield for her gift for making pots of extraordinary beauty… such beauty, in fact, that to see them broken was a cause for grief among all those who bought her work. They often brought her shattered pieces after one of those breaks, begging her to mend the pot, or grieving if it was beyond aid.
Now, the potter was a good friend to an artist, who was taking tea with her one day when another Ai-Naidari brought a collection of these pieces to the shop. After the patron had left, the potter poured these pieces into a box behind her counter.
‘What is that box?’ said the artist.
‘This is where I dump the remains of my broken works,’ the potter said. ‘I have no use for the pieces, so I collect them here until I have time to dispose of them.’
‘Give them to me!’ the artist said. ‘I shall put them to work again.’
The aridkedi did so allow, and the artist took the box home. She assembled the broken pieces into new vases, strange and fragile and variegated. These vases became very popular as vauni haale—vessels used as focus for meditation. Some say they helped popularize the use of such vessels.
This is the parable of the broken pot. Reck it well.
toril [toh REEL ], (noun) – broken piece; shard; particularly, a piece of shattered glass through which one can see refractions.
***
The fathrikedi made good on her promise and put me to sleep on the massage table. Some part of that was no doubt the greater world-weight of the colony, for the moment I laid my body down, I felt the sudden weariness in every muscle; but some part of it was certainly her skill, and she had it in full. Hers were gentle hands, and deft ones, and though I would have found her touch discomfiting in the past Kor had worn down my resistance to the touch that is, after all, encouraged so deliberately among us by our rules and our customs. A society that does not enshrine touch and give it proper context with names and traditions may claim to be one that has freed touch… but I suspect what it creates instead is the very opposite. Where there is too much freedom, there is also much anxiety about whether one is well and truly allowed what one yearns for. Fear dictates one’s actions, rather than license.
But I digress. I slept until dinner, which the proprietor brought with the faint song of the bells on the door.
“Have you a name for me yet?” the Decoration asked with bright eyes once the proprietor had withdrawn.
“I am thinking,” I said, and distributed the bowls and plates. When I would have risen to knock on the bedroom door, she placed her tail on the floor between my foot and my next step.
“Don’t,” she said. “They aren’t hungry yet. At least, not for this sort of food.”
“I would have thought exertion such as theirs would require fuel,” I said.
She laughed. “They are young, osulkedi. I assure you, they won’t notice.”
So she and I shared our part of the meal, and she ate with the same refinement of grace with which she moved. Truly, she was a pleasure to behold: the thought that she might abandon her hhaza was painful to contemplate.
“Do you truly feel as if you haven’t been living since the lord’s love?” I asked at last.
She looked at me over the rim of her bowl, tapered fingers tracing the cut edge of a pale yellow melon. And then she looked down with a faint frown. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I begin to wonder if… I have just… fallen in love. If in fact…” She stopped, lost in thought, then met my eyes. “If perhaps I have experienced, briefly, what you told me you felt for your wife.”
“The one, rare, perfect love,” I said, remembering our conversation.
“Yes,” she said, eyes lowered. “There is some guidance among fathriked about what to do in such a situation, but… it is rare. The personalities drawn to the caste are not usually the kind to form strong attachments.”
“What is the guidance then?” I asked, fascinated. The things I was learning about the castes on this errand!
“That such affairs rarely end well,” she admitted with a sigh. “We love, osulkedi, but we are rarely loved in return in the same way. And we are passed from hand to hand… even if we do have such a singular love, we are not always lucky enough to remain with the object of our passion.”
“And you fear it is so, with the lord,” I said, quiet. “You love him, and he feels for you, but not as you do. Not any longer.”
She sighed again, glum, and set the melon aside. “How humbling it is, Calligrapher… to know how much you need someone, and see how little they need you.”
“Humbling… and terrifying, I would think,” I said.
She smiled at me, tired. “How lucky you are to not know.”
I set my bowl down. “Haraa.”
“Pardon?” she said.
“Your name,” I said. “Haraa.”
She flushed at the ears and inclined her head. “If it pleases you, osulkedi.”
“It does,” I said. “And I hope it pleases the fathrikedi.”
She lowered her eyes. “You do me honor.”
“I speak what I see,” I said. And that is what I called her forever after: “Courage.”
That is how I came to pass the first dareleni without Kor: asleep on a divan with a fathrikedi for company. If the two lovers made any noises that should have darkened my sensitive ears, I did not hear them, and so exhausted was I that I did not even dream. There I would have stayed the night, in fact, had Shame not come for me at some hour, ancestors alone knew how late. I could not see him in the darkness, but I knew his fingertips when they trailed my cheek, and his breath when he kissed my brow, drawing me blearily from slumber.
“Come, ajzelin,” he murmured. “You need a real bed.”
“Ajan—” I mumbled.
“Has a duty to stand tonight, as usual,” Kor said, sliding an arm under mine and pulling me from the divan.
“Haraa,” I said, giving him a moment’s pause until she answered, her voice gentle.
“I am fine, osulkedi. Go rest.”
As we crossed the threshold into the bedroom, Kor murmured, “You named her Courage?”
“To love is an act of bravery,” I answered, eyes closed, and so I did not see his smile, but somehow I knew that he had.
And with that, I fell into a proper bed, one long enough to stretch my limbs, and Kor wrapped his dense, heavy arm around my torso and pulled me into him amid sheets that smelled of joyful exertion, and of family, and I knew then that I would never go back to living alone. The studio, the temple, our separate work, our possible lovers… all of it could be arranged, somehow. And would be.
Thirukedi was wise.
***
We are done now with the interpersonal stuff. Next episode, on to the plot! Such as it is!
As always, consider voting for us on Top Web Fiction here. People do find us that way!
You can also subscribe, or email for a mailing address to send a physical donation.
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
| Sunday, May 27th, 2012 |
stillsostrange
|
10:37p |
A wild reprint appears!
My story "Smoke & Mirrors," originally published in Strange Horizons in 2006, will be reprinted in Ekaterina Sedia's anthology Circus: Fantasy Under the Big Top. Since it was previously reprinted in Best New Romantic Fantasy 2, this means I finally have a most reprinted story. Woo! "Smoke & Mirrors" is the child of my very first artist's challenge necklace from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1) elisem, two different dreams, and the song "Hoist That Rag" played on repeat. Also, that isn't Loki. And it makes me sad that I've ever had to say that. The same circus in S&M also appears in "Catch." I hope to eventually get another couple of stories out of it. If I ever get more stories out of anything. Current Mood:  cheerful |
haikujaguar
|
10:38p |
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haikujaguar
|
4:04p |
Reminder: Reviews Sell Books
I was just reading about how number of reviews count more for Amazon algorithms than the actual rating average of those reviews (which is why some authors are happy to inspire lots of one-star hate reviews because that’s better than being ignored, mathematically speaking). Basically, it’s better to have thirty one-star reviews than one five-star review. Having thirty three or four or five-star reviews looks a lot better, of course, but in terms of making you look like someone worth taking a chance on, counter-intuitively “more reviews” trumps “great reviews.” (Maybe because people assume the book with five five-star reviews was only reviewed by the author’s friends. :, )
So, I thought I’d make the note: even a two-line “I stayed up all night reading this” or “this book was pretty good, I liked the romantic parts” or even “this wasn’t my favorite thing but it was pretty good entertainment” review is better than none. For the print books, you can even go with “the inside of this book is pretty/looks professional.”
And yes, Amazon is still king for those things. Much as I appreciate the Smashwords reviews, no one reads them. Even B&N is a far, far distant second to Amazon’s sales. :/
Sales have been pretty sluggish lately, so every little bit helps. :)
(I should note, I have a ton of titles out and don’t expect people to review them all! So if you only have time for one, the longer ones are best: Wingless, Spots, Rosary, Shell, Clays, the Aphorisms and Admonishments.)
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
haikujaguar
|
8:00a |
Sunday with Kickstarter Preparation
Reminder: tomorrow we are launching our Ten Day Sketchorama Kickstarter! Bring your pennies and we’ll do sketches! Manta rays in hats! Owls! Foxes and otters and things with wings! I’ll even do cars and machinery!
Most importantly: Kickstarter thought you’d find my project too boring to fund and turned it down once with that complaint. Let’s prove them wrong as fast as possible. Rar!
***
Speaking of doodles, the Shy Octopus made it onto Zazzle finally! The blue-footed booby is in process; I uploaded all the designs, but Zazzle flagged them because I set the designs as G-rated but used the word “booby” in the description. :/ Hopefully that will get cleared up soon.
***
Monday we get Black Blossom. After that, no idea. I no longer have work hours, so anything I get done will have to get done in the narrow window after dinner and before I collapse at night of exhaustion. As my friends will tell you, that’s… about one hour. If I’m lucky. :,
We shall see, we shall see.
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
| Saturday, May 26th, 2012 |
stillsostrange
|
8:47p |
It isn't just one of your holiday games
Thank you to everyone who weighed in on the name change question. I'm afraid some of you will be disappointed, though. I can't let Varis and Vargas appear multiple times on the same page (much as I couldn't handle Kieran and Kiril), but there will not be any cute in-text reasons for this. (Okay, I say that now, but I may think of one later.) I just have to change it. The first reader who actually notices will get a cookie. The true lesson to be learned from this is: there's no such thing as a throwaway name. At least if one is writing a series, anyway. One never knows when Random Character Bob will show up again, and when he does, you may regret naming him Bob. In other news, Agent F just passed out while watching Animal Planet an hour before her bedtime. This is an unlooked for windfall of writing time, if I can manage not to pass out. Current Mood:  tired |
frustratedpilot
|
8:35p |
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haikujaguar
|
4:07p |
A (Three Jaguars) Note about Compromises
I am observing lately that my doodles sell well. This is not a surprise: you’re always going to find more people with $30 than $3000. I’ve known this since my first livestream, even. And it’s deeply pleasing, because I make art, and the art leaves my hands, and I get some money in. If I didn’t enjoy the doodling, I wouldn’t be doing the Kickstarter Monday.
…but some part of me really, really wants to do the big ambitious pieces that no one can afford.
This is the point where treating art like a business will cause angst.
All people who do creative work for money recognize this particular conundrum. The extent to which we bow to Business Manager is the extent to which we thrive financially. But we wouldn’t be Artists if we didn’t fight for the reins… and if we didn’t feel it was our divine duty to win them and run off with the bit in our teeth on our madcap joys, screaming defiance.
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
| Friday, May 25th, 2012 |
haikujaguar
|
10:26p |
Sketches for the Day
A blue-footed booby wearing blue-footed booties.
And since several of you asked, the proprietor of the colony tea-house.
I used… uh… twelve colors on her face. No, thirteen.
Now I rest.
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
stillsostrange
|
5:35p |
A question for the crowd
I named a character once in The Bone Palace, an offhand reference that didn't warrant an entry in the dramatis personae but is still in print. Now I find myself needing to write more about that character and a) not liking his name much anymore, and b) finding it a bit too similar to someone else who shows up quite often. How many of you would be wildly irritated if I changed someone's name between books? (I doubt most people even remember that he was ever mentioned, but somewhere out there is the reader who will.) Current Mood:  working |
frustratedpilot
|
2:04p |
Towel Day
From Restaurant At The End Of The Universe, content excerpted from the Glossary of The Hitchhikers' Guide To The Galaxy (which excerpted it from the backside of a package of breakfast cereal): The Universe--some information to help you live in it.[SNIP!--for brevity] 4 POPULATION: None It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination. |
stillsostrange
|
8:59a |
Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen
Þæt, as they say, wæs god concert. We had great seats, the pyrotechnics were gorgeous--and hot*--and the set list was very nice, even if I would rather have heard "Rosenrot" than "Bück Dich." We had to miss the last encore to get home to the babysitter--the opening whistle of "Engel" chased us into the parking lot, and I'm not sure what they played next. I got to see "Haifisch," though, which I love unreasonably. They played "Ohne Dich" and it was quite nice, but I'm afraid Laibach did to that song what Johnny Cash did to "Hurt." They'll never top that cover. That's another concert off my life list. Having seen Leonard Cohen and Concrete Blonde, and given up on Siouxsie or the Creatures, the list is getting short. It would be nice to see Laibach. The rest would need a time machine. * Not unlike many members of the band.** ** But Till, honey, the reason you can't get laid in Germany is because German women understand your lyrics. Current Mood: tired |
olegvolk
|
8:04a |
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haikujaguar
|
8:49a |
Sketch Kickstarter Launches Monday!
Kickstarter’s approved the newly retitled “Ten Sketches, Ten Colors, Ten Days” project, so I’ll be launching that on Monday.
Here’s the thing: it really is ten days, as in, only ten days to raise the money. The goal’s only $300, so only ten people have to back at the lowest sketch pledge level to hit the goal… but it’s a really narrow window. So my plan: launch Monday. Run the ten days to the following Thursday… and then (if we fully fund) do a livestream that Friday to start on your requests.
I am hoping for ten takers! But if I get more I will be well-pleased. Sketch prizes start at $30 for a doodle of my choice and go up to $50 for a doodle to your specifications. Mark the date if you’re interested!
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
haikujaguar
|
7:08a |
Black Blossom, Part 69: Victory!
We continue Black Blossom, the novel that follows The Aphorisms of Kherishdar and The Admonishments of Kherishdar. It is a form of quasi-communal storytelling, as described here. Feel free to ask questions, converse or react as you wish in the comments; the Calligrapher and I are at your disposal, as time permits us both. And don’t fear… your questions are shaping the narrative. Read closely in the future and you may see yourself referred to there.
Black Blossom, Part 69
A Story of Kherishdar as Translated by M.C.A. Hogarth
It was a fine moment for Ajan to knock—that is not sarcasm, aunera, for I shudder to think of him opening the door on me forcing a sexual release out of his beloved master—so I felt relief when Kor said, “Come.”
To his credit, Ajan’s pause at the sight of us entwined was so infinitesimal I would have needed one of Seraeda’s instruments to measure it. He came smartly to the bed’s edge and said, “Qenain’s master scheduler has set up an interview for us with the Serapis aunerai, in the morning, an hour after breakfast.”
“Well done,” Kor said, sitting up to stretch.
“Tomorrow?” I said, stifling my dismay. “I was hoping to put paid to this errand as quickly as possible, and now we will have to tarry here for an entire night?”
“I think I can find something to do with an entire night,” Kor said, and touched his fingertips to Ajan’s chin, startling the youth. “What do you think, menuredi?”
Now this pause made the first one look positively leisurely. The eagerness and hope that energized the youth was palpable, though his bearing and speech were punctiliously correct. “I might have some notions, masuredi, if you are so inclined.”
“I think it is past time for me to be so inclined,” Kor said, and to my delight allowed me to witness his first lover’s kiss with his penokedi. It was a sweet, brief thing that looked, on the surface, much like the chaste kisses he gave me… and left all of us with our fur on end.
“I believe I shall see to the fathrikedi, and perhaps arrange our dinner,” I said, sliding off the bed. I accepted with concealed amusement the robe Ajan found for me with such alacrity it seemed magical. “I’ll knock if anything significant needs your attention, my peer.”
“Thank you, ajzelin,” Kor said, and there was a depth in his voice that made it clear what he was thanking me for.
I left them to one another, then. And when I had closed the door, I am not at all ashamed to admit, aunera… that I perhaps did a little dance-in-place for sheer glee.
“You seem happy,” the fathrikedi said from the door to the bathing chamber.
“Tell me, fathrikedi,” I said, moving carefully to a seat in one of the chairs by the window. “What is your favorite version of the parable of the broken pot?”
She snorted. “I hate them all. So much fuss over a stupid pot! Fix it, get a new one, do without, but for the sake of love, move on already and stop talking so much about it.” She joined me, dropping to her knees at my foot. “So, they finally decided to consummate their unrequited body-love.”
I glanced down at her. She was shrouded in the blanket from the massage table and looked somewhat more together than she had earlier. “You noticed?”
She sighed at my apparent naivete. “Osulkedi, anyone who glanced at them even once would notice.”
I laughed. “I am a sad specimen, it seems.”
“You are an artist,” she said. “It is a characteristic of artists.”
“To be daft?” I said, too pleased to be much distressed over her critique.
“To be consumed in their own worlds,” she said. “There is an inevitable travel time required for an artist to move from his world into ours sufficiently to communicate with us.”
I eyed the top of her head. “You are teasing me, fathrikedi.”
She met my eyes and grinned; this close I could see the hints of her distress, though she had done admirable work minimizing the swollen skin around her eyes. Their rims remained raw, though, like a hint of cosmetics gone wrong. I felt it like a color I could mix on a palette, a broken-open flesh color, like a fruit bruised to spilling…
“You see,” she said. “You’re doing it now.”
“I am observing that your eyes have cried, though you have hidden it well!” I objected.
“Shame observes that my eyes have cried, and I have hidden it well,” she said with a laugh. “You observe how they look, and you will be busy with that for long enough that the reason they look that way will only occur to you… later. As I said. You must travel into this world from your own.”
I hmphed, but I was not truly upset. I had helped my ajzelin—had Corrected him in the Emperor’s stead—had in fact served as his poor, bound-up fathrikedi at the shrine had served!—and we had both come out the other side well… better than well, even.
“It’s good,” she said after a moment. “They suit one another. And gods know Kherishdar’s sole Shame needed a good…”
This word she used, aunera, was rude in the extreme. I’m told you have several equivalents, but I would not use them, lest I give offense in two languages.
I cleared my throat and said, “This not being my area of expertise, I will bow to your superior knowledge.”
She laughed. “I won’t tease you about what you need, then, osulkedi—”
“I should hope not!” I interrupted.
“But I don’t think it’s heavy petting and hot sweating between the sheets,” she finished.
Surprised, I said, “Really?”
“Really,” she said, resettling her blanket around her narrow shoulders. “Not to say you wouldn’t benefit from a little physical relief. I just think you need help of a different sort.”
“Pray, don’t leave me in suspense, fathrikedi,” I said, looking down at her.
“You need… a massage,” she said, with a sly grin. “You have been moving like someone three times your age since before you crossed the Gate.”
“People three times my age are dead,” I said, ears flattened.
“Exactly,” she said.
“I’m not that stiff!” I said, and then flexed my toes experimentally. Wincing, I finished, “Much.”
She laughed. “A deal, then, osulkedi. You give me a name. I’ll give you a massage that will make you feel a third your age.”
“One third my age would be too young by far to be giving fathriked names of the kind you’re imagining,” I said. “I am not that old…” She waited, and I said, at last—because when can I turn down a challenge these days? Apparently never—”Very well. A name for a massage. But you must allow me to use the time under your hands to consider it.”
“If I do my job well, you won’t be able to think of anything!” she said, rising.
“Then you will have to make do with your name being ‘ahhh’,” I said.
“The out-breath of a contented, cared-for universe?” she said. “I could be happy with that. Come, Calligrapher. The sooner we repair to the bathroom… the sooner the happy lovers can make free with their noises without concerning themselves over our delicate ears.”
“Do you really think…” I began, and then stopped myself. I could only too well imagine Kor devoting some part of his thoughts to protecting my sensibilities, and being quite aware of where in the suite I was. “Lead on, fathrikedi.”
***
And now not only is the scene over… but you now know the scene that I can’t write for the book, because Farren didn’t see it, but that I think I will write for myself anyway.
Ajan’s point of view will do nicely…
Monday we can talk about that, and other Black Blossom administrivia. I think it will be a good time for it. Meanwhile, please consider voting for us on Top Web Fiction here. People do find us that way!
You can also subscribe, or email for a mailing address to send a physical donation.
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
| Thursday, May 24th, 2012 |
olegvolk
|
11:54p |
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haikujaguar
|
4:56p |
Writing Schedule (Planning the Novels to Come)
I am looking at Black Blossom now; at 83Kish words, the book is a good 330-ish pages or so and we’re approaching the end. I am guessing we’ll wrap up in less than 20K, putting it about the same length as The Worth of a Shell, around 400 pages. At the rate we’re posting, then, probably a couple of months or so will see us finally done with Kor, Farren and all these broken pots.
And then we will take a deep breath.
…or maybe not. Because my brain is already plot-dumping the rest of Elijah’s story, which at 54-ish pages is just long enough to have gotten past the awkward stage and not long enough to make editing it to solve the problem with the setting untenable. And, frankly, I’m kind of astonished at people’s response to it… the excerpt has gotten more comments than anything I’ve posted in months, and most of them aren’t me responding to people. For whatever reason, something has struck a chord there.
So, I am making notes on that one, and remembering how fond I am of it. I’m even batting around real titles to replace the working title… my current front-leader is Small Town God (or Small Town Fae, etc, etc), but I haven’t settled on anything yet.
I’m also trying to decide whether to serialize Elijah’s story or not. I am fascinated at how long some of the pans in the draft are; the scene where Elijah meets Louis and Beryl wanders all the way in town and through three more encounters before it wanders all the way back, and that scene is many, many pages long with no break. It makes me realize how different my writing style was in the time before I took up writing novel-length serials, rather than paper-form novels. I want to say the latter is more immersive, but I don’t think Kherishdar is any less. What I think, sometimes, is that being able to break up a novel into serial-sized chunks has allowed me to make it more immersive. It’s like Kherishdar is dark chocolate ganache. You can’t eat a lot of it in a sitting, but if you know you can space out the servings, you can serve nothing but. Elijah is more like a two-hour meal. You spend a long time at the table, but you’re not eating solid fudge the entire time.
Anyway. It seems clear to me that this is the story that wants my brain, and I think if I write it with my head in a garret I’ll finish it faster, which would be nice. So I am contemplating doing that, and saving the question of whether to serialize it or just do an immediate to-e-book/print book release until after we’re done with Black Blossom.
Wow, it’s going to be weird being done with Black Blossom, isn’t it?
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
matociquala
|
12:21p |
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ladysmith
|
12:01p |
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stillsostrange
|
10:35a |
Wir wollen eure Hände sehen
I seem to have fallen into an elementary school schedule-shaped hole, which has stronger gravity than usual. I may need another daily posting meme to keep me tethered. Anyone feel like joining me in a mutually-assured destruction blogging pact? We can't be sad, though. Not today. Today is Rex Manning Rammstein day. Or it will be as soon as I clean the house, drop off a dog to be boarded, pick up Agent F from school, pick up the CSA and split the spoils with fadethecat, feed animals, feed and medicate a child, and wait for the babysitter to show up. Then we will drive to San Antonio to enjoy pyrotechnic goodness. Current Mood:  busy |
mzmadmike
|
10:45a |
Think of The Future
This has been a very mild spring. With the heat sink of our concrete foundation, we've not used heat or AC in well over a month. The house has remained between 68 and 78 degrees. This concerns me, because the poor utility companies are suffering from the lack of income. We can't take America's utility companies for granted. Sure, it's beneficial to me, but what about their bottom line, families, and the executives' car payments?
If they are unable to derive sufficient return on their investment, the end result can only be a nationalization of gas and electric companies. Therefore, we really need to support a seasonal subsidy for these suffering businesses, just as we do for farmers. They can't control the weather, and they are dependent on the weather for business. It is only fair and reasonable to offer support when it affects their ability to support America. I believe we should also consider subsidies for the suffering heating and air conditioning firms. Consider the economic ripples if they're unable to bill their $100/hr during peak season. In my area alone, that's $84,000 a week being denied to these businesses, and removed from the economy. Businesses should not suffer because climate change and abnormal variances in weather have affected their bottom line. Read more |
haikujaguar
|
8:53a |
Doodleriffic (and Prompt Request)
More doodles from yesterday, Mazalaen from Zalitraeq and a shy octopus:
These two are for sale too, for $40 since they’re bigger than the others.
The scanner is once again working, so I’ll be mailing doodles to people who have paid for them already either today or tomorrow. I’m also planning to put some of these on Zazzle because… you know, shy octopus shirts. Finally, I am hoping to hear back from Kickstarter at some point. If they turn down the project again, I will probably just do a livestream version. You’ll know when I do.
Anyway, prompts for doodles are welcome. I may or may not use them. Cute or simple things particularly welcome, and remember, I don’t do weird, ugly or snarky!
Mirrored from MCAH Online. |
olegvolk
|
3:19a |
Number of states vs. the degree of control.
Originally published at VolkStudio Blog. Please leave any comments there. The number of countries in Europe in 1875 – 18 (if my count is correct).
In 1914 – 23.
In 2012 – 44.
I wonder if the degree of state control over individuals has grown or declined. In the US, it seems to have grown in some ways (gun control) but declined in others (censorship of the press) |
| Wednesday, May 23rd, 2012 |
matociquala
|
9:01p |
i just know that i'm harder to console
I'm working on "The Deeps of the Sky" tonight, and generating a regular festival of Words Word Don't Know: luminesced, tropopause, sheeny, thicks, unnavigable, dartlike, Meanwhile, I had a little argument with myself on twitter as to whether I should use some modestly bogus science to create a cool special effect. I went with it. ;-) Now I'm stopping because I have to figure out how the protagonist intervenes to stop the Bad Thing from happening, or how he mops up afterward... Oh, I might have just done so. Woot! Current Mood:  mellow |
olegvolk
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8:55p |
A special day, 23rd squared
Originally published at VolkStudio Blog. Please leave any comments there. Today, is a special day for me, it’s the 23rd anniversary of coming to the United States. Was a pretty good day, mostly spent taking photos of Remington shotguns, tactical and sniper rifles for several magazines. Good weather, a range in the middle of a huge farm in Kentucky, what’s more to ask of a job? While there got inquiries for one definite and one probable contracts to do more ads, photography and writing.
On the way home confirmed that a Tavor is coming my way in June.
Went by my local gun store and found that my re-birthday presents arrived, one for me and one for my inner child. I will post photos shortly, swamped with short deadlines right now. Mark II is a lot like my Mossberg 144 in intent but much lighter and shorter and handier, will be even better for introducing new shooters. Rascal…very nice wood and sights. And, quite amazingly for a kids rifle, an Accu-trigger! I have a feeling that will be a great deal of fun to wring out. I have several bricks of Aguila rifle match and CCI Subsonic on hand and lots more on order. Coming soon, a five-way kids rifle shoot-off between Crickett, Hanry Mini bolt, TC Hot Shot, Savage Rascal and Remington rolling block #6 from 1902!
Sat down to dinner with friends, then went back to work. It’s good to be healthy, happy, busy and surrounded by many friends. US is a better country than I hoped in 1989 and also a worse country in some ways. Despite the occasional smell of Communism and the increasingly frequent clacking of the jackboots, it’s still a good place to live. |
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pleased
