Photos

I have swam through libraries & sailed through oceans.

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Frozen Charles.
© Zach Den Adel

• Stewie, the world’s longest cat, passed away at at the age eight. He was 48.5 inches from toe to tail, and his tail measured 16.34 inches. Wow.
• After seven days, the little boy held hostage in a bunker in Alabama has been freed and his kidnapper killed. The local children called Jimmy Lee Dykes — who believed the government and the mafia were controlling the dog races he bet on — “the scoop man.”
• Shooter Boys and At-Risk Girls, an essay by Molly Crabapple on the culture surrounding school shootings.
• Have you caught up on the Applebee’s scandal yet? Here’s a breakdown with photos.
• I’m still making my way through Moby Dick, and this annotated version has been especially useful.
• This handy list by Mary Robinette Kowal of every word used by Jane Austen, all 14,793 of them, is a great starting point for anyone writing historical fiction. Bonus Mary: How to make entrails!
• Looking for the motivation to write? Written? Kitten! to the rescue.
• Duotrope alternatives, in case you’re still looking: Dark Markets, Bloody Bookish, and Horror Tree for horror writers, and The Grinder for stats and tracking. Bloody Bookish in particular lets you easily add deadlines to your Google calendar.
• Chuck Wendig’s 25 thoughts on book piracy.
• More than $60,000 has been pledged to John Scalzi’s Counteract a Bigot drive. In return, Scalzi commissioned this brilliant piece of art. Shirts may be forthcoming.
• King Richard III’s body has been found beneath a parking lot in Leicester.
• The 256-year-old man, Li Ching-Yuen. He supposedly lived on rice, herbs, and wine and said the secret to longevity was to “keep a quiet heart, sit like a tortoise, walk sprightly like a pigeon, and sleep like a dog.” His age is disputed; Ching-Yuen himself said he was 197. Do you believe it?
• Hey, Amazon? No.


More about Neil’s Calendar of Tales.


Somebody get this guy a wetsuit!

The Cache

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The Cache

By the time we reached the bridge, we’d forgotten what we were searching for.

The location was new to us, a stretch of road off the highway about two miles farther than the GPS had directed us to go. We hadn’t crossed any bridges, where the cache was supposed to be, so we just kept going until we reached one. This wasn’t our first cache of the day; we had logged two others and given up on another when we agreed our choice of footwear wasn’t going to cut it. There was still an hour till dark and we were in the area, so we set out to find the next one on the list. The website had labeled it “Over the Bridge,” or something equally innocuous. We began calling it “the road that goes nowhere.”

We should have turned around, taken the U-turn the GPS kept shouting that we take. But the road eventually gave in and led us to not one but two bridges, the rusted monster our mother later remembered crossing years ago and its much newer, safer sibling. We parked on the shoulder and strode over the latter, wary of traffic and snakes. And after about ten minutes of peering into cracks and rolling over stones with the toes of our shoes, it was clear we weren’t going to find anything before the mosquitoes found us. With a collective sigh, we clamored back into the car and headed for home.

It didn’t occur to us until the next day that we’d had two other options. “Over the Bridge” was, as we’ve come to expect, a misleading title. The cache could’ve just as easily been placed in the shallow creek below or on the shaky bridge beside the road. Amusingly, we cross that stretch of road almost every day now. We mention it and point but none of us care enough to risk breaking a leg or having one bitten off by a gator just for a Tic-Tac and a scribble on a piece of paper. If we did manage to find it, we’d probably take it with us and lose it in a sea of junk. So for now, the cache remains safely out of our reach.

It’s also entirely possible we had the wrong bridge. But that doesn’t entertain us half as much.

2012: A Review

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My resolutions going into the year were simple enough. I intended to switch hosts and revamp the site, which I did. I wanted to read at least 50 books, a goal I’ve set every year for as long as I can remember but never reached. This year was no different, but I did manage to finish 34 which is a personal best. I wanted to write everyday and push out a novella; didn’t happen, but I spent more time fleshing out The Novel and I had two short stories published. Not bad.

The largest chunk of the year was spent searching and negotiating and packing. Yup, we’re moving house. Back to Dogtown proper but in a (hopefully) better location than before. While the circumstances are still crummy, this time we have some wiggle room and we’ll be bringing a few new family members along for the ride.

Someone stole our mailbox then someone else put up a brand new one in the span of an afternoon. That, or they backed into it and did the right thing by replacing it. But the first scenario’s funnier.

I released a small collection of poetry in late 2011 and earlier this year it received its first review. I had to save it, it made me smile.

Oh wow. This book stinks. Its all about blood and killing. If you get it, read it and you will agree. It was NOT for kids. Saying it is intense. You shouldn’t waste your money on things evn if they are free like this one. Instead read harry potter or percy jackson. VERY interesting. Even though they arent like this one, they are for kids. This is a book for adults and not saying it is bad on everything. It is really good to do song writing. I tryed it and this author is good.

“Duval Street” made Ellen Datlow’s honorable mentions list for 2011. I cut out caffeine. I set up Adam Cesare’s shiny new blog. I wrote pirate/ninja smut which surprised me by doubling as back story for one of my favorite characters. I squeed with Mercedes M. Yardley over her book. However brief, Tawny Kitaen started following me on Twitter.

So where to go in 2013? I want to finish 50 books by the end of the year, for real this time. Finish The Novel. I want to write at least 5 short stories (hey, that’s a leap for me!) and see them all published. I want to blog more often, say, twice a month at least. Find a writing group and stick with it. Join SFWA, HWA, or both. Start journaling again. I want to save $1,000 and pay off my credit cards. I want to paint something, even if I have to use a stencil. And I want to finish a meal in public without retching from the nerves.

To fresh starts and new beginnings. Happy New Year’s, all of you.

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived Under the Couch

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An old lady in blue with a matching blue bonnet rides down the road on a tractor. It jerks and pops and comes to a stop, almost throwing her off. She clambers down and kicks a tire. It’s raining. A man, a neighbor I don’t recognize, helps get it going again and she rides home in the downpour. Cut to the woman in our house, no taller than a pencil standing on its end, living amongst the garbage under our couch. We decide to give her a doll’s rocking chair, something to occupy her time. I get on my knees and call to her. “Excuse me!” But the chair is now a white kitten, which she coos over and accepts with tears in her blue eyes.

Company’s coming. We’re told to clean under the couch, even though no one would see the mess. I worry for the old woman; I don’t want to uproot her. [Liz] refuses to move the VHS tapes she’s let pile up, and I stalk off to the kitchen where I find Robin Williams hovering over the sink. I ask him for a shovel.

The white kitten is now black and has emerged from beneath the couch to chase our shadows.

– September 17, 2012


c. 1840s
Lawrence T. Jones III Texas Collection
Southern Methodist University, Central University Libraries, DeGolyer Library

Adventures in Instagram

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So my Blackberry keeled over last month. I made the switch to Android and upgraded to a Samsung Captivate Glide. I’d intended to get the Captivate minus the glide feature since I’d read so many reviews comparing it to the iPhone, which I’m not a fan of. My mom has one. I don’t get the hype. After seeing this one at Wal-Mart, I figured, hey, I text a lot and the extra keyboard will be handy. Turns out I hardly use it. What’s really impressive is the camera. At 8 megapixels the pictures come out almost as nice as the ones I take with my Rebel xt.

 

One of the first apps I installed was Instagram, since I have a happy trigger finger and like the option of updating people with pictures instead of words. Fewer words, anyway. I also use Magic Hour (infinite, custom filters!) and the Vignette demo (because I just can’t justify paying $4 for an app yet). I’m getting a lot more enjoyment out of it than I thought I would, probably ’cause the camera on my Blackberry was horrid even in bright light. Now if only I had more to snap pics of than trees and cats and what’s on my desk.

 

I’m weirdosayswhat. Follow me if you wish. If you don’t have Instagram on your phone, you can still follow my updates on Statigr.am. You can even leave comments if you have a Facebook account. I really want to start posting photo updates again so no sweat; I’m sure a lot of these will make it in there.

If you’re a fellow user, feel free to leave your name below. I need more pretty photos to look at!

Housesitting

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Somehow, I don’t know how, I find myself housesitting for Amanda Palmer.

I can’t tell if we’re in NYC or Boston, but the view from the second floor apartment is incredible. The walls are purple and in the fading light it almost feels like I’m underwater. A pug scampers in and out of the kitchen, where most of the action happens. When I first step in, I’m confused. I’m suddenly too tall for the room and the ceiling, well …

Longleat Maze
© Kevin Botto

It looks a lot like this. I duck, then I realize the cutouts are just the right size to fit a person’s head. There’s minimal furniture – a fridge, a chair in the corner, an end table. Molly Crabapple is there, brewing coffee and swearing when the percolator spits at her. I look in the fridge and find the two soggy tacos I made the night before. Mark of RENT fame straightens his scarf and announces he’s on his way out, and I ask if I’ll be able to take a cab to Columbus. I get some funny looks and decide it’s best to stay put or prepare to do a lot of walking.

I’m alone now. I sit in the corner against a potted palm, mulling over what I brought to read, trying to plot what to write in my journal. Neil Gaiman arrives that evening and we share a lovely meal. The sun is cresting the skyline when he leaves, nary a word spoken between us, soft pink light filtered through the tattered curtains and lighting up the kitchen wall.

I wake to the same pink light creeping across the sheets.

– June 14, 2012

5 A.M. Sunrise.
© Kyle McCluer

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