This has been a very frustrating week. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m sick,and so a lot of things that I have wanted to do this week have not happened, and most of them have to do with work. When you spend the morning fighting off a wracking cough, only to crash some time around 2 p.m. and not wake up again until 6, at which point you hvae enough energy to warm up a can of soup and throw the ball for the puppy a dozen times (just because I’m sick does not mean my puppy has a similar lack of energy) before collpasing back into bed and starting it all over again — it’s hard to get real work done.
And despite the fact that I’ve been living on mineral water, citrus juice, herbal tea, soup, and cough syrup, I see no signs of this abating.
I’ve been having so many successes in the kitchen lately, I guess this was bound to happen.
So, as you know, I’ve been sick. And this weekend, Sailor Boy has come down with my illness as well, so we spent most of today coughing in harmony and wanting to go back to bed. Poor Rio. Now she’s got two sick parents who do not want to take her out on walks. But I bought these two pumpkins to make pumpkin puree with, so I thought, I’ll just do this really quickly and it will be fine. So I threw on a DVD, cut up the pumpkins, cleaned out the seeds, and put them in the oven while we had breakfast. But as soon as breakfast was over, I knew I needed to go back to bed. So once the timer on the pumpkins dinged, I took them out and thought, I’ll do the scraping and the mashing later.
Right?
Wrong. Just so you know — if you don’t scrape and mash roasted pumpkins right after they get out of the oven, in a few hours they will be cold, dried up pumpkin husks. What a disaster. The last time I did this, the puree turned out great, so it’s not the recipe (though I’ve had some seriously bad luck with Pioneer Woman recipes recently — or maybe i just don’t like winter squash — because I don’t like either her butternut squash puree OR her baked acorn squash recipe and usually I’m a big PW fan).
Bleh. I hate to waste pumpkins. At least I’ve still got the seeds.
Still sick. Read all about here. Last night, my friend The Chef brought me homemade butterneut squash-yogurt soup with wild rice, pecan, and apple garnish. Delicious! He’s so amazing. Those of you in D.C — go to Nage!
Sorry about the website being down last night. I am a butterfingers with my cache.
My main post today is at 70 Days of Sweat. It’s about the tricks we use to keep ourselves working.
Come back next Monday. I have a BIG surprise. It looks like this:
Right now, I sound like the chick from the Exorcist. I spent most of yesterday in bed, snuggled up with a gorgeous redhead.
“What, mommy? Your nose is stuffed up? Is it filled with mud, like mine? I was digging er, working in the garden. Are you sick? Do you wanna cuddle?”
Anyway, I’m far too sick to properly respond to this ridiculous assertion of Maureen Johnson’s, in which she compares unicorns to her broken bathtub drain. She also links to Lauren Myracle’s recent video defending unicorns. This is it:
Now, I’m sure Lauren Myracle is a very nice person (as much as John Green assures his highly trained corps of killer nerdfighters that I must be a very nice person), and she certainly seems to have quite a bit of time on her hands, what with the video-making and all — but she’s kind of missing the point. One is never going to win the zombies v unicorn debate by focusing on the mystical, sparkly, magical attributes of unicorns.
Unicorners: “Oh, unicorns, they’re so pretty!”
Zombites: “Yeah, but zombies will eat your braaaaaaaaaaaaains!”
It’s a losing argument. We gotta turn the page on this sparkly thing. Unicorns are tough. Who do they hang out with? Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great. Genghis Khan. Robocop:
Clearly, we’re looking at a creature that can easily overcome the relentless, drone-like abilities of the mindless dead. Unicorns have strength, power, military acuity, a ton of endorsements from some seriously scary warlords, and, as if that weren’t enough, a big sharp horn right at brain-piercing height that can easily overcome any zombie long before they get into biting range.
No contest, really.
Anyway, that’s the argument I’d be making if I weren’t to sick to do anything but stagger, zombie-like, back to bed. Here, Rio!
“News about Rio.” Because you know, there’s always something.
Today, Rio spent a lot of time in her kennel because her daddy had to work very long hours and her mommy did too, and when Rio is outside of her kennel, her mommy can’t concentrate because she’s always worried those chewing sounds are coming from the power cord. They never are, however, because Rio is smart and a good puppy who far prefers chewing on her rope bone or her kong or little scraps of cardboard leftover from when she ate that toilet paper roll the other day. Her mommy is just neurotic. Her mommy also realizes that Rio is just as happy chewing these things in her kennel, as long as said kennel is facing mommy’s desk. Also, approximately thirty seconds after getting into her kennel, Rio loses consciousness.
Thank you, Pavlov.
I’ve never seen a dog so in love with her kennel. In the evening, if Sailor Boy and I are watching Netflix, and Rio decides it’s bed time, she gets up, staggers over to her kennel, climbs inside, plops down, and gives us dirty looks before promptly losing consciousness. We got her a dog bed. Occasionally, she’ll sleep in it. Usually, she takes power naps, then decides it’s actually sleeping time, hauls herself out — painfully, half-conscious — and goes into her kennel.
“I can make it! I’m… almost…therezzzzzz…”
Since she knows that peanut butter kongs are a treat she only gets in her kennel, all I have to do is take out the jar for her to bound inside her kennel and wait patiently (okay, maybe whine a little) for her PB. Woe betide the person innocently making toast. Peanut butter has become a dog-centric food in this house. The other night, SB was trying her out on the foot of the bed, and though she seemed to enjoy snoozing with us for a while, after about forty-five minutes, she hops down, goes into her kennel and promptly loses consciousness. (I was relieved because remember… neurotic.) If any of you pet owners out there are iffy about crate training — I’m telling you. I am a convert. I am a fundamentalist evangelical crate trainer. It’s the BEST THING EVER. Her kennel is my very favorite non-organic item in this house
Currently, Rio is growling at herself in the mirror. No matter how many times she does it, it still cracks me up. Maybe the mirror is my favorite non organic item in the house
Actually, it’s late. My bed is my favorite non-organic item in my house.
Regular readers of the blog know about my obsession with character names. They know about what happens when I have to change a character name due to market concerns. They know about my old trick of dealing with a recalcitrant character — I recast him or her with a new name. I am very fond of recasting. Rare is the character whose disposition cannot be improved upon once he or she has been christened anew. There was one character I had to change the name of three different times over the course of writing him. My editor initially thought I was nuts when my response to an early suggestion of “I think this character needs work,” was “Okay, I’ll change his name.” She has, however, learned that to me, changing the name of the character is more like changing the key of a musical piece. You end up with a very different guy. He’s a very different person now. A better person for his role. We both like him, and his name, very much.
In writing Tap & Gown, I was struck by how differently Poe behaved when I called him Poe on the page than when I called him Jamie. He’d been Poe for three books. My brain, apparently, switched over no more easily than Amy’s. Occasionally (a peek behind the curtain), I’d type the scene out with “Poe” then go back and switch it to Jamie. This is a similar trick that many writers use when trying to get into deep POV. They type out the scene in first person, then go back and revise it into third. It helped me a lot when writing Poe’s dialogue, to make sure that he was still authentically Poe.
I’m writing a new book now, and I’ve been faffing around with names for quite a while without success. This one character refuses to be any of the names I’ve attempted to give her, and none of the names will be the character I want her to be. It’s most difficult.
In other naming news, I changed the name of a minor character in Rampant late in the revision process. I did this because, due to other name changes going around, I realized that I had two names that were very similar, so I switched this one. I’m actually far happier with the new name than I was the old one, character-wise, though it’s the only non-legally mandated name change (yes, I’ve had to change character names for legal reasons) I’ve ever made that did not spring from the character himself. I feel fortunate that this opportunity arose for me to revisit this minor character and really think about what his name should have been, and it made me realize that I didn’t think hard enough about this in the original formulation of his character. Which is odd for me, especially given this book, where every single person’s name, first and last, means something in the context of the story, and the very idea of naming is a plot point. So now his name means something. (Though right now, certain parties are only thinking, “Yeah, a headache.”)
And now, I ask you: why can’t I be as obsessed with titles?
She graduates from puppy school with flying colors (doesn’t like her cap, though.)
I am seriously considering using this photo as a tag for Tap & Gown announcements.
Bad things about having a puppy:
Her tail caught Pantalaimon’s cord today and dragged Pan off the coffee table. Pan survived (thank goodness!) but the cord did not. Hello, trip to the Mac store. Hello new $83 dollar cord. Wah.
Speaking of T&G, I’ve been asked to hold off on posting the cover until we get a few minor tweaks in. But I really love it, and I hope you will too.
In writing news, I’ve finished up the synopsis of the second killer unicorn book and I’m jumping into 70 Days of Sweat with both hands on my keyboard. Are you signed up? Come join us!
The weird thing about book publishing is that the author is always a book or two ahead of her readers, so if you’re writing a series, you always have to remind yourself that whatever you are thinking of is not where the story is for most people. For instance, I’ve finished writing Tap & Gown, and it’s so difficult to not mention the fact that in the final book in the series, Amy has a sex-change operation and runs off with Jenny, while George drops out of school to open a hot dog stand and Poe starts a ska band. These are the types of things I always have to remember to keep under wraps.
And of course, no one has read Rampant yet. so as I struggle to help the characters deal with the aftermath of the events in that book (as they pertain to the second, still-untitled book), there’s so much I can’t really talk about on the blog, for fear of causing spoilers.
The weather was gorgeous this weekend, as you can see from the previous post of Rio in the creek, but I’m still suffering from a cold I’m pretty sure i got standing int eh rain at the polls all day last Tuesday, so I spent a lot of time indoors watching movies. And here’s my verdict:
Made of Honor: Yawn. Like, seriously yawn. Maybe this movie was supposed to coast on the charm of “McDreamy” but as I’ve never seen the show, I wasn’t exactly rooting for the womanizing, jobless-rich jerk (reminded me so much of Hugh Grant’s aimless rich boy character from About a Boy, except he actually grows up and is forced to confront his wretched lifestyle over the course of the film) who has been stringing the fascinating, beautiful, hard-working (she’s fixing art on a Sunday!) woman along for ten years,who then goes to great length to destroy her wedding to the fascinating, interesting, fabulous Scottish nobleman who sweeps her off her feet. Wait, I take that back. The woman was a dud, too. What kind of woman has been “dreaming about [her] bridal shower since [she] was five years old?” Her wedding? Okay, fine. But her bridal shower? Are you kidding me? Blecch. The Scotsman can do way better than her. Also, I have a thing about movies where people are supposedly getting married but don’t want to and we’re supposed to root for that person? Blecch. That’s why I loved My Best Friend’s Wedding and am very iffy on this season of HIMYM.
Sex in the City: I kind of fell off watching it that last season, so I wasn’t clear on everything that had been going on, but I liked where they took the story. It felt like a super, super long episode. (REALLY long, I had no idea!) I was kind of surprised Steve cheated, though. I really like where Charlotte’s life has taken her, and I like that they didn’t compromise on Samantha being Samantha. Carrie always kind of bugged me, so this felt no different, and I felt like they wasted Jennifer Hudson yet again. I did love the apartment redesign, though!
Get Smart: I thought it was hilarious. I love Steve Carrell, I’m always impressed by Anne Hathaway, The Rock is fun to watch, and I was a HUGE fan of the show as a child, and felt like they really did capture its spirit (though it was a lot more action packed than I remember the show being –Sailor Boy said the final car chase scene reminded him of The Matrix Reloaded, and it reminded me of the ridiculousness in The Island, but other than that…) I felt like 99 should have put two and two together earlier about the identity of the villain, however.
Iron Man: Sigh. Seriously, what happened? Halfway in, I was positive this was the best superhero movie I’d ever seen. Robert Downey, Jr. was incredible, the script was tight, the special effects were fun, Gwyneth Paltrow failed to annoy me (no, really, I thought she was good), I wanted to marry Terence Howard, and I bow at the feet of Jon Favreau,who obviously knows my cinematic preferences — and then the whole thing fell off a cliff. I honestly do not understand the ending of the film. At all. I watched it again, because that’s how little sense it made to me, and I still don’t get it. I don’t understand how the battery thing could fail at the rate it was and still work as long as it did (or work after being encased in acrylic, but whatever), I don’t understand why the villain didn’t just kill Tony when he had the chance (and let’s not even talk about the stupid Glowing Keychain of Death trope so popular in sci-fi these days — yes, Firefly, I’m looking at you), I don’t understand why if the Glowing Keychain of Death works on some kind of sonic frequency thingamabob (the reason the villain wears earplugs to avoid it) that when it is aimed into a man’s ear who is holding the cell phone, the person on the other end of the cell phone doesn’t also feel the effects. I don’t understand how the villain and hero can catapult themselves in battle through several city streets then up into the air for a big aerial fight, then free fall and still manage to magically land on the roof of the building they originally came from. I don’t understand how a blue death ray blast can safely blow the hero out of harm’s way while simultaneously incinerating the villain, who is standing much farther away from it. I don’t get it. And not in a “I don’t understand how the Death Star can explode without killing all the Ewoks with a nuclear winter” way — in an “I’m watching this and it’s impossible and makes no sense right at the moment that the images enter my ocular cavity” way. It’s bizarre. Jon, baby, what were you thinking?
That was disappointing. I’d heard it was so good, too.
We also got the first season of Mad Men, which I’ve heard only excellent things about. So far, I’m enjoying it (two episodes in) though I can’t stop thinking of Zoe from The West Wing as Zoe from The West Wing, and Connor from Angel as Connor from Angel. I am, however, getting over Saffron from Firefly.
In the comments section of yesterday’s post, Patrick made a very good point:
See, with zombies(vampires and werewolves) it isn’t just fear of them killing you, there is fear of becoming one or having a loved one become one and eat/kill you.
Fighting a bad unicorn, well, that’s sort of like being on the wrong end of the food chain.
Which is an excellent point, and raises an interesting question in this debate. Is comparing an animal, however dangerous, to a humanoid monster with the power of transformation/infection even worthwhile? Is it apples and oranges?
There’s an old theory about storytelling (I believe it’s Aristotle?) that posits that the main conflicts in any story fall into one of the following groups:
Man vs. Man
Man vs. Society
Man vs. Nature
Man vs. God
Man vs. Himself
A human monster story, such as Dracula or Frankenstein, falls into the Man vs. Man category (well, depending on who you think the protagonist is in Frankenstein, because it could very well be a Man vs. Society situation). Count Dracula, for all that he is non-human, is a person. He speaks and thinks like a person, and his motivations are decidedly personal.
An animal monster story, such as Jaws or “The Bear,” tends to be more of a Man vs. Nature story. You can’t ascribe the same sort of human emotions to beasts–the envy, or need for vengeance, or pettiness, or etc.
This topic was much on my mind as I was designing the killer unicorn book. What were these unicorns? Were they animals, or were they sentient beings with their own motivations? It makes a difference.
And of course, the worst thing a unicorn can do is kill you. A zombie can kill you — but far worse than that, it can infect you. A central theme in Carrie Ryan’s upcoming zombie book is whether or not death is worse than living death. Which does, I admit, add a whole new layer of terror.
Yesterday, John Green made the argument that unicorns will always lose to zombies until there is a unicorn movie out that’s as good as Shaun of the Dead (note to film producers reading this blog: the film rights of Rampant are still available). However, this assertion does not take into account the fact that it’s easier to film zombies. You don’t need special CGI or outlandish costumes or puppets or Andy Serkis running around a green screen soundstage with thousands of sensors attached to his body to make a zombie movie. You need some white makeup, some fake blood, and a couple of actors who are talented enough to moan on cue. Seriously. The aforementioned Shaun of the Dead even made a joke about how easy it was to pretend to be a zombie.
This Halloween, Sailor Boy and I went as Wedding Night of the Living Dead. ‘Twas easy. If we’d gone as a unicorn, it would have been much more complicated (especially given the argument about who would be the back end).
