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breeden
ursulav

Not dead!

I’m not dead! Just busy.

Actually, that’s a total lie. I am not busy. I am between busy-nesses, I have handed everything in early and waiting on editors and art directors, and so I am playing a lot of Skyrim….mmm….Skyrim….which is significant in having more cabbages per capita than any fantasy game ever made*, and working on various other projects that no one has bought yet, one of which is possibly brilliant, and the other one of which is totally self-indulgent and might best be described as “Look at me! I’m writing a story about a heroine who is way too much like me! Including her obsession with gardening and urge to laugh wildly during solemn occasions!” I suspect it may be tripe, but I am not worrying about that too much while writing it, because I am allowed to produce as much tripe as I want when I am off the clock. And the other one is definitely possibly brilliant, and would be in the same genre as Dragonbreath, and thus potentially marketable and has an armored riding quail named Mumfrey, which is just inherently awesome, damnit.

As I only get so many words a day—apparently—I bought bricks today so that I can do something useful in the morning, and I should probably figure out if I can make the leather thing I want to make, since otherwise I have a taxidermy mount covered in tinfoil and clenched in a vise on my workbench for no reason at all, and we can’t have that. (My first experiment with vegetable-tanned leather…we’ll see if I like how it handles. I have always wanted to make leather masks, and if the material does not make me cry, I may give it a try. But we’ll see.)

My editor called me today and told me that she holds me up as an example of terrifyingly efficient time-management, and I tried to explain that it was nothing of the sort, but if you do a comic for seven years, you learn to draw fast, goddamnit, and they’re very short books, and then I realized that I was trying to bludgeon the compliment to death rather than let it eat me, so I stopped and said “Thank you.” (I am not actually that fast a writer, but the one skillset I learned in life was not dithering. I can let a sentence go as a good and serviceable sentence without requiring it to wear a little saddle and win the Kentucky Derby. Books, in my world, are made primarily of good and serviceable sentences, surrounding a few polished jewels of prose–if you insist on polishing every single one, I suspect you get a book that appears to have been Bedazzled, or possibly Vajazzled if you’re writing that kind of book, and the glare becomes blinding, to say nothing of the smell of hot glue. Excuse me, my metaphor got out of hand, terribly sorry, will pay for all the damages…)

 

 

*You go raid bandit hideouts, and they have barrels full of food! And there are empty beer bottles on the ground! It’s like they actually eat food, instead of living on adventurers and easily portable treasures! WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!?

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

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On the assumption that "vajazzled" refers to vaginas (romance novels, presumably), I was struck by the concept of a blinding glare off of someones nether bits. And then you mentioned hot glue.

So, thanks for that.

Vajazzled... uhmm... look it up.

It might just involve hot glue. I've never asked details on exactly how it's done.

Armored riding quail!!!!!

This post makes me extraordinarily happy, because you are so wonderfully and delightfully the person who I would expect you to be after reading and loving Digger for so long.

Edited at 2011-12-12 10:12 pm (UTC)

I loled. The cats then gave me a hard stare because I woke them up from a(nother) nap.

I'm afraid there is now way to pay for damages unless it's in the form of tuna and the banking service is unable to deal in the transference of sea creatures. (Avoids inserting regional joke about poorly sea creatures). (Oh what the hell). That is unless it is sick squid.

...Oh. British pun. I get it now. That's terrible! :)

If you get veg-tanned leather really wet, it molds just like clay. The pliability depends on the quality and thickness of the leather, but I think you'll enjoy it. :-D

Books, in my world, are made primarily of good and serviceable sentences, surrounding a few polished jewels of prose

I send you many less-than-3s. <3

Yes, very much this. When the writer spends too much time polishing every sentence so that it screams "HEY LOOK AT ME DAMMIT!", the net overall effect is pretentiousness.

I understand wanting to bludgeon compliments to death before they eat you. Sometimes compliments hang around and stare up at you imploringly, rather like the beagles I have known, but sometimes compliments are border collies that try and herd you and refuse to go away until they've gotten you to exactly the right spot, that spot that you suspect contains an anvil impact site...

I suspect you've lived with Border Collies. ::nods::

Mumfrey must be drawn!

How long until you write the requisite holiday season installment of Dragonbreath?

Santabreath? Dreidelbreath? Saturnaliabreath?

the one skillset I learned in life was not dithering

Who else here is still working on that one?

Dithering is a skill I've learned over many years. ;)

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I think metaphors are most fun when they make a break for the gate that you forgot to securely latch, then you get to have a little Benny-Hill-like sped-up-film montage of trying to chase, catch, restrain and re-corral the silly thing. I'm especially proud of a recent one I posted about my son being the apple that rolled a bit away from the tree...

As for Skyrim... to anyone who watched the series "Avatar: The Last Airbender," all I can say is: "MY CABBAGES!"

(Seriously. The first hovel you get to, there is a cart in the street, right in front of you as you arrive, full up with a load of cabbages. I honestly looked around for someone labeled "The Cabbages Guy." Imagine my slight disappointment at not finding him.)

Heh, "the cabbages guy" was the first thought that sprang to mind after reading "more cabbages per capita than any other RPG."

"...totally self-indulgent and might best be described as “Look at me! I’m writing a story about a heroine who is way too much like me! Including her obsession with gardening and urge to laugh wildly during solemn occasions!” I suspect it may be tripe, but I am not worrying about that too much while writing it, because..."


...Because people have been frantically checking your blog every day for years now hoping for tidbits of just exactly that?



Ursula, I sent a message through your website but I'm not sure it went through - I have a question about Black Dogs. Is the new edition the same except for the art, or did you redo some of the text?

Oh! Sorry, inbox lemmings ate it. Same except for art--I think I wrote a forward, but it's short and not terribly significant, and can be summed up as "This is my first novel, I am very proud of it and horribly embarrassed by it, I think that's normal."

Thing, or do not thing. There is no dither.

And yes... great burning skies yes, Skyrim! I love finding all the food everywhere, even if it's technically not 'good for' anything, I love it!

I particularly like being able to sit in my chair, at my house, and gaze into the fire, over which hangs the pot of stew I'm cooking.

Not "good for" anything? I recreate this on a daily basis. Of course, I'm also playing a character who for some reason refuses to just use healing magic...

Ursula, if you could bottle your work ethic, you'd make a mint. I'd buy a case every time finals rolled around. (I've known about my drawing assignment for three weeks, and now I'm eight hours before the deadline and barely have an outline sketched and I'm checking Livejournal instead of actually doing it. Similarly, I've known about my philosophy paper for a month, it was actually due last week, the last day of class is tomorrow, and I'm still stalled at the introduction.)

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Oh, wonderful! Thank you for the links!

I can let a sentence go as a good and serviceable sentence without requiring it to wear a little saddle and win the Kentucky Derby.

This should be framed and given to every writer as they go to their first workshop. The rest of the paragraph should be a series of fortune cookies.