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Back To Work

Well, it’s Thursday. My con crud is still working its way through my system, primarily in the form of a cough that makes me sound like John Keats. Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ In Phlegm…

And since there is no rest for the whimsical,* it’s back to the word mines for me. Working on Dragonbreath art. (Only 80 more illos to go!) Royalty statement for Horned Bunnies arrived over the weekend, and indicates that it sold 40K copies in the first five months and earned out faster than any of the others. This is very cheering. Also, I pretty much expect to be hit by a meteorite at any moment now. Hugo! Royalties! Flowers from agent! Kevin! At least the garden is in post-August wreckage, to provide some shreds of karmic balance, otherwise I wouldn’t dare get out of bed. *grin*

If I haven’t said it already, thank you to everybody who’s sent me congratulations. You guys are the best.

By way of gratitude–and also to prove that I’m working, really!–here’s two short tidbits from House With Bird Feet. Summer has met three odd sisters wearing animal skins and seen some very odd trees. (This story is really cookin’ for me. If my agent can’t place it, I’ll have to do something else with it, because it’s got hold of my brain in a big way…) The second chunk is a conversation that takes place as she walks across the desert by scorpion-light.

****

“Now then, Summer,” said Boarskin, pouring another cup of tea into Summer’s cup, and watching the steam curl up from it. “How did you get here? Did you ride in by fern-fish or step through a door in the hedge? Did you walk into a dragon’s shadow?”

“She doesn’t smell of dragon,” said Bearskin.

“Well…” said Summer, wrapping her fingers around her teacup to keep them warm. “Baba Yaga told me she was giving me my heart’s desire, and then I went out of her house and I was in the hallway with the stained glass windows.”

“Baba Yaga sent you?” asked Boarskin and Bearskin at once, and drew together on their rock.

Donkeyskin drew the hood of her cloak up over her head. Its long donkey ears were tattered and it had white stones sewn into the eyes.

“Um,” said Summer. “Yes?”

They looked at each other, then back at her.

“Baba Yaga, the cannibal?”

“Baba Yaga, the crone?”

“Baba Yaga, the witch, the wonder-worker, the teeth-that-bite-the-ground—“ Boarskin pressed a hand to her lips. “That Baba Yaga?”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Bearskin sharply to her sister, “do you think anyone else would dare claim that name? She’d feed them into her cauldron and take them out as a hundred spiny salamanders. She’d turn them into a drift of wildflowers and plant them in a sheep meadow. She’d make their bones into the root of a fig tree and sink them into their own children’s graves.”

Summer gulped.

“She—she didn’t do any of that. She said she’d eat me if she was in a bad mood, but I didn’t think she meant it. Well, she had a chair made of bones, so I wondered, but…” Summer twisted her fingers together. “Um. She gave me a weasel.”

The weasel stuck his head out of her pocket and gave her a dirty look.

“Very useful animals, weasels,” said Boarskin.

*****

“Is it true what they said about Baba Yaga?” asked Summer.

“True?” asked the weasel. “True enough. They said less than they might have and a great deal less than they could have. It doesn’t pay to talk about Baba Yaga behind her back.”

“Oh.” Summer thought about that. “How did you wind up in her house? Did she offer you your heart’s desire?”

“Not hardly,” said the weasel, sounding very annoyed.

“Then how?”

“The witch’s house lays eggs sometimes,” said the weasel. “I tried to eat one.”

Summer wrinkled her forehead. “But it’s a house. Wouldn’t its eggs be—oh—enormous? Bigger than me?”

“So maybe I’m ambitious,” said the weasel. “Nothing wrong with ambition, is there? ‘Shoot for the moon,’ everybody says, ‘if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.’” He spat, a motion almost too tiny for Summer’s eyes to follow. “Feh! I suppose ‘if you miss, you’ll be captured by a great bloody hag out of legend and stuffed into a coat pocket for a week’ was too much of a mouthful.”

Summer had no idea what to say to that. “Um. I’m sorry?”

“Not your fault,” said the weasel. “Also, we’re being followed. No, don’t look!”

 

And with that, it’s back to the word mines. The next section involves an oracular cheese. Hard to go wrong with an oracular cheese.

 

*Even I don’t believe my claims to be wicked anymore. Also if I tried to go “MUAHAHAHAAH!” with this cough, I’d have to spend a few minutes in the bathroom with a glass of water.

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

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The only reason I understand your John Keats references is that I just finished reading the four books of Hyperion. Funny how you see things after having learned them.

This gets better and better. Waits on tenterhooks for its completion and publication.

An Oracular cheese? Is it a Sage Derby?

(Yes, I know Oracles and Sages aren't quite the same thing but it's the best I could do :)

Edited at 2012-09-06 09:50 pm (UTC)

Truly I tell you: we have a friend in cheeses.

But the post does raise the question: is Ursula curdish, or phlegmish?

Edited at 2012-09-06 11:49 pm (UTC)

(Deleted comment)
Oh good. I'm not the only one who wondered this.

*phew*

Stasia

This is me hoping that your awesome agent can help you get it somewhere the rest of us can read it from. I've really enjoyed all the bits you've shared with us so far. Thanks!

(and congratulations, by the way, albeit a bit belated)

Horned Bunnies? ...wait, wait, Jackalopes? DID I MISS A DRAGONBREATH??? D:O

Also, heehee, weasel!!

Yes. My six-year-old is crazy about it. Go get it!

> If my agent can’t place it, I’ll have to do something else with it, because it’s got hold of my brain in a big way…

My reflexive suggestion for "something else" is "post it chapter-wise on your site. With an ad box or two." I'd use Project Wonderful for the ads but whatever you may prefer is fine. Keep track of its impressions and ad revenue, and next time your agent wants to take it around, give her those stats.

You could also maybe put it up as an e-book on Amazon/etc but, really, that involves hiring an editor, hiring someone to lay it out, and all that other junk that having an actual publisher means you don't have to bother with.

Nah, she'll send it to Sofawolf. Who will probably be a big-name press by that point, what with all the Digger volumes with spaceship stickers on them.
[Or maybe I'm just being delusional here?]

Oracular cheese, hmm so that is why cheese late at night gives you nightmares. It's an Oracle, not a dream I tell you and as much sense as the Delphic Oracle too.

Bearskin had netter be double checked for typos at the proof reading stage , if you do get published, otherwise it is going to have totally the wrong meaning! :¬D

As if there would be any other Baba Yaga, well it's not as if it is a common name, like the Wicked Witch of the West.

It occurs to me that I've been following your blog for quite some time, and bought some of your art, but have never yet read any of your books.

Clearly, THIS MUST BE CORRECTED.

I recommend Nurk.

And Digger, of course, if you haven't read that.

So many congrats on the Hugo!!! :D

I am SO happy to hear that you're still working on this one, because, like I have said to you several times now, I am finding it pretty intensely relatable...and I like the weasel. More stories should have those.

Fantabulous excerpt! (And talk about a hard-luck set of faerie tale "sisters," there....)

I bought 2 copies of Horned Bunnies, because, you know, nobody can resist jackalopes.

(enjoys all the cheese puns in the comments)

Congrats again on your Hugo, Ursula-- couldn't have happened to a more wonderful person.

And my hands are trembling with the weight of the money I wish you would just take, in regards to the Summer-and-Baba-Yaga story. SEVERE approval.

This. On both comments even. (Yay a hugo!)

Baba Yaga is my favorite folktale character ever. Have you ever done a Baba Yaga painting?

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