If Briar, who eats garbage and dead things, thinks my makeup tastes good? MAYBE I SHOULD GET NEW MAKEUP. JUST SAYIN’.
Edit: Twitter and WordPress are arguing and i’m afraid they’ll get a divorce :O
One of my friends was really surprised by this, so I figured I’d share it in case anyone else didn’t know this. Slugs don’t have a mating season or anything–they just reproduce and die all year long. So when it gets too cold out, they just sort of shrink up and chill out while they wait for it to get warm enough again to venture out and eat the hell out of your garden.
So when I found a slug in our bag of lettuce, I brought him outside and set him down, and sure enough, he poked his little eyes out and began cruising along at reckless grandma speeds, excited to find new leaves that he hadn’t been refrigerated on top of for over a week.
More monstergirls! Once again, remember these may be NSFW. They’re not all wearing clothes. Also, the canine one is farting, because that’s totally what dogs do. Mine are doing it RIGHT NOW. Both as I type this, and as you read it.
People keep asking, “So, what’s Clarion West like?”
I don’t think I could describe the whole experience, but I think what they want is to know what I’m doing with my time. So:
I critique anywhere from 10,000 to 25,000 words and try to write at least 500 words each night. The latter mostly doesn’t happen, which means by Thursday night I have the same amount to read and also ~3,000 to write. (For you non-writers, a page is about 200 – 250 words. So I read and analyze ~44 pages each night, and each week I write a story that’s at least 13 pages, and probably more like 20 or even 25.) We also have guest lectures and Q-and-A sessions with our instructors and other drop-in professionals, and some of the instructors do private conferences with the students.
It would be easier to fit all that into my schedule if they weren’t feeding me so well. I think I might wear my intestines out. Seriously, it’s all dark matter factory up in here:
On Saturday, Tod and I hopped into 1314‘s car and headed down to Docking Bay 93, a comic book store which always has artists draw free sketches for kids on Free Comic Book Day. The writer & artist for Kat-Nap was also there, though Greg was lucky enough not to have to sit through me talking about dog farts for half an hour.
Last year I mostly drew favorite animals; this year I asked kids what their superpower would be, and drew them using it mostly for evil. (Well, at least to avoid homework.) I didn’t get photos of all the sketches I did, but here are a few of the highlights:
And Spiderman, who I really don’t know much about, because honestly, I think he’s one of the worst superheroes. If I wanted to read about a pretty boy who’s constantly sad because he doesn’t get what he wants, I’d read sappy shoujo romances backward, and at least if I was reading in Japanese I wouldn’t understand the heavy-handed dialogue. However, I do understand his appeal, since his powers are really bad-ass. And at least Spiderman’s powers have limits. Superman is just a walking, talking, flying cheat code with bad fifties hair.
Yet another theme was My Little Pony! Here is a roller derby pony:
Last but not least, an unflattering caricature of the proprietor of the shop, Dan, as a My Little Pony. (He is much better looking as a human. If you don’t believe me, go buy some comics from him.)
My friend Hats joined us after a time, and she drew this beguiling tall ship with pinball flippers on the gunports. Haha!
Those are pretty much all HIGHS, right? Where are the LOWS, you ask?
Well, that happened after I went home, and my dogs stole an entire bag of sugar from the counter and split it between them. At first it just seemed to make them hyper and thirsty, which is normal, but then they decided to leave me several presents over the course of the night, waking me up every time so I could go mop it up. Because I like you, I won’t show you the photos of Hanzo’s vomity magnum opus, which included kibble, carrot, grass, and bonus!cat turds, because apparently the sugar wasn’t the only thing he got into. EEEEEWW!
It was probably cosmic retribution for drawing Dan as a fuzzy, potbellied brony.
Two weeks ago, I had a burst of inspiration for one of my novels, a fantasy quest with goblins, elves, werewolves, and a crabby dragon. So I rewrote the first chapter to include more hookers.
It’s one of those love-it-or-hate-it books: the reader either finds it uproariously funny (Jay Lake did, because he has a dirty sense of humor) or they can’t even finish it (like my poor mom, who is probably glad I’m now publishing under a pseudonym). I obviously believe in it or I wouldn’t be willing to put in the effort to send it out, but I admit, I am a little afraid of the day it gets published. Then every time someone says, “Oh, what’s your novel called?” and I oblige them, they’ll realize I’m that guy.
The guy who used the word “dickcheese” as if it was a legitimate contribution to the English language.
Perret has stolen everything from purses to cargo to a corpse (hey, he was really drunk–and setting it on fire was an accident). He’d like to keep being the slutty rockstar of the kingdom’s dock thieves, but his reputation for being able to steal anything gets him kidnapped by a party of adventurers on a mission for the king. They want to “liberate” five powerful magical artifacts, the archgems, from secret locations guarded by scary-ass traps and even scarier-ass monsters.
It’s always been easy for Perret to fear colonizing insects, which he can see and scream at any day, and dismiss rare monsters like “darklings” as mere granny tales. He soon finds exactly what used to lurk in the closet (besides his own sexuality) before the Great War, however: the goblins, trolls, and various other nasties that once had the run of the kingdom have fled north, and they now pay a mage named Viokis for protection from the human regime. When Viokis hears about the quest, he sends Perret an ultimatum: give fake gems to his companions and bring the real gems to Viokis, or get marinated in torture-sweat before being served alive at a werewolf banquet.
Backstabbing his captors is an easy choice until Perret discovers the gems were created through genocide, a process that both Viokis and the king will want to reproduce. Oops. Perret has stolen these ancient weapons from their safe hiding places, and now he’s stuck with them. With his wits, his growing sense of morality (he was shocked, too), and his sticky fingers, Perret has to come up with a way to keep everyone from killing each other… and him.
Some of my novels have much wider appeal, but people who like this one like it fiercely. That’s encouraging, because if I can’t make it as a novelist, I can obviously make it as the leader of a crass, puerile cult. I’ll call it Youforgottozipupyourflyentology.