As many of you know, I teach online classes in addition to my Evil Day Job.  The semester is winding down for me and this is the point when it becomes so painfully apparent that online classes are NOT for everyone.  Why is that?  Well excluding the fact that a number of students are under the mistaken impression that online classes are easier and that computer difficulties will automatically give them some kind of free pass, it comes down to the fact that online classes only REALLY work for self-directed people.  At the start of the semester, I provide a very detailed syllabus with a course calendar that lists all due dates for every assignment.  I do provide announcements, preset for each week about what’s due, but I don’t send out email reminders except for major tests.  I expect students to use the coures calendar and a day planner and keep up with it themselves.  This is college, after all.  It’s part of being a grown up.

It occurred to me that the ability to self-direct without having someone hovering over you with reminders or whatnot, is a necessary skill of successful writers.  The thing that differentiates them from all those people who say they want to write a book, who may sit down at the beginning of November or some other time of year and say “I will do this” and the people who actually DO IT, is the ability to self direct.  The discipline to keep up with it, make writing a priority no matter what else is going on in life.

I’ve got that on my mind today as the December Novel Push Initiative kicks off.  Holidays and life and last second trips to pick up motorcycles as surprise presents for father in laws (from mother in law) are going to interfere, but I’ve got to stay self directed and get my butt in chair for minimum 250 a day.

I can do this…

Really, I mean, wow! where is the year going? it only seems like yesterday when I was packing away the holiday ornaments… yikes!

Well, with Yule festivities just around the corner, I dare say that you readers of my humble little blog already have ideas of what you would like to find under your tree this year, so how about you share it with us? Some of the things i’m hoping to get will be:

New Space Marine codex
SM Assault squad (to pad out my already mean ‘hold off plague marines for 4 turns in h2h’ squad)
Terminator set (the beginnings of my Salamander force….)
Razorback or a Predator to give my Black Templars some much needed heavy support
Another Vindicator. Big, shooty, makes big holes. I have a soft spot for ordnance

also, Lizardmen stuff. I have a Tomb Kings army that is being assembled, but I have been admiring the lizardudes for a while now. We’ll see what the fat dud in red leaves this year, eh?

I recently read a very interesting article at http://lauby.blogspot.com/ - Laubersheimer Industries, written by my good friend John, in which he mentioned actually taking your hobby to work. Ludicrous! you may cry… but, it was something I had actually joked about a couple of times, but it was John’s article that actually spurred me into action.  So, with an impending game on the horizon, and little time at home to do any gaming stuff (I hate it when people call it ‘hobbying’), I decided that I would give it a shot and took my Vindicator kit in to assemble. I packed some glue, knife, plastic clippers and a cutting mat into my trusty backpack.  I would take all the stuff out  just prior to my break.  I assembled it over the course of the week during my lunchbreaks. I would eat my lunch first, which took up about 15 minutes, then, for 45 minutes, I put my sign up on my cube which reads ‘out to lunch’ and commenced construction.  I have to say, the experience is great. It allows me to ‘escape’ for a little while in my work day. I mean, we all spend enough time at work, right, why not make it bearable?

I haven’t ventured as far as actually painting at work, although I am preparing for that step. My Black Templars would be a prime candidate for that, as I could do all the hard-line highlighting at work. It would only require 3 pots of paint and a couple of brushes. Feel the stress melt away! In the meantime, go and take a peep at John’s blog entry on ‘Taking your Hobbies To Work’. I’ll let you know how my venture pans out So far it has been rewarding, and that was just kitbuilding. Hmmm, I wonder… if I get some tables set up in the conference room with some terrain…..

In addition to hypothetical sewing, mocking readers, and hawking stuff, it turns out that I also sew! Hahahaha.  Okay, this is sooooo not something that I would wear. Dan says it makes me look like I’m from Cirque du Soleil. 

But S.W.A.G. present #3, a sequined taffeta bolera for her mommy, is almost done. (Yes, I am a grown woman who calls her mother “mommy” still.  I’m not going to give it up, so mock all you want!) I hope she decides it’s her style at least. My mommy is a sweet person. But much like her Selfish daughter, she won’t wear something she doesn’t like just because it was a gift. She knows that people’s feelings are important, but looking good comes first!  Smart lady.

For having only 5 pattern pieces (other than the lining), this was an awfully fiddly project with difficult seaming at the collar and under the arms, and the taffeta is not very forgiving of tiny imprecisions.  You get to see it on me since I don’t have a dressform at the moment.  It’s cut in a size 34 as my mom is a smidge bigger than I am, so there’s a little extra room in there.  But then again, I’m not really sure how fitted a garment like this is supposed to be. I do need to finish hemming up the sleeves, but I’m trying to decide whether I want it to hit halfway between the elbow and the wrist or just below the elbow.  Thoughts?

I have some fabric left now, and I’m not sure what to do with the rest.  I’d like to make a matching top to go with the bolero, but I’m having trouble picking one out. I definitely don’t like what is going on in Burda’s photo:

That’s a whole lot of fussy for that much shiny.  I’m contemplating this Ottobre top, which would suit my mother’s taste for tailored sleeveless tops with necklines that are neither deep nor wide.  Plus it would justify the fact that I impulse bought this issue of Ottobre for something like $14 while on a trip to Switzerland even though I KNOW I never make anything from Ottobre:

But I’m wondering if that neck opening is too narrow to go with the bolero.  I don’t think it will look nice if you can see the shoulder straps when the bolero is on.  If it were for me, I’d just do a simple princess-seamed bodice with spaghetti straps and perhaps boned at the seams, but that might barer than my mom wants go to. What do you recommend?

The Selfish Seamstress Store is… here, sort of Right now it’s just a mug store.

For now you can get your favorite Selfish Seamstress haikus on a coffee mug ($14.80 and they’re doing free shipping TODAY) so you can show that annoying lady at the office just what you think of her suggestion that you sew her a dress “just like yours!”  Or gently remind your loved ones over morning coffee that perhaps they should learn to sew their own damn buttons. The mug also features the awesome new Selfish Seamstress dressform logo, courtesy of the very talented Dan.

And of course the best part is that 100% of the proceeds from the sale of Selfish Seamstress items (15% of the list price) will be donated to the Atlanta Humane Society to help sweet homeless puppies and kitties.  And who doesn’t want to help puppies and kitties, right?? (Sorry, I wish it were more, but the rest goes to pay the printing company!)

More fun Selfish Seamstress haiku items will be added in the coming days.  In the meantime, take a trip to the Selfish Seamstress Store and pick out your favorite mug, or get some as holiday gifts for your Selfish Seamstress buddies! (Saves you the trouble of having to sew something for them.)

This was a mini-pilot one, where we just tried some spoken word/music/video combinations. It went OK, and he is going to go ahead with a workshop weekend some time in March or April, followed by a full on week in September or October, all things willing. Funny thing to come up from hitching a lift to Lewes on Bonfire night!

To paraphrase the famous sage, Willy Wonka: So much time, so little to write about. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it.

I’ve got two posts in the hopper, one on an article from BBC News about Scottish identity, the other a reaction to a New York Times piece on medical marijuana.

One hits home and the other seems like a major red flag to me.

So, stay tuned and find out which is which.

As it turned out, Aunt Somebody agreed (reluctantly) to do Barry’s production of Passing in the Night—but only on the condition that he would not use her name in any of the advance publicity as marquee lure; she preferred for audiences to simply discover her when they came to see the show, and for word-of-mouth to do the rest.  Barry was miffed about this, for although he had not been depending solely on his stepmother’s participation in the play to sell tickets, he had hoped that news of her presence would offer an air of importance and class (not to mention press coverage) to the opening of the Barrymore Dinner Theatre, as it was to be called.  Still, his having actually secured her services as Regina Davenport was, in itself, almost more than he had dared hope for…and he suspected, correctly, that the possibility of WeeWee’s also being in the show had ultimately made it happen.

“I hope you know that I’m only doing this for you,” said Aunt Somebody drily to WeeWee just after she had phoned Barry to accept the role.  “I’m probably out of my gourd…but I suppose it will be fun, and it’ll certainly make the summer go fast.”

Next, she called WeeWee’s father to discuss his being allowed to stay with her through the summer in order to take part in the show.  He was more easily convinced than the boy had expected, especially when Aunt Somebody assured him that no contracts would be involved; the enterprise was entirely volunteer-based, with its cast members culled from the local college and community theatres.  Moreover, she said, pacing back and forth during the phone conversation (and winking at WeeWee as he sat grinning at her), she was getting quite accustomed to having this delightful young man around, and perhaps it was selfish of her, but she sincerely hoped to be able to keep him around for a bit longer, if it were at all possible.   WeeWee’s father laughingly agreed, saying that he had already talked it over with his mother, and that she had been quite excited about WeeWee’s being in a musical with his great-aunt…as long as he was home in time to begin the new school year, which had been his own single concern.  Aunt Somebody thanked him, promised both of WeeWee’s parents complimentary tickets, and the matter was settled.

At that point, WeeWee had yet to be officially cast in Passing in the Night, but with time growing short before the show was to go into rehearsal for its early August opening, Barry had more or less approved him to play Owen Stanton on good faith.  Just for the benefit of experience on WeeWee’s part, a reading was scheduled for three days later, the last of June, and Aunt Somebody drove him down to Barrymore Park at eight that evening so that he could do it in the actual performance space, when the restaurant had closed for the night.

The park itself was large, pleasant and well-kept.  It consisted mainly of a wooded campground, with a scattering of small, neat cabins and a lake for fishing.  There were biking trails, a walking path and the restaurant, wide and low, right in the middle of everything, with an office attached.

Barry was closing up the office just as WeeWee and Aunt Somebody arrived.  He called a cheery hello and led them into the restaurant, which was attractively decorated and softly lighted by flame-shaped bulbs in sconces all around the main dining area.  Twenty-odd round tables, freshly wiped-down and straightened, ringed a square of tiled dance floor that measured perhaps ten by ten feet.  Barry pointed to this and said, “Well, there’s your stage.  All of it.”

Aunt Somebody, who had been to the restaurant many times, looked around dubiously.  “How do you expect exits and entrances to be made, with no wing space?”

Barry went on to explain that the wings would be created from large black draperies hung over metal bars, placed diagonally in the corners on two opposite ends of the room.  The actors would remain behind these when they were not onstage.  The small band would be in one of the two remaining corners, and the stage manager would be in the other, to operate the light switches, although there would be no major lighting effects.  Nor would there be any amplification, and the production would make use of only minimal set pieces and props which the actors themselves would move on and off. 

“It’s the principle of KISS,” said Barry with a grin.

“Kiss?” 

“Keep It Simple, Stupid.”

The stage manager, John, who was to have read with WeeWee, could not be there that night, and so Barry asked Aunt Somebody if she would read his scenes with him.  “Sure,” she said.  Barry handed her a script, and she walked to join her very eager (and nervous) great-nephew in the center of the dance floor.  Barry gave them the page number of the first scene, and the reading began.

The scene was the first meeting between Owen Stanton and Helen Davenport, right after they boarded the cruise ship. 

WeeWee cleared his throat and spoke his first line as Owen.  “Extraordinary, isn’t it, miss, the therapeutic effect of the Pacific on one’s nerves?”

Aunt Somebody replied in character as Helen, just as she had in the film thirty-eight years before, her voice clear and resonant.  Hearing her gave WeeWee chills.  “It certainly is.  But I shouldn’t think someone as young as you would need therapy for his nerves.”

Barry spoke up from where he was sitting at one of the tables, toward the middle of the room.  “Okay, I’m going to stop you both right there, just for a minute.”  Looking at WeeWee, he said, “Remember that you’re talking to the audience, not just the character of Helen.  Well, you are talking to her in theory…but everyone out here…”  He waved a hand around the general area.  “…Needs to be able to hear you, too.  So make sure you project.  Let’s try it again.”

WeeWee nodded and began once more.  “Extraordinary, isn’t it, miss, the therapeutic–”

Barry broke in before he could finish the line.  “Sorry, bud…I still need you to be louder.  I’m not that far away, and I can barely hear you.  During the actual performance, you’ll have to be heard over people talking in the audience, because people are disgustingly rude and they will talk…plus, the kitchen help will be slam-banging around in the back, cleaning up.  And when you have people sitting at these tables, they’ll soak up the sound, too.  So really, really get your voice out there.  If you think you’re talking too loud, you’re at the level you need to be.  Feel like you’re shouting, okay?  Go ahead when you’re ready.”

WeeWee made a fresh start, but he hadn’t gotten even two words out before Barry interrupted him this time.  “Can you do a British accent?”

“Yeah…I think so.”  WeeWee chastised himself silently for forgetting that Owen was British.  He himself often used a British accent while playing with his action figures, particularly for the villains, so he’d had plenty of practice at it.  And of course, Alexander the Avenger wouldn’t be half as menacing with a Midwestern twang.

“Great.  Want to give that a try?

“ExtrOHdineddy, isn’t it, miss, the thera-PYOOtic ee-fect of the—”

Barry and Aunt Somebody burst out laughing.  WeeWee felt his ears turning red, and he smiled self-consciously, but also with pleasure. 

“That was good!” said Barry approvingly, after he recovered.  “You have a darn good accent, there.  Keep it just like that.  Now, try the accent with the projection…and remember to enunciate.  Speak slowly and stress your consonants and the endings of your words, especially, because I’m telling you right now…half the audience will be made up of old people who can’t hear.  And I don’t want the other half of the audience to have to listen to ‘Whaddee say?  Whaddee say?’ while they’re trying to follow the plot.  Okay, once more…and I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

This time, WeeWee recited his opening line perfectly—projection, accent and all—and he and Aunt Somebody read the whole scene to the end, at which Barry rose and applauded, smiling broadly at WeeWee.  Aunt Somebody turned to him and applauded as well.

The boy glowed.  He had just read his first scene as a bona-fide actor with an Academy Award-nominated movie star.  Not bad for a kid who sat down to pee, he thought.  Not bad at all.

On the drive back to her house, Aunt Somebody complimented WeeWee again on his reading.  “You have genuine potential,” she said.  “Your voice is clear and distinct and it carries well.  You should think about doing more with it, eventually.”

WeeWee happily accepted her praise.  He inhaled deeply the mixed scents…peppermint gum, leather, his aunt’s perfume…in the car, which rode like a featherbed on wheels.  He only wished they had farther to go.  He loved riding in big cars…those who preferred Corvettes and Mustangs were welcome to them.  Give him a Cadillac or a Lincoln, or in this case, a Buick—built for comfort rather than speed—and he was in a state of sheer bliss.

The whole reading had seemed like a dream to him, one from which he was half-afraid he would awaken to find himself in bed at home, or worse yet, at the Bitterwaters’.  He had never experienced anything like it—being put to the test of doing something that not everyone could do—and passing with flying colors.  He had competed…competed and won, and it was a feeling he could get used to.  Until now, when WeeWee had thought of the word “competition”, he had visualized a football or basketball game.  He had never considered acting to be a sport, but he realized now that it was certainly competitive.  In view of that, he would have liked to have seen Dave Bennington or Tom Wesley attempting it. 

“Was anyone else up for playing Owen?” he asked his aunt.

“I don’t believe so,” she said as she steered the car into her driveway.  “Barry would have found someone if you hadn’t come along, I’m sure…but I think he saw something in you that day when he was here and asked if you were interested.  Incidentally, so had I, by then.”

“Really?”

Aunt Somebody put the car in park and turned off the ignition.  In the dimness of the garage, she turned to him and smiled as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen many things in you since you’ve been here, and they’re all good.  I just don’t think anyone’s ever bothered to tell you about most of them before.”

The next day, WeeWee called home to tell his father about the audition.  To his great surprise, his mother answered the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart!” she said with pleasure.  “How are you?”

“I’m good…is Dad at home?”

There was a slight pause before she replied, “No, honey, he went back to the motel in Glenmoore, where he was.”

WeeWee’s heart sank a little.  “Did you get together with him to talk?  He said you were going to.”

“We haven’t, yet, but we will.”  She quickly changed the subject by asking how the reading for the play had gone.  WeeWee described it to her, and told her about the character, and Barry, and what the restaurant at Barrymore was like.

“Did you have to sing?”

WeeWee explained that hadn’t been required to sing, firstly because Owen was a non-singing role, and secondly because Aunt Somebody had told Barry that she knew he could carry a tune with no problem, based on the amount of humming he did.  (“I said I’d heard you humming ‘Rose’s Turn’ the other day, from Gypsy, and you hit every single note,” she had laughed.  “I don’t know if even Merman herself could have done that without accompaniment!”) 

“Wow!” his mother said, impressed.  “You’re so talented you didn’t even have to audition!  I think you’re on your way, WeeWee!”

The boy cringed.  “Mom, I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“But I’ve always called you that.”

“I know.  That’s the problem.”

There was silence for a moment, and then WeeWee’s mother changed the subject again.  “Do you like your aunt?”

“Yeah.  She’s a lot of fun.  She’s really nice.”

“Well, I’m glad things have worked out this way…for all of us…although I do miss you.”

“I miss you, too, Mom.  Will you give me Dad’s number at the motel so I can let him know about getting the part?”

WeeWee’s father was even more congratulatory than his mother.  “That’s terrific!  You’ll be sharing the stage with a star the first time out!”  He went on to tell his son a little about his experience playing in a high school production of Bye, Bye Birdie, and encouraged him to continue on with acting in school himself if this turned out to be a good experience, because he never knew where it might lead him.  “It’s a great confidence builder,” he said.  “And I’m sure you’ll make a lot of friends.  I am seriously, seriously proud of you, pal.  Now, make sure you give me updates on how it’s going, once you get started.”

“I will,” said WeeWee.

“I’m really happy that the summer’s turned around for you the way it has…and I hope you’ve told your aunt how grateful you are to her for helping in that regard.”

“I have…Dad, were you still going to get together with Mom?  She said you hadn’t, yet.”

WeeWee’s father was quiet for a moment, just as his mother had been, and then he said, “We’re working on it.  Don’t worry about that.  Just enjoy your summer, and have fun doing the play.”

Later that afternoon, WeeWee was sitting with Aunt Somebody at the kitchen table, while Faye did her nails before they headed off to another charity meeting, this time to aid the victims of a devastating tornado that had struck a town in Arkansas the previous week.  Ironically, a tornado watch had just been announced for their county over the radio that Charles had playing; the weather outside had turned ominous, with low-hanging clouds so dark that the kitchen light was turned on. 

WeeWee was studying his lines for Passing in the Night.  He intended to know them cold when rehearsals began the following week.  Aunt Somebody had already enlisted his help in learning hers, by cueing her.  Faye was delighted by the news that not only had Aunt Somebody finally agreed to do the show, but that he would be joining her in the cast, and she was already throwing out ideas for their wardrobe and hairstyles.

The boy had been playing with some of his He-Man figures at the table, earlier.  They were still arranged around it in various poses, and both Aunt Somebody and Faye found them quite interesting.

“Who is this yummy thing?” asked Faye as she picked up one of them and looked it over.

“That’s He-Man.”

“Oh, really?  Well, he sure lives up to his name…blonde hair, muscles and nothing on but fur underwear.  That’s the guy for me.  I do believe I’m having hot flashes.”

Aunt Somebody leaned to peer at another figure.  “Well, this is my man, right here.  The furry red one.” 

“That’s Beast-Man,” said WeeWee.

“Like I said…” Aunt Somebody chuckled. 

Faye rolled her eyes.  “You and your bad boys.”

“I know…as if I haven’t learned my lesson,” said Aunt Somebody, waving her hands to dry her nails.  “Oh, this damn humidity.  Even the air doesn’t help…why did I let you talk me into doing my nails, Faye?  They won’t be dry for hours, and I’ll get all these insects stuck to them when I go out.  I swear…I’m going to sell this place and move to Arizona where I won’t have to put up with it.”

Faye began gathering up her manicure equipment.  “You don’t want to live in Arizona.”

“Yeah, you’d miss the season changes, remember?” said WeeWee, looking up from his script.

“That I would.  You’re absolutely right.  But as I get older, I find myself just detesting Ohio summers, more and more.”

Faye went to the sliding glass door that led into the backyard.  “It’s like midnight out there.”  She turned to Aunt Somebody.  “Do you think we ought to risk going out in this?”

Aunt Somebody glanced outside.  “It’s not yellow and green yet.  If it were, then I might worry.  That’s how it always got back home, right before a twister.”

“You had twisters back home?”  WeeWee’s jaw dropped.  Not only did he find his great-aunt more fascinating with each passing day, but tornadoes had always been something of an obsession with him, ever since he had seen The Wizard of Oz.

“We sure did,” she said.  “Oklahoma’s right in the middle of Tornado Alley.  Just about every spring, we had to hit for the cellar a few times.  Once, my family and I all watched one take out the whole farm next to us.  And I was alone one day, in the garden, when I looked up and saw one touching down in my dad’s pasture, about two hundred feet from me.”

“Holy shhh…”  Faye glanced quickly at WeeWee.  “…Shinola!”

“What happened?” asked WeeWee, his eyes riveted to his aunt’s face.

“It just barely grazed the ground, and then it disappeared back up into the clouds.”

“Were you scared?” 

“I didn’t have time to be scared.  It was just there and gone.” 

The suspense of the story had WeeWee picking his nails, and Aunt Somebody scowled at this, because it drove her nuts.

 “Stop that.  I will not allow you to mutilate yourself while I’m responsible for you.  Faye, look at his nails.  Now, there’s the one who needs a manicure.”

“There’s not enough there to manicure.  Great balls of fire!  Those nails are a disgrace to my profession…I’m gonna be putting some tape on the ends of those fingers, boy—you see if I don’t.”

Following the former thread of conversation, WeeWee asked his aunt if she had ever known Judy Garland.

“I didn’t know her, but I met her a few times,” she said.  “The most memorable was on one of the rare occasions when I attended a party…it was at Humphrey Bogart and Betty Bacall’s house, I think…yes, that’s right.  Would have been around 1955.  Oh, could those two put on a soiree.  But yes, we wound up doing a duet together, Judy and me, of ‘The Man That Got Away’.  I’ll admit that we were both rather worse—or better, depending on how you look at it—for drinks that evening, so I can’t honestly tell you how it went over.”

WeeWee’s eyes burned, reminding him to blink.

“They call her tragic, but I never knew anyone who loved a good time as much as she did.”  Aunt Somebody’s gaze had grown faraway.  “And talent!  You talk about a gift from God!  But I’ll tell you more later.  Right now, we’ve got to step on it.”

Faye, turning back to the sliding door, said “Ooooh…there’s a man here in the window, too.”

Charles turned around for the first time from the counter, where he was putting together a blackberry pie.  “If he’s tall, dark and handsome, he’s mine.”

“No, he’s small, blue and really ugly,” said Faye, staring at the action figure, the spiderlike Webstor, whom WeeWee had thoughtfully hung at the side of the door by his miniature grappling hook and cord.

Shortly after Aunt Somebody and Faye left, the word ugly didn’t even begin to describe the state of the weather.  The sky was as black as night, and the wind had whipped into a low gale, sending the trash cans behind the garage tumbling down the driveway.  Tree branches scraped at the windows and the lights blinked several times.  Charles peered out the kitchen window anxiously and said to WeeWee, “I’m going over to my apartment and get my wireless radio, in case the power goes off.  I’ll be back in five minutes.”

WeeWee remained at the table, more frightened than he liked to admit to himself.  While he found tornadoes mesmerizing, he had no desire to confront one up close and personal.  Besides, he was worried about his aunt and her friend, out on the road.  He had always heard that a car was the worst place to be if a tornado hit.

And then he heard the low, beginning moan of the local tornado siren. 

WeeWee stood up, his eyes wide.  Shock rendered him immobile for several moments as the siren whooped up and down its melancholy scale.  He didn’t know what to do.  He wasn’t sure where the basement was, and he desperately longed for Charles to come back.   

The lights flickered one last time and went out. 

The boy fled the kitchen and blundered into the gloomy foyer, his hands thrust gingerly out so that he didn’t crash into anything.  His vague plan now was to get across the yard to Charles’s apartment, or else to meet up with him if he was on his way back.  He was too terrified to wait alone another minute.

WeeWee opened the double front doors, admitting a blast of wind so powerful that he was nearly knocked off his feet.  His first impulse was to try to shut the doors again, but the wind was too strong, and the most he could do was push at them with all his might, like Bette Davis in the thunderstorm scene in Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

In an instant, a tall figure in black swept into the boy’s view, hovered over him briefly, then yanked him by the arm into the foyer with a gloved hand.  The figure—a woman—leaned against the doors with her weight and finally managed to shove them closed on the roaring wind.  She turned to look at WeeWee, who stood staring at her, breathless with astonishment.  Her features were barely visible due to her veiled hat, and the darkness of the room.

Hurried footsteps echoed blessedly from the side hall as Charles returned, radio in hand.  “Did you hear the siren?…We’d better head to the basement,” he said to WeeWee with urgency.  Then he caught sight of the mysterious woman, still standing silently in the shadows.  “Who are you?” he asked, frowning warily.

The woman seemed about to reply when more footsteps sounded from the hall.  Aunt Somebody then charged into the foyer, her hair and dress windblown.  “Jiminy Christmas!” she cried.  “It’s like Judgment Day out there.  Let’s get to the basement!  Faye and I got as far as the end of Hanover, and then we heard the siren and turned around.  And look what we found on our way back!”

It was then that WeeWee and Charles noticed what she was holding…a small, wriggling dog, thrusting its head up to try to lick her chin.  “The poor thing belongs to someone—he’s got a collar, but no tags.  I couldn’t bring myself to leave him out there in this.  Isn’t he adorable?”

WeeWee, who loved all animals and had always wanted a dog, forgot the weather and the lady in black in an instant and started forward.  The dog saw him coming and struggled in Aunt Somebody’s arms, eager to greet him.

The lights flickered back on.  Aunt Somebody, smiling down at her enthusiastic burden, looked up and saw the woman standing near the front door.  Her smile instantly faded.

The two women gazed at each other for what seemed an age, before the unexpected visitor said coldly, “Hello, Mother.”

Dianne Addessi closely resembled her father, just as Aunt Somebody had said.  Her hair was coal-black, her features strong.  Her eyes were dark beneath the brim of her hat, and they held no warmth at all, not even when she smiled, which was rare.

WeeWee was sitting on the sofa in the living room beside Aunt Somebody, holding the little dog, which she and Charles had decided must be some sort of Chihuahua mix.  His coat was sleek and brown, his eyes bright and happy as he lovingly licked the boy’s face, as if in appreciation for having been rescued. 

Charles had gone to the kitchen to make coffee, and Dianne was regal in a throne-like chair, watching her mother and her young cousin.

The storm had finally burst, hurling sheets of rain against the windows, which rattled from the force of the wind.  Thunder cracked and growled as lightning periodically lit up the room, whose lamps did little to dispel its shadows in the meantime.  Just minutes ago, not long after the siren had stopped, the tornado warning for the area had been downgraded back to a severe thunderstorm warning.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” said Dianne flatly, looking at the dog in WeeWee’s arms with sardonic wonder.  “When I was a little girl, you wouldn’t even let me have a guinea pig.”

“That’s because you weren’t home enough to take care of it,” replied Aunt Somebody.

“Not by choice,” retorted Dianne.  “I wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to be railroaded off to boarding school all the time, if you remember.”

Aunt Somebody lifted her chin.  “I can’t believe you came so far to remind me of all the mistakes I made as a mother, but I know better than to think you’re only here for a pleasant chat…so tell me…to what do I owe this honor?”

WeeWee, taken as he was with the new, if probably temporary, addition to his aunt’s household, did not fail to pick up on the hostility between mother and daughter.  He was beginning to feel rather uneasy as the barbs exchanged between them grew more and more sharp-edged, and wondered if he ought to leave the room.

Dianne reached into her purse and drew out a cigarette, which she parked in her mouth and lit as she said, “You might be surprised how close you really are to figuring it out.”

“Please don’t do that in here,” snapped Aunt Somebody.  Nodding her head at WeeWee, she went on, sternly.  “He’s allergic.  And I don’t want the house to reek of it.  It took forever to get the smell out after I quit years ago.”

Dianne exhaled smoke, her eyebrows raised.  Then, smiling faintly, she stubbed out her cigarette in a Venetian glass ashtray on the coffee table before looking up at her mother.

“Just what suddenly possessed you to play Auntie Mame this summer, anyway?”

“That’s hardly any of your business.” 

“I’m almost tempted to believe that the body snatchers have been here,” remarked Dianne.  “I mean…come on.  A dog and a kid at the same time, in this house?”

Charles came in with a coffee tray, which he set down on the table.  There was a glass of milk on it as well.  Aunt Somebody thanked him, and he left the room.

WeeWee did not feel right about taking the milk, as neither his aunt nor Dianne made any move to pour coffee.  And anyway, the dog had fallen asleep on his lap, and he would feel bad if he woke him up.

“I think we can leave the dog and the kid out of this,” said Aunt Somebody, folding her arms.  “I’m much more interested in learning what you think you’re going to get by paying me a visit in person…as opposed to your phone call the other night.  But I guess this is an improvement over that…so far as being able to decipher what you’re saying.  Maybe next time, you should call before the cocktail hour.”

Dianne gave a short, humorless laugh; then she said, her black eyes smoldering with bitterness, “And who taught me about the cocktail hour in the first place, Mother?” 

Aunt Somebody’s voice remained perfectly controlled, as it had been all along.  “Dianne, if you have something to say, I think you’d better say it, and go.”

Her daughter gazed back at her impassively for a moment, and then she nodded.

“All right.  But I would rather say it in private, if you don’t mind.”

Aunt Somebody turned to WeeWee and gently laid a hand on his arm.  “Hon, would you please go in the kitchen with Charles for a little while?  That pie of his is probably ready by now.  Tell him to give you a piece, and give our buddy there some water.”

WeeWee obediently gathered up his sleepy new friend and headed for the door, which some instinct directed him to close behind him.

Not long after, the boy was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his pie and looking over the lines in the script again while the little dog, who had taken a big drink from the dish of water Charles had put down, slept soundly on his lap. 

Aunt Somebody had never mentioned the angry phone call between herself and Dianne a few days before, and WeeWee, of course, had not asked her about it.  But that call, along with what little he already knew about Dianne, and the scene he had witnessed in the living room, drew him to the conclusion that she had not dropped by today for mere pleasantry, just as Aunt Somebody had said.

That conclusion was reinforced by the raised voices which were suddenly audible in the kitchen.

“YOU OWE IT TO ME!”  Dianne was screaming.  Not shouting, but screaming.  “YOU’VE ALWAYS OWED IT TO ME, AND I WANT IT!”

Aunt Somebody’s voice came then, forceful, but not nearly as loud.  Her only distinguishable words were “childish” and “responsibility”.

“TO HELL WITH THAT!  YOU LIVE HERE LIKE A QUEEN AND EXPECT ME TO SLAVE MY GUTS OUT FOR NOTHING?”

Now, Aunt Somebody could be heard, although still not as clearly as Dianne.  “Just get out!  Get out of my house!”

“YOUR HOUSE?  YOU MEAN HIS HOUSE!  THE HOUSE YOU BOUGHT WITH HIS MONEY!  THE MONEY YOU KILLED HIM TO GET!”

“I’m not going through this, Dianne!  Get out!  Now!”

“YOU WAIT!  JUST WAIT!  I’M GOING TO GET WHAT’S MINE…WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED ME TO HAVE…EVEN IF IT TAKES ME TILL YOU’RE DEAD!  OR EVEN AFTER YOU’RE DEAD!”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

The front door slammed with such force that the house shook.  A crash of thunder followed a moment later, like an echo.

The storm had died down to a soft rain. WeeWee had taken his script to his room, but was having little success concentrating on it.  The stray dog was confined to the kitchen, at Charles’s suggestion.  He had gone to check on Aunt Somebody, who had closed herself in her study.

After a while, WeeWee heard the Buick leaving, its tires gushing on the wet driveway.  It returned only a few minutes later.  Then, Charles tapped at his door and smiled, although his face showed signs of strain.  “Dinner’s ready.”

WeeWee accompanied him downstairs, where Charles paused across from Aunt Somebody’s open study door to summon her.  Then, he checked himself, sighing deeply and shaking his head.  “So that’s what she went out for,” he murmured, softly enough that she did not hear.

Aunt Somebody was sitting with her back to the door, facing the windows behind her desk.  She was smoking a cigarette.

“She hasn’t smoked in seven years,” said Charles in the same near-whisper, more to himself than to WeeWee.  “This is not good.  This is so not good.”

Nu har det hänt ytterligare några saker. Först och främst har jag efter två kvällars arbete färdigställt framsidan för den kommande skoltidningen. De som håller i publiceringen blev mycket nöjda och jag ser fram emot när den trycks. Jag gör allt arbete med tidningen gratis men jag har dock förhandlat mig till en annonsplats i nästa nummer och självklart kommer den användas för mitt projektarbete. Tjänster i utbyte mot marknadsföringsplatser är ett bra sätt för nya företag att få uppmärksamhet, tror inte det är en särskilt väl använd metod dock(?).

Jag har varit i skolan och fotat lite lokaler som jag lovade i torsdags. Samtidigt har jag insett att jag kommer behöva lägga ner mer tankekraft på själva placeringen av kampanjen än jag trodde. Det är meningen att man ska stöta på reklamen på väg genom skolan. Samtidigt vill jag använda mig av placeringen på ett smart sätt som kanske fångar extra uppmärksamhet. Det är ofta reklamkampanjer där betraktaren kan interagera med verket som blir framgångsrik.

Här är bilderna jag tog. Jag har valt platser där jag eventuellt kan placera mina affischer. Kritik eller andra idéer är väldigt välkomna här. Klicka på bilderna för att läsa texterna och se placeringen

Jag har också lovat skisser på hur bilderna kommer att se ut. Här kommer en av dem, ta hänsyn till att jag aldrig har varit en talangfull målare med penna. Tanken med den här bilden är att det ska vara en illustration med en stil som påminner om traditionellt måleri men fortfarande har en “digital touch”. Det till vänster föreställer en shampooflaska som ska pumpa ut en kvinnlig karaktär med mycket hår. I samband med bilden kommer jag promota rabbatkoden som vittras elever ska få ta del av. 10% på hela sortimentet.
Jag har även börjat smått på illustrationen i Illustrator CS4, är långt ifrån klar dock och färgerna är bara provisoriska. Tar gärna emot kritik!
(klicka för större)

Jag har inget case mer fram till jul vilket betyder att fokus de sista veckorna kommer att ligga på projektarbetet och nationella i matte D. Jag känner att jag har kommit igång lite mer nu än innan och det här kan bli riktigt bra om jag följer planerna.

Stay tuned!

Last night I absolutely detested what I have written so far. Today I took the knife to it, cut everything that didn’t belong there out and wrote an introduction that is, at least, closer to what I want. It is better – as in less irritating. Definitively not there yet.

The KaBraiMo portion of November has been most fruitful. I’ve found a new direction for the story, which I love. I got goosebumps when I figured it out, which has never happened to me (that I can recall) in my entire writing life. That’s the really good part.

The need-to-look-at-it-in-the-right-way part is that in the last week, I’ve cut 14k out of the manuscript. On the one hand, that could make me very depressed. It feels like I’m never going to finish this book, and this kind of thing doesn’t help. But I can’t look at it that way. I have to recognize that all the cutting I did was necessary, and inevitable, given the change in the story’s direction. Whether I cut those words today or in six months, they’re still getting cut. So why not grasp the nettle and get it over and done with?

The upside to doing this now, is that I don’t have the scenes I cut in my head any more. Actually removing them from the manuscript removed them from my imagination, from my mental image of the story. That alone makes all that chopping worthwhile.

And now it’s just a matter of replacing them.

::sigh::

Making some holiday snowflakes to hang around the house… wish I was a better paper cutter, but they still are festive!  (Using “Snowflakes for all Seasons: 72  Fold & Cut Paper Snowflakes” book for inspiration)

(pile of snowflakes)

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2583/4145545612_2efef6e0eb_o.jpg

Flickering projection of Katla intro. Recording of her voice, a conversation she is having while looking out at you. Either played back in headphones, or in through very directional small speakers, so the sound does not leak out from the small space that one viewer at a time occupies.

Apresentar mais um projecto deste blogger completamente doido XD… Conseguem adivinhar??????

Como não podia deixar de ser e depois de muitos testes de materiais e de aprender a trabalhar em fibra de vidro e de muitos erros, consegui finalmente colocar algum progresso no meu fato de Master Chief….

Todo o trabalho e feito com os modelos já feitos pelo pessoal do site 405th que muito ajudaram na execução e que nada disto seria possível sem eles, apenas fiz o download dos ficheiros criados por eles e dei mãos a obra…. esta figura são as Handplates feitas em papel, ainda exige algum trabalho por parte de quem monta e digo já que e necessária muita dedicação para um trabalho destes e muito esforço, quem iniciar isto prepare-se para dispensar muito tempo e dinheiro e que a qualidade da armadura depois se vai reflectir no tempo despendido…..

E esta a fibra que vou utilizar em toda a armadura compra-se no Aki na secção de tintas, não e necessário a tela em fibra apenas a resina/putty, de lembrar que para utilizar isto e necessário equipamento apropriado, tal como mascara com filtros (de preferência das que não são descartáveis), luvas e óculos.

É este o aspecto com que o papel fica depois de aplicada a fibra de vidro. É de notar a resistência que este material tem mas apenas apliquei uma fina camada que mais tarde vai ter de levar mais um pouco mas estou a pensar encher com poliuretano, mais barato e apenas quero dar enchimento e resistência que ainda tem de levar alguma resina/putty de definição que é uma resina que serve para aplicar em camadas mais finas, a que estou a usar serve para aplicar em camadas ate 2cm o que é muito, mais tarde o necessário e apenas resina de 0.5cm.

Long time no see, je couds très peu ces derniers temps ^^; J’ai enfin réussi à dessiner une collection pour enfants, reste plus qu’à faire, au moins les proto, pour le fun. Sinon, mon cher et tendre m’a offert une nouvelle Gertrude: un mannequin réglable, j’ai de quoi m’éclater !

Sinon, voici ma tenue en cours, une robe/tunique. Il y a pas mal de défauts à corriger, et le mannequin va m’y aider. Le tissu vient de chez “Idéal Tissus” à Lunel, au poids, donc aucune idée de la provenance d’origine. C’est un jersey très fin, un peu transparent par endroits, mais j’aime vraiment les couleurs et la douceur. Il reste donc à corriger le dos, faire l’ourlet du bas, avant la fin de l’hiver ^^;

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More info coming.

Below I have included my previous entry with my to do list broken down into steps. I have bolded the items that I have finished. I have italicised what I still need to do or am working on now.

Here are my priorities for this next week: (Italicised = work in progress)

1) Change Header Image

2) Add About Page Photo

3) Optimize Tagging with Yahoo and Google

4) Keep trying to connect it with Facebook (already tried MEEB, but it still does not connect with my blog?)

5) Keep commenting on other similar blogs (I will start commenting on Liz’s since she is covering artsy stuff too)

6) Keep putting out content! (Use delicious to find other similar sites to discover content out there)

PREVIOUS POST: (Bolded = DONE)

Purpose: We will showcase various forms of art and discover new sites that everyone will enjoy viewing.

Goal: Showcase what I have learned through the process of creating a “functional” blog.

“Functional” is defined by me with various factors that will be included. For instance, picking and editing an appropriate design, updating the blog consistently (at least once a week), and providing video and imagery that helps to demonstrate my opinions on certain issues. Also, trying to figure out how to promote my blog would also be important with getting it to come up on google and yahoo searches. Obviously, linking to some of the competitor websites may be a good way of promoting my own.

Heres my plan broken down into steps:

Find an Audience:

In this case, I will be appealing to mostly to people with a general interest to contemporary art (1950’s to today)

Begin to Blog: (week 1)

1) Sign up for blog/Create a blog domain name

2) Customize the blog design colors/structure etc

3) Update the About Page with info and picture

5)Update Settings to my desired privacy levels

6) Start making Add blog entries with creative/unique entries with engaging content

Promote/Market  blog: (Week 2)

7) Optimize tagging and more search engine friendly work with Yahoo and Google

Figure out how to make your status updates connect with Facebook and Twitter

9) Make comments on other blogs with a link back to my blog

Just Keep Doing what I am doing: (Week 3/4)

10) Stick to my Theme of being an an art fan

11) Keep updating, and keep commenting

12) Add Creative Commons Logo

Measures of Success

For this blog to be considered a success for me I will have an engaging site which is what I would consider “functional”. I will have links to other sites and videos that help engage my audience. In addition, I will implement online marketing techniques which will add traffic to my site. I will have learned how to market by engaging with other sites. Also I will learn what types of topics interest people the most, and promote a informational and well as entertaining site for people to enjoy.

I’ve been MIA the last few days.  I can’t say I’ve been a lazy bum, as I’ve actually been quite busy doing assorted home improvement projects, the latest of which was repainting the wrought iron railing and columns on the front of the house.  Progress is being made!  The last projects of this year are framing out the bathroom mirror and flooring more of the attic, which can’t be done until we have all the Christmas stuff out of the way.  That will be next weekend, as Hubby has declared that there will be no Christmas movies until the house is decorated.

After two lousy weeks of fiction production, I set myself a goal to just write SOMETHING, anything this week.  I started back on the scene I was stalled out on and got 277 words Tuesday night, but didn’t do much during the Thanksgiving holiday courtesy of guests and the fact that my mom hijacked my computer during her visit.  But I sat down this evening and churned out 946 words.  I’m not quite done with the problem scene, but I hope to knock it out tomorrow.  And of course, the next round of Novel PI is coming up December 1st, so I”m hoping to be prepared for the last 15,000 words.

The other thing I’ve been busy with the last few days is my latest addiction to my new Wii Fit Plus.  I had gotten the Wii Fit for my birthday, but I never used it much as the navigation took too long and there’s not all that much room in my living room for the yoga and strength training I liked.  But I decided to pick up Wii Fit Plus and I am ADDICTED!  It allows you to set your own routines and has a favorites list, plus it has a lot more games.  I’m frigging addicted to the boxing game, and I’ve already worked my way up to expert.  Two 10 minute rounds burns 100 calories.  That works for me in conjunction with the other stuff I’m already doing.  I probably should’ve waited until after Christmas, but I’m hoping it will keep me from putting on the Christmas pudge.

Exams are upon us and in another week and a half, I’ll have final grades turned in, and for 3 weeks, I will have a single job to worry about while I put my Theories of Personality class together.  For THAT I am thankful.

Now here are the new pics from my SteamEngine.

And first a short animation of manometer.

gallery

“MORE LAYERS”. When they find me I’ll be victorious, standing in front of a mountain of my enemies crying, “MORE LAYERS”.

Though probably the mountain of enemies will give away my location.

This is a sensible question really.  Knowing I’m in the middle of editing one book and getting it ready to be published and that I already have two wip’s that need a lot of polish, I’ve decided to not start drafting any other stories until after I move in January.  This means getting familiar again with a work in progress that I thought I had put aside for the time being.

There are a lot of problems with this work in progress but the one I’m trying to sort out first goes by the name Derrick.  Derrick is a ridiculous name and I know it isn’t right but that is his name for the time being and that is the least of this particular characters problems.

See, Derrick starts out in the very opening scene as a very impressive and strong, if emotionally immature, young man.  It is a great scene where he lords his power as a mage over a group of commoners (or non-magic users).  It really sets the tone for how the world works and all and all that particular scene works.

Jump a half-dozen chapters further a long.  Oh.  What is Derrick doing?  He is playing a childish prank on someone a lot stronger than him and then running away.  If you are wondering why the scene actually serves to show the other character’s explosive temper which is kind of an important part of the plot later on but Derrick’s actions do not make sense.  Not if he is the same Derrick who appeared back in chapter one.

Skip ahead again.  Now what is he doing?  He’s giving the best friend, morale boosting speech to someone who was about to collapse.  He is thoughtful and well-spoken and considerate.  No.  It can’t be the same character.

And so on.

Poor Derrick is facing an identity crisis.  More importantly, I am facing a crisis.  All of these scenes are important to the plot but the character makes no sense at all and his progression is random.  Actually, his progression is simple.  I need a character to do this to cause that.  Throw him in.  That seems to be how he has gone along and that does not work.  Yes, he is a minor character in the grand scheme of things but that is no excuse for not plotting out a logical character arc.  I’m either going to have to figure a way for Derrick to do all the things he needs to do, in a way that allows him to stay true to his character, or I’m going to have to find someone else to fill the spot in the scene, someone who makes sense.

Poor Derrick.

From photos of Germany -simple before & after

Owl and Bunny

Owl and Bunny