Weather was a bit bakier than I prefer, but not as hot as it's been in years past, and not downpouring rain, so happy things there.

To get the obvious out of the way first, my three favorite names for the new parking situation in the gravel quary:

1. Death Valley
2. The Dust Bowl
3. Never-Never Land (as in: second car to the right and straight on till morning)

And, of course, one can't forget the joke: "Minnesota Renaissance Festival - where parking is the pits!"

As another somewhat business-related aside, I'm always a little stunned to find performers who are put out by folks who dress up and come out as Capt. Sparrow and similar characters (although Jack is by far the most popular at the moment). Yes, it did get a little silly when the movie first came out and you could spot fourteen of them in a walk from one side of the grounds to the other. When you think about it, though - they're just like us. They want to put on fun clothes and play make-believe for a while. They support our fantasy. Why shouldn't we support theirs? I've heard the argument that it's because they're playing somebody else's character... but so are the entertainers who play hobbits, and I've not noticed people looking down on <i>them</i>.

(Personally I'd love to see someone come as Capt. Barbosa or Will Turner or Elizabeth, just for variety, but I suppose they're not quite as immediately identifiable.)

I'm also saddened by the term "Twig-wannabe" for folks who come as fairies. Don't get me wrong; I adore Twig. I love watching her work, and I think she is a magnificent example/portrayal of the Fae. But all of Faery is not one person, no matter how amazing, and I've always gotten the impression that the Fae would take umbrage at being pigeon-holed.

Sure, the costumes might not be the best... whether it's Jack, Xena, Fae, or other - but over the years I've seen some participant costumes that weren't any better.

Just my opinion, of course, but I spent enough time in the public school system being scorned that I hate to see people take the time to put on their best stitches in hope of being invited to play only to get looked down on by the very people they admire.

(Not all characters in my books share this opinion, of course - but they're not required to.)

Anyway - random exposition aside, here are the tidbits from the weekend:

- Holy crap a lot of people read my taller half's livejournal. Many thanks to all who flagged me down because of it.

- I find I don't miss the Falconer stage so much now that the Fandazzis are there making magic. That area seems like it was made just for them. (I will, however, forever hate the King's Dungeon.)

- I chatted with an artist who had been at Fest since the very beginning - and was gifted a copy of the coloring book he'd drawn back in 1976, full of pictures of the landscape back then. (This was after BJ bragged about getting one and I drooled, so he offered to introduce me.)

- The Dregs have a zombie chicken song. I now have it stuck in my head. (Buck buck buck brains!)

- It always surprises me how grateful people are when you offer to take the place of the person behind the camera so the whole group can be in the photo. Such little things can bring happiness.

- Recognition by a group of patrons I'd played with earlier in the day is such an ego boost - always nice to know I made an impression!

- Peasant Rolling Grovel is just as much fun as a spotter as it is as a groveler

- The Four Pints Shy CD is awesome - their recording of "Honest Man" is worth the price of the album right there.

- Playing with patrons that come through Irish Cottage - and of course the denizens of the cottage itself - is one of life's great pleasures

- Pounding the snot out of some cinnamon in a mortar is very cathartic. yay percussive therapy!

- The highest form of recycling is re-use. I delivered a broken and dirty Nuk to Como Cottage to hang on their Gator Trophies display (are pacifiers like Pringles for gators?)

- Lorelei visited! Yay for the rafters ringing with "Meadowlark" once again.

- It's fun to torment Taffy (in a good way) as he patrols the Free Beer Tasting show (Or, at least, I assume it was a good way. He didn't complain.)

- I got bit by something that left two small puncture marks on my left forearm and caused it to swell in a mildly alarming way. Thankfully a Ziploc bag of ice from the First Aid folks seemed to take care of the problem

- I bought both books in Dana Baird's <i>Spellkeeper</i> series. I can't wait to read more about the Intrepid Ellie!

- Kids are endlessly entertaining. I played with a little princess and her long balloon, which I dubbed a pink snake and said she must be very powerful to have charmed it to do her bidding. She wound up chasing me around with it, which seemed to amuse the hell out of her parents.

- On that theme, I also played with Fiona for a while - and I am now finding collateral glitter in all sorts of interesting places. (Damn stuff migrates.) She's such a little sweetie and full of hugs. On Monday for my reading I set up my books on the floor and plopped down cross-legged behind them, and she recognized story time when she saw it and parked herself in my lap. She proceeded to determine the playlist by spontaneously picking one or another of them up and saying I needed to read from that one next. This reduced deliberating on my part - quite welcome as my brain had entirely left the building by then. She also helped me pack everything up, and I told her I needed to hire her as a roadie. Her mom said I could pay her in brownie bars, which sounds good to me.

- I am forever humbled by the unswerving belief my family (both blood and chosen) has in me - especially when my own is acting like a poorly aligned shopping cart

- Even when the floorboards are different, the broom is different, and so is my garb... sweeping Cottage's floor still feels the same

The parking gods were gracious and produced a better spot than the one I had last week, although that is apparently short-lived. The Powers that Be are unhappy about the amount of parking lot the participants take up and how that really needs to be going to patrons. So they're going to be putting us all in the pit on the other side of the campground, with shuttles running until ten in the morning, a few more around noon, and then some after final cannon. They realize that some people have medical, etc. needs to not be parked there, and so 22 people will get passes.

Um. only 22 people get to have problems? How's that work? I understand that a lot of people will make crap up just to not have to park down there (can't blame them) - but it seems to me that if there are, for example, 54 legitimate issues (medical or otherwise), that somebody should go over to the Xerox machine and run off a few more passes. What if 25 people with those handicap parking passes show up and want one? Three of those people get to just not be handicapped anymore? I can understand wanting more parking for the patrons, but perhaps the Fest's owner should've thought of that before he agreed that the people from whom he's leasing the land could blow bits of the lot up.

I have a feeling that this will be as big of a cluster as the last time they declared pit parking. You'll notice it went back to the regular spot.

That was the only real blip on the Fest radar, though - for which I am grateful, as I'd had a crappy and stressful week. It was wonderful to feel it all melt off as I rumbled down the gravel road.

And these are among my many blessings:

Friends to hug and share my excitement - especially BJ and Toni and Taffy and Angus and Angelina and Rachel and Ingrid and Jeff.

Vilification to make me laugh.

Stories from Dana Baird to fill my head with wonder - really, really, go to her reading at Irish Cottage. The bit about the Intrepid Ellie is not to be missed.

Standing on the hill behind Mac's with a  couple friends, giddy with joy and possibility and waving to the parade as it passed.

People to listen to my stories - and who like them enough to want to take books home with them. And then come back wanting the next one.

The late afternoon comfort of Irish Cottage, listening to music I haven't heard in years and had forgotten how much I loved. It was strange and wonderful and sad all at once to hear a young man in a broadcloth peasant's outfit sing "The Keeper" in the place that still echoed with the multi-part ghost-harmonies of my Cottage sisters. (Not that "The Keeper" was ever a particular favorite, but it is one I've never heard elsewhere.) I miss mornings of brushing my hair into braids as I watched the wind rustle through Tinker's tree and listened to Mother Superior telling another terribly off-color nun joke - or even just re-tell the one about the leprechaun asking if there were "any wee little nuns about me size". I long to climb up in the rafters and sprawl there to let the music waft up at me from below, to hear Kindred and Gallowglass and Lorelei again and smell Auntie Brie's signature Misty Dream cooking on the fire. Instead I sit in the seanchai chair and think how strange it is that I've actually earned the right to park my butt in that esteemed seat - and to have others offer it to me when I walk in the door.

The kind lady at the exit gate who found my wayward hat-plume and shoved it in a hanging basket of flowers so it wouldn't escape until I returned to fetch it.

Discovering that the candle holders at Cottage aren't vanished - they're just not on display due to a desire to have a more period (and thereby, less candle-festooned) look. That I can understand and highly respect. Just knowing they're still in the house makes me feel better.

Stunningly perfect weather on both days: sun slanty and warm across Festival's grounds on Sunday, making me want to curl up like a cat in a patch of it somewhere and take a nap; wind brisk and a little chill on Saturday - just enough to make me consider the wisdom of a cloak.

The chuckle of a patron at a joke I've just told - even when it's not a particularly good one.

The triumphant grin of the girl-knight on the sliding joust as she got the ring on her lance.

Hearing a band that's been out there as long as the trees sing "Follow Me Up To Carlow" as I was passing the Mead Booth

 The knowledge that there are places in the world where a sunset or a song will always remind me that there is beauty in the world and that everything turns out okay in the end, no matter the pain in getting there.

Let me explain... no, it would take too long. Let me sum up:

- The weather was nearly perfect - warm but not too hot. I think it was mid-70's by afternoon on Saturday. Sunday was warmer but also had more of a breeze. A few more clouds might've been nice, just to take down the glare, but overall we were utterly blessed.

- "Swing Low" was glorious - there's something sublime about standing in the front row and feeling all that music and tradition surround you. Sunday was a little odd - instead of everyone moving up to the stage, they had us just sing from the benches as there are a ton of large props up there now and there are some concerns about the stage's stability with the load of the entire cast on it at once. It was kind of odd, but I suppose will eventually become the new normal. BJ made a funny observation, though: typically those who didn't want to be joiners would just hang back on the benches. If we're all singing from the benches, will the rebels storm the stage?

- Cast Call: kudos to Carr - as every year, there are crafters that are cranky because entertainers are entertaining in front of their booths. We're now supposed to let him know who's giving us hell so he can go tell them to put on their big girl panties and deal. Dude. The entire site is covered in craft booths. If we're not supposed to perform in front of any of them. where the hell are we supposed to perform? (Or as he said - "Look around you. Welcome to Our Shire.")

- Parking sucked. The mining company has blown up the entire lot between the campground/C-gate entrance and First Aid gate. This space has typically been full of rennies. Still, it didn't suck as badly as it could have; Saturday I was only as far out as the B-gate end of <i>Legend</i> Stage, and right next to the road. This made First Aid gate and B-gate equally inconvenient and meant that my car was completely covered with dust from all the cars rumbling by on the gravel road. But considering I'd expected to be somewhere out in the middle of patron parking, it could've been worse. On Sunday I upgraded my situation a bit: same aisle, but only three cars from the top.

- I'd forgotten the beauty of trees and grass covered by a fine layer of dust from passing cars.

- Opening Gate was fun; that Muppet hands thing makes Trinket very happy. Every time. Happy is a good way to start the day.

- Cannon experienced some technical difficulties on Saturday morning, resulting in something that sounded much like a cap gun. Apparently one actor made a crack to the assembled patrons about it being all we could manage in these difficult times. and then begged, when the difficulties continued, "Oh, for Christ's sake, would someone just fart already??"

- There was a little girl on Sunday who noticed Butch's picture in the program - and then realized she'd just seen him. She went scampering back to get his attention, excitedly pointing between him and the brochure as if to say "You're real!" (She might've actually said it, but I couldn't hear over the music.) Such a small moment, and utterly cool.

- Getting to hug friends I haven't seen in months is one of the best things about Opening Day. Even when I not only haven't seen someone for ten months, but haven't really thought of them, I find every year that I'm happy to see their faces.

- Phoenix's tree is completely barren of leaves. I imagine it won't be long before someone decides it must be removed. This saddens me greatly. There are many wonderful trees on site, but I loved that one especially.

- Cottage is under new management, and the folks there are quite fun. Beware Ma's cuss jar, though - regular infractions cost a quarter, and a big one costs fifty cents. Still, it felt good to peel a few spuds and play in the old stomping grounds. which is once again my assigned stage. Half a lifetime later, I'm back where I started. There's something poetic about that.

- I can't believe how empty Cottage is. I'm not talking people - I'm talking props. I know the Persons In Charge have always brought a bit of their own collection, but there were bits I remember unpacking every year from the Cottage bins that weren't there at all. I didn't see the brass platters or any of the candlestick holders, for example, and I'm pretty sure there used to be more cast iron for the hearth. Sad that Cottage gives so much to all who enter and yet some people apparently feel the need to take even more.  The missing candle holders broke my heart the most, and I'm not even sure I could explain why.  Amusingly enough, there's one large mug made of wood that's still atop the hutch, where I left it somewhere in my second or third year. Apparently no one else wanted it either. I started laughing when I saw it and had to explain myself to (the new) Ma, who declared that they'd all been debating who'd left it there. I said it belonged to Cottage; I'd left it there intentionally. I was just amused that it had become a fixture.

- The Cottage folk did a cool thing with white pearlescent seashells across the mantle - you don't think about it, but a lot of Ireland is coastland. Depending on what county the house is in, that would be entirely reasonable. They've also sorted them out into two types to play on the leather chessboard (cool idea!) and occasionally they'll gift the shells to patron children. There was one who swept the floor while her grandmother was looking at something on the lawn and ended up taking home one of each kind for being such a wonderful help; this thrilled her beyond measure, and she promised to return later in the day. (I'm not sure if she did, but it certainly wasn't for lack of desire.)

- (The new) Da plays the flute beautifully.

- I find it interesting that as much of a blast as I have with Trinket on the street, I find it very nearly impossible to not be Bryn in the Cottage. Guess I'll have split personalities this year.

- The book reading/signing went well - had a small but appreciative audience both days. I'll have to ask to have my listing changed from "Megan Brunner - Book Reading & Signing" to "Faire-Folk Novels - Book Reading & Signing" because as much as I would like to have JK Rowling's awesome amount of name recognition, I'm not quite there yet. On the other hand, it meant that probably no one noticed that my name wasn't spelled right anyway.

- It's wonderful to hear snatches of music as I walk the lanes - from old favorites and new.

- There's a woman telling stories under Tinker's Tree this year - "Fawna - stories from the Deep Forest". She has a bunch of animals (including a hedgehog!) and though I haven't had the chance to sit down and listen to her, she seems to hold kids enraptured. Good one to suggest to any families wondering how to entertain their young'uns.

- We have some new privies. They are a dark green, have copious holes in the floor for the muck (and worse) to run to the ground instead of puddling where you want to stand, include a very substantial lock that it's not possible to accidentally flip open with an errant pouch when turning around, and have a flatter tank area - the better to put a shoulder sack or other such on. The main downside is that there is no coat hook in these, although that could be somewhat remedied by bringing one's own S-hook and hanging it on the pull bar on the door. Also, it would benefit from a shelf, which I've heard some privies have but I have never personally seen. Overall, I like the upgrade.

- Yay for Vilification Tennis! Favorite new insult: "You're so stupid that if you were a Time Lord you'd fly around in a reTARDIS." (I almost peed myself laughing)

- Yay for un-losting people. Still Trinket's favorite pastime, with the possible exception of dancing in puddles. There were, however, no puddles in which to dance.  This miracle may be placed firmly at the feet of the grounds crew, as it rained for the entire week previous and by all rights should've been a quagmire out there. Yet there weren't even slick spots - just soft mud, which is actually quite nice as it makes for less pained feet at the end of the day.

- Yay for six more weekends to come back and do it all again!!

Towards the Fates is live!

All the color issues have been resolved, and it's safe to order from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or whatever retailer you prefer. Purchasing links & ISBN numbers can be found at:

http://www.faire-folk.com/orderinfo.html

Of course, if you plan to be at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival, there is another option - which brings me to happy update #2!

I've been asked to read from, sign, and sell my books at the MN RenFest this year! From what I understand, it will be one half-hour spot a day at the Irish Cottage, and it should be listed on the schedule that's handed out at the gate. I am thrilled at the opportunity and hope everyone who is able will stop by... and bring a friend! The more the merrier, and then I won't look like (more of) a loony (than I usually do) reading to the walls.

As a side note, this year I have officially been a rennie half my life. I find it fitting that on such a momentous year (well, okay, momentous to me) I wind up back at Cottage, right where I started. Things do run in cycles, don't they?

<i>(format shamelessly ripped off from the Real Men of Genius commercials)</i>

Today we salute you, Mr. Obnoxious High-Volume Speakerphone Man!

<i>*Mister Obnoxious High-Volume Speakerphone Man!*</i>

You don’t have a lead foot – you have a lead finger.

And it’s stuck on the “VOL UP” key.

<i>*Where is that solvent?*</i>

You either think your cube is soundproof – or that you’re just that important.

Either way, your neighbors can hear every word.

So can the secretary.

Three floors down.

<i>*No need to gossip!*</i>

Conference calls, voice mail messages – even that conversation with your adorable son.

Your personal calls are personal – to the entire office.

<i>*I didn’t need to know that!*</i>

So take another sip out of that corporate-branded coffee mug, Oh King of the Overshare, because you really put the “dick” in “diction”

<i>*Mr. Obnoxious High-Volume Speakerphone Man!*</i>

Well, my I's are crossed and my T's are dotted... and if they're not, it's too late for me to do anything about it.

The final copy of Towards the Fates has gone to the publisher's!

It would have gone a week and a half sooner, but in the grand tradition of things, something came up.

With Into the Storm, my computer busted mere hours before I hit send, necessitating a frantic trip to a computer store not far from Witch's Hat Tower where a tech goddess disguised as a mortal managed to resuscitate my laptop.

With this book, it was the internet, and the timing was beyond belief.

My brilliant Photoshop Guy, Brent, has a newer version of the software than me (and probably a far more twinked computer) and I'd been having trouble opening the files he sent. Back and forth we went until we hit on the solution. I can sometimes check my mail at work and caught the auto-alert from Facebook that he'd sent me a message to check our FTP site. I cannot, however, get FTP from work, so I had to beg my partner to have pity on my impatient self and download and send me the files as I knew I wouldn't survive the curiosity for another four hours.

I got the files, nearly cried in joy at their beauty... and then got a phonecall from my partner that the internet had gone down, stranding all of my interior art on the server.

A few days later we found out that "gone down" actually meant "the insane neighbor in the unit behind us decided the cables in the garage were unsightly, and so removed 15' of them."

A week and a half of fighting with Comcast later, someone finally came out to drill a hole under our driveway in order to run a new cable through, as the neighbor kept swearing he'd called Comcast back, and Comcast kept swearing he hadn't.

So the drillers came, we got internet back (although only because the cable is run through our patio doors; the people to drill into the house won't arrive until the 23rd) - and promptly lost phone connection.

Initially we suspected that a line had been severed; not so - apparently we just needed to unplug every phone in the house, wait five minutes, and plug them back in. Who would've guessed? Still, I'm a fan of the simple solution.

I'm an even bigger fan of the automated phone call we got at seven that evening, saying that our service ticket had been closed, and that if we were still experiencing difficulties we should call back. So, basically, "Hi, we're calling to say that your phone is working. If your phone is not working, please call us." - although of course if our phone was not working, we wouldn't have gotten the call to tell us that it ought to be.

And hence this long and (hopefully somewhat) amusing post just to say this:

Stuff submitted! YAY!

Also, artwork pretty: go see! http://www.faire-folk.com

It started off so innocently: it was 1:45. I woke hungry. There are hard-boiled eggs in the fridge.

And then I thought, wistfully, of how they always taste better when they're fresh out of the pot.

So I put them in the microwave.

I have a friend whose mom blew the door off the microwave by trying to cook an egg, but somehow I thought it was the shell that did the deed.

It wasn't.

My microwave was in tact when the process completed, although thank the gods I decided to go for a spoon instead of just biting in. I immediately discovered:

- A hard-boiled egg recently subjected to a microwave will go off like a firecracker when pierced by a spoon

- A hard-boiled egg recently subjected to a microwave is very, very hot

- I really should've put my glasses on before attempting this experiment.

I stumbled to the bathroom, blinded, and started flushing my eyes with water. When the pain subsided enough for me to open them, I was relieved to find they were just red and I had not suffered any major damage. I did learn something else:

Few things will give me the giggles at 2 AM quite like the sight of myself covered in exploded hard-boiled egg. Face, hair, pajammas (thank goodness we had the windows open, so I wasn't sleeping in the nude) - everything.

And then, staggering back to the kitchen, I learned something further:

One of those few things that will give me the giggles at 2 AM more than the sight of myself covered in exploded hard-boiled egg is the sight of the KITCHEN covered in exploded hard-boiled egg.

Ho.Ly. Crap. I kid you not, it looked like a bomb went off in there. Eggs have a deceptively high volume for their size, especially when it's reduced to bits the size of Nerds candy.

I think there could be military applications for this; I really do.

Weapons of Mass Stupidity, anyone?

I've heard that smell is supposed to be the most powerful memory trigger out there.

For me, it's weather. Most weather (except snow) reminds me of Fest, but that warming-up of Spring? That reminds me of garage sales.

Had my first major outing of the season. I knew it would be a good one when my first stop scored me three lava lamps and a HUGE oriental rug, all for $20, from a really cool long-haired guy with a Celtic knot necklace.

The other more practical scores (new humidifier, a couple work shirts, etc.) are boring to anyone except my household, I'm certain, but I must say that I made the best haul since my beloved garage sale partner departed for the west coast.

Not one but TWO musical instruments followed me home.

#1, for $15, a mandolin - but not. It looks for all the world like my bow-back mandolin... except that it has twelve tuning pegs. The nut only shows eight grooves, the plate at the bottom only has eight prongs for string loops (or would if a couple hadn't broken off), and the neck isn't any wider than my current mandolin's. But the head, aside from being longer to accommodate more pegs, doesn't look as if someone put the head from a 12-string guitar on it or anything. Perhaps it had a repair job at some point from someone who only had mandolin parts available? I'm truly stumped. It does need a decent bit of repair work (new nut, new plate on the bottom, small crack on the back probably due to drying out, about half the inlaid rectangles on the edge have fallen off) but to my untrained eye it doesn't look like a lost cause. The woman said it was a family heirloom, but that no one had the time or inclination to do anything with it. I couldn't bear the thought of someone picking it up to put on display as an antique curiosity, so I promised I'd get it repaired as soon as I have the cash. At least with me it'll have other instrument friends.

This brings the tally in our house up to: 3 fiddles (2 full size; 1 3/4-size), 2 mandolins (if you count this one), 2 acoustic guitars, 1 electric guitar, 1 cello, 2 bodhrans, a set of pennywhistles, a set of recorders, 1 lap harp, 1 bazouki, and countless random percussion-type things (shakers, blocks, bells, tambourines, zills, etc.)

One might notice a particular gap in this array - which was filled by my other score:

#2, for $50, a Casio CTK-551 electronic keyboard, with stand, stool, AC adapter, and a handful of books (including the manual). From a random google, the keyboard itself cost about $200-$300 new back in 2000, the stool still sells for $20-$40, the stand goes for another $20, as does the adapter. No idea about the books. So I'm feeling pretty swanky about this. I was trying to teach myself piano in junior high and enjoyed it a lot, but moved on to more portable instruments once I started Fest. The piano still lives with my parents, of course, so I've entirely lost what skill I had. This looks like it's designed for the idiot beginner, though, so I have hopes of surpassing my previous abilities in short order.

It was a good day.

Well, that was brilliant.

I drove to the grocery store, got there, and realized that my snack-holder (purse) was still at home.

Crap.

Drove home, grabbed it, drove back to the grocery. Thought, "you know, it might be wise to just leave a credit card hidden in the car for times such as these." Reached into my snack-holder.

Discovered that my wallet had fallen out at home.

/facepalm

I gave up at that point. Obviously there is a higher power at work here that does not want me fetching groceries tonight.

It's been far too long since my last update on Towards the Fates, the third book in the Pendragon Faire Trilogy. My profuse apologies for that - but I can never quite think of what to say once the first draft is done. (I'm editing! Still editing! Yup, editing. Not done editing, but closer!)

For those curious, my editing process generally looks something like this:

Draft 2 - I try to smooth stuff out before subjecting others to it
Draft 3 - Incorporates edits (based on Draft 2) from a few select folks who know my stuff almost as well as I do
Draft 4 - Incorporates edits from my second tier of editors, who make sure what I changed in Draft 3 makes sense
Draft 5 - Another smoothing-over from me, then incorporates last opinions from my two top editors
Draft 6 - A final paper edit by yours truly to catch all the stuff I glazed past on the computer screen

With that said, I just completed Draft 6 yesterday. I still need to transfer the notes from the paper into the actual files, but that doesn't ultimately take much time.

What next?

I need to finish working with Palidyn on the art and get everything (including the covers) in the proper format for submission to the publisher. Then comes the waiting game while it swims through the system and eventually comes out the other end looking like a book.

If all goes well, it should be available for purchase sometime late this summer (I'm thinking August-ish, but can't say for certain at this point).

Keep your fingers crossed for a swift and complication-free journey!

Things I learned this weekend:

- I can fix my furnace when it refuses to start
- Having a furnace that won't start freaks me out considerably less than going downstairs to find a pipe gushing water at the rate of five gallons a minute
- A bathroom-sized trash basket fills up very fast
- Bailing water is easier if you take your bathrobe off and do it nude
- Hot water + cement floor + bare feet = ouch
- There are far too many knobs and levers in the basement
- Two of them shut off the water to the house. (They were the last two I tried)
- Having the dirty laundry on the floor will occasionally save your ass
- How to replace a valve in a hot water heater
- How to weld a copper pipe
- How to re-light the pilot light in my water heater (safely)
- How to drain the crud out of the bottom of my water heater
- If you forget to turn off the water to the drain at the bottom of the water heater, a few minutes after the water starts filling the heater, the hose will whip around, spraying everything in sight
- No matter how old I get, my dad is still my knight in shining armor

... by the fabulously awesome K. V. Taylor - and so, a meme.

Share seven facts about yourself in the post. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.

1. I am going cold-turkey on caffeine tomorrow because I'm tired of getting blinding headaches when I sleep in on the weekend. This is not the most interesting thing about me, but at the moment it is the most looming. We shall see if I avoid incarceration while dealing with withdrawal + coworkers. I hear it takes 2-5 days to really kick it.

2. My cell phone doesn't have a color screen, is kept in the car, and only used to call out in case of emergencies. It costs $5/month. I have no desire to upgrade.

3. Today I fixed the last problem scene in Towards the Fates. I only have the paper edits left. They should be finished by Imbolc. (That makes this a topical meme, yes?)

4. I love lava lamps. We have six. The first came from my partner's dorky company party about seven years ago. I have to turn them all off when Mom comes over, though, because they make her motion sick.

5. I still miss the Halsa Walnut Leaves shampoo and conditioner. Alas that everything now smells like a fruit, a flower, or a chemical.

6. I have far too many VHS workout tapes garnered from garage sales - most of which I ignore entirely.

7. My two favorite books as a child were Leo the Lop and The Kitten Who Barked, and I am blessed to have parents not only read them to me, but who really do believe that Normal Is What You Are.

Seven Random Tags (from folks who have friended me on LJ - it's late and I'm too lazy to be different for each place I crosspost...):
Mattsiah
Mike von Maltzan
Elizabeth
BJ
Snookum
Windrider
Silverwind

... though I've no idea if any of them will respond.

Lesson #942
Toilets are most useful when they flush.

Lesson #943
If a toilet is going to cease to flush, odds are that it will do so when the freezing rain has turned into a snowstorm.

Lesson #944
Increase the odds by an order of ten if you have just experimented with a packaged Indian dinner mix that will later earn the nickname "Soup of Intestinal Doom"

Lesson #945
Increase the odds by an order of twenty if it is the only toilet in the house.

Lesson #946
Increase the odds by an order of thirty if two people ate the soup.

Title sounds more interesting than this post is going to be, but two points of awesome for the day:

1 - I got a new vacuum! It's a Dyson, and holy crap has that thing got some suction. Our carpet looks better than when we moved in, I kid you not.

2 - My little brother got accepted into the JET program! He'll be leaving for Japan in January and will be stationed on an island (off the mainland) that is known for its sushi. Since Japan INVENTED sushi, my mouth is watering at the thought. I must visit, clearly.

Problem: I hate matching my socks after they come out of the laundry. Even more, I hate it when one sock wanders off for parts unknown, never to be seen again.

Solution: Fasten them together with a safety pin after removing them for the evening.

Voila!

I'm not sure whether to feel brilliant over this revelation... or stupid that it took me so long to come up with it.

For me, there are three stages to writing a novel:

1 - Hey, I've got this idea! I'm gonna write about it.
(symptoms include bright-eyed innocence and the blind faith that somehow I'll figure out all those missing details on the way - and it'll be easy)

2 - Holy crap, I might actually finish this thing!
(characterized by awe and giddy joy)

3 - Ohmygods - people aside from my editors are going to read this thing!
(evidenced by stark fear, obsessive editing, excitement, and disbelief)

Guess where I am now?

This transformation of inspiration from private to public makes me an neurotic wreck every time, and having implicit trust in my editors doesn't help at all. Fortunately, I finally figured out a way to curtail the obsessive editing.

I'm going back to that high fantasy epic I started in 1992 and shelved, for various reasons. One of the characters still gives me cravings for English muffins with honey and a slice of cheese by the side, and the other is the reason I have so damn many daggers and swords around the house.

I'm pretty sure this one will never see print. I'm not sure they would want their private lives offered up like that. They've waited patiently for years, though - and not-so-patiently demanded avatars in Lord of the Rings Online. I think it's their turn.

Hell - it'll be a snap. I already know how most of the story goes (well, except that one part in the middle...)

... you open up your email and one of the messages is titled "Trebuchet For Sale"

Pam Silver, beloved entertainment director of the late '90s, crossed the veil on Saturday.

In an era when management changed every year or two, Pam was pure gold. I always had the sense that she was in my corner - in the corner of every entertainer, really. She was one of us, not just the Lady In Charge. I'll miss seeing her in the lanes.

Gentle journeys to you, Pam. You're missed already.

It's amazing what a bit of time off from work will do for a person's productivity - at least, if that person is a results-driven, anal-retentive weirdo like me.

While simultaneously scanning in a metric crapton of very old Fest newsletters (on loan), parsing through some old video footage of site, and providing a warm sleeping space for one of my cats, I managed to get up the two excerpts of Towards the Fates (aka: Book Three) I intended to read at Talent Show last month. (One of them I read. The other, for brevity's sake, I did not.)

For those interested, they can be found at:

Faire-Folk Excerpts

Although I did not know this, my grandmother kept a photo album for each of the grandkids. Mom brought my brother's and mine back from her last trip to Wisconsin. Among various nostalgic and cool (to me) pictures and notes to Santa, I found the following:

A piece of paper, Xeroxed, with a picture of a turkey playing a large drum and several turkey drumsticks (at least, I assume that's what they are) with musical notes by their faces to indicate that they are singing. It's one of those friendly looking assignment sheets that elementary school teachers favor. In fact, the heading on this reads:

Tom Turkey and the Drumsticks (creative writing)

Penciled above it are the words:

by: Meghan Brunner (c) Nov 18, 1986 To: Grandma & Grandpa
[Yes, I put the copyright sign in. It gets funnier]

The large drum has lines spaced at just the right width for a story. And indeed, the story follows (original spelling intact):

One day Tom Turkey desided to invite his favrot singing grup for Thanksgiving day. His favrot singing grup was called the Drumb-sticks. [Drumb-sticks is broken and hyphenated over two lines] Tom said "stay here with me and people won't eat you up." I have a problim said Tom. The Drumbsticks wanted to know what it was. Well if you rilly want to know Meghan is wrighting a story about us and she dosn't wantna half to wright down Drumbsticks every time she menshions you. Just call us the sticks then. So the Sticks sang songs and ate fish. The End.


... I laughed so hard I almost peed. "So the Sticks sang songs and ate fish." I think this is going to be my new catch phrase for All Things Good. Singing songs and eating fish. (Funny how my idea of a good time hasn't changed much since third grade. Sushi and a music jam? Sounds like heaven to me.)