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My brilliant Photoshop Guy, Brent, has a newer version of the software than me (and probably a far more twinked computer) and I'd been having trouble opening the files he sent.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.)

It's Friday, and I'm not packing for Fest.

There's something wrong with this picture....

The Awesome of Saturday:

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The Awesome of Sunday:

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Mist in. Rain out. And knowing there were people dry and full of music, playing in an oasis of light amidst the darkness and packing-up of the rest of Fest.

Best. Year. Ever.

Why do so many of us put on far too many clothes, subject ourselves to every evil (and beauty) the weather can throw at us, walk around in (usually crappy) footwear for ten hours straight... and give up two months of weekends to do it?

Joy. Family. Love.

At the beginning of this season, a long-time patron's daughter called the Fest office to say her father had cancer and missed being able to come out to Fest as he had for thirty years. Would a few of the cast be willing to bring Fest to him...?

I wasn't surprised by the number of people I saw on the street outside his house last night. We're performers. It's hard not to go where you know you'll be applauded.

But that makes it sound so simple, so selfish. There's something deeper in the statement... not just the desire for applause, but the desire to bring joy. To show a complete stranger and his family - who must be asking some pretty big "why us?" questions to the Higher Power of their choice - that there is good in the world. That there is love. To bring a little beauty to people living with too much pain.

He didn't know we were coming. There were tents in the yard and part of the street blocked off, but he'd been told his wife and daughter were holding an Avon sales party. He was less than enthusiastic about that -- and utterly stunned to be brought outside to catch some air and find over two dozen random costumed freaks on his lawn, singing to him.

We did a bit of a variety show for him - music and dance and song and story (and, of course, Twig), and I know I'll never again hear "The Rigs" without picturing the Dregs against that otherwise mundane residential street, with trees rustling in the wind and Suze's voice soaring into the cloudy twilight of the sky. For a little while, that small section of St. Paul belonged to dreams, to love and joy.

He tired and went inside. We were told to carry on, even though he was a bit overwhelmed and needed to rest - that he could hear from inside, and it was bringing him joy.

And so the music jam continued, and the drums, and the fire-dancer in the street.

One of his family told me that this was like Christmas to him... which was so special, because they didn't think he'd make to to the actual Christmas.

I think, perhaps, we were the ones most greatly gifted.

Joy. Family. Love.

I got eaten alive by mosquitoes - but whenever I scratched knee or foot or leg or arm today, I smiled.

So - a really mixed weekend. The good parts were really awesome, and the bad stuff sucked rocks. Which is why it's taken me so long to post, because I really wanted to avoid turning this into a whiney rant.

The bad stuff first, as I want to end on a good note.

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But! The good things:

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So - yes. Mostly good. Vastly good, in fact! And this next weekend will be even better yet! (Last one - have to make it count!!)

I got this from Matt's LJ and it was just way too good to not spread. Seriously. And it utterly puts to rest the question of whether pirates or ninjas are cooler. Pirates, clearly (as if there was doubt).

Pirates Counter-Protest Hate Preachers