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Aug. 3rd, 2015

... )

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Nov. 18th, 2014

SO heyguesswhat!

It's live.

You can go and listen to it now! You can go purchase it for download now! Heck, you can shill the everlovin' out of this post, and tell your vast and varied Social Networks how much you liked it now!

So get on that, okay?
(Seriously tho.)

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Sep. 8th, 2014

And another thing

So this is another thing Murder Ballads has been doing -- we call these 'Poetry Collages'. My verse, [personal profile] slipjig's strings, and a bit of atmosphere to cover traffic noise because we were totes low-teching this.

It's not something you'll find on Pretty In Scarlet, but we thought you guys might enjoy it anyhow.

Whadaya think?

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Sep. 2nd, 2014

Souncloud Link -- Pretty In Scarlet preview track

So, to celebrate our reaching 25% of our Indiegogo goal for Pretty in Scarlet, [personal profile] slipjig and I have decided to sneak-release one of our favorite tracks on the album. (Not the least reason being that it's an earworm -- you have been warned!)

So here's the story.

Sometime last year, [personal profile] copperbadge dropped an offhand comment to the effect that "If you can't tell Captain America what you're doing, you probably shouldn't be doing it."

I got earwormed immediately, sat down, and banged out The Ballad of Captain America's Disapproving Face, which [personal profile] shadesong summarily published in her superhero themed poetry anthology, Flying Higher.

Silly me, I thought it was a done deal at that point. But then no, [personal profile] slipjig and I sat down and figured out chords. And a kazoo solo. And then we kinda had to record it -- there really was no other option, it simply HAD to be done! And man, are we glad we did now.

So here it is -- The Ballad of Captain America's Disapproving Face, pre-release draft.

Click! Listen! Sing along with the kazoo solo (we know you're going to want to) and most of all, SHILL THIS LINK! We need all the visibility we can get in order for this CD release to actually happen, and repetition of sightings is far more important than widespread splash campaign. Even if you think you have a tiny little readership, I guarantee there'll be some folks on yours who'll never see these links, or know about this band any other way than because YOU told them about it. And besides -- I've been told the only reliable way to get rid of an earworm this catchy is to share it around flagrantly via Social Media, and bask in the glow of the screams of torment rising from those whom you have now afflicted.

Or, y'know, something like that.

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Aug. 19th, 2014

Murder Ballads, Indiegogo, and the album that will be!

So then -- a couple of announcements.

First, Pretty In Scarlet, the debut album of Murder Ballads (which is made up of [personal profile] slipjig and yours truly) is 99% in the can. *Cue pandemonium and glitter cannons.* We can now tell you that this album will have guest appearances by the likes of Heather Dale and Ben Deschamps, S.J. Tucker, Marnen Laibow-Koser, and Matt Young. We can also tell you that we just can't WAIT to share this with you.

We even have a Murder Ballads website up now, thanks to the heroic (and gratefully received) efforts of [personal profile] rain_herself. As we close in on the official release date (Mid November, of course, because who needs NaNoWriMo when you could have new music instead, amirite?) you'll be able to find news, dates, incriminating photos, and possibly even a few other surprises we have in mind to entice you thence.

You'll also find links to our Pretty In Scarlet Indiegogo campaign. Because, as I'm sure we've all noticed by now, our society is a capitalist one, and music is not a high-profit endeavor at this level of things. We will be releasing the album digitally no matter what, but let's face it -- no young musician stares up into the sky at night and tells themselves "One day, I'm gonna release an Internet Download!: No, we want to bring this to you on actual plastic.

And to do that, we need to do some fundraising. We've launched a campaign to cover the costs thereof, and now we need your help. We do need donations, it is true, and we think we've got some pretty good perks on offer for those who've got the wherewithal to step up and pitch in. But we also need publicity. We need word of mouth, we need people talking, texting, tweeting, tumbling and tubthumpings about the campaign, to let those potential donors whom we do NOT actually know, figure out how much they desperately want to participate, and help us bring the real, tangible, pettable version of Pretty In Scarlet to fruition.

So please visit the Indiegogo campaign. Choose a donation if you're in a position to make one, and boost the signal if you're not. Help us bring you the music we've so enjoyed making this past year. And who knows -- if someone out there wants it bad enough, there could even be a Dare or two</i> in the offing.

If nothing else, you know it won't be boring.
So hey! Tl:dr = go
here! Click things! Shill the campaign! Cue the dancing horses and festive mime burlesque! BOOGIE ROBOTS!

Woo hoo!

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Feb. 18th, 2014

Is it an actual post, or was it scared by its shadow?

It's a little of both, actually.

It's an actual post, but not much of one. The point of note here, is that I need to make an announcement for those in the Boston area, or who are within driving distance thereof:

Myself and [profile] slipjig -- the whom of which are together known as Murder Ballads, and bigger than the sum of their parts -- will be playing a house concert in Watertown this Friday night,(Feb 21) at the home of [personal profile] yendi and [personal profile] shadesong.

The show will begin at 8:00 pm, suggested donation of $10 - $15, and those who actually show up and listen to us perform will be given a download code for a demo track which will ONLY be made available to that audience. (Every incentive we can throw at you is a good one, sez I.) So please come and hear us if you can, and if you can't, then please shill this post and shill the show. Let people know what's going down, and that they should be there, yo. There's nothing more depressing than a band winding up comping more seats to S.O's and hosts than they actually sell to attendees, especially when half the band's got to drive for 3 hours to get to the show, you know?


Thank you, and Goodnight.

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Nov. 19th, 2013

Tales of the Faithful -- The Parable of the Snot

And so it fell that a plague of shoggoths wast released upon the Promised House, and the Faithful were sore beset by the sneezings and the wheezings and the coughings-up of the treacherous snotbeastes. And in their duress did the Faithful snork and whistle their every breath, pointedly within the hearing of The Mom, as though to say "Lo; I cannot breathe."

And being a kindly Mom, did she Seize upon the eldest, and most fragile of the Faithful -- yea, even upon Sister Hilfy herself -- and did thrust her into the Box of Do Not Want, and thence, by many lurchings and rumblings, and with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, didst convey her into the hands of Those Who Deal In Feline Torment, saying "Lo; this cat cannot breathe."

And then did the chief tormentor smile the smile of many teeth and little pity, and didst take Sister Hilfy into the Depths for prickings and probings and indignities many and various, and not satisfied thereby, didst send back with the Mom instructions that the torment must further continue even within the fastness of the Promised House, for the Shoggoths were a tenacious evil, and might only be exorcized with suffering.

"Lo, you must set a Dosing for her in the presence of her kin,," quoth the Tormentor, with expression most evilly sympathetic. "For thy pill and thy liquid shall comfort her... sort of. Twice a day, for about two weeks. And then we shall see about more."

Alas, and woe.

And woe.

And more woe.

And still more woe.

And, after a couple of days, slightly less woe, but still plenty of resentment on the part of the venerable Sister Hilfy, who loved not the Box of Do Not Want, and whose knees were ouchy thank you EVERso, and who took particular care that The Mom might know the extent of her sufferings.

And oh yea verily, did The Mom fucking know.

And yet the shoggoths were not defeating themselves, and even over the Song of Woe could be heard to muster and loom, and whistle their battle cries of Tekeli liiii from the sinuses of the Faithful, and so it was unto the Dosing that The Mom didst turn.

And the Pills were quartered, the squishy pockets therfore procured, and the eyedropper was filled, and thus armed did The Mom set about The Medicating of Sister Hilfy. And the battle was fierce and long, and much drool was flung, and many claws were slung, and many bribes were utterly scorned, and much medicine was slobbered all over the goddamned patch, but in the end, the liquid and the pill were ingested.

And the Bitching and the Moaning were the first day.

And thus did the battle continue for days; Sister Hilfy steadfast in her refusal to partake her of any goodly thing, and to fight with surprising strength and viciousness for such a skinny little Seniorcat, The Mom steadfast in her resolution that, goddammit, this cat was GOING to get better, and The Dad in the awkward position of agreeing with the both, yet conscripted to Afflict The Indignities because Sister Hilfy is His Goddamned Cat Dammit. And thus might he war have sailed blithely on, had not the Shoggoths marshalled an offensive upon the very instance of The Medicating one morning, resulting in an immediate and voluminous return of all medications, propelled by such copious snot as might have called for the making of an arc, had there been any decent warning.

And in conference and sober contemplation whilst mopping up, (Lo, so much mopping up...) did The Dad and The Mom decide that this just was NOT damn well worth it. And the Tormentor was called, and The Medication was altered, and The Mom didst decide that The Pill was just not happening, and thus was a seeming peace dealt out upon The Promised House... sort of.

For still was there The Liquid to administer, yea upon each and every day. And still was Sister Hilfy, as ever, THE most pointlessly stubborn of creatures ever to set paw into paint and run throughout the house (but that is another parable.) And so did The Medicating become like unto a duel each and every day, The Mom winning each match by way of superior size, opposable thumbs, and a certain pitiless determination common to Mothers everywhere when the good, if not the preference, of Their Faithful is at stake. Though Sister Hilfy, never caring to have a way not her own enacted upon her, didst ever make things as difficult for all concerned as possible.

Unto this very morning, when, syringe loaded, did The Mom approach the Radiator of Battle, whereon did Sister Hilfy lie in grumpy repose, and displaying her weapon, did shout her battle cry of "Okay, sweetie, it's that time." And seizing upon Sister Hilfy's skull, didst lift her face from out of hiding, and prizing open her fierce-clenched teeth, didst poke the syringe deeply in and squirt The Dose far to the back of any bud of tasting, the better that Sister Hilfy might simply swallow and Get It Over With. And holding Sister Hilfy's chin upward, didst gently stroke upon her throat, by way of a hint that she might better swallow than spit.

But Sister Hilfy the Contrary didst, as though in some strange Stockholm's Syndrome with the Shoggoths, didst struggle to lick the whole dose forward in her mouth, despite The Mom's holding-closed of her damned face, the better that she might taste fully of its awfulness, and commence to drool like a goddamned Newfoundland Hound -- and would not swallow. And The Mom did hold, and The Mom did stroke, and The Mom did murmur "You're only making this worse, you know," whilst weathering the most baleful of stares.

And Sister Hilfy did but whistle, and glower, and drool her medicine slowly, by trickles, out of the corners of her mouth. Until finally, half the dose lost beneath her chin, and dripping down The Mom's thumb, did she finally give up and gulp. Then released, did she flee the Radiator of Battle, and didst curse and grumble her lot, and plot her eventual triumph over The Medication, whilst The Mom didst hie her back unto the kitchen to clean her weapons and her hand, and her sweater, stating unto The Dad that, "Your cat is the most pointlessly stubborn creature EVER."

And in reply quoth The Dad, "Well yeah... Hilfy." The which being simple truth, The Mom hadst no cunning reply.

And watching over The Promised House from the Fair Fields of Napping In Comfy Laps, didst Brother Godric drink of the water of whatever he bloody well wanted to and know plenty, but trouble himself for nothing.

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Oct. 11th, 2013

Ouch... this is gonna hurt.

We just got the estimate back from the builder we're hiring to work on Mandala House.

The work we need to do *before* winter, the preliminary work of bracing the porch roof, and pouring new piers so that this time the porch will be supported correctly, will cost us in the neighborhood of $7,000 - &10,000, depending on timing and weather conditions. Mind, this is money we have to find and spend BEFORE we can even refinance the house, and get the funds to do the rest of the work.

Yes. There will be a kickstarter/indiegogo. We will also possibly be selling my car, and some of our furniture, if we can find buyers. Tarot drives, some small craft commissions, recipes with donation buttons attached, things like that too. There's a hard deadline here of getting the work done and paid for before it gets too cold for the concrete to properly cure, and THAT is the biggest draw-up we're facing here. Not getting the money, but getting the money in time to have the work done.

In the meantime, here's a link to my tarot layout options, and a paypal button with the prices on.

Reading type

And, another way you can help, is to pick up a copy of my book: A Thing of Rags and Patches Or, if you already have your copy, to go out to Amazon, or to Goodreads, and to review it. Or to review it on your blog, and shill it to your friends. Any of those will help put nickels into the 'let's stop Clue's house from falling down' fund, really. Just get the word out, keep it out, and maybe I'll be lucky enough to find the resources we need to get on top of this in time.

Clue out.

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Oct. 3rd, 2013

Deeeeep breath. Okay.

So. As you all know, I live in a very old, gracious, beautiful, and NEEDY lady. Mandala House is an elegant, sadly neglected Duchess, who has had more than her fair share of grifter tenants in the last half-century, alas. I respect the hell out of the fact that this house has been standing for about four times as long as I've been actually alive though, and so when I try and undertake a repair or improvement, I really do put some effort into making sure it's done right.

But I'm no Mike Holmes, and I'm also no Donald Trump. Dominus earns enough that under normal circumstances we live better when I don't work outside the house -- I do more cleaning, cooking, household management, family counseling and handyman repair than we could afford for the cost of such a salary as I could bring down, and that doesn't even begin to cover the incidental costs of the meds I'd need were I to add the stress of a boss and co-workers to my life in place of creative expression and output. Or the bail and lawyer's fees. Stupidity makes me mean -- it's a family legacy.

And all of that, combined with the utter fuckery of the Reagan/Bush legacy economy these days has meant that we haven't really been able to actually dig into the porch for real and figure out WHY it's slipping, sinking, and trying to slide off the house. We've needed to, but that's just not a project you begin on your own when you don't know what the hell you're doing. Not if you're smart. I am, despite the state of my CV, smart.

All that's leading down to this: I have finally, thanks to a local friend who called a friend, found the builder who we'll have redoing the porch. This morning was my second meeting with him, and I am so, SO glad to have him in my court that I can't even adequately express it. He respects the age and heritage of Mandala House, but he's willing to not only ask the hard questions, but to propose the hard, messy, complicated, potentially expensive, but correct solutions. Solutions that won't wind up with another owner staring, baffled under the porch in another fifty years and wondering WTF crack was I even smoking when I decided this was the thing to do.

This morning Simon came over again, crawled underneath the porch, dug around a bit at the foundations, and now we finally, FINALLY know why the whole thing's been slowly sinking into the soil. Guess why. No, you'll never guess why, because it's just so mind-bogglingly STUPID that NOBODY who understands basic physics would EVER guess why. So I'mma tell you why. It's because they didn't dig PIERS to rest the support columns on. They just set the whole thing on cinderblocks, which are in turn resting on a brick wall, probably ornamental when it was put in, and which is now crumbling to powder a little more with each rainfall and freeze. And THAT is why the porch is creeping off the house.

And THAT means we have to demolish the cinderblock wall, somehow while supporting the roof structure, dig holes for the piers, build them up to the right size and depth -- mind, this is all underneath the existing porch -- and commence from there to see what we can do about jacking the whole thing back up to true again. Without breaking any windows inside, or separating any of the floors from the walls.

What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

(Other than a few miles of cracks in the plaster, that is?)

And all this is before we even get the numbers we'll need to apply for the refinancing we hope will PAY for all this work. It's gonna be a bumpy ride, and we are going to be MUCH poorer when it's over. I'm going to be working along with Simon for the project, not only to learn what needs doing, but also to shave the cost of exactly one day-laborer off the cost of the project, but that isn't going to help all that much when it's all counted out.

So this is my announcement that I'll probably be running some kind of Kickstarter or Indiegogo campaign to try and help cover some of the costs. Fandom is an amazing collection of resourceful people, and producing fandom content is pretty much what I've done most for the past ten years, so it just makes sense for me to open that door as a way to try and make this repair happen.

My question to you, dear readers, is this: What do you want from me? Assuming you had the funds to donate to a crowdsourcing campaign, what could I offer that would tempt you to kick in? Readers of this blog know that I write -- poetry, fiction, and op-ed articles; I cook and create recipes; I draw and paint, but not at any reliable speed, though I do have a back catalogue of prints I could still offer; I sew, knit, and crochet at various skill levels; I sing, write, and record music; I read tarot and can do long-distance readings; and I am married to a very talented photographer who doesn't always have a lot of time for his craft, but who can be nagged into it on occasion.

The swag for Brother Godric's Charity Box was pretty straightforward -- he was always a charming little shit, and everybody loved him, so pictures and stories about the hero of the hour were an obvious choice. Figuring out what I can offer to entice people to help out Mandala House is a tricker thing, and I'd really like some feedback on it. What can I offer you? If you have ideas, I'd like to hear them. And if you're willing to shill this post out a bit so people who might otherwise not see it can offer their ideas as well, I'd be pleased to have that feedback too.

Thanks in advance!

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Aug. 1st, 2013

Happy Lughnassadh, Blogland!

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Jul. 17th, 2013

Still sneaking up on anything writerly. Apparently now is when I pay for my velocity on Traitor's Throne and my tenacity on Changeling. I didn't mean to burn myself out here, and I'm kind of upset that I seem to have done, but there's not much I can do but rest, and feed that part of my brain. Hopefully I'll get a story seed I care about before it's too late for the C-IM Big Bang. I really don't want to have to drop out of that one, but none of the ideas/plans I've had as of yet have really taken root at all, and I'm starting to get to the point where the frustration is far outstripping any good I'm getting out of my stubbornness and determination.

But I've been haunted by dragonflies lately, and those mean determination to me. Not entirely sure of myself here, but I figure a few days spent reading won't kill me. (Or in this case, it's been a few weeks of not writing, and that IS starting to really bother me a lot, but ehn. One does what one can and no more.)

AND SPEAKING OF WHAT ONE CAN (with considerable assistance,) DO...
A Thing of Rags and Patches is LIVE!!! MUAHAHAHAHAAAA!

Only in dead-tree format as of yet, but it is NOW at last available. And the Kindle edition should be up within the week. After that, I'll get other formats up on Smashwords as well. (Don't want Amazon pitching a tanty over anything, so I want them to get their ducks in a line before I start orienting waterfowl of my own, y'see.

Anybody who's interested in reviewing, please speak up, and I'll send you an Epub file that [personal profile] scifantasy was gracious enough to set up for me. (It's LOADS more readable than what I had previously.) Books on Amazon fly or fall on their reviews or the lack thereof, and anonymity is the kiss of death to the independent author who hath not a marketing department behind her efforts, don'tchaknow.

Yah. So that.

And also, my copy of the 2013 Rhysling Anthology arrived today. My poem Tit Tot is in it, and a candidate for the Long Poetry award this year. So there's THAT, too.

And I'm gonna go eat a thing now.

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Jul. 12th, 2013

Social Animal Is Lonely And Bored. Talk to the Social Animal.

Y'all should see the bruise on my foot! It's about two inches across, and runs around the outside from beneath my ankle to the tendon for my third toe. My whole foot's swollen up on that side -- (and if you could hear me talking about this, you'd actually hear a kind of Hawkeye scar-proud glee in my voice about it, cause when you hurt yourself as often and as creatively as I tend to do, the bruises and scars are king of the best part of the whole deal.)

I'm still convinced that nothing broke though. Stepping on the outside of the foot only yields a grudging, muscle-based ache, not the stabby 'owfuckinquititrightnow' sort of pain that comes with a broken bone. Stairs, especially the going down thereof, are really the only challenging part of getting around at present. That ankle is untrustworthy right now though -- keeps trying to roll out from under me when I stand, or turn. But I've had enough of sitting around, so it's just gonna have to cope with things now.

On the good side though, last night was temperate and comfortable, and we were able to open up the windows and turn off the AC units. Sleeping without that constant, grinding roar was a delight, let me tell you.

Also; I have hit the button:
A Thing of Rags and Patches is now live. At present, the Createspace store is the only place you can find it, but within the week it will be available on, and it won't be long before Smashwords will have several e book versions on offer too.

For those who are curious, here's the contents page. )
I could REALLY use some reviews and reviewers once the Amazon site goes live. Amazon and Goodreads reviews are literal lifeblood for indie published books, and anthologies like this one have a hard time getting their feet under them to begin with. Anybody who's interested, please speak up, or e mail me, and I'll send you a gratis PDF of the book to read and review.

Also, shilling it about, or reviewing the book on your own blog is a great way to get its name out and about. I decided to self-pub this book because of how BAD I am at selling my work. I get horrible social anxiety twitches when I send things out to publishers -- if I didn't know Cecilia Tan personally, I probably wouldn't even have been brave enough to have got One Saved to the Sea published at all, in fact. What I'm good at is writing; crafting and telling an awesome story about people who make you care. I'm terrible at selling and promoting that kind of work though, so please consider this me throwing myself on the mercy of my flist -- I need all the help I can get. I do not have a Marketing Jaguar in me, or if I do, she's huddled under the sofa with a perpetually poofy tail, and is generally pretty useless.

Sooo... yeah. There's that.

Anybody doing anything interesting? Wanna brag on yourself a bit? Drop a comment -- tell us all what's awesome about you and your awesomely cool life right now.

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Jun. 28th, 2013

Republicans, this is one of yours. Fire her now; she's making you look really bad.

Texas Republican Links Rape Kits to Abortions

Ok guys, it should be obvious that this assertion that Laubenberg is making is patently false, but just in case there is even one of you considering that it might have even a shred of truth buried in it, let me put that to a close.

I am a New York State certified rape crisis counselor. I escort rape victims in the Emergency Room, and I am nearly always present when my clients have their rape kits taken. The only ONLY thing, aside from a small speculum that is inserted into a woman’s body during that exam is a Q-TIP! (In the mouth, there is a toothbrush-kind of thing, used to swab the cheek, and if blood is taken, then obviously a needle will be inserted into the vein.)

The only thing taken out of a woman’s body during a rape kit exam is sample-sized amounts of any trace evidence the rapist has left behind. (Given the parameters of the accusation, and the frankly heinous attempt to link it to abortion, I am currently only talking about rape kits taken on adult women. Obviously, rape kits are taken for male rape victims as well as pediatric rape victims, but those cases aren’t the ones being attacked here.)

I have been present for the rape kit taken from a woman who was four months pregnant — yes, pregnant women can get raped too. EVERYBODY can get raped, all it takes is a rapist who wants to do it to you — and her baby was not once in any danger from the procedure.

So in short: IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO ABORT A FOETUS DURING A RAPE EXAM. The rape kit does not contain the tools for it, even if the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner wanted to perform one. What this creature is implying cannot be done.

Now call her office and tell her to stop being evil.
(Edit) Someone on Facebook has even supplied the phone number. (512) 463-0186"

Fly, my furies, fly!

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Jun. 2nd, 2013

The Lambda Awards are tomorrow.

I'll be on the train down to NYC in the morning, to see if my lesbian selkie book, One Saved to the Sea is worthy of a major literary award. You could say I'm a bit nervous about all this.

You'd be understating things rather drastically.

I think I will try to work on the train ride down tomorrow, but really it's more likely that I'll be vibrating in place and freaking right the fuck out about the whole thing. Keep your fingers crossed for me, Interwebs -- I want to go home a winnah please!


Cluegirl the nervewracked.

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Jun. 1st, 2013


Okay, I've taken my couple of days in stunned silence. Now it's time to get back to it -- and life, it seems, agrees with that point. In the past two days, I've gotten several red flags about Things Which Need My Immediate Attention, so it's apparently important to the Universe that I not sit around moping too long.

That's actually pretty fine by me. I'm good with that. I process death and grief fairly quickly under normal conditions -- Yasha was a very special case, with a LOT of extenuating circumstances and exacerbating factors -- so at this point the majority of the discomfort I'm feeling is in guilt that I'm not feeling worse about it all. Now it's just little flashes of sadness when condolence cards and flowers -- Flowers! My cat's fans are sending us flowers! -- arrive, and when I have to explain to the other Faithful again that no, he isn't coming back. Hilfy understands death, she was with us when Grenade went, and she saw Yasha's and Tully's deteriorations. She knows the deal, but Mithril is still perplexed, and Sirocco suspects hinkiness. Cyrene just misses him, and is depressed he's not around for her to flop on. I miss him too, and would probably put happily up with his lap-insistent 104-degrees-and-covered-in-fur right now, heat notwithstanding, if I were given the choice.

Alas, I exist in only 4 dimensions rather than 5, so time moves in only one direction for me.

However, since time is moving in that direction whether I particularly want to move with it or no, it's back to the word mines I go. Hopefully to find something pretty and fun buried in the rock. Or smutty, at very least.

Thanks to everyone who wished us well, and who spoke up with condolences over the last couple of days. We really appreciate it.

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May. 30th, 2013

No pithy subject line.

Godric died this evening.

The pin came out of the hand grenade we'd been waiting for these last six months, and as we'd expected, there was nothing we could do for him but to make an end.

Now we're going out to the yard to find somewhere to bury him.
And then after, we're having ice cream for dinner.

Thanks to everyone who helped us to have six months more with him than we otherwise would have had. Seriously, and without any sarcasm; thank you all.

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Feb. 18th, 2013

Just think about this for a few minutes...

“Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.”
— Alejandro Jodorowsky

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Dec. 21st, 2012

Happy Solstice Eve

by `scotto on deviantART

See you all at sunrise tomorrow!
May you set aside your sorrows on the Holly King's pyre tonight, and wake to find in abundance the hope, the strength, the patience, the cleverness, and the courage you need to see your way to Spring. May your songs ring truer, your step fall lighter, your pride answer honestly in your favor, and your shame serve only to teach you better.

May the work of your mind inspire you.
May the work of your hands please you.
May the work of your voice encourage you.
May the work of your heart comfort you.
May the work of your back shelter you.
May the work of your feet carry you to where you need to be.

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Dec. 10th, 2012

Boosting a charity signal

[personal profile] cathouse_mary sent me a note about her friend [profile] cfchica, who has a one-year old kitten named Noelle with some terrible vet bills mounting up around her. This is an all too familiar story of someone with little resources and a good heart doing their best to see that an innocent is given at least a fighting chance, and while I don't know the lady personally, I do know and sympathize with the painfully familiar story.

So I will direct you to [personal profile] cathouse_mary and [profile] cfchica for the precise details -- a game of 'telephone' from blog to blog can only distort things, after all, -- and ask that if there's flex in your flow, see if you can't help out a little.

Cheers, and here's a prayer from me that all your loved ones, whether in skin, feathers, or fur, are well, happy, and safe this holiday season.

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Dec. 1st, 2012

What is the sound of one Cluegirl LOSING HER EVERLOVIN' MIND!?!!

So... that noise a little while ago? The high pitched one that woke your pet up or maybe sent it scurrying to hide under the bed? That was the sound of me opening the e mail that just told me that my book, One Saved to the Sea, has won a FIRST PLACE 2012 Rainbow Award for best Lesbian Paranormal/Horror!!!

Cue Clue losing her SHIT, y'all!

Here's what the reviewer said about it: Wonderful. The plot did reach a point of expectancy for me, until then, I was delightfully unsure where this story was going. The writer’s superb imagery pulled me into each scene. I would read more from this author, and this is the first time I have said that during this contest. I am that impressed with her work. –David

I just! I can't! I just -- there are no words! I can't even -- the ability to can; I have lost it! HOOOLLLLLD MEEEEE!!!!!

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