Sexy Sailors, edited by Neil Plakcy.
Sexy Sailors is out! You can grab a copy from Cleis Press, if you’d like.
Mine is Boots For The Goddess: the story of a fisherman and the blacksmith who stays behind; of sacrifice and loss. It’s also full of sex, cute nicknames, and I gave Kelvi my hair’s lack of cooperation with combs.
As for my continued presence among the living… Yeah. I’m still swimming back to the surface from my most recent plunge into fandom!, so I’m still pretty distracted by the pretty. And the funny, and the shiny, and…
I’m aiming to wrench myself away from the distracty fun and get back to work sometime soon, because as much as I love my newest insanity-laden community, I love getting paid for my work more. …But I might wait until the first of the year before I do, what with the holidays and stuff coming up.
Also, I leave you with an example of the insanity that BBC Sherlock inspires: The Benedict Cumberbatch Song (CAUTION: Catchy. Loud. WEIRD.) (Cumberbatch plays Holmes.)
Dutch Boy Paint’s Color Quiz. I used it for myself, then started answering the questions from the point of view of my characters — not all of them, but a few. Utterly unscientific, sure, but a great way to kill a few minutes… And you never know, you might just figure out what color your latest protagonist’s bathroom walls are.
I fed some of my stories to Google Translate, copying and pasting and translating through at least three languages. Cut because it gets a little long.
Watching the rerun of the Ronde van Vlaanderen and getting thoroughly distracted. All of those legs.
Also, I think I might be ready to start writing my little story featuring Perry Roubaix*, the big-name cyclist, and his hopelessly-smitten domestique (who still needs a name)…
* Yes, it’s on purpose. Yes, I am easily amused.
I will NOT write an Zuko/Aang AU. (At least not today.)
And I won't make a Zuko AMV set to Angel Underneath.
At least not until I write at least two pages/1K words on SOMEthing…
I've written another scene where almost all the action and all of the important discussion takes place in a kitchen.
I am not actually obsessed with kitchens and dining rooms, I swear! It's just that they're so convenient.
Or at least supervising. I have a fundraiser to attend this afternoon, so I started getting ready early — figuring out what I’m wearing, shaving, freshening the pinkness of my hair, that kind of thing. My Unofficial Nieces were interested in everything, right up to the moment that I announced I had to put Tiny down because I needed to go take a shower.
Less-Tiny immediately piped up with, “Can I come in?” I (of course) said no. “But I need to help you!” No, I don’t need help. It’s like taking a bath, but standing up. It’s boring. “Awww, but I need to help you!” It’s not fun! I don’t get to play with toys!
No. Uncle Connoh (they’re not big on R-sounds, yet) is a big boy, he can take a shower by himself. I closed the door on a chorus of disappointed whines and took a child-free shower. Well, mostly child-free — the tub-toys are still all over.
There's quite a difference between piratical skulduggery and practical skulduggery. Not that they're mutually exclusive, mind you — but they're definitely not identical.
In other news, things are starting to bubble in the back of my head. We'll see what happens!
People liking my writing enough to pay me for it. In other words, I’ve received payment for all of my accepted stories, which in light of my upcoming trip is sixteen kinds of spiffy.