This is problematic. (But also good).

Problematic because I [...]]]> Minor characters. It’s so hard for me to leave them minor. I want to know what drives them, why they do things, what broke them, and what good is left in them if they’re bad, what evil they can be pushed to if they’re good. They fascinate me.

This is problematic. (But also good).

Problematic because I write scenes that serve no purpose, only my own curiosity. They jar, they slow down pacing. Plus, I have to get all hard-core and mean before I agree with me that I need to cut the buggers.

Good because without my love of the Why of Minor Characters, I would frex, never have written Sea Rose Red. Felicita and Jannik began as two characters in Hob an Lam and one day I asked myself why the hell they were together, and what were they on about when they mentioned meeting behind umbrellas.

So I wrote a little meeting scene. And a year or so later I pulled out that little scene, and wrote a book around it.

Today I was busy drafting and organising wtf I’m going to do with Nulled & Void, where I have 5000 pov characters (9, actually, but dear god that’s just too much to ask of a reader). I didn’t want to cut any of them because I want the reader to care about them as much as I do.

Only, that’s not fair. That’s about me, and not about the reader.

So at least 3 of those povs met their death today. More might still fall. And that’s a good thing, because somewhere on my mess of a harddrive is going to be a folder full of stories waiting to seed.

This [...]]]> One of the things that have been so awesome about moving back down to Cape Town is how full our weekends have been. I don’t think we’ve had one full weekend where we didn’t have a commitment to see people. It’s been kinda cray cray ngl (she said to her favourite cupcake). Crazy but fun.

This weekend we went to the birthday braai for South African YA author SA Partridge. This is the first time I’ve met Sally irl, and she’s utterly adorable. Her books are available here. Unfortunately it seems that SA pubs are only just now clicking on to YA, so we’re a bit behind on that front. (hey! Maybe I’ll be part of the change. )

And now my Sprogs are clamouring for pizza, so I better go.

First off, I have no oven – well, I have this mini oven thing with no racks, so making anything in it is a bit of a challenge.

I also have no camera. I do, however, have some craptastic cellphone.

So with these molehills before me, I decided to make a picture post [...]]]> So whee! We made bread.

First off, I have no oven – well, I have this mini oven thing with no racks, so making anything in it is a bit of a challenge.

I also have no camera. I do, however, have some craptastic cellphone.

So with these molehills before me, I decided to make a picture post about breadmaking experiments in the Haus Of Maow.

Warnings have been made.

Here’s the recipe I didn’t follow: Crusty Italian Bread.

I followed it as much as it suited me. Like, I used honey instead of sugar, and because I had the yolk from making the glaze, that got chucked in the mix. (I mean – what the fuck must I do with a lone egg yolk? This is your brain on baking?). Also, something about Cape Town means I need to use more flour to get a good elastic dough (6 cups to their 5).

And ten minutes of kneading? Yeah…more like ten hours. At least, that’s what my wrists were saying. I just used the eternity spent kneading imagining that my bread was a giant stress ball and I was destroying the faces of my enemies.

My enemies are all pretty faceless and have no distinguishing features. Like eyes or noses. Apparently.

Okay boring. On to the bad pictures!!!

First! This is how you know my MiL adores me and thinks I am truly skilled at housekeeping. It’s not a hint, it’s a gift.

CLEAN ALL THE THINGS!!!

My ingredients!

That’s totally not Sprog The Younger in the background, sitting in her pyjamas, playing on the computer. Note the utter lack of furniture.

Next! My dough baby, waiting to rise and take over the WORLD!

IT’S ALIIIIIIIIIVE. Technically.

And.

Bread.

I’m NOT doing a 33 things post because dear god.

six things. six things works for me.

Thing 1: I get obsessively fangrrly about certain anime. And no, I’m not saying which ones. I like to keep what tattered cred [...]]]> Steph Bowe did a “sixteen things” post, where she also encourages her readers to jump on the bandwagon.

I’m NOT doing a 33 things post because dear god.

six things. six things works for me.

Thing 1: I get obsessively fangrrly about certain anime. And no, I’m not saying which ones. I like to keep what tattered cred I have.

Thing 2: I hate the smell of almost all deodorant. *watches as the room clears.* What? What did I say?

Thing 3: I eat vast quantities of food. VAST. Extraordinary amounts. So much that I scare myself.

Thing 4: I am really loud, and really shy. The louder I get, the shyer I am. Unless I’m drunk. Then I’m just drunk. Okay, maybe a little shy, but mostly drunk.

Thing 4 and a bit: But still loud.

Thing 5: I hold grudges for a long time, for really stupid reasons. And I keep lists.

Thing 6: Incredibly insecure? Why yes. I blame my mother and her endless doomed quest for perfection. SEE MOM I BLAME YOU.

The Slave has written it for me.

the internet ate my post.

Well I’m not really inclined to write all that kak again, so have a snippet instead:

When the rustling of silk and taffety and lace has quietened, Carien crosses her hands over her knees, and leans forward. “Tell us about the bat,” she says. All the heads around me come closer, and [...]]]> poo.

the internet ate my post.

Well I’m not really inclined to write all that kak again, so have a snippet instead:

When the rustling of silk and taffety and lace has quietened, Carien crosses her hands over her knees, and leans forward. “Tell us about the bat,” she says. All the heads around me come closer, and I am reminded of jackals gathering about a wounded goat.

The bat. I bristle. I want to lash out, to tell them his name, and explain to them that he is just like them. But I know from their looks, from their gleeful maliciousness that this would be sport to them. And frankly, I need their husbands’ business partnerships – and for that I need them. What Jannik doesn’t know. . . I shudder in revulsion at what I am about to do.

“It’s a political marriage -” I begin.

Carien waves me silent. “Oh we don’t want to hear the Pelim House line,” she says. “We can get that from the Courant.” She leans nearer still, close enough that I can see the lamplight shine yellowly off her teeth. “Do you touch it?”

“No.” At least that is not a lie.

My answer leaves her looking disappointed, and she withdraws. “Really?” She eyes an area above my head, apparently already bored with me now that I have failed to give her what she wants. “How dull. Don’t you ever get curious?”

“About what?” I say without thinking.

I have Carien’s interest again. Her smile is infuriating, a smile that says I know something you don’t. “I’ve heard they’re magical.”

And here I thought everyone in MallenIve had relegated the bats to nothing more than animals or sometimes, if they were lucky, to the status of kept-whores. “Have you now?” I try to take a deep breath, but the stench of scriv is so heavy that I feel like all I’m breathing in is spoiled fruit instead of air. It’s been so long since I had any, that I’ve finally realised how awful it actually smells. The women here are rotten with it.

Last night I went out with Nerine Dorman to the launch [...]]]> So yeah, I think the WiP has a name. It’s a placeholder, which means it will be called that until it gets trunked or published, basically. (Also, it’s a very lame in-universe in-joke that only I will find amusing, or indeed, catch. (The Melancholy Raven)).

Last night I went out with Nerine Dorman to the launch of Sarah Lotz’s new book, Tooth and Nailed. Ms. Lotz, by the way, says shit a lot makes for a very entertaining launch. Also, she’s utterly adorable and will probably fit in a handbag so I urge you all to steal her if you get the chance.

Then Nerine and I got horribly drunk. The End.

In other news, I have a helpful little seven step program that runs through what you need to do if a snake comes into your house.

step one: scream at your children (“DON’T TOUCH IT! GO TO YOUR ROOM!”)

step two: scream at your dog. (“OUT! OUT! LEAVE THE DAMN THING ALONE!”)

step three: tweet (OH MY HOLY FUCK THERE IS A SNAKE IN MY LOUNGE, AAAAH I DUNNO WHAT TO DO HALP HALP HALP)

step four: prod it with a broom

step five: try sweep it out your house

step six: give up, and pick it up in a dustpan

step seven: toss it over the wall.

There. Now don’t tell me I never post anything helpful.

Apparently I just need to give my brain time to play, because I woke up this morning with a conversation in my head, [...]]]> So the delightful Ms. Townsend has been hinting that she’d quite like to see a new Felicita and Jannik book from me. And always I’m just kinda eh I can’t think of anything.

Apparently I just need to give my brain time to play, because I woke up this morning with a conversation in my head, and the start of a new book.

Will it go anywhere? No idea. But I don’t see why that should stop me from starting, if ya know what I mean.

And anyway, I intend to have fun with this one. Usual disclaimers about first draft kakness etc.

The house on Ivy is not at all what I expected. Modern and white-faced and drab. I glance across the carriage at Jannik, who remains expressionless.  “This is House Guyin?”
He shifts, puts one hand against the leather of the seat, preparing to stand. “Apparently so.”
The stupid dress I’m wearing makes it damned near impossible to exit the carriage with any dignity, although I do a passable imitation, I suppose. Jannik takes my hand and helps me down from the little step, and the emerald taffety of the horrendous dress crunches.
“I feel,” I say, “like an enormous idiot.”
“Only you look rather like an enormous hand-bell.”

I want to draw them – eeh they are being so cute I don’t even.

I have 20 pages left on this round of revisions, so there’s why. Generally I find writing and revising all kinds of terrifying. There are just so many potential ways for me to fuck up, and I hate fucking up.

So instead of actually committing words to screen, [...]]]> I’ve been a bit quiet on the blog front.

I have 20 pages left on this round of revisions, so there’s why. Generally I find writing and revising all kinds of terrifying. There are just so many potential ways for me to fuck up, and I hate fucking up.

So instead of actually committing words to screen, no matter how shit they might be, I sit and gibber at a blank page and IMAGINE how shit they’re going to be.

This is all kinds of productive, I know.

*g*

I’ve been taking baby-steps, breaking the edits down into chunks, and just…working on one line at a time. it’s the only way I can deal with this sort of thing.

Now things are looking a bit more doable, and although it feels to me like all I’ve been doing is making up skipping-rope rhymes, I’m almost certain that I’ve done more than that. The book’s a slightly different shape now. *cocks head* yup. definitely has a changed look to it. I think it’s the hairpins.

But he also gave me rock n’ roll n’ science fiction. He gave me Jimi, The Doors, Deep Purple, Jethro Tull, The Who – every seventies dinosaur who swaggered on stage and [...]]]> My dad gave me many things in his life – supported me, loved me, and taught me. All the things a parent should do.

But he also gave me rock n’ roll n’ science fiction. He gave me Jimi, The Doors, Deep Purple, Jethro Tull, The Who – every seventies dinosaur who swaggered on stage and kicked out a beat and roared.

He gave me space travel and aliens and worlds that existed only in the imagination.

I can’t really say anything that will ever do him justice, but I’m glad he was my father and I miss him so much it hurts.