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elfsI just can't seem to get the energy to write today. I should have it. So much and so little happened this week that it's hard to know where to begin. I should write: I've written 15,000 words into Polestar. I have more material. I'm tempted to rename it Stella Polaris now, as a play on Stella Solaris, although apparently there was a Stella Polaris in the 1920s, an Italian cruise liner, which would make sense, since the first act of Polestar happens on a cruise liner, wherein our heroine makes, uh, contact, with a hard-bitten cop, a rather religious and uptight woman who secretly craves being perverse, a studious young college student with a dog (get your mind out of the gutter), a neurotic older woman and her youthful daughter who crushes hard on Mava.
But I can't. One of the cures for that blockage is to just write whatever you want.
Lessee. This week, on a bus ride home, I was battered by a gaggle of high school girls who felt that everything they had to say, they had to say it loud and if nobody else liked it that was tough. The driver told them to shut up and they told him they could say whatever they want. I'm amazed he didn't call the Metro sherrifs. They also smelled bad: some kind of spicy smell, like sandalwood gone horribly rancid.
Today, Omaha sent me on a journey throughout the city to locate some Modern Organic Product shampoo. The one place I know to get it is in West Seattle, and the woman who runs the place told me that MOP is the worst distributor in the world: they change bottle sizes seemingly at random, they never announce product changes or lineups, they don't have quarterly inventory updates. They seem to survive strictly by being good enough that people ask for them by name. That's no way to run a business.
I wrote a quick little program, mp3tom4b, to convert my Japanese language classes to the iPod audiobook format. It's taken over four hours to run the conversion on my little laptop. Poor machine has been warmer than usual all day.
And I had an interesting conversation with one of my fans who complained, "Your lesbians have sex too much." She, being one, apparently felt my stories were unrealistic, since she'd like to have sex as often and as wonderfully as, say, Misuko & Linia, but so far such romance had eluded her. I reassured her that I only wrote about the ones that had sex; writing about the ones who didn't would be a little pointless for erotica, ne? Someday, she'll meet her Princess Erotic.
Oh, and remember the writer of Nyssa's Guardian? Yeah, Gaby Reese. She's got a new one. (Actually, she's got two, but I passed on, what was it, A Dominant for Deela or something like that?) More in the next post.
But I can't. One of the cures for that blockage is to just write whatever you want.
Lessee. This week, on a bus ride home, I was battered by a gaggle of high school girls who felt that everything they had to say, they had to say it loud and if nobody else liked it that was tough. The driver told them to shut up and they told him they could say whatever they want. I'm amazed he didn't call the Metro sherrifs. They also smelled bad: some kind of spicy smell, like sandalwood gone horribly rancid.
Today, Omaha sent me on a journey throughout the city to locate some Modern Organic Product shampoo. The one place I know to get it is in West Seattle, and the woman who runs the place told me that MOP is the worst distributor in the world: they change bottle sizes seemingly at random, they never announce product changes or lineups, they don't have quarterly inventory updates. They seem to survive strictly by being good enough that people ask for them by name. That's no way to run a business.
I wrote a quick little program, mp3tom4b, to convert my Japanese language classes to the iPod audiobook format. It's taken over four hours to run the conversion on my little laptop. Poor machine has been warmer than usual all day.
And I had an interesting conversation with one of my fans who complained, "Your lesbians have sex too much." She, being one, apparently felt my stories were unrealistic, since she'd like to have sex as often and as wonderfully as, say, Misuko & Linia, but so far such romance had eluded her. I reassured her that I only wrote about the ones that had sex; writing about the ones who didn't would be a little pointless for erotica, ne? Someday, she'll meet her Princess Erotic.
Oh, and remember the writer of Nyssa's Guardian? Yeah, Gaby Reese. She's got a new one. (Actually, she's got two, but I passed on, what was it, A Dominant for Deela or something like that?) More in the next post.
