lydamorehouse: (Default)
So, I'm feeling a bit nobody-loves-me whiny today afer reading this aritcle via [livejournal.com profile] davidlevine because I suck (in my Tate persona) at the whole contest, games, downloadable extra thing. And, of course, my Lyda Morehouse website is, and has always been full of that sort of thing, since its inception and it did NOT help my books stay in print at all. Which goes to show you that, really, not much helps when it comes to self-promotion. I have hardly lifted a finger to promote Tate, and she's wildly out-sold anything I did under my own name.

This makes me weirdly grumpy.

I'm jealous of myself.

However, I did find this bit of information kind of telling in a way that the article doesn't really explore: "[Stephanie Meyer of "Twilight" fame, whose website is currently the most visited of any of the fiction authors they studied,] [has] got a daily blog, and more than any other site in our study, she has links to fan sites. Fan site links appear to contribute to loyal audience traffic."

Of course, this is NEWS to the publishing industry. The rest of us say, "Duh."

It also amused me that the authors of this article appeared surprised that people liked seeing pictuers of Sue Grafton's cats. To which I also say, "where have you people been? This is like internet 101."

Anyway, enough of that. I could probably rant about the publishing industry until my head exploded, and then where would I be? I have no brain and a lot of cleaning up to do. We can't have that, now can we?

Yesterday I wrote about 1,000 words on Tate's young adult series, which (if I may complain just a BIT more) flipping writes itself. I mean, seriously. I sit down with the laptop and an hour later I have a whole chapter. It's insane. And more than a little frustrating (see above and the being jealous of your own alter ego). Meanwhile, I'm still trying to decide what I want to do with the Mouse prequel. I like my do-over, but I'm still lacking direction. Alas, even when it sucks, my writers group perfers the Mouse stuff because it's at least science fiction, even if it's BAD science fiction....

In food news, my friend Barb came over with some of their CSA extras, so now we're well stocked on greens and radishes again. Hmmmm, a salad for lunch anyone?? Mason and I decided to be mischevious last night and we went out to dinner at the Chinese buffet on University Avenue that's just about four blocks from our house. Despite the crushing heat (and few measily drops of rain), we walked, which was actually surprisingly pleasant. Then [livejournal.com profile] seanmmurphy stopped by for an evening chat on the porch, which was lovely (although Mason had a hard time putting himself to sleep, and didn't end up in bed until almost 10 pm, which is astoundingly late for him on a school night.) Still, we slept in until almost 8 am this morning since we didn't have to talk mama to work, and so I think it mostly evened out.

Despite Shawn being in D.C. I managed to remember to pack Mason's lunch AND give him is backpack, which I think is pretty amazing. Then, I went to work out, though I did forget my cell phone at home, but I remembered to write down my first ten random .mp3 songs to share on a Facebook meme sent to me by John Jackson. Keep in mind these are my work out .mp3s, so they're mostly stuff I chose because it's "dancable."

1. "Hands Clean" by Alanis Morisette
2. "One Reason" by Tracy Chapman
3. "Stray Cat Strut" by the Stray Cats
4. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something
5. "Dragula" by Rob Zombie
6. "Rack 'em Up" by Johnny Lang
7. "Silent Legacy" by Melissa Etheridge
8. "Bang Go the Bells" by Babylon A.D.
9. "Paved Paradise" remix by Counting Crows
10. "Tangled, Tortured Hearts" by the Dixie Chicks

I have another list of music that's on my more extended .mp3 player that probably much more accurately expresses the horrible, yet ecclectic musical taste I have, and it goes like this:

1. "Angola Bound" by Aaron Neville
2. "They Can't Take That Away from Me" by Billie Holliday
3. "Captain of the Nightengale" by Stan Rogers
4. "Suds in the Bucket" by Sara Evans
5. "December" by George Winston
6. "Pour Me" by Trick Pony
7. "Belfast Town" by Irish Anon
8. "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog
9. "Goodbye Again" by John Denver
10. "Mrs. Steven Rudy" by Rascal Flats

Uh, yeah. That me.
lydamorehouse: (Default)
...and I forgot to mention the cool event that Mason and I attended on Saturday. We went to the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra's Mozart concert. The very best part was that they had an actor portraying Mozart himself, who, in my opinion, totally MADE the show. He did that goofy, horsey laugh and was just very INTO it in a way that made it okay for classical music to be fun. Mason and I danced in our seats and shouted, "Bravissimo!" where appropriate.

In other news, it's still wicked cold here, though warmer than yesterday. Hey, it's ONLY -5 F, stop complaining, you whinners! Atomic motion hasn't stopped, for crying out loud, what's all this belly aching!

I feel kind of behind in the promotional department. This weekend I need to take some time to design (and order) a bookmark for Tate's DEAD IF I DO. Shawn found me a wicked cheap price for bookmarks, which I think are more fun than postcards -- as they're actually useful to a reader. 48hourprint.com for all you other writers out there. Check 'em out. They're cheap, they're GOOD, and they really are that fast.

Also, I'm sucking it up on the big competition between Kelly and I. I only managed to log about 1,000 words yesterday, what with my guest and crappy start to the day. Today I'm feeling a bit depressed, but I'm hoping an M&M cookie and some tea will snap me out of it and get me writing.

Tomorrow I'll post the Empress card, which I finished sometime ago, but only recently uploaded the picture of to my computer. It's no Iron Man, but I think it turned out okay.
lydamorehouse: (Default)

First, Mason and I had a lovely day today so far.  As you may have read here before, Mason is a bit of a music lover, but it's difficult for us to find venues that are kid-friendly.  We found a list of summer concerts in the park (there's one nearly every night, but most are past Mason's bed time.)  Some, by chance, are afternoon.  Today was one.  We went off to see the Capitol City Wind Ensemble play at Rice Park in downtown Saint Paul.  My only complaint was that they decided to point the trailer band shelter toward the Landmark Center and the central fountain, what that meant was that there was only hot concrete to sit on (or a ring of park benches with a view that mostly obscured the musicians.)  If they'd only faced the other way, we could have sat on the grass and in the shade.  Luckily, I'd brought a blanket so we sat under the sliver of shade the band shelter provided. 

Mason was so excited (or, in his words, "jazzed") to see a contra bassoon.  Unfortunately, they didn't have one.  They did, however, have a regular bassoon, which made Mason pretty darned happy.  There was much directing and hopping around.  The only problem was the heat.  We had to leave before the concert was over because we couldn't stand the temps.  Official temperatures were only 85, but I bet with the glare from the asphalt/concrete it was a hundred.  Plus, we both managed to get sunburned when we were at the beach last Friday, so it was probably just as well that we got out.  We bought a hot dog from a hot dog stand, just to complete the urban experience.

The crappy day was last Thursday.  It was just one of those days when, if I could stub my toe, not only did I, but all five of them, while knocking over a vase, you know?  I had a podcast that night, which I was looking forward to (details coming, though I think Shaun said it would be up on Wednesday of this week), but as I was taking some garbage out to the alley I came across a very injured starling.  Worse, it looked like our makeshift gate (just a piece of board to keep neighboring dogs from pooping in our backyard) may have fallen on it.  At first, I thought it was dead.  Flies had found it.  Then, it moved.  I have no doubt that the poor thing didn't have long for this world, but despite my various fishy adventures, I can't just throw something living away.  So, I had to get my garden gloves, paper towels and a shoe box and take the poor thing to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center on Dale Street in Saint Paul.  Luckily, it's not a long drive, but, of course, I got lost.  I made it back to the house with a minute to spare.  Anyway, the podcast should appear at:  http://adventuresinscifipublishing.com/.

Oh, other quick news, Mason discovered the Fantastic Four  (or, as he says, "Four Fantastic") while we were shopping at Target on Saturday.  Marvel apparently now has what they're calling "all-ages" comics, which are meant for the younger reader.  The FF we picked up had four very short moralist stories in it that read a bit like classic SF from the 50s.  It was AWESOME.  I must have read it to Mason twelve times already and it's not getting old for either of us.  We're going to subscribe to it and two other "all-ages" titles: Avengers and Spider-Man.  Mason has been spending his free time running around the house shouting "Flame on!" and "I'm going super-nova!" just like I used to as a kid.  My work here is done.  I am raising the next generation of fan.

Hooray.
 
Oh, and there may be a "Free Mouse" tee-shirt on the way.  Could my life get any better?  (Well, yeah, I could have Tate's revisions finished and six new book deals, but let's not be greedy, shall we?)

lydamorehouse: (Default)

 

MomCulture spoiled me.  When Mason and I got a flyer in the mail from the McPhail Center for Music about the Bakken Trio (violin, cello, and piano) who were going to be giving a free, (supposedly) informal concert over the lunch hour in the fourth floor rehearsal space, I thought: hey cool, this would be another music thing Mason and I could enjoy.  When I showed him the flyer, he hopped up and down and said, “A cello!  I finally get to see a cello!”  We were psyched.  On the big day (last Friday), I packed up our activity books, some snacks, and a boy who could hardly wait to see the mythical cello up close and personal.

 

I totally forgot how most people experience classical music. 

 

I need to preface what happened at McPhail by saying that Friday had started out somewhat poorly, and it was quickly becoming a day of being “hushed.”  We foolishly brought along our pennywhistle to our local (coffee shop in this case) and had settled in for reading some Thomas the Tank Engine and hooting along whenever the engines whistled at each other.  Not surprisingly, we were hushed. 

 

I have always hated being hushed. 

 

I understand that people were trying to work.  And as the supposedly responsible adult in charge I did, in fact, quite promptly take Mason’s whistle from him and explain that we were being too noisy and other people were trying to do their own things, which we had rudely interrupted.  However, internally I twinged.  I have always been an enthusiastic participant in life, and thus have spent much of my life being hushed.  I think, too, that many people are unfairly hushed.  There are times, of course, when exuberance isn’t called for, but those times are, in my opinion, fairly rare.  And, I’m so very sorry that my happiness interrupted your dull, drab and lifeless existence.  Excuse me while I chortle noisily and go on enjoying myself without you.

 

That being said, we were being loud and people were trying to work.  In deference to them (and, really, that whole golden rule thing,) we took our fun selves elsewhere.

 

On the drive home, I noticed a woman walking three dogs.  They were barking, running, and generally being happy dogs.  She looked absolutely miserable.  And, I thought to myself, “How often do I pass people on the streets that are actually smiling to themselves?”  Watching over the rest of the day, the answer was: almost never.

 

Fast forward to noon.  Mason and I had to rush off from a very pleasant, if disorganized (as eating out with a nearly-four year old often is) lunch with our friend Rosanne.  Still in a somewhat frazzled mood we arrive with plenty of time to spare at the McPhail.  Remembering the lessons of last time, we parked in a hotel lot across the street and hustled to the rehearsal space to get a good seat.  When we got off the elevator on the fourth floor, there was a crowd of “the walker set” as Eleanor would call them -- retirees all looking for some culture.  

I started to get nervous that Mason and I would be the only people under the age of sixty-five at the event.  A couple of other moms with kids in tow showed up.  Mason insisted we head for the front row – which was a row, btw, none of the nice cafeteria style set up they’d provided before – and we settled in to wait with our dot-to-dot books. 

 

Then the show started.  Mason perked up to watch the performers get ready.  When the music started he exalted, “Ima, look!  Her hands are dancing on the strings!” 

 

We were instantly and profoundly hushed.

 

Worse, soon after, I became complicit in hushing Mason. 

 

Normally, Mason is very attentive, but after being disallowed his opportunity to express his joy – in my opinion – he disassociated.  He got antsy, fussy, and started to ask me in a loud voice when we could go home.  We stuck it out for a while.  I encouraged him to dance, but he soon felt conspicuous since all the eyes in the room weren’t smiling, but glaring at me as if to say, “Can’t you control your little monster?  How DARE he enjoy the music as if it were common music!”

 

I nearly cried.  We left the hall, and while I was tying my shoe out in the lobby Mason perked up and said, “We can still hear it out here!”  I thought he might like to say and enjoy the music from the other side of the closed door, at least, but he decided he’d rather go. 

 

At least the experience doesn’t seem to have dampened his interest in music entirely, thank the Goddess.  Mason says he still wants to try again when the harp and flute players are there next month.  I’m a little leery, if only because I’m angry that in order for Mason to go to these sorts of events he has sell his soul.  If we’re not going to spend the whole time getting hushed and glared at, I’m going to have to teach him something I don’t believe, which is that music has to be enjoyed while sitting still and being quiet. 

 

I ended up having a long passionate discussion about this with Sean M. Murphy on the phone later on Friday, and though I’ve mellowed a little bit on my stance that art should be one hundred percent participatory, I still think that it’s a bloody, ugly shame that music (at least of the variety that involves cellos) has become something so DEAD that it’s not okay to shout and dance while experiencing it.  I get that grown-ups like to close their eyes and become the music, but many grown-ups, in my most humble opinion, are kids who have forgotten how to dance. 


This is one of the biggest crime our culture inflicts on children:  learn to sit still and be quiet.  I think in many ways, it is the root of some of the deep unhappiness that poisons modern Americans.  I mean, is it any wonder people are depressed when you can’t even shout with joy when the spirit moves you? 

 

Mason and I are going to have to find a happy medium, I know.  He’s going to go to school next year and this will be the first hard lesson of his life, the whole learning to sit still thing.  It has its benefits, I know. 

 

But sometimes, man, you just gotta dance.

lydamorehouse: (Default)

Mason and I went to the MomCulture jazz duo performance at the McPhail Center yesterday.   We’d been advised to bring two dollars to pay for parking in the lot, but when Mason and I arrived (fifteen minutes prior to the show) the lot was full.  I made the decision to park on the street at a meter, even though I only had fifteen minutes worth of quarters in the ashtray.  Once again, Mason and I were popular because we brought crayons and activity books – Glom and his mom were there.  Glom, once again, decided that Mason and I were better than sliced bread.  In fact, the second he saw us, he said, “Oh, what did you guys bring this time to play with?”

            This room actually had a stage, though they set it up lunchroom style again, with long tables.  I think the stage worked to their disadvantage, in a way, because the musicians acted slightly more aloof.  Mason saw the trumpet player in the hall when we had a pre-show potty run, and greeted him with his usual, enthusiastic, “Hello, Trumpet Player!” and got a rather startled “Hello” in response.  The trumpeter, to his credit, was very kid-friendly – he had very cool hair, a kind of Mohawk – and he was great at getting audience participation once the show started, but, unlike the divas (ironic, eh?), both he and the piano player kind of disappeared once the show was over and didn’t really invite much admiration or 4-year-old discussion.

            Mason also wore out of this show a lot sooner.  About half-way through, he was ready for his snack, and loudly announced that he thought it must be time to go home.  But, he was still quite impressed with the first number, particularly the wa-wa attachment the trumpet player had.  He did garner one of the more precious moments in the show, though, too, which was when the trumpet player explained that we could clap, hoot, or shout whenever we heard anything we liked, and then demonstrated when that would be appropriate by leading a solo.  At the end of the solo, Mason not only clapped, but also shouted at the top of his lungs, “I LOVED THAT!”  Everyone laughed. 

            I encouraged Mason and Glom to do a little dancing, which they did with abandon, but Mason didn’t have nearly the staying power he had with the opera.  I think part of the problem might have been the stage and our nearness to it, which is to say, I think we chose spots too far away.  Also, if I had been the organizers, I might have actually made a little spot near the front for kids to dance, and told parents to let their kids gambol, you know?  

            Plus, I think I need to feed Mason before we go.  Even though it was perfectly fine for him to snack when he wanted to at the table, I think he might have had more focus for the music if he wasn’t hungry.  Or maybe pianos and trumpets just aren’t his thing.

            After all, who knew opera singers were?

            I, at least, had fun.  I hooted and carried on as I often do at such events.  I’m sure all the other moms thought I was rowdy or strange or off-my-meds, but I’ve never much given a rat’s behind what people think, especially when it comes to expressing my appreciation and joy.  If there had been room, *I* would have danced.

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