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Archive for the ‘Culture’ Category

Yesterday, the second proof for The Year the Cloud Fell (2nd Edition) arrived from CreateSpace, and it was easy to see that the revisions I made were warranted.

The smaller font size and the wider margins make all the difference in the “feel” of the text on the page. Bookman Old Style still has that open, hot-lead, typeset look in 11pt, and the extra white space to top and side actually make the smaller font look less cramped. It’s readable, it feels good in the hand, and it passes all my criteria for a quality product.

It’s ready.

(more…)

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Obey the Kitty!Gerber Knives can teach Sun Tzu a new stratagem: The ox does not run from one mosquito, but will flee from a swarm.

A couple of weeks ago, I was informed by Amazon that an item I’d purchased was being recalled by the manufacturer. The item was a parang—essentially a heavy machete that I use to lop off branches in the back garden—made by Gerber Knives.  The long blade of the parang, it seems, has a tendency to snap off at the hilt, creating a “risk of injury.”

Hehe…no kidding. (more…)

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We are informed by our experience. A lot of my experience comes from cinema. I am informed by cinema.

Many readers have told me they can “see” the scenes I write, that my style is “cinematic.” I take this as a compliment, as it is something for which I strive. I want the reader to see it in their mind. I won’t provide each hair or feather or leaf in a scene—that would be awful—but I want my words to paint just enough of the picture that the reader has all she needs to move forward and fill in the details she wants.

But I am definitely informed by cinema. Case in point: a scene I just came across during my re-edit of The Spirit of Thunder.  I remember writing the scene, I remember storyboarding it out in my head. I remember knowing exactly what inspired me to construct the sequence as I did.  (more…)

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Muh

Obey the Kitty!There’s a peculiar sound you can hear in my house, whenever the TV is on. It’s a little sound…something like…”muh.” You’d hear it more often during news broadcasts and unscripted shows than at other times. It wouldn’t take you long to realize that it comes from me.

I have an affliction. It’s called speakproperlydammititis. The symptoms include facial tics, guttural mumbling, involuntary moues, and the small Tourette-like exclamations of “muh.”

(more…)

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Note: This post originally discussed stoneware versus porcelain. I’ve since learned that the “stoneware” I have been purchasing for decades is really “earthenware,” despite what it said on the box. Earthenware and stoneware have some qualities in common–like weight–but stoneware (real stoneware) is stronger and more durable. I’ve updated this post to accurately reflect what it was I owned. Be warned, though: a lot of the “stoneware” dinnerware sets you’ll find out there are probably just earthenware. With that in mind, here’s the updated post:

—————————-

While I am stuck in the spin-cycle that is “The Typesetting of FC:I“, let me share the results of a test I have been conducting.

A year and a half ago I asked the question: Which is better/more durable, porcelain or earthenware?

I got many responses, I read many posts/articles, but nothing… nothing …gave me a definitive answer. I mean, you’d think I was asking about the relative air speed of swallows or something.

But then I had a stroke of luck. I had my 20th year anniversary at the place where I work (yes, Virginia, some people still work at the same company for decades), which entitled me to a “thank you” gift. Now in the past, these have been cheesy tie-pins or cheap wireless weather stations, but this time, they actually had something I could use: porcelain dinnerware.

I leapt at the chance, and so, a year ago, we began our experiment. (more…)

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The One Lovely Blog Award has come my way. It’s another way for bloggers to show appreciation and bring notice to blogs that we find intriguing.

Sarah over at Musings of a Steampunk—one of my favorite blogs to follow—has nominated this blog for the award! Thanks, Sarah! It’s truly a pleasure to know that this blog reaches and touches other writers and readers.

The Rules for nominees are simple:

  1. Copy and paste the award logo onto a post.
  2. Thank and link back to the person who nominated you.
  3. List seven things about yourself.
  4. Nominate five other blogs.

See? Easy peasy.

My nominees (in no particular order) are:

  1. Mike and Robert vs. the Movies (irreverent, insightful movie guys)
  2. Untitled*United (movies, books, writing, everything)
  3. The Wildflower Scout (I love this blog! Beautiful photos, great hiking)
  4. Paige Nolley (enthusiastic writer/blogger)
  5. Jumping from Cliffs (passionate novelist)

 My 7 things:

  1. I worked as a pressman in a small newspaper, did everything from paste-up to delivery, and nearly earned the nickname “Lefty”.
  2. Every year I try brie cheese to see if it still tastes awful to me (20 yrs so far, still “ick”)
  3. I’ve been reading Proust for five years; I can only handle the prose for 2 weeks at a time, but when I pick it back up, it’s like I never put it down.
  4. I’m related to Eleanor of Aquitaine.
  5. I can only write humorous non-fiction. Humorous fiction (to date) is beyond my capabilities.
  6. I can’t draw worth spit.
  7. I have a thing for old British cars.

k

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It fades, Summer does. It does not leave in a rush or slip away overnight. It fades, its brilliance seeping into the ground, the sky, the air.

At first, it cedes the night, relenting in the early hours, allowing the world at last to breathe and with a cooling sigh to sleep, finally, sleep.

Then the evenings fade. The sun, now tired from its summer’s work, runs low across the sky and gently slides toward twilight, returning hours it once commanded back to moon and stars.

Today, the morning faded, too, as gentle fog hid the buildingtops and seagulls mewed above, unseen. The streets were mist, the sky a blanket, and every streetlamp was a halo-shrouded gem.

The afternoon now is Summer’s only realm, but not for long; its threats are all worn out, its bark now has no bite. Flanked on either side by dewy morning and the star-shot dusk, it has no time to muster strength and soon will leave the field. The gold of summer grass will green, the green of summer leaves will rust and blaze, and Autumn, soon, will come into her own.

Summer’s nearly done. It’s fading as we speak.

k

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