Noble White Champion of Light

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 09:56:24 GMT

Really, it only took me fifteen minutes. A new record!

Monday: Finished a page for Andine's scrapbook. I used a picture that Norton bloke took of us. I confess I stole it from his collection; I hope he doesn't mind.

Tuesday: Waited until Andine left then I stuck the page in. I put it towards the front of the scrapbook where she wouldn't see it immediately. (She has two pages until the book is complete. Then she will wrap it up and give it to Charles. I miss him.)

Wednesday: Andine seems to be in a rush today. Instead of leaving next week, she chose to leave this weekend. Something about the bathroom. I confess that was my fault. I'm not going to apologise. She called that Norton bloke again. He'll pop by on Friday. I look forward to seeing him. I know he hopes to see me.

Thursday: Andine didn’t even look at the scrapbook. She was too busy packing. I guess Charles will have to cope with an unfinished scrapbook. I was tempted to finish it for her, but there is such a thing as going too far. Instead, I left ectoplasm on the walls of her bedroom and whispered in her ear that night.

Friday: Andine leaves this morning. Yay! We are going to see Charles. I miss him. Had I known my soul would have been tacked to Andine's, I would never have killed myself in her bedroom. I only did it to get revenge on her boyfriend-stealing butt. I wish I killed myself in Charles' instead.

I left a note for Norton. He'll understand.

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale: Hit and Run

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 06:26:30 GMT

Or rather, a drive-by?

BusyBusyBusy, and I'm just on long enough to ~~beg~~ solicit some words. I might even have a tale for posting later tonight, depending on when I get words.

Have at it!

For now, I am a writer.

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 06:23:44 GMT

Got a rejection slip this morning. This may seem weird to many writers, especially the apprentices, but I was quite happy to see a rejection slip in my inbox--indeed, any correspondence that says, "You're a writer."

It's a story that has been out over two hundred days and, honestly, I'd forgotten about.

It was a nice little rejection ending with a "not for us". And I'm fine with that. On to the next market!

I was happy to see it not for what it said, but for it's affirmation that I was a writer. Recently I'd forgotten I was a writer. I've been having some serious stress at work and it's brought some introspective moments.^{1}

Friday morning I found myself wondering what on earth I was doing in the IT industry when my degree was in Fine Arts. "Why am I not a writer?" I asked myself. Growing up, I never said, "I want to work with computers". I.T. 'happened'. I fell into it. It was the job I took at university to help put me through school, and I seem to have been stuck there ever since.

But I've always wanted to be a writer. I've got the rejection slip today to prove it. I had a dig through my Sonar files and found a few stories that weren't off doing rounds, though I thought they should be.

Today's alas-o-gram will take a bit of research, for the audience is more the (Christian) Romance crowd. I'm not as au fait with these markets as I am the SFF markets. Feel free to suggest any markets that would like a futuristic romance story with religious undertones.

One languishing story already has a market I want to send it to, as soon as the market opens 1 August. The moment they whack up their sub address, my story is so there!

Some days I feel like that Far Side cartoon "The Elephant's Nightmare".

^{1} I think these introspective moments when I'm stressed are a reaction to my soul freaking out and trying to solve the problem that's causing me stress. Part of my problem-solving process involves looking for a possible escape route, aka, what happens if I drop everything and run for the hills?

Dr Horrible.

Mon, 21 Jul 2008 00:29:56 GMT

I adored Joss Whedon's "Dr Horrible". I sang along, my daughters are still singing along and I cried at the end, it was so bittersweet and beautiful.

For the rest of the weekend, I sat, wistful, for several reasons. I'm sorry it was only open for a short window; I don't know if there will be any more, and I don't know how long it will be before I can buy the DVD. Oh yes, I will buy the DVD.

An SF musical (with mandatory love story) filmed and broadcasted across the internet. It is the best thing I've seen all year.

(Hey Joss! I've got a degree in film and music and have computer experience! Can I join you on your next project? Puh-leeze?!? PLEEZpleezPLEEZpleezPLEEZpleezPLEEZpleezPLEEZpleez...)

My husband is a great husband!

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 02:22:41 GMT

I can has a good spouse.

For the past seven weeks, works has been nightmarish as we've lost our WAN connection to the main servers (and our internet connectivity, including email) due to weather damage to the building where the main servers are kept. We lost our microwave connectivity.

Being the IT officer at the library, it has been my job to make sure we have as much computer functionality as we can get. (Thank you, backup system!) I managed to get us about 80% functionality, and that was enough to tide us over until the main system could get fixed.

A week ago the damage was fixed and our system was restored to its former glory.

For two whole days.

On the morning of the third day, things went snafu as a bad storm struck. Water got inside the microwave link cable and the modem fried.

The microwave installation company were already on their way out here to check the system due to the prior problem, so they had a look, then came back a few days later and intalled working equipment.

Only it wouldn't talk to our system.

Microwave guys sent out someone else to have a look. I sat with him in the server room and we troubleshot for a good ninety minutes, with no luck.

So I went home all frustrated. Now, His Grace had been listening, for the past six weeks, to my sotto voce grumbling about the stress of work. But that night I burst out in a fit of temper.

Nobody likes to be screamed at, even if it's not one's fault. Yet he sat there and listened to me while a month and a half of frustration came tumbling out in an hour. And that's why he's a great husband.

Now, His Grace happens to be a computer scientist. When my raves of anger dwindled down to mews of helplessness, he drew a scarily-accurate diagram of our server room (based from my tearful description) and gave it a good squiz.

"You tweak the dooleyhopper?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"You fiddle the faddle?"

"Yep."

He thought some more. "That modem a dual-address modem?"

I didn't have a clue.

"Go find out," he told me. "Power been cycled on the Cisco switch?"

"Uh... no?"

He nodded sagely. "Try that tomorrow and see if things work. You owe the Oracle one cheesecake."

Sure enough, a boot to the old Cisco switch solved the problem and I now have a library full of grateful librarians.

One cheesecake coming right up.

Publication Date! (SQUEEEE!!)

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 00:30:06 GMT

One does not truly appreciate how long the process from draft to publication is until one goes through it.

But our first Romance Spinners project,"The Enchanted Faerie" finally has it publication date!

Woo-fricking-hoo!

So, on 21 November of 2008, get thee hence to The Wild Rose Press and secure your digital copy of "The Enchanted Faerie".

Wanna hard copy to drop into the tub? That's due for release in May 2009. (And quite reasonably priced, I thought.)

And now let us have a squee of delight for one of the fluffy little royal-icing roses on the cake, the ISBN: 1-60154-364-6

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 11:08:00 GMT

Getting better at this sort of thing, I hope. Still not quite as good as martinlivings.

Thanks to:
callistra bubble
silk_noir crepuscular
mnfaure How about a word picture instead? Mmm.. yeah. Okay. (See if any of you can spot it.)

Alone in the quiet room, Estrella lowered herself to the carpeted floor and took up the lotus position. She relaxed her shoulders and closed her eyes. Ignore the others watching you, she told herself--her traditional, personal mantra to herself. She knew the two corporate figures sitting in front of her were uncomfortable, he fidgeting because he was too fat to sit on the floor and she squirming because a micro-mini skirt was entirely unsuited for sitting indian-style.

Well, too bad. They came to her for answers, and answers they would get, her way.

Estrella could also sense Monica in the room, sitting quite comfortably on the floor in her large circle skirt and beaded sandals, her back to Estrella. Ever since she brought in the two corporate types, Monica had not met the medium's eyes once.

This was good.

"So." Estrella addressed the two corporate monkeys on the floor. "What can I do for you?"

Both stopped fidgeting. "I thought we weren't supposed to talk to you," the micro-mini-skirted woman snapped.

Estrella sniffed and opened her eyes. "I need some sort of guidance as to what questions you want answered, otherwise I'll go delving around the spirit world and come up with all sorts of things, from your unpaid parking tickets to the bloke you've been cheating with."

The suited man drew in a sharp breath through his nose. The woman said nothing.

Estrella let her shoulders relax once more. "People's secrets should remain that--secret. I'm not asking you to tell me what you are seeking, merely to put in the forefront of your mind what you are concerned about."

The man and woman relaxed, both exhaling breaths and the woman slumping forward, her hands still discreetly covering her exposed panties.

Then Estrella knew: "You have to make a decision and don't know which one to choose. Are they so evenly matched you honestly can't decide?"

"Yes," said the man as the woman said, "No!" She turned and scowled at her compatriot. "No, and you know it."

"If they are so evenly balanced," continued Estrella, "Then simply choose one over the other and be done with it."

"It is not that simple," the woman spat. "There are--"

Estrella held up her hand. "Enough. You came for unprejudiced answers, and I will give them to you, the spirit world permitting."

Estrella closed her eyes once more. Ignore the monkeys. You serve a higher power. She pushed away the outer world until a bubble of peace surrounded her. She tilted her face upwards as if to receive crepuscular inspiration from Above. She dropped her voice to a lower pitch and droned about the first thing to appear in her mind: "I see a little image of a triangular object. It's dark with no details. Surrounding it are two slivers of white light to the right and left of it, and as I watch, the light deepens to pink."

"Pink," breathes the woman, an echo of Estrella's vision.

"The pink deepening to blood red and then to so-red-it-could-almost-be-black. Poor children."

"Black," said the man, his voice smug. "That's Bratz."

"I can't believe this!" the woman cried.

Estrella's eyes flew open. "Bratz?!"

The corporate pair stared at her. Even Monica looked over her shoulder at her.

Aware of her faux pas, Estrella let her head loll back as she stared at the ceiling. "Barbara Roberts is the better choice," she let her head swing back and forth, "for she has an extensive record. Many would disparage this woman based on her looks alone, but one must go beyond skin-deep.

"She has a pilot's license. This has served her well in both commercial and military aviation. Later she was recruited by NASA. After that, she earned a degree in medicine, her first position as a surgeon before undertaking a diplomatic career, eventually running for President of the United States.

"Miss Roberts--Doctor? Captain?--is a woman of ambition, of education and experience. The Bratz are a bunch of shallow, air-headed, materialistic teeny-boppers who'll most likely end up dropping out of high school due to teenage pregnancy.

"Do not make the mistake of choosing what it currently popular. Choose the woman with the future, for that is where you wish to go."

Estrella let out a sigh and slumped forward.

The woman forgot her micro-mini and clasped her hands before her chest, almost in a gloating prayer. The man stared at Estrella, his mouth open.

There. That should be answers enough for them.

Monica, meanwhile, had turned around, her astonishment obvious on her face. "You're arguing over dolls?"

"No," replied the woman, rising ungracefully to her feet. Estrella felt thankful the woman was wearing panties. There were some things that should be left a secret. "Sponsorship. Extremely important sponsorship." To Estrella, she said, "Thank you. You've been most helpful."

The medium spread her arms in supplication. "I only do what the higher powers command.

"By the way, who is Andrew? Beware of Andrew."

The expressions froze on the corporate couple's face. Without another word, they turned and left the room.

Monica closed the door behind them, counted to ten, then dissolved into glee. "Oh, that was good!"

Estrella rose to her feet. "Well, Mattel had better not delay too long paying me the second half of my fee."

Monica shrugged. "By the way, who is Andrew?"

"Remember how my ex-boyfriend left me for another woman?"

"Yeah. Andy-Pantless and Little Miss Deep Throat." Realisation dawned upon Monica. "Waitaminnit!"

Estrella nodded. "I'm just glad Little Miss Deep Throat wore panties today."

"Oh, you're evil!"

"Indeed. Had I been feeling magnanimous, I would have told her he had syphilis."

The End

Tuesday Two-Hour Tale

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 05:18:58 GMT

Yesterday I was busy with a sick child. Today I'm busy at work with a sick system. This morning we had a sick car. Illness all around!

Normally I put in a request for words on Monday, but that wasn't going to happen, so here it is Tuesday and all that.

Toss me some words and I'll see what sort of tale I can cobble together today.

Today I have no desire but to go home and do nothing but indulge in fiction. I have no idea when I'll be home today, as I'm waiting on some network guys to come and change the IP address on the new modem they installed last week.

I don't know when they'll show up.

Life is full of I-don't-know's this ~~week~~ ~~month~~ quarter.

At least I have chocolate.

Oh, the glamour!

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 04:41:07 GMT

Work has been quite busy the past six weeks, thus the lack of my presence on the Internet, or indeed anywhere else but at work or the crossroads.

Our Internet access at work goes through the city council network, located a good ten kilometers or so away. We connect to them via a microwave link.

In the first weekend of June, a really big storm came ripping through Rockingham. It took several things with it, including roofs, trees and sheds. The clock tower on the Council building was damaged and had to be fixed.

As soon as possible, scaffolding was erected around the tower for OHS reasons.

Did you know that steel scaffolding will interfere with microwave links? Yeah, mee too. But it didn't occur to anyone who was authorising the scaffolding.

Thus, our connection with the rest of the world was cut off. This is bad for a library, that depends on an internet connection to run its library software.

Luckily, we had a backup system, including a broadband line. (This backup system is really the public system, to provide our library patrons with internet access. The local government is a bit wary letting unauthorised personnel using their network system, no matter how restricted the logins. I don't blame them.)

So, I spent week one setting up backup computers and all the goodies that go with it so the library would be functional. I managed to get Internet access (alas, no email, which ended up causing us a great deal of professional embarrassment later) for our staff and get our library software running.

Then the library software kept crashing. Every ten or fifteen minutes it would lose connection to the software server database (which happens to be stored up at Murdoch University, South Street) and shut itself down, often in the middle of a librarian doing something, like checking in books.

When the software crashed, it took its processes with it. So any records open at the time (frex, books recently checked in, etc) would be frozen up with the the message, "Record in use". Only three people on the staff had the proper authorisation to unfreeze the records.

I spent four weeks troubleshooting this error. I couldn't find the cause, and neither could anyone else in the chain, up to the manufacturers. They claimed it was my firewall causing the issues. I turned off every single firewall, port-blocker or filter I could. The software continued to crash.

To this day there is no solution.

So, towards the end of those four weeks, I figured I'd try to approach the problem from a different angle and see if I could get any more data. I set up a Linux machine (Linux Mint, Elyssa, for those geeks who care) and loaded our library software (which, conveniently, the company had created a Linux version for) and set the sucker running on the circ desk.

To our joy, the software didn't crash once. Yay. (So there's something about Windows XP on our backup network (but not our main council network) that is blocking some port somewhere. What the frell?)

After two days of success with that one machine, I set up the rest of circ desk with linux boxes. No crashes made everyone happy.

However, every once in a while a notification message (like, "this book is on hold, ready to pick up," "do you want to print a receipt" and other standard messages) would pop up, but there would be no text in the field.

I haven't been able to figure this one out either. I guess we can't win 'em all.

So, after five weeks of the scaffolding going up, the roof was repaired and the scaffolding came down, thus restoring our connection to the council network. Yay.

For two whole days. Then last week, as I was in the middle of moving the network back to the main system, we got a port blocking error on our library software. At first I thought the sysadmin up at council was playing with the firewall, but no, that wasn't the case.

Then everyone started losing internet connectivity. I had a nasty suspicion the problem was on my end, and so off I went to the server room. There, I found our modem which connects the microwave dish to our local server, had died, magic smoke and all. What had happened was that water got into the cable--yes, inside the cable, and had run down the length to the modem, where the short-circut fried the modem.

So, back to square one. I then spent the rest of the week rolling the network back to the backup system, where we will remain on our little broadband connection, sans email and other necessaries for another week or so until this little problem is repaired.

I've been working double-hours and getting paid for it. The money is nice, but I miss my free time. I haven't had much time for writing, for music, or anything. Alas.

This is, what we call in the IT industry, 'job security'.

Two-Hour Tale

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 07:05:07 GMT

Okay, so it's Wednesday. Tuesday at work was so busy there was no way I could think straight and when I came home, I had fifteen different things to do and I didn't even get to turn on my computer, much less write anything.

So, work was just as bad as it has been for the past six weeks, but I managed to sneak out a wee bit early and I had a few music students be late, so I cranked out this slightly-delightful little 1K tale. Hope you enjoy it.

Thanks to...
mikandra yoyo
callistra dirigible
lanyn melancholy
dorianegray viscid
...for their words.

Martin folded his arms and leaned back in his wooden chair, extending his legs beneath the table. "Okay, what have you got?"

Heidi stood up and laid out a piece of plain white A4 paper on the table. Then above it she began to sketch her spell. "Levitās, gravis, lībra," she chanted while her fingers drew the runes to invoke and fix the power. They shined brightly as she first sketched them, then their glory faded, leaving little ghostly traces behind. Soon, each rune faded until it was little more than a shimmer in the air, as heat shimmers above the tarmac. Martin watched her, his frown deepening as she went on.

And on, and on. "You done yet?" he asked, scratching an itch behind his ear.

She paused, "What? Oh, almost."

She finished her spell and tied it off. Time to invoke it. "Go," she said, touching the final rune with her finger.

The magic settled into the paper and it lifted up, to hover over the table about a meter in height, like a dirigible, not drifting, not moving, but waiting.

Martin let out an impressed whistle. "Nice. But did your spell have to be so complex?"

That surprised her. "What do you mean?" She sank to her chair.

He unfolded his arms and sat forward. "Granted, a hovering charm is quite complex as you balance gravity with levitation, but you threw in all sorts of little extras here and there, things that didn't need to be in there. You could have easily left them out and the rest would have worked."

She listened to his words, her forehead creasing in concern. "But without that other stuff, the charm's not very useful." She could not keep the pout out of her voice.

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Useful? Of course it's useful!" He gestured at the still page. "It's not like your paper's going up and down like a yo-yo."

Indeed, it was not. Overall, the spell was a good one, especially for levitation, which was more difficult than most people suspected. Not enough levity and things didn’t float. Not enough gravitas and thing flew off into the stratosphere until it reached the magical equivalent of the Clarke orbit, to hover far above the earth until the spell wore off. But even her triumph did not dispel her melancholy. "But that's just one piece of paper. What if I wanted to levitate a whole ream, or an apple, or anything?"

"Then adjust the spell accordingly. It's spellwork, not rocket science."

"But what if someone else wanted to use it? Not everyone wants to recast it by hand every time they need it."

Martin stroked his beard. "Oh really? Are you planning on selling this spell?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. There were hundreds of commercially produced levitation spells out there. Sure, hers was well-crafted, but did the world really need another levitation spell. "No."

"So, why put in all the extras?"

With a touch of her finger, the spell came uncast and the piece of paper drifted away, to slide under the table. "Habit, I guess."

"Sometimes it's okay to cast a spell just because."

"Yeah, I guess." Then she perked up. "Hey, wanna see what else I've been working on?"

Martin leaned back, folding his arms across his belly. "Yeah, okay."

She held up a finger in warning. "Promise you won't criticise me for throwing in all the extras?"

"Okay."

"Great!" A grin spread across her face as she rose to her feet. She quickly sketched an Exception Charm on her chest, muttering, "Ollie, ollie, oxen-free!" Then she cast her spell.

Martin watched as she drew the runes and muttered the words, watching the magic spellwords flare brightly then fade underneath the next cast rune. He waited while she went on, studying which runes she used.

Not everything was straightforward. "You invoking subroutines?"

"Yep." Her fingers didn't miss a beat. "Saves time."

He snorted. "I wonder what it would be like if you weren't saving time?"

She ignored his remark and finished off her spell. "You'll like this!" She reached out her finger and invoked the spell. "Go."

The air grew heavy and pressed down on Martin, clinging to his skin like a viscid fluid. It was like the air wanted to press him to the ground. He tried to sit up but couldn’t move. He couldn't uncross his arms and lift them. At least he could still breathe, but even lifting his legs felt like he was trying to move through wet cement.

"Wha--" he muttered, for even his lips were heavy and refused to work.

Of course, the spell didn’t affect Heidi. She sat back in her chair, a smug grin on her face. "Like it?"

"Uh-huh?" His voice rose in a question. Should he like something that imprisoned him so?

"Go on," she urged. "Try to move."

"Uh-uh."

"Aw, come on."

"I 'usht oo."

A small chuckle escaped her lips. "Okay." With a touch, she disabled the spell.

Martin sat up, stretching his limbs. "Holy cow! What was that?"

"A Stop Curse. Nice, huh?"

He rubbed his neck. "Uh, yeah. Next question: why?"

She shrugged. "After you gave me the challenge of levitation, I put a thought into what would happen if the opposite happened and I came up with that."

"Nice. But again, why?"

Because I got a buyer.

His jaw dropped. "What? In a week?"

Heidi leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand. "Well, long-story-short, I came up with the spell, mentioned it to a mate of mine, who just happens to have a mate who works in security systems, and he's interested in attaching the Stop Curse to security systems. Crim breaks into a house, triggers the alarm which triggers the Stop Curse, thereby trapping them on the premises until the cops arrive.

"Uh, what if it's not a criminal but someone coming home drunk?

She tapped her chest. "Exception Charm on all legal residents."

"Wow. Neat. Good luck with that."

Martin sniffed and leaned back, folding his arms once more. "What else have you been working on this week?"

Heidi wiggled her fingers. "Gender-swap Charm. Wanna see?"

"I think I'll pass."

The End.

Tuesday Two-Hour Tale

Mon, 07 Jul 2008 10:05:02 GMT

Gimmie some words and let's see if I can come up with something...

a) short
b) funny
c) spontaneous
or
d) two out of three.

Meanwhile, work: must middle managers suck so much? I mean, surely it took some intelligence and skill to reach middle-management-dom. So why must they appear incompetent? I don't get it.

short example given: I thought he was aware that we haven't had access to email for about six weeks. So when an issue pops up and he needs to get ahold of me or my local manager, what does he do?

He emails us.

Emails we didn't discover until today, nearly a month later.

Tuesday Two-Hour Tale.

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 14:55:23 GMT

Yep, that's it. I officially suck this week as a writer. The following 1775-word story is an unfair and unworthy response to the very, very good words that
jpsorrow (pompous, batshit, electrostatic)
and
mnfaure (malady)
and
rcloenen_ruiz (malapropos)
gave me. In fact, you are better off just reading the above words and imagining the terrific and humourous story that they could all have been found it, because to read the following story will be a waste of your ten minutes.

Still, these words count towards my million, don't they?

Oh, you really are game, aren't you?

When Nadine opened the door she didn't expect to find Matt standing on her front porch. All he was wearing was a six-pack of beer on his hands and a cheesy grin on his face.

"Hey," he said. The morning breeze through suburbia touched his back and he shivered momentarily.

She looked at him, her eyes trying not to dwell too long on his nether regions. "What the hell?"

Matt's smile faded and he shuffled his feet. "Um," he started. He lowered the six-pack until it provided some sort of modesty. "Okay, this didn't go the way I wanted it to."

Nadine folded her arms. "What are you doing, you pompous ass?"

Matt took a deep breath. "I've been trying to get your attention for months now and you don't seem to be interested. Well, I've got your attention now."

"Are you, like, batshit?"

He sucked on his teeth. "I'm starting to think so."

Nadine leaned against the doorframe. "So why have you showed up naked with a six-pack of beer. It's nine in the morning."

From within the house, another voice called, "Nadine, who's that?" Arla, Nadine's sister, came to the door. Dressed in slouchy trackpants and an old stained T-shirt, she poked her head over Nadine shoulder.

"Oh my gosh!" she gasped. Then she slapped a hand over her mouth and backed away. She shaded her eyes with a hand so she wouldn't have to look

The colour drained from Matt's face. "Arla! I didn't know you were here."

"Hello," Nadine sing-songed. "She lives here, dropkick."

"Nadine," Arla chided. "No need to be rude."

Nadine rolled her eyes. "You weren't going to, like, ask me out, were you?"

"I..." he'd lost his words.

"Hang on. I'll be back in a moment." Nadine walked off to the kitchen.

"Oh." He hugged the six-pack of beer to his chest, forgetting its purpose as an aluminium loincloth.

Arla shuffled a little closer, keeping her eyes pointed quite heavenward. "I must ask why you chose this rather unorthodox method of getting my sister's attention."

Matt sighed. "I know it's a bit malapropos, but nothing else I've done worked."

"Yeah, but why Nadine?"

He shrugged. "I thought she was cute."

"Humph," Arla snorted. "More fool you."

Matt's forehead wrinkled in pain. "What? Don't you think I'm good enough for her."

"Oh, that's not what I meant," she said, her hand flying to her face. "What I meant was--

Nadine showed up, a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spatula in the other. Before Matt could ask her what it was for, she demonstrated. With a mightly swipe, she slathered on a great big glob of peanut butter to his groin.

"Nadine!" Arla gasped.

"What the--" Matt began, dropping the six-pack. The cans fell down with an almighty crash and one of them burst open, spraying foamy suds all over the front porch.

Nadine turned and whistled loudly towards the back of the house. "Sparky! Here boy!"

At the sound of scrabbling claws on floorboards, Matt turned and high-tailed it out of there as Sparky the collie came dashing to the front door.

"I don't even like beer!" she shouted after his retreating form.

While Sparky licked up the beer, Arla, on her hands and knees, gathered up the dented yet unopened cans. "Really, Nadine. What's wrong with telling him you don't want to go out with him?"

"Because he hasn't listened to me the past two months."

Arla sat back on her heels. "I know what you're like. Have you actually said, 'I don't want to go out with you'?"

#

When the doorbell rang in the afternoon, Arla found Matt on the porch, dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt. In his hands he held a bottle of red. "Sorry about this morning. I won't even make up a story to explain why I was naked on your porch."

Arla glanced behind her. She stepped outside. "You still smell of peanut butter."

He chuckled. "The porch still smells of beer."

She shrugged in her dirty T-shirt. "You're lucky Sparky waited until he was in the kitchen before he threw up or the porch would smell like beer-tainted dog puke."

Matt swallowed. He shifted on his feet. "Look, I'm sorry."

She leaned back against the door. "So you said. But I'm thinking Nadine may be right. You are batshit.

"But I think you're batshit for different reasons."

This took him aback. "Oh?"

"Why my sister? That's what baffles me."

He sighed. "I don't know. There's something about her."

Arla snorted. "There must be some malady or infectious insanity. If you knew her the way I knew her, you'd stay as far away as you could possibly get, even if it means leaving the planet--" She inhaled sharply through her nose. "Wait. It's a guy thing, isn't it?"

She shifted her position. "See, lots of guys come around here hoping to get her attention. But it's never the same guys more than a few times. I guess they're smarter than you, and figure her out for who she is.

"But you, you've hung in here for nearly three months. You've called her, you've come up to her at parties, you've even shown up on our porch every once in a while.

"Until this morning I thought you were just another guy. But naked, with beer? What's up with that?"

Matt shut his eyes and pinched his nose as if he had a headache. "Because I'm stupid, that's why."

Arla folded her arms. "Darn tootin'. Only a real idiot would come back after completely embarrassing himself. So, what is it? Her grace, her charm, her intelligence, her wit?"

"Um..."

"She smeared peanut butter on your dick, you nut, then called the dog on you!" Arla wagged her index fingers like antennae. "Earth to Matt, she's a bitch!"

He sighed. "So why do I want her?"

"Becuase you're as thick as the peanut butter smeared across the head you're thinking with."

He turned bright red.

Arla put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, look. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." She turned from him, reconsidered, then turned back. "No, wait. Yes, I did." She shook a finger in his face. "You are an idiot!" she shouted.

From inside the house came, "Who's an idiot, Arl?"

Nadine came to the door. "Oh," she said, her lip curing up when she saw Matt. "What the hell do you want?"

Matt pursed his lips. "You like white wine, don't you?"

She leaned against the door jamb. "Yeah. So?"

She took the bottle from his hands. "Well, duh. This is red."

"I know," he said. He turned around and walked off the porch with almost enough dignity to make up for this morning.

Nadine scrutinised the label. "What on earth was all that about?"

Arla glanced sideways at her sister, then back to the retreating form of Matt. "He came to apologise to me," she repled in a self-satisfied voice. "Notice he didn't apologise to you."

WIth that, she slipped the bottle of wine from her sister's fingers and retreated into the house, leaving Nadine to be offended all by her lonesome.
#

Later that evening, after the sun went down, Matt knocked on the door once more.

Nadine answered it, all glammed up and a lipsticked smile across her face. When she saw who it was, her happy mask melted into a pout of disappointment. "What the hell do you want?"

Matt stood on the porch, dressed in a clean dinner suit, his hands behind his back. "Arla."

Nadine froze. "Arla? Why? Didn't you already apologise to her?"

Matt nodded. "Now that the awkwardness is out of the way, it's time for the next step."

With thinly-veiled impatience, Nadine rolled her eyes. "And what's that?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "I thought you knew what that was."

She snorted at him. "Whatever." She turned and called back into the house. "Arla!"

Sparky pushed past Nadine's stockinged legs and wagged his tail.

Arla showed up, still dressed in the same tatty track pants and stained shirt. "What?

"Oh," she remarked as she saw Matt. They stared at each other for a moment, Arla in surprise, Matt with a secret grin.

Nadine gave a grunt of disgust and retreated back into the house to await her current brief boyfriend, closing the door and leaving Arla out on the porch with Matt.

Arla spoke first. "It's not going to work. She's not going to change her mind."

"Who?" Matt said. From behind his back he brought a snifter and a small bottle of fine brandy. "Hold this." He handed the snifter to her. Into the bottom of it he poured a little brandy. "Tell me what you think."

She looked at the thimbleful of dark red brandy at the bottom of the giant bowl. She swirled it and inhaled it, savouring the scent. Then she sipped it, letting it roll across her tongue. Then she swallowed, and exhaled. "Ah, that's so fine."

Matt nodded. "You're right. It's fine. I'm an idiot. Nadine's a trollop and I was chasing the wrong girl.

"But there is one final question. What would you say if I told you to go get your glad rags on because I was going to take you out for the finest ninety-eight cent bean burrito you've ever had, what would you say?"

Arla stared at him as if she hadn't heard him right. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her face.

Matt bit his lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"To ask me out?"

Matt scrubbed his hand through his hair. "No, that's what I meant to do. I didn't... I've offended you."

At his confession, she sobbed noisily and threw herself into his arms. He nearly dropped the brandy bottle. The moment she touched him, he felt an electrostatic charge flow through his body. He wrapped his arms around her and with his free hand, patted her on the back.

"Is this a no or a yes?"

#

Three hours later, clad in a dress borrowed from an unwitting Nadine, Arla walked along cafe strip, her hand in Matt's. Those had been mighty fine burritos, even if they were only eighty-nine cents.

Arla let out a little laugh. "I must confess that, unlike Nadine, I quite enjoy beer."

Matt was silent for a moment, then broke out in great chuckles. "Oh really? And the naked guy?"

Arla blushed. "Well..."

"What? Not sure?" He started to pull at his cravat. "Want to see him again?"

She looked away in embarrassment, then turned back. "Sure. Why not?"

The (merciful) End.

I almost didn't post it, it's so bad.

Yahno, that's exactly the sort of story I had to suffer through in University workshop classes. Crap. It's tweeness has embedded itself in my brain, dormant for nearly twenty years, only to awaken now? Bugger!

Why can't I write this week? Where has my muse gone? It took me until nearly eight-thirty tonight to even try and come up with a plot. That is so not me. I hope I can blame this on the cold I've got and the stress in my life (stressor #1, how on earth do I rearrange next quarter's schedule so Their Ladyships can go to gym on Thursday; stressor #2, I learned today that the IT manager is seriously thinking of pulling me from my on-site position at the library and sticking me in the generic Help Desk centre up at the Council building. That is so not on!).

Maybe next week I'll be a better writer.

Now, unrelated opinions: should I continue to play around with my style and voice in little exercises like this, or should I rewrite Troth of the Dark and hope I've improved enough in my craft in the past short while to make a difference?

How to Write a Novel

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 02:27:27 GMT

Because Justine Larbalestier told me to and mikandra is also following the herd (or should that be 'heard'?).

So...

How to Write a Novel
by Heidi Wessman Kneale

Okay, this should be titled "How I Write a Novel", but since there are only so many ways of going about novel creation, no doubt several people may benefit by hearing about my method.

For me, a novel doesn't start with an idea, but the resolution of an idea. I've gotta know how the novel ends. Otherwise, I'll start writing only to have things fizzle out in the end. Nobody likes a dull or unsatisfying ending.

But if I can come up with a dramatic and satisfying ending, then I've got a novel.

No, I'm not an organic writer. I tried to be one once, but half-way through I discovered I had no idea where I was going. I had to sit down and brainstorm the rest of the novel. Therefore, I'm a structured writer. I like to have some sort of roadmap to let me know where I'm going. I don't have to write down the map, but sometimes it helps.

Now that I know how the novel ends, I need to work out how what sort of snafu situation led to needing that particular resolution. Once I suss that out, I can sit down and write.

Coming up with the ending and the beginning involves a lot of thinking and sorting and shuffling in my mind. This is called pre-writing, and it all happens in my head. I could spend months or even years shuffling stuff about. I'll spend idle moments working out scenes, playing with descs or character motivations.

Knowing where I'm going and how the novel is going to end makes for fast writing for me. Once I've got the gist of how things connect, I can sit down and crank out the words.

The events that happen in my novels are due to the goals and motivations of my characters. They have something they want to accomplish, and so they set out to get things done. Something comes along to prevent them from reaching their goal by the direct route and they have to deal with that.

I never have characters that prefer their status quo and suddenly they're tossed off into the deep end. I have characters who have dreams and goals and suddenly they're tossed off into the deep end. I prefer this, because not only do I have a character who's trying to cope with treading water but they've got to examine themselves and their own personal goals and how will they achieve them now?

I believe this makes my characters proactive, rather than reactive. Makes 'em more interesting that way.

Setting. I confess I haven't been very good with setting in the past, but recently I've been exploring on how I can make setting better. I've figured out that I should treat setting like a character. Setting should be given mood and other characters should interact with it. I don't know why it took me this long to figure it out. I should have figured this one out in the early 90's when I was studying moviemaking and stagecraft. Lighting is very important in film and theatre. By changing the way you light something, you give it atmosphere and mood.

Same thing applies to writing. The details one points out should add to the emotional environment one is trying to create, either by highlighting or contrasting it. I need to be a better gaffer in my novels.

Pacing is important and I try to pace things so that they have a certain rhythm. I'm still trying to get the hang of this.

Last, and maybe most of all, I must love the novel. I must love it so much my heart aches when I'm not working on it. If I love it, I will indulge in it and that indulgence will show.

Now, since I never envisioned an ending to this post, I'm going to fizzle out now and no doubt will only think of a clever ending much later.

Meanwhile, how do you write a novel? Novelists must understand their method for the best chance of success.

The Rules

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 14:46:24 GMT

For some time now I've been aware of The Rules.

We all know about women and their rules. Women have rules, women need rules, the world is better off for the rules they bring to it. (Now, men may disagree but that is another post.)

But today I'm going to speak of The Rules, specifically. The Rules are ones that all women should know and observe. Not all women know all The Rules, but lucky is the woman who susses them out sooner, rather than later, keeping them faithfully. By observing The Rules, a woman's life is made easier than it might otherwise be.

To help my fellow women in their sussing, I'm going to share a few of The Rules I am aware of. (In no particular order)

1. Never love a man more than he loves you.
2. Never leave your purse in the car.
3. Always think before you speak.
4. Modesty becomes you and is in your best interest.
5. Never leave the safety of the group at night.
6. Never relinquish complete financial control.
7. Possess the skills to be self-sufficient.
8. Don't be stupid.
9. Remember you don't know everything.

And there are more. I'll probably remember them after I hit the "post" button. Maybe I'll add them later.

But I post these here while I am thinking of them so that others can learn the easy way. Learning the hard way isn't always for the best.

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 14:08:21 GMT

Okay, posting a request for words now, because I have no idea what tomorrow's gonna be like.

I've got a virus of some sort, and I'm not top-o'-th'-morning. Came home early from work today and crashed for the afternoon. Unfortunately, I got some later stress that undid all that good rest.

Good news: Ladyships passed their A-level gym class and have been promoted to B/C level.

Bad news: B/C level is on Thursday. Thursday is when I have all my music students.

So...

A. I keep them in the Monday class for another term, wherein I rearrange my students around next term.
B. I find someone to take them to Gym class and pick them up (not necessarily the same person) while I teach.
C. See if my students can rearrange their times for this term.

I really, really want to keep my Mondays free for me, but if I can't, then so be it.

A is the easiest solution, but it means holding the girls back, and I don't see why I should do so simply for my convenience.

B is awfully inconvenient for me as I'm a bit nervous about relying on someone else to drop them off. His Grace is willing to pick up, but that's not completely reliable as his job sometimes requires him to work late or work away.

C might be the most doable as I did have a few students who wanted to swap for convenience of travel.

Now, if I have my two earliest students swap to a different day then move my two latest students to between the times I must drop off/pick up, then move the middle student to later, It might work. Only hassle is the running around which I don't like very much. I hate running around. It wastes time, it wastes gas, it wastes my personal energy and if something goes wrong, the whole day goes to pot.

Or how about this? I can swap swimming lessons to Monday (which will make me happier) then move all my students to Wednesday, then I can have Thursday for Gym.

Now, what are the odds that everything will work out in my favour?

Man, it took me a year and a half to get all my students on the same day so they weren't spread across the universe. My currently highly-efficient time-management schedule has been threatened.

This really sucks and I don't have the brain cells nor the emotional stability right now to sort this out.

Right now I'm so tempted to simply dump all my students (even the new one I just took on) and spend all my time on me-and-mine. Only problem with this (other than disappointing all my students) is that the money I earn supports my own music habit as I work towards getting professional qualifications in Western Australia.

And the reason I'm aiming for my proquals in WA? Because I wanna be a really, really good musician.

I'm just being selfish right now because I'm not feeling too good. Normally I can handle the stress of stuff like this, but if I get sick or a headache or PMS, my ability to cope is reduced.

Curse this cold, and curse the gym for scheduling the B/C class at a time that is most inconvenient for me!

So, feeling that I needed to work on my craft, I cranked out a story and posted it to the OWW. I knew it was crap, but wasn't sure how. My peeps told me how it was crap. Hmmm... I wonder if the story was crap because I'd forced it, or if it just wasn't a good idea in the first place. I tried to do something I don't normally do, but couldn't maintain consistency in style and voice.

So, to see if it was a fluke or if my cold had affected me or if I'm just all Mercury retrograde through Gemini this week, I want you guys to toss me a whole bunch'a words and we'll see if I can turn out something interesting on Tuesday or if I'm currently writing crap.

I'm too scared to tackle my "I see dead people" story right now. It's a good premise and I want to do it justice.

Ah, the joys of being a journeyman.

What you do... Memery

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 05:44:37 GMT

Gakked from rhfay. This is my attempt to provide semi-interesting content in my blog.

Post 3 things you've done in your lifetime that you don't think anybody else on your friends list has done. See if anybody else responds with "I've done that." If they have, you need to add another!(2.b., 2.c., etc...) Have your friends cut & paste this into their journal to see what unique things they've done in their life.

1. I have performed live at Carnegie Hall before a paying audience and possess photographic proof back in Utah.

2. I flew across the world with a 12-month-old strapped to my back and a 2-year-old on a leash.

3. I bought my piano as an impulse purchase at the Royal Show (read: State Fair) and have never regretted it once.

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale on a Wednesday.

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 13:02:58 GMT

I seem to be getting worse and worse. I tell you, I had a hard time with callistra's "paleontologist" and mindseas' "mainstay".

Peter didn't want to meet Donna at the Lemon Grass Café. He didn't like Thai food that much. But if he didn't meet her there, she would follow him like Tuesday follows Monday and it wouldn't make any difference. His food would be ruined.

Hmm… now that he thought of it, Thai was best. He simply wouldn't order anything. He would continue to sit and order nothing and Donna would come in and tell him how slow he was, how thick he was (and no longer in a good way) and that she was breaking up with him. Then he would mutely accept it and she'd insult him because he was too stupid to care and there would be one of those passive-aggressive arguments (him passive, her aggressive) and she'd storm out. Perhaps then he could go get a pastrami sandwich.

He liked pastrami sandwiches, the meat cut so thin, the edges crusted with pepper, smeared with mayo… They were his mainstay.

Enough of this waiting. Peter was going to get a pastrami sandwich. He put his thick hands on the plastic table and stood up, the bulk of his body pushing back the iron-frame chair. Yeah. A pastrami sandwich on sourdough bread.

Oh, wait. That wouldn't work. If she didn't find him here, Donna would come after him. She'd chase him on her too-skinny legs, her heels click-clacking quickly on the sidewalk in rapid tattoo. Her over-shadowed eyes would glare at him and her lipsticked mouth would sneer. "You were supposed to wait for me," she would accuse.

"But I don't like Thai food," he muttered aloud. He didn't like Donna either. Oh, she flattered him enough in the beginning when they, as she put it, 'hooked up'. But as the relationship progressed beyond the bedroom, her attitude changed.

In the beginning it was all, "Oh, he was rock hard the whole night!" to her girlfriends. But the rest of the time it was, "You have rocks for brains!"

"Well, yeah," he tried to explain. "I am a rock." From his gravelly voice to his marble skin, Peter thought she would have figured that one out in the beginning.

No, he did not like Donna. So why was he waiting for her? Sitting back down, he unravelled the paper napkin from around the chopsticks and fished in his pocket for a pencil stub.

No luck. He rose once more and took his napkin up to the cash register. Ah, there was a pen, chained to the counter.

What to say?

Because he was standing at the register, a young woman of Asian descent came out, the same waitress who had seated him ten minutes earlier and had given him a menu. "I hope you enjoyed your meal."

Peter blinked at her, pen poised over the napkin. "Um, I'm breaking up with my girlfriend. What do I say to her?"

The waitress looked up up and down. "How about, 'Dear Bitch, I'm breaking up with you, Love, Rocky.'?" She shuffled through the order book. "Did you get the fish?"

"I didn't order. My name's Peter."

She dropped the order book and stared at his crotch. "Better than Dick, I suppose. Did you want to order?"

"No. I don't like Thai food?"

The waitress gasped as if she couldn't believe Peter's answer. "So why'd you come here?"

"My girlfriend's breaking up with me." Peter rolled the pen through his fingers.

"I thought you were breaking up with her?"

"Yeah. Uh…" Wasn't that what he just said to her?

Anyhow… Peter wrote down what the girl had told him earlier. 'Dear Bich. I am breaking up with u. Love, Peter.' He refolded the napkin and wrote 'Donna' on the outside before carrying it back to the table. "Can you see she gets this?"

The waitress at the register dismissed him with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever."

That was good enough for Peter. Off he went to find a pastrami sandwich, warm and thick with mayo…

Two minutes later (and fifteen minutes late) Donna walked in the door of the Lemon Grass Café. She looked around the empty restaurant and spat, "Oh, bugger! He screwed this up too."

The waitress was still at the register. "You mean Rock-boy?"

Donna looked up, her mascaraed eyes narrowing. "Yeah. He was here?"

She nodded towards the table. "He's a real rocket scientists. He left you a note. Get it, Rock-et scientist?"

"Uh, right." Donna tick-tacked over to the table and unfolded the napkin. She read it and let out a snort of disgust. "What a loser. That guy needs a psychiatrist."

"He needs a paleontologist."

Donna balled up the note. "He needs a what?"

"You know," said the waitress, leaning over the counter. "One of those people who studies rocks."

"Oh, yeah. They'll have to be a real loser to be interested in him, though."

The waitress ran her tongue over her teeth. "So why'd you hook up with him?"

"Well, I heard he could stay rock-hard all night long, and sure enough…"

The End

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale amid the suckage of the day.

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 04:51:18 GMT

Now, I may or may not get to this today. Life's quite busy today and lots of things have been going snafu.

Still, toss some words my way and I'll see if I can crank out a tale today while Their Ladyships are at Tap class.

meanwhile, if anyone knows how to install software from a .bin file on Linux, I'd really appreciate a clue. The following instructions from the company that makes the software don't work. And what the frell is a .bin file anyway? Maybe I'm showing my ignorance, but it's no compression format I'm familiar with.

Instructions:
1. Download the milup160_02.bin file, as appropriate. Pick Save to Disk at the prompt.
2. Right click on the file and select Show Properties. Choose the Permission tab and verify the Executable box is checked for Owner.
3. From the main menu, choose Run for the appropriate .bin file.
4. Choose Next when prompted by the setup wizard.

Yeah. right. "Run" doesn't exist on a linux machine. ~~Simply executing the bin file doesn't work, nor does apt-get.~~ The package manager doesn't recognise it as a package. This sucks.

ETA: okay, I was running it wrong. Instead of typing milup160_02.bin at the command prompt, I should have been typing ./milup160_02.bin. Really, I am thirty-six different kinds of idiot today. Duh. Program now installed. Whether or not it'll run waits to be tested.

Oh, and it seems the head gasket (or one of 'em, anyway) is going on my car. I won't even begin to tell you how much that'll cost to fix.

At least the fire drill at work today went smoothly. And Richard's new portfolio is up. There's some really nice shots in there.

Boomdiahdah! A lot more fun than Waldo.

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 08:08:19 GMT

Gakked from sartorias, who gakked it from asakiyume. This video can also be found on Where The Hell Is Matt?.

Bright little lights

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 07:56:33 GMT

For tikiwanderer, because she asked:

From The LED Light.

LEDs wired in series:

LEDs wired in parallel:

When I did mine, I did them in series. Easier for my purposes.

Yes, the legs on LEDs are different lengths. That's how you tell the polarity.

A total Heidi...

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 14:12:15 GMT

Gotta blame martinlivings for this. Why do I let him get me into so much trouble?

1. Heidi

This girl that is way cool.
Im going to the beach with Heidi on the 27th.

2. Heidi

A classic children's book by Johanna Spyrie, published in 1880, It won a Newberry Award, and is still a very popular children's book. I recommend it for children and adults alike.
Heidi is a story about a little girl growing up in the swedish alps.

3. heidi

A girl who is the cause of EVERYTHING.
Everyone (chanting): It's all your fault! It's all your fault!

Heidi:*crying*

4. heidi

Girl who writes Lit Professors about poetic sodomy, in the process demonstrating that she has enormous cajones.
The sanctity of T.S. Eliot's work was preserved today thanks to Heidi and her impressive hairy-bean bag.

5. Heidi

To yodel or yell out from a high place; to suddenly find yourself yelling when the crowd/music falls silent.
Every head in the Bluebird Theater turned to the balcony after she Heidi'd "NNnnnnoooooOOOOOOO!" over the sudden silence between sets.

6. heidi

When you'll sleep with anything.
Dude you should go for it, she is a total heidi.

I like #1, am ambivalent about #3, and the jury's still out on #6.

Now, really, I've got an enormous headache (unrelated to LJ) so I really shoudl go to bed.

It's a giant footprint!

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 14:01:32 GMT

This is chapter one of Troth of the Dark.

Yep, it's a giant footprint.

Compare this to chapter twenty-six, the last chapter:

This time, it's a fish, one of those angler fish that almost ate Nemo's dad.

I may do this for all the chapters for my own personal amusement.

From looking at these analyses, you can't tell I'm woefully lacking in setting.

Three Things.... First Question

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 08:49:35 GMT

silk_noir asks, "Diva Cups?"

Oh, yes. I wish more women knew about them.

One of the down sides of being a woman is That Time of the Month. Every woman in the world knows about pads (aka sanitary napkins) which sit outside the body and collect, well, You-Know-What^{1}. Many women know about tampons, an internal form of protection for collecting You-Know-What.

But not too many know about menstrual cups. The brand I use is the Diva Cup It's not a pad or a tampon. It's much better. I will never go back to pads or tampons again. Even if the Apocalypse comes and the whole world goes to pot, I will figure out some way of making my own menstrual cup, no matter what.

Essentially a Diva Cup is a silicon cup designed to sit inside, up near the cervix, to catch all of You-Know-What.

The three things I love about my Diva Cup are:

1. No Leaks. Ever. The cup creates a seal inside and catches everything. Even if you're sleeping, swimming or s...pending "time together", it doesn't leak. One could almost forget it was That Time of the Month (except for the cramps, the headaches, the munchies, the bloating, the attitude...).

2. It is taken out and emptied once in the morning and once at night. That's all. I've never heard of anyone needing to change it more often than that, not even the heavy "I'm gonna faint" bleeders. Busy day at work? No worrying about having to go change, or horrors! leaking through. Partying all night? Same thing.

3. Reusable and sterilizable. Sure, my Diva Cup cost me about thirty-six bucks bought off eBay, but the sucker's good for ten years or so. Mine more than paid for itself within a few months. In between changes it's simple to rinse out and reinsert. (easiest way of changing: do it in the shower.) Sterilization is easy. Being made of medical-grade silicone, you can boil it on the stove like a baby bottle. You can also use the Milton Method, or soak it in Hydrogen Peroxide (my preferred method) or even scrub it down with Doctor Bronner's.

I love my Diva cup. I have found it liberating and wish all women knew about it. Like everything else in life, a Diva cup won't suit every woman, but it would certainly suit more of them that know about it.

Other brands of menstrual cup include the Moon Cup, the Lunette, and others. (One of the nice things about the Diva brand is that they'll offer a money-back guarantee. That's how confident they are that you'll love it.)

Now silk_noir, you have two questions left.

^{1} If you don't know what, it's the shed endometrial layer of the uterus. If you still don't know, it's coloured red. And if those aren't clues enough, I'll draw you a picture later.

Three things...

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 01:47:42 GMT

...of which I wish I could convince the world...

1. My religion.
2. Diva cups.
3. Richard Armitage.

Pick one and ask me three questions about it.

(Yes this is a meme. Feel free to copy and pass on.)

Tuesday Ten-Minute Tale

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 12:31:42 GMT

Not as good as last week's tale, but I'm suffering from PMS this week. I don't write well with PMS. At least it's not as bad as when I'm pregnant.

Words:

callistra derogatory
silk_noir honeysuckle, tassels, camel, moonrise

Adira shook her daughter Miryam awake. "Shh," she cautioned her. "No one must know what we do."

The girl whimpered and curled up around her aching body.

"I know, I know," her mother said. "Your breasts are tender and your belly's clenched in knots. But trust me. I have something to make you feel better."

That promise of relief pulled Miryam from her bed. Adira draped a shawl about Miryam's shoulders and they moved through the stillness of the house. A soft snore from the other bedroom assured them that Adira's husband Abdul slumbered on. The smell of spices from their lamb curry dinner lingered in the air of the kitchen.

As her mother drew open the back door, Miryam clung to her. "Where are we going?" The cool breeze of the desert night swirled in around her bare feet."

"Silence. Ears hear better than eyes watch at night." And Adira said no more.

Miryam dutifully obeyed, following her mother through the silent streets of Al Qiad, though she did let slip the occasional muffled groan. Her first flow ever and she had been unprepared for the overwhelming pain, as all young girls were.

"Soon, now." Adira guided her through dusty streets, pausing at each corner, listening. They moved through the town, a pair of dark ghosts, until Miryam stepped in a pile of camel dung.

No sooner had she uttered a cry of surprise as the cold mass enclosed her foot then Adira clamped a hand over her daughter's mouth and dragged her into the shadows of a garden wall. A dog barked in warning, close by. They waited in the stillness until no dog barked again. "We must hurry," Adira admonished her. "Moonrise is soon."

Away they fled on soft feet to a richer part of town. Then Adira slowed, her hand now guiding them along a long, tall stone wall, broken only by the occasional wooden door. As they passed the fifth such door, a night thrush called out, but only half its song.

Adira stopped and replied, finishing the thrush's song. Then she stood and waited at the door.

Soft knocks sounded on the wood from the other side: three, then two, then one.

Adira simply laid her hand on the door. It opened. She shoved Miryam inside and followed so quickly the tassels of her shawl flicked up against Miryam's cheek. As soon as Adira closed the door, another shape moved out of the darkness.

"You are late," the figure said, her voice clearly belonging to a woman.

"We could not leave until my husband was asleep."

Miryam peered at the clandestine form, but could not identify her in the gloom. She clung to her mother.

"There's not much time--" the woman began.

"It will do," Adira replied. "All she has to do is feel for herself, then I can teach the rest at home."

This must have satisfied the other woman, for she did not reply but turned and led them by the hand through the rustle of bushes in a garden. The scent of honeysuckle filed the air, enveloping the women as they moved down a paved pathway. A fountain's soft ripple hid the sound of footsteps.

Then, louder than expected, the woman guide called out, "She's here."

The illumination from an uncovered lamp dazzled Adira's and Miryam's eyes. They raised their hands and blinked against the brightness.

Adira murmured in Miryam's ear. "The light tonight is not a usual occurrence. For our greatest strength, we must dance in darkness. We only illuminate tonight so you will see and understand."

Miryam looked around the courtyard. Women of all ranks filled it, from fine ladies to tattered beggars.

"There are no castes here tonight. We are all women equally, for we have all been equally cursed, as you now are." Adira gripped her daughter's hand, perhaps too tightly. "But outside these walls, all must be as it seems, and the lines must not be crossed. That is how we keep our secret."

Adira held out her hand, demanding her daughter's. Miryam gave it. "Do you pledge to keep the secret?"

Miryam nodded. "Yes."

From the folds of her shawl, Adira drew a straight pin. She jabbed Miryam's finger."

Miryam did not hide her pain but yelped openly.

Adira did not shush her. "Tonight we teach you of women's magic." She held out Miryam's bleeding finger and squeezed out three drops of blood onto the ground.

"Mother Earth, the daughter you gave me has returned to you. Succor her from the curse Father Sun placed upon all women."

Releasing Miryam's finger, Adira knelt down and placed her hand to the dirt. "Now," she said to her daughter, "watch and understand."

She rose and moved back into the ranks of women. There was no beat of a drum, clapping of hands or even the snap of fingers. But as if to an unheard rhythm, the women began to move as one. They started to circle their hips, long and wide and slow, moving widdershins. Miryam drew in a deep breath as the power of Mother Earth filled her like heavy water.

"We are Woman," Amiera explained. "We are the Earth and the Darkness. The light may come and go, but we will always be." The women lifted their arms and let them fall, moving snakelike. "Father Sun grew jealous of Mother Earth, for her women were clever. But Mother earth was cleverer. She let the curse fall upon them to keep them from further wrath and promised, that if we remember Her, she would lift the burden of the curse."

The circling hips changed patterns, moving in figure eights. Arms moved as the individual willed, some in sync, others in their own patterns. But the hips remained the same. "We summon the attention of Mother Earth and ask for her help.

"Men may be derogatory and think we are the lesser sex, but we are Woman and we have far more power than they suppose."

The women continued to dance, changing their hip patterns now. Some turned, others wove in and out, each dance tailored to each woman's needs.

Adira came forward. "Now, come dance with us, for the greatest gift Mother Earth gave us was to take away the pain of the curse when it falls upon us each month.

"But this time, we dance in the dark."

Someone covered the lantern, extinguishing all light. The women continued to dance, their movements a soft sussuruss of their rags and veils brushing against their limbs. The force of Mother Earth's power flowed over her. If it was like a bucket of water before, in the darkness it became a river.

Adira placed herself at her daughter's back and moved Miryam's hips with her hands. "Feel the power of the Mother and ask her to take away your pain."

"Please," Miryam began with her voice.

"No. Don't use your voice, but your body."

Miryam nodded, even though her mother couldn’t see, and began to dance on her own, just the simple hip circle, for she did not know if she could do the more intricate moves.

Little by little, the pain bled away, leaving her. "It's gone," she whispered.

"Well, no. The pain is never gone. It simply moves to another place. Mother Earth keeps it for us, for some day we shall need to call upon it again."

"What? We get it back?"

Adira chuckled. "Not as you think--"

A murmur ran through the dancing women. "Moonrise… moonrise."

"Moonrise," Adira muttered. "Come, we must go quickly."

"But why?"

"The moon is Father Sun's spy, and should He find out what we have done with the curse, His wrath…later. We must go."

Her mother dragged Miryam back down the path amid the other fleeing women. Once outside the gate, they all went their separate ways, Adira and Miryam returning home, slipping into the house just as the waning gibbous moon peeked over the skyline.

In the safety of the home, Adira hastened a pain-free Miryam to her bedroom. "Remember, daughter, that the pain of the curse is never truly gone. It simply dwells elsewhere. But there will come a time when you will need to call upon that pain"

Miryam drew in a breath. "I don't know if I could harm someone else, not with that pain." She shuddered.

Adira sighed. "Oh, my dear child. Today your body revealed you to be a woman. Tonight Mother Earth accepted you. These are but the first lessons of womanhood." She let out a sad little sound. "Some day something will happen to you, as it has for all of us--different things, but they amount to the same thing. Some day something will happen and you will be grateful for that pain, not for your own suffering, but to inflict upon another and willingly.

"Alas, no wonder we were cursed."

The End

ETA: Especially for callistra:

Mmm.... interesting. Suddenly I like this story better than I did previously.