N.C.

Another one

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Thu, 7 Sep 2006 13:26:00 GMT

"Sub-Tracks" just found a home with Electric Spec. It's been a good summer for acceptances.

It's luck or I'm getting better at matching manuscripts to markets--prabably a little of both.

It's scheduled for posting on September 30th. I guess I should pick up on-line journaling again since the editor just asked if they should include a web-site or some such. We'll see.

Web-Zine Debut(s)

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Fri, 1 Sep 2006 16:16:00 GMT

I guess now is as good a time as any to update the blog.

(If sounding one's barbaric--triumphant--yop over the rooftops isn't motive enough for re-awakening the e-journal, I don't know what is.)

Currently, two flash pieces are up: one at Mytholog (Daphne and Apollo), one at Flashquake (Atalanta Wins Again). I made another sale of "Night Transit" to OnSpec, and when that hits the shelves, I'll start crowing again.

[And if those links work, I get bragging rights over my new-found html assembly-ability--which I can lord over Marcel.]

History Class 2 (read 1 first)

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Wed, 3 Nov 2004 08:28:00 GMT

Remember when you were in elementary school and you had that bulky old social studies flash disk and you added your name to the data base assigning it as yours for that year? There were several files on ancient civilizations, an interactive program comparing what was going on in Asia as well as Europe up through the centuries before moving across the seas with a virtual tour of early American history.

Remember when you got to the file on World War III?

Remember how you played and re-played the program and then IMed your teacher with aghast emoticons? "How on earth," you sent in naive wonder, "could an entire nation support a guy like that? How could all those people let such awful things happen?"

Your teacher may have cross-posted thoughtful replies about mass hysteria or media spin, but all your final assessment was: Those heads of government were SOOOO mean! And those guys voting were SOOO dumb to just let the mean guys take over. Thank goodness people aren't like that now.

"No, no," you blogged in your innocent ethnocentricity, "We believe in human equality now. We believe in taking down tyrants who invade other countries to amass more resources. We aren't so easily fooled by media spin or tolerant of cronyism. We aren't the mean ones or the stupid ones. In our country 'freedom' means more than 'greed'. 'Equality' means more than 'money'. 'Breathable air' means more than 'corporate sponsorship'."

Thank goodness.

History Class

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Wed, 3 Nov 2004 07:49:00 GMT

Remember when you were in elementary school and you had that fat old social studies book and you added your name and the year to the grid on the inside cover marking it as yours for that year? There was a quick, single-chapter on Greek and Roman civilization, streaking through the development of Europe before taking a more leisurely chapter-stroll through early American history.

Remember when you got to the chapter on World War II?

Remember how you read and re-read and then looked at your teacher like he was insane? "How on earth," you asked in naive wonder, "could an entire nation support a guy like that? How could all those people let such awful things happen?"

Your teacher may have had a thoughtful reply about sociology or scapegoating, but all your final assessment was: Those guys in Germany were SOOOO mean! And those guys in Europe were SOOO dumb to just let the mean guys take over. Thank goodness people aren't like that now.

"No, no," you said in your innocent ethnocentricity, "We believe in human equality now. We believe in taking down tyrants who invade other countries to amass more power. We aren't the mean ones or the stupid ones. In our country 'freedom' means more than 'greed'. 'Equality' means more than 'money'. "

Thank goodness.

Moseying along

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Wed, 6 Oct 2004 00:05:00 GMT

Day 5
October total: 6500

Still in the opening chapter. Fraught with melodrama, yeah, but I'm quite enjoying it. I'm a bit behind schedule if I want to hit 50,000 words by the 31st.

Got a "no" from Analog for "The Resort." I don't know why I keep sending them the cynical stuff. A masochistic streak, that. I'm planning on papering the bedroom with all the copies of their form-letter that I've amassed over the past year.

Ahhh, rejection feeds my angst--and what's vampire-gothic without angst? Keep 'em comin' Dell magazines.

[snip]
He tried to extend his fragmented awareness out to identify his pursuers, but succeeded only in losing his way. He should be near the cliffs, surely. The roar of waves buzzed in his earsâno, not his ears, Elisabethâs. Where was he? He felt borrowed terror. It was overhead, back at the manor. Whose? Elisabethâs? The hunter? He couldnât separate, couldnât find an objective perch from which to witness the various spheres of concern. It was a great morass that engorged him. He fell onto softness.

Is this me? he asked the patterns beneath his cheek. But I am on the shore. I am in a burning house...

The altar room. The knot-work patterns belonged to the rug that covered the floor of that sacred space. It was appropriate that the place had drawn him in his half-lucid state and that he had responded to it, irresistibly pulled by the gravity of their union. It warmed him, despite the danger. Ah, Elisabeth...

As if in answer, she was beside him. He felt her sure hands again.

âYou were outside,â he said.

âHush, now.â He saw the splintered shaft protruding from an ugly gash on the outer edge of her collarbone. She was here. Vertigo gripped him as his thoughts were momentarily super-imposed with hers. They shared the recognition of place: it was the place of the ritual of her Becoming. And later, it was the place of Union.

And it would be the last time. The impression descended on them simultaneously. They both knew it with the excruciating certainty born of the Sight. He sobbed under the sudden weight of it. She knelt before him, her eyes full, and gathered him in her arms.

It was her Becoming. He cradled her in the same way she cradled him now, when it was her struggling with fear and the darkness of her own senses, when he could comfort her and she could trust in that comfort for all eternity. It had unexpectedly suffused him with awe to see her gaze up through pain and terror with such total trust. Awe and immeasurable gratitude.
[snip]

Day 3

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Mon, 4 Oct 2004 01:25:00 GMT

Day's total: 2000
October Dare: 4325

A good day of writing all in all. Despite my best judgment, I'm getting sucked into *caring* about the story and the characters. Despite the fact that I made it (and them) deliberately cliche, despite knowing already the fate of each of them, I'm getting caught up.

Why this is a bad thing: the whole purpose of word-count based writing dares is to just go, write, play with style, deconstruct grammar, splatter-punk paragraphs... It's the brief, intense fling in the life of a celibate. A serial bed buddy. It's not supposed to get *serious*. No strings. If I want to derail the entire thing with a "then she woke up," If I want to kill off then resurrect the bad guy, make him a pengu-phobe, give him a spaghetti perm and reverse his feet, then I do so with a flick of my wrist and a sassy [return] and never look back. There's world enough and time to lay down and let the MC walk all over you in stiletto heels and suck out your life force through your nose, but a self-imposed October dare is not it.

I'm such a sucker.

[snip]
He knew exactly where they were, and he knew where they were going. The retired gentleman butler had been out of service, out of usefulness, just long enough to be loquacious in his need to feel usefulâparticularly after the proper grade of brandied lubricant. He knew that he had caught the two off-guard. He wanted them to get a head start. Connor savoured the mood, the splendid suspension of an anticipated moment coming to fruition. If only that blasted priest would shut the hell up.

The red-faced holy man was shouting at him again. "Where is he?" he's screeched from the stairway. "You know, don't you?"
The priest approached. His sour breath assaulted Connor's nostrils. Connor wouldn't give the priest the satisfaction of knowing he stirred any kind of emotion in him, even if it was revulsion. Garlic, Connor thought derisively. You superstitious coward.

"What kind of game are you playing, Connor?" he fumed. Connor gazed dully past him. The priest's eyes narrowed. "Damn you!"

"That's not very pious of you, Julius," Connor said casually.

The priest's lips moved. Though Connor could not hear the invective over the din, he knew it included a shameful amount of blasphemy (for a priest). Julius shouted some orders at the throng, directing a contingent to this chamber, another to that wing. "We shall burn the monster from his den!"

[end snip]

Too much fun.

Day 2

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sun, 3 Oct 2004 01:55:00 GMT

Day 2--1325 words.
I'm actually starting at the beginning.

I only had a couple of hours today. Tomorrow I should be able to boost the word count. Everytime I start out on one of these, I have to learn all over again to throttle the internal editor and let the monkey-nancy ape out all over the page for now. Maybe the outlining at this stage wasn't the best idea (monkeys aren't into outlines--hey, put down that thesaurus!). I'm going for overwrought and in that, I'm succeeding.

Her lips closed over the gash. Thorn's energy ebbed from him through a single concentrated void about which his entire being revolved. He could hear the incongruously delicate sound of her throat working, swallowing his life force. He struggled to fend off the black shadows that swam across his vision. Then, like a slow explosion erupting from the core of the pain at his throat, pleasure seeped into his limbs. Arousal contended with his waning strength. It was all he could do breathe, to keep from losing consciousness. His hands plucked feebly at her hair, at the grip that held him inexorably to her.
The room spun. The arched doorways, the canopy-draped bedposts, the wall-mounted tapestry of Atalanta's race, the rosette carved in a solar burst on the ceiling, the glossy tendrils of her hair all whirled in a vortex of delicious, rose-warm agony.
Too much, he choked. Beloved...
Pressed firmly against her, he could feel her heart drumming against his chest, her fierce pulse matching the panicked racing of his own. It filled his ears. His knees buckles, and he sagged against her, surrendering to her power. She rode him to the floor. All the directions were wrong; the angles of the familiar room seemed skewed. Blackness reasserted itself with the promise of release, and he let himself drift with it.

See?
heh heh
I'd originally had this one envisioned through the camera lens and so it's been an awkward transition (keep slipping into present tense stage directions).

Tomorrow: high melodrama

Out of the Gate

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sat, 2 Oct 2004 00:37:00 GMT

Day 1 on my self-imposed novel dare.
(actual) word count: zip
words typed: 1500

Worked through an outline of this month's tale with the help of an interesting little bit of software called Drama-Pro. It's assisted outlings, a bit constraining in parts. Some of the elements in "throughlines" aren't necessarily the ones that best suit the tale, but answering them could be regarded as a directive, constructive form of brainstorming (or an elaborate method of procrastination--just get to the dag-nabbed writing, you putz!)

So, I gave it a test-drive. We'll see by October 31st if it was worth the day of not actually laying down a word count.

October-daring myself

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sun, 26 Sep 2004 23:50:00 GMT

Since there is no October Dare this year--like the one put on by Mike Jasper over at the Night Shade Book Discussion boards--I'm daring myself: 50,000 words by Halloween. Since I manged 25.000 on the 3-day Dare, it's a not-too-far-out goal. It's mostly to get me geared up for the NaNoWriMo in November (hoping to hit 75.000).

For October, I plan to work on a novel idea that has been kicking around the corridors of my brain since college. I figure a month of excavations will suffice to raise the dead.

Back in the soggy saddle

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sun, 26 Sep 2004 01:13:00 GMT

Ah, summer, it's been fun.

Autumn slammed into us at the end of August. Vancouver had two months of unusually perfect weather (perfect, if you're not a resident in forest-fire country). The more typical rain patterns came back in full force precisely when my parents decide to visit.

We stoically slogged through a hike around Lynn Valley. The next day slackened to a light drizzle for a Light House Park excursion in West Vancouver.
Then, they took us to Victoria where we escaped the downpour by taking in the exhibit of Egyptian goodies from the British Museum. We then headed over to Tofino and were blessed with a sunny afternoon at Long Beach. Unfortunately, M caught whatever bug was aroused with the earthworms at the weather change. I got to do some yoga on the beach while the folks beach-combed.

Being vegan, M & I don't eat out much. With Mom and Dad here, we got treated to places we'd never budget for. They were so incredibly generous and good sports: they even tried out a few exclusively-vegetarian places. We ate like royalty (blissed-out royal hogs, that is). I must have gained 5 happy lip-smacking pounds that week despite all the actvity.

M and I finally bought a digital camera for the trip (with the sequestered wedding money that has been tucked in an envelop since last September).

When I master the magic spell that allows one to post pics, I will.

Actually this weekend's been glorious (not Wreck Beach glorious, but pleasantly warm with only a hint of fall in the breeze). The 3-Day Novel Contest that a wacky group in Vancouver puts on during Labour Day weekend jump-started me into not only writing but submitting (the greater of the two hurdles, if you ask me). I bought a carton of 100 manila envelopes to celebrate.

Bliss at the sea shore

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sun, 20 Jun 2004 18:23:00 GMT

We got to Wreck early enough to beat the crowds, but late enough that the sun had cleared the cliffs. Already, the day was building up to be a scorcher. The water warmer (less frigid) than it has been all season--not as much snowmelt--and it was so clear! The drastic change in tides (a waterline that ranges from 50 meters from the bluffs to at least a kilometer out) and the proliferation of clam-beds usually stir up the silt making the water pretty cloudy, but this morning we arrived just as it was ebbing. We did our sun-salutations at the water's edge, our feet sinking into the sand the whole time. There's something really cool about doing sun salutations while actually facing the rising sun. Hmmm, think there's a coincidence here?

Afterwards we frolicked in the indigo waters. We tend to avoid the beach on the weekends and we were reminded why: by noon, the beach was beginning to look like a parking lot with beach blankets practically overlapping. It was a real scorcher. Standing on the baking sand for more than 10 seconds raised blisters. We added a new layer of cancer-brown to our bodies and relished every sun-worshipping minute of it.

Since we'd helped Norman (of Wreck Beach's own Stormin' Normans) carry down his 50-pound propane tanks on our way in, he fixed us up some veggie burgers on the house. (Why is it that though I've helped lug the heavies down a few times, the venders still insist that it's too heavy for me? Chivalry, sure, but this is getting insulting.)

Well, it's still a gorgeous day, so I'm off to the cafe with ibook in tow for some writing on the astro/eco-terrorist piece.

What you need to believe in order to be a Republican

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sat, 19 Jun 2004 13:14:00 GMT

Picked this up from LJ where it's making rounds. It's too bad the humour in it is because it's true. I wish mainstream media would circulate stuff like this more often.

1. Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a
crime, unless you're a conservative radio host. Then
it's an illness and you need our prayers for your
recovery

2. The United States should get out of the United
Nations, and our highest national priority is
enforcing U.N. resolutions against Iraq.

3. Government should relax regulation of Big
Business and Big Money but crack down on individuals
who use marijuana to relieve the pain of illness.

4. "Standing Tall for America"; means firing your
workers and moving their jobs to India.

5. A woman can't be trusted with decisions about
her own body, but multinational corporations can make
decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.

6. Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of
homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.

7. The best way to improve military morale is to
praise the troops in speeches while slashing veterans'
benefits and combat pay.

8. Group sex and drug use are degenerate sins
unless you someday run for governor of California as a
Republican.

9. If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents
won't have sex.

10. A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle
our longtime allies, then demand their cooperation
and money.

11. HMOs and insurance companies have the interest
of the public at heart.

12. Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound
policy. Providing health care to all Americans is
socialism.

13. Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer
are junk science, but creationism should be taught in
schools.

14. Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a
bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy
when Cheney did business with him and a bad
guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden"
diversion.

15. A president lying about an extramarital affair
is an impeachable offense. A president lying to enlist
support for a war in which thousands die is solid
defense policy.

16. Government should limit itself to the powers
named in the Constitution, which include banning gay
marriages and censoring the Internet.

17. The public has a right to know about Hillary's
cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record is
none of our business.

18. You support states' rights, which means
Attorney General John Ashcroft can tell states what
local voter initiatives they have a right to adopt.

19. What Bill Clinton did in the 1960s is of vital
national interest, but what Bush did in the '80s is
irrelevant.

20. Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country
is communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is
vital to a spirit of international harmony.

Direction

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Tue, 15 Jun 2004 20:48:00 GMT

Well, it's been awhile, but I think I'm ready to go extreme on something again. Moderation? Moderation is for transcendent beings: *I* still have several lifetimes ahead of me before settling into transcendence.

And the winner is... yoga.

During the last two years, which have been a cooling off period from the previous 3 years of hardcore... the thing I was hardcore in... I have discovered that I have more of a mind to write when I stick to the yoga practice. I'm too hyperactive otherwise. Scattered. I always had the distant intention of getting licensed (that amprphous *someday*) so, now, I'm putting some of those intentions in a more immediate vicinity.

I added Tuesday and Thursdays to the Monday and Wednesdays, which means a balance of Kundalini and Hatha/Ashtanga. I tend to prefer the Hatha for it's mindfulness, but I enjoy the spiritual aspect of the Kundalini practice (plus the pace keeps the spaz in me occupied). The environment is totally different too. MW is at the Y, TTh is at the Gathering Place, a community center downtown.

The hardest part of the decision was that M, being a hardcore college student right now, can only join me once or twice a week. I've gotten so used to us striving side by side then holding hands during relaxation that it's difficult to make the transition. [I missed you at shvasana this evening *sniffle*]

My body is already thanking me.

Winding down after the weekend

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Mon, 14 Jun 2004 00:13:00 GMT

We had a tough skate around the Sea Wall today. The wind was fierce of the ocean and M & I fought over who would play wind-break. I love the clouds over Vancouver, moody and delicate, looming and variegated. The gusts had the added benefit of keeling the re-opened post-re-construction route relatively free of pedestrians (most Sundays, it's a slalom course).

I'm at a low ebb on students and instead of using the time for my writing I spend it fretting over not having enough students. I've been able to channel that fret for the most part: I have my fliers posted all over the city. It's hard to keep up the numbers in summer. People seem more interested in recreation. Meh, go figure.

Most of the work has been online, essays and such, so at least I can keep us in groceries. Looks like B-day money might go to rent (thank the folks for having me at the end of spring--that's foresight for ya').

Westender published the letter. The Sunday Province had a single photo on page A5 of the BareBuns bike ride, no story. With all the cameras we passed, we're bound to turn up somewhere.

Saw the latest Riddick. Fun stuff. It reminded me of the first time I saw Flash Gordon (only the visual effects were a billion times more stunning). It might have been the name of the evil race-- Necromongers--or the conspiratorial femme fatale that gave it a similar level of camp. Either way, we were really glad we saw it in the theatre. It makes me wonder how anyone could have ever thought of Rambo as a bad-ass. Riddick out bad-assed him by light years in attitude and action.

Less gas, more a$$$

rowdy_phantom@yahoo.com (Nancy) — Sat, 12 Jun 2004 20:01:00 GMT

That was more fun than should be legal...
oh, I suppose technically it's not.

Despite the light drizzle, about 75 cyclists showed up at Sunset Beach to take part in the annual bare-as-you-dare city ride (www.worldnakedbikeride.org). It was timed to coincide with several other participating cities throughout the world. What a party.

Admittedly, I was a tad apprehensive at first. Wreck Beach is one thing, but riding around downtown? Yet once the idea was implanted in my brain, I would never live down the railings of my internal critic telling me what a cowardly skulker I was. The appeal being that as an inovative, daring way to protest oil dependency and rampant consumerism (nude cycling being free 'n' all), it gets us out of the rut of run-of-the-mill street marches. Another thing that I thought made it more enjoyable than the peace marches I'd bladed with: an absence of factionalism. There were people head-to-toe in body paint, wearing boas, wigs, sarongs, flowers, bike helmets, or just shoes and a tan. One unified radical silly voice.

And it reached the my-face-hurts-from-non-stop-grinning level of fun. M and I arrived just before the group got on the move, so we didn't have much time to entertain inhibitions (yes, we were completely sober).

We cruised right through the busiest parts of downtown and through the shopping district (Robson Street to Granville). Traffic stopped for us, and we had the right-of-way at every stoplight ("We aren't stopping traffic; we *are* traffic!"). The greatest part of it was the support for bystanders and people in their cars, honking and cheering, families with their kids laughing and waving. A few cyclists we met along the way stripped down and joined us. We crossed over Granville Bridge and Burrard Bridge (main artery bridges heading into the city from the south) taking over all three lanes of traffic. As we crested each bridge, we stopped en masse and lifted our cycles over our heads raising a chorus of cheers and car horns. It was glorious. I don't know if we would have had this kind of reception in Los Angeles.

Quotes from the rally: "Cars expose us to death; cars expose us to pollution--someone arrest these cars for indecent exposure!" (general chant)

"Less gas, more ass!" (general chant 2)

"Lose the oil dependency, biking nude is totally free!" (3)

"We come in peace."

"We're all artists, no one wants to lead." (response to a general okay, where to next? at a major intersection)

"I bet your outfit cost more than mine!" (addressed to the shoppers along Robson)

I can hardly wait til next year.