Found this one at J-mo…
Which File Extension are You?
But. But. I don’t like Powerpoint! Le sigh…
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Karel The Schmuck
I just did something depressing.
I’m not the world’s most organized person. (Yes, I know I’m stating the obvious.) In my email I have a couple of folders for storing certain kinds of messages. The “InfoDump” folder, for instance, contains lots of useful tidbits of data… friends’ addresses, login information, that sort of thing.
And then there’s “Pending.” The point of that folder is, presumably, for me to place messages I can’t deal with Right This Minute but want to get to Real Soon Now.
I hadn’t looked in that folder for months until today. Oh, man. There’s a litany of people who have been expecting something back from me since, oh, last year. Damn. Chores undone. Whoops.
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
I’m down to a dozen messages, now. These are what I deem at least remotely possible to get done and still have the doing mean anything. This doesn’t mean most (or any) of them will get done, mind you.
Great heavens above, but I’m a loser. In the terribly unlikely event that anyone who was expecting something from me in the last two years cares to come and read this: I’m very, very sorry.
Argh.
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109 Carnivals (and counting)
Once again Jack Cluth has been given leave (of his senses?) to host the Carnival of the Vanities. And once again I was invited to participate. Being the indecisive (and unproductive) git that I am, I sent him a couple of recent posting options to use (rather than creating something fresh and cool). I gave him the option of opting out… but the poor sod actually decided to include me anyway, in spite of my glaring lack of interesting output.
Luckily he buried me far enough down in the (massive!) list that I doubt anyone will find me. That’s some consolation, anyway.
Oh, fine, you just want the link. Go ahead on, folks, and enjoy.
Carnival of the Vanities #109
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Weekend Trip North
I went north again this past weekend to spend some time with that delightfully snarky woman I’m so attached to.
Actually, let me back up. I spent Thursday night over at the kids’ place since Wendi and Erica were out camping (I don’t remember if it was a school or church thing… hmm?) and Alex was otherwise going to be left alone. Can’t have a lonely Spud, can we? So he and I got to have some fun boy-bonding time (gaming and other geekery fueled by pizza). Half the time I’m over visiting at the apartment it’s as if I’m not there, since the kids are absorbed in what they’re doing, so it was nice to have an evening where I really got to interact with at least one of my beloved rugrats.
Anyway. The trip. I brought presents up, this time: A new video card and power supply for her compy. Once those were installed (not without some minor fuss… nothing’s ever easy, is it?) we also went and picked up this year’s gaming addiction of choice. While we were out anyway, we also did some clothes shopping. See, I’m sort of light on wearable shirts lately. It probably has something to do with the fact that I only shop once every few years. Go ahead and roll your eyes, folks.
We ended up at the mall, where I found several shirts I actually liked the fit and color of. Since someone put their foot down about who was paying for what, I also (later) picked up a new pair of shoes. (My beloved Rockports were finally becoming completely unwearable… not bad for two years or so of good use.)
The train was half an hour late getting out of Seattle, which meant we got to stand around in the cold and damp on the train platform at Tukwila. Bleah. We did get to see a rainbow, though, and that’s got to count for something. I mainly mention the train ride down on account of the in-trip movie, which I at first tried to ignore and then got sucked into far enough that for the first time I actually plugged my headphones in and listened.
De-Lovely is an odd, odd piece. It’s a fanciful biopic of Cole Porter as played by Kevin Kline (who you recognize mostly by voice since his looks are considerably altered for the role). The movie is stylized and occasionally nutty, but also at times bitterly poignant. If you’re at all interested in Jazz Age stylings, you should check this one out.
And now you’re up to date on my life. Exciting, ain’t it?
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Yes, I’m still here.
I’m still alive. I had a very nice weekend, nothing major has happened in the negative side of things recently, I just sort of fell offline for a few days.
Content to come, really. Honest. Would I lie to you? Well, to your face, anyway?
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More stuff that makes you think twice.
And in case you were considering taking on writing as an occupation, perhaps you should think it through carefully:
Publishing is a business. Say that out loud. Even the chief commissioning editor at a publisher is unlikely to be able to run to you with a contract wriggling excitedly in her hands on her say so alone. The question asked of manuscripts in publishing houses the world over is not, ‘Is this good?’ but, ‘Will this sell?’ I’m not saying you should ‘write to be commercial’. Quite apart from the fact that I’d rather not write at all than write stuff I didn’t like just because I thought it’d be popular (and so should you – or why write in the first place? If you’re not doing it for the love of the thing itself, then you’d be better off getting far more money and far less grief working in conveyancing instead), it’s almost certainly doomed to look like nothing but terribly-forced tosh written because the author thought it’d be commercial.
[…]
The Internet. Writing for the Internet is entirely different to writing a novel. Also, anything decent you put on the Net will get stolen. Fact. So, if you think you can do a Webpage that will give you some kind of profile, fair enough; but regard it in the same way as you would running naked across the White House lawn as a way of getting publishers to take notice of you. Putting your novel online in the hope that someone will pick it up is doomed for so many reasons that it would wear out my knuckles to sit here typing them all.
[…]
Don’t introduce eighteen characters and twelve vital plot points in the first twenty pages. Yes, spy and fantasy authors, I’m looking at you. Readers can retain only about four characters and two or three ‘things’ in their heads until they’ve really had a chance to get into the book. Bombard them with more than that and they don’t simply forget the rest: they mentally collapse due to information overload and lose track of everything.
There’s more, but only if you’re serious about it. Or just want a good laugh, because most of it is moderately funny while also being insightful and informative. (Sheesh, I’m describing the document in terms of Slashdot comment moderation. Somebody shoot me now.)
So, who’s (still) up for NaNoWriMo, eh? Bwahahahaha…
Mil Millington on Writing