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What I should be doing: novel_in_90
What I am doing: reading a Snape/Lucius/Hermione story

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I slept for ages last night and I think it's a reaction to the stress of the last week. However, I must note that whole thing seems to have defused itself.

Unfortunately, I lamed on novel_in_90 but I'll just do 1,500 words today. I knw part of the problem is that I've reached that part of hte book where the characters are screaming "OMG how can you talk about this? IN public? Hate you!" at me.

My icon still has those weird white stripes. I really need to fix it, but am all drowsy. Tonight.

Have actually used all my "parchment" and need to go buy new stationary today so Patty doesn't have to suffer through another letter on primary colored origami paper. Also need to get two frames -- one for the art from Lunacon and another for one of the drawings Patty sent.

The buried car story gets weirder: http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/us/AP-Buried-Belvedere.html
"The contents of a ''typical'' woman's handbag, including 14 bobby pins, lipstick and a bottle of tranquilizers, were supposed to be in the glove box, but all that was found looked like a lump of rotted leather."

Jacqueline Carey is next year's Lunacon GoH. Which made me realize a few things. I should totally go to Lunacon with a plan next year, and now that I'm over that stretch of woe in which I was identifying so strongly with Joscelin I can probably totally read the sequels to Kushiel's Dart, except, of course, for the part where I can't in the midst of writing this book. Ah well, it'll keep.

Occassionally, I freak out that I'm Writing a Book. Which is really weird. Because it's not like I'm doing anything more unlikely or difficult than all the other unlikely and difficult things I have done. I am trying to equate it to writing it being like working as a non-Union actor, getting it published is like getting into SAG and having someone actually buy it and read it is like getting day player gigs. I already know I can do things like this. But writing is bound up in my childhood issues in a way acting hasn't been because I kept that desire a better secret, and because when I was young I always said I didn't have it in me to write a novel, except the part where I did write an awful teen romance all by hand in dozens and dozens of black and white composition notebooks when I was 14 and then my mother found it and her only request was that if I must write things like that I hide them better. In fact, "write more quietly" was a frequent admonition I received throughout my teens and early twenties and then I ran around and did other stuff instead, teh odd story and poem, the chapbook, etc, published here and there.

*shrug* We'll see what happens. I'm feeling daunted, but feeling daunted is the best way to make me say, "No, fuck you, I win!" So hey.

work now.

OotP Movie Release

Okay, Kali hates midnight movies, so we're going to see OotP a day or two later. I, however, love the madness. Does anyone out there on the friends list have a group planned for one of the midnight NYC showings that would be ammenable to the costumed and insane?

Thnx.

tales of the Female Jewish Crossdressing Gentlemanly Spy

For a day that can be said to have started with the Evangelical Children's Parade and ended with Neo-Nazis, it was a far more pleasant day than one would expect. That said, the world has been completely weird for a week and the usually chill anti-war tone of Union Square today was disrupted by, among other things, a small group of anti-war neo-nazi dudes arguing with a black guy until they all eventually decided they hated Jews the most and became friends.

I was sitting very close by and writing a letter to Patty (as her second letter to me arrived today!) and whenever they would Mention the Jews they would raise their voices much more loudly and stare at me. They called me a spy. And apparently all Jews are rich, gay and members of the upper class. I had to laugh at myself for having that internal moment of "class and wealth are not the same things, ASSHOLES." But really, that's a petty gripe in the scheme of the rest of it, but I couldn't really let myself even engage the anti-semitism and so forth mentally, lest I attempt discourse with these folks.

Then, and this is where it gets even more absurd, they start ranting about women. Staring, staring at me again. One man is doing all the speaking on this point. From him we learn that there is only ever one good professional female tennis player at a time, so of course they don't deserve equal prize money and that women can't demand equal pay for equal work because they are incapable of doing equal work -- they have niether the minds nor the bodies for it, and even if they did they're all a bunch of whores in sundresses who are not suffering like men in their jackets and ties in the dead of summer anyway.

I wrote to Patty and smirked, because here I had a thousand secrets -- my swords and my dance and my suits, card playing, epistolary habits and the like. I've even shot guns. Certainly, I know more about the gentlemanly arts than any of them, and certainly I damn well know how to behave like one better than any of them from their bigotry to their raised voices with poor grammar to their terrible fashion sense. So while part of me was enraged from the moment I sat down, part of me was trying not to laugh at my new identiy as the Female Jewish Crossdressing Gentlemanly Spy.

People with certitude, sometimes even or especially the ugliest of certitude, fascinate me.