One of those annoying redirects

Well, Blogger is prettier than LiveJournal, but my attempts to keep both my blogger and LJ versions of my writing blog updated have failed miserably, so . . . all my new posts go here, to m-stiefvater.livejournal.com.

Thanks!

Farewell, Dutiful Blade

Farewell to a tireless worker and constant desk companion. My faithful $8 sharpener grinded productively by my side for two years before finally having a psychotic break and massacring eight pencils before killing itself in a grating spasm that smelled of burning wood and melting electrical parts.

I could say that I could never replace you, dear sharpener, but that would be a lie, as I'm heading to Wal-mart tomorrow to do just that.

But until that, work grinds to a halt. Bugger.

Just working, working . . .

"Nature Lover" - 4 x 9" colored pencil on paper.

Another work in progress sequence of a quickie (boy, I oughta get me some great google hits off that phrase). This sucker was probably an hour and three quarters from start to finish.

Again, the key to my technique is using the painter's technique of going from rough to detailed -- so I lay down messy color first, in light layers, and then with each consecutive layer, I tidy, until I'm where I want to be.

I had a pretty good day of writing today, and I'm not done yet for the night. I'm in the sort of doldrums middle of the manuscript where pacing becomes crucial and I have to keep going back to the beginning to check and make sure I'm still juggling all the balls I tossed in the air in the first few chapters. Still, I have a really cool scene coming up involving music and fey and I'm itching to write it. So I'm gonna go now. Ciao.

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The Black Tittie

Today I was Utterly Useless, as I was enjoying some one on one time with my hubby away from the kids. I got no art done, no writing done (yet), and I did absolutely nothing but enjoy myself, eat three donuts, eat one and a quarter steaks (I sent the first one back . . . medium means medium, man! get it together!), hold hands with husband, and pet an adolescent Golden Retriever.

It was a good day.

Anyway, I returned home to find my Jack Russell Terrier, Peanut, extremely annoyed at my protracted absence. As loyal blog readers will know (does anyone ever say "as fickle blog readers will know"?), Peanut is preggars. To this handsome dude. She has about ten days left and looks like she has swallowed a possum. She's so large, she now requires coasters half way between her front and back legs to keep from dragging. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. She does slosh, though.

Peanut's pregnancy has been an eye-opening and learning experience. For instance, I never realized she had a black nipple before, or, as my husband calls it "The Black Tittie." Or is it "titty?" Anyway, the rest of her udder is delightfully pink with occasional cow spots. Then there is The Black Tittie, which is not only black but larger and squashier. Really it's quite revolting.

Oh, and that's not all that's amiss in Nippleland. Not content to be a medical marvel because of her Black Tittie, she also revealed another sordid secret. She has nine nipples. The weird bump on her chest that I always thought was just something innocent, like a weird bump on her chest, turned out to be another nipple. If this were a fantasy novel, that would probably be grounds for declaring her a soothsayer and having her read our fortunes in her water bowl.

Now that she is large and nipplicious, Peanut has begun checking out possible whelping real estate. Hot choices? Underneath my husband's police car. Behind the sofa next to the lost Dora the Explorer paraphernalia. Possibly between the legs of my harp. But I'm afraid she'll have to compromise, as we have to in our real estate decisions. Her dream home will have to be scaled down to a cardboard box with a towel in it. Sound familiar?

So I'm pretty excited. I mean, as excited as you can be for an event that will invariably take place at two o clock in the morning, involve lots of fluid, and will create several more bladders in the house.

Squuuuueeeee!!!

The deal was officially announced in Publisher's Weekly so it's disgustingly official now. Look for my name at the top of the list . . .

http://janetgurtler.livejournal.com/51082.html

Tagged by Readergirlz!

Okay, I've been tagged by the over at myspace. I can't remember which Fangs, Fur, Fey writer turned me onto them, but I first logged on to read their chat with Holly Black, which was pretty darn entertaining.

I hate myspace passionately, as it takes at least three lifetimes to load each page on my dial-up, so the face that I'm going to be participating in any group on there should say a lot about their content.

Anyway, in October, they're doing 31 live chats with 31 different teen authors - big authors like Meg Cabot, Stephanie Meyers, and Ann Brashares. I personally can't wait to ask all of them prying, irritating questions to satisfy my curiosity and further my career. :D

Hope to see you there.

Body of a 25 year old, Patience of a 2 year old

The other night I began to watch "The Fountain" with Hugh Jackman (most memorably known for having cutlery extending from his hand-bits) and Rachel Weisz (briefly possessed during "Constantine"). For the first time in . . . well, a really really long time . . . I couldn't finish it.

I made it through about a half hour with my husband and family, struggling like a one-armed balloon seller to grasp at strings of plot as they floated by, before I shut it off. It makes me think of how different I am now from my teenage years. Now, 25 years old and wearing time constraints tighter than Paris Hilton's capri pants, I have a much different sense of what makes a good movie or book. Back when I was 17 or 18, I probably would've sat through the entire movie and said things like "it was a difficult movie, but beautiful. The passion was the only thing that tied together a challenging set of scenes and scenarios. I was moved."

Now, I say, if you can't get my interest in a half hour's time, I've got better things to do than watch Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz make out in a bathtub. SPOILER! Ooops, I said it too late. Sorry 'bout that. I say, 'scuse me, I'd like those 30 minutes back. Difficult and challenging? Yeah, difficult and challenging to remember that I gave up ten times three minutes of free time to watch high falutin drivel instead of writing or racing virtual race cars with my husband.

Oh, I'm getting old . . . and mainstream . . .