The Disconnect

[handful_ofdust]

So...it's Runrunrunday, and I still feel remarkably shitty, as I have for some time now. Slept a very long time, had weird dreams, woke up with much the same sinus headache I'd gone to bed hoping to cure. Little writing done except correspondence, though some of that was at least interesting.

Yesterday, however, my contract finally came for A Rope of Thorns, so that's something. Need to sign one and send it back, sign the other and keep it. And I did some more Aztec-related research, which kicked up a few more fun monsters, plus a truly demented story about how Tezcatlipoca had his revenge on the city of Tollan which I think very much needs to work itself into the latter part of the book. All I'll say is that it involves him masquerading as a...city gate to city gate?...salesman who routinely advertises his wares by walking around practically naked, covered in bright green paint. God knows, I can see Chess getting behind that sort of action.;)

Oh, and now I note that the Commentators That Be have switched to mocking Gabaldon for having once sent the dude who played Jamie on Doctor Who copies of Outlander, which makes her The Worst Fangirl EVAR, because how is this different from sending Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki that mammoth Wincest mpreg epic you wrote? Uh...because inspiration isn't the same thing as imitation? (Shrugs 'til eyes cross, waves hands in the air) ...Yeah, I guess I got nothing; you don't want to understand, and I can't convince you otherwise. And vice versa.

In case you're wondering, though--no, I personally wouldn't send copies of A Book of Tongues to Ben Foster, for two reasons: A) I can distinguish between characters and actors, because I've been around actors all my life, and B) Chess isn't Charlie, so why would Foster be interested, in the first place? Hell, who knows if he even likes Horror, or Westerns, or black magic gay porno horse opera? Or reading?

(If I later come to find out otherwise, believe me, I'll be both surprised and ecstatic. But I'm sure not counting on it.)

Also, those books cost money, son, even for me. I already owe my publishers $90.00 for three extra hardbacks, and won't be able to pay them 'til my refund comes back; even at discount, I'm not exactly inclined to give them away, except perhaps to relatives. Which I suppose goes right on back to the whole: See? Profic writers are just petty little prostitutes! angle...

Oh, look at the time. Gotta go pick up Cal.

Comments

[handful-ofdust.livejournal.com]

Oh, it gets less so. Considerably.;)