Who watches the Cow Watcher?

Well hello, didn't see that one coming: notes are made for tomorrow, when Tiger will be losing about 20 pages of bloated noodles: the juice will be recuperated for the next soup, and this broth just gets to keep the shitakes and the shrimp, all lean and yummie.

Shtuff

Championships:
did better in the poules than I expected. It is becoming a habit to scare women who are way better than me, physically and tactically, and then struggle against those I should be able to turn into minced meat with my eyes closed. And then I did it again in the elimination, which is stupid, because I was really well placed after that poule and had a decent chance of getting through 2 rounds. Some things you learn in training, and some you learn on tournaments. I've got a pretty good idea where I went wrong, so I won't be doing those things again next Sunday, on yet another tournament. At least, I will try. Because you can rationalize all you want after, reason don't help much when you're facing your opponent. So I learned great stuff and managed to keep my body in working order, which is a victory in itself.

I did some more work on Tiger on Saturday, between the bouts of the hubby's epee fencing, so also yay.

And Belgium still exists, though the air of cabaret and circus remains strong. We'll see what the week brings: more clowns, some good old-fashioned pillories, or off with their heads?

Split or Bust: the circus continues

Something more that you need to know about BHV:

It is only a problem insofar that the political parties want a negotiated solution. The Flemish parties can put the split on the agenda of the Chamber, and except when Brussels slows the process down (the last possible delay of a vote in the Chamber), the split gets voted and then the Flemish win. Because the whole keeping things 50-50 between a 60-40 population seems to break down at that point. More Flemish in the Chamber, they vote, and it's F: 1 - W: 0

Now, what bugs me is that the keeping of the old electoral districts in the Brussels-Brabant area did not come into existence without the say-so of Flemish parties themselves. But they're suddenly all defending the right of a couple of idiots living in Walloon-Brabant because land is cheap there and actually don't give a rats ass that they can't vote on Flemish parties. But we mustn't say this. Flemish rights are violated, so let's use our predominance in the Chamber to make it happen! The way Flemish politicians are posturing, it's like boys boasting before a fight. Of course those Frenchies don't wanna see that happen, hey, now, do they? Hmm? Hmm?

Speaking as a Flemish person, seeing as how the Walloons have already scored points in Europe on the protection of minorities (some grounded, some a bit far-fetched), I don't think it's something to gloat about. They are a minority.

Hence, for many years all parties have ignored deadline after deadline in the negotiations on BHV. Deadlines, up until now, never really mattered. But the Open VLD (Flemish liberals) have a new leader, a young guy burning to prove his worth, so at the passing of the latest deadline he pronounced to have lost their confidence in the current government, which you may read as: we're tired of the clowns making up our majority. So that's why premier Leterme had to hand his resignation. And he was smiling upon returning from the king. Remind me to ask my saber trainer what they put in the coffee at the palace (so yes: governmental crisis again, equals missing one saber trainer, again. Stupid frigging politicians, don't they know the Belgium Fencing Championships for seniors is THIS weekend?)

Now, all parties agree this tragicomedy of a country needs a serious reform. BHV was chosen as the easiest of The Insurmountable Problems to solve, sort of a toe in the water. Alas, nobody really agrees on where the reform should stop, and the rub begins with nobody agreeing on what problem should be addressed first. As the debacle has proven: not flipping Bay-Hash-Vey!

I say: we've come to a point where sadly it would not make much difference whether we have democratic elections, have the king chose whomever he wishes amongst the politicians to have as ministers, or have a lottery amongst all citizens to pick a few who get to govern for a few years. It just can't get any worst. Governing on the federal level has been one long terrible show of electoral posturing the last few years, and politicians, no matter their poker faces, are really bad actors.

Comical note of the day: after Open VLD felled the government, the French-speaking parties vouched that they were still willing to work on a negotiated solution. Then Open VLD announced they too were still willing to negotiate, on some terms.

WTF? How the hell can you defend a twist like that if it's not solely political posturing? I want a lottery, and I want it now.

Split or Bust!

Yay! Political crisis in Belgium! Again!

A few months ago I would have whooped at the mention of the government (especially the conservative Christian Democrats) handing their resignation to the king, not to mention it's the same guy over and over (well, poor Leterme's gonna be slurping antidepressants for some years I think). But see, most of the Belgians are somewhat stunned by this strange race of people that come and tells us what the important political issues are and then start fighting about it until the government implodes. Again. I'd rather pay to watch WWE on cable. Because, when it comes to the crunch, you have these two items in the list of recent news: "The King considers [the government's resignation]", and "1.5 million Belgians in poverty" (and there are about 10 million of us). Well, that sort of eats up all my glee-energy. Because really, this political war that is raging in Belgium is just that, and the rest of us have other frigging problems.

But no, the media will blow their trumpets and make sure you hear it, trust me, throughout Europe the siren song will be sung:

There's a war going on and it's the end of Belgium!

Now this war rages between the Walloon part (French-speaking Belgians (FS)) and Flemish part (Dutch-speaking (DS)). Point of contestation is a reform in electoral districts, the logical consequence of a series of modernizations of the state that turned Belgium into this weird haywire democracy with complex layers of government. We have the federal state, spread over three Communities (French-, Dutch- and German-speaking), and three independent Regions (Wallonia, Flanders, Brussels), which gives us six parliaments (Federal, Flemish, Walloon, Brussels, French and German), and then there are still the local and provincial councils (luckily we don't get a vote on the provincial level, Mein Gott!)

N.B.: See! It is evidence itself that we deliver Europe its first president. We're all about simplifying government! :-]

This democratic haystack means we have to vote for local government (city councils), regional government (Flemish parliament) and federal government, leaving European elections out of consideration for now. All these elections are a logistical nightmare for a small country like Belgium. More modernization was needed. We're a country of logic and reason after all [Excuse me, we are? Thought that was France, or maybe England. We're fries and beer, no?]. Laws were adapted, electoral district borders were redrawn to coincide with provincial, except in 3 cases: Walloon Brabant (FS), Flemish Brabant (DS), and Brussels-with-an-expansion, better known as BHV [or B-H-V; pronounced (but go easy in the diphthong) by Flemish as Bay-Hash-Vey (Oy Vey!), and by Walloon as Bay-Ash-Vey]

Now Bay-Hash-Vey is one of the many Insurmountable Problems Belgium has, and most of The Insurmountable Problems find their origin in a language border being painted from east to west over the Belgian territory. This happened in the time when women burn their bras and students were killed for peace. Flemish students fight for the right to have education in their own language, which is okay I guess. It lead to the FS university elite being kicked out of the Catholic University of Leuven (Louvain in French), and they built a new one in Louvain-La-Neuve. See, we're very creative people, us.

The language border leads to laws concerning democratic rule, since there are less Walloons than Flemish people , and some sort of correction has to be enforced in federal elections else you end up with a Walloon minority. That's how bilingualism works. You can't have one FS or DS politician too many, even if they are perfectly bilingual. Plus, we Flemish are very good at playing the underdogs because that's what we were for a long time and now we have this habit and pretend we only act this way because we still have some quota left from the past.The French owe us, dude.

Everything got split in Belgium, and divided, and every euro going to Wallonia has to have its counterpart going to Flanders. Tiresome, I hear you think, but you haven't got the faintest! We have French political parties. Dutch political parties. And only in the true bilingual part of Belgium it's possible to vote for French or Dutch parties "as you wish": Brussels.

With expansion of the Brussels district, this means that people from a small part of constitutional Flanders (Halle, Vilvoorde) can vote for French parties and that's not fair for the two districts of Brabant, but certainly to the Walloon part because the Flemish living there can not vote for Flemish parties. Hence, the Constitutional Court decided BHV had to be solved. DS parties, lead by the Flemish nationalists, read this persistently as: has to be split. FS parties don't like this idea of splitting without getting something in return (like for instance an expansion of Brussels to include the problematic municipalities "with facilities" surrounding it).

The!Au!dacity! We only ask for LAW being applied. Plus, expanding Brussels is a ridiculous idea: it would create a corridor from FS territories direct to the heart of Brussels, which still suffers from more than a century of Frenchification. You don't want to make it any easier for those Frenchies to take over your capital, right? I can see them already, those damned frogs, lining up with their hastily prepared suitcases, ready to march right in!

You are entitled to go "Huh?" right now; it is what most Belgians feel after a decade of debate and political arm wrestling and deadlines and compromising and as long as the politicians can keep the show up none of us will start wondering whether paying that legion of idiots (six parliaments, I tell you!) is really the best way to spend our tax-euros. 1.5 million Belgians in poverty anyone?

Now, adding a little note about that number of elections: they have different intervals so whenever we vote federal there are people who leave the seat they were elected to in a regional election to "move up ". It is an annoyance. A crying shame according to many parties, who when it is their turn, do more of the same. Except for the Flemish Socialists who manage to not even give their guy with the most votes (and the best track record ever, and universally named as the most competent politician in Belgian history ever) a seat in *any* of the governments. Because the party knows best. Besides, if the other parties can shoot themselves in the foot and gain votes, surely socialists can do better! Another reason to not really applaud the Belgian crisis: for the first time in my life I wouldn't know who to vote for and that's a big problem in a multiparty system.

Back to BHV: my main concern is not about language borders or that it leads to annoyingly boring debates about them versus us. But the bad government it brings on instead of leading to actually improving politics. A lost chance for politicians to justify the need for our myriad of governmental levels, by making the difference clear: you have your people for local government, regional government and federal government. Not that there can never be any linkage between them, but seriously, the distance from Belgium to Flanders should be as big as to let's say Antwerp. It means that some parties won't exist on all levels (which is already the case), and that parties are forced to think about what they are going to do when getting to the federal level, instead of saying whatever swings the vote. Like: BHV will be split! Tomorrow! Trust us!

The solution to BHV is quite simple, though it does not translate to the endless promises Flemish politicians made in the past about The Split: let Belgians vote for any politician, no matter what side of the language border they come from, in federal elections. (N.B.: in European elections, a level even higher up, language is even less important). This also sounds to me like the best way to ensure the most competent people get into the federal government, and it will force parties to take the different levels serious. The federal level IS bilingual. We have griped in the past about our Flemish federal ministers being bilingual and their Walloon colleagues not, and the FS are studying hard to address our sensitivities. There's no better way to motivate the FS politicians to learn Flemish than making it important to be understood by voters. Federal level, bilingual, anybody's vote.

If politicians can't make such a divide between levels clear and workable, I don't see a reason to keep it all.

WHOA! Loaded remark here in Flanders! But no, I won't trade my capital Brussels with Antwerp (Flemish nationalists sport the idea of " Belgium bust" and separation): if this circus goes on I'd prefer to revert to 1830 and be forced to fill out my taxes in French, over reverting to some mythical Flanders of 1302. Not simply because I'm contraire like that but because anybody not from the provinces of East- and West-Flanders understands those truly and historically Flemish dialects.

Explanation of 1302: The Battle of the Golden Spurs is the national holiday of the Flemish community, because that's when the poor (but not financially so) people of Flanders won against the king of France! With pitchforks and cunning passwords, as the persistent folklore goes: when a francophone tries to say "Schild en vriend" (shield and friend) he'll betray himself easily ("skilt en frint"). Sort of like the TH in English; you get it with your mother's milk or never. Now, the importance of 1302 in the war of the languages in Belgium is highly overrated: the idea that it was French-speaking against Dutch-speaking is a myth invented by Flemish nationalist historians of the past, and novelists. And who says literature ain't important?

In reality, large parts of modern Flanders were the county of Namen and the duchy of Brabant back then, and those two fought on the side of the Frenchies. While dialects from Flanders, Brabant and Namen all had commonalities that are still reflected in the modern day dialects (French as well as Dutch-speaking dialects!), it wasn't a real language issue, but, as it usually is, one of economics, and helping to drown your neighbor to take over his market share.

Put like that, if you look from a distance at my beloved country and look really well, you'll see we're not so different from the Balkans. Our lands are just more fertile and our neighbors bigger and scarier.
And we have fries and beer.

Oy vey, enough already about this idiocy. I leave you with the modern day Jacques Brel, the incomprehensible-to-Dutch-speakers Flemish dude who sings in Flemish, French (knighted by the French Order!), English and anything in between... The universally adored Belgian artist, Arno, who said it best with: Nous sommes quand même tous des Européens!

GREEN!

is the color of my envy when I read Juliette Wade's entry of today on how she manages plot complexity (and "jinx" please!), the sort that makes me snort and mutter: "sure, that how *you* do it," in the same tone I would mutter "Well, who wants a fire-engine red car without no fixed roof anyway". Not that I'm a car buff or anything, even if I'm not an idiot techwise. Cars are things with wheels that get you places, and that's sort of where it ends. Though, I do love my little Yaris, hm... Well, it's complex, in a lacking a penis way, I guess. Anyways, cars have nothing to do with Juliette Wade's entry.

I'm envious of people who can plot before they start. Or even those who plot while they write. Plotting is the territory of Cow Watcher, always nattering on no matter what I do. Like a thread on your pullover hanging loose: you know you should leave it well enough alone, but before you know it you have a ball of yarn and no pullover. With echoes of Bauhaus' In The Flat Field* playing on the background.

What she notes as point 1 (a written, pretty vague outline) and 2 (worldbuilding) happen inextricably while I'm writing. Quite annoying, because I have to try and figure out what goes where and why it would be better if X gets killed *after* Y makes a decision at the same time of typing words and words and some more words. In between I scribble something down; my writing notes are messy heaps of paper with post-its all over the place and little scraps of grocery bills I used to quickly note something down on while out of the house and not sensibly equipped for writing. This MO involves lots of Oooh! and Aaah! and Excellent! (with the requisite hand-wringing and evil grinning) from which I derive my basic writing pleasure, which is probably why I'm loathe to change it.

On the other hand, the complete clutter I end up with leads me to bouts of basic writing despair and lots of pouting at the computer screen.

But to tell the truth, I've always been a gall of clutter. Seriously, you should talk to my mother! Or the hubby, because things haven't changed that much. Most of the time when I lose things, after all these years of practice at clutter-free life, is when I'm forced to clean up the mess. As a kid, everything had its place in my disorder, and whatever you needed that was supposedly somewhere in my room (did you take the big kitchen scissors?), I could hand you within five seconds with a satisfied grin on my face. Untangling plotlines gives me the same weird fulfillment.

Cleaning up a plot (hey, I've come a long way to acknowledge that sometimes, yes, cleaning is a good thing!) is a somewhat delicate mission for me. Too much cleaning will confuse my sense of the storyline. How many times haven't I lost something after I cleaned up and put it in a very logical place! And, Cow Watcher makes it impossible to stick to an outline, and rewriting outline after outline without actually getting to the writing is ... silly. Silly silly si-ley. But it doesn't change the fact that it also makes me frumple my face and mutter in envy.


* where's the string that Theseus laid, find me out this labyrinth pla-ha-hace

Writing!

And then some; working on getting Tiger of Opal into an "official" first draft and I'm about 2/3 of the way. The translating is annoying because it fracks up any sense of actually getting work done I get out of a wordcount. Near the end there are still some pesky paragraphs to translate, but I need to straighten the plotting first.

What I realized while doing just that: I need a personal assistant to clobber me next time I have cutesy ideas about convoluting my plot. Seriously, I'm not organised enough in life to keep up with all the convoluting. I need to learn to write something that has a nice and simple plot and ignore the little voice in my head that goes "boring boring boooooring!"

I'm tracking the plot of Tiger to hunt down inconsistencies and it's giving me a damned headache. Which is probably why I've kept pushing this on the long haul. But clones and identity changes will do that to a person, and I need to be anal retentive about this so as not to confuse the reader, at least not without intent.

The End of the World is near

No really, just walk a bit in that direction and you drop right off!

Nothing much has changed the last few days, still reading too much blogs, novels, tinkering with Shtuff, with some added Necessary Things of Life that needed doing. So, still not doing enough real writing.

Spring is really here, with everything flowering and shooting green sprouts skywards, while the Icelanders are doing their best to completely screw their chances to join the EU.

My main problem this week (except for the not getting myself behind the thing that really needs writing) is that I can't do any gardening* this week because I need to spare the tendons for the upcoming weekend and fencing championship. This makes me sad, because catching up with nature's grow spurt is a bitch.

*gardening in my world consist very much of killing trees, trimming shrubs, and trying to turn loam into something manageable with a shovel: hard work.

Suicide Pigeon

I was going to get to work, really I was.

But then this pigeon did a not quite landing on the window sill outside, giving the sunbathing furries on my side of the low-emission glass a fright. It wasn't a full-speed smack into the window (actually Pipsqueak literally jumping up and then having some difficulty in putting her bulk on her 4 feet on the sill again made way more noise), but I kept an eye on the birdie anyway. It hopped around on the flat roof of the kitchen, looking quite chipper as it tried to nip at the bolts of the skylight. After a minute or two, I opened the window (squeezing myself into the opening to keep Gluttonus and Gluttona inside) and made shooing noises and waved my hand at it. The pigeon simply glanced up with its red-brown eyes, somewhat appraising as if saying "Oh, I'll give 3.2 for technique and 4.5 for execution". Perhaps it was tired of a long flight, so I closed the window again and figured I let the pigeon work it out on its own for a while. Both Steerpike and Pipsqueak were drooling away and whipping their tail in frustration on my side of the glass, so there was no real danger.

Half an hour later, Pipsqueak starts patting the window. Now, she sometimes has difficulty in understanding why it is OK to scratch trees and not OK to scratch the PVC window frame, so I turn around and open my mouth to give her a stern shout, and then just had to close it again. The pigeon had flown back up to the sill and was now engaged with Pipsqueak in some form of Miss Mary Mack. Unfazable, fearless, or just plain stupid? I tried to shoo it away, again, even trying to push it from the sill (hoping it would fly off and leave me to my writing damnit) and it just peeped at me like: "No touching the merchandise, yo. What sort of game you playing at, anyway?"

That's when I decided it was time to get the hubby to restrain the gluttons while I got the dumb kamikaze bird and stuffed it in one of the cat transportation baskets. We brought it over to the pigeon fancier ten houses down. It wasn't one of his birds though, he just glanced at its ring and said "Oh it's from Antwerp" so he was going to give it some rest and track down its owner through the Secret Registry of Pigeon. While we explained how we found it he was turning it over and checking its wings and feathers in quick and smooth professional movements, which makes you feel like there is some sort of magic to the whole pigeon racing thing. He also beamed an amazing amount of gratitude, which made me feel all funny and treacherous to the Cat God. It's not like I would be seriously angry with my cats if they munched up a racing pigeon. Maybe just somewhat annoyed that I'd have to get the bird's ring to the erm Guild of Pigeon Fanciers or something, because the pigeon racers are pretty serious here in Belgium and besides, the birdie is owned and as a long-time cat owner I know that any news is good news to an owner of free roaming animals.

I guess this suicide bird was making things simply too easy for the gluttons so I had to have mercy. On a bird no less. Stupid suicide pigeon. Now I'm going to wonder for the rest of the weekend why a pigeon from Antwerp was playing Miss Mary Mack with the cats. And if it will get back to its owner; I mean, do they have pigeon envy in this sport? And will it stay away, or will it visit again some day?

The Unbearable Lightness of Detail

My sinuses no longer feel like I've been eating grenades all night, so I should stop reading blogs. Blogs keep me from doing real work, because they tickle my brain and then I'll just have to write some shit about a subject because I like to hear myself talk, especially in an empty room. Seriously, enter a single person and I'll shut up.

The current spark comes from MCN's blog: on tie-ins, so there, I'll ramble a bit and pretend I'm alone in this room.

I've never read a tie-in, or fanfic, or whatever. They have intrigued me over decades, but I never got round to picking one up, and not always because there was a snooty friend with snooty remarks standing right next to me. The thing withholding me from reading tie-ins is twofold:
1) it's a series, and when I read A, I know I'll just have to read B no matter what the quality of writing/storytelling/worldbuilding/yadda. Or, more wearying, if I read K, I'll want to read L *and* A. Choices! [sigh] I'm not good with choices. And no, even if it are separate stories strung out through time and produced in no specific order I must have some sort of order (no order equals more choices!), either chronological in written time or chronological in write time.
2) most of my series-quota goes to television series. Not that I watch tremendously much television, but I do have some series I follow. And when there's not enough television series, I'll go on a DVD binge and say watch all of BSG in a long weekend or some such. Because A=> B => C until my brain shuts down. It's sort of like giving me a box of delicious cookies and I'll just have one. Ha. And another. And then another to unlearn the bad habit. And well, that one just looks lonely now...

Both points together make that: to go on a binge I need to have everything on hand and in order. Believe me, you did not want to see me after my BSG-thon where I realized I had to wait for Season 4! Like, a whole summer!
So before I open the tie-in can of worms, I think, I should read Pratchett. Yes, he's one of my gaps. And since I put the library in order yesterday, I know exactly how big a gap it is.

As to writing tie-ins: when I was young I made up fanfic for Les Chevaliers du Zodiaques (Saint Seya for ye English types). I invented new characters, made sure every little detail matched up or was accounted for. It was fun and immensely gratifying, even if I never wrote down more than three sentences (all the rest is still stocked somewhere in a dark recess of my brain).
And when ST:TNG and more came along, Cow Watcher started churning out cool story lines, even if I would not hear of it because I was into *serious* literature then. No, no tie-ins! By the time I thought like it might be fun to try anyway, there were already walls filled with ST:TNG tie-ins and the idea became too daunting.

Daunting because we're talking fans as a reader base. And we all know where the word fan comes from. Add to that: fans are alien creatures to me, because I completely lack the gene for fanaticism. Sure, the dude knows how to make music and I'll probably buy every CD he cranks out, but why would that make me interested in his favorite food or make me want to have his babies? Simply incomprehensible.
Daunting in no lesser way because it must be a tremendous job to write a tie-in, with all the little details you have to take into account. Unless it's your particular geek-world, I'm thinking lots of hours of studying, and editing and re-editing. And then editing some more. Somebody out there might go "The Death Star's thermal exhaust port's above the main port, numb-nuts" and the core of your superb action finale comes crashing down.

But then, looking around on the web, you even get crazy fanatics like that if its your own original fiction, and not only in the hard SF section of readership. I fear it. It scares me, how do you deal with stuff like that?

And then I take a big gulp of air and realize that whatever hairsplitting nitpickers might throw at me (once I do get published, and do get readers that might harbor one of those creeps), it's my party and I do what I want to. The thermal exhaust port's above the main port, you say? Well, *I* am using the Empire's revised designs from Return of the Jedi, nana nana naa naah! (Every time I see that Buffy scene it makes me cringe with fear and cry with joy at the same time).
It is the sort of problem solving that's inherent to the writer's toolbox, I guess, and it makes excellent subplots (well, sure, you'd think it's impossible for this guy to survive, but what you don't know, dear reader, is that he's part Frugnithal, and those aliens have yadda yadda...). Or changes to the basic plot (which is usually somewhat more annoying a problem than weeding out a splurge of subplots).
You solve the problem by giving the reader something to help suspend belief. Okay, the real die-hard nitpickers might not be so easily swayed, but they can and will be challenged to a saber fight.

See, back at the time I was watching reruns of reruns of Les Chevaliers (and Goldorak, Albator, Capitaine Flam, Dragonball) I also watched the one soap that will not die. Yes, I used to be a closet The Bold & the Beautiful watcher. I exhausted the excuse that I was a serious couch potato and simply could not help myself staring at the box with the little people in it, that I was waiting for Dragonball to come on, or whatever. Not only was I ashamed to admit I enjoyed watching this ... pulp ... people scorned me (gently) for it.

Only years later I realized that a lot of what I know about storytelling (especially concerning emotional yanking of chains and cliffhangers) I learned from watching B&B. They perfected the Art of Belief-Suspension. Studying how they fooled and lured me as a watcher was a great school. When done well, suspension of belief is a magic trick, because, seriously, how many times can she miraculously return from the dead to seek revenge on Stephanie Forrester? You make sure your reader is "in" your story, i.e. emotional involved *and* invested, and the reader will go and instantly forgive&forget whatever needs to be f&f'ed.
But then, also, suspension of belief only works as long as your audience is immersed and emotionally invested. When the TV goes off, and your audience goes: not her, not again? Where's Buffy when you need her? you might want to consider that particular horse dead and flogged.

Alright, end ramble. Need food.

Dear Easterbunny

Thank you so much for ignoring my plea concerning time, because obviously I am a fool and do not understand what makes a great gift.
Luckily you are so much better at inventing Great Gifts!
So really, thank you very much for this wondrous occasion in which I can experience the fun of having a cold of the very runny-snot-variant AND hay fever.
You see, as a writer, I'm always on the lookout for new experiences, and I was in dire need of knowing how my head would feel if ever I ate a hand grenade. One more item to strike off my list, yay!
I cannot thank you enough, bunny! Especially the snot + sneeze moments are hilarious. My monitor agrees, as do my cats. Fun fun fun.



Mental note: ask Santa to kill all trees, shrubs, grasses, grains and flowers.

I hate sockbooze + Holy Cow, wtf?

Because rewriting queries and synopses to fit the parameters makes me think about "what the hell is this novel about" and then I get all these crazy ideas about how to make it even better and surely I could do a rewrite of a couple of chapters to make sure this or that theme sparkles and dazzles* and--oh happenstance--also easier to write the flipping query/synopsis.

* sorry, been procrastinating by reading about Twilight during breakfast and seem to have picked up some bad habits. Meanwhile the Cow Watcher has snatched up some stuff from there and relayed pages and stored it with all the other scary behavior on the internet stuff.

And to think only this morning I was trying to figure out why a very special cow was suddenly at the center of my dream that was about a cool labyrinthine old house with huge garden the hubby's parents bought (because they have nothing else to do with their money) for us (because they love us bestest) and we threw this party (with a conspicuous amount of ex-colleagues of mine being present: wtf?) which was cool until it started to rain very hard (yes, even in dreams it is April) and the rain soaked through the roof (did I mention "old"?) which fucked up the beautiful interior (did I mention "cool"?) so we had to go out into the garden because the ceiling was all getting limp (don't you dare go Freud on me!) and the party was turning into a real deluged Ark-fest while I was still trying to figure out how to tell the in-laws we messed up the pretty gift (because, yea, in my dreams I am the goddess of wrath and weather, or something)(I blame Storm imprinting (* again) because I was such a geeky Xmen fan). Then, while I'm trying to get people to stop their end-of-the-world freak (of course I'm a natural leader, because... just coz, 'kay?), some of them told me there was this cow I had to save (ixnay on the Eud-Fray) and it was this almost like a holy cow so really, saving in order! And when I found it, it was long haired with long, almost straight horns, something like this but more slender and elegant and beautiful (perhaps it had weird powers like charm and glamor?). Okay, it also might have been a long haired horse with straight horns and an udder. Actually, didn't see much udder because of the long hair (love it when everything comes together like that). But there was also a second cow, just a regular one, the black-and-white variant and slow and fat and stupid as normal cows and not speaking telepathically (uh, that I did forget to mention, 'ey), and I nearly saved that one but that was the Wrong One and somehow a flash of Denis Leary (see quote here) passed through the dream at that moment and then it got really confusing with rain and cows and people and the in-laws about to visit.

So Holy Cow, WTF?

But the house was real nice (real real nice, sort of like wish-it-were-true nice, though I probably wouldn't fuck up a nice gift with a deluge in the real world). And the garden was real nice too, and I'm especially in love with the colors of the world in the deluge scenes, you know that sort of bluish twilighty predawn light that gives extra luminosity to pale colors? Love it. If the light hadn't been that extra special I probably would have decided that being awake would be a better idea.
Extra points for the art director and the director of photography. Seriously, gold stars all round.