Random Thursday: Ninja Banjos, Mispronunciations, and Serious Roughage

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

It’s been brought to my attention that true “Random” Thursdays probably wouldn’t have related elements.

Okay.

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Seems Legit

One out of one Sunny Ninjas agree, in case you were wondering.

My husband texted me this picture, with the caption,
“Nobody better take her stuff.”

My reply:
“No one can find her stuff in that room.”

His reply:
“Ninja Stuff!”

Fair enough.

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Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

If you haven’t subscribed to Anglophenia, yet, be warned:
I have no intention of letting up until you do.

Siobhan Thomson explores the idiosyncrasies of Britain,
while occasionally poking fun at Americans
in a way that makes us totally agree with her.

It’s a gift.

 

For those who really want to know:

You’re welcome.

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Knittin’ Broccoli

Click for the pattern! It’s on Ravelry! What a shocker!

I think we’ve probably established by now that I enjoy the thought of knitting things
more than I ever actually take the time to prove
that I’ve enjoyed having knitted them.
And I don’t like I-cord.

But I feel an intense need to knit up a head of these
and perhaps give them out for Christmas.

Try to act surprised.

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Poor Wandering Banjos and a Smug Pianist

Since Boston in smothered in snow,

have two Smothers Brothers and the Boston Pops.

(Hang on until 2:46.  You will be rewarded.)

If you’re wondering if you missed the banjos, you did.
Because they’re NINJAS.

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A Little Duckwork

Behold, the first typed draft of Odd Duck.

It’s not an unholy mess, if only because I haven’t started cursing it, yet.  But as I wrote a lot of it in random pieces very, very quickly instead of chronologically in a thoughtful manner, there’s some organization to be done.

An alternate scene or two that could have happened, if I hadn’t suddenly decided on a different path, need to be yanked out and stripped down for spare parts.  Some scenes are cool, but belong to a different book and some are necessary but maaaybe not as cool as I’d like. It’s possible some aren’t written yet, and a couple crossed the time streams and belong both before and after their less wibbily-wobbly neighbors because my imagination is a secret Time Lord  a Möbius strip  a place of wonder and mystery  needs a new memory chip was working a few things out as we went.

I also have to replace all those placer X‘s and fly-by, bracketed [FIND OUT THIS LATER NOTES] with proper names and actual research—incidentally, anyone remember which episode of CSI—or was it Law & Order—traced the murderer through cell phone towers and CCTV?  No reason, just curious.

Yesterday, I printed everything out and shuffled all the scenes into an approximation of order—it took two tables, a stapler refill, and a few purple post-its.

The next step, I think, is to write out a outline-summary of what needs to happen and when.

As I mentioned to a snowed-in friend yesterday (Hey, indy—is the dog buried, yet?), I attempt to outline like I’m telling someone the entire plot of a movie over a single lunch break and am trying to keep them from running away or snoring into their fettucine.

We’ll see how it goes.

Onward.

 

Weekend Writing Warriors: Odd Duck (The Other Shoe)

Have a WIP, an EIP, an MS, or a published work you want to share on your blog, eight sentences at a time?

Want to sample other people’s WIPs, EIPs, MSs, or published works, eight sentences at a time?

Be a Weekend Writing Warrior!

Rules are here!

List of participants is here!

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Or if you’re a fellow Facebook addict (we can quit any time we want to, right?),
why not check out the offerings of the Snippet Sunday gang?

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PI wereduck Tom and American Swan Princess Leda are still having lunch, eight sentences at a time.  I don’t even think they’ve ordered yet . . .

But it’s become clear to Tom that she needs help—even if it isn’t his kind—and he’s been waiting for her to cut to the chase and tell him why she wanted to see him.

Turns out, it wasn’t entirely her idea.

 

“Daddy  thought I might be able to convince you to meet with him.”

“He didn’t think about asking himself?”

“If you go to him first, he’s in a superior position, even if he’s the one who wants a favor,” she said, looking into her glass. “Daddy doesn’t like even ground.”

That surprised me; I’d always figured Leda was more intelligent than Jackie claimed but I’d never heard her speak against her father before.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She lifted the glass to her lips, threw back the contents in one quick motion, and set it down precisely where it had been. “No,” she said, “but I deserve it.”

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I took out two sentences in the middle to make this fit the limit.  Not sure now if I’ll put them back.  I also combined Leda’s last line, but I think I like it better the other way.  These are the things I worry about when I don’t actually want to write . . .

Fun fact: I chose that shoe up there from a whole page of Manolo Blahnik images, because it seemed like Leda’s sort of thing.  When  I clicked on it to save, I found out the design is called “Swan”.  Dude.

Random Thursday: A Random Sequence of Wondrous Nerdity

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

Health continues dicey in the Wesson household, but there’s still time between coughs, sneezes and epic sprints to the bathroom to laugh, squee, and gasp at some pretty cool stuff.

Tablets and smartphones help, I won’t lie . . .

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I Knew It!

I’m also willing to consider that the role wears the actors, instead of the other way around.

Because I like giving myself cold chills, apparently.

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Soup Ness Monsters!

I don’t usually feel the urge to hug kitchen tools, but . . .

These insanely adorable utensils are available at Animi Causa, but they’re (understandably) on backorder until late February.

Like that’s gonna stop me.

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Does this come with the Mother of All Mimosas?

‘Cause I’d avoid the Joffrey Wine Spritzer, were I you.

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Fibonacci in Motion

Fibonacci’s Sequence, for those unfamiliar with Spongebob Squarepants’s house, is a string of numbers—or their spatial or physical equivalents—with each digit created by adding the previous two:   1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on.

Or, in the case of John Edmark’s mathematical sculptures, stunningly beautiful, especially when you take ’em for a spin.

For an added layer of cool, these were created on a 3D printer.  I know.

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I was Just Thinking . . .

If Smaug is trapped inside the Cinderella story,
does that mean that somewhere in the Lit’verse
Bilbo Baggins is matching wits against a giant Wicked Stepmother.
hoping she has a heart to hit?
And if so, whom do we blame?
Gandalf?
Sauron?
Misfiring Godmothers?
Unregulated Bibbity-bobbity-boos?
If the Arkenstone turns out to be a glass Manolo Blahnik,
Will all the gold of Erebor
Be enough to pay for Thorin’s therapy
When it fits Thranduil’s perfect foot?

 (Indy?  John?  Did I just . . . poem?)

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 Just say Moo

This video makes me unreasonably happy.

You?

Quarantined Until Further Naps, I mean, Notice

We’re not even one month in, yet, and 2015 has already gone viral.

Two Saturdays ago, poor Sunny went uncharacteristically lethargic, lost her dinner,* and spent Sunday sleeping.

That evening, Jane experienced a non-triggered panic attack. I know that’s not a virus, but the symptoms looked a lot like sudden-onset pneumonia, especially with her history of bronchial mishegaas, so my husband took her to the hospital, where she was given a Xanax and several tests to make sure her heart and lung were clear, which they were.

On Monday, she fell asleep in the middle of math class—in the middle of giving an answer in math class, according to the school—and came home to sleep off the residual effects of the adrenaline spike and/or benzodiazepine.

I had a blinding sinus headache on Wednesday, but powered through on Advil, caffeine, and hope until all three gave up on me around lunch on Thursday.

We enjoyed a day and a half of relative good health.

Then on Saturday, Sunny developed a mild fever after swim class and voluntarily slept through the day. She went downhill on Sunday—her fever hit 103F just as the medical clinics closed—and started bark-coughing between refusing to eat anything “scratchy” and complaining that her empty tummy hurt.

She and I spent a miserable night—she trying to breathe, me making sure she didn’t stop—and when she woke up Monday, she swallowed twice, tried to say “ouch!” and burst into tears. So instead of spending our day off at the museum (or writing), I took her to the pediatrician. He said she had nothing more dire than a severe sore throat and gave her a prescription for steroids to soothe the throat swelling.We also went the homeopathic route with chocolate pudding, Gatorade, and the final two episodes of The Librarians.Unfortunately, either the steroids or the chocolate made Sunny just a tad manic, so none of us could catch up on some much-needed sleep.

We all went to bed last night—from my text history, I was asleep an hour or two before I hit the pillow—hoping that the Time of the Virus was finally behind us . . .

. . . and then, about ten-thirty, Jane threw up.

If this continues, it’s going to be an interesting year.

How’s YOUR health?

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* I cannot overemphasize the sincere joy of having children old enough, and savvy enough, to clamp their own hands over their mouths and run for the nearest acceptable receptacle.  It’s right up there with pitching out the last plastic potty and retiring the diaper bag.