Every now and then I will be at a wine event with Kelly and someone will look down to the region below my chin, and say, “I know you, don’t I?” Or, perhaps, in a sort of questioning voice, they’ll go: “I’ve seen those, um, spots… before?”
To which I reply, “Oh, yes, they’ve been the guest cleavage on the Full Bodied Wine Blog a few times.” Because by they, you understand, the other party doesn’t actually mean the spots.
Anyway. My Sunburst Award arrived in the mail on Friday, to much excitement. I promptly threw on a nice top and went out on the deck for a photo shoot. Here’s me, unpacking the beautiful medallion with my usual ladylike delicacy, and then posing with it and the spots, in a more SFnal and less wine-soaked context.
First, it’s a Western featuring Viggo Mortensen, who can sometimes act and always ride, two things I approve of.
Second: One of my all time favorite movies is Silverado, and I’m always looking for something that has that same kind of goodness.
This is perhaps futile, given the bravura ensemble cast of Silverado–Danny Glover, Kevin Kline, John Cleese, Linda Hunt, and (in defiance of his usual tendency to fall into the worst script ever) Scott Glenn–and the awsome direction of Lawrence Kasdan.
The quest for another good Western Love has led to some dark moments in Dua filmwatching: Hidalgo might be as good as it’s gotten. We watched The Quick & The Dead with Sharon Stone, though I should admit that I did howl with glee at the sheer tackiness of its ending. We watched all of 3:10 to Yuma, Chaos knows why. And we made it to the dust dull what the hell end of Appaloosa too. We came away with a bad case of cineloathing and a realization: perhaps it’s the Silverado effect, but we don’t turn bad Westerns off. We turn off bad other stuff–dramas, comedies, SF–even when we like the artists involved. But not Westerns. What is that all about? I don’t know, but it’s on the To Learn list now.
What can’t you turn off?
Finally, Thursday THE RAIN GARDEN words: 927, for a total of 31441.
Friday: 1044, total 32485
Saturday: 1134, total 33619. I am happy with this rate of progress. All my characters are in free-fall now… I expect to have good momentum until they hit bottom.
It’s possible you’ve noticed that over at Favorite Thing Ever, we really make a point of being partial. Hugely partial. Don’t believe me? Well, my “review” post this morning is on my very own wonderful first novel, Indigo Springs.
Cough. So, yes. I’d written the FtE entry quite a few days ago, to drive home the idea that we seriously are a site of shameless squee. The Sunburst folks contacted me on Saturday, and asked me to keep it quiet until they sent out press releases. I’ve been on a cloud ever since. Now, finally, I get to tell you.
(I feel I should be humble and grateful at this juncture, and I am very grateful and totally thrilled… but humility kinda goes against the shameless squeeing vein.)
My book. It’s my first baby. Really, really, it is my fave thing ever… at least until the next one comes out.
Speaking of Sue, this is my sister’s adorable new puppy, Sophy, who is very very active and cannot sit still even if you feed her part of your own body.
Speaking, sort of, of movement–I’m up to 17,110 words now on THE RAIN GARDEN. I won’t give you the day-by-day, blow-by-blow but essentially I’m trudging through the middle act now, still at 800-1200 words a day. It’s that click click click up the rollercoaster, pause… phase. I’m thinking to hit the plunge to the end soonish.
One of my sisters is the sort of person who can go to Istanbul, head for the bar where she has arranged to meet some friends, and then get there only to discover they aren’t there because she forgot about the International Date Line (silly International Date Line!) and is 24 hours late. Sure, you’re thinking, anyone could do that! But this sib’s particular enviable superpower is to walk a block, look around the neighborhood, choose another bar, walk in and find the friends happily sitting there. No harm, no foul–in fact, much rejoicing.
I planned to find the Walk for Life through the same kind of jovial reckoning on Sunday. I set out in plenty of time, and was even on the train with a fellow choir buddy. But I had my mind on other things, and I lost sight of her. I ended up on the wrong side of the park, and by the time I got through to Badger to ask for directions and apologize, I was kilometers away. Like almost eight kilometers away, according to the GMaps pedometer.
So… no singing for me. It was a glorious walk. I saw oodles of purple sea stars, and an especially gorgeous heron. (I didn’t have my camera with me, but here’s his stunt-double.)
I guess you could say I managed the cheery laissez faire tardiness, but not so much the part where I stumble in, on time, for our next concert a day later. (I also bruised the tops of my toes because I was wearing singing shoes, not walking shoes, and I had doubled up my socks because I was afraid of being cold. How’s that for a neat trick?)