Saturday, December 31, 2011
Damson started out, aside from a comic book idea that had been percolating in my brain for a while, as a way to get the word out about the Protectors anthology, a collection of stories set in a world I created and shared with a bunch of my best writer friends. Some of the writers are folks who've been writing for years, comics and video games mostly. A few are sci fi and fantasy writers that are just getting started, with only a few short story sales under their belts.
None of us have big known names, but we created an awesome new kind of storytelling, where characters created by one author could walk into other stories and interact with characters created by someone else. It has the variety and creative range of an anthology, with the continuity and character depth of a novel.
Characters like Liberty, the Elvis Avenger, Remedy, Lord Vile, TakeDown, Death, Scythe and the Devastator will be familiar to Damson Dragon readers, and also have starring roles in their own stories in the Protectors anthology.
We've gained a few better known writers on the project as it's gotten close to completion. I've still got one or two authors working on their stories, and a few artists doing illustrations, but it's nearly there.
Here's a fun illustration done by the young son of one the Protectors authors. We're not published yet, but aleady we have fan art:
In the meantime, Damson Dragon has gained a life of her own. Her story has come to a sort of conclusion, but I've still got tons of interesting complications in store for her. Watch here for out of character background info on the various stories. I've decided to package up the Diary so far as an ebook, probably called Damson Dragon Diary: Definition of a Hero. So, watch for that coming soon.
And in the meantime, one story from the Protectors anthology by Alan J. Porter and Rick Klaw is being serialized on New Pulp "Nameless Here For Evermore" It's a very cool story set around WW II era when hero groups like the Alliance were just being formed and supes were still in the closet.
I'm planning on shifting some things around a bit in my on line presence for the new year. Lots more activity on this blog, maybe a new web page coming soon. I mainly just wanted to say thanks to all the folks who've been reading and enjoying the Damson Dragon Diary and telling their friends. It's hugely appreciated, both by me, and my favorite dragon EMT.
See y'all next year!
Paige E. Ewing
Sunday, December 11, 2011
For the first hour or two after you get edits back, the editor is an ignorant moron lower than pond slime who deserves to be stabbed to death with a dull pen. It is at this point that, for the sake of your career and your continued freedom, you should avoid talking to or even being within long range sniper rifle range of your editor.
You then sit back down at your computer and go over the story, re-reading sections that have ugly scars of red smeared on them by that incompetent jerk. A sentence that made perfect sense to you when you wrote it, the stupid boob says is confusing. You read it and realize, you're not entirely sure what it was supposed to mean in the first place. Okay, maybe that one bit could stand to be changed a little. And this part is perfectly, oh, yeah, I guess I did forget to put a verb in that sentence. And this seemed logical to me before, but how exactly did the six foot six hero fit through the two foot wide drainage tube?
At that point, you think maybe the editor is a semi-intelligent life form and you might even want to thank him later for catching a few obvious glaring errors. You go back and re-read his suggestions with a different eye, and realize, hmm, maybe this really might be better if I cut back on the exposition at the beginning, and add a bit more action at the end. By the time you're through with your revisions, and you read your new, smoothly flowing, grammatical error free manuscript, that editor is a really sharp guy, and deserves a pat on the back next time you see him.
Then, you make the mistake of going back and reading your initial draft that you sent to the editor in the first place. It is at that point that a writer must suppress the urge to call the editor and tell this unbelievably brilliant gift from the almighty creator, this genius paragon of verbal kung fu, that you want to bear his or her love child.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Some things just won't wait.
This past weekend, after 2 years of near misses and watching on line as other folks sqeee'd about how awesome it was to see Christian Kane at a live concert, or meet him in person, I got my chance. I'm working in Raleigh, NC this week, and CK was playing, not one, but 2 concerts, Fri and Sat in NC.
I drove an hour and a half to get to the Fri concert. I knew I'd have a long drive late at night to get back to my little apt in Raleigh where I stay when I'm working on this project. So, I limited myself to one beer. But I didn't bring cash and they wouldn't run my card for less than 10 bucks. I know CK drinks Jack Daniels. Every CK fan knows that. So, I bought a double shot of JD. No way I was going to drink it, I'd be likely to wrap my car around a tree going home, but it did have a nice smokey scent.
My little gamble paid off. I was about third person back from the center stage. When CK got to the song, Whiskey in Mind, he asked the audience if anyone had any whiskey. I stepped up and handed it to him. Yes, his fingers brushed mine. Fangirl sigh.
He took a tiny sip and went to hand it back, but I told him it was his. I'd bought it for him after all. He looked at the cup kind of dubiously and set it down. Some other folks gave him little airplane bottles of a different kind of whiskey, and he thanked them profusely. Said they were lifesavers. He drank all of it, including mine eventually, one slug at a time in between songs. He usually brings his own bottle of Jack, but he didn't this time. He uses the alcohol to keep his voice clear. His voice was undoubtedly awesome, but the sound system was a bit hinky and up that close, the speakers practically deafened me.
I really didn't give a damn. I had an absolute blast, even though I was on my feet for 5 hours straight, most of it dancing my ass off, in brand new boots with no insoles. My feet felt like they'd been beat with hammers by the end, but I barely noticed while I was there.
I met a bunch of fellow Kaniacs, including some folks I knew from Twitter and such. Every one of them said they were going to the concert the next night in Raleigh, too. And they did. It was cool seeing familiar faces. One nice lady who stood next to me in Winston-Salem had her meet and greet pass. She was a nervous wreck. She'd been waiting 10 years to meet him.
The next night, it was my turn to be a nervous wreck. I arrived 10 mins after the doors opened, meet and greet pass in hand. I was so nervous my hands were shaking and I kept dropping things, and all those ladies I'd met the night before were there ahead of me. They let me get up front and sit on the stage while we waited for the concert to start, in order to save my aching feet for the dancing to come, and they saved my spot four people back from center stage while I went upstairs to wait my turn to meet CK.
Just by coincidence, I was third in line for the meet and greet. Then the lady who was first had to leave. A blind girl was the only one in front of me. She was signing along with one of the songs. I told her I used to teach at the Texas School for the Deaf. She said her sign skills weren't as good as they used to be. As her vision faded, she couldn't follow what other people said anymore. They moved too fast.
The girl behind me was showing off a bunch of very cool tattoos in a pretty dress, and all but dancing in place, not because she was excited, but because she had to go to the bathroom desperately. She absolutely refused to yield her place in line for a mere potty break, though.
The opening act started playing downstairs and I saw the man himself standing not 20 feet away right by the upstairs speakers. Someone said that CK was just over there, and the blind girl heard it. She asked me if it was really him, and was all nervous about being first. I told her, yup, it was really him. She said, "I can't see that far anymore." I grinned and told her, "You'll be a lot closer in a few minutes."
But the security guy still held us back, while letting a bunch of other folks through. I remembered that the website had said local radio station VIPs and contest winners would get to go first. No big, they must really want to meet him too. We'd get our turn. They milled around, then lined up in front of us. The last lady ended up right in front of me and the blind girl who had been chit-chatting with me.
The lady said, "I'm just along for the ride. My boyfriend works for the radio station. So, who is this guy anyway?" And I wanted to slap her. I realized all those folks in front of us had no idea who CK was and were just networking. Oy.
After a few minutes, that lady in front of us, watching CK shaking hands with strangers with a forced smile, said, "He's just cute as a damn bug, aint he?"
Heh, you have no idea, lady.
Finally, the radio execs and their friends left and the blind girl went up, all nervous and babbling.
I'd been sitting on the floor about half meditating a fair amount of my wait time, so I could chill out, stop dropping things and stumbling over myself, and behave a bit more like a human.
Then it was my turn. I set my stuff down on the table and turned to CK.
He stuck his hand out, wearing signature fingerless gloves and said, "Hi, I'm Christian Kane." Oy. He'd met a few too many networking execs who had no clue who he was.
I laughed, hugged him and said, "Darlin, I know."
He laughed too, and gave me a quick hug.
I told him I was Paige, and he had me repeat it. The band was loud and we were shouting into each others ears to hear. We posed for the picture. Snap, flash.
He stood stiff until it was done, then relaxed and asked me, "What have you got here?"
I picked up the folder I'd brought and pulled out the color portrait I'd done of him.
I told him I'd drawn it and I'd like it if he'd sign it. He spent a few seconds just looking at it. If I'd not been so spazzed, I'd have asked him what he thought of it, but I didn't really give him a chance to comment.
He signed it, and I put it back in the folder and thanked him. (It's already in a frame. Squeee!)
Then I gave him a copy of one of my books. This is one I wrote under a different name, a very wild book of vampire erotica. I'd already signed it "To my favorite kind of knight." I told him, "I know you travel around a lot and figured you could use something to read." I also figured since he has to sign stuff for other folks all the time, I should return the favor. I know he gets all kinds of stuff from folks that he doesn't need. The blind girl gave him a monkey toy with flashing lights in it, but he was gracious anyway.
He looked at the book and said, "Thank you."
"It's pretty wild," I warned him.
He grinned. "I like it that way."
As I collected my stuff and my jacket, I half shouted into his ear to be heard, "I've got to ask you one question. What's your favorite kind of whiskey?"
He said, "Well, everyone knows I'm a Jack Daniels man, but I also really like a good #### when I can get it." I totally missed it. There was too much noise and he'd ducked his head a little like he was embarrassed. So, sorry, I can't tell you what kind of whiskey he likes even better than Jack.
"I gave you a shot of Jack last night."
He laughed. "I know."
"I wondered because you didn't seem to like it."
"Well, I just never know when someone hands me something like that. I have to be careful."
"That makes sense." Of course, I could have been some psycho. I could have slipped him a rufi or something. Now I get why he preferred the still sealed bottles even though they were the wrong brand and clearly snuck into a bar.
"Well, I'll see you down there."
So, that was my meeting with Christian Kane. He was gracious, self-effacing, sweet, considerate, and generally just awesome. Not to mention incredibly attractive and built to make greek statues jealous, although the lighting sucked up there. He was also a bit shorter than I expected. I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.
The sound was far better at the venue in Raleigh, the City Limits Saloon. I'd been there dancing before. They have line dancing classes on Fridays that one of these days I'll make it to. The sound was, in fact, fabulous. Cool place.
One unique aspect of the City Limits Saloon is a close line strung from the second floor balconies above the dance floor. It has bras on it. All kinds of bras. They'd been shoved over to one side so they wouldn't block the stage view of the folks on the upper deck.
CK, in the middle of the concert, stopped and looked at that line and said, "I gotta ask one thing. How do you get a bra up there?" Two bras flew out of the audience to him within seconds, one red lacy one from the lady standing next to me on the left, and one large white one from a big lady about arm's length from me on the right. I saw them both do the unhook and slip over each arm thing.
CK snatched a bra out of the air effortlessly like everything that was thrown to him on stage, panties, bras, mardi gras beads.
Steve Carlson, CK's friend and co-founder of the band Kane, bet him $50 that he couldn't get one of those bras up there.
CK then channelled his Leverage character, the supremely badass Eliot Spencer, and made it on the second try. Someone filmed it from up on the second floor and put it on Youtube. I think it was AliKat, who I wish I had met. She makes the best CK videos. If you look close, about 4 back from center stage, you can see the back of my head, asuming you can tell which blonde head is mine.
I brought my sometimes rommate, who shares my apt when I'm in Raleigh and has it to himself when I'm in Texas. He had a blast. Loved the music, particularly Kane's version of Luchenbach Texas. He also loved the 10 to 1 ratio of women to men. He is a guy. I gave him my House Rules EP CD. New fan created.
Brian Nutter rocked the house, too. I ran into him on the way out at the end, and tapped him on the shoulder and told him, "Good show, you were awesome."
He thanked me with a big grin. He strikes me as a really cool guy, too, and an amazing talent.
Of course, Kane, the band, nailed it in a big way. Those guys are so good, they make it look effortless. Except Jay. He always looks like he's giving birth or something when he's wailing out guitar godliness. Or he looks like Cousin It when he's leaning forward. He and Will Amend, the bass player, nearly collided on stage at some point, which was amusing to them as well as me. Great show, guys. You all rocked Raleigh's world.
I bet travelling with that wild bunch is a hoot.
That was definitely a weekend I will remember. But I had to write it all down just to be sure.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Me, "It's a motorcyle, with training wheels." Giggle. Laugh.
Joe, "Don't laugh at the biker, honey." (In the same tone of voice one would say, "It's not nice to laugh at the handicapped, honey.")
Me: Laugh so loud the biker couldn't possibly avoid hearing me, not to mention anyone else in a 2 block raidus.
I haven't laughed that hard in ages.
Motorcycle with training wheels. Heh.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
We went out to Golden Corral for dinner tonight, and got bumped in the parking lot by someone in a big pickup who couldn't see my little blue car behind them. Minor fender damage, no big, but annoying.
So glad it's the weekend, but not sure that means I can slow down any. Epic is pushing toward opening day. Final dress is day after tomorow, and we'll have audience there. Freaky stuff.
Puppy wakes us up every night, can't remember the last time I got a night's uninterrupted sleep. Really, amazingly, bone deep tired.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
He had other fish to fry, though, and it was 2 hours before I got breakfast. Made tea somewhere in there, but running like a madwoman, didn't get to drink it. Trying to get an advertising piece done by today, for the German market. Arguing about what kind of content, who's in charge of it. My work blog has only had one post the last 2 weeks, both by someone other than me. Got 5 other blogs wanting me to send them posts, got about 30 videos that need editing, gotta rebuild website from scratch in dot net nuke, ... Basically, I'm going freakin bananas.
Oh, and it's quarterly ops review today, the day when everyone gets in a room with the top execs in the company and talks about what they did this quarter to earn their paychecks. This did not help my stress level. Got everything done the other day, so no prep for it, just a long day of nerves, especially when the previous departments ran long, and we got started an hour and a half late. So, really long day. But, when it was all over, CEO said, "That is the best marketing report I've heard, ever, since I started here in 1994. I've been here for 9 hours, and I'm listening more intently now than I was at hour 3 or 4."
We're all doing some pretty amazing stuff. My only real complaint is that I'm trying to do way too much at once, and everything is top priority. I keep juggling, trying to do everything, trying to get whatever is topmost priority at that moment out the door and running to the next thing. I'm a good juggler, but people keep throwing me more balls, it really stresses me out knowing that eventually I'm bound to drop something important.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
I got some cute little suede ankle boots to go with it. Can’t wear sandals, of course. I’ve got an extra toe on the inside of each heel, sort of like a thumb on a hand. It’s handy for picking up laundry and such from the floor when I’m barefoot at home, but looks way too freaky for sandals. I tried on the whole outfit, along with the amethyst pendant that Ma gave me for my birthday about 30 years ago in front of the full length mirror. I looked downright hot if I do say so myself.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Jack and I went to help the cops who were down. One cop just had burns over his forearm. We cut away his uniform, laid some burn sheets over the worst of it, and sent him to sit in the passenger seat while we took care of his buddy. The other cop was burnt bad over nearly 50% of his body, screaming in agony. The smell of it choked me, and made my stomach turn. Jack called it in, and got permission from the doc on duty to shoot him up with morphene. The cop went out like Jack had flipped a switch. The cop was in for a horrific few months in the hospital, and had a high probability of not making it. And even if he did, he’d be scarred and probably disabled for life.
I jumped over the gurney longways from a standstill and landed in front of the fiery guy who ran into me instead. I stumbled backward into Jack. My uniform shirt caught fire instantly, and I shoved the burning man hard away from me with my left arm. Right into the shield of the White Knight. The force of my shove knocked the Knight down, and dazed the bad guy.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Don't get me wrong. Jack's a nice guy, even kind of cute. When I told Ma about it, she smiled and said she approved, that he was “a very nice young man,” and it was about time.
She doesn’t get why I’m having conniptions. Jack’s not the problem. It's me. I am a walking disaster when it comes to men. The world's oldest virgin. I'm damn near old enough to qualify for social security and there are 25 year old nuns who have gotten more action than I have. I’ve never even been on a real date. Who is a girl who is 60 and looks 20 supposed to date? I’ve always moved away whenever a guy got too close, but Ma’s getting too old to start over again with new identities. I’m here in Austin to stay, for a decade or two anyway. Jack’s like 28. What do people that age talk about on dates?
Geeze, this is embarrassing even to write, but see the deal is that dragons live for centuries, sometimes even millenia, assuming some self-righteous jerk with a sword doesn’t come along and decapitate them. Sounds great, right? People who think living for centuries would be great never seem to think about some of the fun realities of having that long a lifespan. Like 40 years of puberty. So far. Humans get a few years of living hell in high school while their voices break and hair grows in weird places and they get their periods and the boob fairy visits, and bam, they’re all grown up. There are times when I’d kill to be human.
I couldn’t even go to high school. I looked like I was 12 until I was 20. Managed to get through college by stuffing a bra with socks and using a lot of makeup. Took twenty years for me to fill out a bra enough that I could stop using the socks, and not long after that, I started getting scales. We’re not just talking slightly hard spots on my skin, I mean shiny, metallic, bright purple scales the size of nickels. And eventually a few brilliant green ones, too, and bigger silver ones the size of half dollars on my spine and one shoulder.
On the one hand, I keep thinking, when these cover my whole body, I’ll almost look like my dad, only with the reverse of his color scheme. I’ll have deep purple as my main color and green tiger stripes. That would be so cool.
On the other hand, I’ve got freaking scales on my body! And let’s not talk about the underside of my arms and my sides where my wings fold up. I don’t know how Dad did the, I’m perfectly human, thing. I can’t even let a date get to second base. If he so much as cops a feel, he’s going to know I’m a freak. And what would I wear? I can’t wear anything form-fitting or low cut. All my clothes look frumpy. I don’t have anything date worthy in my closet at all.
I’d better go shopping. I’ve got to find something to wear.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Got up, and couldn't find my keys, anywhere. I always put them in the same place, on the hook by my light switch, but they weren't there. Ma was asleep, so I couldn't ask her. I turned the apartment upside down. They were nowhere, just vanished.
I was going to be late, again. One more ding on my record and I'd be looking for another job. Not good. I like this job. I know it's weird, but I do. At least I can help a few people, sometimes.
I was running out of time. With 20 minutes left, I realized I'd never make it even if I found my keys. So, I gave up, and slipped out my window to the fire escape. I live in the tallest apt building in town. Went straight up to the roof, doing my best to avoid the railing section that screeches when you lean on it, right next to Mrs. Del Conte's window. She's my landlady, and she's got the loudest, yappiest Pekingese in Austin. I'd hate that dog if it wasn't so darn cute.
As soon as I hit the roof, I unbottoned my uniform shirt, and took it off so I could get my wings unfolded. Tucked my shirt into the back of my pants so I wouldn't lose it. It was well after 11 at night. The street lights keep everyone blind to the sky in the city, so not much danger that anyone would see me.
I'm not my dad. I can't do the full dragon thing, or I don't know, maybe I just can't do it yet. I'm still pretty young the way dragons count things. I can't quite fly. Can't just, you know, jump up and flap and lift off from the ground, although I can jump a couple stories with wing assist. I can also glide better than any hang glider ever dreamed, even gain some altitude if I catch the thermals right.
It felt so good to stretch my wings and catch the air, cold as a well-digger's ass this time of year, but the cold's never really bothered me much. It's just a different kind of swooshy feeling as it flows under my wing membranes. It's beautiful up there in the sky, and so perfectly peaceful. Everything pauses and the world takes a deep breath. I wonder sometimes why dad ever came down.
There's a little park right across from the hospital. Should have been empty that time of night. I tilted my right wing and circled to shed air speed, then flapped backward hard just before my feet touched grass. Light as a feather. Dad would have been proud. I was grinning, all pleased with myself for the perfect landing, and looked up ... right into the eyes of a homeless guy, sitting leaned up against a tree. He was huddled under every piece of clothing he probably owned until he looked like part of the landscaping.
"Uh, Hi." I snapped my wings closed and waved at him.
He looked dazed, but he waved back.
Hopefully, he'll assume the half naked, slightly scaly winged girl he saw was a result of whatever he had to drink before camping here.
I had bigger problems. The cell phone in my pocket read 11:57. I had three minutes to show up to work on time. Threw my shirt over my shoulders and ran, buttoning as I went.
Realized half way across the road that I got the buttons done wrong, stopped for a second to undo them. Dumb, really dumb to stand in the middle of the road, looking down at my buttons. Don't know what in the world I was thinking.
Some guy in an F150 pickup going way faster than he should have been going right in front of a hospital clipped me hard with his right front bumper. Threw me about 15 feet, clear over the sidewalk and into the wall. That really hurt. I was bruised for hours. And my uniform pants got ripped. Who goes that fast in a hospital zone anyway? I mean, besides us. But we have flashy lights and sirens and a good excuse.
The guy slammed the brakes and jumped out to come check on me, but I ran for it before he got a good look at me. Made it into the building, but the boss still dinged me for being late. And, for showing up looking like I slept in my uniform, and rolled in the dirt.
Some days, it just doesn't pay. Boss said they're too short-handed to fire me. Got that going for me, I guess.
Here's the kicker. After my shift, when I got home, I went to grab a couple slices of leftover ham out of the fridge, and found my keys next to the milk.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
When I got home at the end of my shift at 8:30 AM, Ma was up, making breakfast, scrambled eggs with bacon bits and cheese mixed in. She made toast for herself, and sliced tomatoes from her balcony garden, but I can't eat bread, or vegetables. Dragons are pure carnivores, and I inherited that trait.
I told her about the man who died over breakfast. I've already forgotten his name, which bugs me. Some middle-aged, overweight middle manager who clearly spent too much of his life working hard to make his company wealthy. Somebody should remember his name.
He had a heart attack. Our response times are the best in town, I'm proud to say, so we got to him fast. Some secretary had done CPR on him till we arrived. My partner paddled him, and he had a rhythm. He was breathing. If I'd bit him then, he'd have made a full recovery. My venom has some pretty remarkable healing properties when I'm in the right mental space. But I couldn't very well pop out fangs and bite the guy in front of his secretary and half his office. They were all hovering around, no matter how much I tried to get them to go back to their computers and status meetings.
The rhythm faltered, and he gasped right there while all his co-workers gawked. A second attack. It happens sometimes, like aftershocks after an earthquake. We couldn't get him jump-started again. He just ... stopped. And I watched it and did nothing. Well, not nothing. I did everything a human could have done to try to save him. But it wasn't enough.
I could have saved him. Right then, I was the only one who could. But I didn't.
Ma made comforting noises at me. "You know you have to keep your head down, Damson. I know how hard it is on you."
She doesn't though. She has no idea. What's the point of being so different. I've got all these abilities, but all I do is hide them. I should be using them to make a difference, like Dad did. Ma doesn't see what I see, night after night.
That guy, he was about my age, early sixties, time when humans start to die pretty regularly. I still get carded in bars, or I would if I drank alcohol, but still, he and I were the same age.
Ma and I ran through the same old argument a little. I pointed out that lots of folks who were different were running around in costumes saving people nowadays. They made the news, got endorsement deals from Nike, got medals from the president. They didn't have to keep their heads down and blend in, even when it cost a man's life.
She got all teary-eyed, and scared looking, and made me promise I wouldn't do anything crazy. It was that kind of thinking that cost my dad his life. Georgians got him before I hit puberty, and if they'd have known about me, they'd have taken my head, too. Might have killed Ma, too, just for consorting with dragons.
Ma's the only family I've had since then. It's been just the two of us most of my life, moving from place to place whenever folks started to notice that I didn't seem to be getting any older, or if they got a glimpse of my scales or wings. She's spent her whole life looking out for me. I promised her I wouldn't do anything that would bring the Georgians' attention.
Not Georgians like people from Georgia. Knights in the order of St. George. Dragon slayers. It's a secret society that's existed since just before the dark ages. But they're not ancient history, they're still around. Or at least, they were, about 50 years ago, when they chopped my dad's head off and left his skinned, headless body in the field at our farm for my mother and me to find when we got back from town.
Yeah, I'll keep my head down, and keep it on my shoulders. For Ma's sake. For now.
I guess if I'm going to write down my thoughts in a diary to keep from going nuts, I should probably sign them, but I'm not sure how. My full name is Damson Diane Drake. Ma named me Damson after the plums. My hair was brilliant purple when I was born. It's black now in most lights, although you can see shimmers of eggplant in bright sunshine. I try to avoid sunshine.
I mostly just go by Dee, because the name on the fake birth certificate I use changes every few years. Currently, it says Diane Emerson, my mother's maiden name.
Drake just means dragon, and it was the only last name my dad ever gave. He was the real deal. He could look as human as anyone one minute, and fly over the house in full scales the next, double in size till he was big as a plow horse. He was beautiful, too. Scales the color of emeralds with purple streaks in a pattern like a tiger, with heavier silver scales on his spine and chest. He used to take me flying over our farm and the woods behind it.
Now, I'm getting all teary-eyed. It's been a long night. I'm just tired.
Ma's settled in her rocker with her knitting and her cane close by, and her soaps on the TV. She can wake me if she needs anything. That's enough for a first shot at this diary thing.
Friday, February 4, 2011
I stayed home, worked on an article for work that I very nearly missed my deadline for. Squeaked in, got it done at 4:30 when deadline was 5:00. Sent it in, and found out deadline was actually 5:00 Monday. Aw, well, one more day for revisions and polishing. It could use it. Not every day I write a data integration article that features Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner. Gotta keep it interesting somehow.
Son, dog, puppy, and husband all played outside in the snow while I worked. I only hate them a little. Took a cute video of them. My baby put it to music and posted it on Facebook. We come from the land of ice and snow.
Tomorrow is the EPIC! faire. I will bellydance, and MC. Will dance for food. Should be interesting introducing myself.
There will be gaming and jugglers and magicians and food and such, too. No ticket price, just whatever you want to donate to support our intrepid improv troupe. It's indoors, but weather looks like it's going to get nice, so we may spill out onto the porch. You should come. It will be fun.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Day job: Big announcement simultaneously at events in the UK and in CA, time zone mess, no way to keep up with Twitter stream. I stayed up till 1:30 Mon night transcribing an interview between a prominent analyst and one of our guys, so he'd have the material to write me a good post on the new cool technology. No post yet, but hopefully first thing tomorrow.
Went to dentist yesterday afternoon. Been having nasty toothache for days. He cleaned my teeth and said he couldn't find anything wrong. It would probably get better. Useless. I so miss my fabulous dentist in south Austin. I may have to just take time off work and drive across town, if this thing keeps causing me pain every time I eat.
Half day Blogwell event I attended today had no wifi for half of it. Def of Irony: A social media conference with no wifi, so it's tough to blog or tweet. Wasn't really their fault, rolling blackouts all over town due to the extreme cold snap and massive increase in power consumption. It killed the network all over the UT campus.
This weekend, I was working on the shores of Lake Austin, helping at Rchard Garriott's land to clean up the shore, wearing a tank top and sandals. Today, I had 4 layers on top and was still freezing my backside. Texas weather, gotta love it. Expecting snow on Friday.
Came home this evening to find my daughter and her girlfriend visiting, with their great dane, and the tiny Pomeranian fluffball we're adopting. My baby had to frantically run to the pet store, get stuff, set up a pet gate, etc. while we tried to keep the tiny black ball of fluff, named Kuro, the unbearably cute, from getting stepped on by a great dane, eaten by our old man of a blue heeler, shredded by the cats, lost under the furniture, or otherwise out of harm's way.
I got roped into cooking dinner, chicken and dumplings, which Joe has decided I make better than anyone. I didn't put in enough pepper, and it wasn't as thick as I like it, but everyone seemed pretty happy.
So, in the half hour left of my day, I took the puppy out to water the lawn, am writing this blog, then I need to put away the leftovers and fold a load of laundry.
The heater has decided that now, the coldest night of the year, it should stop working. So, my baby is in a foul mood, and trying to troubleshoot the issue. He's on the phone with the repair guy while I'm writing this.
It's funny, but when I try to explain to folks why I never seem to have any spare time, they don't get it. One friend, who frequently gripes about being bored, suggested I buy a book on time management. I'd have been tempted to hit him with it.
Gotta go, food to put away, laundry to fold, and some time tonight, I'd like to sleep.
Nothing earth-shattering really, just a normal day,
Sunday, January 30, 2011
I believe I have come up with a strategy to handle this feast or famine aspect of my life, and still maintain a blog that will hopefully, be interesting enough for someone besides me to read it. When there's nothing interesting happening in my life, or I don't feel like writing about me, I'll make stuff up. More precisely, I invented a character a while back, Damson Dragon, a half dragon urban fantasy superhero. When nothing is happening worth writing about in Paige's life, or when something very cool occurs to me to happen in DDragon's life, I will blog as DDragon.
At the moment, I have all sorts of interesting things happening in my life. I'm assistant director for a semi-scripted improv play based on old school D&D where the audience becomes the adventurers called EPIC! If you were ever into table-top RPG's, this is going to be awesome.
I just got cute overdosed to the point where a tiny pomeranian fluffball of a puppy will soon become a member of my household. No telling how that will go over with the 3 cats, 1 large dog, and 1 small dragon I already live with, not to mention my husband and son.
I am in the middle of editing/overseeing an awesome anthology of shared world prose superhero stories written by a bunch of friends of mine who happen to be comic book writers (Alan J. Porter, Rick Klaw, Bill Williams, Paul Benjamin, Dave Justus), fantasy and sci fi writers (me, Julie Kenner), and tabletop and video game writers (Beth Loubet, Michael Nystul), not to mention a real life superhero and supervillain (Jarrett "The Defuser" Crippen, and Alex "Lord Vile" Gray)with some illustrations by folks like Denis Loubet and Jeff and Manda Dee, legends in the gaming industry, plus a few talented newcomers. Shopping for a good publisher, by the way, so let me know if you've got a lead there. No rush because it's only about 2/3rds finished, but I'd love to have a publisher lined up by the time it's ready to print.
My day job has been eating way too much of my life, and is largely responsible for the interesting in the Chinese sense aspects. I will attempt to avoid ranting about it, but be warned, it could happen.
This coming weekend, Sat, Feb 5, a feast of awesomeness will commence in support of EPIC! It will be held in the Kinnington House here in Round Rock, TX, and there will be good food, an RPG dungeon run by Michael Nystul (the guy Nystul's Magic Aura was named after. Geek points if you know what that is.) There will be fortune tellers and jugglers and entertainment of all types with no entrance fee, but a donation of your choice to support the troupe would be graciously accepted.
There's also a rumor that I will be belly-dancing. I'm not confirming anything, but bring dollar bills, just in case. ;-)