Y’know what’s really startling? Finding out that a character name I made up many years ago is also the name of at least one real person and probably more than one…
This isn’t like when we found a certain Mr. Laughlin listed in a census record from the early 1800s. We weren’t expecting his first name at all, because we didn’t even know it was a real name (we thought it was just something my brother made up). This time, though, I at least knew the names were real — I borrowed this other character’s surname from an actor who appeared in a movie I’d seen back in the 1980s. (I should state for the record that 1) no relationship between character and actor is implied or should be inferred, 2) the character and the actor aren’t even the same species, and 3) the surname isn’t the character’s real surname anyway, just an “Anglicization” of the spelling/pronunciation, the same as his first name is only a translation.)
One of the real (and human, I assume) ones lives in Texas… *shudder*
Other thoughts in my head:
Evil dumb-ass politician or sufficiently advanced technology? When spellings, capitalization, etc. are the same regardless of meaning, context matters!
(Yes, kids, I do mean sufficiently advanced technology just as it sounds — a reference to Clarke’s Law. Bad timing on the part of the people wanting to do that television series, though, because a whole lot of viewers won’t be familiar with the novels they’re based on, so the jargon will sound like something totally different to them. I wonder how bridge players deal with the confusion… *shakes head* OTOH, thanks to Stranger Things, we now have proof that a story set in the 1980s can be popular in the early 21st century, so there’s no reason for anyone to retcon the story from the novels to “modernize” it.)
I really need to figure out how to do layers with Photoshop. There are several pictures I want to work on, mostly to use as illustrations here on this blog. The clone is better at this sort of thing than I am, because he’s used Photoshop so much for making maps and whatnot.
The clone is on an archaeology dig, and I
am without adult supervision have the house to myself. I’m actually working on writing fiction, or at least working up to that, which means a lot of walking around the house and talking to my imaginary friends myself. And drinking coffee. LOTS of coffee. And maybe thinking about Florida, because that’s where some of my people are right now — right now in their own timeline, I mean, August, 2016, in a universe similar to but not — thank Murphy! — exactly like this one. (Our best beta reader goes to Disney World each year. Next summer, maybe he can get a photo of himself standing just where that orbital strike hits in that one scene in my brother’s novel… Could be funny, anyway.)
I have stopped reading Shadow Unit stories. Good stories, but they were starting to get to me. Badly. Maybe someday I’ll finish reading the series, but for now, I’m not even reading other ebooks, because if I even turn on my Kindle, the temptation to go back to reading Shadow Unit would be too strong.
…Eep! Grace’s dollmaking project. By next August, the first batch must be finished: cat-Ben and at least three of his siblings. More if possible. Because otherwise some idjit will think she got the idea from television, and that would be unfortunate. (This just occurred to me as I was typing this post, although I suspect the thought had been building in the back of my brain for several days.) It would also be unfortunate if some uber-idjit thought she had made a mistake in the appearances of these critters because they didn’t match what was on television. She’ll just guess as to what was meant when costume was described as “Renaissance doublet” or whatever, because not all writers are, y’know, accurate and precise with the terminology, but gods help anyone who tells her the doll wearing said Renaissance doublet shouldn’t be a sandy color… (With my luck, she’ll have lost the button that started this whole project, and I’ll have to make a new one for her out of metal clay or something. I’m gonna have to do some of that eventually anyway, because once she gets to the “stage two” dolls, she’s gonna need things that aren’t readily available, such as a very small gold phoenix…)
I made the mistake yesterday of telling someone about Bea (a.k.a. Pseudo-mom) and the way she always tried to discourage me from any interest in science, especially genetics. “I wonder what she was afraid you’d figure out,” was the comment from the person I was talking to. Um… yeah. Let’s not go there, okay? That was pretty much what I said in the conversation, too. But then I shared the story about the petri dishes in Bea’s lab, which did change the topic without being obvious about it, but it didn’t do much to make me feel better about the topic having come up in the first place. (Y’know those geeky t-shirts that say 50% Carrot on them? I want one that says 50% Cabbage… or whatever the percentage of common DNA that humans share with cabbages, but you get the idea. My reply to the age-old question, Are ye human and not a cabbage or something? ‘Cause, y’know, the only completely honest reply I can give is, I’m not a cabbage. Anything else depends on your definitions. Or I could fall back on a quote and say, I don’t think so, but that’s cheating, isn’t it? Um… shut up, brain. Nobody asked you for your stupid and annoying information overload.) Some day I’ll learn not to mention scare the normals — or myself… but today is not that day.
Not getting a lot of fiction writing done, am I? We heard back from our main beta reader about Project Brimstone (he liked it!), and I could work on a related short story (about what was happening with one of the secondary characters just before he shows up in the novel), or I could finish the short story about Natalie Dahl, or I could… keep typing this blog post that’s already over a thousand words long. 🙂
Ever notice how I suddenly jump to a mostly-awake-at-night schedule any time I’m by myself for more than, oh, a day? So be warned, O Reader of my blog, that I’ll probably be posting at odd hours this week. Not that you have to read this stuff at odd hours, mind you…