Criminal minds for breakfast

A good Criminal Minds episode today (The Company), for breakfast. I am not particularly fond of the character of Derek Morgan, no man who must spend so much time grooming his perfect eyebrows doesn't do it for me, but he delivers good stuff when the spotlight is turned on him. In this case he gets first torn to bits, then his ego bitch-slaps him and then he finally comes out the tall dark hero that women around him need them to be. Mind, though, the characters of JJ and Prentiss weren't half bad either, doing that interrogation on the character of Ford. I thought I was gonna choke on my cereals out when she says to the evil slave-happy unsub: "Sssh. The adults are talking. When it's your turn to speak, I'll give you permission. Okay?"

Half of the episode delves into the issue of Stockholm syndrome, a fascinating, very slippery issue in cases of kidnapping and abuse (that I employ in my literature to a degree, as most of my heroine's relationships often start or develop through violence and sexual abuse). The second half is less intense and more understandable - mini spoiler alert - but also not inconceivable. I especially liked the whole mail order bride hints. Though, honestly, if you're a mail order bride, what are you expecting?

The bit I find particularly curious about the whole thing, the syndrome, is that it is evolutionarily explained: the female doesn't need to give consent to the male to impregnate her ... This is where all the turn-on for a man to be domineering and playfully violent comes from. In the end we are just incubators. Our species seriously needs a mental make-over.

Writing as much as I have been writing and reading as much as I have been reading lately, I got to the point where I feel torn regarding my genre.  (I was pleasantly surprised by Shanghai baby, because someone told me it's quite bad, but I found it to be remarkably honest and feministic, at least by comparison to anything written by Chelsea Handler, which was awful supposedly-same genre- literature). I have gotten to the point where I can write well enough to think that the things I am writing ABOUT are stupid… I mean, I wrote a good, really good scene in which the heroine strangles her lover to death, down to the forensic details, complete with inner turmoil monologue. She does it in a righteous – which is the worst kind of a – way, because he asked her to, as opposed to advocating life as she’s always done, and in result she falls into a deep depression – this kill being a trigger for all of her more or less painful past two years catching up with her otherwise perky disposition… I wrote a paragraph starting with “how did my world get so dark?..” really well, I though, when it hit me – dude, I’m writing about elves and starships… isn’t it time I tried writing a real novel? I even got a good idea that Drej helped me kick into shape over coffee, and ghost writing my dad’s memoirs should be an amazing project I have set for winter, but…  I know I can do better. I want to do better. While still true to my genre. I want to stay on my elves and kings and space stations, but I want to be better at describing them. You can’t write in the tone of a high literature and expect people to read it for fun. Starships are not meant to be taken seriously. They are meant to entertain people on long transatlantic flights. They are meant to be metaphors, so I am going to learn how to let them thrive under the burden of being metaphors.

Which is good, because while the General is working night shifts, the only thing I am really industrious at, is making him super delicious surprise lunch packages. My Little Karlins chapters are all over the place, sleeping is a bitch (hate hate hate sleeping alone) and having him home for the mornings leads nowhere. And also, of course, I am waiting for the moment when I finally get to hold my latest book, printed and ready for sale. I am so paranoid about it, I am having nightmares about the transport van which will deliver them one of these day, getting in an accident and burning down. Freaking out, I know. But that’s me. A Chinese firecracker. General says the only time I am really Zen is when I fart and then pause to listen if he’s heard me. That’s the one moment of absolute tranquility he can honestly relate to me.

 

Painting eggies and making yummies :))

Keeping my head on

Well, when it rains it really friggin' pours, so of course when I needed it the most, my computer decided to have a break. It's amazing how utterly naked I felt, left two days without - at this moment - my ultimate took of trade. My whole routine was bust and it would have been great if I had time to spare or if I had saved some of my work less than a week ago. And also, if I had known for sure that all my expensive programs would still be here when my comp came back to me. That's the stress that i really don't need but am almost certain to add to my long list of complete and utter nuttery that my life is lately. Granted, it's just the way I like it.

Come the tricky Wednesday, the General tried to cheer me up by taking me to the firing range. As much as I love my secret sniper life, I *loathe* 7mm bullets. The force of their kick is enough to either break my arcade or imprint my bra buckle into my shoulder for days. I have learnt how to use the optics without the arcade mangling, but the bra buckle is still there. General's custom made gun is simply too long and I cannot for the life of me get a grip on it without sacrificing the accuracy. Though I really did make excellent little sand pillows for it to sit well. Everyone wants to use them now. And we fixed the hut front shield, so that the afternoon sun doesn't blaze directly into you when you're aiming.

Not saying it wasn't a wonderfully stress-releasing afternoon. It was. I just miss my own gun :(

Then Drej took me to he mum's clay workshop and I got some normal, human, girly cheering up in the evening. I haven't handled clay since the sixth grade 25 or so year ago, and really really loved getting to feel and know the material again. her mum is a master when it comes to handling it and she first taught me to make a basic simple erasers and pencil sharpeners box with a lid :D I'm fantasising about making busts already, but there's plenty I want to try beforehand. Like bell angels and food pots and suchlike. Normal stuff. Fun stuff. Not projects. The whole point of such workshops for me is to have fun and do relaxing stuff. Blowing big holes into wooden dummies doesn't cover all of my needs :)p

 Drej working on the platters for the bowls she previously made for her furry beasts

 The box in wraps :))

 Almost done. Ready to dry and shrink. My first clay result, yaaay!

 The workshop. What a place, yeesh. Looks like someone's heaven, really.

Trials and tribulations of trying to get your book published (more accurately, printed)

First, you try to find someone who doesn’t charge stupidly.

Then you find someone who doesn’t really ask for money in advance, which brings us down from several thousand to about three, and you scratch the first line.

Then you try to decide on the book that is most logical and hitherto will pay off best.

You decide this by choosing which one of your books is the most: finished / edited / likable.

Then you just choose one that won’t cost too much.

Then you try not to die when you hear how much it WILL cost and you set it up and send it to the guy that’s willing to print (but not bind) it.

Once he manages to do that – and they tend to take their time, as you are the bottom feeder customer – don’t beat yourself too much over the choice you made nor how many spelling errors there are in a non-edited book.

Then you find someone who is willing to print the cover. With a little luck, you also find a bookbinder who will, well, bind, and press the pages; once he gets them (Murphy’s law dictates that person will be on the other side of the country).

Have one or two nervous breakdowns because the costs have elevated, you have no more money for basic bills, dog is eating better than you and still no sign of the finish line. At this point the book-binder will probably inform you that the cover you have already printed and put plastic over times 500, doesn’t fit after all and needs to be redone. ‘Twould be lovely if he would have told you this two fucking days ago, but you know. They’re doing YOU a favour.

Then you re-do the cover completely, because you realize it was a blessing the first one got rejected, regardless of costs, because you got some really cute ideas meanwhile. You re-do the cover,  then re-do it again as the printer lets you know you’ve forgotten some vital secret bit that he deeply needs.

Then you wait again. Holidays come and that pushed the release date a few more days further away. But slowly and surely you study the market and your friends and the family of the girl on the cover and hope that by the time you actually hold the physical volume in your hands, they won’t turn off your water, power and confiscate the dog. 
It is likely that at this point your computer will break down at the WORST possible timing and you'll have to postpone extending your National Geographic subscription to purchase the spare part. Though on the plus side, when you're in my shoes, when you buy the WORST and cheapest graphic card, it's still better than the one I had up until now.... This should tell you plenty about my techno savvy side.

This takes about two months and about four ulcers. Forget sex or being able to do anything else, yet alone have a non hysterical day meanwhile. I cannot stress how much of a fucking nightmare this is. But the trick is to keep pushing through and in the end, if you haven’t yet blown yourself like a balloon, you’ll have your very own novel to show for 8D

New updates on the Zurnizip page...

:)

http://zurnizip.blogspot.com/

Drej's press port :)

What is it about early mornings that add something magical to a fly by photoshoot?

Game of Thrones, season two

April 1st, tonight the second season starts, after a year of waiting... The thing I love the most about this sheenaddle is that NOBODY knows how things will end, probably not even Martin, if they will ever end at all. There is no Happily Ever After, for anyone. The characters likeliest to survive another book are some of the girls, but I'm gonna say that out loud. Thing is, the war cannot end. Who will get the throne so that everyone is happy? Who will avenge all wrong so that anyone is left at all? Who will stop the wild things from the North and how will the next generation be any more shiny and noble than any before them? Like human history, read long enough, this story too will turn and turn. Obscene, really, that so many must be torn to bits of us to enjoy an excellent narrative.