Friday, July 31, 2015

Paganism, Witchcraft and Woo

So I read and interesting article today.

It's about how we limit ourselves by not talking about our power, by not accepting we are witches and saying "my spirit guide told me" or other such because of fear of being perceived as mentally ill.

Essentially, the woo closet is the forces that keep us from being open about the way that magical, energetic, psychic, extra-sensory or spiritual forces nourish and guide us. To my mind, the woo closet is very old and is one of the most powerful spells (or cluster of spells) that keeps us from stepping into our truth and power.

Me, I do witchcraft. I am blunt and open about this.

"Hex 'em til they glow and curse 'em in the dark." is a common phrase. I have a plaque in my house that says "Today I am" and the flip part says "good witch" and "bad witch."

When some boys were giving my daughter trouble about being a pagan, I picked her up and had a chat. It ran like this "Yes, she is a witch. And do you know where little witches come from? Mama witches. Now, unless you would like to spend the summer in the bayou eating flies, I suggest you lay off of her."

The way I do witchcraft looks a lot like hard work and headology* and not at all like circle-dancing and chanting. I determine my will, focus it and do it. The doing is always work. It may be cleaning. It may be creating a whole book out of nothing but imagination. It may be turning a skein of yarn into something lovely and useful. I am doing my will.

I am open about my paganism. There are statues of  Athena, Medusa, Tiamat and Hera on my mantle. The Greenman hangs on my study, as does the Horned God. I have a sun and moon face on my front door. I have a Tree of Life tattooed on my shoulder.

I deal with a variety of deities, but mostly Hera and Hermes. For me, paganism is about the gods.

But I don't believe in woo. I am not about the energy or the crystals. I don't believe in essential oils, Ley lines or pyramid power. I will work with the moon phase and astrological sign, but only to a degree. I remember three past lives, none of which are Cleopatra.

The point is, I don't have to believe in it.

I may not believe in chakras or understand them, but apparently I can do a pretty fair job of cleansing them for other people.

I always preface a tarot reading with "the cards have no power. They're mass-produced pasteboard. What they do is give you a framework to hang your own knowledge on."
My readings are still scary accurate, regardless of the deck. I talk about my decks as if they have actual personalities and abilities. (Robin's hiding today), and nobody handles them but me.

I read weather signs in clouds and plants and animals--documented stuff most have forgotten--and get laughed at for being an old hillbilly granny in the middle of suburbia, but they don't laugh when they get rained on and I said they would because the leaves were showing their bellies and the cows were lying down.

I use chants and cantrips and charms about my daily business, invoking gods, saints, angels and household sprites alike. And I always sweep sunwise. It seems to help.

When I was pregnant, I wore a berkana rune around my neck. Just a bit of clay on a leather thong, marked with a sharpie. But I was not sick at all during the pregnancies I wore it. I used it to focus my psychosomatic impulses that had made me so sick with the others.

So apparently the Woo works as expected, even if you don't believe it whole-heartedly.
I do believe that charms work as heard as their wearers, spells as hard as their casters and prayers as hard as the supplicant.

So pray with one hand.
Work with the other.
Do your will.

*Headology is a term coined by Terry Prachett. It describes a form of psychology used by witches in his Discworld series:
The difference between headology and psychiatry is summarized as follows:

A psychiatrist, dealing with a man who fears he is being followed by a large and terrible monster, will endeavor to convince him that monsters don’t exist. Granny Weatherwax would simply give him a chair to stand on and a very heavy stick. (Maskerade, 325)

My Mudd tells the story of a man in a mental hospital who locked himself in the bathroom, and refused to come out because God was angry with him. The staff reasoned with him, argued with him and finally gave up on him. One of the other patients slipped a note under the door and he came out, smiling. The note read. "I'm not mad. I love you. God."

Photo Scavenger Hunt

I always do an August Promo.
This year, it's a photo scavenger hunt. I haven't done this for about 7 years. You can see the last one at

The pictures will be different but the clues will be much the same. They should provide enough information that you can figure it out from my website

The pictures will be at Livejournal, Tumblr and Facebook. (I can't screen replies here)

Winners (All answers correct) will receive an ebook of their choice. One of the winners, randomly chosen, will get a copy of Terror of the Frozen North.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Submitting and writing thoughts

Today, the last of my Uugly Remillard babies, poor Jack, finished his surgery and went out to my editor. The Sweet Science of Bruising should be out from Ardent Press next year.

I have a book my Beta didn't hate, didn't feel the need to shower after and enjoyed.
I also misspelled the hero's name 8 times. (I <3 Spellcheck)

The hero is no longer a mobile vibrator and a backdrop for the heroine. She's still rather high-handed, being a notional woman quite used to getting her own way. But she's like that with everyone, because genius.


Done writing women for a while, I think.
I do all right with them as side characters, but all the strong ones ever come out as is ice-bitches.

DJ Admire is a very flawed character, hostile, alcoholic and generally abrasive. She's also determined, dedicated (if only to the next bottle) and unafraid. This is a woman who walks into a nightmare--her recurring nightmare--with her eyes open and her Desert Eagle ready, who wagers all her life-span to get the information she needs. She's horrible to the one person in the whole world who loves her, mostly in an effort to make him stop, and keep him alive.

Lillian Shaw is high-handed and imperious. She has money and brains and an insatiable curiosity and does not tolerate being told what to do. She does exactly as she pleases and ignores her reputation in the best Scarlett O'Hara fashion, without the moping and pining, but with some machinating.

Sarah Brown is a loathsome bitch. She has money, she wants a title. And she wants it from her old fiance, Edward Kilsby, Lord Withycombe, who dumped her after the War. She has decided to marry Edward, come hell or high water, whether he likes it or not. Financial abuse, blackmail and outright murder are not beneath her.

Had an interesting experience. Was told "I like contemporaries, because I want to fantasize about it happening to me." I responded with "That's exactly why I write space opera. I wanna be a space cowboy and have hot sex in the zero-gee harness. Nobody wants to be a part-time merchandiser."

I thought it through a bit more. I write fantasy. All of it is fantasy. The werewolves and elves, space opera and dystopia, the kink and the romance alike. They're all fiction and I write it by the rules of fiction because they don't happen in real life.

I know the tone and the tropes and the conventions: Werewolves change on the full moon, subs control the scene, vampires are best killed by beheading, people really do believe in their religion, push a button and it goes ftl, and people do love their partners. It's all just tropes to me.

I ultimately believe in happily ever after as much as I believe in flower fairies. I believe in zombies more than I believe in love, because zombies are a real thing (the drugged kind). I define family as the people you have an obligation to.

Monday, July 27, 2015

Big Fish, a commentary

Tonight, I saw the movie Big Fish.
Big Fish (2003) Poster

I went in expecting a piece of southern gothic with some tall tales. What I got was much much bigger.

It's a movie about stories. About the stories we tell and the stories we become.  I knew how the story had to end, and I was not disappointed.

At one point, the hero says to his father, "You never told me one true thing."
And I yelled at the screen, "Everything he told you was true. It just wasn't all fact."

Albert Finney and Ewan McGregor turn in amazing performances as Edward Bloom.
Billy Crudup reminds me of Cillian Murphy, except the part where I don't want to punch him on principle. (Murphy has a Backpfeifengesicht, a face in need of a fist)

Jessica Lange is always good. And Helena Bonham Carter turns in one of her most understated performances. She's brilliant in a triple part, and explains to Will "There are only two women in your father's world, your mother and everyone else."

In In the Mouth of Madness, Sam Neil's John Trent is very big on reality. Until he is informed that "Reality is what we tell each other it is."

This is a gentler take on that idea. The reality of Edward Bloom's life meshes almost seamlessly with his imaginings.

"You do your best to corrupt them and fill their heads with nonsense. They turn out normal anyway."
I think that's my favorite line.

Tell your story. Make it big, make it bold. And if it needs singing conjoined twins, a giant a witch and a werewolf ringmaster, put them in.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

A Thursday

Today was filled with work.
And just as a fun aside, that place on my foot that's been a problem all week? Spider bite.
So I get to call the doc.

Bun came by for dinner. She's on her way to St. Louis. She liked the kittens. I measured her for a Weasley Sweater.

Domino moved the kittens (too much human time) and Henry is missing.

Some editing accomplished.

must do call reports so I can get paid.

A Throwback Thursday of me and Oli

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Work in Progress Wednesday

Working on The Sweet Science of Bruising.

Turlough grumbled as the padlock snapped shut again. He held up the lantern he carried and looked at Lillian. She trembled to see he was still naked. “So they saw me looking and pulled you aboard. What's your name, boy?”

“Ben,” Lillian said in her lowest voice.

Turlough laughed and set the lantern down. “And I'll just wager Ronan thinks you're a boy, yeah?” he whispered. “No fear, lass, I'll treat you like one. I get no girls for it makes me meaner.” He sat down on the bed beside her and took the hat off of her head.

“Aye and a pretty lady he found me.” He ran a hand along her cheek.

“You're bleeding,” Lillian whispered.

“There's a flannel in the drawer. I'll wash up, my dear. We're together, man and wife like for a long time now. Or until Ronan finds out. Then he'll take you away from me.”

Last Day!

Today is the last day for the Thunderclap Campaign. I need 26 more backers.

Monday, July 20, 2015

July 20: Moon landing day

46 years ago today, we landed on the moon. I was a toddler.

Remember who we are. When our leaders dream and lead, we can accomplish anything.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Busy Sunday

Feeling ridiculously accomplished, although I had what most would consider and ordinary day.

I did a freezer inventory, came up with a meal plan and grocery shopped. We have 20 lbs of chicken leg quarters in the freezer.

There were meatball sandwiches for dinner. Yum!

I cubed up a cantaloupe and a watermelon. The produce from Save-a-lot has been SO good. The grapes are ripe and juicy. The watermelon was the best I've had this year. The cantaloupe is soft and full of flavor.
That thing where you cut the watermelon in half, run the knife around the edge and then in a grid, and slice into the sides? It works! Fast and easy.

I got Somewhere Out There up on All Romance Ebooks

I started royalty statements. Everybody's sales are on their pages. Calculations later.

I knitted some and played with kittens.

I am doing laundry. I'll throw them in the dryer and go to bed.

Did some Crone work. Sometimes, a friend just needs a minute to hide in the shadow of the Mountain and hear Grandmother whisper that it will all be okay. The wheel turns.

All in all, a good day.
Planning for the week ahead:
5 Stores, the great Mississippi loop

4 Sears and a Best Buy, The North End.

3 Sears, the south side
Pick up meds


Picnic at the lake!

Six Sentence Sunday: Terror of the Frozen North

"[W]e need to be over. We’re at that unpleasant, late stage of a bad marriage where we can only harm each other, no matter how much we once loved.” Nigel looked at him. “I’m not a nice man, Doyle. I’m not a good one. I am, however, very protective of things that are mine, and Edward is still mine."

--Terror of the Frozen North

Thunderclap campaign

A Thunderclap is a concerted effort, where people you know and people you don't spread word of your new book across the net.

I'm running one for Terror of the Frozen North. I'm 59 people short of my goal.

It's one post on social media.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Let's talk about PC

I often hear people gripe about "Political Correctness."

And all I can think of is an event that drove it home for me.

I had a boss who called me Beth for two weeks and she got VERY irritated when I ignored her. She finally got in my face and demanded to know why I was disrespecting her and wasn't responding when she was calling me by name.

I told her "That's not my name" and tapped my nameplate that clearly said "Angelia" and had been on my chest for the whole two weeks.

What you rail against as PC, I see it as exactly that situation.

People have said "Don't call me this. It's not who I am." Whether it's a racial slur, a former name or an identity they aren't. And some people are still shouting "You're BETH and will answer to it!"

PC is about changing thinking by changing the language we use about things. People-first language emphasizes our common humanity. And we've been trying to do that for hundreds of years.
For instance, "Cretin" is a rarely used word today and always an insult.

But it comes from 1779: from French crétin, from Swiss French crestin ‘Christian’ (from Latin Christianus ), here used to mean ‘human being,’ apparently as a reminder that, although dwarfed and mentally handicapped by a thyroid deficiency, cretins were human and not beasts.

Or read up on The Southern Strategy. By coding the language around economics, they managed to convey their racism without ever saying words that had once worked and were now offensive.

What it comes down to is the age-old question of Why. Why continue to fight common courtesy? Why keep calling people things we think they should be called?

Are we really better people for being able to call minorities by rude words?
Are we straight shooters for preferring to say "retarded" and "crippled" instead of "Mentally handicapped" or "physically disabled".

People let us know what they prefer to be called.
To continue calling them what we prefer to call them instead is the equivalent of shouting "Beth!" in their faces and insisting they answer.

Please note, I am referring to actual, everyday language--African American, calling transfolk by the right names--not the levels of academically projected ridicule possible for me as melanin-deficient, mammary-enhanced, wofem of privilege.

My Sexy Saturday: My Sexy Lady

This week’s theme is My Sexy Woman. Yes, this is our nod to the heroines. You all know what make them sexy and wonderful. Need we say more!

In honor of sending out Wild Hunt to Apex, I'm going a little off script. DJ Admire is probably my least sexy lady. But even she gets a shot at love.

Buy Link (and it's on sale for $3.99)

On the Nightside of Memphis, werewolves teach college, zombies load trucks and private investigator D. J. is hard at work, finding missing persons, solving cases and drinking herself into an early grave. Then Bran walks into her office, asking for her help in destroying the demon Oeilett, and everything changes.

Something about the battered, scarred combat mage ignites all the lusty feelings D. J. thought she had successfully drowned in rum. The mana he exudes weaves a web of desire over her, clouding thought and making the sultry summer even steamier.

Bran'’s body and face may be marked by his previous battles, but everything under the black leather kilt works perfectly, and D. J. learns there are more things in Memphis, the hellplanes and her own heart than she had ever imagined.

Your Seven Sexy Paragraphs:

I shed the vest and bandoliers and then sat on the bed to get out of the boots. Time to deal with the distraction.

I lay back on the lumpy, cheap bed and flipped my kilt up. There he stood, all awake and ready after the run-in with the lady detective. Even the sharp-tongued seer cop couldn’t intimidate him. She just reminded him even more of Admire. Our lady wanted us and I was pleased to see him paying tribute to her.

She weren’t a beauty, just plain looking. Plain was all right and she was plain as bread, the good solid kind my Ma made from oatmeal with ale-barm for leavening, the kind where a slice, toasted with a bit of jam, was just the thing on a cold day when the wind howled down from the hills and over the loch. Admire wanted me and that was plenty. I closed my eyes and thought about her.

I visualized her. The brown hair, caught into a short indifferent ponytail, the ragged cut as shaggy as an ungroomed Shetland, came easy. Her forehead, with its perpetual scowl line above her straight eyebrows, followed, and then her eyes, brown as that ale-barm with oddly long lashes that made them look softer than they were. Her frowning mouth, and all I wanted to do was kiss it until it smiled for me and quit snarling. That stubborn chin and straight pale neck. She saw as little sun as I did. I wondered how she would take having it kissed, or nibbled in that sweet spot just under the ear that makes some women squeal and yelp with delight.

Visualizing worked, almost too easily. There she was, plain as day, naked on that rumpled bed, sweating a little in the heat of her second-floor office.

Her eyes flew open and she stopped touching those pretty breasts of hers. Aye, they were perfect and I couldn’t wait to see them in person. Not huge and full, but a nice handful with deep-coral tips that were probably pink when she wasn’t playing with herself. “What the hell are you doing in my head, asshole?” she demanded.

“Thought we might cure some distraction together, lovely. You know how the magic works when it gets going between two of our sort.”

The Other Sexy People on the Hop: 

Thursday, July 16, 2015

It's here! Terror of the Frozen North

Buy Link  On sale for $5.20 until the end of the month!

The sequel to Amber Allure’s Best Seller The Curse Of The Pharaoh's Manicurists...

War is hell, but coming home is even harder. Edward Kilsby, Lord Withycombe, flying ace and noted adventurer, has grown increasingly restless with civilian life. He seeks refuge from his depression and nightmares in adrenaline, and when that fails, in painful sex. Until his erstwhile fiancé blackmails him into making an arctic expedition.

In the frozen wastes, Edward and his secretary, Charlie, work hard, facing the rigors of the climate and the lethal war machines they are testing. But no-one is prepared for what lies under the ice.

Back in London, as Edward’s pistol looks friendlier and friendlier, Charlie must deal with kidnapping, cultists and secret societies, all the while keeping his much-loved lord sane and healthy.

I'm running a Thunderclap campaign, which is a massive post to social media from all kinds of people. Sign up to support via, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr or all three.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Work In Progress Wednesday

Amid the promo hoopla, it's easy to forget, I'm still writing.

From the animal attack story.

The first few days of the journey were uneventful. The jungle grew thicker the further we ventured from the city, and the wildlife more frequent. Serpents basked on the tree branches. Birds called everywhere. At night, we heard the hunting calls of the wolves and the distant trumpeting of elephants heralded the dawn.

But the monkeys were our constant, unwanted companions. They chattered and screeched so loudly we could hardly hear one another. They dropped the most repulsive things on us from the trees, grubs and worms, half-eaten and rotted fruits and worse. Even under the thickest forest, we used umbrellas, not against sun or rain, but as protection from the disgusting barrage.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Six Sentence Sunday

She wasn't the brilliant and wise princess. <i>She</i> had already left home for sorcerous training. She wasn't even the adorable baby princess and Daddy's favorite.

Margeaux was the third princess of four, and most people forgot she even existed most of the time. So nobody was too put out about giving her to the dragon.

Except Margeaux.

--untitled work-in-progress

Saturday, July 11, 2015

My Sexy Saturday: We're Sexy Hot

Remember that your characters are all sexy and we want to hear about the places they go. They could be anyone on this world, part of the next world or the many unknown worlds lurking in the stars. The one thing we do know is that they are hot, hot, HOT!

This is from the one that releases tomorrow:

The Buy link is not up as I write this. But this link will take you to our page, where it will be.

Charlie and Edward are on their way to Greenland via experimental hovercraft, when they stop for a bite of supper in an Aberdeen pub. Dinner got wildly out of hand and ended in a brawl.

Seven Sexy Paragraphs:

They headed for the docks, Edward still humming. As they passed a dark alley, not far from the sea, Edward veered sharply into it, dragging Charlie with him.

“Colinette, kiss me,” he said. “Your soldier boy is home at last, under the poplars, to his beloved rose in Picardy.”

“You are so very drunk,” Charlie said, “that it’s almost taking shameful advantage of you.”

Edward pressed him to the wall and kissed him, the smoky taste of the whiskey filling Charlie’s mouth. Edward’s hands roamed, busy on Charlie’s body, hungry to touch him.

“They’re going to worry about us,” Charlie protested.

“There is no need to catch the tide or the wind. Let them wait. ‘Years fly on forever ’til shadows veil their sighs,’” he sang softly. “We could be dead tomorrow and you will almost certainly be ill. Kiss me now, darling, love me while we can.”

“Back to the hovercraft. We shall both be ill, but the war is over out here, Edward. It’s over and I’m yours for always.”

The Other Sexy People

Saturday, July 4, 2015

My Sexy Saturday: Keeping it Sexy

This week’s theme is Keeping It Sexy and we’re thinking about all the wonderful things that lovers do to and for each other. Think about those special vacations, those sexy beach or mountain homes or maybe it’s just a fun day at the spa. Or taking a ride in the latest spaceship or seeing the home they’ve built together for the very first time. There are things that all lovers do to keep their love fresh, alive and inviting to each other. It’s all those special sexy environments that we’re talking about.

Buy Link

Riding the Nightmare is a short story collection. A lot of my older stuff, including some of my first published work.

Some of my favorites are the Convention Adventure stories, in which Chris and Dave get up to hijinks while cosplaying.

As we join our boys, Chris has just been marched out of the convention and into a hotel room and handcuffed to the bed.

Your Seven Sexy Paragraphs:

A gloved hand stroked my neck and back. I shuddered and twisted away. It clamped down on the back of my neck, shoving my head into the pillow. I gasped a little.

“You didn't pay attention to the briefing.”

“Dave? Oh God, Dave, I was scared to death.” My tongue ran loose with relief. “I thought it was going to be a rape or a gay bashing or something.”

He flipped me over and kissed me. “You're babbling, darling. Shut up.” He kissed me again and the silence let me get my tongue reigned in. “I owe the Forces a pony keg for getting you ready for me. I've wanted to do something like this for ages.” He kissed me again, but it was the Imperial officer who drew back, not my own sweet Dave. “You're my prisoner.”

I was getting hard at the thought. Him in that uniform, looking over me, looking all intense and powerful, made my stomach feel all knotted and watery. I nodded, swallowing hard.

“You'll get nothing from me,” I spat, getting back into the role. He laughed, a nasty-sounding chuckle that sent shivers all over. God, my man was hot. I was glad I hadn't licked his boots this morning so we could play like this.

He unhooked my pants and rolled me back onto my stomach before yanking them down. “I guess it's standard procedure then, scum.”

The Other Lovely People on this Blog Hop

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Semi Annual Social Media Briefing Or where you can find me and what you can expect there

Welcome to the round up.

This is being begun on Blogger and propagated out to other media sites.

The Den of Debauchery.
My website where you can find a bio, pics, upcoming conventions and books to order.

The Den of Debauchery's Garden Gazebo.
Blogger. This is the serious writing blog, with occasional forays into fun stuff. Most content originates here or on my LiveJournal.

The Den of Debauchery's SubAnnex
My LiveJournal. 13 years of blog entries, ranging from political commentary to potty training to kid pictures to free stories. Most content starts here.

The Den of Debauchery's Magic Lantern Show.
My Tumblr. Mostly reposts, but I do originate some. Also a photo diary of the Clutter Jihad. Fandoms found here are primarily Hobbit, Inception, SPN. Also many craft patterns

The Den of Debauchery's Mysterious Sealed Wing
My old Fannish website. Has fanfic in over a dozen fandoms, including Captain blood, Brimstone and Anastasia, and rare pictures. This site is archived and not being updated

The Den of Debauchery's Filing Cabinet
My Pinterest.  I have 96 boards, because I like to break big topics into subheadings, like Food: Cult of Cheesecake or Crafts: Crochet: Shawls or Writing: Eight Thrones Universe. I'm a bit of a polymath.

The Den of Debauchery's Hiring Office
My Linked In. I don't use this much

The Den of Debauchery's Telegraph Office
Twitter. This is mostly reposts from Pinterest or Live Journal. I do sometimes live-tweet TV show commentary or whole movies.

The Den of Debauchery's Abandoned Recording Studio
MySpace. Not loving the remake and I find it hard to use. So, not using.

The Den of Debauchery's Link Farm
My Facebook. I seldom originate content here. My LJ, Blogger, Pinterest, Goodreads and Tumblr all propagate to it, and I repost other people's stuff.

The Den of Debauchery's Decaying Billboard
My authorial facebook. Book promo and Blogger posts.

The Den of Debauchery's Rotating Bookshelf
Goodreads. Track my books, my commentary on books I've read. Blogger propagates here.

The Den of Debauchery's Cage in the Attic
Google Plus. This is where my husband and kids hang out. Blogger propagates to it, but not much else, still working on remembering to check it.

I removed my FetLife account.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Lunchtime Life Collection

Happy Canada Day!

 A poetry offering from my then-first-grader:
I like Canada
It's so big.
I love it so because it's so big.
And Canada is the one I like.


  Happy birthday to Olivia DeHavilland. She is 99. Not only was she one of the loveliest stars of the 1930s and 40s, she played good characters with fire and backbone rather than as meek mice. Bad girl roles never interested her. She won the landmark DeHavilland vs Warner case, which gave actors a great deal more freedom in their contracts, since the studios could now only contract for actual calendar year, not days worked as applied to the term of a contract.


Girl Scouts return $100,000 gift, when it comes with strings. A donor gave $100K to the Queen Anne offices of the Girl Scouts of Washington, with the stipulation it not be used to help transgirls. The council gave it back, and has raised three times that amount.

Slurs: Who can say them, when and why is some of the best writing I've read on the subject.

White guys like Rush Limbaugh treat slurs as if they were taboos — words we’re not supposed to say just because we’re not supposed to say them, like shit or fuck. There’s no reason for it, it’s just a rule. Worse, it’s a rule that’s not applied fairly: Only white guys get called to account when they break it. 
What’s wrong with that attitude is that society’s distaste for slurs is not a meaningless taboo. There are at least two good reasons for it:

 1) In any disagreement or discussion, using a slur is cheating: You’re hitting your opponent with a club they can’t use to hit you back. 
2) Every time you use a slur, you perpetuate the stereotypes it invokes.

From our "Real Life is supposed to be less evil than my Dystopias" department:

 This is the scary stuff. Not just the TPP, the TTIP but the TiSA. It eventually privatizes everything. Welcome your corporate overlords and wait for the arcologies...

Money corner:

How to price your crafts. Those scarves I sell for $20 should be going for $37 based on this.

 List of discounts for people over 50. Not there yet, but Mudd only has 8 months.


  Writer's Corner:

  JulNoWriMo kicks off today

 There are two days left on the Supernova Hot section of the Science Fiction Romance Brigade Summer Cafe. Swing by the Inkblot for a tasty summer treat, and the recipe isn't bad either. Also, enter the giveaway.

 The list of Gaylactic Spectrum Award Nominees is up, and Inkstained Succubus' own BR Sanders is up for it! We're excited.

  Types of Fantasy, useful for writers.

 In the same vein, Poul Anderson's On Thud and Blunder should be required reading for fantasy writers.

 And Niven's Laws are required reading for every writer, hells, everybody!

10 dirty sex jokes from the 1700s Some are funny, some are just dumb

  Human pelts. Note: Contains photos of preserved human skin with tattoos. I can see some of my characters taking up art collecting.


 Your song of the day: