Now that the event’s over, I have to focus on selling stuff to make money to make more stuff to sell. There’s a way to make money on Redbubble (shop’s here). I’m certain of it. I just have to figure out how.
Tweet of the Day, This Is Why We Oldish* People Are Cranky About Physical Media edition.
I understand that this particular situation is weird and complicated, but dammit: physical discs are harder to deactivate.
*I don’t feel old.
Thinking about NaNoWriMo…
…Got two choices: I could finish that fantasy Western I started last year, or I could do that alternate history pulp detective story I’ve been thinking about doing. Although obviously the next novel after this one is going to have to be BANSHEE BEACH. Still up in the air about what book to work on after that, though. Thoughts?
04/15/2024 Snippet, FLIM-FLAM MAN.
Back to it!
Gregor looked at the amulet again. It was golden – no, it was gold. He could barely make out on its central disc the outlines of a budding tree, just like from the altar, which made sense. What he wasn’t feeling was any kind of power. God-items had a greasy feel to them, no matter the god. Besides, if you got close enough to one, you could feel its regard. The priests all said that the gods were always watching through their special items, and Gregor had been an onlooker to enough bad experiences to half-believe it.
There was nothing like that here. The gold was warm to the touch, but there was no queasiness, or half-tangible reek of curdled regard. He breathed in. No smell at all, in fact. Certainly there wasn’t anything godly to block out the simple fragrance of sun and wind, filtered through the leaves of a living forest. Maybe it’s not god-touched, he thought. Or it once was, and when the god died, nothing was left behind. That thought was oddly sad, but Gregor shrugged it off. Dead gods weren’t his problem. Making a living was.
He looked over at the pile of books he had pulled from the temple. On quick glance they looked like scriptures and hymns, which is why he had grabbed them. Gods never minded if you walked off with those. Gregor thought that they’d be worth reselling, since they were in the Old Speech and thus snooty, but now he had another idea. One that might prove more than a little profitable.
Just paid the invoice for Savage Fest.
Guess it’s official-official: I’ll be vending at Savage Fest this June 1st. As I’ve noted earlier, Savage is the name of the town, not a description of the venue. This part of the state used to be a factory town, you see. After that, it’s two weeks to Stellar Con in York, PA, which should be fun. Still looking for July venues, though…
Moe Lane
PS: Buy my books! And my RPG supplement (singular, for now)!
‘Up All Night.’
I cannot explain the era, and I lived through it. You just had to have been there.
Up All Night, Slaughter
#commissionearned
I was inducted in the Order of the Opal at Storvik Novice Tourney*!
It’s a Kingdom-level service award, for those unfamiliar with the SCA; I was given it for my field coordination work, although the King of Atlantia was kind enough to mention the Blackfox I got while Chronicler for Storvik. It was a nice highlight of the day.
The scroll was done by Mestra Esperanza Susanna Flecha, and I love it.
*Which I was autocratting. It was, shall we say, a busy weekend. Fun, though.
Book of the Week: Murder at the War.
I haven’t thought of Mary Monica Pulver’s Murder at the War in a good, long while. This straight-up murder mystery is set in Pennsic before it was Pennsic, sort of: Cooper’s Lake wasn’t the first place we held that event. Certainly this book is set before the event became PENNSIC, a sprawling two-week behemoth that helps define the SCA.
I do remember being shocked at Pennsic 21 (my first) that, wow, there are authors here! That this was allowed! It left an impression.
‘The Mary Ellen Carter.’
Will be autocrat for a SCA event this weekend.
Oh, sorry: ‘event steward.’ I don’t actually object to the name change. In a lot of ways it’s more reflective of what I’m doing with regard to this event, which mostly involves making sure that all the spinning plates fall down in the right order. It’s a collaborative effort… right up to the point where something goes wrong, and it’s time to me to The Trash Heap Has Spoken at it until the problem gets fixed, or at least becomes ignorable.
In practical terms all of this means that I’m going to be very sporadically posting until Sunday afternoon. Or possibly Monday morning, because Sunday may be a time of showers and unconsciousness. Responsibility is not something that comes naturally to me. I can do it, but I get really tired afterwards.