Thursday, August 25, 2005

Dear Santa:

I know it is quite early to be thinking of Christmas, dearest Santa Claus, but I've been lusting for many things for the last two years that I don't seem to know how to aquire for myself.

I suppose I have not recieved them as yet because I'm not a very good girl, but you know, I haven't gotten any coal, switches, or rocks either, so it's not that I'm bad.

Perhaps you have just forgotten me. After all, my address has changed many times and I've switched continents twice! So I am writing this letter to remind you that Brutal Women have needs, too.

Please send me:

1) A flat-screen monitor.

This makes writing and computer game playing very good, as my laptop has the smallest screen ever. I promise that I will solve Myst III: Revelation if you send this to me.

2) Wireless mouse and keyboard. I saw this at Costco for like $39.99

3) A free standing punching bag.

Because you know all the fun I'll git up to with that.

4) I also have a Wish List, because I am shameless.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Wishes,

Kameron Hurley

P.S. It sucks being old. I should get some compensation for no longer getting presents. Like superpowers. I should be able to fly, or some shit like that.

To Work, To Work

Ok. I've reworked all of my novel writing schedules so the two books I'm working on will get done on time. I've fallen behind on my schedule, and I need to get back on track. This means a whirlwind writing weekend over labor day.

And here's some breathing space, courtesy of New Zealand:




Good Bye, Viagra Guy

A Farewell Letter to Viagra guy:

Good bye, Viagra guy.

Congrats, good luck at your new job! I sure as hell am glad you got hired on somewhere else.

I do not envy your new coworkers.

Oh, hurrah, I shall never have to listen to you again at 8am on a Monday morning trying to make small talk about the consistency of coffee creamer.

Truly, the the universe is merciful.

Goodbye!

Buried in Books

I used to make fun of my roommate, Jenn, for the number of books she kept on her queen-sized bed. Last time she cleaned it off, she came back with a count upwards of 50 hiding in the sheets.

Now that I've switched from a single to a queen and shoved everything into a much smaller room, and having an out-of-town boyfriend who only visits once a month or so, I have discovered something quite peculiar.

The other night, I was startled to roll over and discover that I'd left a pile of books in bed with me.

Jenn has a really great coffee mug that says, "Book lovers never go to bed alone."

Ain't that the truth.

We're at over 1700 books right now, and the rest of Jenn's SO's books will arrive this weekend, which will likely but us close to 2000, so we can relate to the plight of the poor buried bibliophile:

For the bibliophile, what to do with the books is life's central decorating issue, an ongoing discourse, a debate, and often an outright d├ęcor war, between aesthetics, the practicalities of storage and the consuming mindlessness of passion.

I can't wait to have a proper library. In the meantime, there are books in every room in our house. I'm glad we don't live in earthquake country.

Rushdie on Writers

"my view is that writers need to go everywhere. You need to put your hands into as many pieces of life as you can. You've got to go to the whorehouse or the ball game or the prison or the nightclub, it doesn't matter. You've got to go everywhere. Because otherwise you don't know enough."

(via Culture Space)