Le Cafe des Muses

Unicorn deer in Italy

How awesome is that? And what a cutie!

 Day 5 - A Song that Reminds Me of Someone

"Sharp Dressed Man"- ZZ Top [video]

My friend, JD (aka Soldier Boy [said in an outrageous French accent], aka Blackrose, aka Handsome). He is insanely pretty, and this is coming from someone who doesn't do skinny boys. He's a live-action bishonen, like something that jumped out of a Korean Teen Drama. The Marines have slapped some muscle on him and he's always been a sharp dresser, in and out of character. It's also a very strutty song, one that will forever bring to mind the early days of Blackrose (which is how I will always see that character). He's dashing, roguish, charming, cheerful, and a total renaissance man (violinist, composer, linguist, swordsman, soldier, diplomat...). *sigh* If I weren't married.

Day 6 - A Song that Reminds Me of Somewhere

"Starry Eyed Surprise"- Paul Oakenfold [video]

I had this song on a custom CD my sophomore year of High School, the year I was accepted into Varsity Choir (the Treble Choir, not as demanding as the Show or "Madrigal" groups, but more advanced than the SATB). Varsity was one of the three groups that went to competitions. That year, because of 9/11, there would be no competition in NYC, so we decided to go to the one in Myrtle Beach. This song came on as we were pulling in at sunrise on the Friday before we competed. At 15, I felt insanely grown up. I was away from home without my mother, strolling down the boardwalk, going to dinner, able to stay up late. So, something about that moment makes this song forever symbolize Myrtle Beach and that feeling of being old enough to know better and not old enough to give a damn yet. We're at the beach, dude! Party on!

( Now, for more serious matters... )

 I want this book to be good. I don't want to offend anyone and I'm trying so hard to get it all right, but the line between fantasy and reality just had a brimming cup of reality check tip over on it.

I don't know how much real world there is in this book anymore. I love the Russian names, I love the overly-curious, clumsy seamstress, and her quirky little magic system, hell, I love the antagonists, even if they are bastards. But, the language is a pain in the ass. If I'm using proper Russian names for people, I should use them for places. I really need a Russian beta reader, but I'm not even sure where to look. Language might not be a problem, my sister-in-law speaks Russian fluently, as does my friend Chris, but culture-wise, they only know medieval and modern.

I feel like a chump and like I've been insensitive this whole time. But, I also feel like writing a totally Western Hemisphere story for American readers has been done to death. It's been lampooned to death, too. 

I first became inspired to do this after reading about Russian Court Uniforms. The gowns the women wore were incredible. They were these decadent confections of gold and velvet and satin. They screamed "magic" to me, and I saw what I can only describe as a video clip flash before my eyes. Now this is a very rushed synopsis, so pardon the pacing.

A young woman, perhaps 19 or 20 years old, enters a large room, full of people sewing, mostly women. They rise, bow or curtsy, and she responds in kind and gives them leave to continue. Poor kid looks as nervous as a belle at her first cotillion, but she proceeds to a dressmaker's dummy in the middle of the room. A blank gown of white velvet is already on, but it seems drab and dull. She picks up a box and pins bits of trim on, marks odd patterns and diagrams on the cloth, drapes it with other materials.

Soon, the room is empty. She calls in two other women. One is older and higher ranking by birth, disapproving from the face, but she's still lovely even in her eighties. The other is perhaps in her thirties or forties, girlishly lovely, but shy and mute. They ease the gown off the manikin and set to work. Soon, even those two have left. The gown is lavishly embroidered and glittering with silver, crystal and pearls like fresh snow. The woman looks exhausted, as though she hasn't rested since she started and the clock is striking three. She places a few last stitches in the trim and gets the gown back on the dummy. She can rest now, but not long.

She allows herself only the barest amount of pride. The arcane work behind the dress is so well disguised, even she can't spot it among the lacy patterns. Even so, it's not done, because she's standing now, taking a flask of liquid and a handkerchief, using it to flick water over the garment. It glitters and glows. She flops into an armchair and sleeps.

As soon as the sun is up, a page opens the door and announces someone. The woman snaps awake, jumping to her feet and dropping into a low curtsy as a small, dark woman enters in a frilly dressing gown and nighty. The page is shooed out and the woman helps the newcomer to dress, even with the lingerie and accessories. She sets a tall tiara with a long, silver veil on her head, arranging every fold, before stepping back and curtsying again.

Flash forward. Several hours later, it's all gone wrong. The woman in the white dress looks like hell. The dress is a shambles, she's lost a shoe, her headdress is rolling away and she's trying to defend herself from a rather handsome fella with a revolver, using only turned over tables and a very long candlestick. He gets in a lucky shot and she crumples. He goes to the sideboard, pours a drink, toasts his victory and turns his back to drink.

WHACK!

The woman in white is up again, she's clubbed him with the candlestick. She stands over him and plucks from her bodice a single, deformed lump of lead, which she drops on his face.



That, in a nutshell, is what inspired the novel. That woman in white is clearly in my head wearing a Russian court gown and, while the populace will hear of the Tsaritsa's courage and fortitude, who will hear the story of the people who made her bulletproof? But, I'm wondering now, why did I have to pick a culture I'm so clumsy with?

 I've been trying to find a way to supplement my very meager income for a while now, and I may have stumbled upon it.

I can sew, sort of. I can fake it pretty well, anyway. I'm getting involved in the ABJD community and it's amazing how much they'll spend on stuff (I don't blame them, with my own doll, I haven't even bought her and I can expect to spend at least $100 on stuff for her). But, everybody makes clothes and, without a doll to use as a guide, I just can't see making outfits.

But, I just bought $10 worth of fat quarters, a few yards of very narrow bias tape and will be seeing about getting hold of poly or cotton batting. Yup, I'm making doll sized quilts.

( The business plan... )

Gah, Chickens, Eggs, whoa. I shouldn't be getting so excited. Start with the quilts, pillows and banners and then start buying crap.

 It's been a while since we've talked and we have a LOT to talk about. So, how does everybody else feel about meeting Monday or Wednesday night around 7?

Topics I'd like to cover:

--Hit the Reset Button?
--Stories?
--Villains?

It's not much and if anybody else can think of any other topics, I'm happy to take suggestions.

 I know this, because now, I'm trying to envision all my World of Darkness PCs as Keyblade users.

( It's sad, really... )

 Good: ZOMG LILITH FAIR It's back!

Bad: The only time they'll be nearby (unless we want to hike up to Philly) is during Pennsic. Damn.

A very odd piece to develop my Geist PC.

 

( The moon has its many phases, each coming and going in turn )

 I had the strangest dream, possibly related to my therapy session yesterday.

Mom and I were still living together and we'd moved into a newly-build townhouse (apartment?) in a fairly underdeveloped, but really nice and expensive neighborhood. I think this was supposed to be back in Loudoun. We were sharing a bed for some reason and I was reading a bunch of fantasy stories written by a friend from high school. They were very Mary-Sueish, and eventually I couldn't stand it any longer, so I closed my laptop and got out of bed to go for a walk.

It was the middle of the night, which is normally the last time I'm wandering the streets alone in my pajamas. I had my iPod with me and it was playing this really creepy waltz (a song I actually have on my iTunes), so I was dancing as I went. It was mostly a "German step" as they called it in the day, proving I can't waltz even in my dreams. But, those bounding gallops were taking me very high in the air and very far onto this big grassy field.

Eventually, I guess I decided I'd walked too far (I could still see the door of the house), so I turned around and started to walk back. I wound up sitting down on the grassy lawn-like patch under what I knew was the bedroom window and kept listening to my music. Suddenly there was a man, all dressing in white and rather hairy, approaching me. I held up my arms, crossed like Wonder Woman deflecting a bullet, and I heard my mom calling for me. I tell her I'm coming and the man falls on me. Not like he's trying to violate me, more like he tripped over something and tipped over. His legs are on me. Mom calls again, sounding impatient, and I reply in kind, telling her, yes, I'm coming, give me a minute. Meanwhile, I'm trying to shove him off me and get free. When I do get loose, my mom calls my name again, sounding really angry, and the guy is suddenly sitting up and has me by the wrist, so I tell to hold on, I'm coming, just give me a minute.

And then I woke up.

EDIT: Not sure it matters, but this is the song (with lyrics) from my dream: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNJGAwqV0ys

 Raven got out last night. As usual, Tim didn't want me to worry, so he didn't tell me.

This is so fucking typical of him. This is the rent money all over again. He doesn't want me to worry, so he just hopes I won't have to find out and says nothing. So Raven is gone and I only find out because I call for her and THEN he tells me, because the jig is apparently up!

Does he even trust me to be a fucking adult? 

EDIT: Kitty came home. No longer angry.