Dragons 4.10.19-4.16.19


So, who amongst you hath watched the Game for the Throne?

            Before I go on, no, I’m not sure that was the grammatically correct way to ask that. For those of you who do know, my interest is about 5%. The other 95% just wants to talk about Game of Thrones. This can be applied to literally every conversation I’ve had in the past four years.

            That’s when I started watching GoT. I missed the show coming out for a few years. Although, as an English Major with a Minor in Medieval and Renaissance Studies, during college I got every spoiler that there was to be had. Even my professors would talk about it. I still remember this one prof…he always wore very nice clothes, dress pants and shirt, always very clean cut and professional. Except that he wore these hiking boots, instead of dress shoes. That and the fact that he put the cover of the first season of GoT up on the projector my first day of class, those are the things that really stuck with me.

            And about two-hundred years’ worth of Icelandic sagas. It’s hard to forget those. If I ever get another horse, his name will be Freyfaxi and he will be the Lord of Horses. Bite me, Gandalf. You and Shadow Fax can go ride into the sunset. Freyfaxi and I will be just fine.

            We’re going to have to discuss GoT tomorrow, because I’ve really derailed. Oh man, I miss college classes. My senior year was awesome. I took calligraphy (and to this day, it is the only college class that has directly helped me make money) and book binding. I printed a book with the Gutenburg press and, yes, I bound that book in leather.

            I went to the College of St. Scholastica in Duluth, Minnesota. If you haven’t seen it, Google it. I went to college at Muggle Hogwarts.


Anyway, about Game of Thrones.

            Also, spoiler alert. SPOILER ALERT. SPPPPPOOOOOOIIIIIIILLLLERR ALLLLLEEEERRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT. If you haven’t seen the last episode of the, *sniffle*, last season, just go ahead and skip this day. Seriously.

            Now. My favorite character has always been Daenerys. When I read the books, I would be disappointed if it wasn’t her chapter (even Arya’s took second to hers, and I know that’s a crime to a lot of people). She had dragons. She rode horses. She was this badass lady who pulled herself up from nothing and learned not to take shit from anyone. I loved her.

            But, after watching season seven and the first episode of eight, I don’t think she’s going to end this show well. In fact, I’ll bet old Jon is going to have to kill her. Because, you guys, she’s going to the Dark Side.

            Burning the Tarlys was just the beginning. Did anyone else notice how she smiled when her dragons intimidated the people of Winterfell? Or how she chafes whenever Tyrion advises not burning people alive? I don’t think she’s going mad—although that’s certainly a possibility—I think she’s enjoying her power a little too much.

            Can she still be saved? Yes. I think so. But it all comes down to how she reacts to Jon Snow’s delivery of his Targaryen ancestry. She’s not going to believe him at first, unless the show just glanced over the part where he rode the dragon and she actually does know that dragons only let Targaryens ride them (something the book made a point of and something that irritates the hell out of me that the show didn’t). If she does believe him, then I worry she’s going to toast him like the Tarlys. Because without Jon, she is the rightful heir. It’s a quandary, folks.


Okay, just keep skipping today because I’m not done with the spoilers.

            So if Jon does—OKAY SERIOUSLY, SPOILERS—tell her, and she doesn’t toast him, the only other alternative is that she bends the knee/marries him. And with her present disposition, I just don’t see that happening. I mean, she’s gotten pretty attached to the idea of being Queen. Even when Tyrion tried to talk to her about an heir, she was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of not becoming Queen. And if Jon tells her (and that’s a big if, because I could see him just avoiding the whole situation by just swallowing his heirship and marrying Daenerys and calling well enough alone…unless Sansa catches wind of it, in which case she’d murder him rather than let him give up his power for Daenerys’s bed)…where was I? Oh yes, if Jon tells Daenerys that he’s the rightful heir, she’s probably going to think that he’s another usurper. And if not, then she’s going to end up going to war with him.

            Since that’s the case, I could see ole Jonny boy not telling her until after the Night King does his thing. Maybe they defend Winterfell. Maybe the Night King decides to slide on past them and move south. I mean, what is that guy’s issue?

            Seriously, though. I feel like this is a big plot thing that they haven’t even addressed. Why does the Night King want to so royally screw the Seven Kingdoms? I mean, sure, they were made by the children to protect them from the wicked men. Andals? I’m not totally sure on the logistics, here. Anyway, maybe it’s just his mission to kill people and so that’s what he’s going to do. But what if it’s more than that? What if Bran really is the Night King (although I don’t feel like that’s the case, unless he’s also secretly Thanos and just is going to save them all from starving this winter by irradicating half the population…OMG, that’s a thing.)?


I’ve talked a lot so far and I haven’t actually said anything.

            Well, other than wandering around in my GoT brain, which takes up 95% of my daily thought process anyway. I mean, look at Sansa’s costumes. She’s gorgeous and fierce and I just want to make those costumes. And, the most dangerous part is that I can. I love trying to figure out how GoT costumes come together. I’ve gotten better at it over the years. I’ve made Missandei’s, two of Daenerys’s, two of Margaery’s, one of Catelyn’s, and one of Melisandre’s. Not to mention a plethora of cloaks and other Thronsie goodies.

            So yeah, I want to keep on talking about GoT. But I’ve got to stop because today is the day I finished editing the first draft of Olympus.

             It’s exciting. It’s really exciting. I’ve got this hard copy all marked up, my notes crammed in the margins of literally every single page (200 and some letter-sized pages). Tomorrow, I’m going to put my edits into the computer. And then, you guys, and then I’m going to print off that bad boy and give it to my beta readers *NERVOUS HAPPY DANCE

            Seriously, this is probably the most stressful time for my writing career. So far, only my eyes have seen the book. I’m the only brain my words have had to please. But that first beta reader, that first fresh look at the book…what if it’s total shit? What if it doesn’t make sense, or the plot is confusing, or the characters aren’t true to themselves? What if it’s boring or confusing or dumb?

            All of these questions will soon be answered. So excuse me while I go screaming into the wilderness. I know not what else to do.


Well, that’s it then.

            I printed my first beta copy of the book and gave it to, you guessed it, my mom. Now, if you know my mom, you know that I’m not dicking around here. She doesn’t blow smoke up my ass. If she thinks my book is shit, she’s probably not even going to finish reading.

            Maybe I’m making her, let’s call her Frances, sound a little too savage. But as a writer whose mom not always likes/finishes her book offerings, this is an intimidating thing.

            So, heart in hand, I printed off a revised copy of Olympus with my personal edits worked in, and handed my baby to its grandmother. Except the grandmother in question will make it a better, tighter, brighter baby. Not spoil it. Never spoil it.

            Poor baby.

            Of course, my term of endearment is misplaced: when it comes to editing a manuscript, it isn’t your baby. It’s a bloody damn manuscript, and you need to come at it with vengeance in mind. I’m talking knives and swords and blood and guts, people. That manuscript doesn’t deserve your readers’ love—it has to earn it. You’ve poured your life into your book, sure. It has taken and devoured your hours, made your hands cramp up and made you lose whatever extra sleep there is in this world. But hey. That’s what you do. You write.

            And if you want to write well, then you’re going to have to give that baby some tough love.

            So, it begins. I’m sending out manuscripts to the rest of my betas soon. I don’t have internet at my house, so it’s just a matter of remembering to bring the laptop into town/devouring some hotspot data from my iPhone’s hungry need for Netflix.


Happy Tax Day.

            Is that a thing? I called up someone today and started with happy tax day, and I felt like an idiot. What do we have to be happy about?

            Now I’ve done a really good job at not bringing politics in on my blog. I don’t want to talk about that shit. If you’re interested in my opinions on the Orange Menace, well, that pretty much sums it up. I don’t need to irritate those of you who like him. I don’t need to rally those of you who don't. We know who we are, and nothing I type up on here is going to change that. Change happens with real actions (like voting, people) and not by just getting irritated in front of your computer monitor.

            That said, it’s hard for me to do my taxes when I know that not all my hard-earned cash is going toward programs that I believe in. It’s irritating. It’s also irritating watching how my taxes have changed over the years. But, like I said, I’m not going to make this blog political.

            Until it’s voting season. Then I’m going to be all up in all y’all’s business to get up, get out and VOTE.


            Happy Tax Day.



Today is my momma’s birthday.

            She’s really going to hate that her name is Frances. I’m pretty proud of it, actually. But, hey, it’s her birthday. And since what she really wanted for her birthday was to ride a dragon, for this day her name is Dany.

            But then we’re going to be right back to Frances, so don’t get too used to it.

            I like planning birthdays. I like celebrating the people in my life who are important to me. And I like celebrating my own birthday when it comes around too, of course. That’s where the cake’s at (my favorite cake, which is either a white cake with raspberries or it’s not a cake, it’s a crepe/pie).

            But Dany’s favorite cake is cheesecake (she loathes pretty much any other kind of cake), so I spent 10 hrs last night after work crafting a turtle cheesecake. It wasn’t perfect, as I’m a dummy who forgot to buy pecans (one of the three friggin things that make cheesecake a turtle) and I figured that a water bath was a little extravagant (I mean, get over yourself, cake), so it decided to crack right down the middle, just to let me know that it is the prima Donna of cakes.

            Anyway, my dad sent her a dozen roses, my sister found a most excellent Big Bang Theory-themed card, and we sat at a local bar/coffee shop and had old fashioneds and martinis. Very classy stuff.

            Then we sucked the helium out of her balloon and proceeded to almost be removed from the restaurant. We’re the worst. We’re the best.

            I love you, momma. Happy birthday. I hope you like Olympus. Please like Olympus.

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