Answers (?) to life, the universe, and everything from a pup loving, chainmailing, leaning towards eccentric sometime writer who probably should have been born a corgi
just thinking, like on a page.
So yeah.. this is a thing now. With a release date of December 21, The Way of the Fae is officially out there and a thing and stuff.
Want to check it out before you buy? No problem!
If that doesn’t sound like your thing, but you know of someone who might enjoy it, please pass it on. Independent authors depend heavily on word of mouth, and I would deeply appreciate your support.
This post.. just for the fellas. Every year we see you struggle with the ‘perfect’ gift. Or even the ‘good nuff’ gift. Some of you figure it out, but some of you get it very, very wrong. This is me trying to help you before you do something truly dumb.
Ladies… get him beef jerky, socks, underwear, entertainment of choice (movies, video games, comics, strippers) and leave him alone to enjoy them. Don’t ask him to do the dishes or hand him a honey do list for at least two days. Trust me, he’ll be fine.
OK guys… here’s the kind of stuff she wants-
Mantraband– It’s jewelry with a deep message of inspiration and love! It shows that you get her, really get her, and she’ll love it.
Tee Turtle- Cute t-shirts, socks, games! Pick her favorite Disney character and off you go, nothing simpler.
Etsy– This one’s going to involve being a little sneaky. If your chica has an etsy account, it’s time to figure out her username and grab stuff off her wish list. Upside- it’s all unique, handmade, and omg how did you know? Better than Amazon cause you’re supporting an artist. Downside- if you get caught, good luck talking your way out of that one.
Date Night in subscription boxes– Means that you’re making your relationship a priority, you’re really into her and spending time with her, and the activities can be pretty fun. Slight downside- you may be getting yourself roped in to helping to make dinner on Date Night.
All of the above, and any gifting experience really needs to show some care and thought behind it… if you truly thought it out, it’s hard (but not impossible!) to get into trouble.
Here’s the stuff that could work but I’m throwing up the caution sign.
Fitness trackers- Anh.. be careful, cause this one, while a thoughtful gift, could lead to two really not great outcomes.
Matching undies/jammies- a little overcutesy, and you don’t want to accidentally pull on her stuff while searching through the laundry for your own.
Underwear/lingerie subscription boxes- If it’s not to her taste, she’s not going to feel good in it… and if she doesn’t feel good in it, she’s also not going to feel sexy in it. Poor rate of return on investment, is what I’m saying.
Gift cards- Super impersonal, basically the equivalent of Jane grabbing George’s wallet and buying herself a little something. As a stocking stuffer it can be okay, but not as a main gift.
Under the heading of ‘don’t you even fucking dare do it’-
Gifts that are really for you- this can be a new big screen tv, computer, books you think she should read, games you think she should play because YOU like them.
Clothes one size too small- it’s a dick move, don’t do it.
New decor for the home that’s all you, not at all her.
Hobby supplies for something you’re into but she isn’t… yet.
I know it’s daunting, but I have faith you can get there, guys. Good luck, and remember, we’re all counting on you.
No, that isn’t permission to go buy a box set of the Airplane! movies as a gift.
Sometimes, I feel sorry for Mr. Wellman. You see, I eat dinner quickly and tidily, and I rarely share, so the pups don’t really hang on my every nibble.
Rick… lingers… and is seen as the weakest link. It leads to fun moments like these. Enjoy.
Now that I’ve got the important things out of the way, like new books written and Tom Bodet, I’m turning to the serious issues, and what I’m about to say may be slightly controversial.
I’m not fucking matching my socks anymore. I don’t give a DAYUM if they are the same color or pattern. I might care about general height.
There, I said it, it’s off my chest now, and wow, do I feel better!
Look, at the base of things, I don’t want to dig in a drawer or a closet trying to find a perfectly fucking matched mate to a sock that no one but me and my corg sees. It’s a huge waste of time.
Match socks ahead of time? Eff off, I don’t do the laundry around here, and I’m not going to task Rick with hunting down my Hufflepuff socks only to find he’s got two different Hufflepuff prints matched and go off on the poor boy.
I tell you, I will wear Slytherin with Hufflepuff if I feel like it and I don’t care what you say.
I will try to keep things in the same fandom or solid color plus fandom, cause you know, I wouldn’t wanna be weird.
Yup, that’s right… 44k words, with another 2k word count day. When the end is in sight and I’m tying up all those loose bits for all I’m worth, it always seems easier to hit and exceed the word count goals.
This part always puts me in kind of a weird mood I usually end up calling ‘shappy’. I’m glad that it looks like I’m going to make it again, and I’m sad to be wrapping things up and saying goodbye, in a way. At this point, I know I’ll have 50k words in the can by Friday, but I also know that this one’s gonna run a little over- there’s just a little bit more Cliche to work with here, and she is a MOUTHY one, let me tell you.
I have to say, this one has been entirely different from anything I’ve ever written- it’s the first time I’ve done adaptations plus completely original writings before, and I think it blends together pretty well. And for once, I’m looking forward to the editing cycle, how sick is that?
As always, I want to take a second and thank everyone who’s liked a post or laughed at a snippet or given me those words of encouragement. I’ve mentioned before that writing is a lonesome activity, and feeling folk cheering me on helps a ton.
(and I know this doesn’t count towards my word count, but hey, it’s fun)
Circa 8am on Ritual Sacrifice with Pie Day
I have this odd little habit, this quirk if you will, of believing that it is downright rude to shove my hands into places one can arguably state hands should not go if I don’t know your name.
So, every turkey that I cook gets a name. This year, it’s Tom Bodet. (We’re sure he’ll leave the light on for us.)
Tom Bodet’s morning did not get off to a good start, and I think he knew it wasn’t going to get off to a good start, because he was very reluctant to uncross his legs. Which I suppose was kind of the trifecta, because there also wasn’t an actual turkey roasting pan to be found for Tom at three different stores this week, so we’re kind of making do with a lasagna pan and oh! Did they forget the happy little tag that tells me how much Tom weighs? Oh, yes, friends and neighbors, they did. Thank you, Smith’s, you dirty, rotten bastards, I hate you forever.
Once that was settled to my satisfaction, Tom thought they day was improving as I laved him with water, and then with garlic butter. We put a hole in that pleasant fiction when I began to stab him with an injection needle filled with, you guessed it, garlic butter. I may or may not have been laughing maniacally, reports vary. Five times in the chest, four times in the ass, and a couple more in his legs just for good measure.
But hey, I made it all better- I wrapped him up nice and snug in a plastic bag, laid him tenderly in a foil roasting pan, and tucked him tenderly away in a nice warm oven.
Circa 11 am on Ritual Sacrifice with Pie Day
Tom is slowly roasting along.
I really, really hate Smith’s (yes, the subsidiary of Kroger, thanks for reading) now- had to send the very good man Charlie Brown known as Rick for those last minute items. Can you guess what they had on the shelves in plenty?
Can you?
Aluminum roasting pans. I shake my fist at you, you black hearting pie ninjalooting bastidges. We hates you, precious.
Onward with the sides and appetizers (hot sausage cheese puff things and bacon wrapped shrimp. oh what, the pilgrims didn’t have ’em? They didn’t have cool whip either, and I’m not forgoing that, and they are delicious so there), when I got to the dilemma.
THE dilemma. The ultimate epic battle over… the dressing.
My mother is suffering under the delusion that celery is edible, and that without it, dressing isn’t. After much back and forth (I’ll make my own. No, I’ll go without.) I finally conceded the point and made dressing the only correct way, and then once my smaller casserole dish was filled, made it her way.
And now.. couchlapse time… just putting things on to heat up or throwing things in ovens. Yeah, that’s right, ovens. Thanks to Dan and my excellent bosses, I’m rockin me a double decker this year, and it’s fucking epic mcawesomebadass, bitches.
Circa 8am- Day After Ritual Sacrifice with Pie Day
We all know that I didn’t flop on the couch, right? I mean, deep in your heart you already knew that that just wasn’t a possibility for me, cause as soon as I tried to flop on the couch, remote in hand… I saw the floor.
It. Had. Spots.
I know! Completely unacceptable and the sign of a dreadful home with a dreadful hostess in which you expect all the surfaces to be sticky and the food to be inedible and no one feels safe eating it. I couldn’t have that, I couldn’t let poor Tom Bodet down! All that he’d been through, he deserved his moment in the sun- and so I got up from my wonderfully soft and comfy couch, turned on the roomba, and started mopping for all I was worth.
And then- oh then friends and neighbors.. my spidey sense tingled. You see, Tom had at least another hour in the cooker… but you know, he didn’t come with a tag and maybe, just maybe, it would be a good idea to find that pesky meat thermometer and take a look at the situation.
So I get my thermometer and park myself on the floor, cracking the oven door oh so slightly to see if maybe I’m being entirely premature.
And there- oh friends and neighbors, there is Tom Bodet, in all of his golden brown glory of turkey magnificence.
That’s right, golden. Brown. Which is a color he has no right to be with an hour to go. Panicked, I shove in the meat thermometer (to the appropriate thickest portion of the thigh).
It read 180.
PANIC! 165 is the highest necessary cooking temperature, and Tom, that overachieving bastard, has gone way way way over that mark and is now in danger of being THAT bird.
The one that you chew endlessly, that soaks up cranberry sauce like a sponge. That has that faint aftertaste of sawdust.
“NO!” I screamed, wishing I could pound his chest for effect. “We’re not going to let that happen, damn you! Don’t you dare DRY on me!” Or something to that effect. Once again, reports vary.
I extract him from the oven, oh so carefully juggling his clearly not 18 pound mass with the overflowing plastic bag I cooked him in with the clearly undersized lasagna pan I roasted him in and set him on the counter to rest.
And I waited. To take my mind off waiting for Tom to cool enough to deal with the giant oozing mass of bagged turkey broth, I picked up my folks and got the appetizers going and served.
The moment of truth arrived. I drained off the bulk of the broth, reserving just a little to pour over the cut turkey and keep it moist. I cut open the bag, and sliced into the breast meat.
It looked okay. Still reserving judgment, I looked around for a guinea pig. My stepdad had not noticed the dangerous look in my eye (or he was kinda hungry or he was willing to be the test subject for Tom Bodet). I took him the first piece, and it was pronounced good.
Sigh of relief heaved, after which I force fed my mom and Rick, both of whom made appropriate mouth noises. It was clear that Tom Bodet and I had been saved by the grace of the giant plastic roasting bag, a pound of garlic butter, and my spidey sense tingle.
So Smith’s, you bastards, I still hate you. You cheated me and sold me an underweight bird that I have no idea how underweight he was, you held out on roasting pans until it was way too late, and your mama dresses you funny.
Of course, the company was such that even if Tom Bodet had been a horrible dry mess, we still had tons of good food and warm conversation and togetherness. Oh, and pie. It wouldn’t have wrecked the day.
But it’s way easier to say that after everything turned out fine 😉
OK, so by now it’s pretty clear that I’m kind of passionate about NaNoWriMo. This is my fourth year, and yes, I’ve won and released books from the work created in the previous three years.
I put up a <insert official day of aging word type here> promotion on Facebook to get donations for NaNoWriMo- mostly so I could get two bucks outta Zuck.
So imagine my surprise when folk starting giving.
I got to thinking about it, and decided I wanted to give something back. And what could be more fitting than the very kinds of work that the organization strives to help people like me create?
Tomorrow, for one day only, you can get a free Kindle edition of the Witch’s Daughter. I’m not going to say it’s the best book on the planet, I don’t have any delusions of grandeur. I took the advice of another author and decided to write the kinds of books I’d like to read. And I’m pretty sure I hit that mark. Most of the time.
And you know, if it happens that you like it, there’s two more books in the series.
Hey, reality is, I’m probably not going to be Andy Weir or EL James in the ebook success story game, and that’s okay with me. I like being Ari Wellman and getting to do it all my own way once a year. It’s creatively nourishing, I enjoy it, and sometimes other people get to enjoy it, too.
So if urban fantasy is your thing, I hope you’ll take a look and consider passing the word on. Nothing would warm my heart more than to think that this little story of mine is out there, spreading by word of mouth and connecting with people, even if it’s just for a moment.
Thank you all for your support, for myself and everyone who has a story in them!
I’m gonna have a Sofia Petrillo moment here for a sec-
Picture it- Edgewood, 41 degrees on an October morning, just after dawn. A beautiful peasant girl and her husband are setting up a booth and laying out their wares, hoping to make enough money to feed their growing family.
Yeah, more like our family’s growing chainmail/scalemail/wire wrapping addictions.
Thanks to Siin, we first heard about this event about a month ago, and both the timing and the price were right, so we went. We’d done the ABQ CeltFest before and.. well, it was expensive and didn’t really go all that great. Lots of the Least Desirable Comments were made, prices were picked at, just not a good event.
Yesterday though… it was fantastic. We were positioned in a way that we were able to see the whole field, including the games and music. (Coulda done without being parked next to the drummers, but you can’t have everything in life.) The crowd was very complimentary, as well as ready to sit by and chat a bit, and we got some great feedback and ideas for new pieces. Some of the pieces of niobium went to good homes with folk who appreciated the fact that niobium doesn’t sell for aluminum prices.
Had a couple funny interactions-
Grandma, looking at the purple scale bra- “Isn’t that something!”
Adult grandson, snickering- “Don’t think you could fill it out anymore, though…”
Me, turning to Grandma- “You know what, I think you should buy it for him and see how well HE fills it out!”
Adult grandson looks properly chagrined as Grandma and I laugh at his expense.
Couple also admiring the bra-
Him- “You would look great in that! But you know, it might need a little padding.”
Her, pointing out the bikini top underneath- “That’s what this is for.”
Me- “If you really want to, you COULD go, uh, commando under there, but we will not be liable for any.. damage.”
Conversation goes on to how, at the last event, an older lady had thought that our bags were meant to be worn as codpieces.
Me- “Again, you COULD, but we’re still not liable for damage.”
We also met a young lady who discovered our 1/2 inch ring bags can be used as e-cig carriers… so new product line coming there with the addition of a crossbody strap, a local artist who invited us to talk to her about having some of our work on commission in her shop, and an older gentleman who was looking for a lost sgain dubh, which is the first time I’d ever heard the words spoken. It took me a tick to understand what he was asking for. I’m pleased to report the nice man found his sock knife.
Also heard some amazing bagpipers and harpists, and Ring of Fire and It’s Friday I’m in Love done in the style of the Celtic ballad. Oh, and I may or may not have threatened Rick’s life if he was bringing me a ‘haggis puff’ in white paper. I’m not sure what a haggis puff would be, I’m just sure I don’t really wanna try one.
I’m pleased to say Rick is still with us today, as the white paper contained an apple turnover.
Let me splain. No, there is too much, let me sum up.
Don’t you hate it when that thing that you thought was just your stupid screwed up sinuses (believe me, it’s crazy straws shooting spitwads instead of actual conduits moving matter in there) and allergies becomes a deep chest cold?
Yeah, me too.
So that’s why I croak when I talk right now and I spent Monday doing this-
Bonus points to whoever can name which movie that was.
When NOT doing that, I’ve revisited old favorite episodes of South Park (Make Love, Not Warcraft), and watching Adam Ruins Everything.
I’m not going to lie, I’m borderline obsessed with this show. It’s entertaining, educational, cites ALL it’s sources, and it gives me something to think about when I can’t really muster the energy to be doing something. Check it out, the first two seasons are free on Netflix right now.
Got a new Rick’s Chainmail sales event coming up on Saturday- the Edgewood Celtic Festival that Siin talked me into trying out. Booth fee was nice and low, weather will hopefully cooperate, and even have some awesome new stock, so that’ll be fun.
Finally got a call from donor coordinator- now just waiting for my card to come in to pay for all the fun fluid sampling they get to do of me. (This part will get a little graphic, but I’ll keep it to just this paragraph if you want to skip it.) Apparently one of the main concerns is my urine output- they want to make sure I already have good output so being down a kidney isn’t really an issue. I had to wheeze/laugh at that- as a lady in her 40s sans uterus, telling me my overall output may reduce by 25% is nothing but music to my ears. That’s like 3 less bathroom trips a day! Sign. Me. Up.
After they determine if I can in fact be a donor, we can immediately jump into cross match (to tell if my kidney will work for the recipient). This is pretty exciting stuff- while I’m not opposed to a paired donor situation, it would take longer.
I am being a little more liberal with calories while I’m not feeling great- but still trying to get 60 minutes of light activity a day and staying under 1600. I’m absolutely 100% not starving in any way, I want to be sure to add. I’m just realizing that no, I don’t really NEED that 4th taco. Or that 3rd slice of pizza. Or that cup of hot chocolate (which, did you know, tastes like crap without Bailey’s and whipped cream? Yeah, I know! I was shocked too).
Also clearing the decks and getting into the right mental mindset for NaNoWriMo. I know which concept I want to go with, and I’m trying really really hard not to psych myself up or out- Yes, I’ve done it for the past three years and finished every time. But every year has also been just a little bit different. 50,000 words in 30 days is a lot, and the concept isn’t just a follow up novel to the one before. I’d really like to say I’ll be able to keep up the pace and that I’ll get to start 2019 with another new book out. But I can’t. What I can say is I’m going to do my best.
TL:DR- OMG lots going on, donor stuff, book stuff, chainmail stuff, life stuff, stuff stuff.
Curiouser and Curiouser 