The Lesser-Known Tales of ... Me?

So, as it turns out -- get ready for some shocking news -- it actually takes, like, a long time to finish a book!

Which is not to say that I haven't been working on any books. Truly, I have. (Even if often it's The Nick Miller Way. If you don't know what this means, it is my moral obligation to point you toward the New Girl episode "Eggs" as soon as possible. It is definitely one of the most consistently hilarious episodes of television I have ever known, and I have seen it ... too many times. MAYBE MY PROBLEM IS I'VE BEEN LIVING TOO CASUAL WITH YOU CLOWNS! I NEED REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE LIKE ERNEST HEMINGWAY! I WANT TO KILL A MAN AFTER MAKING SWEET LOVE TO HIM AND SLEEP IN THE BELLY OF HIS HORSE! I WANT TO EAT MY WAY OUT OF A SANDWICH HOUSE! I'M BECOMING ERNEST HEMINGWAY, YA IDIOTS. ... that was all from my imperfect memory, so, ya know. Take it for what it is. But God, doesn't it look good in caps lock? Also, Nick Miller is me, HE IS ME BUT THE MAN VERSION WHO LOOKS BETTER IN CASUAL FLANNEL, but that's another blog post for another time.)

Unfortunately, I write like I read, and also like I blog: which is to say, all over the place. I am usually reading about five books at the same time because I am both voracious and ambitious when it comes to my story consumption. I want them all! All at once!

Aaand usually it leads to me not reading anything because I just can't choose between them.

My writing impulse is very similar, in that I currently have like a handful -- or two handfuls -- of novel ideas battling each other for dominance. (Jolly dragon slaying adventure about a prince and his lady squire! No, feminist Gothic fairytale-deconstruction romp! No, Know Not Why sequel! No, fluffy lesbian Cinderella retelling where she falls in love with her wicked stepsister instead! No, angsty YA novel about Guinevere and Morgan le Fay being unlikely best pals! No, sequel to that fluffy fairytale novel I finished in 2010 and then left to gather dust! No, figure out how to do something with that fluffy fairytale novel I finished in 2010 and then left to gather dust! No, some kind of romcom that Charlize Theron and Kristen Stewart could star in the movie adaptation of, because come on, THAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN, THAT CHEMISTRY IS NOT TO BE DENIED! No, it's time to finally finish the 750+ page romantic comedy magnum opus I co-authored with my dear dear friend also named Hannah in the halcyon days of 2007-2008! ... actually, that one is always the true priority, and I am super excited to one day get that out into the world. THIS IS HAPPENING, MY OTHER HANNAH!) Anyway, in short: I love all my novels-in-progress and want to spend time with all of them! It's the choosing that messes me about.

I am definitely trying to work on figuring out how to be more disciplined as a writer and focus on one project rather than bouncing from one to the other merrily and madly. But I'm not sure how much progress I'm going to make in terms of producing something e-publishable in the very near future. Just know that I am working, and more is on the way! And I promise I haven't just vanished, never to return. Your readership truly means the world to me. I love it even more than Nick's Hemingway monologue from the New Girl episode "Eggs." And that is how you know this love is very real and, frankly, a little freaky.

So in the meantime while I'm fighting my way through the writing process, I do have some other stories that are currently available as well! I don't think these have been quite as widespread as Know Not Why, so I figured I'd just talk a little bit to you about each of them in case anyone's curious to read more from me.

STORIES BY ME THAT ARE NOT KNOW NOT WHY BUT I'M STILL PRETTY FOND OF 'EM

I took that picture of those flowers in Canada,
which makes sense, because Canada is
A GOD DAMN FAIRYTALE.
One day I'll live there! One ... day ...

1. The Beautiful Thing: Fairytales Retold is a trio of, well, fairytale retellings. (A shocking twist, I know!) The first story is based on The Princess and The Pea, but with more prostitutes. And I promise it's fluffier than that necessarily makes it sound. The second one is a sequel of sorts to the Keats poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci -- because you can't just mope over mysterious fairy succubi forever! Even weary knights need their "We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together" moments. The third story, still one of my very favorite things that I've ever written, is -- well, actually, I don't totally want to give that one away. It's about a young girl named Iris who becomes the apprentice to a rather charming witch. Let's leave it at that for now.

I wrote these when I was getting my undergraduate degree in English; it was the time right after I'd finished my general requirements and was really delving into upper level English classes for the first time. And oh heavens, y'all, I was just so happy. I was blessed (and continue to be!) with a really wonderful group of English professors who are entirely guilty for making me fall even more head-over-heels in love with literature than I was already when I showed up to college. With my own Intro to Composition students, I often tell them that we don't write into a void: writing is entering a conversation. With these -- and with a lot of the fantasy/fairytaley stuff I write -- I love "entering the conversation" of these old stories and examining them in a different way. (And, ya know, sometimes taking elements of the stories that really piss me off and making it go a new way instead. :D)

The Beautiful Thing @ Amazon Kindle Store / @ Smashwords

2. Fairish and the One-Eyed Goatherd

Sadly, I could not find an actual one-eyed
goatherd to pose for this cover art.
Ergo its vagueness.

This one is also in the fairytale vein, except it's about 75% more bonkers. Let's be real here: make that 90%. Here, I'll bust out the summary for you:

"Beauty(of 'and the Beast'-type fame)'s okay-looking older sister Fairish gets her own potential fairytale. It doesn't go too well. Featuring a heroine who really likes to say 'screw you,' a hero who knows how to rock an eyepatch, adventure, danger, random dragons, and all the goats you could possibly dream of. And then some. Seriously. There are just too many goats."

It's tremendously silly, and sometimes I like to daydream about expanding this one into a novel. Because it's not like my list of To-Write Novels is already astronomically long or anything!

Anyway, I like the love story in this one. They're just such weirdos! And as we all know, weirdo love is the best love. Just look at Nick and Jess! (Boom, New Girl reference #2! Can you possibly tell that my gentleman companion and I have been New Girl rewatching lately?)

Fairish and the One-Eyed Goatherd @ Smashwords
It also has a little sequel tale!

3. Fires I Would Like To Know

Ooh, get it? Red like FIRE! And trees like ... trees!
(Fire bad, tree pretty. -Buffy Anne Summers)

I wrote this while I was also writing my undergrad thesis, which was all about Jane Eyre and the awesomeness of Jane and Bertha and how Rochester is a frightful patriarchal tyrant. (Sorry, Rochester! I just don't get it, except in a way where I like to make fun of you SO MUCH. It is truly one of my life's great passions. And while we're on the subject, everyone go read Sarah Rees Brennan's crazy-fabulous recap of Jane Eyre. It understands my Rochester sentiments like nothing else. Except perhaps Kate Beaton's comics.)

One of my very favorite writers (and the other author I did my undergrad thesis on!), Sarah Waters, said that Jane Eyre was marred only by the fact that Charlotte Bronte liked Mr. Rochester too much. So I guess, in short, this story is asking: what if Jane didn't? What if it was something else about Thornfield that captivated her? (Hint: it's Bertha.)

I like this story. It was cathartic as hell to write as I slogged through Rochester's nonsense for month after month. Honestly, I can only put up with that guy for so long.

Unless he's played by Toby Stephens. That dude's winsome, what can I say?? He's so jaunty!

Fires I Would Like To Know @ Smashwords

4. When Flirting Met Zombies / Lifeless in Limbo

The cover art for this is legit RIDONKULOUS.
What was I thinking?? What am I ever thinking?
(Usually about food.)

Long ago, an online writing group of mine had the challenge to write a zombie apocalypse story. Because I am me, I wrote a zombie apocalypse romcom! In a world with Warm Bodies (which I still need to watch!) and Z Is For Zombies (I love you, Nick Miller!), this is no longer a fun and original idea, but I swear it was groundbreaking revolutionary stuff in 2007! ... well, I'm not totally sure about that. In any case, it was fun to write.

This is technically two short stories. It's like one of those movie two-packs you can get at Target, where suddenly you're the proud owner of What A Girl Wants and A Cinderella Story for $9.99! Plus, the titles are deeply nuanced (...) homages to When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless In Seattle!

Also, once upon a time I made cover art for them with Scarlett Johansson as Sarah and Justin Long (who was known in those days as The Mac Guy) as Benjamin. The tagline on it was, I believe, "Just because the end is nigh don't mean the sparks can't still fly."

I have always been slightly too quippy for my own good, or indeed the good of anyone around me.

In other words, maybe just imagine that Howie Jenkins wrote these two tales.

I apologize to Oasis for how much these stories make fun of them. Wonderwall really is a very lovely and powerful song. Like, damn: have you heard Ryan Adams and Cat Power cover that thing??

Although the original is obviously really excellent as well.

God I hope the members of Oasis don't read this. (They're a band, right? And not a Bat for Lashes situation?)

Ahem.

When Flirting Met Zombies / Lifeless In Limbo @ Smashwords

And that's all for now, folks! As always, thank you for devoting some of your time to my babble. :)

I remain ever yours in not writing in a timely fashion,
HJ

SEQUEL ANXIETY (dun dun DUN)

Why hello there, blog! Fancy seeing you here!

As you can probably tell, random reader who wandered here probably by mistake, I'm not so great at this whole fidelity-to-blogging concept. But I'm going to try to improve! Even if it's just endless posts musing over why I thought it was a good idea to put "andromeda" in my blog title. (I was in search of that sweet alliteration high. I was not in my right mind. Alliteration does that to a person!) But that is an issue to tackle another time. When I'm, y'know. Emotionally prepared for such philosophizing.

Instead, I will talk about writing, because that seems to be the common theme here.

I actually started writing a sequel to Know Not Why about a month after I finished the first draft, back in ye olde days of 2010! It was right after -- like, possibly the day after -- I graduated from college, and I really needed something familiar and trustworthy to fall back on as my life hurtled into bleak time-to-move-back-home-with-the-'rents! uncertainty. At the time, it didn't really feel like a sequel as much as it did a seamless continuation of the same story. I had been hanging out with those characters for like a year already; they were there, bright and distinct in my brain! I made it about three chapters in and then got distracted, as is my way.

And now all of a sudden it's 2013 and it's been so long since I wrote these folks that they have all up and abandoned me. The nerve!

Sequel anxiety is totally a thing, right? Like, when you hope and hope and wish and wish for that long-dead canon to come back to you, and then it does, and it's all awkward and rusty around the edges and somehow just isn't the fairytale sequel you had dreamt of at all. X-Files: I Want To Believe. Was that really the best plot they could come up with after like ten years? (But Mulder and Scully cuddled in bed so, you know, movie existence justified.) And I know no one is ever going to forgive Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. (Except me, because it brought Marion Ravenwood back, finally. Now I just need my Jurassic Park IV where Dr. Grant and Dr. Satler fall in love anew while wrestling some raptors, because I'm sorry, I'm sorry, why would you even include that breakup unless you wanted to target my poor heart specifically, Steven Spielberg?? Watching Jurassic Park in 3D at the movie theatre only strengthened my ardent belief that there are some couples you just don't callously break up. YA JUST DO NOT.)

In case you can't tell, the worth of sequels to me tends to be based on how much -- or how little -- the right people are cuddling each other in them. It's just how I live.

Anyway, the point is, now I get it, o ye Want To Believes and Crystal Skulls of the world. SEQUEL ANXIETY. Your muse gets nervous. The story gets nervous right into its bones. This sequel could be good, or it could take everything that was ever good about the original story and do some jaunty Irish step dancing allll over it until nothing is left but dismay.

Basically, right now whenever I think about writing about these characters again, I love it in theory. In practice, it comes out something rather like this:

Me: Dammit. HOW DO YOU CHARACTERIZE?
Howie: I am Howie! I do the banter things! It's either funny or you will hate me for it, based upon your aesthetic preferences! I say 'yo' sometimes, yo! The Violent Femmes are good! I hate being called Howard! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Fuck.
Arthur: I am Arthur. I wear ties. How do you do?
Kristy: Teehee!
Cora: Fuck you. (Not to Kristy, necessarily. Just to the world.)
Amber: Charlotte Bronte Charlotte Bronte disdainful truth bombs Victorians stop eating that Mitchell.
Mitch: [eating something enthusiastically]
Emily: Let me sail, let me sail, let the ORINOCO FLOW!
Dennis: I have a goatee.
Howie's Mom: I write romance novels! I'm a cool mom!
Rudy: [is probably naked] SUUUUUP.

In short, I certainly had visions of producing a sequel this summer; the reality hasn't been quite so fruitful so far. I'm also currently wrestling with a handful of other writing projects, at least one of which (but ideally all of which!) I would love to get done sometime this century. In addition to a Know Not Why sequel. If, indeed, it needs a sequel at all.

That brings us to the ultimate question: are requests for a sequel genuinely requests for a sequel, or just the highest form of praise? Is leaving your readers wanting more a mark of success and an 'all right, time to move onto something else now!' indicator? Or should a sequel really be A Thing That Happens? I definitely have more stories about these guys drifting somewhere around my brain and heart; I'm just wary about my ability to tell 'em satisfactorily.

Either way, I think the grimmest truth here is that my work ethic, writing-wise, best resembles that of New Girl's Nick Miller -- that is, before he got all driven ("I'M HEMINGWAY, YA IDIOTS!") and actually finished Z is for Zombie, leaving me in the dust.

And, well, I have whole bunches of half books for you! They usually involve ladies and magic and silly fairytale lands, if not quite arts 'n crafts stores. That's ... something, right?

"I'll never be hip."

Hello there, o blog readers -- if indeed, any readers of this particular blog remain! If any do not, I seriously can't blame you. Apparently this whole committing-to-write-to-the-world-at-large-with-some-regularity thing doesn't come totally naturally to me. And yet I shall persevere anyway! If only because it gave me the opportunity to use the phrase 'I shall persevere,' which gives me a mighty thrill.

After many months (some might even say two years' worth of months) chilling out upon my bonny isle, I am back to the city for graduate school! Yes, that's right -- I finally motivated myself to apply, and as such, am kicking it once more in my most beloved English department. In addition to m'graduate studies, I'm teaching an introductory-level English course, which I'm sure will prove an adventure. I didn't faint when I had to stand at the front of the classroom on the first day; I like to think that's an auspicious beginning. I also wound up rambling at my students about Xena: Warrior Princess and the rap from Teen Witch, but I think that's good, right? Just proving I'm hip with the kids! (Yeah no don't say anything. Don't shatter my delusions.)

Speaking of the rap from Teen Witch!

So this is love ... la la la la la ...

As I told my friend yesterday, this is my new standard by which perfection is measured. And quite frankly, I dare anything -- like, an-y-thing -- to TOP THAT. A ha ha wit!

But what I'd really like to talk about (apart from the greatest rap battle ever to grace the entire world, of course) is Know Not Why! I know, I know: again, some more. I'm basically that lady that Garfunkel & Oates lambast in Pregnant Women Are Smug, only I don't even have an actual human being to rhapsodize over. But I do have a book! Full of human beings that I made up! That works, right? Sure. For the sake of this blog post, let's say that works.

My dear little paper-child -- okay, Kindle screen child, and yes, I get that my use of the word 'child' here is creepy, I promise I'll stop soon -- has been released for an entire summer now! And I am still a little bit 'pinch me, I'm dreaming!' over the whole thing; the reception of it, by and large, has been so kind and positive and I am just happy beyond measure or articulation that I could brighten up anyone's literary life with it. It is terrifying and weird to take something as personal as a novel you've been hanging out with for years and then just toss it out of the nest (now it's a baby bird? I dunno? Writing! Metaphors! Y...aaa...y...?), and you lovely readers -- assuming you're reading this -- have made it relatively painless and for that I thank you from the bottom of my Top That-lovin' heart.

Of course, the feedback hasn't been universally positive, because nothing has universal appeal (except Top That), and so to those of you who didn't like it -- assuming you're reading this ... for some reason? -- I thank you so much for giving it a try and taking a chance on it!

A few points have come up frequently in the reviews, and they struck me as really interesting, so here, let's discuss them a little bit! Because it's my blog and I'll ramble if I want to, by Jove.

At first, it's just this idea.

Why, hello there, blog! Let's just say my four month silence was me being mysterious, as opposed to just lazy and uninteresting. You'll never know what manner of thrilling adventures went down in that span of time!

(Justine and I finished watching Xena at last. A moment of respectful silence, please. Okay, now you're caught up!)

This isn't my book, but it's a book! GINNY WOOLF 4 LIFE, YO.

I am back because I finally have something to talk about! Namely: books, and the fact that I have written some. This whole ebook publishing phenomenon got its hooks into me at last, because if there's one thing I love more than the idea of being a published author, it is the idea of being a published author without having to agonize over query letters and synopses and just how unfit I am, in my current state, to be endeavoring to publish anything. Oh, technology, thank goodness for you!

About a month ago, I put up some of my short stories, which are all pretty much standard Me fare -- that is to say, magic and corsets and fairytale whimsy are often involved in one way or another. I get the sense that this is probably the sort of thing that people expect to see from me. It is usually what goes on in my brain, in fact!

Yesterday evening, I also put up my first novel, which is about a twenty-two year old guy named Howie who concocts the ingenious scheme to get a job at an arts 'n crafts store so that he will be able to get some action from his lady coworkers, but then winds up falling for his male boss instead. This is a hard one to pitch to people, and is probably why literary agents have not exactly been throwing pebbles at my window beneath my balcony at night, trying to win the hand and heart of this fair tale. I will always so vividly remember giving a plot summary to one of my very dear coworkers, and having her respond with, "Ew!" It's possible my heart wept a few heart tears at that one. So I was wary to share it with anyone I had ever actually met before in my life, because I get the sense that everyone's response is going to be 'UM YEAH OKAY WHY IS SHE WRITING ABOUT THIS' and then maybe backing away slowly.

So here is how it came about in the first place!

Me & Justine. TAKE THIS, HATERSSSS. (We dig us some Kanye.)

My dear, dear, awesome friend Justine (not the Justine previously mentioned; I am drowning in a wealth of freaking awesome best friends named Justine) and I were out at Burger King, like, years ago, having a silly conversation, as we are wont to do. It somehow circled around to the fact that one of her male coworkers had once worked in an arts 'n crafts store, and we were trying to speculate why exactly a guy would want to work there. (This premise is, of course, inherently problematic in terms of being pretty sexist, which you will get to hear more about later. Of course guys can work in arts 'n crafts stores. But what can I say? Our humor is edgy, man. Or possibly just unevolved.) We reached the conclusion that, no doubt, his motive must have been to score with the ladyfolk ... but that, in an unfortunate twist, everyone would no doubt just figure he was gay. And, as I do approximately once a day, I believe I went, "Oh my god, that would make the best romcom, THAT NEEDS TO BE A MOVIE BASED ON A BOOK THAT I WILL WRITE."

Soon after that, I busted out the first chapter as a joke-gift for Justine. I printed it out and she spilled her coffee on it -- that cherished first chapter is still hanging out somewhere, coffee-stained and beloved! By me, if no one else. She and my other glorious roomie Renata read it and laughed a lot, as did my wonderful group of online writing pals. And I was totally enjoying the somewhat rare and entirely giddy experience of hanging out in a character voice that had just appeared, fully formed and ridiculous and completely distinct and NOT TO BE SILENCED, and so I very merrily kept writing.

On, like, the day after I started writing this story, Justine and Renata and I went to see Milk. I still very distinctly remember walking out of the theatre into the frigid, too-early, wintery dark, and just feeling despairing and hopeful and discouraged and shaken to my bones. And this story could never quite be just light and funny, after that.

Know Not Why is, admittedly, many many pages of my protagonist's torment over the idea of being openly gay; in the years of grappling with this manuscript after the first draft's completion, I very often felt guilty about that. Around the time that the A Single Man film was being made, I came across a quote from ... I'm pretty sure it was the director, Tom Ford (but my memory is failing me a bit!), about how Christopher Isherwood's work is distinguished by the fact that, though it's about gay characters, their lives don't revolve around being gay and that struggle. I felt awful about contributing yet another woeful 'Alas! Gayness!' tale to a genre that deserves as much diversity as any other kind of love story. I still don't know quite how to feel about this. But I love this story, and I felt my way through this story every step of the way (like, occasionally there was probably weeping?), and I hope that shines through.

I've also come to realize, upon acquiring a bit of distance and perspective after spending so long in this thing, that it is a lamentably accurate reflection of the world we live in. Things have improved by leaps and bounds and Neil Patrick Harrises, but our culture's inherent tendency to equate male homosexuality with femininity and femininity with The Lowest You Can Get If You're A Man is so ingrained that you don't even think to see it most of the time. I watched a wonderful, soul-wrenching documentary called For The Bible Tells Me So a few months ago, and in it, one of the commentators pointed out that male homosexuality is so reviled because it apparently involves casting one of the men in the relationship in the role of a woman -- and there is nothing worse for a man, culture tells us, than to be like a woman. "You throw like a girl."  "Sissy."  "Pussy."  A certain word that starts with C that I won't bust out because this is a wholesome PG-13 rated blog. (Although the fact that that is like the most offensive on our list of swearwords is fundamentally sort of gross and stupid -- oh heavens, not lady parts!!!! I think we all just need to listen to some Medieval Baebes.)

Now, I don't even need to go into how this is sucky on, like, all the levels, because it goes without saying; my point is, it is this, I think, that has Howie so paralyzed. He's sort of comfortably miserable as a slacker and wants to be a totally unexceptional human being, someone whose #1 skill is slipping under the radar and being ignored and unremarkable (except for maybe in terms of having mad quipping skillz). If he agrees to openly acknowledge this part of his life, living in the world that we live in now, he will no longer be perceived as "totally ordinary," and there are always going to be people who hate him on principle. And that is why he's so stuck. And that is why, in his head, there is no greater solution to his whole existence than getting a girl. What's more manly than wanting to tap them ladies, right?

I, like my boo Howie, am blessed with so many great humans.
Here are a zany few of 'em!

With all that being said, this wasn't written to be a manifesto about the screwed up notions of gender and sexuality in our culture -- although clearly I could prattle on about that forever. In addition to all the soul-searching and anguish and introspection, this book is basically a love story, a love-your-life-and-all-the-great-humans-in-it story. Sure, there's fellas having crushy feelings at each other (and oh my heart how I love their love!), but it's also about loving your family, loving your friends -- the ones who have known you forever and the ones you meet when you're older, and all the joys and the pitfalls.

It is also (I hope) zany and silly and ridiculous, because zany silly ridiculous humor is kinda my favorite.

Having grown up quite the internet nerd, I've always been ensconced in a world where love stories transcend the canonical tales that birthed them. My first experience with this was deciding, at about 13, that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were clearly in love with each other, which turned a sad and beautiful story into an even sadder and more beautiful one. A conviction that Buffy and Faith kinda wanted to jump each other's bones followed soon after. Fandom culture follows chemistry whither it wanders, with very little regard for heterocentricism (a word that I sort of suspect I just made up; just roll with it!), and there are not words for how much I love and believe in that. Sometimes canon even follows fandom right back -- see, for example, Xena and Gabrielle, a.k.a. the most beautiful freaking love story of all time. (Finally engaged! It's about time, ladies.)

But oh, for a world where gay love stories get to be text instead of subtext! We're heading in that direction slowly but surely; I hope that it will be my generation of storytellers that really makes it mainstream. Stories are such an important reflection of our culture, and the more we see of Brittany and Santana, or Mitchell and Cam, or the thousand-thousand other couples that will follow them (at least a thousand of them near-inevitably provided by me, even if I am only telling audienceless tales to my hard drive), the more bigotry and fear will fade, because you absolutely can't deny that love stories are love stories.

And love stories are lovely, and y'all just know I am going to bombard you with roughly a million of them.

But here's one, just to start.
 

Know Not Why: A Novel (Buy it here @ Smashwords / Buy it here @ Amazon Kindle Store / Goodreads Page) - Howie gets a job at Artie Kraft's Arts 'N Crafts hoping to score with his lady coworkers. After all, girls love a sensitive guy, and what's more sensitive than dedicating your life to selling yarn and ... stuff? (Okay, so maybe it'd be a good idea to actually learn what one sells at an arts 'n crafts store.) But things don't go exactly according to plan. Coworker #1 is Cora: tiny, much-pierced, and way too fierce to screw with in any sense. Coworker #2 is Kristy: blonde, bubbly, unattainable perfection. And Coworker #3 is, well, Arthur. It goes without saying that he’s not an option. Right?

… Right?

Yeah, Howie’s life just got straight up confusing.

Pun intended.

Who doesn't need love and medieval babes, really?

I have been listening to a lot of NPR at work, figuring it will make me an all-around classier person, but instead, because I'm me, here are without a doubt the two most fantastic things I have gotten out of it over the past month or so:

1. The Mediaeval Baebes, a.k.a. All Of My Nerdy Medieval Dreams Come True, Music Style

The lyrics of this song come from a 15th century Welsh poem in celebration of female genitalia, and to quote the CD booklet, "Due to the fact that this poem is a celebration of the female genitalia it has been banned from many anthologies of Welsh verse on the grounds that it is salacious." Because I am one of those dorks who is all about the study of literary ladies (both the writers and the written-about) throughout history, and female empowerment, and not slut-shaming female sexuality, I just find the existence of this awesome. Have you ever heard a lovelier song about lady parts? Actually, since I am posing this question to the whole wide internet, maybe I should just keep it rhetorical. Don't answer that, internet! Just listen to the pretty song, and if you're curious re: specifics, go look at the youtube page, and the comments section has a transcript of the poem.

Anyway: this group makes my life. Tam Lin! Scarborough Fair! The Circle of the Lustful! Dringo Bell, which is another one that gets pretty darn bawdy if you check that lyrics booklet! Really, their music is seriously the best thing to happen to my secretly Celtic fae heart since Loreena McKennitt. (Which, speaking of, you go listen to The Mystic's Dream and just try not to freak out at the awesome. You just try!) One of these days, I will get a red velvet cloak and go running through the forest in artful slow motion. It's just going to happen.


AND.

Ready yourselves, all.


2. This Sensitive Folky Irish Cover Of L.L. Cool J's I Need Love, A Song Which I Had Never Heard Before But Was Utterly Won By In The 5+ Minutes Some Genius Made The Spectacular Life Decision To Play It On NPR And Change My Life.

To those of you who do not know this: my favorite song of all time is Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush. There is something about extremely earnest, extremely weird, extremely dorky music from years past that just makes my heart soar and dance with delight. I just cannot handle all the greatness happening in my ears and brain. (Especially if it is a) rap- or b) Bronte-inspired, I guess! And if it involves dancing around a forest in red, doing moves that were clearly somewhat inspired by an atypically coordinated mummy? I am yours for LIFE!)

So this ... this is just very special to me. I heard it entirely out of context on that fateful day at work, and just spent that glorious five minutes picking out weird phrases and wondering ... what was this? Was it a joke? Was it serious? Why was he rapping -- but so sensitively, so Irishly? Why does he have to get so explicit about their ~romantic encounter~ a few minutes in? (This is still a question I have. My God so awkward! Of course, that just makes it even more delightful. I guess this is also a little hypocritical of me after praising ye olde Mediaeval Baebes up there.) So many questions, and beyond those questions, a certainty that this song was going to change my life.

THIS is what I unearthed on youtube:

First off are the magic words 'recorded from the album ACOUSTIC MOTORBIKE (1992)', so you know you're just not going to go wrong here. This one is not identical to the recording that so enraptured me, which has some vaguely Mummer's Dance-esque Irish drum beats (sidenote: oh my gosh, if we're gonna talk best songs ever, there has to be a Mummer's Dance reference, 'cause DAMN YES) going in the background, not to mention some SENSITIVE STRINGS that kind of play you out of the whole song. So clearly that version is the very best option. And maybe I bought the mp3 on Amazon last night. Do I have any regrets? What's a word that means 'no', but times about fifty with seventy-five exclamation points after it? I burned it to a CD. I am going to listen to that CD until I can rap this song like Luka Bloom raps this song. Maybe a little less Irish. Maybe a little more Irish. You never know with me.

So my current life project is committing that to memory. And also to watch all the live performances of this gem on youtube.

When I say things about my post-college existence not being fulfilling, obviously I do not mean all the time.

Let's play this entry out with a series of text messages that just occurred between my dear darling friend and kindred spirit Dana and myself. Sometimes I mentally compare us to Anne and Diana of Anne of Green Gables, most perfect book of my life, because 'Anne' and 'Hannah' share some letters, and you can't spell 'Diana' without 'Dana'! There's some Avonlea magic at work there, I just know it.

Anyway. Texty-texts:

Me: IF I GET MARRIED THIS SONG IS PLAYING NONSTOP THROUGH THE WHOLE WEDDING. We will choreograph a dance.
Dana: I WILL PERFORM IT IN FRONT OF THE CROWD. PROBABLY WHILE WEARING A CLOAK, JUST 'CAUSE.
Me: Oh definitely. There's some very Mummer's Dance style percussion and strings. Cloaks are way relevant.
Dana: I am youtubing this RIGHT NOW.

So ask yourselves, dear readers: what would Dana do?

BOOTS.

When we were in high school, my best friend Justine and I decided that we were going to spend college living it up crazy college kid style, which is to say ... watching Xena: Warrior Princess. (Keep your dreams of beer pong, normal teenagers!) This originated as some sort of magnificent elaborate joke, and alas, never actually got realized during our college years, because after one year frostbittenly kicking it in Anchorage, she transferred to school in California. You know, that place with warmth in it! I stayed in Anchorage, because if there's one thing I like more than frostbite, it's never knowing quite when you are going to find yourself face-to-face with a moose. I am a thrill seeker.

My buddy & former roomie Denali & I. BEING AWARE. BEING SAFE.

The years went by, as years do, and then suddenly we were both graduated from college, ready to team up and take on the world with the powers of her Psychology degree and my English Lit degree combined! And that ... is going to happen ... one of these days. When you least expect it. Count on it. Be ready. Don't be ready. You can never be ready. For that awesomeness. Yep.

So! We both moved back here, reunited huzzah!, and decided, It's probably time for us to start our lives now. Except then I found season one of Xena at Wal-Mart for $20. Ha ha! I thought. Remember our old vow? What silly fun this shall be! And for only $20!

Listening to Yanni, ready for heroics.

Somehow -- I am not precisely sure how -- we are now the co-owners of all six out-of-print deluxe edition seasons of Xena: Warrior Princess, and have been watching it devotedly for like a year and a half. We just started season six. The end is near! I might be crying a little bit on the inside!

ANYWAY. In the opening credits, which we watch Every Time (to skip the credits would be sacrilege!), there is this shot of Xena fastening her Hardcore Warrior Boots. Then it zooms up to her, I dunno, putting on her warrior belt or something, and is basically just an excuse to show off Lucy Lawless's excellent cleavage. Not that they ever really need an excuse. I have seen the image of her puttin' on those warrior boots well over a hundred times now! And while I always had an absent Damn, that's cool appreciation for it, I never really stopped to consider the mightiness of boots.

Turns out: boots are so mighty! Up 'til now, I have always had a weird bias against buying boots. Why admit that dread winter is upon us when I can just keep wearing tennis shoes and pretending that a world without snow is just around the corner? That is how I've always rolled up until now, and it's suited me fine! (It's possible my toes are perpetually like 80% frozen, but that is neither here nor there.)

But then this summer, in an act strangely rife with symbolism, I found some furry black winter boots covered in zippers and complicated laces and even some Velcro (all that and fuzzy grey fur, too! Have boots not belonging to a warrior princess ever been so mighty?) ... and I bought them. Which was a little bittersweet, because it was, in a way, saying, Yep, I'm still going to be kicking it in Alaska come winter, and this time, my feet are going to be prepared. I don't really know where I see myself triumphantly running away to, in all these fantasies where I am no longer here (Hogwarts? Downton Abbey? New Zealand? Amphipolis? Vermont? Avonlea? Stars Hollow? I get that only two of those places are real [well, my bff Wikipedia informs me that Amphipolis was real]; I swear you don't have to worry for me. Too much), but does that stop me from having them? Heavens, no!

But here I remain, and winter has settled in -- oh God, the snow! There is so much of it! Game of Thrones can suck it -- and so I finally broke the boots out of my closet and put them on.

And now, well, good luck to the fool who tries to get me to take them off. Seriously. These things are foot heaven! I brought my sneakers with me to work today, but did I ever actually change into them? No, no I did not. (I figured this was okay, because my boss was rocking her boots all day too. Ours is a museum full of kickass Alaska ladies.) And there is just something really satisfying about tromping around in boots. If a sinister warlord had found his way into the museum, I somehow felt that I could have gone all warrior princess and defeated him soundly, thanks to the power of those boots alone!

I mean, a sinister warlord did not find his way into the museum, because business gets pret-ty slow in the winter and so nobody came in at all.

But I would have so been ready.

Warlords of this isle: take note, and think twice.

Dun dun da dun dun dunnnnnn ...

BLAME MARIE, who would probably tether a maiden to a rock to be offered to a sea monster if she wasn't so busy eating Triscuits and being great

So, my delightful friend and coworker Marie does this thing where generally at least once per conversation, some weird wonky thing I say inspires her to exclaim, with all this conviction and earnestness and vocal italicizing, "Hannah, you have to start a blog!" (Well, okay, maybe it is not quite that emphatic, but I said the thing about 'vocal italicizing' and then I felt like I had to commit. That is not how Marie actually talks. But I'm sure she would pull it off with swagger and aplomb if she did!) This has been going on for like a year now, and while once upon a time it was a suggestion voiced so sweetly that little bluebirds would land on its pointer finger if it were a fairytale princess instead of a suggestion, now it tends to go more like, "Oh my God, Hannah, START. YOUR FRIGGIN'. BLOG." She even had a knife today. I mean, it's because she was cutting up cheese to put on Triscuits, but. I have decided to err on the side of caution. Someone has been murdered in that kitchen before, and it could so easily become a tradition. (The fun thing about working in a building that's been around since like 1808? It's got such history in its walls! Including the MURDER KITCHEN. You don't want to mess with disgruntled 1860s fur trappers. But I'm sure you knew that already.)

So here, Marie. You win! It's on! It is happening! This spot is now doomed to become a virtual cesspool of dorky literary references and dorkier television references, and other thrilling (?) chronicles (?) of my fascinating (?) existence (????).

Thanks to my current propensity toward spending hours reading about Greek myths on Wikipedia -- mostly to fact check their accuracy against episodes of Xena: Warrior Princess, which is of course the definitive authority on Greek myths, all myths, and how to be awesome -- this blog gets a title as nerdy and pretentious as I am! I am, for the record, the English major that just won't die. You can beat this horse all you like, and I will still find a way to work a Gilbert & Gubar reference into everyday conversation. I graduated, with profoundest sadness, back in 2010, but that was not enough to stop me! That was not enough to motivate me to go to grad school, either, but shhh. ONE DAY.

I do this all the time.

Basically: I live on an Alaskan rock in the sea, and God help me, I just cannot seem to move. It's almost as if ... as if I was chained there, much like mythological damsel in distress Princess Andromeda, who got offered to a sea monster as a sacrifice because her mom was being bitchy! (Greek moms often are. God, it's fabulous. See also: Medea, Clytemnestra, and Procne, who is a particular favorite of mine. Such devoted sisterhood!) So, basically, they chained Andromeda to a rock to get eaten by a sea monster, but of course Perseus shows up at the last minute and sorts that out, once he's done chopping the heads off defenseless ugly snake-haired ladies. This is clearly applicable to my current life situation -- except for the Perseus part -- wherein the rock is this island, I am Andromeda, and the sea monster is the vast looming hulk of a future that I just cannot quite seem to plan out!

Well, no, not really, I just like the name Andromeda and I really like alliteration.

Further References For the Andromeda Myth:
1. Wikipedia. Always Wikipedia.
2. That recent Clash of the Titans movie, which featured a pretty badass if rarely seen Andromeda played by that awesome chick from season four of Angel who had magic electricity powers and a very flattering red leather outfit. (Okay, her name was Gwen, but let's pretend I'm one of those people who doesn't know the name of every single character on every single television show she passionately loves, of which there are approximately six thousand. Uh! You know! That electricity chick!) I don't think anyone actually liked this movie, but it was pretty and HORSES FLEW and LOVELY ENGLISH ROSE GEMMA ARTERTON WAS THERE and THERE WAS A BIG SEA MONSTER WHO TURNED TO STONE and I'm just easy like that. Anyway, I think that Andromeda needs her own spinoff movie.
3. The critically lauded British series Downton Abbey, where a pair of distantly related, arch and attractive English cousins kick off their love-hate relationship via an exquisitely pointed round of banter over the Andromeda myth. This is pretty much the Masterpiece Classic equivalent of, say, this song.

Basically: if you want a high culture blog-reading experience, look no further, bros. This, oh this, is the blog for you.

Thank Marie.