Play TESO with me! (redux)

Last year, before The Elder Scrolls Online (TESO, or ESO) went live, I was cajoling you all to play with me. I had a lot of fun grouping with friends in the beta, but when the actual prospect of paying came up, most people I knew were not sufficiently interested.

But! As it turns out, in March it will go to the Tamriel Unlimited plan, which means it will be free to play with purchase of the base game. Very similarly to the freemium model SWTOR uses, you can still subscribe to get an ESO Plus membership that will give you bonuses like a monthly allotment of points to spend in the Crown Store for important things like guar mounts 😉

I have Thoughts about the F2P model and how it pisses me off that people expect everything to be free (and often happily accept shitty freemium models). OTOH, I also really want people to play with me! Right now Matt and I are the only ones regularly on in our guild 🙁

I admit, I go through periods where I’m not interested in playing, but I’ve been digging in again lately and having a lot of fun. After a year, I still don’t have a veteran character; my highest level is my Dunmer templar in Ebonheart Pact, Falanu Dren, at 42. With her and Matt’s Dunmer dragon knight, we just finished Eastmarch, with its many very silly quests. To give you some examples:

  1. Meeting a bunch of naked Nords bathing in a hot springs who ask you to retrieve bath salts for them. Bath salts which, it transpires, turn you into zombies.
  2. Throwing cat pee at hunters to prevent vampires from attacking them
  3. Thane Jeggi, whose condition for coming to the war council is making sure there is mead there.
  4. The sheer number of quests that involve entering homes through the window rather than the door.
  5. Glorious cultural exchange! Actually, this one starts in… Deshaan? Shadowfen? with a group of Nords who want to better understand Dunmer culture. As part of this, you dress them up in ridiculous clothes. Naturally.

Eastmarch, being in the province of Skyrim, also hearkens back to the game of the same name. The geography is vaguely similar — I remember the sulfur pools south of Windhelm, the White River, Skuldafn… And actually, the final quest of the zone, like the final quest in Skyrim, involves fighting your way through the ruin of Skuldafn and visiting Sovngarde.

We took a break with our EP characters to play our Aldmeri Dominion ones — Br’ihnassi, my Khajiit nightblade, and Matt’s Altmer dragon knight. They are both level 23 and in the middle of hell, I mean, Grahtwood. (Grahtwood is mostly hellish because it’s so hard to navigate; there are mountains and giant trees blocking your path at every turn).

I had a moment of lore squee the other night when I realized a quest involved the town of Gil-var-delle. The name sounded familiar to me, and the quest mentioned the town had been attacked by Molag Bal. “Is this the town mentioned in 2920: The Last Year of the First Era?” I wondered. I went and looked — it is! Gilverdale or Gil-var-delle is the town that a random Khajiit king made a deal with Molag Bal to destroy, because he didn’t like a bard that came from there. Since TESO is all about Molag Bal, it makes sense for it to be mentioned here.

It’s stuff like this that keeps me playing 🙂

I was trying to express to Matt how the depth of the lore, and its self-awareness, creates this amazing tapestry that I, as a writer, wish I could build into my own creations. It also provides the background radiation that makes creepypasta like this scary. (And seriously, I still long to one day write a horror story like that).

Anyway! I also have to recommend the UESP guild, which is where I get most of my socialization on these days. Good people, not your usual internet assholes. My one regret is that most of their high-level toons are Daggerfall Covenant, which I don’t even have a character in. Although there was an AD group last night doing Craglorn stuff…

(I have since made a DC character, an Imperial dragon knight, Corvus Duronius. But I haven’t started playing him yet. He has an eyepatch, which made Matt giggle and say, “Arrrr, welcome to Starbuccaneers, may I take your order?”)

So that’s that. I have no clever conclusion! Play ESO with me, and know the beautiful lore that is the Elder Scrolls!

More Incredibly Brief BPAL Yule Reviews

Still testing my way through these

Chanukkiyah. Olive oil, beeswax, glowing amber, sweet sufganiyot, pomegranate, and fig. Fruity, with an almost-herbal note that is probably the olive oil or the beeswax. Reminds me a little of Jack. Not something I find terribly pleasant to wear, though.

Gelt. A bounty of chocolate coins! Dry cocoa and golden amber! Yup. Smells like chocolate. I’ve got enough chocolate scents, and frankly I don’t like smelling like chocolate frosting all day.

Yuletide. Ripe, bursting, blood red holly berries pricked by sharp, waxy holly leaves. Berries and a sort of piney incense. Mostly it dries down to the incense note to me; Matt claims the berries last longer for him. He’s a much bigger fan than me, but I like it well enough to wear.

Rose Red. The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut. Holy shit, is it. I put on just a few drops, and I’m going to spend the rest of the day smelling like a florist’s shop. Maybe it will attract prettyboy assassins? That said, I think I like it. Do I bottle-like it, though?

I also see that the Lupercalia scents are up (link probably NSFW), and it’s a Smut year. Smut, a semi-limited edition, is perhaps one of my signature scents. I still have most of a bottle — but is that enough to last until the next Smut year?

Codex Weekend Warriors 2015

I’ve off-handedly mentioned that I’ve been participating in the Codex Writers’ Group Weekend Warriors (WW) contest, but I don’t think I’ve explained it, have I?

Basically, WW is a flash fiction writing contest, where “flash,” in this case, is defined as fiction less than 750 words. (Definitions vary; I’ve seen it go up to about 1500 words or so). For five weeks in January/February, writing prompts will be posted on Friday, and the contestants have the weekend to write a piece of fiction. It doesn’t have to be speculative (even though Codex is an SFF writing group), and it doesn’t have to directly follow the prompt, but it does have to be less than 750 words.

During the week that follows, all the other writers in the division (this year there are three: Puppies, Kitties, and Bunnies) rate all the other stories in the division. At least, this is supposed to be how it works, although in theory nothing is forcing you to read and rate the others — except that your own ratings are held captive until you do! (Clever, that). At the end of the five weeks, the final score is calculated from the three highest-ranked stories, and the winner is based on that. (So it behooves you to participate more than three times, although you don’t have to).

I participated in week one, writing a space opera-ish story of a cultural misunderstanding. This was as much a surprise to me as anyone; I hadn’t planned to participate, but I found myself stuck in a cold basement for most of a day (Ye Olde Commons, for those LARPers among you) with a notebook, an idea based on a vague misremembering of a prompt, and very little else to do. The story I wrote was fun, but it really wanted to be 1000+ words, and cutting it down to 750, I’m beginning to think I weakened it. The ratings reflected this — but hey, I wasn’t dead last!

Moreover I have a story! A story I can try to sell! I’ve heard tales of Daily Science Fiction (DSF) eagerly awaiting submissions based on WW entries, and I know that even stories that have done poorly in the contest have sold. So I’m eager to take the feedback I’ve gotten on the story and turn it into something I can maaaaaybe publish.

(If not, you’ll see it here eventually…)

So I was super-psyched to give WW a try again this weekend, week 3. (Arisia kept me from participating last week). The story came easily to me this time, based on the prompt “Write about an unusual wedding, birthday party, or other celebration.” I finished it on Saturday, and did some edits on Sunday. I had no trouble keeping it under 750 words; 700 was the length it wanted to be. Now, let’s see if it’s any good…

By the way, if you’re wondering why I’m not naming my stories, or even the division I’m in, it’s because this is all anonymous. We had to pick neato pen names and everything! You’ll find out soon enough which are mine, I suppose, either when they’re announced on Codex, or when they get published, here or elsewhere.

I’ve begun reading this week’s stories, too, and I feel so lucky to do so. They’re all so good — which is a function of Codex being a curated forum — and on the dark side this week (which is a function of the prompts). I’ve rated almost everything I’ve come across an eight (out of 10), and I’d be happy to read most of these in a magazine. Bodes ill for my little story, though…

In other writing news, I got my rejection from F&SF this weekend for “Powder of Sympathy.” It was about as I expected, but I’m glad I finally got off my ass and submitted it. Finlay wrote some nice personal feedback, though: “I was hooked by the opening scene of this story, but overall it just didn’t connect with me so I’m going to pass on it.” Meh. Story of my writing life — premature narrative ejaculation.

I think I know where I’m going to send this one next (Clarkesworld), but I’m debating whether or not I want to read it over and make any further changes, first. Of course, that way so often lies madness…

Drinking Greef at the End of the World (fanfiction; Elder Scrolls)

Originally published on Archive of Our Own on January 17, 2014. Reposted here with slight corrections.

Though there was no daylight in the Corprusarium, Yagrum Bagarn, the last living dwarf, knew it was Morndas. Because it was Morndas, it was not Uupse Fyr who brought his breakfast tray and morning medicaments, but one of the nameless servants of Tel Fyr. While Bagarn missed her sweet voice reading to him, the absence was expected, and he resigned himself to reading to himself until she finished her martial arts lesson with Vistha-Kai.

What was not expected was the tremor that shook the Corprusarium at the tenth hour of the morning. Dishes clattered in cupboards, rock ground against rock, and Bagarn found his centurion spider legs skittering beneath him.

He knew what earthquakes were, of course, though he hadn’t lived through one in years — not since Red Mountain had gone quiescent. Even then, such things were rarely felt as far as Azura’s Coast.

The tremor passed, and Bagarn righted himself, panting. Everything was eerily silent in the wake of the shock; even his corprus-demented neighbors had been silenced. After a few heartbeats, the drip of water on stone breached the quiet, and everything seemed to return to normal again.

Bagarn was returning to his reading — considering if this play had any merit, and if he would like it better had he seen it performed — when Lord Fyr bustled into the room, carrying a silver tray with a bottle and two glasses set upon it. The Dunmer wizard was not wearing his usual Daedric armor, but was dressed in loose robes for sleeping.

A social call? Bagarn surmised. An odd time for it, but well, Divayth Fyr was an odd mer. “Good Morndas to you, Lord Fyr,” he greeted his old friend. “I see it takes an earth-tremor to bring you down here, these days.”

Fyr gave a crooked smile. “Rather a nasty one, wasn’t that? Shook all the paintings off the wall in the Onyx Hall.” He set the tray down on the table beside Bagarn. The Dwemer thought he saw a tremor in Fyr’s hands as he did; but in his next movement, he smoothly unstoppered the bottle and poured a liquid into the two glasses with a little flourish, making Bagarn doubt he had ever seen the thing.

“Is Red Mountain erupting, then?” He lifted the little cup to his nose, smelling the bitter, fruity smell of comberry brandy. Greef, the Dunmer called it. He set the cup down again, content just to smell. It was early to be drinking.

“Doubt it.” There was a firm set to Fyr’s jaw, a glint in his red eyes that Bagarn read as mischievousness. Then he switched topics: “Have you ever seen Vivec?”

“The Chimer? Your warrior-poet?”

“The city that bears his name.”

“Ah. No.” Bagarn smiled. “Though I’ve heard it’s an unobliging place to get lost.”

Fyr chuckled. “It is, as that.” He seated himself on a stool that Uupse favored for reading. “I’ve had news from some colleagues there.” He paused, steepling his fingers above his cup of greef. “If I tell you Baar Dau has fallen, that means nothing to you?”

Bagarn shook his head.

“Hmm.” Fyr’s eyes searched the room. “It is a large rock, floating above the city, on which we have our Ministry of Truth.”

“Floating above the city? That sounds infinitely interesting. How is such a thing accomplished?”

“By Lord Vivec’s will, of course. Said he stopped it when Sheogorath tossed it out of Oblivion in a fit of pique. You know something of such things, I imagine, since Vivec’s power derives — derived — from –”

“Ah yes.” Bagarn cut him off, shifting uncomfortably in the seat of his centurion chair. He thought of the Heart of Lorkhan, Kagrenac, the Numidium project–things he hadn’t thought about in years. Not since that Argonian with corprus came to Tel Fyr.

It occurred to him then. “But Lord Vivec has been– I hear he has been in seclusion for many years now.”

Fyr made a snorting noise, and rose to his feet, crossing to the cupboard. “In seclusion, my grey arse. He disappeared. Lost his powers, and then disappeared.”

“Lost his powers?”

The Dunmer was rummaging in the cupboard now, and Bagarn could hear the clinking of metal and glass. “When that slave destroyed the Heart,” he said, over his shoulder. “You remember her. The Argonian.”

“I was just thinking of her, actually. You mean to say… she destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan? How is that possible? Lord Kagrenac himself couldn’t…” He trailed off, not sure what this all meant.

Fyr emerged from the cupboard, holding a Dwemer coin in one hand. His other hand waved dismissively. “It’s all very complex. Damned if I can quite follow it myself.” He stared off into the distance, a look of nostalgia written on his face. “Clever gal, wasn’t she? Didn’t give her a single key, but she opened all the boxes in my labyrinth.” He hefted the coin in his hand. “Sure she figured something out. They decided she was the Nerevarine, did you know? ‘They’ being I don’t know who. Vivec. House Telvanni. Whatever. Fulfilled the prophecies, and all that.”

Bagarn drew in a breath, trying to keep up with Fyr’s stream of consciousness. Luckily, he was well practiced at it —  plus he knew some small amount about Dunmer legend. “An Argonian Nerevarine? Isn’t that… odd?”

“Yes, well. Azura does rather have a sense of humor, doesn’t she? Anyway! Our intrepid slave girl destroyed the enchantments around the Heart, severing our dear Tribunal from it, and causing them to lose their powers.”

Bagarn was well aware his friend was speaking what the Tribunal cult would call heresy. Perhaps he felt safe doing so because he was a four-thousand year-old wizard who could travel to Oblivion. Perhaps, here at the center of the Corprusarium, he simply knew he could not be overheard by anyone who cared about such things. “Do go on.”

Fyr tossed the coin from hand to hand. “Vivec disappeared. But as the legend goes, while the people loved him, Baar Dau would stay afloat.” He paused. “Today, it has fallen.”

He dropped the Dwemer coin, then, into a puddle of water at his feet. It splashed and dispersed the puddle, rolling unharmed to the side. “That coin is Baar Dau. The puddle is Vivec.” He bit his lip. “Was Vivec.” He sat down abruptly and picked up his cup of greef, sipping at it. “One of my colleagues was on the road to Pelagiad when it happened. Contacted me at once. Told me he saw the cantons knocked over like toys under an ogrim’s heel.” Again Bagarn saw that hesitation in his caretaker’s movements. “That was,” Fyr licked his lips, “the last I heard. Lost the transmission. He must have Recalled out of there.” He didn’t sound sure.

Bagarn was silent, shocked. He had never been there, but he knew Vivec was the greatest city on Vvardenfell.

And now it was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Bagarn said, because he did not know what else to say.

Fyr drank deeply of the greef, before continuing. “Well. You know. It’s not just that.” There was a hint of menace in his voice. “Do you remember,” he began, and then cleared his throat, because his voice was gritty. “Do you remember how Red Mountain would erupt and cause an earthquake? And if there was an earthquake, it would conversely cause Red Mountain to erupt? And sometimes, over in Mournhold, the waves would rise high off the coast, smash fishing boats and houses, and…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Of course you don’t know about that last part. Point is. Nirn and the roots of the mountain and the tides, they are all connected. What affects one, affects the others.”

Bagarn thought he understood. “Ah. You believe there will be… after-effects?”

Fyr shook his head. “Already begun. In another quarter of an hour, we’ll know the full extent.” He rolled the cup in his hands.

Bagarn’s mind moved infinitely slow, as if refusing to accept the gravity of the situation. Was it his imagination, or could he hear a low rumbling beneath the Corprusarium? Was a river of lava already snaking its way right to their door? He felt a thrill of fear. It was an odd sensation, entirely foreign to a mer whom corprus had inoculated from simple mortality.

The first inane thing he said was, “What of your daughters?”

Fyr opened his mouth to reply, but it was a long time before the words came out. “Safe. Recalled to Mournhold. With family.”

“You could Recall, too,”

Fyr laughed. “Bitter irony. Mine is set to Vivec.”

“Or seek intervention.”

“To Molag Mar, which is hardly safer than here.”

“You have that daedric amulet –”

“No. I gave that to the Argonian.”

Bagarn thought. Water dripped. “Look, old friend. If nothing else, you can travel to Oblivion, can’t you? Hardly comfortable, but if you choose the right realm, you’ll be safe for a time.”

Fyr shook his head. “The ritual takes time, and supplies I don’t have. I can’t just pop off to Moonshadow in an instant.”

A sudden, clever thought occurred to Bagarn. “Aren’t your people known for their resistance to fire and heat?”

“Resistance is not immunity. If nothing else,” Fyr said, grimacing, “it will just kill me more slowly.”

That was a frightful picture, but Bagarn was becoming exasperated. Everywhere he offered suggestions, Fyr threw them aside. “You are the single most brilliant sorcerer in Vvardenfell!” Bagarn cried. “At the very least, you can levitate yourself somewhere neither lava nor earthquakes nor giant waves can reach you.”

A thin, sad smile stole over Fyr’s lips then. “And leave the Corprusarium behind? Leave you behind?” He gestured to the Dwemer’s bloated body. “Where I would go, you cannot follow, friend.”

And that was the entire truth behind the excuses, Bagarn saw at last. His shoulders fell.

“Please, drink up,” Fyr whispered. “Hate to drink alone.”

Bagarn looked into his cup, and considered his own death. All things considered, it would be a relief. His body was a twisted, traitorous ruin; even his senses were beginning to fail him.

But it was a funny thing, to have survived so much, only to die now.

To have survived the failed experiments that turned his people to ash.

To have survived Akaviri invasions.

To have survived corprus, which made him this ruin, but also allowed him to live to this far-attenuated age.

To have seen the Nerevarine.

To die, in the path of a natural disaster. A natural disaster caused, however indirectly, by the very thing Kagrenac had tried to do to improve the Dwemer, thousands of years ago.

He wondered if it would hurt much.

He sipped his greef, and felt its numb his tongue.

“I’m sorry there’s not much left,” Fyr said, smoothing his topknot of white hair with hands that visibly shook. “You know how Alfe likes her drink. This is good stuff. Second Era vintage. They were drinking this stuff when Vivec flooded the Akaviri out of Vvardenfell.”

The numbness did not leave Bagarn’s tongue. He licked his lips, and knew suddenly that the Fyr daughters had not gone to Mournhold. They were duplicates of Fyr; what family could they claim?

“This will make it easier,” Fyr said. “I don’t know if the seas or Nirn will take us… but sera alchemy is always obliging.” He set his head down on the table, his breathing heavy. “That is the hackle-lo leaf you taste. To numb the pain. Luminous russula and violet coprinus does the rest.”

A cold stone settled in Bagarn’s chest, and with surprising eagerness, he embraced it. He reached for the bottle of poisoned greef and poured out the dregs of it, speckled with precipitates. “Will this… be enough?

Fyr tried to nod, but didn’t quite manage it. “Yes,” he rasped instead. “Excuse me if I don’t pour for you. My spine — seems to have stopped working.” He laughed. His skin was pale, the color of a Falmer’s. “Terrible old man. Lived far too long. But. Know how to be a gracious host.”

You have always been good to me, Bagarn wanted to say, but the words froze in his throat. He saw the same glint in Fyr’s eyes he had seen earlier, and knew it wasn’t mischievousness, after all, but fear.

Fyr was too proud to ask for his company–he was as haughty as any Dunmer. But he was slipping away, his intelligent eyes dimming, even as the Dwemer delayed. The least he owed Divayth Fyr, Bagarn determined, was follow him into the dark.

He threw back the cup of greef and drank greedily.

The Battle on Christ’s-Mass (flash fiction)

Originally published December 21, 2012, on Livejournal, for Terrible Minds’ weekly flash fiction challenge, where the prompt was “The War on Christmas.” Here I am imagining an alternate history where the German states never became Christian. Small corrections made in reposting it here.

In the Year of Our Lord 1844, as every schoolchild knows, Prince Albert wrought peace between England and the German states.

This is how it was accomplished.

It was an accident of his campaign in Hesse that Prince Albert found himself camped outside the city of Geismar on the eve of Christ’s-Mass, which the heathens called Yule. It was snowing, and this did not escape the notice of the two middle-aged men gathered inside the Prince’s command tent.

“It is inadvisable,” said the Duke of Normandy, Laurence Martel, “to march up the hill in snow towards…” He raised and lowered his hand, demonstrating, with wordless frustration, their goal. Then he brightened and added, “Perhaps a flanking action –”

“There’s no time,” Prince Ernest of Thuringia snapped. “Nor can we split our forces like that.”

Despair returned to the Duke’s face. “Then… perhaps if we can hope for superior firepower. They haven’t got rifles, have they?”

Ernest barked a laugh. “We aren’t savages, you know.”

Prince Albert listened to his companions for some time longer, but eventually he rose and walked out of the tent. Later he would note the silence of this moment — so still he believed he could hear the breath of the sky. If he noted how uncanny that was, it is not mentioned in his memoirs; nor, it seems, did he reflect on his odd place in this war, as the husband of a Christian ruler and the child of a pagan land.

Prince Ernest and the Duke soon followed him out. They found him staring to the south, at the hill city of Geismar, alight with lamp-light, rising out of the plain like an island rising out of the sea. Less than a mile distant, it might as well have been impenetrable.

Prince Albert looked to the west instead. Against the setting sun, he could see outlined a tree. It took him some time, he records, to realize it must have been truly of epic proportions to block out part of the horizon like it did. “Brother,” he said, in German, “What is that tree?”

“Donar’s Oak,” the Prince of Thuringia replied. “The local people equate it with Yggdrasil, the World Tree.” He gave a disdainful shrug. This was an unorthodox belief, even for a heathen.

“Will it be defended?”

“I can’t imagine it’s a strategic target.” After a moment’s reflection, he added, “Though I expect there are some few priests of Donar there, and they’ll defend it with their lives.”

Prince Albert considered for a long time — so long that the sun sank in the west, leaving them in full darkness. The breeze continued to whisper possibilities. Eventually, he cleared his throat, and spoke. “Normandy, be prepared to march at dawn.” Turning to Ernest, he said, “I would like an axe.”

#

The battle at Donar’s Oak was accomplished without fanfare. There were some dozen priests tending the tree, and they resisted with passion and abandon, but they were overwhelmed by the strength of the infantry. Preferring death to indignity, few of the priests had allowed themselves to be captured.

The surviving priests stood guarded by a circle of infantry in the shadow of the leafless giant. When the sun was high, Prince Albert emerged from the milling soldiers and stepped up to the mounded dirt around the base of the tree, where heathen idols had been scattered. He was wearing a dress uniform and he carried an axe. He looked to either side of him as if awaiting a cue.

The gathered people — heathens and soldiers both — seemed to be holding their breaths. The impact of the axe hitting wood was a great exhalation.

Prince Albert was a fit man, but the tree was fitter, and His Highness was soon sweating and panting. He removed first the uniform jacket, then his shirt. By the time he began making the lower notch, his hair was wild and he looked like nothing so much as a common laborer.

Lightning then broke from the clear sky, its only warning a ripple of electricity through the air. It struck the crown of the tree, and the force of the impact drove a wedge between the main limbs of the tree. With a tremendous creak-crack, the vast trunk of the tree was split.

When it landed, the tree was in three smoldering sections. Sap sizzled beneath its bark.

Prince Albert seemed a little uncertain at this moment, and summoned forth his brother to converse in whispers. The Prince of Thuringia only made a gesture of confusion.

The symbols must have seemed clear enough for His Highness to continue. “The Most High provides,” he said, taking on the air of the orator. “See how he has split this oak into three parts, representing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?” He made the sign of the cross as he said this.

The priests of Donar were murmuring in their little circle. Prince Albert looked at their captors and said, “Deliver them to the gates of Geismar, and then free them.” While the soldiers frowned at their orders, His Highness addessed himself to the captives in German. “Clearly the hammer of Donar has sundered his monument tree into three parts. I leave to your wisdom the interpretation.” As he said this, he approached one of the smoldering limbs and broke off a branch, still decorated with dry, rattling leaves. With its woody end, he scratched in the dirt three interlocking triangles.

Prince Albert had taken Geismar within the week, and the rest of Hesse within the next year. But perhaps what is most remembered from that day is how Prince Albert bore with him the branch of the sundered tree, and carried it with him back to England.

And this is why today we celebrate Christ’s-Mass with garlands of oak leaves.

#TBT, the text edition (Thursday, January 22nd)

I love the idea of Throwback Thursday, but I never participate — mostly because I seem to perpetually lack pictures of myself.

Words, however. I’ve got words in abundance.

So have some words from the past.

January 22, 2004. So…. if I got a webcam so that I could keep an eye on Burnbright during the day while I’m at work, would that be a redeeming use of a webcam? (I suspect this wasn’t long after I got him — which I think was in November of 2003)

January 22, 2006. After seeing this casting questionnaire for a LARP I’m attending at InterCon this year, holy shit, I’ll never complain about casting questionnaires again. This one is quite literally likely to reduce me to tears. My favorite “bug-eyed monster”? My favorite universe? Essay questions involving theremin and Vogon poetry? ::cries::

Holy shit, that was for Across the Sea of Stars, at my very first Intercon, Intercon F. Man… I was complaining about casting questionnaires even then? When I had filled out, what, two of them? (And, um, sorry, Jeff D. I understand the purpose of casting questionnaires a lot better now).

Also I believe that the job interview I’m preparing for (mentioned at the end of the entry) is for the job I eventually accepted (and eventually lost) at an educational marketing company. DON’T DO IT, LISE. DON’T GO INTO THAT SCARY CAVE.

January 22, 2007. HOLY SHIT VETIVER. Ah, so this was when I was first discovering BPAL. Little did I know then how much Matt would end up liking Highwayman, and how little subsequent bottles would smell like that imp.

Arisia 2015

Importing this post from LJ; please excuse the markup.

I hadn’t been to Arisia in… possibly a decade? I know the last time I went it was at the Ziggurat/Q-bert Hotel/the terrible Hyatt in Cambridge, and there was a snowpocalypse that weekend, and we drove home to Watertown in that. At that time, I promised I wouldn’t go back until it was not at that hotel. That took five years or so, and at that time I wasn’t attending many conventions besides LARP ones.

But this year, the delightful Phoebe R. had a show, Mrs. Hawking, going up on Friday night, and having read the script, I really wanted to see it performed. Plus, N.K. Jemisin, whose work I enjoy, was the author GOH, and I thought she would have some interesting things to say. And, of course, there’s the fact that nearly all my friends go — the ones that aren’t doing Mystery Hunt, that is.

So I bought a membership very last minute, and went! I had an amazing time, too. There was some concern that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the con in time for Mrs. Hawking, but I was able to work remotely from the hotel on Friday afternoon, so that worked out well.

Things wot I did:

– A long-ish wait in the registration line with my roomie natbudin on Friday night, in which I ran into approximately everyone I knew, ever.

– Went to Mrs. Hawking, which was wonderful to see staged, especially the action scenes. Things like the scene at the club — where Mrs. Hawking uses a knife as a step to climb up into the rafters — worked surprisingly well with the set. (I suppose not that surprising, since the set was basically a deconstructed jungle gym). If I have any complaints, it’s that the sound wasn’t great, and I ended up having to move to the front rows to hear better.

– Attended the “Tricksters of All Trades” panel on Friday night, with Jemisin, Andrea Hairston, Daniel José Older, Vikki Ciaffone, and Catt Kingsgrave. What an entertaining panel! A lot of it was Older and Hairston talking about Yoruba gods and Santeria orisha who were tricksters, like Eshu and Elegba. This was fine with me, since they were clearly very excited about the topic, and brought that to the table. It succeeded in making me want to read Older’s new book, Half-Resurrection Blues, if nothing else! Jemisin talked about the tricksters in the Inheritance trilogy — primarily Sieh — and very obligingly told us all to cover our ears at the right point if we didn’t want to be spoiled on The Awakened Kingdoms. (I’m making my way through The Broken Kingdoms right now).

– Went to Tess’ Friday night party — sadly, never made it to laura47‘s — which was mostly WPI grads and related folks. I talked with Brian E., who was wearing a great Earthforce uniform, about the Elder Scrolls for a while (“are you in the Morrowind camp, the Skyrim camp, or the wrong camp?”) and to hanasaseru about Cottington Woods. I drank moscato and a Dark & Stormy that was mostly rum; sprrwhwk showed up later in the evening, and we ended the evening chatting in his room, drinking most of a bottle of Templeton Rye — the favorite drink of Al Capone, I’m told!

– I spent most of Saturday with the worst hangover of my life — and blind, because I had thrown out my disposable contacts before I realized I’d forgotten to bring my glasses or any other pairs with me 🙁 As a result I went to very few events, but in the afternoon, I was able to catch up with juldea, who had a similar prescription to me, and used the same brand of disposables, and gave me some of hers.

– I did stop in at the “Avoiding Culturefail” panel, but I ended up feeling so sick I had to leave. It didn’t help that the room was approximately 300 degrees, I couldn’t see the panelists, and they kept talking not about how to avoid culturefail in writing SFF, but the ethnic makeup of the U.S. post-WWII. While that could be an interesting topic, a) that wasn’t what the panel was about, and b) it wasn’t.

– Able to see and feeling half-human, I went to Jemisin’s reading at 4pm. She had three unpublished pieces in the world of the Inheritance trilogy she could read, and she let the audience vote on which — one from the POV of Glee (Oree’s daughter), one from the POV of Nahadoth, and one from the POV of… a character I haven’t met yet. Well, since I’m not far enough along in The Broken Kingdoms that I wanted spoilers about Oree or her offspring, I voted for Naha, and so did most of the audience. So we listened to a really cool piece, set before The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (I think? Time is wibbly-wobbly if you’re a god), which was about him being convinced to fight back against the Arameri.

I had questions I wanted to ask about the piece in the Q&A, but unfortunately, we were subjected instead to inane questions like, “What do you think the future of books is?” (To which Jemisin replied, “… could you be a little more specific?”) and “Why did you decide to write this piece?” (“For the same reason I write anything?”)

– A Codex dinner was planned, but fell through; I ended up having drinks at the bar with John Murphy, Joy Marchand and her husband, and the aforementioned Kevin (who it is uncanny to hear called “Kellan.” I will never get used to calling friends by their pen names). I tried to convince Joy to come to Intercon or Festival, as she was interested in trying out LARP; John told us about the “Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That” anime panel, which apparently went pretty far off the rails, and didn’t actually discuss short series, like it had promised to. Instead we gave him some of our suggestions — Baccano, Spice & Wolf, Madoka, and of course I had to mention Hellsing and Gankutsuou 🙂

– I went to PMRP’s gender-swapped radio play of “Space Seed,” the famous classic Trek episode that introduced Khan. It was delightful — nothing like gender reversal to really make it clear how creepy 1960s sexism was! Adria–who I know from NPCing Shadows of Amun, and who most people know for being on The Quest — played Spock, and was delightful in that role. Liz Salazar (I think that was her name?) who played Khan was amazing too, as was the gentleman who played the unfortunate historical officer Khan seduces.

– I browsed the art show, since the dealer’s room wasn’t open that late on Saturday night. I especially liked the photography series of cosplayers/costumers in costume and in street clothes. I also really enjoyed the exhibit for the artist GOH, Lee Moyer, who I did not realize had done the cover for The Broken Kingdoms and for one of the Kushiel books. And, apparently, several Lovecraft collections; there were a few HPL-with-tentacles portraits. If I had $375, I would have taken one home! I also enjoyed his series of gender-swapped classic author pinups (i.e. Miss Carroll, Miss Dumas).

– While in the art show, I noticed a guy dressed in what I noticed immediately was cavalier-era garb (I guessed 1620s at first). This is impressive, because while Arisia has a lot of cosplay, most of it (that isn’t re-creation) tends towards the medieval or steampunk; the cavalier era doesn’t get a lot of love. I asked him about it, and he told me he was part of the Salem Trayned Band, a re-enactment group of one of the first civilian militias in the U.S., dating to around 1630. I missed their pike demonstration, alas, but I saw him later on the “So You Think You Can Write A Fight” panel.

I turned in early on Sunday, due to my severe lack of sleep the night before, and was up, feeling mostly human, at 9am the next day…

– The first panel I made it out to on Sunday was the end of the “So You Think You Can Write A Fight” discussion, where audience members read fight scenes they had written, and the panelists critiqued them. Among the panelists I recognized not only Uncle Jim (who I expected), but also aforementioned re-enactor (Mark Millman?), giving advice on halberds, and Gie, who I knew not as an editor for an SFF erotica magazine (which she apparently is!) but as someone I played Masquerade with, back in the day. To me she will always be the Assamite cheerleader who wanted to be a Toreador. Who also, apparently, knows a lot about martial arts and writes lesbian vampire pr0n.

– I ran into John Murphy again at this panel, and together we ended up going to “Tales from the Slush Pile,” held in a room which was entirely too small for its popularity. Gie was on this panel, as well as Joy Marchand, Cecilia Tan, Joy Crelin, Hildy Silverman, and Inanna Arthen. Since many of these editors dealt in erotica, a lot of the examples of terribleness from the slush pile were bad smut. Although, kudos to Gie for pointing out that sometimes the line between ridiculous and hot is paper-thin.

– I spent some time in my room writing after this. I wanted to prep for my 4pm event (more on that in a minute), but I happened to look at the writing prompts for this week’s round of the Codex flash contest, and one of them sparked an idea for a short piece in the world of Lioness, telling the story of how Yfre ended up accused of treason and nearly hanged. The prompt in question was “someone has made a terrible mistake and someone else must pay for it,” which is pretty much the definition of what happened to Yfre. I knew I couldn’t make it 750 words without ruining it, however, so I was in no hurry to finish that day. Which is fine, because nevacarusoand Nat came back to the room around then, and we ended up chatting about various things.

– I headed off at 4pm to my final event of the con — the pitch session with Nora Jemisin, which I had to sign up for ahead of time. To be fair, this was really more of a practice pitch session — as she pointed out, she’s not an agent or an editor, and her agent is pretty much not taking new clients. (I did query her already!) So I got my ten minutes with her, pitching G&F. My pitch came in under five minutes, which was the perfect length, and she said she was intrigued by it, but offered suggestions for making it better. One of the best pieces of advice she gave me was when I asked how to deal with the fact that there are two protagonists, but trying to focus on both in a query letter comes out muddled. She suggested I send the Serevic-focused one to male agents, and the Mirasa-focused one to female agents — because everyone wants to read a story with a character of their own gender. I had never thought of doing that before, but it makes perfect sense.

I mentioned I was also a VP grad, and we chatted very briefly about that. (I asked her if The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms was her submission piece; she told me it was actually The Killing Moon, it just took a lot longer to sell).

All in all, she was cordial and complimentary of my pitch, which left me a bit reeling! I tried not to be too much of a fangirl, but I did tell her in parting how much I enjoyed her work.

And that was the end of the con for me! I had to go home Sunday night because someone was coming to my house the next day to fix my central vac. Also it’s pretty much all I feel up for writing, because I have come down with a cold and feel like my head is stuffed with cotton.

Abbreviated BPAL Yule 2014 reviews

I have a bunch of testers of this year’s Yules. I need to test them before the Yules come down in February. Unfortunately, I am busy as hell and don’t have a lot of time to even put on perfumes, let alone write down my impressions. But if I don’t, I won’t remember anything, and getting testers (which is like a 1/4 of an imp) means I don’t have a lot to work with.

So far I have tried:

Butter Rum Cookie. Rum-soaked brown butter cookies, crusted with sugar, soaked in almond and garnished with orange rind and pummeled pecans. Pretty good. More cookie than rummy. Not sure I need more foody scents.

Chocolate Stout Cupcakes. Bittersweet chocolate cupcakes whisked with stout and topped with inky dark chocolate frosting. This oil has a lot of dark sediment in a lighter base. For about a nanosecond, this smells perfectly like chocolate frosting. Then it starts to just smell generically sweet and a little playdo-y.

Mari Lwyd. Welsh cakes and ale with a smattering of dried lavender. This one is a winner for me. The lavender doesn’t become overpowering or sneezy or awful, and mostly just mellows out the foody notes, which can be too heavy on their own. On drydown, it reminds me a bit of Tweedledee/Tweedledum, in that it’s something sweet anchored by something base.

I think I also tried Hot Buttered Rum? It smelled as advertised, which is probably too foody to add to my currently INCREDIBLY FOODY collection.

Lise’s HTML/CSS pet peeves, part 3 of 4: misuse of the !important flag

Remember these posts? I’ve been holding off on posting #3 because I realized I didn’t have as much as I thought to say about “nudging” with absolute and relative positioning. I would much rather talk about misuse of the !important flag. So, slight change of plan: I’m going to do that first.

Lise, what the hell is !important?

Not, in fact, a philosophical question.

If you’re a hobbyist CSS-slinger working mostly with your own code, you might not have ever heard of the !important flag. It’s the kind of thing that only really becomes relevant in large stylesheets, and usually only those touched by multiple developers.

I still recall, with something less than fondness, the first time I saw it. I was contracting as a front-end developer at a company that really wanted me to also be a designer and a back-end developer (for $30/hour — ha!) At first glance, I thought it was some sort of comment, like “this is important, do not delete.” I had to look it up.

What !important does, if you are unfamiliar, is move a CSS attribute to the head of the cascade.

So what’s the problem with it, Lise?

!important is kind of like a pushy jerk cutting in line, breaking the order which is the core of, you know, cascading style sheets. This is kind of a nuke-like power, and so it is important to use it sparingly.

So you say. Can you give me an example?

Let’s say you’ve just realized, after writing a bunch of CSS already, that you want ALL the <p> tags on your page to have a font-size of 15px, rather than setting it individually. You might write a style like this:

p {
	font-size:15px;
}

As it happens, you also have a div called .box that has <p> tags inside of it, and you look to see that *gasp* these paragraphs are not obeying your command. They have a font-size of 14px, even though you said, right there on line 101, that all <p> tags should have a font size of 15px! This must not stand! You “fix” this by applying the important flag:

p {
	font-size:15px !important;
}

Whew. Problem solved, right? Your paragraph has a font-size of 15px, everyone is happy.

But… what you may not have realized is that, somewhere lurking in your stylesheet, there’s a style that says:

.box p {
	font-size:14px;
}

… which you have just knocked over and taken the lunch of. Someone else — or an earlier version of you — has decided that paragraph tags within .box get the font-size of 14px, and you have just shot that style right in the head.

And? So what, Lise?

What happens if someone wants to override this style for another set of .box p elements? They will need an !important tag to override THAT style.

In a long enough stylesheet, you end up with an escalating war of the !important tags.

If this doesn’t seem that bad to you, imagine working on thousands of lines of CSS, much of it written by other people — which is what I do every day. The temptation in that instance, when your precious style is being overridden by something unwanted higher in the cascade, is to pull the pin on the !important grenade. It’s this use case:

  1. WHY IS MY FRAGGLE ROCKING CSS NOT WORKING INTERROBANG
  2. (use !important rule)
  3. OK, now it’s working

“When Using !important Is the Right Choice,” Chris Coyier, css-tricks.com

And yet, this is exactly the sort of place where you should not do this.

All right, I’m beginning to see. So what should you do instead of applying an !important flag and breaking the cascade we all know and love?

Some options:

You can change or get rid of the style for .box p. Not always possible, but if you are the only front-end developer working on a project, you can refactor all you like. (Oh, for that kind of freedom!)
– If what you are trying to accomplish is: “All paragraphs have a font size of 16px, except for the ones inside of .box… oh, except for this one example,” the best thing to do is to work with the cascade by making a more specific style. Maybe you want a special sort of .box, a callout box, to have a larger font size. So you set:

<div class="box callout">
</div>

And then set a style of:

.box.callout p {
font-size:16px
}

(This is also an example of modular CSS, which I like).

Cascading makes my head hurt.

Here’s a rule of thumb: the longer the style declaration, the more specific it is. Everytime you add a selector, you make it more specific.

Is there anything !important is good for?

!important is very useful for overriding styles you don’t want that come in from sources you can’t control, like inline styles on social media sharing buttons. Have no compunction about overriding Facebook’s shitty JS-applied inline styles for its Like button. It won’t hurt Zuck’s feelings any.

Go back to: Part 1 | Part 2

Lise’s HTML/CSS pet peeves, part 2 of 4: clearer divs

This post is about another of my front-end web dev pet peeves: clearer divs, and associated float/clear madness.

(For those of you not webbily-inclined, we are not talking about what happens when you flush the toilet. It is — slightly — more pleasant than raw sewage).

Clearer divs fit under the category of “extraneous markup”, but I’ve given them their own bullet point because they INFURIATE me. Seriously, seeing a document riddled with this:

<div class="clearfix"></div>

Or worse yet:

<div style="clear:both;"></div>

…is enough to send me into a raaaaaage.

To explain the annoyance factor here, I need to explain a little about floats and clears for the front-end web dev n00bs in the audience. Most website layouts these days are based around multiple <div>s made into columns by applying the style “float:left” or “float:right” to them. Take this bit of markup:

<style>
#box {
   width:50%;
}
#left_column {
   width:20%;
   float:left;
}
#right_column {
   width:80%;
   float:right;
}
</style>
<div id="box">
   <div id="left_column">This is the left column</div>
   <div id="right_column">This is the right column</div>
</div>

The content within those <div>s will form themselves into two rudimentary columns which continue down the page indefinitely. Like this:

This is the left column and it goes on for as long as you have content to fill it
This is the right column and because it’s wider it can go on longer and longer and longer and longer and longer

Unfortunately, it’s that indefinitely wherein the problem lies. Elements that come after those two columns will continue to contort themselves to accommodate that float, unless you tell them otherwise. This can cause a number of strange behaviors that are boggling to CSS newbies — the source of 90% of problems when my friends come to me with their webpages and say, “You know CSS; make this work!”

“But Lise!” you say, “your two columns above aren’t have any problems.” Well, that’s because I have cleared them. If you know your way around Firebug/Chrome Dev Tools, try toggling off the style on #box. You’ll see something like this (picture):

Screen Shot 2014-10-02 at 6.58.57 PM

So floats are tricksy, like hobbitses. But they can be countered by the clear CSS property. I like to think of an element with “clear:both” on it as CSS Gandalf, spanning the width of the parent element and saying “None shall pass!”

… I’ve just compared balrogs and hobbits. This LOTR analogy is breaking down, so let’s leave it aside. Will miss pointy hat.

The easy, ugly way to clear a float is to put a new, empty element after it — within the parent element — with “clear:both” applied to it:

<style>
#box {
   width:50%;
}
#left_column {
   width:20%;
   float:left;
}
#right_column {
   width:80%;
   float:right;
}
.clear {
   clear:both;
}
</style>
<div id="box">
   <div id="left_column">This is the left column</div>
   <div id="right_column">This is the right column</div>
   <div class="clear"></div>
</div>

This will do the trick — your successive content won’t try to jump up into #box.

So what’s wrong with it?

Well, it’s non-semantic and extraneous markup, which we’ve already talked about a little. That <div> isn’t pulling its weight; it has no meaning on the page, and exists only for appearance reasons — rather like a Wodehouse protagonist.

Moreover, there are a bajillion (okay, five or so) other ways to clear floats (more) semantically. To name them:

Floating the parent (in this example, #box). Floated parent elements will expand to contain floated children. Understandably, this doesn’t work everywhere; you may not want that element to jog to the left.

Setting overflow:hidden or overflow:auto on the parent. This is the method I used above to wrangle our columns. Like with floated parents, elements with overflow:hidden on them will expand to contain floated children. It has a few cons to its use, however:

  • It’s not supported in IE7 or below. But none of us are supporting that any more, right
  • overflow:hidden interacts weirdly with box-shadows
  • Obviously, if you need a different value for the overflow property, this won’t work for you

That said, I find a lot of use for this one, and it tends to be my go-to clear method.

Set clear:both on an existing (unfloated) semantic element that follows. Here you’re doing what you’re trying to do with a clearer div, on an element that would be on the page anyway. Dependent though it is on a very specific structure, this method is worth mentioning because this is common way of building a two column layout — float one div left, float one right, and have a footer that spans the document beneath it. Put clear:both on the footer and you’re good to go.

The so-called easy clearing method (warning, dated), where you apply clear:both to an empty space inserted into the DOM via the :after pseudo-classes. I didn’t use this one for a long time, due to lack of support in IE7 or lower for these pseudo-classes. It’s also a tetch non-semantic. But with IE7 being phased out more globally, it has become the most generally applicable method of clearing something — all the previous methods only work in a subset of cases.

A slight improvement on this is the micro clearfix. If you use Sass with Bourbon, it’s the method you get if you use @include clearfix().

(And this is why I’m a front-end web developer — so I can say my job involves sass and bourbon).

One troubleshooting hint: if you’re seeing odd behavior on a page, and floats are involved, try inspecting the parent element in Firebug or Chrome Dev Tools. (You are using these, right?) If it appears with no height, and on selection doesn’t appear to wrap its child elements, there’s likely an uncleared float somewhere in there.

That’s enough info, right?

.
.
.

All right, all right. I will acknowledge there may be corner cases where you have to stick clear:both on a piece of markup that wouldn’t otherwise exist. But I have only rarely come across such cases.

In case this rant didn’t help you to understand floats and clears, I point you towards a couple of my favorite resources. They are both a few years old, but — aside from the browser bugs — floats and clears haven’t changed much in ten years.
http://alistapart.com/article/css-floats-101
http://css-tricks.com/all-about-floats/

Next time, HTML/CSS bugaboo #3 — “nudging” with absolute and relative positioning.