kip_w: (tree)
.
I started cutting the straps on a big box that some men had brought over a day or so ago. Sarah showed up and wanted to help. I lifted the top off and wrestled the contents out onto the floor. I put the hardware bits on my piano and skimmed the instruction book and its precautions.
Read more... )
kip_w: (Default)
.
I'm enjoying the new anthology of every New Yorker cartoon published through 2004. Some of the commentary reminds me that many great cartoonists used writers. Moreover, it tells me that the identity of these writers is very often known. I wonder if somebody would be so kind as to put together an anthology by writer? We could do a half dozen or so in the book, and see their famous cartoons with well-known cartoonist names attached. Illuminating, I'd think.

I see Sarah has been licking the screen. Kids.

"I'm sorry, I've forgotten your, ah, your..."
"Name?"
"Ah, yes! That's it, thanks! Yes, your name."
(whew!)
.

interlude

Oct. 20th, 2004 08:51 pm
kip_w: (tree)
.
I put the book down carefully, relying on gravity and inertia to keep my place for my return. My other hand still held a small container of ice cream, now slightly less full than it had been. Opening the freezer door, I located the top of the container and returned the whole thing to its place on top of another pint of ice cream. They obviously preferred each other's company.

Next it was back to the half-empty sink (I was an optimist) to get the sticky-sweet ex-dessert off my fingertips. As I reached for the faucet, I noticed that I was narrating again. Well, no help for it. Fiction will do that to you. A few minutes, an hour from now, this will all be a dim memory and no harm done. For now, might as well go along.

Go along. I went along as I rinsed and wiped my fingertips, pleased with the clean feeling it left. Checking the inventory of my pockets, I made my way down into the den for relaxing. As the computer whirred into life, a rhythmic refrain of small feet on crib wood down the hall marked a stage in Sarah's getting to sleep.
.

not again!

Oct. 12th, 2004 06:11 pm
kip_w: (miner)
.
It used to happen to me all the time. I'd come up with a superhero name, and a year or two later, Marvel or DC would steal it from me. Sometimes they'd stick it on a villain, for cry yi! As I grew up, unscrupulous publishers and writers took to appropriating more mature ideas, themes, and superhero names from me. Many of my cartoons, and even prospective inventions, were appropriated by respected cartoonists and inventors. I've had to get used to it.

But sometimes, I have to wonder. Terry Pratchett always seemed like an okay sort of fellow in his writing and those few times he'd pop in on my newsgroup to say something and vanish again. Today, though, Cathy brought me a new Pratchett book to read, and as I was sitting quietly, reading the dustjacket copy and the pages that precede the story itself, my eye was caught by one of my favorite inventions. A one-shot I had titled "Journey to the Dark Side of the Sun" had been appropriated, edited down (removing the first two words) and applied to a non-Discworld novel by Mr. Pratchett.

I feel betrayed by the effrontery of it all. Just because the one-shot (from Karval Kon 1, I think) never got finished -- damn typewriter wasn't good for three letters in a row -- is no reason one of my most brilliant notions should be considered up for grabs. Just because he writes books and I mostly scribble little notes in memo pads doesn't make me less entitled to my ideas than he is. And don't tell me he couldn't know about it, just because the only copy was probably trashed decades ago. Just look at his books!

They're full of wizards, magic, time travel, and spatial displacement. What better means to sneak around in my past and snoop on my genius?

Well, "Mister" Pratchett, you can have this one. I'll probably read the book some day and make a nuisance of myself by insisting on reading portions of it to people I know, but that doesn't mean I'm not watching you. I have my eye on you. Call in once in a while, so I'll know where you are.
.

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