This week I am attending the RT Convention in Chicago, IL. It feels like much more than a mere physical trip. I’m used to traveling for a vacation; what is new and nervous-making is the idea of travel for a vocation—a trip where I have an itinerary other than my own explorations to consider. I’m excited, but I’m also really anxious. (I have not slept well the past two nights, and am trying to solve this by having two strong Manhattans tonight in the hopes of calming/warming/distracting me enough to get some rest. So far—brilliant idea! I feel fantastic! Ask me again in the morning.)
There is probably nothing to be scared of, but that’s never stopped me in the past. If you’re at RT this week as well, look me up! I’ll be the one with red hair, a black shirt, a nervous expression, and either Wonder Woman tennis shoes or these.
We here at Olivia Waite are terrible at office jobs, but love a well-made business card. In the past we have gone with elegant black text on a matte white background because it stands out in the sea of glossy cover images and author photos (and also because it is cheap). But since we’re going to the Romantic Times convention in Chicago in a few weeks—all the cool kids are doing it—we decided it was time to step up and get ourselves something fancy.
These are masterpieces in miniature, tactile and luxurious. The design and letterpress printing (letterpress! I swoon!) were accomplished by the marvelous Boxcar Press, who were an absolute delight to work with.
And yeah, I’m a digital author, but I grew up loving print books and moveable type and the Book of Kells and old book smell and libraries with narrow aisles and all those bibliophilic things that are comfort food for the soul. I’ve illuminated manuscripts before just for fun. I still get fizzy with delight when someone sends me a letter in the mail, too. The prophets of doom (cough cough Konrath) would have us believe that print is dead, or very nearly so.
They can have print books when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.
We here at Olivia Waite are delighted to announce we’ll be spending this coming week in the marvelous city of San Francisco! There will be adventures! And dinners! And visits to art museums! And many an hour working on manuscripts and finalizing a couple of stories that are very nearly done!
In lieu of a full-blown post today, please accept this scene from the film version of one of our favorite San Francisco-set films: The Big Sleep. Because nothing makes us happier than a noir detective using his stakeout time to make time with a smart, hot, ready-to-go bookstore clerk.
Today I’m a guest blogger on the site of the marvelous Delilah Devlin, talking about genre mashups that are so new they don’t have names yet. If you’re looking for a list of things I’m working on—a list which includes phrases like “psychic noir,” “Finnish magic,” and “bonus sexy robots and squidshifters,” that’s a place you want to visit.
Welcome, O Reader, to the final entry in this spontaneous Bad Poetry Week Celebration. Spurred by Amanda Palmer‘s example at the start of the week, we’ve since gawked at horrifying lizard-themed word-butchery by Troy Lumber, a cringeworthy WWI song, and and ode by the Cheese Poet. But lest we start to feel superior, in comparison […]
For our penultimate day of Bad Poetry Week, I’d like to introduce you to the work of Canada’s James MacIntyre, also known as the Cheese Poet. This is a man who cruelly and with malice aforethought rhymed “cheese” with “squeeze” in more than one poem. So please allow me the dubious pleasure of presenting my […]
The First World War is often remembered for the amount of poetry it produced. Alan Seeger’s beautiful and chillingly accurate “I Have a Rendezvous with Death” speaks for the pro-war poets, while Wilfred Owen’s harrowing “Dulce et Decorum Est” comes down on the side of war being absurdly horrifying. And then, sitting in the middle like your […]
Bad poetry is like karaoke: best when shared. One site dedicated to doing just that is the aptly named Very Bad Poetry, where I found the gem of a poem below. Which, incidentally, definitely needs to be a song — I’m thinking a kind of folk-metal combo, with a jazz flute. Reptilicus by Troy Lumber […]
So last week was a rough one. I know we all were hoping this week would be better. But then news came that Amanda Palmer had written a poem about the captured Boston bomber — and not just any poem, but a really, truly, unbelievably terrible one. Vogon-worthy poetry. She’s now getting quite a bit […]