Fire Pants

Sorry if you expected me to actually follow through on posting more regularly after saying I would post more regularly. Liar. Ol’ Fire-Pants Sally, is what they call me.
This isn’t really a personal blog so I’ll just give a little taste of what I’ve been doing while NOT blogging:

  • I turned 30;
  • I visited the Mornington Peninsula for a weekend, went to an animal sanctuary, patted an owl, hiked around the cliffs a little, had heaps of fun;
  • I had a quick session at an archery range and am desperate to do it again;
  • I got a tattoo of a bee on my chest to commemorate the release day of the final Terry Pratchett book, The Shepherd’s Crown;
  • I got more gutsy about asking to pat people’s dogs in public;
  • I finished a redraft of a 7000 word article for the Contemporary Women’s Writing journal;
  • I went to Oz Comic-Con, interviewed Terry Farrell and Naomi Grossman, and wrote an article about it for Nerd Girl magazine;
  • I finished a review article of two poetry books by Lisa Samuels for Cordite poetry journal;
  • I worked in my day job a whole lot and lost ten kilos just due to adding 25 hours per week of being my feet to my routine;
  • and also I spent a lot of time watching Netflix.

And now I am working on:

And so, in that spirit, and as compensation for my radio silence, here’s a little hint of the fanfiction (and a joke that’s still making me ugly-laugh).

Tiffany had only heard about opera from Nanny Ogg, who considered herself a conner-sewer of the artform, but this was more or less how she imagined it. Granny and Miss Hemming were achieving spectacular vocal projection on the flat wide cart road, punctuated with vicious fingerprods. Only about a third of the dialogue was comprehensible to Tiffany, though she got the gist of the rest. The core issues were clear. Granny seemed to think Arnica Hemming was the source of most of the misfortunes befalling villagers, particularly young women, from the Ramtops to Klatch, but also such a poor excuse for a witch that she barely had the power to stir a cup of tea. Miss Hemming expressed surprise that Granny’s methods worked at all, given her unwillingness to try anything new and her dismal understanding of herbology, to which Granny huffed “I understand what works, young lady, and that’s always been good enough for me.”
Miss Hemming drew herself even more stiffly upright. “Mistress Weatherwax, I assure you, in the river valleys we are achieving amazing things that you could never manage in this climate. And frankly I’m convinced that your fearsome reputation among the mountain witches is founded on fear and trickery rather than actual prowess.”
Even Tiffany had to laugh at this. Fear and trickery were two of the most important tools in a witch’s arsenal, secondary only to hard work, late nights, and a multipurpose medical implement invented by Nanny Ogg that she called, somewhat horrifyingly, the Saw-ceps.

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