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●●
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ (Nota bene: Long time no jrnl stuff, but this one, copied over from the FAWD account,
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ be worthy.)
●●​​ ​ ​ ​
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ (Also Nota: For the sake of humour and snickers, I've been fantasizing/bald-faced
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ pretending that I've a got a gorgeous/stacked/outrageously sexy blonde polar bear girl for
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ a girlfriend. Only speaks in <Growfs!>, but that's what Google Translate is for. Too much,
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ fun, a great character, and a wunnerful foil for furry laughs [and erotic ones], so dere. :- )
●●​​ ​ ​ ​ If curious, see the FAWD jrnls for more on her.)
●●​
●●
●●​​ ​ ​ ​
●●
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Och​ ​ aye, and​ here we are​ in ​ grey,​ grey November, this​ harbinger, this
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ preview​ ​ of the​ ​ frozen​ ​ season that's​ ​ vectoring​ ​ in. Not an​ ​ improvement​ ​ on
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Oct.​ ​ November​ ​ promises​ ​ snow,​ ​ snow,​ ​ snow,​ ​ wunnerful fluffy​ ​ snow,​ ​ that's
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ gonna​ come​ gently​ down​ and​ murder​ us​ all.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ To​ ​ quote Shania Twain, this don't impress me​ ​ much.​ ​ A la an old​ ​ short
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ story by Jack​ ​ London, your​ ​ continued survival​ ​ is directly contingent on​ ​ your
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ability to light​ ​ a fire.​ ​ Remind​ ​ me to​ ​ buy some more​ ​ 'lil​ ​ propane canisters
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ [for​ ​ the torch]. Oh,​ ​ and​ ​ a​ ​ bucket​ ​ of lighters.​ ​ To​ ​ quote​ ​ an old​ ​ good​ ​ cop
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ show,​ let's...​ be​ careful​ out​ there.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And​ ​ wazzat​ ​ about​ ​ obit?​ ​ Some of the​ ​ grey​ ​ has​ ​ gone​ ​ away,​ ​ such​ ​ to
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ break​ ​ ​ my​ ​ heart.​ ​ ​ Scamper,​ ​ my​ ​ 14-year-ish​ ​ grey-furred​ ​ ​ 'n​ ​ ​ white-pawed
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ feline​ ​ friend,​ ​ has​ ​ died. By​ ​ all​ ​ rights the water​ ​ that come to me​ ​ eye​ ​ [Ave
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Belafonte] shoulda​ ​ shorted​ ​ this keyboard​ ​ to​ ​ sparky slag. 'Cause​ ​ a​ ​ lot​ ​ of
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ water.​ ​ 'Cause Scamper​ ​ was very,​ ​ deeply​ ​ loved.​ ​ Do cats​ ​ love​ ​ us?​ ​ Do they
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ just​ act​ like​ they​ do,​ purr​ purr?​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ King-helluva​ ​ moot​ ​ question.​ ​ From​ ​ the​ ​ way​ ​ our​ ​ hearts​ ​ are​ ​ cratered
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ when they​ ​ die, not​ ​ a​ ​ question that​ ​ matters.​ ​ Now.​ ​ Double-cratered​ ​ as​ ​ we
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ bury​ them.​ Lemme​ tell​ you​ all​ about​ it,​ Bunky.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Well no;​ ​ haven't got​ ​ a​ ​ spare​ ​ keyboard.​ ​ Cause​ ​ of​ ​ death:​ ​ A​ ​ type of
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ feline carcinoma,​ ​ that​ ​ starts in​ ​ the​ ​ jaw​ ​ then​ ​ grows to​ ​ the​ ​ point...​ ​ to​ ​ the
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ point...​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ...​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ...Where the​ ​ cat can't eat​ ​ or drink.​ ​ Happened​ ​ before​ ​ to​ ​ another cat,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ euthanasia​ ​ was mandated, couldn't do​ ​ it​ ​ here​ ​ 'cause​ ​ $$$. Triple-cratered.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ What,​ ​ God,​ ​ the​ ​ angels​ ​ in​ ​ Heaven​ ​ needed a​ ​ purr​ ​ so they took​ ​ a​ ​ certain
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ pretty grey-furred​ ​ feline?​ ​ Most​ ​ uncool.​ ​ Go kick​ ​ their ass​ ​ 'n​ ​ wings for​ ​ me,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ will​ you,​ God?​ Find​ their​ own​ cat.​ I​ needed​ mine.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Needed, you say?​ ​ 'Nother good question. Our lives​ ​ are richer​ ​ with 'em,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ and their lives are here​ ​ period, and​ ​ it​ ​ is love​ ​ enough, on​ ​ both​ ​ sides, and
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the ​ same with​ ​ all​ ​ 'pets'. (Had a dog​ ​ a few​ ​ years back; 'zactly​ ​ the​ ​ same).
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Do​ they​ look​ on​ us​ as​ their​ pets?​ <Purrr!!>.​ The​ deponent​ saith​ not.​ :-​ )​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Named​ ​ Scamper,​ ​ BTW,​ ​ ​ because​ ​ that's​ ​ what​ ​ she​ ​ did.​ ​ A​ ​ ​ lot​ ​ of.​ ​ V.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ bouncy​ ​ cat,​ ​ esp.​ ​ so​ ​ as​ ​ kitten, sure couldn't​ ​ call her​ ​ Turtle.​ ​ The​ ​ house's
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ champion​ ​ mouser​ ​ too, always could tell​ ​ the noises, then​ ​ peeled​ ​ a hapless
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ or​ ​ dead​ ​ Muridae off her fangs to​ ​ toss outside,​ ​ then​ ​ petted​ ​ her. Good cat.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ <Purrr!>.​ And​ she​ was.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Cratered to the​ ​ fourth power.​ ​ Come night, Scamper​ ​ often​ ​ insisted​ ​ on
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sneaking/snuggling​ ​ under the​ blankets for some industrial-strength ​ petting.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And​ ​ <Purrr-ing!!>. I'll appropriately​ quote​ Steve Earle: I still​ ​ remember that
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ rumbling​ sound.​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ And now '...Leaving just​ ​ a​ ​ memory,' to​ ​ quote Pink​ ​ Floyd.​ ​ Nothing left
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ of​ ​ heart but craters, I​ ​ think. Jeeze,​ ​ God, whaddya trying​ ​ to do here? Teach
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ some lessons,​ ​ about​ ​ life and​ ​ death? Or​ ​ lessons in choosing​ ​ grave goods?
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Yah, mysterious ways​ ​ and all​ ​ that​ ​ yadda yadda, but howzabout just putting
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ some labels on, easier for us to​ ​ get the message.​ ​ I know, I​ ​ know, that's​ ​ a
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ non-starter,​ but​ put​ the​ idea​ on​ the​ committee​ agenda,​ plz?​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Grave​ ​ goods​ ​ for​ ​ a​ ​ much-loved​ ​ cat? Well,​ ​ a​ ​ lotta​ ​ tears​ ​ for​ ​ a​ ​ start.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Tobacco,​ ​ coffee;​ ​ She​ ​ knew​ ​ the​ ​ smell​ ​ of​ ​ both.​ ​ Water,​ ​ kibble,​ ​ a​ ​ spot of
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ cream--outrageous​ ​ her​ ​ taste​ ​ for cream.​ ​ A​ ​ spot​ ​ of​ ​ litter​ ​ gravel.​ ​ A​ ​ bit​ ​ of
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ firewood; she​ ​ always snuggled up​ ​ [almost too close] to​ ​ the stove. A snip of
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ grass;​ ​ reminder of​ ​ green summer.​ ​ A snip of​ ​ my hair​ ​ and​ ​ snip of fur from
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ my​ ​ other​ ​ cat,​ ​ Camouflage.​ ​ [Symbolically]​ ​ You​ ​ do​ ​ not​ ​ go​ ​ into​ ​ the​ ​ dark
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ alone,​ Scamper.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Last,​ ​ a​ ​ snip​ ​ from​ ​ a certain​ ​ blanket.​ ​ Wherever you​ ​ go​ ​ in​ ​ the​ ​ dark,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Scamper,​ ​ [symbolically]​ ​ ​ you​ ​ ​ will​ ​ be​ ​ ​ warm.​ ​ ​ Annnd​ ​ ​ it​ ​ took​ ​ ​ about​ ​ ten
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ minutes,​ ​ at​ ​ this​ ​ point,​ ​ before I could finish​ ​ the​ ​ burial.​ ​ May have left​ ​ my
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ heart​ in​ there​ too.​ <Purrr!!>​ Not​ much​ left​ of​ it​ by​ now​ anyway.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​And is​ there a​ FAWDish​ ​ takeaway here?​ Yes,​ believe​ there​ is. We're​ ​ all
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ [furry]​ ​ ​ writers​ ​ in​ ​ ​ the​ ​ room,​ ​ folks,​ ​ with​ ​ ​ great​ ​ unstoppable​ ​ powers​ ​ over
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ words​ ​ 'n time 'n space 'n the fate​ ​ of the [fictional] Universe. So: *Use* that
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ power. Care for the​ ​ ones​ ​ that love you.​ ​ Love the ones who care for​ ​ you. To
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ the limits of your​ ​ heart. And​ ​ put alla this into​ ​ words. And if the readers pick
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ up​ ​ on​ ​ it, and take​ ​ it​ ​ up, good. In​ ​ fact, that's the point. ​ You're getting​ ​ it,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ you're​ getting​ it,​ God​ murmurs.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Yeah well f**k,​ ​ allow​ ​ me some rage re.​ ​ Your​ ​ methods.​ ​ Since a pretty
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ cat​ ​ is​ ​ dead, who​ ​ never​ ​ deserved​ ​ such​ ​ suffering,​ ​ and​ ​ I've got a​ ​ heart to
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ spackle​ back​ together.​ Reaf​ spiffy,​ God,​ and...​ <Growf!>
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Oh. It's​ ​ the cute​ ​ fantasy polar bear​ ​ girlfriend​ ​ again. And​ ​ as awesome
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ sexy​ ​ as she is, I​ ​ detect some​ ​ mysterious ways afoot here too.​ ​ Has​ ​ to be:
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ She's making a hot​ ​ black​ ​ G-string look like funeral/mourning wear. Plus the
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ black​ ​ choker​ ​ on her​ ​ neck. As​ ​ usual, I​ ​ think she's​ ​ been reading what​ ​ I've
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ been​ typing.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ <Growf!>​ ​ Trans​ ​ (Softly):​ ​ I'm​ ​ so​ ​ sorry.​ ​ Saw​ ​ her​ ​ with​ ​ ​ you,​ ​ and​ ​ no,
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ they're not sentient​ ​ like us, but maybe sentient enough for​ ​ love? What​ ​ was
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ our​ ​ first​ ​ clue?​ ​ Oh,​ ​ and if​ ​ anybody comes​ ​ at you​ ​ with that​ ​ 'Circle​ ​ of​ ​ Life'
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ crap, send​ ​ them to me​ ​ and I'll eat them for you. She was a predator, I'm​ ​ a
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ predator,​ ​ you're​ ​ a​ ​ predator,​ ​ and​ ​ all​ ​ predators--and​ ​ ​ all​ ​ prey--know​ ​ how
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ much Disney​ ​ bullshit​ ​ that​ ​ metaphor​ ​ is.​ ​ There is​ ​ only​ ​ Life.​ ​ There​ ​ is only
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Death. And​ ​ the​ ​ bright, bright line​ ​ that​ ​ divides​ ​ them. There are​ ​ fools​ ​ who
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ think​ ​ they​ ​ will​ ​ never​ ​ cross​ ​ that​ ​ line.​ ​ Or more​ ​ foolish, that​ ​ that​ ​ line​ ​ can
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ somehow​ ​ be​ ​ transcended.​ ​ There​ ​ is​ ​ nothing​ ​ more​ ​ to​ ​ say,​ ​ or​ ​ any​ ​ more
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ meaning to it than that.​ ​ In​ ​ pain and suffering--no​ ​ other way--now Scamper
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ has crossed that​ ​ bright line, and... um... okay,​ ​ now he's​ ​ crying all over​ ​ my
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ boobs,​ sure​ didn't​ see​ dat​ coming.​ 'S​ all​ right​ lover;​ they're​ waterproof.​ :-​ )
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ .​ .​ .
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Well​ ​ how​ ​ about that? As​ ​ they say,​ ​ out of the mouths of [sexy stacked
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ polar​ ​ bear]​ ​ babes.​ ​ Wait, nobody​ ​ ever​ ​ says that.​ ​ Muzzles too, not mouth.
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Always date​ ​ the smart ones, gentlemen,​ ​ always​ ​ date the​ ​ smart​ ​ ones. And
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ignore​ the​ fang​ count.​ :-​ )
●●​ ​ ​ ​ ​                                                                                                              

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==
==   (Copied from FA Writers Directory main page, 'cause deserves to be)
==
==
==           Dammit, dammit,  dammit. And  dammit  some  more. I'm  tempted  to
==    just  fill  the  page with  'dammits,'  but  nah,  let's  add  a  little  information
==    content.  A deep  furry  friendship  of  thirteen years has ended. There: Can I
==    say dammit some more now?                                                                   
==                                                                                                                 
==           Let's plug  in a bit moah data.  Clover,  hight his  name, a big  beautiful
==    Retriever-Shepherd  mix;  notable,  the   coloration.  Most  friendships   don't
==    involve  paws, fur, fangy  muzzle, tail,  etc. Didn't slow Clover down a bit  that
==    I could tell.                                                                                             
==                                                                                                                 
==           What did  were  signs of possible hip  dysplasia  growing  over  the  past
==    year.  Or  if  not  that, something similarly lethal?  Small  mercy,  God, reeeal
==    tiny, to make  the end  fairly swift.  I'll  only curse  Your omnipotent ass for a
==    few days or so.                                                                                       
==                                                                                                                 
==           To be sure, an  astonishingly enormous amount  of work got plowed into
==    the FAWD this  week. Not. Lessee where  I am next week-ish, and if progress
==    can  be made on a coupla things. Did get this  week's  update done--see box
==    on  the  side--but  definitely  on  autopilot  as   did  so.  Helpful  hint:  Grave
==    digging  can  also be  done  on  autopilot,  which  beats thinking  about who's
==    going into it.                                                                                           
==                                                                                                                 
==          Sigh. Even  typing  this hurts. But  only  have  to type it once. And  about
==    that  'A dog is a man's best  friend' line? No:  I dissent.  They're not  human,
==    ergo can't be friends.  But what they  are...  is better than that, the bond and
==    the  'love'  they  feel  for  us  being  something  that  no  human  friend  can
==    give.**                                                                                                  
==                                                                                                                 
==          Of course, I say that now. :- (  Good-bye, Clover. Dammit.                     
==                                                                                                                 
==                                                                                                                 
==    ** Unless they've got paws, fur, fangy muzzle,  tail, etc. Wait  a  sec, around
==    here that's, like, kinda the norm. :- )                                                        
==
==
==
==    (Note: New work coming, esp. Backstage. Writing mojo seems to be returning over
==    the past few months. As for where it's been for the past year or so, I dunno, fell
==    down a hole or something? But *has* been a busy/rough year.)
==    
==    

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==
==
==           Has to  be said, winter  in Canada has never done me a  power of good.
==    Coped physically well enough  with  the  winter  just past, but  psychologically,
==    oh bleagh.
==    
==           The   writing  work  ground  to  a  near-complete  halt,   brain  empty  of
==    words.  As  much  the  darkness  as  the  persistent  cold.  Those  who  live in
==    Northern  climates  know exactly  what  I'm  talking about.  Something  about
==    snow that freezes up one's imagination? It's a theory.
==    
==           On  the other  paw,  come spring--and now  summer--the writing  comes
==    back as it always does. So do the mosquitos and the  blackflies. I don't think
==    there's a causal connection.
==    
==           Work on a number of projects  has  picked up, which  is to say I can now
==    hit the keyboard  and actually  crank out a workable para.  Like  this  journal,
==    for example.
==    
==           I think  I'm  safe in  saying  there'll be  more Backstage  Pass  soonish,
==    among  other things.  A SexyFur  story has  also  gotten  though  the  editing
==    grinder. Plan is to post that when BP chap 13 gets done.
==    
==    
==    
==         That  said,  writing  work is competing with  RL construction  work, and  it's
==    difficult to say which is the harder. Thought to take some pics.
==    
==           Ergo   there's  a  short  photo  essay  posted  HERE,  in   case  folks  are
==    curious  about  what  I'm  up  to.  Or if anyone's got a  fetish  for construction
==    stuff.
==    
==           It would seem that I do. :- )
==    
==    
==     fwbrown61
==    
==    
==    

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==
==
==           And  I mean shortage. Have to  go  offline  for a day  or so  to recharge
==    things. Ergo posting of chap 13  has to wait.
==    
==           I'm on solar, as  in completely.  This  time of year has never been good
==    for sun. But this year's cloudy weather has been extra bad.
==    
==           Batteries are  all  but  flat, and  the  laptop battery says 1  hr 8 min left.
==    Nope, time to shut down. Well, don't have a choice.
==    
==           Hoping  to   be  alive  again  by  Sunday;  weather  forecast  is  positive.
==    Sorry. Thought I'd added enough new panel capacity to avoid this.
==    
==     fwbrown61
==    
==    
==    

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==
==
==
==           And I mean glahhh, but  I've really underestimated  how much  work it's
==    taking to get this posted.
==    
==           Chap 11 (enhanced text) Is HERE.
==    
==           Chap 11 (standard text) Is HERE.
==    
==           Or I  should say, underestimated how  much  *other*  work  has hit  the
==    plate recently, such  that  I'm  running  too close to  overloaded.  Well, to  be
==    fair this doesn't really come as much of a surprise.
==    
==    
==    
==           So command decision:  Dial it back a notch,  and next week will see just
==    chap 13 posted. Week after that: Chap 14.
==    
==           Which is  undergoing some last  minute tune-up due  to all the rereading
==    that's  been done  lately.  A  meerkat  and a  tiger  are  sorta  barfing at  the
==    words I put into their muzzles. Edit edit edit...
==    
==           Also,  things  are  approaching  an  emergency  situation  regarding  the
==    dead snowblower.  A neglected RL is demanding some  attention,  lest  I face
==    a grim choice, and soon.
==    
==             Shovel  the driveway. Tunnel  it. Or  nuke it.  (Oh but wait, us Canucks
==    aren't supposed to have any bombs. Heh heh heh... :- > )
==    
==    
     fwbrown61

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==
==
==
==           Remarkable, insofar as it's been a  lousy  week, full of RL BS and winter
==    coldness that made me  wonder  if  I'd get anything done.  Much  less posting
==    this lot.
==    
==           Chap 9 (enhanced text) Is HERE.
==    
==           Chap 9 (standard text) Is HERE.
==    
==           Fun,  we're  not  having  much  recently. But  in  the  immortal  words  of
==    Gilda Radner, never mind.  Adjusting  to  the onslaught  of  the  white  killing
==    season always takes us Canucks a few weeks to get into the spirit of things.
==    
==           Northern  optimism:  Nah, that  first  dump  of  snow isn't  going to stick
==    around. I've  got  time to do the maintenance  on  the  snowblower.  Oh  no I
==    don't,  and who's  the wiseass engineer who  made  this  %^@#&*@ machine
==    so hard to take apart? (Fuel problem; won't start. <Snarl!!>)
==    
==           If  a  story  shows  up  wherein  a  frustrated-furious  Canadian  wolf  fur
==    takes  a  sledgehammer  to  a dead  snowblower, welp, now  you know  where
==    that came from. :- ) And I think I know who he is too.
==
==           Chaps 11 and 12 shall arrive next week.
==    
       fwbrown61



(PS: Doing some renewed editing on chap 14, in light of
all the rereading lately. May be on course to post it and
chap 13 as scheduled, but I warn in case of delay. What
could possibly go wrong? :- / )

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==
==
==
==           Definitely  a  battle this  time,  but  job  done,  and on  schedule.  Some
==    pesky  Cloudflare  trouble  interfered (see this  week's  FAWD  journal).  Also
==    had trouble budgeting time for the task.
==    
==           De nada. Chap 9 and 10 are in progress;  a little shorter.  Fortunately. I
==    expect to be busy this week. And in chap 9 and 10, so is Kylah.
==    
==           Still, close study of this  thing [to get it  all posted]  does not disappoint
==    me. You reread your stuff too much, it loses something. Not here. Bueno.
==    
==           Until next week, adios. :- )
==    
==    
 fwbrown61

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==
==
==
==           And  so a  chilly sunny Saturday  rises  slowly out  of the  East, signifying
==    the  end  of  another week of  flailing away in all directions. Some things  got
==    accomplished, but too exhausted right now to remember 'em.
==    
==           Should get  the first coffee  of the day  into me. <Poing!!>.  Ahhh, that's
==    better.   Oh   right,  large   accomplishment  remembered:   Backstage  Pass
==    chapters five and six are POSTED!! (Yea!)
==    
==    
==    
==           Much flailing  required  this  time.  Since  much larger  (and chap  seven
==    and eight are  gonna  be  huuuge).  But went  a bit faster  too  since  practice
==    pays off.  I  seem to have condemned  myself to an incredibly finicky method
==    of posting stories. Are the results worth it?
==    
==           Oh  yah.  Something  as big  as  this  just  *can't* be  thrown  onscreen,
==    splat,  and  expect  anybody to read it.  Has to  look  good.  Has to  look  as
==    immaculate  as  possible.  Credit  to FA for  making  it  [fairly]  easy  to  post
==    stories.  But  negative  gazillion  points for  the readability of  the actual text,
==    which,  at  the  end  of the day, is as least as  crucial as  what  the  text itself
==    actually is.
==    
==           Journalism course a long time  back thumped that  into me. Typography
==    matters.  The  most  superb   ever   story  written,  if  it's  printed  like   crap,
==    converts   spontaneously   into   crap.   Since   crap   was   what   us   student
==    journalists specialized in we all took a lot of thumpin'. Wonder why.
==    
==    
==    
==           None of  that took me  into  journalism,  but  important  lessons learned
==    nonetheless.  Attitude towards  the text:  Ultra-crucial. Easy  to  forget  during
==    the writing. Somebody's gonna read this stuff someday, y'know?
==    
==           By the time  they're finished, their eyeballs should not have melted  out
==    of their head. Bad for repeat business.
==    
==           (As  for how badly  the story's  melted the reader's mind, oh  hey, that's
==    a different topic. :- ) )
==    
==    
        fwbrown61


(PS: May or may not have fubarred Chap 3 page 13. But definitely
fixed it, maybe. :- / )

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==
==
==
==           Ha!  Got  it done. Backstage  Pass chapters three and  four  are  posted,
==    and  in good order.  And  a thang  of [literary] beauty  they are too. Alert the
==    media.
==    
==           Then pour  'em  a ton of  whiskey and get 'em  drunk  as  skunks.  Turn
==    that  press  conference  into   party.  Reporters  don't  use  those  superlative
==    adjectives and adverbs unless they're properly lubed up, y'know. :- )
==    
==           See  here  for: Chapter Three -- Enhanced text.
==    
==           And  here for:  Chapter Three  -- Standard text.
==    
==           Bit of  a challenge  this  time,  in part due  to RL  events--minor blizzard
==    yesterday, and struggling with construction crap--but  chaps 5  &  6 should go
==    easier. Snarl, that FA makes posting large work such a pain.
==    
==    
==    
==           To  quote:  And  there's  more  where  that  came  from,  Moriarty.  Stay
==    tuned.*
==    
==    
==     fwbrown61
==    
==    
==    
==    (Oh dear,  the  NY  Times  literary  critic is  doing  his Hemmingway  imitation
==    again while dressed as Joan Rivers. Get the fire hoses... :- ) )
==    
==    

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==
==
==
==           Or should say, it's  started.  The novel  is nearly 300K  words long. Can't
==    be posted all in one shot.
==    
==           Yes,  pups  and  kittens, Backstage  Pass  is  [finally]  as  ready  as  it's
==    gonna be. Will the  cute meerkat get the  hot tigress? And will the hot tigress
==    get  the  cute  meerkat?  Oh,  well,  not  gonna  give  away  the ending  now.
==    They'll kick me outta the union. :- )
==    
==           For sure the biggest  story  I've  ever  written.  Didn't  I  start  this  thing
==    back in  2009-ish? Think  so. Might've been finished in late 2012-ish save for
==    certain events; de nada.
==    
==    
==    
==           The  battle plan is  post two chapters  a  week  until done,  which should
==    mean mid-December-ish. Merry Christmas. In  the new  year,  I dip  footpaws
==    into the wunnerful fun world of e-books, so stay tuned.
==    
==           Ideally  without  getting  said  footpaws  nommed  off;  the  sharks,  the
==    sharks...
==    
==           But  I  want  my work on  FA  first,  since  this is more  or  less where the
==    readers are. Weasyl, SoF, IB: Possible in the new year, but that may  be part
==    of a wholesale  'port' operation.  Gotta think about that, and how to  manage
==    it.
==    
==    
==    
==           Dunno  if this project  will generate art spin-offs [like the novel  Don't Go
==    Near  The  Sorceress],  but  we'll  see.   Seem  to  have  a  particularly  visual
==    writing style; lotsa stuff to draw here. I throw the gauntlet down, anyway.
==    
==           I  think I  could  keep  victorianothechief  busy for  years. :-  )
==    Excellent story icon, just excellent.
==    
==    
==    
==    
==    
==    
==           Closing note: This novel  comes  with  a bit of a soundtrack. As in, three
==    pieces that really helped stoke  the  imagination and bolster  the  mood. And
==    didn't wear out on repeated play.
==    
==    
==    
==           Sister Awake Remix, by the Tea Party  (Canadian band, yea!),  from the
==    album Alhambra. Tres powerful  and evocative. In chapter 4,  this is the song
==    that Jamati strips to.
==    
==           I've  got a naked beautiful tigress dancer stuck in my head.  This  is not
==    really a problem. :- )
==    
==    
==    
==           Second: It's All  About Believin',  by  Def  Leppard,  from the  Mirror  Ball
==    album, came  over  the radio one time  and  smacked me  in the muzzle. Oh
==    fuck yes,  gotta have it,  'cause it definitely  speaks  to Kylah's character [the
==    meerkat].
==    
==           (Sidebar 1:  Also fires  up  a  mind's-eye  vid  of Black Widow  [from  On
==    Route  69]  and her  new  band  doing  this  song  in  a  concert  setting. And
==    blowing audience tails off.  Sequel idea to OR69  posits  BW getting back into
==    the music biz, and more.)
==    
==    
==    
==           Third,  I  heartily  recommend  I Can  See  Clearly  Now, by  Holly  Cole,
==    from the Don't  Smoke  In Bed album. Bloody astonishing, and maybe  sums
==    up the spirit of the whole novel.
==    
==           (Sidebar 2: Another  novel idea  is wholly keyed on this song.  Glah, but
==    for  some animation skill. 'Cause  this  mind's-eye vid really boosts  for orbit.
==    Literally.)
==    
==    
==    
==    
==    
==           'Nuff  said for now,  I think.  Back to RL work, and a  construction project
==    that's hanging fire. Until it gets buried in snow.
==    
==          If the next novel shows some characters  hacking up  2x6s with  Skilsaws
==    and pounding nails, well, now ya know where that came from. :- )
==    
==     fwbrown61
==
==
==    Nov 1/14
==
==
==

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==
==
==
==            TA-RA!! TA-SQUONK!! TA-HRRK!! RAWK-RAWK!!
==
==            Okay,   so  it's  been  over  twenty-five  years  since  I  picked  up  my
==     trumpet.  I'm  hellish  out of  practice.  It's music to somebody's ears  (but
==     they have to have really weird ears. :- ) )
==
==
==
==            Still,  there's cause for at least a couple of celebratory squonks. When
==     I got on FA,   I  was  dismayed  in the extreme at  some  of it's limitations.
==     Especially when it came to text formatting and layout (and fonts).
==
==            Three  years later, I've  gotten some tricks  on this front down cold. So
==     now it's time to  use 'em,  and redo  the profile.  And make it work *right*,
==     dammit.
==
==
==
==            Or at least,  work the  way I  want it.  I'm a writer. To my  thinking, the
==     profile  page  for  a  writer  ought  to   be  the  entry-point  onto  the  work.
==     Something a reader will see and go,  hmmm,  that looks interesting.  Then
==     they go and read.
==
==            FA  will allow us  some  formatting tools,  but not enough [to do what I
==     want].  Writing is not art.  A writer needs a different kind of profile  from an
==     artist. Something that looks sorta Table of Contents-ish.
==
==            Now I've got it. In spades. At last.
==
==
==
==
==
==
==            Naturally, I'm curious to find  out what people think  of this.  Took  the
==     time to do a journal about it, anyway.
==
==            More to the point,  I'm *intensely* curious about  people's  reaction to
==     the columns/full justification trick, and the 'faux-folders' trick.
==
==            As in,  is there a  possible demand for  these things,  sufficient  to  be
==     worth doing up some software? To let people do it for themselves?
==
==
==
==            The full  justification thing is pretty mature; been using it for more'n a
==     year  now.  Developing  a web  app,  similar  to Patorjk's  Text  Color Fader,
==     looks  perfectly doable.  Or should it be  something  more standalone  and
==     packaged? Then given away for free?
==
==            The folder thing, meanwhile, is still sorta  in  beta. But shows promise.
==     Should software  be  developed  to make  this  easier  and  more effective?
==     (Oh jeeze yes, or nobody's ever gonna use it.)
==
==            Notwithstanding  how/if   Phoenix  will  turn   FA  into  a  'rich  full  text'
==     environment,  with  folders,  like SoF or  Weasyl  or IB.  'S  just that when is
==     the question here. Obviously I'm not waiting.
==
==
==
==
==
==
==            Anyway.  New  profile is new.   Whaddya  think? A  long-ago journalism
==     course beat  a ton of graphics arts skills into me. If I handed in  this  lot as
==     assignment I'm pretty sure it'd earn a  pass (No  small  feat;  the  graphics
==     arts teacher was an ultra-critical bear).
==
==            TA-RA!! There: Doesn't take much practice to get back in form. :- )
==
==
==
==     Jul 28/14
==
==
==

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March 10:



              So it's a sunny Sunday AM.  The coffee's hot (writer fuel).  Time,  I do
       believes,   to  fire  up  the  rusty   'ol  journalism  skills.   There's   a  Good
       News™ story to be cut.
       
              Leastwise  it  is  so  from  my  PoV.  Win-win  is not  a  term  to  throw
       around casually. Must be backed up.
       
       
       
              The  core of the  news  is simple.  I've been  writing for SexyFur  since
       Oct  2007 (that  is  to  say,  Monitor  Studios).   Almost  a  million  words of
       spicy 'n fine-quality furry fiction have been done up. Notice my bias here.
       
              This  relationship  is   now  over.   I've  left  Monitor  Studios.   And/or
       Monitor Studios has left me. We've left each other? Potato, potahto.
       
       
       
              Those  who  are aware  of  this  situation,   fer  sure  you wanna  know
       more.  Those  who  are reading  about this for  the first time,  ibid.  And for
       more sure,   this story  needs to be written right  (which  is  why it's taken a
       few weeks).
       
              To  generate  a  little  extra  PR  bump,   this   is   being  done   as  a
       Journal/Submission  combo.   Which will  show  up  as journal  and  on  the
       New Subs page. Think it deserves it.
       
              Gotta  like FA for many  reasons,  but jeeze,   if a fur writer  ever  won
       the  Nobel  Prize for Lit  we'd  never  hear about it  from just FA news traffic
       alone. PR's a non-trivial problem around this place.
       
       
       
              Read on,   and all shall  be  revealed.  The veil lifted.   The truth  laid
       bare. The facts exposed.
       
              (Hmmm.  Good intro para  to a story about furry strippers. Must make
       a note... :- ) )
       

       
              >>> Reporting on a win-win re. Recent Events

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              I'm  wondering  about  writing  this journal.   The  other  night,   I  got
       whacked with some moderately  weird ideas,  arising out  of  some thinking
       about matters furry.
       
              Now I find myself just damn  curious to  see what  others might  think.
       Usually I'd just go ahead and write a story.
       
               This time ,   nahhh,   screw  it.   Too much work.   But could be fun to
       watch folks gnaw away at all this. Or at me for thinking of it.
       
               (Risk  ya  just gotta run around  here.   Should  be  mentioned in the
       TOS: Everybody's got fangs. They *will* use 'em. :- ) )
       
       
       
       
       
       
              The ideas relate to abortion.
       
       
       
       
       
       
              HA! Oy  vay  iz mir,  will  *this*  get the  choppers  bared  or what? No
       faster way to polarize people, right here. Furry or not.
       
              As  much as Momma Nature does it  without  blinking (in  at least  1/3
       of  all conceptions),   hellish  dicey thing  for us  to  do it.   There's  only  a
       gazillion reasons for and against. The fur really does fly over this (sic).
       
              So  it  would  be dubious  to  even hint at  this  subject in  a  fur  story
       (which  was  sorta on my mind).  Furlit  may  be allegorical  and fable-ish in
       many ways.   Fur  characters can let you tell stories that  otherwise can't  be
       done.
       
               But a  story  with abortion in it? Oh  dear.  Lemme  pull  out those  5-
       kilo bricks of  plutonium, get in some juggling  practice. Much  safer. Mainly
       because all readers  are in fact so  polarized  in  RL.  It'd be difficult to say
       anything new that  would  not  be  interpreted  in  the light  of  everybody's
       existing attitudes and opinions.
       
       
       
       
       
       
              We-ll, let's  not speak too soon. For  the stories I've been  writing, my
       'take' on fur origins is a pretty plain-vanilla SF approach.
       
              There  are furs  in the world due to a ton of biotech research and lotsa
       spiffy  comp hardware  (needed  to  simulate things and  do  design).  The
       new viral  DNA  technology  allows  the  docs  to  go  tinkering  with  cellular
       machinery  about  as  easily  as  mechanics  change  tires.   Cancer  is   as
       serious as a  pimple  on your  bum,  and the  retirement age  is now waaay
       up there.
       
               Of  course,  once  those crazy  California plastic surgeons got  hold of
       this stuff,  anybody  who wanted fur,  ears, muzzle, tail,  footpaws, hooves,
       wings,   scales,  whatever,  could have it  all  with a  swipe of  the  'ol  credit
       card.  Don't  forget to  drop  in on the  DMV  to  get a  new  driver's  license
       photo.
       
                (Novel is brewing  about  who the first fur was,  and  why  she wanted
       a set  of  real bunny ears,  and then the whole  deal.   Gonna be a glorious
       amount of fun.)
       
       
       
       
       
       
              So here's  the  abortion-related  spinoff.   Today,   in  order  to  end a
       pregnancy, there's  only one option:  End the embryo. Or past a  few weeks
       call it the fetus. Nobody has abortions for fun, that's for sure.
       
              Certainly  there's  no nice way  to  do this.   Absent a hospital or clinic,
       there are many  ghastly  desperate  ways  to  do  this,  often  lethal  to  all
       parties   involved.   Some   drugs   are  available   to   interfere   with   the
       implantation  of a fertilized egg,  which  is  arguably a little nicer  (although
       not for the egg).
       
              Would  highly advanced biotech  change  anything in  this [unarguably
       troublesome]   picture?  Would  the  biotech  that   allows   for  furs   make
       possible a different outcome here?
       
       
       
       
       
       
              Scenario: A  fur  woman  is  pregnant,   doesn't  want  to  be.   A  five-
       minute  procedure  retrieves  a  cell  sample from the  embryo/fetus.   The
       sample is preserved. A standard abortion is performed.
       
              At some point, perhaps  years later,  the cell sample is unthawed  and
       treated.   Then   in  another   five-minute  procedure,    reimplanted.   The
       pregnancy continues to  term and a  healthy  fur baby  is  born.   She's got
       her Momma's ears and her Daddy's tail.
       
       
       
              YEOW!! At  a single  stroke,  soooo many applecarts  overturned.  Has
       an abortion  even happened? Well,  yes.   And has a  fur  baby been born?
       Also yes. So what just happened here?

              Notice that  there's nothing to say  a fur baby *will* be  born. That cell
       sample might  just stay  frozen,   thus  creating a different  kind  of ethical
       hornet's nest compared to what we're stomping on these days.
       
              Still,   if  we've  got the  biotech  to  go  right  down  the  level  of  the
       chromosomes  (and go tinkering),   it  stands to reason that 'reinitiating'  a
       cell  sample would be  a  piece of cake.   Likely  part and  parcel  of cloning
       technology, but put to a different purpose.
       
              Most of that  five-minute  procedure  would be signing the  paperwork.
       Yes, a pawprint is fine.
       
              Indeed,   this technology  is  likely  required  if two  different  furs  are
       going to  have a child.  The  kind of  DNA  'mods' it takes to make a bunny
       fur won't match  those  in,  say,   a  wolf  fur.   Some  tinkering will  have to
       happen.   This  also means most furs won't have to  worry  about unwanted
       pregnancy (and can get in more sex, which is very helpful to a writer).
       
       
       
       
       
       
              Scenario: Some  furs are big,  really big.  Pregnancy is not a  problem
       for  a real  animal mommy,  but  could be deadly for a fur mommy.   Since
       we  now  know  our  biology  down  to  the  hull  rivets,  this  allows  for  the
       manufacture of workable uterine replicators. Artificial wombs.
       
              This  may  be  the  only  way  equine  furs  can  have  children.  A  few
       months of normal pregnancy  proceeds, then pop,  out you  come, kid, and
       into  the uterine  replicator  for  another  few  months.  Lest you  kick  your
       Momma's belly button into the next county.
       
       
       
              As a result,  for  a  fur woman who  doesn't  want to be  pregnant,  the
       word abortion  just  dropped  stone-dead.   One  half-hour procedure  later,
       and  all the  lights are green  on the  replicator,  and  sign  these  adoption
       papers here and here, please. Yes, a pawprint is just fine again.
       
              (Full  disclosure:   Lois  McMaster-Bujold  has   mined  this   ore  body
       before me. I derive and revise for fur purposes.)
       
               Or  sign the  papers that puts the embryo/fetus  into  cold storage for
       an indefinite period of time. It can  be  revived and reimplanted, of course.
       But it doesn't  necessarily  have to  go back into the same  mommy,  does
       it? 
       
              Or into any mommy.  Just has  to  be a  parent/parents  waiting  after
       nine months to  change  the  diapers.  The special  ones with the holes  for
       the tail cost a bit more but trust me, they're worth it.
       
       
       
              Regardless that  we're  punting at  another  hornet's  nest  here,   the
       take-home  is that nobody's ending  up in  a  medical incinerator.  Has  an
       abortion  happened?  If a  birth  never  takes  place,  maybe?  But a death
       hasn't happened either. Maybe not.
       
       
       
       
       
       
              Scenario:  Just  because fur gametes  can't  match  up  doesn't  mean
       they  know   it.   Everybody's  chromosomes  are  still   mostly   functionally
       human,  so a bunny fur egg  and a wolf fur  sperm are still likely to try and
       make it work. Once all the arrooos and squeals have died down.
       
              But  it  won't work. Sometimes nobody  even notices; completely  non-
       viable blastocyst.  In many cases,  however,  things do work far  enough to
       result  in  a  miscarriage.  Which  is  far and  away  more ghastly  than  any
       male can imagine.
       
              Ergo furs  are  going  to have to  worry  about contraception,  although
       not  precisely  for  the  same birth control  reason  that  we do.  Unless  two
       same-species  furs have  their mods almost  precisely matched,   the  birth
       control is sorta built in.
       
       
       
              Oh,   but wait:  For all  furs, complete knowledge of  their biochemistry
       is    a   given.     Meaning   complete   knowledge   of    their   reproductive
       biochemistry is a given.
       
              So  any  doctor  or  pharmacist  or  clinic with  the  right  hardware  can
       synthesize a  custom-tailored vaccine that will  turn said  repro  biology off.
       Or turn it back on again  if needed.  Ideally most fur children  will  get  this
       done sometime before puberty. They're gonna be a leetle busy later on.
       
              For a  female fur,  all  her eggs will  now resist any sperm that tries  to
       wriggle in.  For a  male fur,   every sperm  cell  he  makes will  now  have a
       change in the  structure of the head.  Can't lock  on and penetrate an  egg
       cell wall.  This means a  little  tinkering with certain cells in the testes,  and
       we're good to not-go.
       
              In short,  the biotech that leads to furs also  leads to 100%  effective,
       one-shot,   non-drug,    zero-side-effect,   reversible  contraception  for  fur
       males  and  females.   Ditto  for  the  humans around,  if  the story  needs
       some.
       
       
       
              Current   contraceptives   tinker   with   hormones,     not   the   actual
       mechanics  at the gamete level,  which  isn't ideal  for a lot  of  reasons (or
       failsafe).   That  said,   workable contraceptives  only go partway  to solving
       the issue of abortion. Ya gotta use 'em first,  and that's not as simple as it
       sounds. They do, however, make a helluva dent in the issue.
       
              But   contraceptive   tech  that's   *this*   good?  Game-changer,    no
       argument,  especially given  the  different  moral equation  (ie.,   aimed at
       preventing  miscarriages,  not  pregnancy).   This  wouldn't  necessarily  be
       true  for human characters,  so  there are  still  some hornets in  the room.
       Good: A story might be able to get some mileage out of the buzzing.
       
       
       
       
       
       
              Does  any of this ring true? Meaning to  say,   plausible enough  in an
       SF sense? It's a background detail to a fur story, not likely to become a plot
       hook,   one element  of the fur world  that  would add some  crucial  depth.
       You  follow  the [fur]  logic  of  the biotech-based story,   this is  where you
       can end up.
       
              OR: It's  going to smack the reader  in the muzzle  so  hard it  comes
       off. Existing attitudes and opinions about abortion are challenged  here. At
       least in part by raising the possibility of a practical solution.
       
              Twenty-ish years from  now this  kind of biotech could  well be  kicking
       the  door down.  Doubt it'll be  a hoof or footpaw doing the  kicking, and SF
       writers  who try and predict  the  future are generally fools,   but  still.   The
       reader  who   goes  gobsmacked-boggled  at  all  this  has,   by  definition,
       stopped reading. Uh oh.
       
       
       
              Worse, there could be high hostility raised. These  ideas suggest  that
       both  sides  of  the  current  battle  are wrong,   at least  to  some  degree.
       Insofar  as  everybody's wasting  time  and  energy  in  not  going  after  a
       solution  like  this,    but  rather  preferring  to   fight  to  the  death,   both
       metaphorically and literally.
       
              (There are people  reading  this  who are  either  in that fight,   or who
       have  had genuine experience with abortion.  There's  neck fur standing up
       right now, for certain.)
       
              At  the  core,   abortion  is  proxy for  a  megaton  of  deeply-felt  and
       deeply  personal  life-and-death  social  issues.   None  of  any  of  that  is
       resolved  by any biotech  'quick-fix,' or any  fix period.  Which may explain
       why we haven't got one after over fifty years of claws-and-fang combat.
       
              So  there  might  actually  be  a solution?  On  paper anyway.   What's
       written here could  be thought of  as similar to  snatching  the  puck off the
       ice  in the  middle  of the  last  Stanley  Cup game.   *Everybody's*  gonna
       come after you. Then use your head to finish the game.
       
       
       
       
       
                Pardon me for a sec.  Lemme  just  tighten up the helmet  strap, get
       the  tail  through the  hole  in the body armour,  fasten all that  up.  Heavy
       boots.  armoured  gloves  on the  paws,  protective goggles: All good.  Now
       just <Ummph!>...   pull the  hatch  closed on this bomb shelter and fire up
       the anti-missile system...
       
               There. So, whaddya think? Don't hold back. :- )
       
       
       
       Dec 3/12
       

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            And to  be frank,   there  should also  be  fireworks,  one king-helluva
     band, and a platinum-haired vixen stripper jumping out of a cake. 

            For  what  reason,   you ask?  This  journal is to  announce  the official
     opening of  the  FA Writers  Directory v1.0.   A  summer  of flailing  away  is
     done. The FAWD is ready for business. Or it's as ready as it's going to get.

            Time   to   fling   open  the  doors  and   throw  a  party  to  celebrate.
     Budgetary  constraints   render   this  a  party-of-the-mind,   unfortunately.
     Imagine  that that vixen  stripper will let us lick the  chocolate  icing off her
     fur and you can take it from there.






            What is  the FA Writers Directory  v1.0? For starters,  it's set  up in  an
     ordinary FA account. Username: FAWD.V1.

            Just to repeat that as a link:  FAWD.V1 = FA Writers Directory v1.0



            This thing  is *on* FA,  in other words.  It's not  a  website.  As  of this
     writing there  are  close  to 15,000 names  listed.   Not  quite all  FA writers,
     but we're getting there.

            And this goes beyond the idea of a mundane  directory.  Find a writer,
     then click on the search query links beside the name.

            Sphinx,  FA's search engine,   retrieves  all  stories or  poetry  by  that
     writer.   The FAWD  is a new  interface  on  the FA  DB.   And it works  pretty
     well if I do say so. It took enough work to make it work.






            As  for why  it was  built,  that's all  in  the  FAQ,  article #1.  No sense
     reprinting  it here.  Except to say that the FAWD should make it highly easy
     to find writers on FA. One more click, and you're reading their work. 

            Will  this  mean  more   people  will  read  more  furfic  around   here?
     Mmmm, maybe. 

            Will this mean  more writers  will pick up a few more  views, faves, and
     comments? Mmmm, maybe. 

            Will you  be able to  find good  writers  you're never heard  of  before?
     Mmmm...



            ...What? Oh.   *Oh*.   Of  course my  dear.  Pardon  me,  a pretty fox
     stripper and her  drunk  bunny  fur  girlfriend  want me to smear  chocolate
     icing all over their tails. The party seems to be taking off...

            (Check out the link and see why there is one.)






            PS: Tell  your friends. And their dog.  Seriously. Advertising is planned
     for this project, but the more buzz the better. Bzzz, bzzz.

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            Near midnight,   summer nights in Canada can  be  chill.  But a mostly
     clear night it was,  with some  high clouds,   and bright, very bright, from a
     near-full Moon.

            And as  high clouds will  sometimes  do  to moonlight,   there  was the
     illusion of a bright ring around the Moon. A moondog, as I think it's called.
     But not complete, this one.

            A broken ring.

            Symbolism  enough for  me.   I  took  a last sip of  Glenfiddich,   then
     gently poured the sip remaining onto the ground.  I took a final smoke off
     the joint  that was burning,  then stubbed it  out,   a  third  left,   and laid it
     down on the ground.

            Good-bye Annamarie,  I whispered,  then turned and went back inside
     my house.   I  know she  really  liked  mead;  brewed  up  her own.  Would
     Glenfiddich do as a [symbolic] grave libation? I trust so.

            (Seem  to recall that grave gifts  were  also  intended  to  ensure safe
     passage to the Other Side,  ways to pay  off whoever needed paying.  That
     dude paddling  that boat across  the Styx must  like  weed.   Now  you  can
     give him a couple of tokes, Annamarie.)



             That was all the wake  I allowed myself.  No records were set,   but  it
     sorta served  the  purpose.   A time  and  a  place to  really,   deeply,   say
     good-bye  to someone,  this  is  what the  wake  is for.  Half grieving,   half
     celebrating  who  that  person  was.   Enough Glenfiddich was  drunk to help
     this along.

            Except maybe it wasn't enough.  Annamarie is dead.  Not by cancer or
     stroke,   both of which she was  fighting.  Rather,   it  was heart  that failed
     her. The bunny has left the cottage, so to speak.  Date of death is not  yet
     known; some time in the past couple of months.  The only good news: Not
     a traumatic death,  and  in the  company of friends  and loved  ones.  Less
     one friend a thousand watery miles removed.

            And now here  we  are.   Grey,  rainy Canadian  morning;  bad  day  to
     write this.  Who would have  thought an  eye  could have  so  much water in
     it? Enough to match the rain. At least half a box of Kleenex is doomed.

            (Recall  also  that   you're   only  supposed  to  weep  while  you  were
     actually standing  over someone's  grave.  Anywhere else it's tears wasted;
     how  are they going know if they don't feel 'em fall?  This notion  fails a bit
     when all you've got to weep over is an FA webpage.)

            I can weep or I can write.  Can I do both at the same time? I suppose
     I'm going to have to try.



              Yes,   and  there's  the  odd  thing  about  this.   There   *was*  only
     Annamarie's FA page.  And her stories,  and  her journals, and some email
     traffic  with  her.   At one  point she wanted some  editing help with a story.
     Gave her  my best  work. She had  ambitions to write some furry  SF (and a
     lot more than that).  Advised at length (and was looking forward to helping
     further).

            And there  was  her  avatar.   Bunny fur,  par  excellence.   No  way  of
     knowing what she was  really like,  but I have a feeling  her fursona was an
     *exact*  duplicate  of  the  RL   Annamarie.   Perfect  fit,   in  a  way  that's
     probably familiar to many around here.

            On  my  main  page   beside   this  journal:  Her   avatar.    Credit   to
     Tygurstar.   That image  says so much about  her spirit.  A  chubby,  smart,
     British  bunny.   Who's  got  a  sunny,   cheerful,  never-surrender attitude.
     Can-do bunny.  Just look at her. And  from all accounts there  was a  lot  of
     life lived to back that up.  Annamarie came to furdom not at all as a young
     lapine.

            (Apparently one of her very  first  real  jobs  was data entry at  an IBM
     keypunching  machine,   back  in  the  day  when  computers took punched
     cards.  I know  what that keypunch  machine looks like,  used one  myself,
     which dates both of us to greyfur  status.   Foo  to  that,   I  can  just  hear
     Annamarie say.)

            I'm not going to kid myself  here.   I'm grieving over the death of not
     Annamarie per  se, but who I believed Annamarie to be. How did I come to
     this belief?  FA page,  stories,  journal,   email.   Text  and  art on a  comp
     screen.

            Friend,  yes,  I  can say Annamarie was one.   She  had many friends;
     MIRC and  RPG gaming  were  interests.   But still: Text and art on  a comp
     screen.  That was all. Never met her. Never heard her voice.  Doesn't seem
     to  matter.   Stone-fact:  More than a  few  tears have  been  shed recently
     over her, and by many others than me.

            Or maybe it  doesn't really take that much, to  do it to us? To  give us
     these feelings that  someone else is so  very important to us.  A little bit of
     text or art are exchanged,   and lookithat:  A friendship  is started.  Maybe
     even  a strong one.  Heck,  easy  to escalate  it into a lot  more  than that.
     Curious  business,   this  new  Internet  thing.   This couldn't  be  harder  if
     Annamarie had been my next-door neighbour of twenty years.

            (Oh,   beyond   doubt,    she  would've  *loved*  this  part  of  Eastern
     Canada. She made an emmigration attempt one time. Green growing stuff
     everywhere,   and birds,   and bees,  and  critters,  alla  over  the  place.  A
     country bunny at heart.  Before her  cancer and then her stroke, Annamarie
     owned  country land and  a  cottage.  Beekeeping  was a constant  passion,
     even  when  she  had  to  move  into  city.   Some  English  cities  have  an
     'allotment' system. She was able to continue the beekeeping.) 




             On the other paw,  maybe I shouldn't be  too surprised  here,  at this
     depth of feeling.   The  fact  is,   Annamarie was a  writer.  And  there  is  a
     curious  thing about writing.  The  story  itself may take center  stage.   But
     who the writer  is cannot  fail to shine through  the  story.  We do  not learn
     directly, as we learn about the  characters. Calls  for some reading between
     lines.

            What do Annamarie's stories say about  Annamarie the writer?  Well, I
     could say go read 'em and see for  yourself (if you haven't already).  What
     I'll  only say here is that Annamarie *had* it,   the  whole nine yards  worth
     of storytelling skill, a full set of literary chops.  And get this: She said she'd
     never done any serious fiction writing up until a few years ago.

            Really?  Lucky the  rest of  us fur writers.  Had she  started writing any
     earlier she'd  be so  so damn good  by  now we'd  all  be  lost  in  her  dust
     (bunnies are  supposed to be speedy,  aren't  they?). As a  skillset,  writing
     comes to you largely by osmosis.  And as said,  Annamarie was not young.
     That  just gave her  a  whole  lifetime of reading to draw  upon.  She  knew
     what a good story was supposed to look like, what it's supposed to do.

            Then took imagination in paw,  pen in  the other  one (so  to  speak),
     and  Just  Did It.  These are her first  efforts? Good Lord, there were novels
     in  this bunny.  Dead certain of it.   Apart  from  the  fact  that she is dead.
     Right. There is that.

            The  Ballad of  Deleon must  remain  unfinished.   Likewise  Orchestra
     and Being True.  We will  never know what Jack and Mary might have  done
     together  (a couple  of short  stories  that  smelled like  a  novel  brewing).
     Annamarie had a  rock-solid sense  of  character,  something that's usually
     acquired only after years of work. It showed, along with a grasp of style.



             Annnnd  I'm not sure this is  helping much.   There is a bitterness  in
     me  when  I think about  her  writing.   A late  in  life  thing  for her?  Not  a
     factor.  Annamarie had some  strong ambition regarding fur fiction. I would
     be the one to approve  of  this.  She so wanted  to get better  at it (and  to
     recover enough from the stroke; a serious blow).

            What could she have written? No  way of  knowing,  but it  would  have
     been great.  What she's written  shows  where  she  was  going.  Too  soon,
     Lord, just too soon.  Have to say that complaint out loud at least once, get
     the bitterness off of chest.

            Still doesn't help.

            Something else to say out loud.  For the record,  I'll confess  to it.  To
     read her stories  was  to experience  a  brief  flash  of  green-eyed  writer's
     jealousy. Damn, that's a sweet piece. How'd she do that? 'Cause I'd like to
     do it too.

            Annamarie did not leave us much  work,  unfortunately.  But  it stands
     out.   This  is  what furlit can be  when  it's  done  really  right.  Now I get to
     regret  never  getting  a  chance  to  say  that  to her.   I  think I'm digging
     myself in deeper.



            So maybe I should  stop about here.   More writing  will  not  ease the
     heartache,  and  the day has changed from  rain to  semi-sunny afternoon.
     Seems like  a good time to clip the  dog  to leash and go  out for a looong
     walk in nearby fields.

            Lemme  show  you  around the place,   Annamarie.  Lotta  bees  to be
     found.   And  we've  got  raspberries  everywhere  this  time  of  year.   And
     bunnies. Plenty  in the forests around here. I don't dare let the dog off the
     leash, given what would likely happen next.

            One  line of theology holds that we  never really leave, but come back
     over  and  over again.  This is  not an uncomforting thought.  If,   on some
     doggy walk, we happen to spot a slightly  plump bunny  along the treeline,
     standing alertly upright and staring at us, perhaps I'll have my clue?

            Although please,  my dear, there  *have* to be  easier  ways to own a
     bunny fursuit than this. (I am totally positive she’d laugh at that joke.)



             Good-bye, Annamarie.


     Sept 5/12

*******************************************************************
>>>>>>
>>>>>>
>>>>>>

         Here’s a  literary  truth  you’ll  almost  never  hear  in  English class (or any
    place else):
         
         A good story that’s hard to  read  spontaneously  converts into a bad story.
         
         Whuffo? Because the readers  just had such  a  jeezly  joyful and pleasant
    experience reading it.  My,  don’t  they  feel  sooo  happy  for plowing through
    that wonderfully written text?
         
         Not.
         
         This took on meaning  for  me when I walked  onto  FA about nine months
    ago, looked  around, and  said  to  myself,  oh  fweepin’  hell.  This  is  gonna
    be a challenge.
         
         Note  that  there   are  over  120,000  stories  posted  to  FA.  They  range
    in quality from incredibly fantastic, to good, to okay, points for trying.
         
         But all, repeat *all*  of  them  instantly  undergo  a downgrade the instant
    a reader clicks the mouse.  Whoa:  a  screenful  of  hard-to-read text. I know
    I’m going to enjoy this story.
         
          Remarkably, many people   do,   and  God   bless   you,  you  furry  little
    masochists you. But I’ve had some journalism training.
         
         And we beat  our  heads  total  bloody  on those stupid MacIntoshes trying
    to make the  text  look  good  on  paper.  Typography  matters  for journalism
    (or nobody reads what you wrote).
        
         Typographically,  we on  FA  are  the  beneficiaries of a hidden assumption
    on the part of  the designers, about  the way text  is  displayed.  I  doubt that
    anybody actually spoke of it when the code was cut.
         
         Simply put,  if  the  text  is  good  enough  so  it can be read in comments
    and journals and what-not, then it’s good enough for stories.
         
         This is  not  true.  Reading  small  chunks  of  text  interspersed with other
    tasks (like replying to  comments, looking at art, etc.) just isn’t the same kind
    of visual and mental experience as reading a story.
         
         With a story, you’re   staring   straight   at   the  screen  for  fifteen-twenty
    minutes (or  more) as  a  large  block   of  text  tries to  fight its way into your
    eyeballs.  You’re  not   looking   away   or  being   interrupted.  You’re  putting
    intense concentration on the words. Say, why  are those  opthamologists  over
    there wincing?
         
         Text  on  screen   is  not  the  same  as  text  on  the  printed  page.  Duh.
    So putting a story up on  FA  (or  anywhere  online)  has  *got* to be done so
    the reader can have as easy a read as possible.
         
         Riiiight.  And  this  is to  be  done  exactly  how?  At  the  end  of  the  day,
    whatever  pretty  text  we  submit  comes  off  the  server,  gets turned into an
    HTML  page,  and  is   then   thrown  at  the   reader’s   screen,  splat.  Reader
    winces. What’s a writer to do?
         
         (Browser  plug-ins   like   Adobe,   or  Java-enabled   text   display/editing
    packages, or  preprocessors  that  can  handle  multiple  file  formats, are not
    good answers. Great  way  to  spend  tons of $$$, blow up FA’s codebase, and
    clog up thousands of people’s browsers, though).
         
         The saving grace about FA is  that  it’s  just  good  enough  [at  displaying
    stories] that people can read ‘em, and get  some satisfaction. Writers actually
    have several choices:
         
         1) Submit the story as a downloadable file (but not displayed on the
             submission page)
         
         2) Submit as a .TXT file, or
         
         3) Submit the story in the Comment/Info box of a sub, with the fully-
             formatted story available as a download.
         
         
         Now, the download  file  idea is an  essential  feature  for  artists.  It helps
    writers  too,  however,  because  when  a  reader  clicks  download  they  know
    they're going to get a more readable, hopefully well-formatted story.
         
         The  downside: the  reader  has  to  make  an  active  decision  to  do  the
    download, and  read. The  reward  for this action is uncertain; could be a lousy
    story. Stories posted as download only don’t get read as much, QED.
         
         The  ideal situation is to have the story *there* on  the  screen,  when the
    readers  visit  the  submission.  They  have  made a reading decision. So give
    them the story before they change their mind.
         
         This returns us to the original problem:  how FA  displays text. Whether as
    a .TXT file or as text  in  the  Comment/Info box,  FA  handles both the same
    way.
         
         Oh, and just to  make  our  life  more  jubilant,  FA  happens  to  have two
    different  display  modes,  or  templates:  1) White  text  on dark background,
    and  2)  Black   text  on  Cyan   background.  (See  the   Stylesheet  option in
    Account Settings in the Control Panel).
         
         The White/Dark mode is good with  art,  which  is the most important thing
    about FA. Images viewed on this screen look great.  And white text on black is
    fine for dealing with comments, journals, etc. In  theory  you’re  not  doing too
    much reading this way.
         
         However,  the  White/Dark  mode  is  *not*  good  for reading stories. Duh
    again. From birth, our eyes  and  visual cortex and mind have been trained to
    read black text on white  background.  Try  reading  a  large  amount  of  text
    on a White/Dark screen and you will  feel pain. This is one reason why a lot of
    stories on FA are so very short.
         
         The Black/Cyan  mode  is waaay better for  text,  much  closer  to what our
    eyes are used to. But it’s  still  not  ideal,  mainly because it renders the whole
    screen fairly  bright. This  tends  to ‘wash out’  the  art  that’s  viewed  this way
    (makes links a bitch to figure out too).
         
         But the black text: now this  would  seem  to be the cat’s meowr, no? Text
    shown this  way  has  good  contrast  to  it,  and  is  easier  for our eyeballs to
    process in large quantities [without dying].
         
         Except…
         
         Close inspection of the  Black/Cyan screen reveals  a  clever  fact: the text
    color is  not  *quite*  ‘true  black.’  It’s  close to  it, but  it’s not black. Actually
    a shade of darkish grey.
         
         Whuffo clever? It’s a  nod  to the reality  that  most  of  the  reading  done
    around here  is  in  fact  comments,  journals,  etc., not  stories. The dark grey
    is a little softer on  the  eyes.  The  text  doesn’t  grab  our  attention quite as
    strongly. And I’ll never  know who decided  this,  but  from  the  point  of  view
    of user interface design it was the right decision.
         
         Now: what about stories?  Where we *do* want text that grabs the reader’s
    attention?
         
         We-ll, if the text color isn’t  true  black,  what  happens if we try to make it
    so?  Say, by dropping in  a  color  tag? Ie.,  [ color=black ]?  (Omit spaces).
         
         Jackpot. Insert sound of exploding slot machine here.
         
         The color  tag  yields  true  black  text.  Sharp,  crisp, clear. Higher contrast
    than the dark grey. And readable as all bejesus.
         
         Now  who  the  hell  is  gonna  think  to  throw  a  black  color  tag  at  text
    that's already black? Ex-journalism students  who know their damn typography,
    that’s who.
         
         If  a  reader  has  the  screen  set  to  ‘Black’/Cyan,  and  if  you plug that
    color tag into your story, the reader will have a *MUCH* easier time reading it.
    You will be  more  likely  to  pick  up  a  fave or  a  comment.  And  the reader
    will likely return for more. This is not subject to argument.
         
         Is  it  that  simple?  Just  a  dinky  little color tag? Yes. Does it really mean
    that much?
         
         No. This is not The Revolution. This  is  not  better  than sliced bread. This
    will not cure your  asthma too. This is a small trick that takes advantage of an
    FA feature and produces  highly  readable text. Notice how many $$$ we spent
    doing it.
         
         Given that FA readers are used to  crappy-looking text (and therefore hold
    stories in lower  opinion),  I  sorta  doubt  that  this  method  will  change very
    much any time soon. It depends  on  how many people think  highly readable
    text is important.
         
         Note also that if you want to be  courteous,  you might want to remove the
    color tag and submit a  second  copy of  the  story,  marked  as  readable  on
    White/Dark screens. This takes how much work, did we say?
         
         To  be  even  more  courteous,  put  links  in  the  two  stories  to  point to
    each other. A reader  using  the  White/Dark  screen  can’t  read the enhanced
    text (it’s black text on a black  screen). You want   that  reader  to  go  to  the  
    'standard' version before he/she/it changes their mind. Click this link here… *
         
         If  this  sounds  a  little  awkward,  congratulations  on  your intelligence: it
    IS awkward. Welcome  to  FA.  As  such,  many  people  reading  this may well
    say, nahhh, the way text is  displayed  right now  is  good  enough. If we want
    better we’ll just wait until FA upgrades things.
         
    
         . . .
    
         
         Why wait?
         
    
    FB.
    
    Mar 22/2012
    
    
    
    
    * Memo to  FA’s  codemonkeys,  what’s  really  needed  here  is  a conditional
    color tag. It  detects  the  display  mode,  then  decides  whether  to  apply  or
    not. This sounds easier than it likely would be to do, of course.

*****************************************************************

    Journal Submission is here:

    Jrnl: On Enhanced Text On FA―A Short Typographic Manifesto
    
*****************************************************************

>>>>>>
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>>>>>>

     …And the heavy door opens slowly, creaking on its hinges. The kitten winces; quietly, quietly. But then the door
hasn’t been used in a while.

     Even more cautiously, the kitten pushes his muzzle around the corner and peers in, ears up and quivering. The
room is dim-lit and dusty. Also hasn’t been used in a while, but there was a reason for that.

     Knife at the ready and on the hyper-alert, the kitten advances, slowly, scanning intently around for traps, pitfalls,
tripwires, landmines, booby traps, ambush points, crossfire zones, sniper positions, IEDs, zombies, killer clowns, and open
cans of salmon that inexplicably blow your muzzle off on the first taste.

     Not that being hyper-alert will help much. There was certainly one the last time.

     There will be more.

     No: all quiet. Or so it seems. All safe? Oh please. But that didn’t stop the kitten the last time. He pads over the
office chair and leaps up gracefully, knife in one paw. The seat of the chair is lightly coated with fur where he'd fallen asleep
so many times before.

     Leap again, and he is on the desktop. It’s the usual cluttered mess. Doesn’t anybody clean up around here? No
matter. The knife stabs at the power button on the computer, then at the monitor. Digital light bathes the kitten as the
system fires up, then delivers that insufferable Microsoft musical jingle. The well-scratched mouse is retrieved from under some papers.

     The kitten grins wryly at the inadvertent feline sadism involved in using it. One imagines there are masochist mice
out there who enjoy being clawed in the butt. Click, click. Translation: Squeak, squeak. More, more.

     Then a click, and another, and the browser comes alive, the Internet connection buzzing and snarling its way
to life a moment later. To the kitten’s ears that sound is even more irritating, but it passes. The website loads in the
usual way, click again to deliver the username and password to the logon page, and the kitten is in.

     Knife clutched in his tiny fangs, and with his short tail flicking a little, the kitten reaches forward with small paws--just
the right size for the keyboard--and begins to type. . .



     (On the Internet no one knows you’re a dog? Well now, funny you should say. :- ) )

---

---

    

>>>>>>
>>>>>>

I have made a large mistake in dealings with another person on FA.

Who, and what happened, is not the point for here. Say only that an attempt
to take public responsibility for a screw-up only created a bigger one. Beware
of snap decisions. They got fangs.

Since Admin is looking at this, I will make a more considered decision: self-ban
for a month, until Jan 17. There: for once a good decision. Maybe.

If anybody *absolutely* needs to reach me, I've given FA permission to
release my email address (delivered in Trouble ticket #39951). Let's see
if this works.

I am incandescently disgusted with myself over this, about prior events and
current ones. It may not be very useful to say this [now], but as last words
go--until Jan--it fits nicely.

Fred Brown.

>>>>>>
>>>>>>

********
********


     Hate to delete journals, but hate to post these 'bump' puppies too.

     Still, sounds like Zanerus dodged a bullet (sic) and landed on his
footpaws (see previous journal). Good.

     So let's add a little content to this journal just for appearance's sake.

     Found an oldddd item for the absolute hardcore programmers out there.
So dropped it into Scraps. Everybody else is likely to just go what th'...?


     The Seven Days of Creation (according to a systems programmer)


     Ferdamnsure we've come a long way from this kind of code. History of
a sort: you're looking at it.

*******
*******


     Anybody with a tail on the Florida Gulf Coast, lend me yours ears.

      Zanerus has had unexpected crap dumped on his position. As such, his living situation has gone to worse crap.

     Homeless looks too damn close to possible. For all the pleasant details, see two journals:

     Bye bye

     *swearing here*


     Rather not see this one run over by a steamroller. His poetry's good, so's his writing, and he's definitely a musician.

     The much broader problem, of course, is joblessness. Finding one means finding a friend who knows a
friend who knows a job. Is there any other way?

     wildicecat[at]hotmail.com is where a PayPal-type gift should go. I say let's surprise the snot out of him.

     But more important, fwd and crosspost this, please, at earliest opportunity. I notice that this journal will be
seen by 109 watchers.

     Great, but if enough people crosspost to *their* journal, this msg might reach between 8-10,000 viewers (I did the
math, plus or minus guessing).

     Somewhere in that number are some Florida furs in a position to assist (in some way).

     Let's find them. Before the steamroller gets there, hmmm? :- /


*******
*******

********
********


          This might be useful. Or might be useless? Tricks are like that.

          So FA's poor at handling text. Ya, news. Still, readers can read it.
     Submit a .txt file or copy the story into the sub's comment field and
     there it is. Enjoy.

          But the way FA handles text inflicts a small dirty. Paragraph first
     line indents get zapped.

          The BBcode parser doesn't know what a Tab char is. Oops. What
     about just five or six blank spaces instead? Nope: stripped out. Bad
     parser.

          This is a small thing but a genuine piss-off. We've all learned to
     read text that's got that para first line indent. We read better with it.

          The trick? Found a way to get it back. Look at what you've been
     reading.




          HowTo: In Windows, dig out an obscure utility called Character Map
     (charmap.exe). Other OS's have something similar. Choose Verdana
     font (what FA uses).

          Then select and copy char #160. Should be on the fifth line, right
     after the ~ char. Looks like a space. Technically speaking, this is
     called the 'hard space, or the 'no-break' space.

          It isn't treated as a space char. For some reason, FA doesn't strip
     it out. But it *looks* like a space. To the parser it's just another
     ordinary character.

          Surprise: it works like an ordinary space. Five of 'em are indenting each
     para of this journal. And everything else I've been posting around here
     (been wondering if anybody would notice).




          Ctrl-V = Paste. Once you've selected it, go to where you want to put
     those five hard spaces, Ctrl-V five times, and you're ready to rock. And
     your text will read waaaay better. (Don't forget an extra blank line
     between paras; even better.)

          OR: Best idea so far, use the italics tags: [ i ], five Ctrl-Vs, then [ /i ]
      (less the spaces there). This tells you where you *put* the indent
     spaces. Do it once, then copy the whole string and paste that
     wherever you like. Saves time.

          But char #160 will work by itself. When I'm creating a .txt doc I put
     search-and-replace to use to convert Tabs to this italic string. Eats
     another few minutes work. Pfff...

          This is FA. Nobody said it was going to be easy. :- )


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NOTA BENE: To make this fave-able, here's a
copy as a sub: Indent Trick -- Copy of Nov 27/11 Journal

********
********

FB.

**********


     ...And as is the way of these situations, looks headed for even deeper trouble pretty fast.

     Now, on any given day there's a fur or ten in trouble around here. One supposes one can only
do so much. And you have to choose.

     Okay: I'll choose. As an artist,  Furryguild strikes me as fairly decent, has a good eye for
the kinky, and could be A-grade in a few years.

     However, it appears that husband is ill, jobs have vaporized, home is lousy-to-disintegrating,
and oh spiffy, there's a 17-month-old baby too.

     (Jobs don't appear total-hopeless, but that presumes still being alive to take one. Ummm...)

     Her journal: http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2911296/ , entitled bluntly Will be evicted come dec 10th.....
Previous journals provide evidence of desperation levels, very cheerful, she sounds so happy.

     As said, spiffy. May I encourage you to crosspost that journal? Smallest possible thing that
might help. Also easiest thing.

>>> BULLETIN BULLETIN: This journal went up on the 16th. On the 18th
Furryguild reported news of some improvements in her situation. Some help
has arrrived. And she deleted the above-mentioned journal. Oh. This
journal is now slightly 'non-operative,' shall we say? Or less so. Me, I'm a
writer, I never delete anything. I just edit. :- ) Righteous and Many Thanx
to those who helped.

>>> END BULLETIN

     (That I'd like to commission her for a large project is a factor here; intend to front some dinero.
Can't commish a scrap from a destroyed artist, which seems imminent.)

     I'll go further: her PayPal is shared with her mate and is: shadow_guild[at]yahoo.com

     If you're flush by a bit (some of you must be), now seems to be a very good time to deliver a small
early Christmas present. This could ensure there *is* one and not an exploding Christmas tree.

     Tell PayPal to attach a wagging tail with a big red bow on it. Seasonal touch.

     That's it. If you're not reaching for the mouse by now, do at least think about it (and crosspost at mininum).

     Thank you for reading. Let's see what happens.


FB.


**********

>>>>> Commentary on <<<<<
>>>>> The Dragon And Unicorn Stories <<<<<




     As may be obvious by now I'm not using the Journal in the 'blog-like/diary-like' way it's designed for. Leastwise that's how everybody else is using it.

     Can't knock that. I read the daily crop of Journals and it's the life of FA on parade. Whee, how the fur flies. Until they put The Fur Channel on basic cable this'll do just fine. (If there was such a network; hey Dragoneer, can we talk spin-off projects?)

     Me, I want my journals to add to the stories I'm submitting. Commentary, that's the keyword. A story might be good? Fine. Here's some 'value-added' to go with it. Enjoy.

     The point being that by the time a story's finished I've usually put a ton of thinking into the puppy to make it work right. And that's often as worth talking about as the story. At least I'm hoping it is to other writers.

     (It's probably also obvious that I'm taking fur fiction waaaay more seriously than most would think it deserves. Those who've questioned this, please, keep doing so, and you know who you are. Every good writer needs good critics. Food supply runs short sometimes. . . :- > )

     For example, take the two stories that are subject of today's journal: The Dragon's Deal, and Been Reading A Little Tanith Lee Lately.

     Clever wicked suckers, no? Yiffy to a degree, or at least on the kinky side, even though nothing explicit happens. Oh, and once again, written long before I knew what 'yiff' or 'fur' even meant.

     So there is a story behind how they came to be. More to the point, if that story hadn't happened I might not be a fraction of the writer I am now.

     On top of which, it could be downright crucial to make that story public now and right here. It's not really a comfortable one for me. But then any writer looking back on his or her early work and where it came from is guaranteed to cringe.

     Won't say I'm doing that but I do wonder what I was smoking back then. It's worth talking about.

     It's also linked to the odd thing I've noticed about the furfic I'm reading on FA. And thank God I decided to get some new glasses because there's a *lot* of furfic here (art site, huh? <Ppphhbt!> :- ) ). I intend to read damnear everything I can find, pursuant to getting better as a fur writer.

     But whuffo the large volume of erotic material? What is it about this genre such that so many writers go arrow-straight for the snuffling around in the crotches? Artists too. A good sound FX to attach to FA's main page would be some wild gleeful yipping.

     All fun stuff to be sure, and often reasonable enough in quality to arouse. The whole point about erotica, you'll agree. Somebody once said that all writers start out with porn? Maybe so, but this *much* of it?

     Give me a few months of story study and I should be able to say more about this. And guess who's posted some stories to contribute to it? And more to come (no pun).

     Still: name me any, repeat any other literary genre where sexual material is so abundant. And sitting side-by-side with an equal amount of non-sexual material, and considered about equal in status by the readers. Any other literary genre, sexual work is distinctly 'ghettoized' and held in low value. Not furlit.

     I've got a few theories about this that derive from that backstory I mentioned. Guess what? I started out writing erotic stuff too.

     Time and distance have given me some perspective on that, such that I now look at fur writing and say, hmmm. . .

     To find out what I [might have] figured out, go to:


The Real Commentary On The Dragon And Unicorn Stories

---

>>>>> Commentary on <<<<<
>>>>> The Big Bird Santa Claus <<<<<


Okay, and didn't I say this would be posted on Sunday? Glah. . .

God help my future editors, but getting me to meet a deadline takes a laser cannon, a platoon of ill-tempered Marines, and a very determined gorilla with a baseball bat.

(That last will probably be my future agent, BTW. Fifteen percent of any bananas I earn? Fair deal, I say. :- ) )

But to quote Gilda Radner, never mind. This Journal-ne-submission intends to dive deep with regards to The Big Bird Santa Claus. The story is located HERE.

And it's going to do it the same way as the last one: short-short-short Journal entry here to catch your attention and promo my subject, then a link to the text itself.

The reviews on when I did this for the Betty Heavy story are in: Good idea, it works fine. Now if anybody wants to fave this Journal, they can. And I get a count of how many read it. Sweet.

(There's *no* way I'm the first to think of this. Somebody tell me they've seen this before?)

So right at the top, there are two special things about BB Santa Claus that need explaining. Pride level on this one is high for a couple of reasons. Worth saying here.

But as important is that feathered dude in the story, the Ximerfell-Captain. Where he came from should be revealed to the enquiring, eager-to-know masses (that'd be, like, you).

Touchy things, enquiring, eager-to-know masses. Can't let 'em get grumpy. Gotta tell all. So I will.

More to the point, I think this story might actually reveal something very important about fur characters in general. This certainly wasn't obvious when I wrote it [as a pure SF piece].

But I look at it now, with a few years of fur writing under my belt? It just about jumps off the page at me. Did better than I knew with this one. Gotta love it when that happens.

To find out what I'm talking about, click here:


The REAL Commentary on The Big Bird Santa Claus