I did a number of illustrations for "Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches' Guide to Romance Novels" by Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan, and they were just interviewed on NPR's "All Things Considered." You can hear their interview here. You can also see my illustration on NPR.org!

Here's Mavis, the stereotypical romance novel reader, as described by Sarah and Candy:



"Beyond Heaving Bosoms" is available to buy now. It's a hilarious book with lots of great illustrations, by me and Carol Main. Check it out!

(I cross-posted this to my blog, which I'm finally doing something with, huzzah!)

Has it ever happened that you go looking for a story, that is, say- on your fanfiction.net favorites- only to find that it has completely vanished? And then you go searching for hours to find this particular story, only to find that it has disappeared into the cyber-aether, and the author has left no trace of herself either? That happened to me tonight. It was kind of an odd feeling, realizing that I had no idea what happened to a story that I enjoyed over summer vacation way back in '02.

However, I at last found this story, rather accidentally. The story in question- Cyan's Song, by Tasha Amos, or "miss tori"- used to be housed at the Boba Fett fanfiction archives, a site which has just died. RIP, Boba Fett! But at least I could use the Internet Archives to go through the old site, which you can't do with fanfiction.net, most annoyingly. It's also housed at the Jedifiction site, and you can read it here. I'm glad I found it, because when I read it, it brought back a lot of memories. [4/07 EDIT: Apparently the death of the Boba Fett fanclub page was an April Fool's prank. Wow, that was a good one!]

Was '02 really that long ago? I vividly remember sitting around the old Ellensburg apartment of my friend S., leaning against her leather ottoman, reading "Cyan's Song" on my Vaio. I was still attending Art Center, although at the time I was on break, and I was just discovering fanfiction for the first time. I have so many fond memories of this story. It's fun and fast-paced, but it also is rather purple, especially when describing the overwhelming beauty of the bounty hunter heroine, Cyan Starling. But, like any good romance novel, it's compulsively readable despite the occasional lapse into silliness, and I am certainly very interested in seeing what else the author has done. (I certainly never imagined Boba Fett as a sex symbol before I read this story!) Fanfiction.net was quite a smaller site seven years ago- even though it seemed pretty big to me at the time- and this story was very popular. It had a ton of reviews, and even a sequel. I wonder why the author pulled it down. In a way, it actually makes me a little sad.

At times like this, I realize the internet isn't quite as durable as it seems...

I can't believe that Natasha Richardson just died. From a brain injury sustained from a ski accident on a bunny slope... That is so depressing. She was only 45 years old.

I watched this really excellent "48 Hours" tonight, when I should have been working some illustrations. Ah well; it was very interesting. It was about this arsenic poisoning case that happened in Raleigh NC in 2001-- a brilliant and good-looking young AIDS researcher named Eric Miller was poisoned by his seemingly meek blonde wife Ann over a long period of time (months, possibly years). She even had an accomplice-- a weak-willed dumpy co-worker of her husband's with whom she had a torrid affair, and in all likelihood helped her poison Eric. (The co-worker later killed himself in remorse.) This week's episode, "Toxic," was exceptionally done, and as the story unfurled, I watched with horror. Ann Miller was-- is--- a sociopath. She seems like a nice intelligent, church-going woman, but she is, in truth, a monster. You can read the entire story here, since recounting her crimes in any detail would be depressing and exhausting.

Now, the whole scenario seems very modern, what with all the scientists and cell phones, but what I found to be particularly interesting was how... classic... the crime seemed. Something like this really could have happened in the 17th century, and I was reminded particularly of the Marquise de Brinvilliers. The Marquise killed her father and brother, not her husband, but her behavior reminds me of Ann Miller, in both her charm, her deceitfulness, her sociopathy, and her thoroughness in disposing of her loved ones. Neither of the women had any conscience; Miller was seen flashing smiles at both her family members and her latest husband during the trial where she plead guilty to putting a syringe full of arsenic into her husband's IV while he lay in the hospital. This monster will be out of prison when she's 60, and even now she talks to her daughter twice a week on the phone.

One wonders if there any other bodies in Miller's past. Too she couldn't have been beheaded and burned like the Marquise.

Jaime Lyn Ferguson kindly featured me on her Ja Doodles Xanga blog... how cool is that? Thanks, Jaime!

Here it is, my first magazine cover for Astonishing Adventures Magazine. You can read it all here for FREE!

Doesn't it look pretty? Inside I have a magazine article about toga porn- all about trashy swords n' sandals paperback covers from the '50s, '60s and '70s- and four black and white illustrations for an urban vampire story by Katherine Tomlinson and a steampunk adventure by Chris Dabnor. Check it out- and soon all this pulpy goodness will be available to own through Amazon!

More about the cover, which I call "The Empress and the Gladiator":

Since it accompanies my review of the history of "Toga porn," it features the magazine's mascot, Scarlet, dressed as an empress, with a buff gladiator wielding a bloody sword before her.

Everything was kept intentionally inaccurate and Hollywood-ish, and I looked at a lot of Frazetta while painting this, because I wanted to make it more painterly than my other work. I also ended up looking at a lot of Peter Lely, the Restoration-era portraitist, because no one does sleepy-eyed, pale-skinned and morally dubious women better than he. Scarlet's costume was inspired partially by Claudette Colbert's outfit in "The Sign of the Cross" (1932) and by Anneka di Lorenzo in "Messalina, Messalina" from 1977.

Feeling oddly entrepreneurial, I decided to do Christmas cards this year and put them in my CafePress store. Come and celebrate a gentler time with a dashing couple straight from the pages of a Jane Austen or a Georgette Heyer novel. They're on sale individually, and in packs of 10 and 20. Send them to your Regency loving friends and family for the holidays!

A friend of mine even wrote some doggerel, inspired by this piece:

When King George the Three
Trimmed his Christmas tree
While George the Fourth did all the work

When Jane Austen wrote with style and wit
Observing how love can come to any twit
If only he knew how to use a fork...

I admit I watched the Regency flashback scenes in "On a Clear Day You can See Forever" while I was working on this. But that was mainly because John Richardson, who played Robert Tentrees, Barbara Streisand's past self's boyfriend, was the sort of guy who could have played Viscount Desford, the hero in Heyer's "Charity Girl" (who the hero of my painting was loosely based on).

These past few weeks have been a whirl of work for Astonishing Adventures and Glencoe McGraw Hill... plus everything about the election was putting me on edge. I was tired out this evening after spending it at the polling station, drawing and writing an article, so I lay down in the evening, intending to take a nap. Lo and behold, as soon as I turned out the light, my sister called.

"What is it?" I groused.

"Haven't you heard the news?" she said, and I told her I hadn't.

"Obama won a landslide victory! McCain has already conceded!"

I was absolutely floored. "Already?" I asked, incredulous. "Already!" she replied.

I was so happy, and my smile was so wide, that I thought my face would break in two. I sat down with my equally astonished roommate, and I saw footage of black people singing and dancing in churches, of the daughters of former slaves showing their astonishment, of young and old people weeping and general rejoicing world-wide. All I could think was, "wow," and I teared up more than once. My dad grew up in the segregated south, and I'm sorry he's not able to see this day.

I think this song really sums up my feelings.

Okay, the_red_shoes, here's the Twilight meets Twin Peaks picture I mentioned to you earlier. Man, Kyle MacLachlan was so adorable! And his face is so incredibly hard to draw...

( click here for art... )

Okay, I just read "The Queen's Lady" by Barbara Kyle... and my God, it was horrible. And deeply insulting. I actually kicked it like a football across the room. Trust me, it takes me a lot to get angry at a book. It was as if some untalented distaff Richard Dawkins tried to write a Tudor-era bodice ripper... one which rakes Sir Thomas More over the coals. Poor Sir Thomas More!

Here's a slightly extended version of the review I just posted to Amazon:
( clicky )

Perhaps More was indeed a difficult fellow, but this kind of loathsome rubbish makes me want to pray a novena to him. I found a beautiful one here, on Anita Moore's blog. Sir Thomas deserves to be remembered for the great man he was, not as second string albino monk type from the Da Vinci Code.

I've just been interviewed for the Gourmet Food Garden blog, to describe my most memorable meal. Sir James Galway has also been interviewed here, so I'm in good company!

Speaking of interviews, last week I was also interviewed by Katie Schwartz, blogger, essayist, and author of the wonderful and funny book Emotionally Pantsed. Read it and get the dish on what Chris Sarandon thought of my drawing of him from "The Princess Bride"!

I'm also happy to announce that Honey Cake, by Joan Betty Stuchner, published by Random House, is finally out in stores. I did the cover illustration, and the book designer, Gloria Cheng, did an amazing job. It looks even more beautiful in real life!

So, I was winding down after the gigantic schmoozefest that was Comic-Con, when I realized that the SCBWI (Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators) summer conference was starting on Friday. Two consecutive weekends of professional conferences/conventions... oh boy! I girded my loins, gathered my remaining samples, and bolted off to the Hyatt Regency in Century City, ready to remind the children's publishing world of my existence.

Generally, I think I did a pretty good job of that, and a number of people provided some really good leads for me. I met a few new friends, and renewed my friendship with several folks (including the amazing Bruce Coville, who, during the big "Red" masquerade party, high five'd me when I told him about the "Honey Cake" cover for Random House). I guess I've sort of arrived on the publishing scene already, though it's hard to remember that, while I am slaving away in my hovel here in the Valley. Today I met Adam Rex (illustrator of "The Dirty Cowboy" and "Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich") looked at my portfolio, and told me I was on my way. We talked shop for the most part. (i.e. "Hey, what about Wizards of the Coast?" or, "Man, that contract was strange.") I'm sure such a conversation would be pretty boring to anyone outside the field, but I thought it was very cool.

What was especially cool that when he autographed "Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich," he happily drew Cthulu when I asked him to. I was buying it for my roomie B., who is a ginormous Lovecraft fan. After he drew the tentacles, A. added the bat wings, saying that he needed to make it appropriately "non-Euclidean." When he finished, he eyed it appreciatively and said it was his best Cthulu ever.

BEHOLD THE INDESCRIBABLE HORROR!



I so need to get a Cthulu plushie now.

Comic-con went well. It was INCREDIBLY hectic, but here are a few highlights:

-After recovering from the Traffic Jam from Hell, on Friday morning I stopped by the booth of "The Chosen One" (a hilarious animated movie which is a must-see for any Futurama fan), because I saw the name "Chris Sarandon" beckoning me like a... giant beckoning thing. I started chatting with the guys at the booth about Chris (they talked about how great it was to work with him, and I tried not to respond with fangirlish squeeing), and I decided to show them my Prince Humperdinck pic. They were delighted, and took a photo of it to send to Chris. I was thrilled! I was right in that Humperdinck would be my patron saint. How cool is that?

-I met an old friend M. who is now an art director at Wizards of the Coast, and who invited me to lunch with some other art directors. They looked at my portfolio, and offered me some good suggestions how to break into the fantasy market. Expect some more fantasy art here soon- but first I need to go back and sit in on some figure drawing classes at Art Center to freshen my memory.

-Art Goddess Rebecca Guay actually remembered me from last year's con! I sat at her feet (literally- the booths were cramped) and she gave me more advice viz. the fantasy market. She also introduced me to Donato Giancola. I exclaimed, "I love your paintings, they're so glowy!" He's a very nice guy- very professional and gentlemanly. I also met Christian Azzarello, who is a fellow Art Center alum. I actually could guess that by looking at the style of his paintings, which made him laugh.

-Last but not least, I ran into Felicia Day, aka Penny from "Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog." I was standing at the Oni Press booth, having taken off my backpack after hiking around and showing a bunch of my stuff to the small press publishers, when I saw this cute redhead standing next to me, browsing through comics. "My," I thought to myself, "she looks like Felicia Day!" I contemplated introducing myself to her, but decided against it. What if I was wrong, and she wasn't Felicia Day? I'd look silly.

However, the Oni Press people save me from looking dorky by asking her themselves. She started pulling out a headshot- and deciding I might as well be a dork for once, I walked around the gathering crowd and stood next to her again. She asked if anyone had a Sharpie- and lo and behold, I had one! (I usually carry a small arsenal of art supplies with me when I travel.) She signed the headshot for them, and gave me one too because I had the Sharpie. I gave her a promo for my illustrations in Astonishing Adventures, and she thanked me. How awesome is that?

Anyway, it all went really well. It was alternately exciting and tiresome, and in the end, flat out exhausting. Now, I have the SCBWI summer conference this weekend. More networking and schmoozing... whee!

Yes, I am. It took me and my friends eight hours to drive from Los Angeles to San Diego because the traffic was so mind-blowingly horrible (a big rig crashed and closed down the freeway in San Diego this morning). It was hell!

But we are safe and sound now at our hotel. We ate excellent biryani at a great Mediterranean restaurant next door and walked by a place called "Caskets for Less." I also showered, which was heavenly after spending all the day in the car. I am feeling much better now...

( My Patron Saint )

I admit, I'm kind of sketchy on my Plantagenet kings. But it's always fun learning new stuff; and after discussing Richard II with angevin2, I decided it would be fun to draw the inventor of the handkerchief, an allegedly gay peacemonger who is generally considered to be one of England's least successful monarchs, and who was murdered at the ripe old age of 33.

( Getcher Plantagenets here )

Okay, so I pride myself on being a hip, with-it Gen Xer. Then why did it take me so long to catch on to the phenomenon that is Stephanie Meyer's "Twilight"? For those of you even more out of touch than I am, it's a young adult series about a girl in high school who dates a hot vampire, also in high school. It's both a teenybopper romance and Gothic Lite, with heaping helpings of wangst and lots... and lots... of purple description. For example:

I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

It all sounds harmless enough, but unfortunately the sexual politics of "Twilight" are depressingly- even distressingly- regressive. In fact, it all reminds me of what you'd find in a 1970s Harlequin: you know, one of those early romances with the virile alpha hero who dominates and controls the too-stupid-to-live girly girl who at first foolishly defies him, because, you know, he's treating her like shit. Yet within the space of a few hundred pages she learns she can't fight fate, and that Captain Studly only wants the best for her, no matter how much he abuses her.

The heroine, Isabella "Bella" Swan, is a fainting damsel-in-distress Mary Sue, who finds herself both fascinated and subjugated by the bronze-haired, Volvo-driving undead Edward Cullen, who is described ad nauseum as having "golden eyes" and the looks of a supermodel. In addition to his pretty hair and eyes and designer preppy lifestyle, Edward also sparkles in sunlight. It's worth quoting this passage in its entirety:

Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used to it, though I'd been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn't sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.

Apparently, in Meyer's world, this is why Edward's vampire family lives in the little town of Forks, Washington. You see, the rain and overcast sky enables them to go out and live lives like normal people! People won't be able to see how they sparkle. And since they're good vampires who don't feed off people, they can go out and kill endangered species like grizzly bears and mountain lions in peace. Because, you know, people in the Northwest would never get upset by finding the corpses of big cats and bears with the blood drained from them. No, no, never. They don't care AT ALL about endangered animals.

Yeah.

So, Bella, the new girl in town, meets Edward, and they fall in love. Or something. She finds out he's a vampire and doesn't care. She also doesn't care that he's a violent stalker alpha male. He follows her on a shopping trip, which is lucky because, by golly, he saves her from a gang rape. He tells her that it takes him every ounce of control not to make her brunch, because her smell is just so dang yummy. He also follows her home so he can watch her sleep. Interestingly enough, she finds this comforting rather than alarming. They have endless conversations with each other, telling each other how awesome they are. This book is 260 pages long, and the bad guy vampires don't show up around page 200. They chase the heroine, but they are shortly dispatched in about 30 pages, leaving the hero and heroine to go to the prom. Yes, the prom. It's as banal as it sounds. Perhaps the book should have been called "Hanging out with my Creepy Vampire Boyfriend."

Let me emphasize that this book is huge. It's been made into a movie, and will be released nationwide this Christmas. "Twilight" tours have sprouted up in the Olympic pennisula. You've got cosplayers, fanfic writers, rock bands and the usual gang of fandom idiots. Also, "Twilight" has outsold Harry Potter. Why God... why!?

Interestingly enough, the writer of "Twilight," Ms. Meyer, is a Mormon, and was a stay-at-home housewife before she embarked on her writing career with the publication of "Twilight." Perhaps this explains the retro sexual politics of the story. Bella, the heroine, is not only completely subjugated to the hero, but lacks agency as well. She serves no purpose except to stare goggle-eyed at Edward, argue with him (naturally she's always proven wrong), and to be repeatedly rescued. After twenty years of increasingly strong YA heroines, of books by Madeleine L'Engle, Lois Duncan and Jane Yolen, it's sad to see how the publishing world- and countless teenage girls- are all agog at this neo-Victorian fantasy of what a woman's place should be.

You can read more in-depth snark at the_red_shoes's journal, here, and at kadath's journal here.

The artwork is courtesy of Mary Behr, who I discovered through the always excellent Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.

A few years ago, Scholastic put out a short-lived hardcover series about the lives of kids in the ancient world, called "The Life and Times." I read "Pandora of Athens," and was unimpressed. For shits and grins, I decided to read the first book in the series, called "Atticus of Rome" by Barry Denenberg, mainly because it looked like the kid worked for some Cicero-type lawyer, and I wondered how they would deal with the character.

Well, I read it in a few hours, and I was horrified by the quality of writing. No, seriously. I know I've bitched a lot about poorly written books on this blog, but it's been a long time since I've read something that matched this for sheer incoherence. I know Denenberg has written some decent books before, so he really should have known better.

Basically, the big problem of "Atticus" is that there's almost no plot. You've got this kid named Atticus (a Latin name which would imply that he was from Attica, home of Athens, or that he was named after Cicero's pal Atticus, but there's no reason given for his name), who's captured and enslaved by Roman soldiers somewhere in "the northern provinces." He goes to Rome, and is bought by this bigwig named Lucius Opimius, who is a buddy of the Emperor. Now, one of the big problems with the book is there's really no clue to when this is supposed to be set. The cover says it takes place in 30 BC, which, although it's still a few years off, would make more sense; the Emperor would then be Augustus, right? But later in the book Atticus mentions that he's born in 82 BC. (Yes, apparently he knows about the birth of Christ before it happens.) And he's ten or eleven, which means that it should be about 72 or 71 BC, around the time of Spartacus' rebellion. Of course it could still mean it was 30 BC, and Atticus is like that creepy immortal harmonica-playing kid from the Cowboy Bebop episode "Sympathy for the Devil." Anyway, yeah...

Now, Lucius O. buys the immortal Atticus because he's the emperor's spymaster, and he needs an agent. And who better than some random kid off the auction block? Apparently O. is such an amazing judge of character that he can immediately tell that A. is trustworthy, dependable and super smart. But then, O. also bought his wife off the auction block. Yes, he found some buxom slave girl (she's described as being stupid, plain and annoying, with her chest being her only assets), manumitted her and her mother, and proceeded to marry Miss Random in the traditional Roman ceremony. We are assured he did this because he wants kids badly, as his beloved wife just died in childbirth. Well then, the informed reader will ask, why didn't he set up a marriage with some nobleman's daughter, instead of doing something that would have, IRL, made him a social outcast and a lunatic almost on par with Caligula?

Because, dear reader, that would make sense! And that is one thing in short supply in this ridiculous book.

After Atticus is bought by O., the book then grinds to a halt, describing every detail in O's day. (In fact, the book should have been called "The Story of O," but that title was already taken.) O. goes to the barbershop. He gets dressed. He meets his clients. He throws a dinner party. He goes on vacation. He goes to the baths. He exercises, gets massaged, and even gets daily hair pluckings- and all the while we are told how hot O. is for a middle-aged guy. For example:

While Atticus stood by, in case his master required anything, Lucius closed his eyes and succumbed to the kneading, knowing fingers of the masseuse, who poured scented oil from a little pitcher she kept by her side onto Lucius' dark-skinned, muscular body. It was the only time Lucius Opimius truly relaxed. As she worked her magic Master Lucius purred like a kitten.

As a final touch Lucius, who could not tolerate any body hair on his person whatsoever, had his daily appointment with one of the expert depilators. She investigated every pore of his body to make sure there were no newly emergent hairs just surfacing, and if there were, she removed them forthwith.

You know, it was hard for me to remember as I was reading this, that the person who wrote this was a guy. It really sounds like it was written by a slash-writing high school girl totally in love with this character. And let's not forget that Atticus the immortal kid is watching all of this. It reminds me of those hilarious lines from "Airplane": "Joey, do you like movies about gladiators? Joey, have you ever been in a Turkish prison?"

Anyway, somewhere in all of this, there is a bad guy, who is a big fat perv who kills his slaves and wears makeup, and Atticus spies on him at one point. Big Fat Perv also may be carrying on with O's wife, Miss Random- which I guess means that you shouldn't pick out your wife in the slave market- but this isn't developed, as it's dropped as soon as it's introduced. Big Fat Perv is also conspiring against the nameless Emperor, but it doesn't take a lot of effort to stop him. This is how it is described in the book:

There had been a long-planned and well-concealed conspiracy. The object of the plot was to assassinate the Emperor and take over the government.

The Emperor had been aware of the plans since their inception and had subtly and secretly prepared for it.

The attempt failed utterly. The Emperor and his inner circle acted swiftly, surgically and unmercifully.

Big Fat Perv is then torn to pieces by his long suffering slaves, who present the head to the Emperor... presumably forgetting that such an action would have gotten them all crucified. Did I mention Spartacus' rebellion- that is, the rebellion as seen in the Kirk Douglas movie- is described in painstaking detail earlier? Since there's such an emphasis on slave punishment, that seems a stupid thing for the author to forget, but I'm pretty sure the author was drunk/high/or on crack while he was writing this.

After the death of Big Fat Perv and the exile of Miss Random, Atticus is taken to the games. You have a lot of generic description of arena stuff, before Atticus finds out that ZOMG his dad is a gladiator!!! But at the end, O. turns up his thumb and saves his dad's life!

So, yes, O. is awesome. Then he's killed. Yes, it's as abrupt as that:

There had been rumors again, and Lucius wondered if there would ever be a time when Rome was free from her enemies within. He had taken extraordinary precautions, even having all of his food cooked only by his longtime loyal chef. But somehow he was poisoned- the soup was supposed to be laced with lethal leek juice. This was confirmed when his heart failed to burn on the funeral pyre, clearly indicating the use of poison.

Most believed it was an inside job- Lucius was too vigilant for it to be otherwise. The coincidental disappearance of the physician Cassius Macedo, and the rumors that money had bought him heart and soul, pointed to him as the culprit.

The Emperor, grief etched on his face, seemed to have aged in a matter of hours. Miraculously he somehow managed to conduct the affairs of state with his ever steady hand. He publicly warned those responsible for the murder of his dearest friend that he would not rest until they were found. Privately he warned those loyal to him to be on their guard.

All I can say to that is... wow. This makes "The Eye of Argon"look like a masterpiece of plotting, dialogue and description. Even most bad fanfic I've seen on fanfiction.net is better than this. We've been reading about this guy for 150 pages, and there's no death scene? No final farewell between O. and our boy Atticus? What the fuck?

Anyway, Atticus and his dad decide to go to Greece. The End.

This book pisses me off some, because really- the idea of a series about kids in ancient times is a cool one. But it was completely wasted. It only lasted three entries- and given the quality of writing, I'm not surprised it didn't do well.

Too bad.

I had a crappy day yesterday. It started on Monday: minutes after I submitted my resume for a children's art teaching position, I was called up by S.W. from a company called "KidsArt Fine Art Classes" requesting an interview. I was thrilled, and went to the interview; then it started to get a bit weird. Saying she wanted to "get to know me," S.W. began asking all sorts of questions, like (I'm paraphrasing here) "What was a decision you made that you feel most altered the life of the person you made the decision for?" At one point, she asked where my parents were; when I said they were deceased, she started asking, how did they die? When did they die? What did I do, and who took care of me? Like a fool, I answered- I was trying to be charming and candid- although part of me wondered why she was being so intrusive. Other than this weirdness, I thought it went well; at the end, she asked me to come back to observe a class. I said I'd love to, and she replied after I attended the class, we would take things from there. I thought that was a good sign, so I went away pleased.

But, lo and behold! When I arrived home, there was an email in my inbox from this same woman, S.W., telling me that there was no need to come to the class, and that they would look elsewhere for a teacher. It was phrased as sweetly as possible, but it was basically a big kiss off. Considering that this was written only half an hour after an interview crammed with the most personal questions possible, I was insulted. What a mind fuck! How crass and unprofessional is that? Was she such a coward that she couldn't tell me to my face that I wasn't what she was looking for? And this woman and her husband run the company! I spent yesterday seething, while a few friends told me I was better off not working for these people, if they were going to treat someone who wasn't even working for them yet that badly.

Now it's back to the drawing board, in terms of looking for work. However, I wanted to share this lovely experience with you all. Isn't life in Los Angeles wonderful?

On the bright side, my previous entry, "Toga pr0n" has been linked by the amazing Smart Bitches of the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blog. I love you, Sarah and Candy! (Side note: I am currently working on an illustration job for them, for their upcoming book from Simon & Schuster.) I keep telling myself there are awesome people out there, even though of course there's lots of flakes and assholes. But there's such a thing as karma, right?

I've been getting back into ancient Roman stuff lately, as a friend of mine (who used to write for La Femme Nikita- w00t!) has been encouraging me to write this novel about Cicero and Clodia, an idea I've been discussing for a while (more information here). It's been a bit hard, since I'm trying to avoid a Certain TV Show- One Which Shall Remain Unnamed- since I dislike it intensely, for various reasons I don't want to get into in this post. However, with much valiant effort I have been able to resuscitate my interest in Roman crap, which was the love of my life when I was in high school.

And so I'd like to share a few examples of a genre which I call "toga porn," which I read by the truckload when I was 15.

( Click for togas )