I know the title seems dull enough to strike a stick of butter and leave it uncleaved. I am resisting the urge to title it with a cheap pun or two.
PART I: ARMOUR
And, for anyone not keeping track, yes I do switch between the American and British spellings of 'armour'.
After literally months of waiting for parts and mechanical work I have finally made operational a set of Beverly Shears, purchased used (and very neglected) from the Bay of E. If you know not, Beverly Shears are manual sheet-metal cutting impements that look a bit like an impressionist guillotine, but friendlier.
This may not seem like the most exciting thing in the world, but after making two complete armour pieces by cutting the forms out of sheet metal using a hammer and chisel, a person can begin to appreciate the convenience. With the Beverlys ("Beverlies"?) I can cut what would take me a number of hours in as many minutes. Further, the jagged band-saw edge I make with a chisle requires a power sander, followed by careful sandpaper treatment, to make safe to handle. The much cleaner Beverly cut only requires some time with a file. All told, I can turn out an armor piece in a couple days rather than as many weeks.
I jest not when I say I am so fond of this thing that, if I had a digital camera, I would post a photo of it.
Thus, my first choice for naming this bog entry was "shear joy".
Having read that, canst thou guess what I have been doing with my time since the shears became operational? If, good sir, your guess was 'making armor', your guess would be correct. Unfortunately, no points are awarded for correct response as the question was fairly obvious.
While waiting (since December) for the shears to get serviced I have passed the time building up armor patterns, and now have been trying to work them in steel. (I hope to sell pieces in stainless for its better maintenance characteristics, but stainess is much harder to work with, and I need to prototype several designs in mild, first to perfect the patterns by seeing what doesn't work and second to gain experinece in working steel.) I've already made a set of articulated sabatons and riveted them to my greaves (if you don't know, sabatons are foot armor and greaves shin armor). The sabatons are crude and square, and also far too big for my feet. I could not sell something so homely and cumbersome. They look like clown shoes (well, clown combat boots) made from scrap pieces of guttering. Rather than bemoaning my lack of perfection I view this as a learning experience. (They do work; they just don't look like much.)
My second choice for naming this bog entry: "don't greave for me".
My current project is to create a gorget (neck armor). It was all simple and going well until I needed to flare out an edge on a curved plate. (I know that makes little sense to ehar described rather than to see. Think making an L where the vertical bit is curved.) I know this can be done. I have started to do it myself. I know it can be done without a buying propane torch. Somehow.
As far as I am into this, I think I can break down into stages what needs to be done.
1. (done) roll the top edge so the poor soul who wears this thing won't have sheet-metal-edge cutting into his throat. It now looks like a flat peice of steel with a rolled edge, which is what it is.
2. (done) Shape the piece so it matches edges with what I want it to connect to. It now looks like an incomplete piece of armour. And that's what it is. Interesting, no?
3. (done) Hammer out some sort of flare in the bottom that I can rivet to the lower piece. It now looks like it had a bad date with an angry lawnmower.
4. (in progress) Hammer out the mangled piece of metal that once was an armor piece, until it looks again like an armor piece, sort of. It now looks like a piece of armor, sor ot. More like a patient at the medical ward of a battered armor plates' sheter. But I've amost lost the blasted fold.
5. (getting there) Hammer out the flare. Again.
Repeats steps 4 and 5 as necessary.
Possible ending 1. By some miracle it falls into shape.
Possible ending 2. The whole bloody thing falls apart. Cut it out again and start with step 1.
Possibe ending 3. Break down and clear out my savings account to buy frakking propane torch.
So, now you know why I need more experience in metal-working before moving to stainless.
Fortunately, I have some patterns in mind for things that won't require a lot of intricate work. (Some ideas of mine should be child's play.) Once I get a few of those built (just to make sure) I hope to apply to be a vendor at the spring Great Plains Renfest. I'm a bit nervous about this as I'm afriad that if I wait lone enough to make sure I'l have something viable to sell, then by that time all the vendor slots will be full.
The alternative of course is to fill out the application now, and run some risk that things will fall apart on me and I'll have nothing to sell. The former course of action means I could lose my spot and get no money, and with the latter my risk is not delivering on my word. I'd rather be poor than dishonest. There's no loss of honor in being broke.
PART II: WRITING
Something else interesting has happened.
Let there be background information. I forget if I've mentioned this, but I have two complete manuscripts. One is an alternate world renaissance era and the other urban fantasy with religious themes. I call them 'go away presents' because every time I give one to a person, that person drops off the edge of the planet. (The first person who volunteered to edit them, the one published author I know, I have not seen in well over a year now.)
Just the other day I finally got one of them back, from the third person I gave a copy to. (That would be the urban/religious one.) Is the curse broken or is it too soon to call?
The editing notes I recieved are rather sparse for having waited this long. (I was hoping for more literary feedback; what I got was largely grammatical.) Apparently I have a hard time staying in the past tense. Also, some of my favorite sentences got flagged as choppy where I quite enjoyed breaking up the usual flow into something more staccatto. (I thought it punctuated the moment.) In the end, I did make the changes. What point is there in having an editor if I won't listen to her?
Right now I've been looking at publishers (a process slowed by unreliable internet access). I haven't sent off queries to any yet, but plan on doing so soon. One publisher I looked at actually asks writers to have a website and a blog. Why? Is a blog not among the most base forms of writing there is, wherein words go straight from my fingers to your face without so much as a hint of editing for grammar, spelling, or content? I suppose they want to get a feel of the author's writing talent in its raw form, so they can see what they're getting into should they accept a manuscript for professional editing.
Yes, I end sentences with prepositions! I admit it. Also, not having a spell checker on this blog suks.
...And the question of the day (at least for me): "What do I do now?"
The chapter officially closed with the 2008 awards party. Congratulations to all who won something. (For once a lot of the winners were people I voted for.) As it happened I got 'best costume, male non-court'. Of course, since prior to that point I hdn't won anything, my mind blanked and the only thing that came out was "What do I do now?". Eventually I was directed to the podium and all was well.
Afterward sevreal people told me I richly deserved it for wearing that armor all day and marching in parade with it. It surprised me more than a little as I wore almost the same armor last year (again marching in parade and whatnot) and wasn't among the finalists. But then, last year I didn't have the closed helm, or (this is the important part) the embroidered velvet cloak. The thought also occurs to me that it's somewhat of a popularity contest, and in that regard I probably hadn't done as well thanks to having been dragged into some backstage drama that this year I didn't have to deal with. In any case, it was a fine way to close this year. And the t-shirt I got was too good. "Dragons fear me." (They even got the right size.)
And afterward there was dancing. I would have been content to hover around the dessert bar (even if it has only been three weeks since Haloween; I'm poor and free food is good.) As I said to one of the living history guides, I'm a professional wallflower -- I wish. If I got paid for it I'd be rich by now. But I did get unwillingly dragged onto the dance floor. Mind you, me dancing is like a zombie trying to train a fish to ride a motorcycle. True, learning to dance is on my life's to-do list, but it's not very high on the list. Learning Kaqchical Mayan language is higher. (Why Kaqchical? Because, last I checked, KU offered a class in such.) So, for the time being, all I could do was ask the question of the day: What do I do now? By the end of it I felt like a trained monkey, but without the training.
Even counting in the unavoidable awkward moments, it was a fine way to close the season. And now I look back into my life in the regular world and ask myself... you know.
As I have stated previously, or scenario this year was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', and in it there were certain appointed moments where the fae would freeze us mortal characters in place for an extended time. When that did occur at opening gate on Saturday I came to believe that our good jousing company had not gotten the memo. Of course we were frozen in mid-reverence (it would not do to make us hold a less awkward position) and not terribly long into it one of the squires tried to inform me that I was holding mine arm where the horses needed to walk. I am not one to argue with a moving horse, armour-clad or not, but staying in character meant staying still. So I held my ground, resolved to find an excuse to move the moment the freeze moment had elapsed. The squire asked a second time, and for the tird time put an arm on my shoulder. Not wishing to be obstinant, I bent over as if the small pressure he exerted were enough to move me, pivoting sideways so the obstructing arm was straight up my torso was pointing left about as far as is humanly possible, for this human, to bend. The horses passed without incident and all was well until it began to dawn on me that whatever time is left before we un-freeze will be far too much for me to hold this position. I gave it my best bud did eventually find myself doing a shoulder-plant into the ground. Incidentally, armour is quite good for absorbing those sorts of things. A few kind patrons did offer to help me stand, but of course being frozen limits mine ability to respond to... nothing.
So why, you ask, am I only now writing of things that appened more than a month ago? So I would have something to do for the one month anniversary. (I jest. Poorly.) 'Tis for the latter of my tales, which I had to convey in images as a picture is worth 1,462.23 words, and I did await the availability of such a picture as 'twould be far more dull to write out so many words, and quite difficult to get the last .23 of a word to make sense.
In 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' there is a play, Pyramus and Thisbee (please pardon my spelling). In that play, one character is a lion. That in mind, in the evening I did set out to find the gypsy playing the lion, still in costume, and further seek the company of one of our beggers, a peasant lass clad in blue, and her little dog, too. You see, we were questing for a wizard.
SEVENTH WEEKEND (Oct 11, 12 + 13)
Every once in a while the last weekend doth fall on Columbus Day weekend, (when usually 'tis the day after). Columbus Day is the dreaded day wherein children of all ages (but mostly the ones old enough to be obnoxious swarm the fairegrounds. There are many a horror story from this day in years past of ill-met teenagers causing trouble for performers. We tend to approach this day with apprehension.
That morning at front gate as I set out to mingle in the crowd and spoke with young folk who did seem genuinely interested to gfive greetings the thought did enter my mind that this year it would not be so bad. And as it happened, that thought was correct. Most of the morning I did spend doing my statue routine (where, if the good reader doth recall, I lower my visor and hold still, inducing passing patrons to believe me to be inanimate until I move), to great success. The crowds were thick and 'twas true that some did make nusances of themselves trying to get me to lapse, the reactions I got were more than enough to make it worthwhile. With remarkable reliability I got groups to jump and scatter like flocks of birds. True there were problems (as one group took to throwing small rocks, not that they were likely to hurt me but still quite rude), but all in all a splendid day. By the time I reported for the noonday parade I was of the belief that this was my best faire day yet. As always the crowds disappeared around 3:00, leaving the lanes of Canterbury clear of all but patrons and a few hardcore patrons (some of our favorites). When it came time for Chess Match (3:30) we had such a light audience I took it upon myself to go hawk it on a nearby bridge, and had to snag crowds from another show that had just finished (being very careful to only talk to people who had already passed the hat, of course).
Of course on the last day, 'tis a tradition for last day antics (oft the sort of thing you want to doo all season but are afraid of getting fired for). I had one, and 'twas not the sort that I think the management would have frowned upon. During Chess Match I am scripted at one point to make an appearance (after having been blinded and charged through an archery range) covered in arrows sticking out in all directions. We were running low on prop arrows by that point in the festival, and so I made an appearance with only one, right in the groin. Rather than growling and charging as normal I staggered in and whined incoherently at the top of my lungs. I saw not the reactions as I was quite absorbed in trying to whine loudly enough for the audience to hear (and worried about keeping on cues), but I am told I got a universal sympathetic wince from the men in the crowd and laughs from the women.
The afternoon was one of the best time I've had at faire, sitting on a bridge overlooking a stream. I spread the cloak (we had some light rain; good English weather) and bothered patrons with umbrellas as they walked by. ("Why do you have a device to keep the rain off? You are not the one rusting as we speak.") I felt as if I might have been neglecting my work as a performer, as the crowds were a bit thin, but there was nowhere to go where I would find a crowd thick enough to interact constantly. And Good Gods, it was beautiful to watch the yellow autumn leaves fall into the stream with the wind. (We are blessed with a verdant festival site. I love it.) This picture doesn't do it justice, but it's the best I have.
At that moment there was nowhere I would have rather been than there, and nothing I would have rather been doing.
OTHER THINGS
The weekend after that was the first time I did attend a renaissance festival other than KCRF (spare Jefferson City which in the past we had been required to attend as part of rehersals). I took a day trip to Wichita, in teh company of a few KCRF veterans who know the landscape there better, to see the one-weekend only faire there (which apparently is semi-annual). 'Twas interesting to see how many faces I did recognize. I've little to say spare that 'twas a pleasant little faire, and I am right glad I left the armour behind as their grounds have a dearth of shade. (I believe I have mentioned previously that sunlight and sheet steel mix not well.) The people of the Wichita faire were remarkably hospitable and I think they did quite well for having no real infrastructure or permanent site. (I believe their faire is put on by the local SCA.) I also picked up a charming little belt purse with a brass oak leaf design, betwist that and my cloak clasps I think I am creating an oak leaf motif for this costume, or 'oak leaf and white rose' (which would make sense to the reader if I could find an image of my cloak, seen from behind).
The single noteworthy item of the week after that was an automotive failure that had me waking home from work. It's about a 20-something mile trip. I had done it once before. It's a darn good thing I keep a walking stick in the car for just such an occasion. Well, this time I found out two things. First, walking on the side of highway K-7 is illegal. And second, you don't need to be on wheels to get pulled over. Fortunately the cops I dealt with (both of them, one in Shawnee and one in Lansing) seemed decent enough. I ended up getting rides that way that saved me about half a trip in walking. (Only ten miles; oh joy!)
POLITICS
One thing I have to say about John McCain: I've been old enough to vote in three presidential elections now, and (based largely on what I've heard on NPR) this is the first time I can remember having so much respect for the candidate I voted against. (I won't bore you with all my reasons.) Let us hope that Obama lives up to those expectations, which wil be difficult as said expectations seem to be quite high.
And on a side note, the bill I mentioned in my last entry, last I heard, has been tabled and seems unlikely to be raised again.
The last two weeks of faire have seen sunlight and large crowds. And large crowds offer an opportunity I've had not in the past, for with visor lowered I've not an inch of skin exposed on my person, and if I hold still long enough I may be believed by the casual observer to be a statue, especially if I've a stump to lean against to facilitate the need to remain still for prolonged periods. (Sitting on a bench convinces not as well.) When crowds are light a patron may pass without notice, but when traffic is heavy, sooner or later one among them shall slow to investigate my falsity or reality, and draw others in as well. From there 'tis merely a matter of waiting for the right moment to move (and my preferred debut movement being a reverence or nod to a child dressed as a noble approaching for a portrait). Once I waited too long and, reminaing still with arms crossed, had a wee babe placed in those arms for a portrait. Mayhap my favorite are the parents (often a bit deep in their cups) that will go to extraordianry lengths to convince their children that the armoured knight before them is a statue, even after the child knows otherwise. These seem to draw the best crowds of curious spectators, and I have even spurred applause for it.
The statue routine has suted me well these past weeks as I've had a bit of trouble with mine ankle. It did fail Saturday afternoon (the 20th) for no apparent reason and remained most vexing until I had it wrapped the following morning. Even then 'twas alightly bothersome, and marching parade on it was an adventure. Throughout the week it did bother me a bit and on the following Saturday did give me some small bit fo trouble just before and during parade, despite a preventative wrap. This Sunday was the first in a week I did march a parade on an ankle that pained me not.
That mine ankle was well on Sunday (the 28th) did allow for what may be my most noted act to date. To describe it I must first give a bit of background. This year, Kansas City Renaissance Festival's scenario is a retelling of A Midsummer Night's Dream (for which I was greatly tempted to name this character Sir Julian Midsummer). The fae are of course invisible to the rest of us, but can touch things, leaving us mere mortals to wonder why some random object is 'floating'. Usually when this happens around me I act perplexed but go not far our of my way; 'tis difficult to be animate in 80+ lb. armour. Also there are three points in the scenario (one at opening gate and two near closing) where, using a gong as a cue, they freeze the entire village in time spare a few select people.
It should also be noted that Sir Julian is intensely proud of being a Yorkshireman, one of the White Rose, and that at this time (Henry VIII's England) the last of the Wars of the Roses (Betwixt the Yorkists and the Red Rose Lancashirists) was recent enough to be in living memory of some of the elder generation. This is not a character that is easily frightened, but I had decided early in the season that if there is one thing that would scare this character to within an inch of his life, 'twould be a faerie holding a red rose, as he would of course assume the 'hovering' rose to be an apparition of a deceased Lanashirist come to take revenge from beyond the grave. And I mentioned not to any of the fae, or any other actors at faire, that I would react thusly.
So as it happened, one of the fae was holding a Guess What during the scene immediately preceeding closing gate. I kept one eye on that thing, thinking I wished not to interrupt the scene, so I would not react to it until it got close and pass this off as simply not noticing. The scene played on for a good while with me waiting to see if the haunted rose would pass near. Finally, just before the final gong-freeze, the fae made their exit and paraded right in front of me, one in particular. Allowing myself only a moment to show perplexion and investigate ('No strings nor wires holding it up'), Sir Julian screamed and fled at a full run for fear of not only his life but immortal soul.
Now most people don't seem to understand that I can run in full armour; I certainly do it not often. Also it causes quite a din when I do. Apparently my mad dash was so distracting that Puck hiccupped on his cue with the gong, and several other performers found themselves frozen with odd expressions as they stared at me in my plight and bewildered as to the reason. As for myself, when the gong sounded I was already far enough away that 'twas not loud, so it could not have possibly been heard o'er the noise of the armour. (I knew the gong would be coming soon and had hoped that the King would improvise some comment to delay the gong enough for me to get out of sight. Such did not happen.) Not hearing the cue, I froze not (which likely is a good thing as I may have had to 'freeze' by doing a faceplant into the ground, and possibly damaging a very expensiove cloak in the process). I explain this by saying that a fright that great is something that could overpower even a faerie enchantment.
'Tis my thought on the matter that if I did cause Puck to miss a cue, from the roof, then mine effort was wasted not.
When wearing full armour (with the notable inclusion of a greathelm) simple food items may become anything from an adventure to a vexation. Nary a thing seemeth to embody this principle more than that hallmark of autumn fruit; the common apple. It has been suggested that I make a skit of eating one, so entertaining it doth seem to be, as I strain to reach mine own mouth with impared articulation, and moreover getting a good bite requires a fair degree of wiggling within the helm that seemeth to slide everything out of place; the helm, chain coif, and my face. (For those of you of a Christian persuasion, ponder this: If Adam had but worn plate, then there would likely be no original sin.)
Recently mine attempt to conquer this forbidden fruit was captured on film by one of our resident photographers, whose name doth elude me at the moment. (I've misplaced his card.) Mine apologies for the poor scan as the photograph did spend all day at the bottom of my purse.
AND NOW FOR YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED UPDATES
Faire:
A fine week indeed as the weather again was agreeable, although Saturday the vague threat of rain somehow scared the administration into deciding that the royal court's costumes were at particular risk (e'en though we have weathered far worse, and man a time), so as I donned my new cloak for the first time (not the one seen above), the court was hastily made to dress as gypsies and, apart from one fop, I became the only (appropriately clad) noble in Canterbury. Much has been said amongst the cast about the decision to go gypsy, most of it negative, and I'll bore ye not with more recitation of the same.
I did enjoy the week from a less familiar perspective as I found myself camping on site from Thursday through Sunday due to vehicle problems. (See previous entry for reason.) Apart from getting naught but two hours of sleep Friday night due to a leaking tent amidst the tornado warning, and the tribulation of lacking the foresight to pack a second (dry) pair of socks for the weekend, I was quite surprised at how feasable the endeavour was.
Normal life:
I forget how I came to this conclusion (I know it made sense at the time), but it seems to me like Obama's a cult of personality as much as a political candidate. (Disclaimer: This observation should not be construed as an endorsement for McCain.) I've looked over both their campaign websites and it's hard to filter out actual policy from optimistic "this is the best thing" rhetoric, but from what I can tell, and what I've heard the analysts say on NPR, I'm pretty sure I know whom I'm voting for.
Hair update: eyebrows are a go.
I have enough cranial fuzz now that it's just started to get caught in the chain maille as I doffed it. I think that's the official definition for 'having hair again'.
