Housekeeping Vol. 7

Occasionally, I ask myself who I have more irrational hatred for: L*b*n J*m*s or T*m Br*dy. This week? It’s definitely T*m Br*dy.

Just when I think it’s over. While the Lakers experiment fails spectacularly and that 45-year-old cyborg finally decides to go home to his supermodel wife and children…


With that perfectly sane commentary out of the way…

Maybe you’ve noticed, but being off Instagram has tremendously upped my photo game. I credit spending more time on VSCO and following a couple of photography blogs here. I’ve been grinning at my Sunday Seen & Heard photos all week. Especially this one.

The vibes. The artistry.

Posting over here may slow a little bit as I’m writing my next longform ASOIAF (A Song of Ice and Fire) fanfic.

I’m working on a Tyrion POV and no family in A Song of Ice and Fire translates better in the modern world than the Lannisters. It helps that the actors who played them on Game of Thrones have such distinct voices, they’re easy to write. I’ll share a sample:

“You have to know this is a waste of time.” 

Tyrion Lannister peers over his glasses to find his brother’s frame filling the door to his office. Bloody bastard. Even as a 50something bachelor with a prosthetic arm and no ambition to speak of outside the military, he still pulls off “handsome cad,” walking into rooms as if he owns them.  

Stunning, really. Perhaps he too, would wield Lannister arrogance with such ease were he two feet taller. 

“And hello to you, too, Big Brother. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Jaime folds his body into one of the cushioned chairs in front of the desk. He even moves like a lazy lion, entitlement in every muscle as he rests his good arm over the back of the chair. 

“I, too, am wasting my time. Father asked me to join he and Kevan for a round of golf with some Riverlands businessmen. He seems to think he can secure their votes.” 

Yes. He’s heard Father’s brilliant strategy of working his way through the business communities of the Riverlands and Vale to keep the more popular politicians in their regions out of the race. To what degree that will get Dull Uncle Kevan elected Prime Minister… 


A friend recently asked — after I gave an impassioned description of the detailed worldbuilding I do for this universe — if I considered tweaking some of it to make it “a real [original] story.” And…no. Part of the fun is figuring out how to turn a medieval fantasy epic into a modern soap-style drama (not as hard as you’d think, George RR Martin throws a lot of melodrama in with his politics and dragons). I just wish there was greater appreciation for doing things that bring us joy without needing to make it “more.”

I’ll say that next time someone asks. “No, I haven’t. That doesn’t sound fun. This is.”

I don’t have much else. It’s a light week and 75% of my brain is in modern-day Westeros. I shall return for Sunday Seen & Heard.

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a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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