Auntie Deborah's Agony Column (The Best of...)

Back in 2015, I had fun playing around with an advice column for my favorite characters. I hope you'll enjoy these "Best of..." entries from that column.


Dear Auntie,

After way too many experiences dating angsty, unemployed vampires, I finally met a nice, soft-spoken, polite man. He even has a fairly normal name, Norman. He even has a job, working at a motel. Things were going very well when I realized something was a little “off.” I wonder if that’s my own projection from my past romantic relationships. How do I know what’s normal? Anyway, he’s invited me to meet his mother. What should I bring?

— Buffy

Dear Buffy,

You are wise to trust your instincts, for they have served you well through many perils. All too often, women are trained to ignore otheirgut feelings about a person or situation. We allow ourselves to be persuaded into dangerous circumstances instead of standing up for ourselves. Norman may be what he seems, but he may harbor a darker side that your intuition is warning you about.

My advice is to come prepared for anything. Never mind flowers or a bottle of wine! Bring your slayer arsenal — stakes, spears, swords, the works — and keep your wits about you. Make sure you have an exit strategy if things go sour. And whatever you do, do not get into the shower.

— Auntie Deborah

Dear Auntie Deborah,

I’ve suddenly found myself in a land of many colors, where troubles melt like lemon drops. My problem, though, is that this green-faced woman keeps sky-writing love letters to me…for everybody to see! I don’t return her affections, so what should I do?

—Dorothy

Dear Dorothy,
You’ve clearly ended up in a slash version of your own book. My advice is to click your heels like crazy before the flying monkeys get any ideas.

—Auntie Deborah

This last entry contains references to the works of J. K. Rowling. It's behind a page break. Like the others, it is from 2015. Please take it in the playful spirit in which it was originally written.

Dear Auntie Deb,

[Archives] Deborah Responds to Ads Aimed at Men

Still relevant, although this blog post dates from 2015.

For various reasons, mostly having to do with the fact that my husband never flies anywhere, he now has a free subscription to a magazine aimed primarily at a male readership. Out of curiosity, I flipped through it. And was suitably amused and horrified. Come with me on an adventure in befuddlement…

Cover: Hmmm, interesting. Think I’ll check it out.

Inside cover. This cloud turns gamers into Titans. I’m anti-interested in “massive universe” games.

This ad for an airline offers drinks on the house (image of man’s hand holding airline-plastic cup of beer). Drinking at altitude is such a colossally bad thing for your hydration, this airline is evil.

Table of contents: Ooh, a person I want to read about.

Ad for men’s eyeglass frames. What were you smoking to think these might make a man look even remotely attractive?

A cancer hospital’s goal is…wait for it…curing cancer.

This ultra-modern watch is ahead of its time. And its face is also unreadable, especially at a quick glance. It’s analog but has no second hand. Why bother?

I think this ad is for a tablet, but I’m not sure. It could be the thing that holds a tablet. The company is marketing to folks who already want their product.

Short Book Reviews: Definitely Not "The Princess Bride"

Kill the Farm Boy, by Kevine Hearne and Delilah S. Dawson, Del Rey

These days I’m on a Kevin Hearne reading spree (see my reviews of A Plague of Giants and The Squirrel on the Train) so I dove into Kill the Farm Boy, discovering to my delight that Hearne’s co-author, Delilah S. Dawson, is none other than another of my recent favorites, as Lila Bowen author of the excellent “The Shadow” series. Delight rapidly gave way to hilarity as this story unfolded, tackling one fantasy trope after another, turning them on their heads and planting petunias between their toes.

The titular farm boy is Worstley, younger brother of Bestley, who had been stabbed in the heart by Lord Ergot (if you don’t know what ergot is, pause now and look it up) for being too handsome. When a malicious pixie named Staph (aureus?) casts a spell to change Worstley into the Chosen One (and gives Gustave the goat the ability to speak, which he does in smart-ass style), it does not set well with The Dark Lord Toby (whose most powerful spell causes baked goods to rain from the sky). Opposing The Dark Lord Toby’s nefarious, yeastly plans are Fia, a 7-foot tall barbarian warrior, and her sweetheart, Argabella, a woman enchanted to be a half-rabbit, who incidentally is the world’s worst bard:

She … sang an improvised song of obfuscation:

We are not food
No sir Mister Monster
We taste super bad
Oh gods we are not food
Really really really
You gotta believe me

It’s hard to beat that.

The silliness isn’t restricted to spooks of characters from pose, verse, and film (although familiarity with J. R. R. Tolkien, Lewis Carroll, The Princess Bride, The Wizard of Oz, Grimm’s fairytales, Conan the Barbarian, and Norse mythology, to name a few, enhances the humor).

I found that I couldn’t read too many chapters at a sitting, but the play of tropes, not to mention the puns, kept me coming back for another fun visit to the Lands of Pell.

[poetry] Jim C. Hines rhapsodizes the Hugo Awards

From Jim C. Hines's excellent LJ comes this reflection on this year's Hugo Awards kerfuffle. Enjoy!

Three Hugos for Mil-SF and their space marines;
Seven for the grimdark-lords in their halls of blood;
Nine for mortal fans doomed to blog;
One for Neil Gaiman on his dark throne
In the Land of Worldcon where the Shadows lie.

Guest Post: Elizabeth Moon's "Chainsaw of Correction"

The Chainsaw of Correction Is Being Applied to Scenes of Great
Beauty and No Particular Utility.

There was snarling from the Chainsaw
And weeping from the words
As whole paragraphs broke open
and stray letters flew like birds.
There was savagery and violence
beneath the Chainsaw's roar
And the velvet curtains shredded
In a whirlwind of rose gore.

For the Writer had decreed
from her throne and keyboard fine,
"There has got to be some cutting!
I must draw a thick black line!
Though this character is charming
Though her face is very fair
She must earn her place in this book
Or I'll yank her out of there!"

"But" the fair-faced character pleaded
"I'm a queen, you know that well!
I am gracious, I am stately
And I fight so very well."
"Then advance the plot," cried Writer
As the Chainsaw snarled its song,
"Or like all this other rubbish
You'll be gone by midnight's gong."

Though it's vivid, no description
Can escape the Chainsaw's bite
Without being more plot-relevant
Than a tourist's pretty sight.
Conversations too are falling
One by one and two by two
And as branches crash around them
Story's real road comes in view.

Weighty ponderings of nobles,
Clever backchat from a child,
Long and boring dissertations:
Their death sentences are filed.
Does it matter who dismounted first?
Not a bit...then cut it out.
Does it matter what they ate for lunch
or what they talked about?

Ever onward through the undergrowth
The Chainsaw snarls its way...
(But writing verse will not get done
What must be done today.)

Elizabeth Moon, a Texas native, is a Marine Corps veteran with degrees in history and biology. She began writing stories in childhood but did not make her first fiction sale until age forty. She has published twenty-three novels, including Nebula Award winner The Speed of Dark, three short-fiction collections including Moon Flights in 2007, and over thirty short-fiction pieces in anthologies and magazines. Her latest book is Kings of the North (second book of Paladin's Legacy) a return to the world of The Deed of Paksenarrion, and the third in that group, Crisis of Vison, is due out in 2012.  The first book of Paladin's Legacy, Oath of Fealty, is now in paperback also.
In non-writing hours, she enjoys nature photography, gardening, cooking, Renaissance style fencing, messing about with horses, and music, including singing in a church choir. And wasting time online, of course...

Auntie Deborah Advises…Dating Advice

 Dear Auntie,

After way too many experiences dating angsty, unemployed vampires, I finally met a nice, soft-spoken, polite man. He even has a fairly normal name, Norman. He even has a job, working at a motel. Things were going very well when I realized something was a little “off.” I wonder if that’s my own projection from my past romantic relationships. How do I know what’s normal? Anyway, he’s invited me to meet his mother. What should I bring?

— Buffy

Dear Buffy,

You are wise to trust your instincts, for they have served you well through many perils. All too often, women are trained to ignore our gut feelings about a person or situation.  We allow ourselves to be persuaded into dangerous circumstances instead of standing up for ourselves. Norman may be what he seems, but he may harbor a darker side that your intuition is warning you about.

My advice is to come prepared for anything. Never mind flowers or a bottle of wine! Bring your slayer arsenal — stakes, spears, swords, the works — and keep your wits about you. Make sure you have an exit strategy if things go sour. And whatever you do, do not get into the shower.

— Auntie Deborah

Auntie Deborah Advises…Concerning Flying Objects

Dear Auntie Deborah,

I’ve suddenly found myself in a land of many colors, where troubles melt like lemon drops. My problem, though, is that this green-faced woman keeps sky-writing love letters to me…for everybody to see! I don’t return her affections, so what should I do?

—Dorothy

Dear Dorothy,

You’ve clearly ended up in a slash version of your own book. My advice is to click your heels like crazy before the flying monkeys get any ideas.

—Auntie Deborah

Auntie Deborah Advises…Regarding Pesky Elves

Dear Auntie Deb,

My companions and I are on a desperate mission to save Middle Earth by throwing the One Ring into the fires of Mt. Doom. Our message to the eagles, imploring them to carry us thither, has gone unanswered. Now a misshapen, gangrel creature seems bent on blocking my every move. He insists that “Frodo Baggins must not go to Mordor!” He calls himself an elf, although he bears not the slightest semblance to them. Why have the eagles failed us and what should I do about the creature?

— Frodo

Dear Frodo,

Your creature, Dobby, is a House Elf, quite a different breed from the folk of Lothlorien and the Woodland Realm. Clearly, he suffers from Periodic Saving The Hero Disorder (PSTHD). As a result, he has acquired considerable experience in intercepting missives to helpful fowl, so it is entirely likely that the eagles never received your message. Reasoning with him will do no good, and you have no power to compel him. The only person who can do that is his master, Lucius Malfoy. As you may have suspected from Malfoy’s long, straight, white-blond hair, he is distantly related to the elves you know, although of greatly reduced circumstances, power, and nobility. My advice is to ask Legolas to have a word with Malfoy on the subject of keeping his House Elf in the proper book. You could swear never to go to Hogwarts, but I really think Legolas is your best bet.

— Auntie Deborah