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kandlewick · 9 months ago

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In the Queendom of Roses, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. gn reader x rook, a howl's moving castle au pt. 1 2

You, being born the eldest of three, always knew you wouldn't make it far in life. It was to be expected after all. You were fated to fail first and worst out of your siblings. When your siblings both were able to conjure magic from a young age, you could hardly blow a breeze. It would have been embarrassing if you hadn't already humbled yourself as a child. Of course you weren't anything special. The world needed normal, ordinary people too after all. So what if you weren't able to attend fancy colleges and gain the attention of the headmage Ambrose like your sibling had. There was nothing for you to be jealous of because you never aimed higher then what you could reach.

And so, here you were, employed — stuck — at your family's prized hat shop, sitting alone in your little alcove with only your hats as company. It was quiet, some might think too quiet, but it was where you were most comfortable. No expectations, no commentary, just you, your utensils, and your craftsmanship.

You handled your hats with care, quietly whispering blessings with each stitch. They were your creations after all. You might not amount to much but your hats would. They would settled themselves on to the heads of the busy housewives, the men of the army, and the young lovers, each with their own story to tell. You would flatter the hats, just as you would your customers.

"You," handling a small cap adorned with a veil and knot, "will surely be given to someone of glamor and beauty. They won't be able to keep their eyes off of you" You set it out amongst your most prized hats, quietly adjusting it atop the display. This one was made using expensive but durable material. It wouldn't do to have it placed sloppily. It deserved the best.

"And you," you smiled with a small chuckle, picking up a white fedora with a gaudy ribbon tied around it, "will go to a wonderfully handsome man with a good heart, I'm sure of it." It was a rather silly hat, made last minute with some left over materials, but it was sturdy all the same. The colors were also popular in the Queendom of Roses, especially amongst the card soldiers employed at the castle. Maybe one of them might stumble upon your little hat shop and spy this hat in the window.

You talked to your hats more and more as the weeks went by. You were good at selling them so it wasn't hard keeping yourself afloat. Just the other day, one of the Queen's card soldiers had come in to your shop, a man with hair the color of clovers, and sheepishly asked if he could see that one white fedora in the window. He claimed that for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it when he had gone off shift and needed to know if it was still available. It was a good sale and you're glad your hat went off to a good owner.

But then one day, on a particularly strenuous and busy day, you found yourself stuck wit horrible artist block. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't find any sort of inspiration for a new hat. Hours were wasted while you wiled away at your desk. Nothing worked and you found yourself teary eyed, sniffling loudly as you rubbed at your burning eyes, spools of ribbon and fabric lying all around you.

"Truly," you sobbed, heart aching, "being the oldest child is the worst curse you can be given."

What good were you if you couldn't even do the one thing you had some modicum of talent for? So what if your shop was popular?Surely this is where you peaked, alone with only the company of your hats. While your siblings were off making their fortune, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you sat here alone in an empty shop. You had no friends to speak of, the only time you ever talked was when your customers gossiped at you and finally it seemed the dam you had tried so hard to ignore had finally broke. The waves of your bottled up emotions drained out of you in waves and you could hardly stand it. What was the point of youth? Compared to others your age, you felt so old, so decrepit. Your bones ached from your poor posture, your hair thinning from the stress, and your eyes were circled with what could be mistaken for charcoal. You have never felt more unfit of your young age in your life.

In your sorrow, you spotted a purple hunter's hat — an incredibly gaudy thing you had made in an attempt to create something, anything of worth — and for the first time in your life, you cursed one of your creations.

"Surely only someone who finds beauty in anything will find any use of you!"

But the days go on whether you liked them to or not. You opened your store once again and quietly pushed down your feelings. You sat in your little alcove again today, quietly and mindlessly stitching something on to another, when you heard the tall tale sign of someone entering your shop. A small jingle followed the stranger as they ducked in almost silently. You inwardly sighed, slouching against your seat, but got up all the same. It wouldn't do not to be polite. You didn't have the fortune to afford it.

"Good evening," You plastered on a small smile at the stranger, a man, before you stopped and actually got a good look of him. He was quite tall, casting a lovely slender figure with his elaborate blonde hair, and was garbed in a bright and obviously expensive purple. His sleeves trailed longer than any you've seen before, all delicate trim and golden weaves. He even wore perfume too. The subtle smell of hyacinths followed him as he turned and smiled, his bright emerald eyes crinkling with delight.

"Bonne soirée!" He eagerly returned your greeting, with a bob of his head, his hand to his chest. You blinked up at him, mildly surprised at his mannerisms but chose not to acknowledge it, instead choosing to respond in kind.

"I've never seen you before," You admitted softly, watching as he slowly turned to admire your work. It wasn't too uncommon for customers to want to see everything but there was something different about this man. The way his eyes never glazed over as he looked, almost as if he was inspecting each one in great detail, almost made you embarrassed. Most people would just mindlessly look for something to catch their fancy but this man seemed almost entranced, as if each piece was a work of art. You both stood there in silence until the strange man seemed to snap out of his trance, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Were those tears in his eyes?!

"Ah, forgive me," He apologized, "I was simply admiring them. Is this all your work?" He appeared almost eager for a response, his head bobbed to the side.

You nodded sheepishly, "Yes, these are all my work. It's my job. When I'm not up front with the customers, I'm in my workshop creating them."

His smile, once subdued and quiet, widened. He took your calloused hands in his own and squeezed them. You flushed and scrambled away but his grip was too tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that it felt too rude to rip your hands away...

"You're incredibly talented, mon ami!" He spoke with such reverence, "All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!" The strange man spoke with such conviction, he almost had you believing him. You could smell the hyacinth even clearer now from your close proximity to him and it nearly made your head spin. What a courtly person!

The stranger, his hands still firmly clasped around your own, turned back to admire your hats. "Each stitch is full of magic, I've never seen anything quiet like it before."

"I - sir, I appreciate your words but I fear they're wasted on me," You let out a nervous laugh as your heart thumped in your chest, its excited beating feeling like it was about to jump straight out or your chest, "They're just hats."

The blonde man was quick to deny this, his hair rolling down his shoulders in waves, "I beg to differ, mon petite souris! Even someone such as I can see all the hard work you've put in to these! There's no need to be so humble!"

Humble! Hardly! If only he knew how you've been the past few days, stuck in your artist block, unable to dig your way out of it. He was wrong! So, so so wrong! You were nothing! This wasn't talent, this was just you using up all the luck left that had been given to you. With an almost annoyed huff, you were quick to free your hands from the strangers embrace and hid them away in your aprons front pocket. Your fingers were shaking.

"I... appreciate your kind words but I do have a business to run," You put on your best customer service voice you could muster and looked away from the man, not seeing the soft crestfallen expression forming on his face. His eyes narrowed but he made no move to reach back out and instead, his voice lowered in to an apologetic tone.

"You're right, mon petite souris. Perhaps in my admiration, I got a bit too excited." The blonde man's gloved hand came to rest against his chest and he gave a small nod of his head towards you, trying to catch your eye, "My apologies."

Well, now on top of your horrible mood, you felt bad. You let out an equally remorseful sigh, and turned back to him but he wasn't looking at you anymore. Instead, his gaze was over your shoulder, looking past you to the lone purple hunter's cap hidden away in the back. The very hat you had cursed.

"If I may be forward," He began slowly while his eyes reluctantly looked away to meet your own, "As an apology, I'd like to purchase that hat from you. Name your price."

You gave him a look but turned to grab it. The feather tucked inside of the red around the brim bobbed as you picked it up.

"This thing?" You asked, "I don't think it's any good. I made it on a whim and —"

Rook slowly plucked it from your hand and admired it for himself, turning it this way and that. His smile was sad but he accepted it all the same, "I think it is a lovely hat," he lowered his head and slid in on top of his blonde hair. It was strange, the hat seemed to... belong with him. While the hat itself was hardly anything to look at on its own, it matched his whole ensemble, like it was a piece of the puzzle that had been missing the whole time.

"How much?" He asked, utterly enamored by his reflection.

You watched from beside him, eyes avoiding your own form, but you offered his reflection a small smile and a shake of your head, "It's free. I couldn't charge you after I was so rude to you."

The stranger's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his bright green eyes meeting your own, but they were quick to narrow in delight. His lips curled into a smile.

"Thank you, mon petite souris, I will treasure it."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" As much as you wanted to get back to your work, you couldn't help but silently wish for a few more moments with this stranger. He was so oddly charming.

"Non, non, you've done more then enough for me today." He bowed his head, the feather on his hat bobbing with the movement, and quietly made his way to the door. His steps were silent all the way. "I have much I need to do an I have left two others waiting for my company long enough." And with a final wave of his hand, the strange man exited the shop.

You stood there longer then you should've, staring at the door, his words quietly echoing in your mind.

"All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!"

You scoffed but smiled all the same. Courtly men like that just say things to gain favors. He must've been just trying to butter you up. You shook your head. It was almost a shame you'd never see the man again.

The quiet was soon shattered by a bustle of women worriedly entering the shop, each one calling out for you in worried tones. One of your regulars, an elderly woman was quick to push past the others and hurry her way to you. Her arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders and pulled you down to her height, "Oh, you poor thing!"

"Huh?" You blinked as she pulled away to look you over. Why was everyone so worried about you? "Whats gotten in to you all?"

"Whats gotten in to us?" She shrieked, her feet stomping into your worn floor, "What's gotten in to you! Do you know just who that man was?"

The man? The blonde, courtly man?

"Yes! That man!" She hollered, "That's the wizard Rook! Rook Hunt! The man who eats the hearts of those he sets his sights on! The one with the moving castle!!"

Oh? Oh! Oh.

You just gave the great wizard Rook Hunt an ugly hat.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #reader insert #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader

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preservationofnormalcy · 8 months ago

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dear relevant department of the OPN

I am writing to you about the back storeroom at my workplace, it seems to be that whenever you enter this room you forget what you went in for and also what happened well you were in there. This is quite a problem as most of our consumables and fluids are stored in there. It only seems to activate if the door closes and unfortunately I I’ve been told it’s against the fire code to simply prop it open. We are at a loss at what to do next. thanks

I mean, my first instinct is to yeah, prop it open, but fire codes are important. Hmm.

Boss, I got da fedora youse wanted.

Oh, thank you.

And I got da hat for youse, creepy girl. Thanks, Small Tony.

Fugheddaboudit!

My concern here is a malicious actor. This sort of thing could just happen, a sort of noosphere wobble or fluctuation that works itself out after a day or two, but if it’s a sustained phenomenon we may need to figure out what’s going on in there.

Which is, of course, the challenge. Perception is reality, after all. If no one can remember anything, it effectively hasn’t been perceived, and if no one can perceive anything happening in there, nothing is. But if something is happening, in all likelihood it’s preying upon the people who go in. Psychically, financially. It could be some kind of fae creature stealing people’s wallets and using elaborate wordplay techniques to make them forget.

Install a camera (with the door open for a moment) as a first measure, but that likely won’t work if whatever’s in there is sentient. We may need to send an investigator from LEP Recon, they’re first contact with unidentified malicious entities. Keep us posted.

….Jenny, what are you wearing? Is that a flat cap?

It looks nice on me. And it was on sale.

Your grandad would be — actually, no, he’d be fine with it.

When in Rome, boss.

Don’t go hench on me, Cold.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #advice #fae #henchmen infestation

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hussyknee · 1 month ago

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From the blog of K. J. Charles dated 19th April 2024, copy-pasted for Tumblr history nerds and historical fiction writers.

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Eponymosity!

A quickie blog post today, inspired by Benjamin Dreyer’s entertaining rant on the distinction between eponymous and titular (it’s in footnote 1 for a clearer explanation than I am inclined/able to provide), and also by the fact that one of these sneaky little bastards nearly got me in a recent book.

So. An eponym is simply a word taken from a person’s name. Obamacare is an eponym, so is Reaganomics. If you hoover your carpets, the verb comes from the eponymous brand of vacuum cleaner. (We do not use the capital letter, no matter what the Hoover corporation may think: that ship has sailed, as demonstrated by the fact that I hoover with a Dyson.)

If you write historical novels, eponyms are one of those damn things. They tend to be extremely and usefully specific in meaning, but they are also extremely specific in dates, meaning you can’t rely on the old “well it was probably around for decades before it made it into the dictionary” line.

Here for your advisory is an incomplete list of eponyms that may trip you up, depending on period.

Boycott: The name comes from 1880 (Ireland, Charles Boycott, a shitty land agent who was socially and economically ostracised). The practice is older: there was a widespread boycott in the UK of slavery-produced sugar starting in 1791, during which sales plummeted by something like 40%. It is totally historically plausible to have a consumer or personal boycott in your Georgian or Regency novel, but you can’t call it a boycott for several decades more.

Chauvinist: Named for a French vaudeville character. Meaning ‘blinkered nationalist’ it dates from 1840; you can’t use it for a male pig until 1960.

Fedora: The hat beloved of men who spend too long on the internet getting angry about Star Wars sequels actually used to be a symbol of female liberation and cross dressing. Comes from the 1887 play Fédora starring Sarah Bernhardt.

Fuchsia: You will be able to spell this if you remember it’s an eponym for Mr Fuchs. The flowers are so named in the UK in the 1750s, the colour not till the 1920s. Do not put your Regency heroine in fuchsia, is what I mean.

Maverick: Supposedly from a US cattle owner, Samuel Maverick, who let his calves run wild. 1880s US at the very earliest, more probably 1930s. Yes, that is irritating.

Mesmeric: He may have compelling eyes but they ain’t mesmeric before the 1860s. The hypnotist Mesmer flourished in the late 1700s, giving us mesmerism (hypnosis); mesmerise wasn’t a verb till the end of the Regency, and even then it still meant ‘to put into a hypnotic trance’.

Sadistic: Marquis de Sade, as you already know, but NB that sadist/sadistic aren’t in general use till the 1890s or so when sexology got going, along with masochism (also an eponym).

Sandwich: 1762 since you ask.

Silhouette: The outline picture is named for French finance minister Etienne de Silhouette. Used in France from 1760. However, despite there being a craze for silhouettes in England, the actual word didn’t come here till the mid 1820s, which is sodding annoying if your novel about a silhouette cutter happens to be set in 1819 I’M JUST SAYING.

Sweet Fanny Adams: This UK usage originally referring to something no good, now often used as an alternative to ‘sweet FA/fuck all’, came in from 1869 and cannot be used before 1867. You really don’t want to know where it comes from but here if you must (be warned, it’s genuinely grim). (My note: tw for CSA and child murder.)

Thug: Originally from India. Used to describe the Thuggee (as Brits then called it) sect from 1810. Didn’t become generalised to all violent lowlifes till 1839. You can’t be assaulted by thugs in a Regency unless they are actually Thugs.

Trilby: Another hat your Regency gentleman can’t wear. Comes from George du Maurier’s mega hit Trilby published 1894, which also gave us svengali (the name of the baddie in the book).

Feel free to add to this in the comments, there’s always something!

Death in the Spires, my Oxford-set historical murder mystery, is out now. The silhouette book, The Duke at Hazard, publishes in July.

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End c+p.

KJ Charles is one of my absolute favourite writers in the world and the contemporary star in the crown of the MM historical romance genre. Her blog is also worthy of following because she reads incredibly widely and diversely and posts book recommendations as well as good advice about writing.

Re: Dreyer's rant, I am absolutely a prescriptivist, and if you use the word "nonplussed" in that unholy way I'm blocking you. We colonized folk of the former Raj didn't learn the intricacies of this cussed language for you to change meanings on a dime because you couldn't be bothered to crack open a dictionary.

#I have a vague suspicion this has something to with USAmericans trying to write #a phenomenon that should be discouraged and avoided at all costs. /jk #languages #history #english vocabulary #kj charles #writing advice #british history #regency romance #cool history facts #linguistics #historical fiction #knee of huss

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hatterofthelabyrinth · 5 months ago

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Hatter, if you could have any other kind of hat that you wanted, what would you pick?

Well...I miss my old fedora. Had some memories with that one. Found it at the same time as when I found my guitar during a yard sale in town. Spent a few years wearing that hat. Kinda hard not to get attached to something after some time passes like that.

#onceler #once-ler #ask blog #hatter-ler #...although I...I wonder...#sometimes I see myself in a suit and a top hat in those bubbles #and sometimes I wonder if I kept that old hat or if I threw it away #makes me dizzy to think about for too long #how I can change like that.#...#it's fine it's fine it's fine #I'm still me #I'm not changing any time soon.

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mfred · 8 months ago

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Welp, I've spent a lot of money in July and it's barely half over. Yes, I am the problem. But let's talk about fun stuff!

What I bought:

Two dresses, one in yellow daffodils (on sale) and the other in blue with multi-colored flowers, and one pair of FROG PRINT pajamas from Lesley Evers. Frog print!!

One green check dress and one purple tunic sweater from Gudrun Sjödén, on sale.

Two short sleeve shirts from Peau de Loup, one cherry print and one with koi fish. They are masc style for femme and non-binary bodies, size inclusive, and upcycled fabric. On sale.

Two hats: one straw fedora because I look so fucking cute in it and one cotton bucket hat for the beach. Sun protection is important.

Two pairs of platform flip flops from Reef, because they were on sale and I couldn't pick between the colors.

Bananas foster nut butter and peach bourbon jam from Big Spoon Roasters. If you enjoy interesting flavored nut butters, Big Spoon Roaster is the way to go. I highly recommend the vanilla caramel and the pistachio.

Two bras, on sale, and I had points to spend. Mid-range busty gals (up to an F/DDD), go to Evelyn & Bobbie for wirefree bras.

Three baguette rings (pink tourmaline, aquamarine, and crystal) from Caitlyn Minimalist. Again, couldn't choose between the colors.

A cat toy for the little monsters who live rent free in my home. They probably won't play with it.

Books. It was buy 2, get 1 free or buy 4, get 2 free. You know I went for 4.

Mooncat nail polish. Three colors from their Powerpuff Girls collection, one thermal, and one gold flake topper.

An orange chair from Wayfair that matches my cat. Not on purpose, but a happy coincedence.

An automatic espresso machine that does everything. It makes delicious coffee! I know because my dad has one and I loved it and when I saw it was on sale for Prime Day, I had to have it.

New wireless earbuds from Jabra that some running magazine swears stay in your ear, on sale for Prime Day. My Google ear buds are always falling out of my ears when I talk, chew, walk, tilt my head, etc.

Me looking at my credit card statement in August:

#true story #shopping #gudrun Sjödén #lesley every #Peau de loup #Mooncat

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giddlygoat · 9 months ago

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greenie do you want inspection gadget carnally /SILLY

yes. yes i do. today i bought a metallic silver & blue paisley tie at the thrift store because it reminded me of him. not long ago [but just before this hyperfix] i went to a garage sale and almost bought a long grey trench coat, but decided against it - my reasoning being that i already own a green one. looking back, i wish i had bought that coat, because i never wear the green one [it’s a shade that i don’t favor so much], and besides, it sounds like snow crunching when i walk. and also… i want that inspector gadget trench coat. today i saw a cream felt fedora at the thrift store and died a million deaths that i could not bring it home because i have an enormous head and the only hats that fit my noggin are adjustable visors. my life is hell. i am in hyperfixation hell. i see him everywhere i go. please send help

#SLASH SILLY #i’m in . a funk . Augh #asks #weapons drawn #I NEED HIM SO BAD #I NEED THAT GOOFY UNSERIOUS ROBOT #RAAAAAUGHGHG

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thecreaturecodex · 2 years ago

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Millindemalion

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[Another Wonderland-y monster after the astrosphinx, this is 2e Pathfinder's take on a decidedly madder than usual Mad Hatter. This is one of my favorite monsters in Bestiary 3, and the conversion is fairly close. My main change was to make the status effects it can inflict with its hats a little nastier, as befits a CR 13 monster.]

Millindemalion CR 13 NE Fey This little gnome-like man has leathery skin with discolored lesions on his face and hands. He wears a hat almost as tall as he is, and carries a pair of shears.

There are plenty of stories about kindly fairies assisting mortals to make clothing, clean homes, or even spin straw into gold. When these friendly house fey are abused and mistreated, they may go sour. Boggarts are the most famous of these, but a powerful variant is the millindemalion. Millindemalions are created through exposure to toxic metals, especially the mercury used in hat production. A millindemalion can rapidly create magical hats that force other creatures into strange and disruptive behavior.

A millindemalion is more than capable of just stabbing people to death, and its magical shears are nasty weapons. Still, they prefer to torture rather than to kill, using their magical hats to force their victims to slow down, attack their allies, or simply blind them with animated flaps. Few millindemalions are willing to fight to the death, and often fight using hit and run tactics to minimize full attacks.

All millindemalions have a mania for hats: making them, collecting them, showing them off. Some make hats from the fur, feather and skins of their victims, whereas others slip contact poison into the hats for sale in reputable haberdasheries. They look enough like gnomes that they can disguise themselves as one with relatively little effort. A magical hat may be used as a bribe to gain a millindemalion’s favor, and a millindemalion who desires to disrupt people’s behavior for longer than a few seconds at a time may be on the look for cursed magical headgear.

Millindemalion CR 13 XP 25,600 NE Small fey Init +8; Senses low-light vision, Perception +28 Defense AC 28, touch 20, flat-footed 19(+1 size, +8 Dex, +1 dodge, +8 natural) hp 178(21d6+105) Fort +11, Ref +18, Will +14 DR 10/cold iron and magic; Immune confusion and insanity effects, curses; SR 24 Defensive Abilities unsettling mind Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 combat shears +19/+14 (1d4+5/17-20x3) Special Attacks hat toss, sneak attack +5d6 Statistics Str 19, Dex 27, Con 19, Int 24, Wis 18, Cha 14 Base Atk +10; CMB +13; CMD 43 Feats Combat Expertise,Defensive Combat Training,Dodge, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (combat shears) (B), Improved Critical (combat shears), Improved Feint, Mobility, Point Blank Shot, Shot on the Run, Spring Attack, Toughness, Weapon Finesse Skills Acrobatics +32, Bluff +26, Climb +28, Craft (hats) +31, Diplomacy +26, Disguise +26, Intimidate +26, Knowledge (local) +31, Perception +28, Sense Motive +28, Sleight of Hand +32, Spellcraft +31, Stealth +36 Languages Aklo, Common, Gnome, Sylvan Ecology Environment any land and urban Organization solitary or pair Treasure standard (+1 combat shears, other treasure) Special Abilities Hat Toss (Su) As a move action, a millindemalion can create a magical hat. It can then throw this hat as an attack action, treating it as a ranged touch attack with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 20 feet. A creature struck by the hat must succeed a DC 22 Will save or the hat magically attaches itself to the creature’s head, inflicting one of the following conditions for 1d4+1 rounds: Befuddling Bowler: The creature suffers a -6 penalty to Wisdom. Bewitching Bonnet: The creature is charmed by the millindemalion. Dazzling Deerstalker: The creature is blinded. Fettering Fedora: The creature suffers a -10 foot penalty to all its speeds. Maddening Mortarboard: The creature is confused (as the confusion spell). Tiring Tricorne: The creature is exhausted. A hat cannot be removed during its duration except through the use of a remove curse spell or similar effect. Once the duration expires or the hat is removed, or if the hat fails to hit a creature, it crumbles into scraps of fabric. A creature can only wear one of these hats at a time, but these hats do not interfere with magic items in the head or headband slot. A millindemalion can have as many magical hats as its Intelligence modifier in existence at a time. This is a curse effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Unsettling Mind (Ex) A creature reading a millindemalion’s thoughts must succeed a DC 22 Fortitude save or take 5d10 points of damage. Whether or not the creature succeeds the save, it learns nothing unless the millindemalion allows it. This is a mind-influencing effect, and the save DC is Charisma based.

New Weapon—Combat Shears Light melee exotic weapon; 10 gp; dmg 1d4 (Small)/ 1d6 (Medium); critical 19-20x3; damage slashing and piercing.

#millindemalion #fey #mad hatter #pathfinder 1e #pathfinder 2e

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womenofwrestlingfashion · 7 months ago

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Felt Panama Fedora Hat in Black from Amazon (on sale: $14.99), Tube Ruched Ruffle Mini Dress in Orange from Cider ($36.99) & Leather Western Belt in Coffee-Silver Buckle from Amazon ($21.97)

#Chelsea Green #Felt Panama Fedora Hat #hat #hats #black #Tube Ruched Ruffle Mini Dress #dress #dresses #orange #cider #Leather Western Belt #belt #belts #coffee-silver buckle #Amazon #women of wrestling fashion #wwe

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accessorizmee · 1 month ago

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Timeless Elegance with Suede Cowboy Hats | Accessorizmee

Step into classic Western style with Accessorizmee's Suede Cowboy Hats. Designed to blend rugged charm with modern elegance, these hats are perfect for both men and women who appreciate timeless accessories. Perfect for outdoor adventures, casual outings, and themed events, these hats are more than just an accessory—they're a style statement.

At Accessorizmee, we pride ourselves on delivering fashionable and functional hats that cater to your unique style. Our Suede Cowboy Hats are designed to make a bold statement, whether you're dressing up or going casual.

About Accessorizmee Suede Cowboy Hats:

Premium Quality Material: Crafted with high-grade suede for durability and comfort.

Versatile Style: Perfect for ranch outings, casual wear, or beach adventures.

Unisex Appeal: Designed to suit men and women alike with a range of sizes and colors.

Customizable Options: Tailor your hat to fit your unique style.

Comfort & Fit: Lightweight and breathable, ensuring all-day wearability.

Key Features:

Wide brim for sun protection.

Distinctive suede finish for a luxurious feel.

Sturdy construction for long-lasting use.

Available in a variety of colors and designs, including accessories like bands and trims.

Don’t miss out on the perfect accessory to elevate your style. Visit Accessorizmee.com today to explore our exclusive collection of suede cowboy hats and find your perfect match.

Style your way with Accessorizmee's Suede Cowboy Hats. Browse our collection, choose your favorite design, and make a bold fashion statement today!

#Fedora hats for sale #Fashionable hats for men #Cowboy hats for women #Custom fedora hats #Cowboy beach hat #Beach hat #Suede cowboy hat #luxury straw hats #fedora hats with feathers #kids fedora hat #two tone fedora hat

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rabbitcruiser · 10 months ago

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National Straw Hat Day

Straw Hat Day falls on May 15th, a day dedicated to celebrating straw hats’ versatility and timeless appeal.

It’s a fun way to welcome warmer weather while acknowledging the hat’s long history as both a practical item for sun protection and a fashion statement.

People across various cultures have embraced straw hats for centuries, from Ecuador’s finely woven Panama hats to the Mokorotlo of South Africa, highlighting their global appeal and adaptability.

The day encourages everyone to explore the wide range of styles straw hats offer, from classic boaters and fedoras to contemporary designs.

It’s the perfect occasion to showcase personal style, whether by wearing a favorite straw hat or even crafting a unique one. The celebration isn’t just about style; it also serves as a reminder of the straw hat’s functionality in providing shade and cooling relief on sunny days.

Engaging in Straw Hat Day can be as simple as donning a straw hat or as creative as designing and decorating one’s own. It’s also a great opportunity for community participation through local parades, festivals, and fashion shows.

At such events, the diverse interpretations of straw hat styles can be fully displayed. The holiday stands out for its quirky charm, promoting a light-hearted and enjoyable way to enjoy the outdoors and express individuality through fashion.

History of Straw Hat Day

The tradition of wearing straw hats dates back even further. They were part of fashion trends from the Middle Ages and gained popularity in the 19th century, especially for summer sporting events like boating.

Straw hats became a summer and informal attire symbol, even in big cities, by the early 20th century.

In the United States, Straw Hat Day became an official event in New Orleans in the 1920s, thanks to a proclamation by Mayor Andrew McShane.

The day was marked with much fanfare, including record-breaking hat sales, cannon firings, and even hats thrown from building roofs. For about four decades, the day was celebrated with great enthusiasm, with activities ranging from parades to giveaways.

However, as the fashion of wearing hats daily waned in the 1960s, so did the popularity of Straw Hat Day.

A significant, though more somber, part of straw hat history is the Straw Hat Riot of 1922 in New York City. This event highlighted the social importance and rules surrounding hat-wearing at the time.

There was an unwritten rule that straw hats were only appropriate until September 15th, after which men were expected to switch to felt or silk hats. Violations of this convention could lead to public ridicule or even the physical destruction of the straw hat by others.

The riot began when youths prematurely started enforcing the rule, leading to widespread brawls and significant social disruption.

This history not only shows the importance of straw hats in fashion but also reflects on social norms and behaviors of past times.

Today, Straw Hat Day is a lighter, more celebratory remembrance of these traditions, encouraging everyone to enjoy and appreciate the timeless style of straw hats.

How to Celebrate Straw Hat Day

Celebrating Straw Hat Day is an opportunity to embrace fashion’s quirky and fun side. Here are some playful and engaging ways to mark the occasion:

Hat Hackathon

Why not personalize your straw hat? Think about adding colorful ribbons, vibrant flowers, or even painting a masterpiece on it. You can turn this into a friendly competition among friends to see who comes up with the most creative design.

Picnic with Panache

Imagine a sunny day at the park, you and your friends lounging on blankets, all donning stylish straw hats. It’s not just about the hats but making memories under the open sky, enjoying good food and great company.

Festival or Parade Participation

Local festivals or parades often celebrate Straw Hat Day. Dress up in your finest straw hat and join the fun. You might even discover some impressive hat designs that inspire your next creation.

Garden Crafts

Transform your straw hat into a unique piece of art for your garden. From whimsical wreaths to charming planters, let your creativity blossom. It’s a delightful way to blend fashion and nature.

Straw Hat Photoshoot

Dress up in your favorite outfits complemented by straw hats and have a photoshoot. Whether it’s in your backyard, a city street, or a picturesque park, capture the joy of Straw Hat Day.

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theriverspath · 1 year ago

Text

Crowley shows up at the bookshop for lunch with Aziraphale still dressed in the disguise he used on his last assignment. The intriguing change in clothing and accent, along with a mysterious violin case, forces Aziraphale to remind himself that he shouldn't be feeling these sorts of urges toward a demon. Then, Crowley plays an old love song and Aziraphale loses his inner battle.

Two-shot. Eventually explicit in the upcoming chapter 2.

“Oh, I am sorry that we didn’t have what you were looking for today. It really is such a shame.” A. Z. Fell, as the name of the bookshop identified him, ushered a young woman towards the exit. He’d been open for business this morning, and was unpleasantly surprised by the amount of foot traffic that had wandered in. As the noon hour approached, though, he was determined to close. He was running out of excuses to prevent the actual sale of any books. More importantly, he was expecting a certain demon for lunch today.

“But, I think I see…” The woman pointed to a shelf just over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Yes, quite a shame. Perhaps Waterstones would carry something by that particular author? I should check there if I were you.” The angel reached past the would-be customer and placed a hand on the shop’s door. He intended to open it in order to eject her out onto the street. Before he could turn the handle, it swung outward without his help.

“Ma’am.”

Aziraphale froze, his hand resting on the empty spot in space where the handle had been. Crowley stood on the pavement, holding the door open for the confused woman. His free hand was lifted to pinch the brim of a hat, as if he were going to doff it in deference to her presence. However, this was not the suave felt fedora of decades past. Aziraphale felt his mouth fall open in shock as he registered the ratty, black cap. The fabric was faded from the sun, and the single extended bill in the front featured frayed patches along the edge. Aziraphale struggled to identify the style. Wasn’t it what the Americans wore as part of a uniform for their sport? What did they call it? Based-ball?

Below the hat, Crowley wore sunglasses unlike Aziraphale had ever seen on him. The lenses were a red, reflective material. They were shaped like elongated, curved rectangles with rounded corners. The top edges slotted into a single line of black plastic that wrapped around his face from one ear to the next. They perched on his sun-touched nose above a polite, if not somewhat mischievous, smile. Crowley waited patiently while the woman looked from the shocked shopkeeper to the grinning man, decided that she’d had enough weirdness for the day, and simply walked away. Crowley looked pleased with himself, released the hat brim, and turned to enter the bookstore. He stopped short at Aziraphale’s still outstretched hand.

“You gonna invite me in, angel? Or would you rather I stand here with the door open, lettin’ in flies?” The tone of his voice was amused, maybe even dusted with affection. But, Aziraphale’s brain scrambled to catch up with what he was seeing - and hearing. Gone was Crowley’s usual cadence. Instead, his voice was softer and slower. The angel tried to come up with a descriptor for the drawn-out vowels and dropped consonants that peppered through Crowley’s request to enter the bookshop. Ah, yes. The word finally surfaced in Aziraphale’s mind: drawl .

Aziraphale quickly lowered his hand and, embarrassed at being caught staring, stepped back from the doorway. Crowley brushed past him with a courteous nod and walked through to the dimly lit interior of the book shop. When he passed, heat radiated off his body. It felt like Crowley had stepped out of a sauna. There was an unusual scent, too. Pine, perhaps? And damp earth, like a forest just after a summer rain. Then, as the demon moved into the interior, the angel got a better look at the rest of his uncharacteristic outfit.

Crowley was wearing a shirt, but just barely. He had tucked a black cotton tee into the waistband of dark denim trousers. That wasn’t so unusual. But, this particular shirt had its sleeves cut away to reveal Crowley’s lean upper arms. And, for about three-quarters of the remaining length of the garment, several inches of fabric had been removed on either side of the seams that were supposed to hold the shirt together. It did eventually rejoin itself just above the demon’s belt. Before that point, though, Aziraphale had a clear view of the sides of Crowley’s torso. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how the demon’s muscles moved as he sauntered his way across the bookshop.

Aziraphale also couldn’t help but notice a warm flush start to radiate up from his own collar at the view. He felt his face scrunch up in frustration at the reaction. The angel had seen much more of the demon in the past. Roman baths, for instance, left little to the imagination. Why was his corporation reacting this way now?

A violin case was slung over Crowley’s left shoulder by a woven black and red strap. The demon’s left hand was raised to that shoulder and his thumb tucked under the strap to keep it in place. When he reached the counter that held Aziraphale’s cash register, though, he made a shrugging motion to lift the strap. He lowered the case to the ground and leaned it against the hip-high piece of furniture. The slight bend forward caused the not-quite-a-shirt to fall open towards the front. The previous view of side torso broadened to include a shadowed glimpse of Crowley's abs and chest. Aziraphale briefly caught sight of a nipple, and the flush started to creep down from the collar, as well as up.

Aziraphale suddenly needed to be looking anywhere other than Crowley’s bare skin, so his eyes followed the movement of the case to the floor. They stopped at Crowley’s feet. His normal urban-chic, all black boots were replaced with something else. Peeking out from underneath the legs of his jeans were the pointed tips of a different style of boot. These featured a textured pattern of white, gray, and black snakeskin scales. The soles were dark leather, and the blocky heels a bit taller than what Crowley normally wore. And they had, to Aziraphale’s horror, left little clumps of vibrant orange-red mud wherever Crowley stepped. That broke whatever spell Crowley’s scandalously altered shirt held over the angel. He clicked his tongue in disappointment over the mess.

“Crowley, what on earth are you wearing? And why are you tracking dirt all over the shop?” Crowley straightened from setting down the case and turned to face Aziraphale. He tucked both of his thumbs into his belt, framing an oversized silver buckle in the shape of a snake’s head. Aziraphale noticed that the eyes flashed red, as if they were inset with rubies.

“I was finishin’ up a Temptation down in Georgia when I realized I was gonna be late for lunch. I had to take a shortcut through the office to get back in time, and it was just easier to stay in my work clothes. Less likely to get snagged for another assignment if’n I looked like I were still on the clock, ya know?” Aziraphale’s brow crinkled in confusion at the explanation.

“Georgia? Well, I guess local fashions have changed since I was in that area of Europe. And, I certainly don’t remember…” He waved vaguely at the dusty tracks. It was Crowley’s turn to show his confusion before giving a laugh of realization.

“Naw, not that Georgia. Georgia the state. As in the united ones ‘cross the pond?” Aziraphale racked his brain to think of anything he might know about the place.

“You mean the penal colony? That sounds quite dangerous." Aziraphale's eyes widened, as if he'd had an alarming thought. He walked toward Crowley in small, quick steps. The front door closed itself, unnoticed by the angel. "Did you run into any ruffians?” Crowley smiled his amusement at the question.

“It’s been a while since the monarchy shipped debtors off to the New World, but that’s the place. And, nope. No ruffians. It was a solo assignment, mostly. Real traditional-like, too. A one-on-one challenge at the crossroads under a full moon.” Crowley waved his hands in a spooky motion to indicate the mood. Aziraphale refused to believe that the flip-flop he felt in his belly was jealousy. So what if Crowley had been meeting some human alone under the stars. It was purely for work. Right?

“That’s where the red clay came from.” Crowley continued, apparently unaware of Aziraphale’s inner dialogue. “Out in the county, they don’t pave the roads. I forgot that it sticks to shoes like peanut butter to the roof of a dog’s mouth.” He snapped his fingers and the mud disappeared. “There. Better?” The entry rug was no longer stained, and Crowley seemed to be waiting for a response. So, Aziraphale gestured to the black case.

“I didn’t know you played the violin.”

“I ain’t never told you about that?” Aziraphale mentally worked his way through the archaic contraction and double negative while Crowley continued. “Hell’s been using the violin for Temptations since … well, shoot. Since long before Paganini.” The angel rolled his eyes at the mention of the nineteenth century musician.

“I should have known those rumors were about you. I suppose you were in the process of creating another demonically-influenced virtuoso?” To his surprise, Crowley shook his head.

“Some upstart fiddler’s been goin’ around braggin’ about ‘bein’ the best there’s ever been.”Head Office got wind of his pride. Since I done such a bang-up job on ol’ Nicky,'' Crowley grumbled at Aziraphale’s look of disbelief. He corrected himself. “Since I reported doin’ a good job with Niccolò, they sent me to tempt this new Bubba. I showed up with a fiddle made of pure gold, and got him to bet that he could outplay me. He wins, he gets the fiddle. I win, Hell gets his soul.” Crowley half-shrugged. “Standard procedure. That’s why I’m in this get-up.” He glanced down at his outfit and plucked at his shirt. “I had to dress like a local. Sound like one, too. There’d’ve been no way he’d agree to any sort-a deal with some highfalutin city slicker.”

Aziraphale thought he should feel disapproval at the whole idea. Instead, all he could think about was the image of Crowley standing on a rural dirt road, his fair skin aglow with moonlight. He wondered what the music sounded like in the quiet of the night. He wondered if the human appreciated how fluid and graceful Crowley’s movements must have been as he drew his bow across the strings of the golden instrument. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to hear Crowley play the violin. In the bookshop. Right now.

“Well, it appears as if Hell now has his soul. He must not have been as skilled as he thought.” Aziraphale gestured at the unopened case, still propped against the counter. “Perhaps you ought to play a sample of your winning piece?” He watched Crowley’s eyebrows rise above his glasses in surprise. “You know, for um, research? So that I might warn future violinists about what they’ll encounter if they engage in similar unwise braggadocio?” An amused huff and a half-smile told Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t believe his excuse.

“Oh, the case? It’s empty. Turns out, the young buck really did have the talent. Even when I summoned the Erics as backup, I couldn’t do better. So I gave him the fiddle, fair and square. I just kept the case so’s folks who spotted me downstairs would think I was still on the job.” The disappointment Aziraphale felt must have shown on his face. Crowley’s amused expression faded. Instead, he seemed to hold a brief inner battle over what he was about to say next.

“Look, I cain’t just give away my best Temptation tunes to an agent of Heaven. If,” Crowley pointed to the floor, “found out I’d be in a heap o’ trouble.”

“Yes. Of course, I quite understa-” Aziraphale didn’t get a chance to finish. When Crowley lifted the hand he’d just used to point, he snapped his fingers. Aziraphale heard the quiet resonance of a miracle, and the case shifted as if its weight had just changed. Crowley retrieved it and set it on top of the books scattered across the surface of the counter. He flipped open the latches and lifted the lid. Resting in a bed of red velvet was a violin of rich, brown wood. A strung bow was also secured within.

“I’ll play you a little somethin’ I picked up the last time I was in that part of the world, though.

Continue reading on ao3.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale/crowley #aziracrow fanfic #aziracrow #good omens ao3

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petermorwood · 9 months ago

Note

Something else the editor mentioned - this may have changed now, our conversation was 20+ years ago - was that once a book got over a certain thickness (I'm pretty sure he said "thickness" not "page count"), its cover price shifted to the next bracket up.

This was OK for Stephen King, Tom Clancy etc., whose Thick Books would sell at that higher price anyway, but for less-guaranteed-sales authors, one way to keep their books in the lower price bracket was to use thinner paper.

There's a high quality thin paper, "Bible paper or "India paper", which is used for Bibles (surprise!) dictionaries and, memorably, the first deluxe single-volume "Lord of the Rings", which made it less than half as thick as the single-volume paperback.

That's not the kind of paper used for price-bracket control.

*****

Speaking of which, when DD mentioned "write the publisher a letter on paper", it's because (a) that's very unusual nowadays, and demonstrates a commitment to getting your views across in a more solid form than email.

Also (b) the reckoning used to be that for every letter received there were 50 people thinking the same who didn't send one, a reckoning figure which has - see (a) for why - probably more than doubled now.

Stay polite, and as DD say, more sorrowful than angry. "Unhappy about..." catches more wasps than "Bloody furious about..." no matter how satisfying the thought of squashing those wasps might be.

*****

Re. cover art: even best-selling writers often get hit with (TV Trope) "Covers Always Lie" - for instance, most of Jim Butcher's "Dresden Files" covers show Harry Dresden wearing a fedora. There are 17 novels, and apparently Harry has never worn a hat in any of them...

*****

@scotchfairy mentioned that filk song "There's a Bimbo on the Cover of My Book". The springboard which got the protagonists of Sharyn McCrumb's murder mystery "Bimbos of the Death Sun" to the SF Con where the action unfolds is a cover (and matching title) Just Like That.

As for the filk, its lyrics are under the cut, sung - preferably with friends so you can do harmony on the last line of each verse - to the tune of "She'll be Coming Round the Mountain".

There’s a bimbo on the cover of my book There’s a bimbo on the cover of my book She is blonde and she is sexy She is nowhere in the text, she Is the bimbo on the cover of my book

There’s black leather on the bimbo on my book There’s black leather on the bimbo on my book While I’m sure she’s lots of fun My heroine’s a nun Who wears black leather on the cover of my book

There’s a white male on the cover of my book There’s a white male on the cover of my book Though the heroine is black With art that cuts no slack So there’s a white male on the cover of my book

There’s a dragon on the cover of my book There’s a dragon on the cover of my book He is long and green and scaly But he’s nowhere in the tale, he Is the dragon on the cover of my book

There’s a rocket on the cover of my book There’s a rocket on the cover of my book It’s a phallic and a stout one Though the story is without one There’s a rocket on the cover of my book

There’s a castle on the cover of my book There’s a castle on the cover of my book Every knight is fit for battle But the action’s in Seattle There’s a castle on the cover of my book

There’s a monster on the cover of my book There’s a monster on the cover of my book He is mean and he is hairy Though the stories aren’t that scary There’s a monster on the cover of my book

There are death rays on the cover of my book There are death rays on the cover of my book It’s a philosophical story But the cover must be gory There are death rays on the cover of my book

There are spaceships on the cover of my book There are spaceships on the cover of my book The connection’s rather iffy But if the story’s “sci-fi” * There’ll be spaceships on the cover of my book

(* Pronounced "skiffy" for rhyme and extra scorn.)

There’s a blurb on the backside of the book There’s a blurb on the backside of the book There’s one story on the cover Inside the book’s another There’s a blurb on the backside of the book

My name is on the cover of my book My name is on the cover of my book Although I hate to tell it The publisher misspelled it But my name is on the cover of my book

They reviewed my book in Locus magazine. They reviewed my book in Locus magazine. The way Mark Kelly synopsized it, I barely recognized it, But they reviewed my book in Locus magazine.

Well, my book won the Nebula award. Yes, my book won the Nebula award. Still it ended in remainders, Ripped and torn by perfect strangers, But my book won the Nebula award.

So put that bimbo on the cover of my book. Put a bimbo on the cover of my book. I don’t care what gets drawn If you’ll just leave the cover on. (DON’T REMAINDER ME!) So put that bimbo, dragon, castle, rocket, Vampire, elf, or magic locket- Please put a bimbo on the cover of my book!

I just received a copy of a book I've been very much looking forward to by a favorite author, but the quality of the book itself is... not great. Cheap paper, weak binding, even a weird illustration of the main character on the cover that I'm having trouble believing the author approved. Obviously, I don't want to leave a bad review on Amazon or GoodReads or anywhere, as I'm 100% certain the content is as excellent as her other work. But how can I best let the publisher (Baen) know I'm disappointed without threatening to never buy her books again? Because, well, if this is the only option, I'm gonna keep buying them even in my disappointment.

Well, the first thing I thought when I read this was "Wow, I'm really glad I don't have anything in print from Baen at the moment except a couple of anthologized short stories." :)

As for the rest of it, let's take it point by point.

Adding a cut here, because this will run a bit long. Caution: contains auctorial bitching and moaning, painful illustrations of cases in point, and brief advice on how to complain most effectively. (Also links to paintings of cats.)

Cheap paper: This has been an accurate complaint since well before COVID—and it's often been worse since, with supply chain issues also being involved. That said: one way publishers routinely save money on printing books, especially the bigger ones, is by going for thinner/cheaper paper. I remember one of our UK editors going on at great length and with huge annoyance—during one of those late-night convention-bar bitch sessions—over how the only way they could get some really good books published (because Upstairs insisted on reducing the per-copy production costs) was by reducing the paper quality to the point where you could nearly read through it. Sacrificing decent text size(s) also became part of this. Nobody in editorial was happy about the result: but there wasn't much they could do.

Bad bindings: Similar problem. Sewn bindings used to be a thing in paperbacks... but not any more: not for a good while, now. These days, it's all glue. Even hardcovers are showing up glued rather than sewn. Don't get me started. :/ (This is why I so treasure some of the oldest paperbacks I've acquired, which are actually sewn.)

Crap covers: I've had my share of these—though my share of some really good ones, too. And one of the endless frustrations of traditional publishing is that the writer routinely has little or even no influence over what the cover will look like... let alone how much will be spent on it, or (an often-related issue) how good the execution will be.

There are of course exceptions. If you're working at the, well, @neil-gaiman level or similar in publishing, a lot more attention is going to be paid to your thoughts. You may even be able to get "cover veto" written into your contracts, so that if you disapprove, changes will get made. But without actual contractual stipulations, the writer has zero legal recourse or way to withhold approval. (And I bet even Neil has some horror stories.)

The normal workflow looks like this. After a book's purchased, its editor and the art director discuss what it's about and what the cover should look like. The art director then hires an artist and tells them what to do. After that, the artist executes their vision and gets paid. It is incredibly rare for a writer to have any significant input into this process. And as to whether or not they approve of the final result, well... the publisher mostly just shrugs and goes back to eyeing the bottom line, muttering "Who told them they get a vote?"

Now, I've been seriously lucky to occasionally be an exception in this regard. In particular, my editors at Harcourt (when Jane Yolen and Michael Stearns were editing Harcourt's Magic Carpet YA imprint) would ask me what I thought would be a good idea for the next Young Wizards cover, and I'd think about it a bit and send them back a paragraph or so about some core scene. They'd then talk to their art director, and after that send their notes and mine to Cliff Nielsen (who started doing the covers for the hardcover and mass-market paperback editions of the series in the mid-90s) or to Greg Swearingen (who was the artist on the digest-format editions). And the results, by and large, were pretty good. ...I also think affectionately of the UK artist Mick Posen, who insisted on seeing pictures of our cats before painting the covers for the Hodder editions of The Book of Night with Moon and On Her Majesty's Wizardly Service (the UK title for To Visit The Queen).

But this kind of treatment is a courtesy—not even vaguely suggested in the books' contracts, and very much the exception to the rule. And for every writer who's midlist, there are times when the luck runs out. For example: one time I wrote a book that was an AU-Earth-near-future fantasy police procedural, thematically pretty dark—dealing with issues of abuse of megacorporate power, institutionalized bigotry, and (explicitly) attempted genocide. And the cover, done by an artist who's a good friend and some of whose fabulous art hangs in our house, came out looking like this. It was... let's just say "not ideally representative."

So I was glad, when my local workflow allowed it, to recover the current, revised version of the book with something at least a little more apropos. But the original cover's not the artist's fault. He did what the art director told him... as a cover artist must do to get paid, and (ideally) to get hired again. At present, that's how the system works.

...So. You've got a badly-built and -presented book on your hands. How best to make your feelings known in some way that might make a difference down the line? (As you make it plain that you'll keep buying this author's books this way if you must.)

First of all: when (as part of my psych nursing training) we were taught how to complain most effectively, we were told that the first and most basic rule of the art is this:

Only Complain To Someone Who Can Actually Do Something About Your Problem

So I salute your desire not to waste your time taking the issue to the reviews on Amazon, or the pages of Goodreads... because they can't do anything. The odds that anyone from production at Baen is reading the comments there strike me as... well, not infinitesimally small, not being hit-by-a-meteorite-while-in-the-shopping-center-parking-lot small... but really low.

So: write to corporate.

In your place I would go online and rummage around a bit to find out who's on record as the publisher at Baen. I would then write them a letter on paper. And I would lay out the problem pretty much as you laid it out up at the top.

The tone I think I'd choose would be the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger approach. I'd say, "I write to comment about your recently published book by [X Writer], whose work I love. I have to say, though, that I don't think the cover on [X Book] is terribly representative of the quality of the prose inside. And also, the construction and production quality of the book itself was a disappointment to me because [here spell out why].

"I'd really like to see [X. Writer's] books succeed with you, and I'd like to buy more of them without wondering whether I was going to be disappointed again. But if this is typical of how they're being produced, I'd also be concerned that the state of these books is setting up a situation in which the author's sales will be damaged, and you would stop publishing them... which would really be a shame. Whereas on the other hand, better production quality could keep previous purchasers coming back and buying, not only more books by this author, but books by others whom you publish."

This phrasing, as you'll have seen, walks a bit wide around the issue of your further purchases, while directing attention toward the bottom line... which will routinely be what the publisher's looking at from day to day. And—being, one has to hope, in possession of the wider picture as regards what's going on with their production costs—maybe they can actually do something about it.

Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah? It's worth a try. All you can do is hope for the best.

And finally: please know that I admire your commitment to the author: whoever she is, she's lucky to have you. It's a terrific thing to have readers who'll willing to spend the time to hunt you down, and who're willing not to judge a book by its cover. :)

#bad covers #poor book quality #filk songs #how to complain to publishers

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