The Titling Dilemma

The current novel is progressing faster than I expected, with a number of chapters and a lose framework for the ending in my head.  The social calendar since Christmas has been heavy, in a time period I usually acquaint with hibernation and I've been eating out way way too much for both my waistline and pocketbook.  So I'm looking forward to some time for hibernation prior to the full rush of spring, if only to come up with a suitable title, and if lucky finish the novel which now weights in at a good 37,000 pages, past the hump. and heading to the ending,.
The book, first titled The Foxglove Broadsides has now flown through three different titles and is now settling somewhat on Orchideliruim. Perhaps this last one will stay despite the fact it's a Victorian, not steampunk term. But it fits the subject matter. There are a number of steampunk aspects to the book but the plot revolves around the fever which took hold of many previously calm British citizens who turned into thieves, brigands and criminals because of their fascination with this botanical prize. The orchid in the book is a rather special orchid over and above any found during the Victorian era or since, but the title still fits. 

Giddy days ahead

I feel like a crazy fan girl - but the new Tim Holtz products have been previewed andI'm so excited.  Not that I don't have enough material to work with right now, as my stash boxes are full, but it's as if Tim has read the collective mind of altered artists who like offbeat, grungy, dark side, steampunky gear. From the mini vintage artifacts such as real glass bottle and watch cases to the Sizzix dies and the Stampers Anonymous stamps. His booth at Cha was like a Disneyland for paper and 3-D artisans!  I can't wait til these become available.  I haven't drooled over previews like this since waiting for the last Apocalyptica album.  And while I'm working on some mini albums with a light spring flavor, I have constant visions of the darker 3-D boxes and assemblages I want to create.  Now I don't have to hunt antique shops or flea markets for some of the oddball items I need. 

An eerie Neil Gaiman moment

Today I read one of the most bizarre disturbing things I've ever read.
I read Neil Gaiman's blog often. He is one of the writers who inspires me to write over and over. And in his fiction there are often disturbing moments. But this is not fiction.  This is not fantasy or horror.  This is disturbing because Neil was disturbed. As an author, I could feel viscerally what he felt.  If you are an author you will too. I will never forget this.
  I quote the experience here because I'm afraid you might not take the time to read it if you have to click a link.  Every writer should read this. Every reader should read this - in fact every human being should read this. 
From Neil in Australia:

"I wandered past sushi shops and backpacker places and Thai takeways and tobacconists in the hot Sydney summer evening sun. Last night Amanda (who is vastly amused by my complete lack of hooker recognition skills) had pointed out the hookers to me, and I saw a couple of the ladies she had pointed out to me coming on duty, looking wary in the daylight.

There were a couple - a man and a woman, both in their twenties at a guess, both shorter than I am and dark-haired, looking into a shop window, with their backs to me. The woman had a tattoo on her shoulderblade - writing - and because I cannot pass writing without reading it, I glanced at it. Part of the writing was covered by a strap.

But I could still read it. And I knew what the words covered by the strap were.

The tattoo was a lot like this (which is to say, the same content, and similar typeface, but probably not the same person. I'm already trying to remember if it was the left or the right shoulderblade):



(I took that photo from here. http://fuckyeahtattoos.tumblr.com/post/1248171159/from-neil-gaimans-sandman-vol-6-fables-and) (Thank you Google Image Search)

I read the tattoo, read words I had written to try and exorcise my own small demons eighteen years ago, and I felt like a ghost. As if, for a moment, under the hot Sydney sun, I was only an idea of a person and not a real person at all.

I didn't introduce myself to her or say anything (it didn't even occur to me to say hello, in all honesty). I just walked home, through a world that felt flimsier and infinitely stranger than it had that morning.

I don't know why it affected me like that. But it did."  -- Neil Gaiman, January 25,2011 2:12 am

Is this something you would like to encounter as a writer?  Or is would such an experience totally unhinge you, as it seemed to do to Neil, and alter your perspective on your place in or out of reality?