Welcome 2012! The Countdown to Death begins!
No, not really. If you’re in that group of people who believe we’re coming to an end on 21 December of this new year, then do me a favor and off yourself now–but send me your money, the titles to your house, your TVs and computers . . . in other words, all the stuff you’re not going to need on 22 December. Trust me. Your karma will thank you.
You will also notice that I didn’t straight-up rip off the title of one of Harlan Ellison’s stories, “All the Lies That Are My Life”, because it would never be my intention to rip off Harlan Ellison. And my story isn’t always his . . . not by a long shot.
So what does it mean? That’s a good question. I seems like there are tons of barriers we put up to create a facade for all to see. I’ve done it a lot with my depression, and it wasn’t until a few years ago I started to get some treatment for it. Of course that all ended when I joined the ranks of the unemployed, but I deal the best I can. That’s really all we can do.
This weekend has seemed to crawl, even more so than Christmas. I can’t say why, but it’s feels like forever has passed since 30 December rolled into town. Maybe it’s all the editing I’m doing. The edit of Kuntilanak goes well, and I think I’ll finish that today and get it uploaded. I can’t say if it’s going to be a better story now, but I’ll be a cleaner story. And it did teach me a lesson about editing.
And speaking of edits . . . as I knew I would, I finished the first edit on the NaNo Novel. Her Demonic Majesty is through the first draft and revised edit stage, and I’m ready to have someone else proof the work. This is the one that I hope to publish this year, I mean really publish though someone else. I’ve already developed some ideas for continuing this story, one of which involves having to get some information from my gaming site that, unfortunately, has sat fallow for so long, but holds such great memories. May it open again with renewed vigor soon, for I miss my Annie.
I can also finished my work in progress. A few thousand more words and it’ll be finished, and I can edit that. And then . . . who knows? Before I can publish that, I have another novel to edit, and that’s going to be a project and a half. Trust me: 275,000 words to look at ain’t a thang to scoff at. That’s probably going to be the project of 2012 for me.
Yesterday was my 200th post, and strangely enough, someone yesterday read my 100th post, Centennial. On that post, a comment was left by a person I consider my “best fan”, Marissa. She said:
“I can’t wait to start on the journey of the next 100 with you, Ray. Keep pushing forward because every exit is an entry to somewhere…“
That 100th post came almost 3 months to the day before my 200th post; funny how that works out. I haven’t seen much of Marissa this last month–holidays and all, you know–but I know she’s there. I know she’s following me. I know she’s on the same journey as me.
I know it because I feel it. And I feel it that way with just about everyone who has ever done something good for me.
It’s also true that every exit is an entry to somewhere. I will have many exits this year, and they will leave behind all the crap I don’t need. I’ll leave them behind and move on to something new. Frankly, I need that. I’m coming up on 55, and I’m damned if I want to keep on living as I have, because it sucks.
I had a long conversation with myself yesterday, and I had to beat myself about the head and get serious about my writing. I had to remind myself that I do this for me, that I do it because it’s what I want to do, that I do it because I do enjoy the story telling. Yeah, the editing is a tedious pain in the ass, but then, the only people who say writing is easy are those buttheads who’ve never written anything. I mean, I’ve never been to the moon, so how hard can it be, right?
I had another strange dream last night. The funny thing is, while I was running around and having to deal with people who seemed to have strange requests, I felt good. I felt happy. I was doing something I liked–damned if I know what, though–and I felt like life was being good.
I was also a girl in the dream.
Does it mean something? Probably.
After all, that’s why it’s a dream, isn’t it?