Walk This Way

I awoke today with a head full of cement and a body that felt as if it had been through the wringer.  That last wasn’t too far from the truth as I had a hell of a practice last night that involved starting to get a feel for backwards skating and going faster on skates than I’ve ever gone before.

Oh, and yeah:  I didn’t get to bed until 00:30, so I managed about four and a half hours of sleep after all of the evening’s hijinks.

This means I hobbled around this morning much like I’m hobbling around work today.  But in order to get from Point A (my apartment) to Point B (work), it was necessary to traverse a few locations between.

This is what my normal morning looks like.

First it’s out the back of the apartment complex and a short walk over to 3rd Street.  From there I walk two blocks to Strawberry Square because I get my coffee there.  Little Amps has a kiosk near the ATM machines and the hot bean juice they give me contains just enough caffeine to wake me up.

 

After a short chat it’s time for a little breakfast, because come those days after derby practice I’m craving food.  I head a half-block to the east to grab something at Grilled Cheese Plus, which makes the best breakfast sandwiches in the city.  They can literally make you just about any kind of grilled cheese concoction, and I’m half tempted to order a plan grilled cheese just to see how it measures up.

 

Then comes the walking part of the trip to work.  Each of the above two stops happened about three blocks from where I live:  now I have to hoof about three-quarters of a mile over to the other side of the Capitol Complex to arrive at my job.  Along the way I pass this edifice which takes up about the same amount of space as a Las Vegas hotel casino.

 

By this point I’m about half way to work.  After I’d walked a while I didn’t feel as stiff as I had when I woke, but I wasn’t as springy as I have been in the past.  Then again, I’m using muscles I haven’t used in about, oh, thirty years, so getting the body back into shape isn’t the easiest thing in the world and one should expect some pain along the way.  The reality is I’m feeling better every day and a lot of the soreness I wrote about last week is starting to vanish.  Maybe it won’t be that bad after another month.

Finally, after another ten or fifteen minutes, I arrive at the location where I collect a pay check:

 

Yep:  that’s it.  Then it’s inside and up to the first floor where I spend my day in an office.  Then it’s home and maybe a nap and then–

Why, I have a lot of things to do tonight.

And you can bet writing is one…

South Central Pamporovo Dreamin’

One of the things I love to do is go back and look at my blog posts for the previous years for a particular date.  Because I don’t delete anything I have a pretty good idea of how I was doing at certain times as well as see what I was working on at the time.

Needless to say, that can be a bit of a crap shoot at times…

"All I gotta do is put one word after another. It's really easy--at least that's what everyone tells me."

“I really wrote this crap?  And left it out for everyone to read?  Jeez–“

Three years ago yesterday I moved to Harrisburg, PA, after spending a life time in Indiana.  At the time I figured I’d stay about a year and I was wrong:  not only have I stayed longer than that, I’ve also–changed and flourished.

Two years ago yesterday I was in the middle of A For Advanced and Isis and Wednesday were finishing up locking down the school ’cause the bad guys, aka Deconstructors, were doing some sneaky attacks on Foundation schools around the world.  For me that was one of the most important parts of that first novel because we saw Kerry finally opening up–and missing a Chestnut Girl–Emma making her first kinda moves, and Annie nearly losing her shit on that same girl.  Good times all around.

And last year yesterday I was working on B For Bewitching and The Bulgarian Buttercup was about to start kicking the butt of the Finnish Fool.  I not only love the way the scene shows Annie’s calculating way of working through combat, but I drew a couple of pictures in a rather child-like hand with the first of them never failing to bring a smile:

Artist's rendition of the moment (rather simplified).

I so loved showing off my mad artistic skills.

I still don’t believe Annie would ever good “Whee!” when she took off, but it’s so fun to imagine.  One of these days I’ll get someone to illustrate some of these scenes ’cause they are all really sort of bad ass.

And that brings us today.  Annie’s letter reading and, believe it or not, I’m a thousand words into the last scene of Chapter One.  It’s taken me three weeks to get here, and next Tuesday marks one month since starting C For Continuing.  But unlike the last two years of writer there isn’t any fighting–but there is some flying…

 

(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

 

The feeling that her bedroom wasn’t real hit Annie as soon as she opened her eyes: this was how she was aware she was dreamwalking. It was the same feeling that came to her the last two times she’d performed this spell and believe it wouldn’t be any different from here on out.

She popped out of bed and immediately soared through the wall of her bedroom out into the multicolored Dreamspace. There was only one reason for being here and her destination was clear:

Annie wanted to visit her husband.

Kerry and she had been keeping up with their correspondence regular, but his letter that came a week after his first told her to time her letters so they arrived at his house on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays—all days when both parents were at work. Kerry didn’t say why, but she believed it had to do with his mother: there could be no other explanation—

And the idea of having to hide her letters from Kerry’s mother did not set well with her.

Kerry’s latest letter arrived this past Saturday—a little more than a day before—and she didn’t care for the tone implied by his words. In the time since coming out the upbeat persona he’d affected that first weekend seemed to have evaporated and now he seemed much as he was last summer: bored, sad, and perhaps a little lost.

They were supposed to meet this upcoming Wednesday in London—she’d received a message from Erywin saying Helena was home from the hospital after going though the process of having legs grown and she’d now have time to get them together for lunch in Russel Square this Wednesday, 26 June—but Annie didn’t want to wait any longer. She missed Kerry and wanted to not only be with him, but to find out from him first hand what was happening at his home.

Without a phone or computer dreamwalking was the fastest way to speak with a certain someone in Cardiff.

She sailed into her dream corridor and sped along it to their shared dreamspace. It was as she always saw it on her way to Kerry: gray mist run through with lines of striking bright pastel colors, unformed and flowing everywhere. She knew what she wanted but she wasn’t ready to begin formatting the dream yet—not until she was joined by her soul mate.

 

Once more we’re back off into the land of dreams, and when you can’t get an internet connection dreamwalking is almost the next best thing.

It’s almost like being there but… not.

The Last of the Five-Os

If you’re looking for novelizing here today, you’re going to be sadly disappointed.  Well, maybe not; perhaps you’re bored with the novel by now and couldn’t give a ripping flip if I post it or now.  (Usually I’d say “Flying fuck”, but I’m trying to cut back on the swearing.  Right.)

Actually there are a couple of good reasons why I don’t have anything for you this morning.  One, the Case of the Broken “Y” Key pretty much kept that in check.  I started to put down a few thoughts last night and it seemed like every third or fourth time I hit that key or the “T” it would flip or spin around, and I’d need to more the key back into place.  This was not making me happy.

The new computer should be here either today or tomorrow.  I just checked my FedEx tracking and it says it’s in Middletown this very AM–that’s just across the river from me–and that’s just across the river, but now the delivery date has been moved from today to tomorrow, which means I’m not certain if I’m gonna be setting up this sucker tonight or tomorrow.  Yeah, let’s make it tomorrow, for that Orphan Black night, and I like a little challenge for getting the new laptop up and going before I need to write twelve hundred words worth of note for a Friday recap.

Doesn’t matter, though.  I have everything backed up and ready to transfer as soon as I have the new system getting wifi and I have a browser and my writing programs ready to go.  I set up my daughter’s laptop in about forty minutes when she first got it, and I’m certain I can have my new system pretty much functional in about an hour.

But most of all, if you haven’t heard, yesterday was my birthday.  I had hundreds of well-wishes–really, it was in the hundreds–and I managed to get through the day rather well.  After work I returned home to drop off a few things before heading out to dinner, which took place at Home 231 about two-thirds of a mile from my apartment. I had ribeye steak with a couple of great sides, and having eaten there before, I knew the food would turn out great, and it did.  Everything was all fantastic.

The interesting thing is for nearly the whole of happy hour (starting at five and going until seven), it was all women at the bar.  One guy sat with us for about ten minutes, but I think the estrogen was too much for him and he was like gone, daddy, gone as soon as he powered down his drink.

"I'm glad he's gone; I was afraid I was gonna get his cooties!"

“I’m glad he’s gone; I was afraid I was gonna get his cooties!”

I even had someone buy me a glass of wine, of which that was my third, and that’s another reason I didn’t write anything.  I didn’t meander back to the apartment until about eight, and by the time I was out of my work clothes I was just too burned out to want to do anything.  So I didn’t, because if you’re going to create, you don’t want to set out to create a mess.

I did, however, find time to snap a photo on the way home just to prove I exist.

I did, however, find time to snap a photo on the way home just to prove I exist.

Yesterday I turned fifty-nine, and that means I have another year before I hit the Big Six-O.  When I was a child sixty was pretty much the point where you lay down and got ready to die, or so it seemed.  I remarked to a friend once that everyone I knew back then who was sixty seemed and looked old, and that was probably because of the era in which they lived.  Today, people sixty are, like me, still working, still hanging out, still doing new things–some are even making sure they live as the person they were always meant to be.

Today is also post 1900, which means I’m one hundred away from two thousand posts in this blog.  Maybe this deserves a “Duh, du DUUUUUNNNNNN!” or something like that.  What it does means is that, right now that means I’ll hit post 2000 on Friday, 12 August, 2016, though I expect with rebloging a few posts here and there, it’s far more likely I’ll hit this point right around the start of August.  I remember saying nine hundred posts back that I didn’t know what I was going to do with this blog when I hit the Big 2-000, and I still don’t.  Part of me wants to go on, part of me wants to shut it down, part of me doesn’t have the faintest notion.  I will hit that point, however, that much I know.

And after that I can start to wonder what more I can do in the future.

I’ve got the summer to figure it out, that much is certain . . .

Trouble On the Site of Word

Well . . . if anyone can help me out I could use it.  It seems that I am unable to get into any of my blog posts without going through the straight up wordpress.com crazy little blue and green admin area.  I can access the post there and edit them, but I can’t view anything.  And not just my own posts, but anything attached to workpress.com.

Of course I can’t access the forums to even see if there’s a fix, so I’m sore of in a screwed position.  I can continue to post, but not much beyond that.

I’ve cleared cookies and cache and still nothing.  It’s also the same way on all my browsers, which leads me to believe I may have an issue with my internet provider, which I will check with tomorrow or Sunday.

So . . . if things seem a little slow the next few days, you know why.

B For Bewitching What To Write

“Why, wordpress?  Why do you vex me so?”

Fifteen Thirty Over

Today is sort of a strange day.  I’m feeling weird this morning, probably because I stayed shut up in the apartment all weekend and did little more than sleep and write.  There is a good side to that last, and it’s that I wrote well over five thousand words during this stint, and that means I’ll hit one hundred and fifty thousand tonight or tomorrow, because I’m only one thousand, one hundred and five words from that mark.

It all really depends on how I feel after I do my recap tonight.

Yesterday, however, I found something, though “found” is a relative term because it’s not like it ever went away.  What I found was my one hundredth post titled Centennial, and I’m actually pretty amazed by it, because, well, I was keeping track of posts then?  That sounds a little retentive, yeah?

I’ve been spending a little time at night going over some of the stuff I wrote way back in the days when I first started blogging, and believe me when I say it wasn’t pretty.  Mostly because I was kinda lost in my own life, and I had little idea about what I wanted to do, both with my writing and my life.  If you can believe it, I was a mess, and I’d just gone through one of the worst summers of my life, in terms of what it did to me emotionally and mentally.  I had very little to look forward to at that point, save for one thing:

Writing.

And for some strange, nefarious reason, I decided to begin blogging–

"No, this will be easy, I'll just write about whatever come to mind. That should work for the first week--"

“No, this will be easy, I’ll just write about whatever come to mind. That should cover the first week–“

And it just went from there.  Mostly I wrote about writing–big surprise!  Actually I started writing about writing because, truly, I felt it would keep me writing.  In a way it did:  at the end of August I started in on a story that would eventually becoming Kuntilanak, and I began blogging about the experience of writing the story, getting it edited, and eventually publishing the damn thing.

Also, all this blogging led me to decide to continue writing, and from there I spent the month of October getting ready for my first NaNoWriMo, the one that produced the only novel I’ve published–so far.  And because I had the blog, I used that as an outlet to show people what I was doing, how I was doing it, and when I reached November, I wrote about how much I was writing.  Sort of like Inception without the BLLLUUURRRRRRR every few minutes.

Today is post one thousand, six hundred and sixty, hence the post title, and a little calculating shows that Friday, 2 September, 2016, will be post two thousand–assuming I don’t miss a day somewhere in that mix.  It’s almost a year off in the future so I can’t really think much about the date, because no one know what and where we’ll be at that point.

I do know this much:  if I’ve blogging, I’m still writing.  And probably blogging about writing.  Probably writing about my kids.  Let’s hope the first novel is published by then, the second is done, and thinking about the third–

Because there are still a lot of stories to tell.

Remembrances of Posts Past

It’s one of those dark and stormy mornings here in The Burg, and in about ninety minutes I’m gonna have to get up and walk out there and maybe get rained on.  It’s hard to say, because at the moment it doesn’t look like it’s raining, but that could change by the time I’m dress and made up and heading out the door.

That’s the way life is:  one moment you’re blogging, the next you’re stuck in a thunderstorm and walking a mile in the rain.

I wrote last night.  I wrote a lot.  About a thousand words for my recap of a show I’m reviewing, and another thousand for the novel, and that’s a lot of words for one night.  It does seems as if I get up, write, go to work, program, come home, write, and crash about eleven at night.  Every night.  Well, almost:  I do take some weekends off.  Not a lot, but they are there.

One of the things I’ve done in the last few weeks it take some time and go back and read a few of my old posts.  Most of them aren’t really that interesting:  there was a period in 2012 where I didn’t say much of anything, and then suddenly:  boom!  I’ve got a lot on my mind and I’m gibbering all over the place.  I do know there were weeks in early 2012 when I was depressed as hell, and I struggled to write.  I struggled a lot.  Hell, I was struggling with everything–but that let to me getting therapy, and that was the first step I took to becoming who I am today.  Which may or may not be such a good thing, but that’s another post.

Last night I was checking out a few of the old posts and ran across one that I remember fondly, but hadn’t read all the way through in years.  I remembered the last third of it quite will, but I’d completely forgotten the majority of the post, and in their I found the story, pretty much laid out from the beginning, of how Annie and Kerry started.  It brought back a lot of memories, for it was a different local, a different time, and I was a far different person.  There were things I wanted to say, and I’d yet to begin writing the way I do today:  about the only time I’d speak in prose was here in this blog.  There were no stories other than the ones I was creating in my head–

And I was sharing them with only one person.

I don’t want to say “Those were the days,” because in a lot of ways they weren’t good days.  I was in a lot of pain, and even though the pain returns once in a while, it wasn’t like that pain.  Then again, I didn’t write today like I did back then, either.  To be honest it was more fun, because I was creating from scratch, and ideas were flowing, and it was helping me through hard times.  The ideas are still there, but today . . . I don’t seem to have the magic that I once had.  Maybe that’s because of . . . reasons.

Sometimes it feels like this.  Then again, I probably wouldn't mind this . . .

Sometimes it feels like this. Then again, I probably wouldn’t mind this . . .

My therapist always tells me not to look back because you can’t change the past.  I don’t want to change the past.

But I would love to bring parts of it to the present so I can hold it in the future.

A Modeling We Will Go

I didn’t write last night, nor have I done so yet today.  In fact, I had a bad connection at Panera this morning and found it necessary to come home.

Though I did manage to get a picture of my lovely pink nails before leaving.

Though I did manage to get a picture of my lovely pink nails before leaving.

But once back home I was like, “What am I gonna do?  What will I write about?”  That’s the problem with coming up with things to say everyday:  sometimes the well is dry, and you have to wait for it to fill up again.  In a way my blogging is like my writing exercises:  it’s a way to keep my mind sharp, or at least as sharp as I can keep it given my day-to-day routines.

And then I thought, “Hey?  Now’s a good time to build the Red Line.  And get some pictures while you’re doing this.”

Allow me to explain–

Inside the grounds of the School of Salem there are three cross-country courses.  The Green Line you’ve seen–it’s where Kerry and Emma wrecked the one time they decided to “travel at their own rate.”  The Blue Line you’ll see in this new story, and it’s where a lot of action takes place:  there’s even one scene titled Helter Skelter, named after one of the areas of the Blue Line.

But the Red Line . . . it’s been mentioned maybe two times, but I’ve never laid it out.  I’ve had an idea of what it would look like, particularly one section of the course, but I’ve not done the work of setting it up on my three dimensional model of the school–

Until now.

The process for doing so is actually simple at the beginning:  it’s really a case of making a copy of one of the course–in this case the Blue Line–and then doing a paste so I can turn it into the Red Line.  Kinda like this . . .

Here, orange is the new black.

Here, orange is the new black.

In the picture above I’ve already created the Red Line and I’ve started modifying it, building new curves and elevations.  When you’re working in three dimensions, it’s simply a matter of stretching out things here and there by highlighting the curve you’re working with and stretching it out in Edit Mode:

How the Red Line over Selena's Meadow looks from the north--

How the Red Line over Selena’s Meadow looks from the north–

And the same area from the south and above.

And the same area from the south and above.

It’s a bit time consuming, but it’s also a lot of fun, because you’re using your imagination to get things right.  Like one of the areas I’m working on now . . .

Though it’s not been mentioned yet, one of the most fearsome sections of the Red Line is a “curve” known as K1.  It’s not really a curve as much as it’s a summit, and it’s called K1 because this portion of the track tops out exactly one kilometer over the Great Hall.  What does that look like?  Let me get my handy measuring stick, which is exactly scaled to one thousand meters–

Yeah, pretty much a kilometer.

Yeah, pretty much a kilometer.

And since I can change the view of the model, it looks like this from the side:

Looks a lot higher from here.

Looks a lot higher from here.

As you can see my Red Line is only about a third of the way to the top of K1, so I have a bit more modeling ahead of me.  Unless . . .

Ah, that's more like it.

Ah, that’s more like it.

There you have it:  a little of what I do when I’m in the mood and I need to get my world into even better shape.  I probably won’t spend all day working on this, but part of the morning, and maybe in the afternoon, and a little here and there over the week.  Before you know it, I’ll have another course laid out–

That’ll make four, right?  I think I’ll be finished by then.