Unquiet Slumbers for the Sleepers . . .

It’s almost over.  This “short scene” of action that would end up the centerpiece of a twenty-five thousand word novella has turned into a novella of its own–thought, to be fair, it’s still the centerpiece of a short novel.  Funny how those things work out.

But it’s in the final stretch.  The last chapter ended up about thirteen hundred words full, and I set the first short sentence of a next part of the chapter before I decided my eyes were going to begin fighting me before long if I continued upon this course.

It’s what’s for breakfast, though.  After posting I’ll get into the chapter and rip into the sucker.  I’ll finish up the last segment of this nightmare, spill the last blood, and set up Part Four.  I still have another character to bring on stage in somewhat dramatic fashion, though I could say I’m really bringing four characters onto the stage, but one doesn’t have a lot of lines, and the other two–better not say.

“What of the unquiet slumber you speak of?” I hear you say.  I don’t really hear you saying it, but I know it’s there, at least in my imagination . . . good question, though.  Here’s what I mean.

First off, there’s this story idea that is tearing around in my head–again.  It’s another of those erotic fantasies, like the one I just finished before the Camp, and it won’t go away.  It wants me to write it down in my Ideas Project so that it becomes a thing, a real thing that stays around forever, but I’m resisting.  At least for now.  But the time will come–maybe today, maybe tomorrow–when I set the idea inside an idea file, and save the project.  Again.  Because I never have enough ideas, it appears.

Then there’s the dream . . .

For the longest time dreams have been impossible to remember, likely because of a combination of long work hours and exhaustion.  But they’ve been coming back, because who knows, they just do.  There’s a reason they tickle your brain in the middle of the night, because they are reminding you that you’re not the boss of your mind subconscious.

What did I have in my dreams?  A whole lot of being told that I can’t do things that I want to do.

It felt like I was at Comic Con, though it could have been any con, since I’ve attended GenCon and know what they’re like.  I was walking to and fro, my badge slung around my neck, and it seemed like everywhere I went, I’d hear from people about how I shouldn’t dress a certain way, or I shouldn’t walk a certain way.  How I shouldn’t walk onto a panel and talk about a certain subject.  How I should write stories a certain way, or that there were some stories I shouldn’t write at all.

Crap like that the whole time.

In the end I walked into a hall dressed a bit like the Silk Specter, though what I had on was more red and black than yellow and black.  I seem to remember flipping someone off as I headed through the door, because they were about to question where I was going, and I didn’t feel like giving them the satisfaction of being able to feel good about “telling me something”.

That unquiet slumber is over.  Now I have writing to do.

After I tell this idea to stop bugging me.

Slowing to Subluminal

Despite my complaints in yesterday’s post, I managed a little time at GenCon yesterday.  I didn’t get into anything, nor enter the dealer’s room, but just walking around, seeing people, interacting with friends–yeah, that did the trick.  I exited my semi-funk, when out with friends for dinner, did the human contact thing once more.

That, more than anything, put me in a great frame of mind, even if it did mean walking back to my car in the rain.  Hey, what’s a little wetness, huh?

This week I promised I’d take things easy.  I knew I might be busy, so I didn’t want to push things with a lot of extra work.  I’ve continued blogging, but I decided that, after finishing Diners, I’d go easy.  I might edit, or I might just read and leave the editing for next week.

Last night, and the night before, it’s been more reading and trying to relax, more than anything else.  I spent time catching up on some games–yeah, I’m a gamer, so I was reading supplements.  After that I’d play a game.  Maybe read a little more . . .

It didn’t take long to realize that I was bored.

There was even a point last night, about 9 PM, when I looked around and said, “What the hell am I gonna do?”  I’d decided to stay away from writing, but I realized that, for the last year, most of my evenings had been taken up with writing, and now . . . nothing.

No words on the screen in front of me.  No Scrivener.  No story.

I missed it all.

I didn’t pull out something to edit, though, but instead read some more.  But the notion hit me hard:  I’ve been writing for a long time, and when I’m not doing it, I notice it.  While I might be so tired that I don’t feel like doing it, I was still doing it.

That’s not there this week.  In it’s place there is a whole lot of nothing, and that nothing isn’t doing anything for me.  Not like back in the days when I was taking about 450mg of antidepressants and mood stabilizers.  Back then I could sit at the computer and just do little clicks on things here and there, and it wasn’t a problem.  Of course not:  I was zombied out then.

I’m not these days.

I have my creativity back, and there is the need to exercise it as much as possible.  Even if it’s just an edit, I need to do something.  I may bitch about the work, but it’s what I want.  There are tales to tell, and I need to tell them.

For a while now, I’ve felt like one of those ships in my stories, zipping along at FTL speeds.  I’ve now dropped out of hyper-light space, and I’m moving along at normal velocities–

It sucks.  I don’t like this.

It’s time to re-engage the hyperdrive.  Maybe not tonight, because I feel tonight’s drive home may be brutal, but tomorrow is another day, and I have things to do.

Set that course and get going, dude.  Because, before you know it, tomorrow is yesterday.

Hey, that sounds like a great title for a story!


As much fun as I poke at people who are often thought of as geeks, I’m right in there with them–for the most part.  I’m a gamer, but not one of those newfangled TV or computer games.  No, sir.  I’m a table top role player, the sort of person who sits down at a table with a bag of dice, and sets about slaying the dragon, or blowing shit up.  Usually the later, as the only dragons I ever met were in Shadowrun.  Happy elves and singing dwarfs make me want to slit their throats when everyone is asleep . . .

GenCon is going on this very moment.  That’s like the Lourdes of gaming for some people, and it’s always a big deal.  I used to attend GenCon back when it was in the MECCA Complex in Milwaukee, back when us folk close to Chicago used to sing, “Hey der, Ho der, Yah, hey hey, Stay in Milwaukee and Game!”  Back then there was a sort of funky, low rent feel to everything, almost like you were gaming in your parent’s basement, but when I was there running four games, early in the morning and late at night, I couldn’t have had a better time.

That’s all in the past.  These days it’s in Indianapolis, and it holds sway over the burb for four day in August.  It’s a good time for all, though given the state of the gaming industry, it’s not quite as–well, role playing-centric as it once was.  I suppose I could bitch and grumble like some old fart who keeps finding kids on his lawn, but no:  the future is here, and why get pissed?  I’m happy people are still gaming, I’m thrilled to see how independent companies have started selling through the Internet.

I’m not at GenCon this year.  2008 saw my last appearance, and the year before that I’d had such a horrible experience at the con that I almost didn’t return in ’08.  I ran games again, I played a little . . . I had a great time.

Then I was laid off, no work, no spare income, and GenCon had to wait.

Now, here I am, working, a little extra money, and yet . . . I kept saying, “Naw, I don’t have to go.  I don’t need to go.  Hell, I don’t even want to go.”  Yep, I’d decided I didn’t need the con this year, because–well, it’s not because of science, that’s for sure.

I blew it off, and now I’m feeling a bit of regret.  Not because going gives me an excuse to spend money, but because . . . I could use the fun.

There has been a singular lack of fun in my life for a while, and just wandering the halls would brighten my spirits.  Maybe I’d see some people I know.  Maybe I’d even see something cool that I don’t need, but want.  If I’d thought ahead, I could be styling in my Ponythulhu tee shirt, letting everyone know that Friendship is, indeed, Madness, and getting my gaming grove back.

I let work get in the way of enjoying myself, and now I’m feeling bummed as hell.

Never mind.  I’ve got my mind made up . . . next year, I’m coming, project deadlines or not.

And if they think they’re gonna stop me, they best make a saving roll . . .