The Country of the Blind

Seriously, I was going to have something here for you to read–well, technically, I do have something for you to read and you’re reading it now.  But no, I was gonna work on the novel, and even got eighty words into it, before I was massively side tracked–

Last night I was finally attacked online for being trans.

It was really kinda of strange and stupid how it came up, because the troll–and I have no other word for her–rose up from out of nowhere and just started lobbing non sequiturs at me in a thread on Facebook that had nothing to do with anything even remotely LGBTA.  She was just like, “You’re not a woman.  You don’t know what sex you are,” and then threw in a Caitlyn Jenner jab because of course you have to do that if you wanna keep your Transphobic Card current these days.

I commented back to this person, but in a rather snarky and comical way–at one point she said I didn’t know what my type was, because of dating or some shit, and I told her it was Times New Roman.  She’s never tried to engage me directly, because that would require digging into her bag of tricks and actually coming up with something intelligent to say, and we all know that wasn’t gonna happen.

And then, come to discover, someone else in the same group, in another completely unrelated thread, decided to make an ultra snarky comment about me being the only person in the group who tucks “her” penis.  First off, how would she know?  Does she work for the NSA and she’s Secret Squirreling my ass when I dress in the morning?  And second:  for the record I don’t bother tucking ’cause there ain’t enough there to make tucking worth my while.  The strangest damn things people come up with, I’m tellin’ ya.

A lot of people came to my defense, which was heartening, and I did ask them on a few occasions to keep it classy and not get pulled into the growing whirlpool of ignorant suck.  Remember:  Never argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.  It’s good advice that’s true in any situation where you’re dealing with slack-jawed mouth breathers.

I’ve expected that sort of thing to happen for a while, and given I’ve been really public on social media of late, I expected the bigots and haters to get their spine up and say something.  And it will happen again, of that I’m certain.  But so what?  As I told this person last night, she sounded a lot like my grandparent telling me “the truth” about minorities, and when they died their took their ignorance with them, and she could expect the same treatment.  Not to mention I have friends from various ethnic and religious backgrounds who probably hear far worse shit like that on a daily basis.  If that’s the case I’m in good company.

I won’t ever let these people get the best of me because they are wrong:  that’s all there is to that deal.  Flap those jaws, fool, but don’t expect me to get bent out of shape and start yelling back at you.  It won’t ever happen.  If there is one thing I’m pleased with it’s who I am as a person–and you, loser, had nothing to do with me getting to this point.  By attacking me you’re going straight to the ad hominem, and that means you instantly lose any moral high ground you believed you possessed.  As I told this person last night after she accused me of attacking her when I said she was a bigot, “You pushed that button and opened the door:  I only kicked it wide open.”  Ah, yup.

Tonight I’ll get back to my kids and their instructors, one whom, as an A Level, dragged a girl by her hair from the Dining Hall to the Rotunda to “have a talk” because the dragged girl made the mistake of calling the instructor a racial slur.  I would truly love to do that same thing to the haters, but hey, we can’t have everything, right?  But I’ll be back to Salem this evening–I promise.

In the meantime I'm sorry I haven't the time for your shit:  I'm too busy being me.

In the meantime I’m sorry I haven’t the time for your shit: I’m too busy being me.

Come Down in Race Time

Even though I was home, it was travel time yesterday, because I was off to my HRT doctor for my one year check-up.  To get there I have to drive two hours into New Jersey, which isn’t a bad drive in of itself if you ignore the idiots around Allentown, where we are not living.

The news was good:  nothing abnormal has shown up in my labs; my lungs were clear; my heart was good; my blood pressure was the lowest it’s been (120/68); and the girls are growing.  My weight shot up a bit, but I can manage that with diet and exercise.  So, because I am a “graduate in good standing”–meaning I haven’t abused my hormone regiment and my health is good–my doctor wrote me a year-long script for my testosterone suppressant, and I have a new scripts for my estrogen which I can renew once, which means I’m good on that for a year.

Naturally, when I left the office I was all smiles . . .

Happy girl; happy face.

Happy girl; happy face.

I do labs again in December, but unless they are totally nuts, I only need to do them annually.  And my doctors visits are, for now, every six to eight months.  I don’t go back until February now.  It’s a good time.

I was almost eight hours on the road, and once back I had to write my Humans recap for this last episode–it was a good one filed with bad android sex–but I still got into the novel because I wanted to finish the scene, and five hundred forty-six words later, I did.  (If you’re keeping score, that’s also ten thousand, five hundred words for the chapter, and ninety-three thousand, four hundred for the novel.)

We left off with talk of Emma, but someone is a little tired of that . . .


(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie didn’t want to speak of Emma any longer. “Don’t let her get to you tonight. I want you to remember—”

He held Annie’s hand tight. “Yes?”

“You pointed in every race you were in today: not just on the A Team, but your two races on the B Team. You had two podiums on the B Team, and one was the win against Åsgårdsreia. And in your second A Team race you had a second—against Mórrígan.” Annie brought them both to a stop again, and she drew in several deep breaths before continuing. “If you hadn’t been blocked so many times in that last race, you would have finished fourth, maybe third, and Cernunnos would have likely won the Battle Royale.” Her last breath came slow, and when she exhaled her eyes burned. “I hate what she did to you, and I hate what that did to us.”


There you have it:  on the B Team Kerry had a win and a third (not mentioned, but that’s what it was), and on the A Team side he had a second, a fourth, and a sixth.  And the emphases on Mórrígan is Annie’s way of saying, “You placed second against the best.”  Since I have the results for that race figured out, it’s also evident that Kerry was the only member of his team to hit the podium against the best team in the school.  There will be some mention about that . . .

But Annie is a little pissed, it would seem–


Though he could be clueless, Kerry found it easy to understand Annie’s words. “You don’t like what happened to our coven.”

“No, I don’t. I just—” She looked away for a moment. “I never imagined I’d feel this way about racing. Then again, I never imagined I’d have a soul mate racing on the A Team.”

Kerry shrugged. “Just for today.”

“Oh, really?” Annie hugged Kerry, laughing softly. “You scored three out of three races, which is something Hasan hadn’t done since starting on the A Team. And don’t say you were lucky: the Samhain races are hard, and it was even harder for you because you ran five races.”

“Emma ran four—”

Annie clutched Kerry, pressing herself into him. “I don’t want to hear about Emma.” The submerged anger in Annie’s voice leaked out. “She had her second in the Battle Royale and an eighth in the last round. She didn’t do what you did, so stop making it sound like she’s somehow your equal—she isn’t.”


This is really the first time Annie has come across as even a little upset when there’s mention of the Soul Mate Stealing Bitch From Boulder, and she knows Kerry is trying to be nice, but dammit!  She wants him to remember what he did, because it was great.  Screw that Mile High Bitch, dude–

You're gonna make Annie angry; you don't want to do that--

You’re gonna make Annie angry; you don’t want to do that–

It does sound a bit like Annie wanted to bounce out of the stands and give Emma a good slapping.  I’d say some girl better not come over during the dance and ask if she can dance with Annie’s boyfriend.  It might not turn out as she expects.

Annie just wants the best for Kerry, and she’s trying to tell him–


Though their conversations about his wingmate were always cordial, Kerry imagined that perhaps Annie harbored some animosity over what Emma tried last Yule, and his thoughts were now made real. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“—Can’t see how good you are?” Annie took one step back, holding Kerry’s hands in each of hers. “You get too close and all you see are flaws, but I see how you really are. I see the wonderful witch, the serious sorceress, and now the amazing racer. I see them all, my love; it’s impossible not to see this.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him—not lightly like before, but with more strength, more passion, more love. Everything she felt flowed from her to him in that kiss, and the light headedness they’d spoken over before began to creep in and fog her mind. “Hold me, dear. Hold me tight.”

Kerry got his hands around Annie’s waist and pressed her against him. “I have you, Sweetie. Don’t worry.”

“I never do when I’m in your arms.” She chuckled as the faintness began to slowly subside. “My mother—”

Kerry lightly stroked her hair. “What about her?”

“She told me I’d fall in love with a racer.” She tilted her head back and kissed his cheek. “I shouldn’t have doubted her.”

Kerry kissed her back. “How could you have known?”

“Because I’m my mother’s daughter.” Annie tapped her finger against Kerry’s lips. “How could I not have known?”


It’s over:  all the racing is, for now, finished.  Now on to the dance.

It’s time to make the costumes.

The Loneliness of the Dark Minions: the Shaming

This morning had a definitely The Mist quality going on, with fog so thick I couldn’t see the river from my apartment.  Though it’s pretty much burned off right now, for a while I was looking for Dale, Andrea, and Carol to see if they were about, which would likely mean I was about to be eaten by some creature from another dimension, but all was good.  Life goes on.

Yesterday was a lot of sitting around fighting off what felt like an oncoming cold, and I report that all is good today.  I also washed all my panties, because I don’t want to do that when I’m home in Indiana, I just wanna take with me what I need this time.  But I wrote:  started in the afternoon, took a nap, had dinner, but all the while I kept the story up and slowly wrote.  I went slow because I changed things as I went along, looked things up, and generally changed paragraphs as I went along.

It’s not usual for me to write like this, particularly on the weekends, but I wanted to finish the scene.  I’d already spent yesterday morning writing five hundred and twenty-seven words, and I knew I’d need to write a lot more, so I did:  sixteen hundred and fifty-four by about ten PM last night.  That’s a two thousand word day, and that’s something I haven’t done in a while, only because I’m usually dead by six PM any more.

A twenty-seven hundred word penultimate scene, and one to go for the chapter, part, and act.  There’s also this:

Knockin' on Eighty Thousand's Door.

Knockin’ on Eighty Thousand’s Door.

If you do the math I’m one hundred and thirty-nine words from eighty thousand total.  Which I will do today, for sure.  And this is the short part; the part before ran almost forty thousand word, and if this part had went the same length, I’d have a one hundred thousand word act on my hands.  I do believe Act Two will be a long one, though Act Three could be pretty hefty as well.  No matter what:  the end of this act is about fifteen hundred words in the future, and if I have nothing to do today, I can finish it off.  If not, I can do so tomorrow.  But it’s right here, and I feel good about this milestone.

What interesting things are happening in this scene?  Well, I did set things up to put Annie and Kerry alone with the rest of the B Levels . . .


(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie looked a bit sheepish. “I thought my privacy spell would have kept her from hearing us.”

Kerry shrugged. “If she were mad, I think she would have said something before leaving.” He tried to appear unconcerned. “I guess we’re the sorceress on the scene.”

Annie grinned. “For the moment.” She turned to face the rest of the room—half the class was ignoring them; the other half were glaring at them. “I’m not sure I like the current mood in here.”

He examined the other students. “Yeah. The temperature here seems to have turned chilly all of a sudden.” He turned his back on the class as he whispered to Annie. “You wanna split up and wander about or . . ?”

Annie wasn’t certain what they should do. On the occasions in the past where Helena had left the room, she always said she’d return momentarily and left the class to their own devices. This was the first time Helena had indicated someone was in charge of the class while she was away. “I think we should keep doing what we were doing. I don’t see any reason to change.”


Keep to the status quo:  what’s working before should keep working until The Big Bad Witch gets back.  However, someone’s already ready to mess things up . . .


Franky Smith slapped his dish, nearly sending it spinning off his work counter. “Screw this, man.”

She knew she shouldn’t respond, but Annie also felt a responsibility to help where possible. She stopped her slow stroll and turned to the Canadian boy. “Do you need help, Franky?”

He didn’t look in Annie’s direction as he replied. “No.”

“Are you sure?” She started moving towards his seat. “You almost had—”

Franky spun around in his chair. “I don’t want your help, okay?”

Annie stopped a few meters away and took measures to keep her face passive. “I’m only offering some assistance, Franky.”

His voice dropped while his tone turned abrasive. “Did I ask for your assistance, huh? No.” He turned away from Annie and faced forward once more. “Find someone else to bother.”

She was about to walk away when Fidele Diaz turned to covenmate Gavino D’Addario on his right and mumbled loud enough to be heard by most others in the room. “Not very good at running the class, is she?”

Gavino chuckled. “Better not argue with one of Lovecraft’s pets—” He glanced over his shoulder. “She’ll turn you into a newt.”

“Naw.” Fidele shook his head. “That’s her boyfriend’s job.”

Gavino nodded back. “When he’s not running from monsters—”

Both boys chuckled before Fidele added to Gavino’s thought. “Another of his talents.”


The shade throwing is officially in session, and in case you need some reminding, Fidele is the kid who started the whole “Lovey Dovey Couple” stuff, so he doesn’t mind throwing out a few putdowns.  And throwing out some trash talk is easy to do when you spent the same time sitting on your butt in a room under your tower protected by a big blue bubble of magical energy.  Not one of these kids saw this creature–save for Emma, and there’s a reason she’s not speaking up right now, which you’ll discover in a later scene.

There is, however, someone else who wants to throw in their two cents–


She’d begun walking away when another voice joined the conversation—one she was coming to loath. “You guys left off his best quality—” Annie turned just enough to see Lisa effecting an exaggerated pout before whimpering like someone crying.

Annie was about to say something to Lisa when Franky rejoined the conversation. “Hey, Lisa: you wanna go with me into Salem this Sunday?” Several B Levels were going on an escorted trip to Salem on Sunday for lunch, shopping, and to get away from the school for a few hours.

Lisa faced him and tried her best to look coy. “Are you asking me out, Franky?”

“Yeah, I am.” He leaned in her direction. “We can go to Starbucks: I’ll buy you a Frappuccino.”

Lisa beamed as she batted her eyes at the boy, He gaze shifted to Annie for but a moment before she gave her reply. “I’d love to. Just make sure you don’t cry.” She looked directly at Annie. “I’m not into whinny, sensitive guys.”


Oh, look:  Lisa’s got a date.  Isn’t that nice . . . Good thing she doesn’t like sensitive guys, ’cause Franky is setting himself up as a total dick, so he’s probably a perfect match for this little mean girl witch that Lisa’s embracing.  Yes, people noticed that Kerry had a lot of cases of leaky eyes during his A Levels, and Lisa doesn’t mind driving home that fact.

Annie’s remained quiet–as has Kerry–because they’re both not sure if they can tell students to shut the hell up.  But Annie does try to stem the flow just a little–


Before Franky could answer Annie move up behind him. “You should get back to your spell.” He looked to her left and right. “All of you should.”

A silence of almost five seconds filled the room, and Annie began to wonder who would be the first to speak. She wasn’t disappointed . . .

“Go away, Annie.” Lisa leaned against her work desk. “We weren’t talking to you.”

“You’re not supposed to be talking to anyone.” She turned to Franky. “Please work on your spell.”

Lisa wasn’t finished. “Don’t you get it? No one cares what you want. You may think you’re some kind of hot shit, but you’re not.” She tiled her head to the left and crossed her eyes. “Maybe I should say it in Bulgarian so you’ll understand?”

Annie consider a retort that wouldn’t involve telling Lisa to shut up—which, she realized, would probably lead to another exchange of words—when Franky settled the matter for her. “Just go—” He gave Annie a disgusted look. “If I want your help I’ll ask.”


You have to give Annie credit:  she came close to bleeding out one student, and was within seconds of lighting up Lisa, and not she’s getting shit from another student who’s telling her to walk away.  She’s getting far better at holding back her homicidal tendencies–


She stared at Franked for a few seconds before deciding this confrontation wasn’t worth her time. Wednesday’s words from yesterday morning came back to her: It’s not personal: it’s just the way things are. This wasn’t a fight she needed, nor would making a scene solve the situation.

Instead Annie drew in a breath and met Franky’s gaze. “I see.” With that she walked away, feeling nearly every set of eyes on her as she approached Kerry.

He didn’t make an attempt to comfort her: he was aware that now wasn’t the time. He did want to know how she felt, however. “You good?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.” She nodded to the class behind her without taking her eyes off Kerry’s comforting face. “Nothing personal.”

“Well—” He touched her shoulder, the first personal touch either of them had made since class started. “It’s not like you have to worry about C Level sorcery, right?


One could argue that Kerry should have kept his mouth shut, but he threw out some trash of his own, probably because he’s in the mood to throw out a mild zinger of his own–one that doesn’t go unnoticed:


Franky’s head whipped around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kerry shrugged. “It means what it means.”

Franky raised his voice as Kerry began turning away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re an idiot, Franky.” Kerry slowly turned to face the belligerent boy, taking in the entire class in one sweep. He raised his voice only enough so there wasn’t any doubt of being heard. “It means you’re struggling with a spell that Annie figure out a year ago by reading a book. It means she’s a good teacher, ‘cause she taught me, and if you weren’t all the way up your butt you might a figured that out.” He raised his arm in an exaggerated shrug. “So like, you know, she—” He pointed at Annie on his left. “—doesn’t have to worry about C Level sorcery, ‘cause she already knows a spell that most of you won’t master until our D Levels. Do I need to draw a diagram for you, genius?” He cocked his head to the left in an imitation of what Lisa did to Annie and spoke in a strangely accented voice. “Or should I said it again in Canadian so you’ll understand, eh?”

Franky seemed almost ready to get out of his chair and start a fight, but Kerry turned away and started towards the front of the room. Annie was there with him, on his left between him and the class. She didn’t look over her shoulder; she didn’t want another confrontation. She want to go back to wandering the class and not caring if the students worked on the spell—


Kerry used the stereotypical “Hey, take off, hoser” accent when throwing that last put-down at Franky, and this is probably the first time he’s ever told someone to just shut the hell up.  It’s also the first time he’d defended Annie, though he did it in a way that didn’t make her look as if she needed his protection:  as he might say, “I was just stating facts.”  And there was nothing he said that wasn’t a lie.

So that’s the end of the cutdowns, right?  Oh, sure . . .


“What kind of loser gives a book as a birthday present?”

Annie kept walking, not looking back, and though Kerry did the same, she heard his slow exhale, sensed his tensing. She’d mentioned the present to a few of the instructors, and they’d both spoken to the Advanced Spells class when Nadine asked if Annie had received a present for her birthday. I don’t think she’d say anything to anyone, not intentionally, but Rivânia’s in Åsgårdsreia and Pang’s in Ceridwen with Franky. They must have spoken with a few of their levelmates, and the story filtered down the tower

“How lame is that crap? I can see it now—” Lisa pretended to hand something to an unseen person. “Oh, my Sweetie Honey, I bought you the most wonderful gift.”

Franky clutched his hands and pressed them against his cheek. “Oh, my lovey, my wonderful lovely dovey—”

Several of the students in the room laughed, and Lisa fed off the feeling. “I’m not good with presents—” She pretended to sniffle. “—but I have this—” The boo-hoos came next. “—this gift for you—” Lisa broke down into pretend sobs. “—I’m so different, so strange . . .”

“Oh, Ker-ree.” Franky spoke in an exaggerated version of Annie’s normal accent. “Oh, my lovey boy, you aure no not struang—”

“Oh, my Swww-swweettie.” Lisa rested her head against her desk, pretending to blubber. “You are—the only one—”


Moment of truth, here:  I hated writing this part.  I needed to show that Lisa is a little bitch and that her teasing, and that of a few others, could border on bullying.  I hated writing this because I do remember the times when I was teased for crying, and even being teased into crying, and any time you have to delve back into that circle of hell that was your tween and early teen years, you’re setting yourself up for some hurt.

No one in that room know the actual feelings that exist between Annie and Kerry, and damn sure none of them understand the symbolism of the gift he gave Annie.  All these festering masses of raging hormones see is some weird-ass boy who spent a good portion of his A Levels crying at the drop of a hat gifting a book to some spooky-ass girl who the majority of the class view as a stuck-up Ice Princess.  And the fact that more than a few levelmates are laughing at the interaction between Lisa and Franky shows they aren’t like Coraline and Deanna and Erywin and a lot of other instructors and staff.  They don’t view their relationship as romantic:  they view it as a joke.

They’ll never understand my kids.

Say . . . aren’t we missing someone?  You bet we are–


What the hell is going on?” Helena’s entrance was precipitated by the soft pop of her jaunting into the room near the door. “You think you can screw around the moment I’m out of the room and I won’t know?” She tisk tisked the class before turning to Annie and Kerry, who were standing off to one side seeming a bit tense. “Did anyone ask for help with the class assignment?”

Annie turned her head so she could see the Head Sorceress better. “No, Professor.”

Kerry didn’t look at Helena. “No, Professor.”

Helena pifted. “How the hell am I gonna make sorceresses out of this lot?” She pointed at Lisa, and then at the cowering Franky. “Get your asses to my office now and stay there. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve finished here.” She nodded towards the now opening door. “And you better hope I don’t turn you over to Jessica for punishment, ‘cause she’ll turn you both into a goddamn sofa for her office for the weekend.”


I have to really show this soon:  never mess with the Mistress of Transformation.


She waited until Lisa and Franky were out of the class before she addressed the remaining students. “Okay, since you’re got time to laugh your asses off, let’s see if any of you learned anything.” Helena began turning towards her minions. “You better impress me, ‘cause I’m suddenly in the mood to hand out a shitload of detention.”

While her message sank in she joined her minions on the far side of the room. “You both don’t need to stick around.” She turned to Annie. “Why don’t you take Kerry down to the Black Vault and show him around?”

Both of Annie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He’s not permitted to enter.”

“He is now.” She gave them a wink and a grin. “Go on. After I’m done with those two idiots in my office I’ll come down and we’ll talk about what happened here. Just know—” She gave them both a pat on their shoulders. “I didn’t give permission to do what was needed to take care of—well, what was going on when I popped in—”

Annie nodded slowly. “Professor?”


“Did you do this to test us?”

Helena’s expression didn’t change for the three seconds she maintained eye contact with Annie. She finally turned to Kerry. “You okay?”

He stared at the Head Sorceress, his green eyes hard with an unknown emotion. “I’m all right.”

Helena knew better than to pursue this line, and felt it better to leave him in better hands. “Okay, you guys. I’ll see you in a bit.”


This now begs the question:  was that a test?  Helena was already aware that the majority of the class wasn’t happy with her choice of minions, and she may have suspected that if she were out of the room for a bit a few of the troublemakers would let the true colors shine.  Helena must have Far Sight, so she could probably go anywhere in the Witch House that isn’t heavily shielded and continue watching the classroom–proving that these little teen witches don’t think about how far one can go with magic–not only to see who was going to be a pain in the ass, but how her two minions would react.

You have to wonder if Annie and Kerry were running the A good sorceress keeps their wits about them when everything is going to hell around them mantra the whole time students made fun of them.  Kerry didn’t cry, but it’s pretty evident he locked himself down so he didn’t lose his cool–and seeing how he was bleeding out homunculi just a few days before, he might have wanted to give the class a practical demonstration of that particular spell.  And Annie–enough said.  At this point it’s a given she could light up Lisa and/or Franky and put them in the hospital for an overnight stay, and then head off to lunch like it was no big deal.

Helena is always training sorceresses, even when said kids are leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else.  She isn’t always going to tell you what she’s testing, it seems.  But is Kerry getting access to the Black Vault a reward for not killing any students?  Maybe.  Maybe not.

Maybe we’ll find out more during shopping . . .

A Walk Through the Reticent

This morning did not start out good.  Because of I’m a certain age and gender, I tend to get hit upon by scammers who are, first, looking for romance, and, second, looking for your money.  They almost always appear as single dads whose wife has left them or died, and they have at least one child, usually between the ages of six and twelve.  And for the extra topper, they’re almost always stationed in Afghanistan, because of course.  Who’s going to say no to being wooed by a person in the service.

Well, me, for one.

But I digress.  They have the same stock rap and the same smooth operations, and anymore I almost never bother friending them except to allow them to chat me up enough so I can report them to Facebook before blocking them.  Which is what I did with this assclown this morning.  The problem was I was looking for a theme for the post today, and Mr. Lookin’ For Romance–he whom claimed to have read my profile; he whom said he was being directed by god to find someone’s heart he could touch; he whom picked the atheist lesbian to lay his rap upon–totally took me out of my creative space and sent me into a pissed-off spiral that forced me to let him have it good before the reporting, blocking, and unfriending commenced.

All that, however, just sort of sent me into a bit of a pity spiral.  I was feeling crappy last night, and for the first time in a long time didn’t go out to Panera to dine and write.  And there are times when the loneliness of my situation really comes crashing down on me, and I feel as if I can’t take another moment.  I ran all that through my head before getting ready and heading out into the walk to work, where–

It was snowing.

There’s a light snow coming down this morning, and we could get between three and five inches before it stops.  It’s been a long time since I’ve walked in falling snow:  it was something I loved to do as a kid, and often when it was snowing I’d bundle up and go outside for thirty or forty minutes to walk up and down the road and feel the cold flakes upon my face.

I did that today as well.

A bit like this, only far more urban.

A bit like this, only far more urban.

Once I was on my way, once I was heading through the Capitol Park and alone with my thoughts, I imagined Annie and Kerry wandering the paths of the school, hand-in-hand, as the snow falls.  Kerry wouldn’t see this sort of thing much, and he’d likely be enthralled by it–though given the snow that’s fallen this year, maybe they wouldn’t be that excited.  Right now they’d be in their D Levels and waiting for school to end in another two-and-a-half months, but at that moment–parallel to what I was feeling–they’d enjoy a little snow falling on their faces.

I was smiling by the time I walked into work, because I love seeing myself come through the door all bundled up in my coat and boots, with the hair from my wig peeking out from my hood.  My mood has improved, if only because I felt something that I haven’t felt in a long time.

Simple joy.

If only I could have shared that with another person at the same time . . .

Onward and Backwards

Welcome to the Real World–one that isn’t 2012.  Stumbling forward towards a second year of blogging and story telling, and now I’m up to doing both this new year.

So . . . Suggestive Amusements.  Wrote yesterday, wrote this morning.  Chapter One, and I’m just a little over two thousand words into it.  It’s smooth, and the writing is going well.  I’m remembering not to use “Suddenly” to set up action; not to use “Very” as a adverb as it’s lazy and it won’t get us laid; not to start a conversation with “So”, and not to say “Truth be told”, because it’s a tired cliché.

I’m also noticing that a lot of my own feelings are popping out upon the page.

The main character is a writer–or, I should say, someone who is writing, someone who is trying to publish, someone who has a few things out in ebook format, and someone who is tired of the work they’re now doing.  Oh, sure, sounds like someone I know–sounds like a lot of people I know.

There’s something else popping out upon the page, however, and that’s some personal feelings about work.  Not just work in general, but how I felt about my last job . . .

It’s no huge secret that I hated my late position.  I hated it going in, and I didn’t like it any better as time went on, and such were my feelings that when I was told in October that my position was being eliminated, and that my services were no longer needed, it was all I could do to keep from smiling as I headed for the exit.  As the movie quote goes, “If I were half the man I was five years ago, I’d take a flamethrower to this place!”  Well, I’m more than the person I was five years ago, and it’s been a very fortunate thing that I didn’t find any flamethrowers laying about.

The thing is, as I started in on how my main character feels about his job, there was the sudden . . . whoosh of feelings, you could say.  Things about my old slave cubical came back; little nuances about how things were done in the office were remembered, and as I began to created the words needed to bring the character’s sense of ennui to the forefront, a feeling of “I’ve been here before” was dancing about me like a crazed jester.

I didn’t just hate my last job:  I loathed it with the power of a thousand hypernovas being sucked into the kill-hell galactic black hole of all galactic black holes.  That’s a lot of power:  a hypernova produces 1 x 1046 joules of energy in photons, and that’s 2 x 1036 tons of TNT.  If you want to see that number, here it is:  2000000000000000000000000000000000000 tons.  That two trillion yottatons, which is a real number.  It’s also a number so large that there is another word for it:  Foe, which is only used to measure the power of supernovas.

Now add three more zeros onto that number, and find the energy necessary to toss the whole mess into the event horizon of a super-super-super massive black hole, and watch the gamma rays fly!

That’s how much I hated my last job, and I’m feeling it when I write this chapter.

But this chapter will be over soon; maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow night.  Then I can move onto my lovely muse coming to visit my main male character–

Oh, did I say things were going to get simple?