Dreams of My Summer Holiday

I was, for sure, in a better mood last night, attention-wise and health-wise.  I didn’t feel as tired, that’s a fact, Jack, and that meant I could write with almost minimal distractions–well, almost.  Last night Zero Hour! was playing on TCM, and if you aren’t familiar with this movie, it’s about a Air Canada flight going to Vancouver that sees the passengers and crew coming down with ptomaine poising because of bad beef and fish, leaving the only person on the plane to fly a former pilot who hasn’t been back in the cockpit since a disastrous mission at the end of World War II.

If the plot sounds like you may have seen this movie somewhere before, this was the story spoofed by the movie Airplane!, and the spoofing went so far that actually lines of dialog were taken straight from Zero Hour!, and the character who has to fly the plane while still suffering from the lingering effect of his last mission–probably not over Nacho Grande–is named Ted Stryker.  Surely I jest?  I don’t.  And . . . you know the rest.

Still, I wrote–if only because Sterling Hayden was on my TV yelling at me.  I wrote a lot more than the night before, probably two-and-a-half times more.  It was sit down time with Deanna, and once the greetings were out of the way, she got right to business:

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

The setup was much as it was last year: pillows on the floor, most of them up front where Deanna had created a nice spot for her to sit and converse with several students at once. Annie sat on one of the pillows facing Deanna’s seat, and Kerry waited until she was comfortable before taking the pillow to her right.

Deanna smoothed out her loose, cream colored slacks and sat cross-legged facing her friends. “How was your summer?”

Annie smiled, knowing this question was coming. “Good.”

Kerry mimicked her. “It was good.”

Deanna nodded. “I see. Did you manage to keep in touch?”

“Yes. We wrote.” Annie reached for Kerry’s hand. “He wrote by hand, just as he promised.”

Kerry couldn’t keep from blushing. “Well, yeah.”

“Good for you Kerry.” A faint grin began forming upon Deanna’s face. “I heard you had a small rendezvous for lunch in London.” She caught the surprised looks. “Erywin told me last night during the coven leader’s meeting.”

“Oh; okay.” Kerry looked at Annie out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, we met. But . . .” He turned to Annie, his grin fading.

Annie squeezed Kerry’s hand. “It wasn’t long enough. We didn’t want to part.”

“I can understand you feeling that way.” The seer glanced from one child to the other. “Love does that to you: it makes it so you never want to let go.”

Annie nodded. “I didn’t.”

Kerry stared at a space on the floor between Deanna and him. “I didn’t, either.”

Yes, never let go, even when you look like you're going to get turned into marketing material.

Yes, never let go, even when you find yourself having to let go.

Deanna doesn’t have quite the line on love that, say, Coraline or Erywin have, but she knows it when she sees it, and she sees it a lot in these two kids.  She also knows a few of their intimate secrets–something you really don’t want to have at twelve, and even less want to talk about at that age–but who can guess at what our Salem Seer really knows.  Speculate all you like, ’cause I know, and I’m not talking.  Not for a while, anyway . . .

With the “Hey, have a good time?” out of the way, Deanna gets serious:

“No need to worry about that now; you’re back here.” Deanna waved the door shut. “There, more privacy. Now . . .” Even with no one else in the room, the seer lowered her voice. “Did you share any dreams?”

The couple exchanged looks before Annie chose to speak. “Yes. There were . . . two.”

Deanna couldn’t help but notice the pause. “Only two?”

“Yes. Over the summer.”

“Were there others before the summer? Say—while you two were away one weekend in April?”

The two exchanged hurried glances. “We didn’t say—” Kerry looked over his shoulder, confirming they were alone.

Deanna put their fears at rest. “You need not worry: I figured the stories given for your absences that weekend were fabricated.” She shrugged. “Annie was home for ‘personal reason’, and you, Kerry: you were in New York for ‘testing’. And at the same time Erywin was home for personal reasons as well, and Helena was off somewhere on ‘Guardian business’.” The was one soft chuckle. “It didn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to figure out the four of you were off somewhere together—and given that you both were working with Helena and Erywin for most of the month—and when you came back and had to spend the night in the hospital . . .”

“I suppose it wasn’t much of a cover story.” Annie had thought at the time that the reasons given for their being away, but since the Guardians demanded they stick to those particular stories, Kerry and she felt that had no choice.

Deanna shook her head. “People here always suspect Guardian business when Helena runs off for a weekend. And if she should disappear with Erywin and two students in tow . . .” She shrugged. “Did you believe someone would come up and ask you if your story was legitimate?”

Annie had never considered the question before, but now it made complete sense. She’s right; who would question us? If Deanna knew we were lying, others must have figured it out as well. No one wanted to say anything, likely because they knew we were doing something for the Guardians that weekend, and they were worried if they asked questions they’d end up getting into trouble . . .

There is a completely valid point here:  who the hell is going to come out and ask, “Were you guys doing something with the Guardians last weekend?”  Besides getting a “No” and a cold stare from a certain Chestnut Girl, that person would set themselves up as just being too damn snoopy.  Deanna pretty much indicates no one ever pestered Helena over her weekends away from the school, and now that it seems she’s taken a couple of students under her wing–one for sure, Skippy–one can bet they’ve learned at the leather-clad knee of the Dark Mistress, so why would any student–or even instructor, for that matter–set themselves up that way?  Going there puts one at risk, and who wants that?

They tell Deanna about their first two dreams, and she loves how they interact while discussing them–

Deanna loved watching their interaction together. They are so unlike the children their age: so mature in their affection . . . “And the third dream?”

“In that dream we were mature, and . . . sparkly? Does that seem right? And emo? I’m sorry: I don’t do emo.”

No, nothing like that:

 Kerry sat up and appeared embarrassed, while a slight flush appeared in Annie’s cheeks. Words stumbled from Kerry’s mouth. “We were, um, in a hotel room, and—”

Annie decided to get the matter out in the open so they wouldn’t be more embarrassed than they’d already been. “We were in bed together—naked.”

“That is—” Deanna wasn’t worried about what might have happened in the dream: as in real life, she trusted their actions—at least for now. “I take it that’s never happened before.”

Kerry shook his head. “No. We always show up in our pajamas first, then usually change after.”

“And did you dress?”

“Yes. We got our pajamas on, and then . . .”

Annie picked up the thread. “We left the room and went to my grandparent’s villa in France.”

This was something Deanna had never heard mentioned before. “Your grandparents live there?”

“No. They have a villa there they visit once in a while. I’ve stayed there with my mother, but not in a while.”

“And why do you think you went there.”

Annie half turned towards Kerry before explaining. “We’ve spoken about living there—”

Kerry took Annie’s hand. “We talked about it when we—” He shrugged. “When we were away last school year, and we talked about it when we were in the dream.” He looked directly at Deanna. “We want to have a home there—later. You know.”

“Yes, I do.” The seer watched Annie’s face as Kerry finished his statement. She’s proud of him for saying that. Deanna realized this was a far different Kerry than who’d left here at the end of last year—at least when it came to speaking about Annie. She remembered Erywin telling her about their meeting in Perquat’s Grove, and how after Annie had spoken of her desire at an earlier age to marry Kerry, he’d accepted Annie’s feelings, and ignored her concerns, even arguing that she couldn’t have influenced his feelings with hers.

Deanna didn’t find this unusual: all the times she’d seen Kerry with Annie, even through the periods where he didn’t remember their full history, he never had issues showing his affection. Learning to show his love was more difficult—it always is, I know—but affection was never a problem. And now the boy was talking of making a home with his Bulgarian sweetheart—

And riding bikes--though Kerry would kill himself before wearing those shorts.

And riding bikes–though Kerry would kill himself before wearing those shorts.

Bulgarian sweetheart–I like that.  She’s more than that, but we’ll take it for now.  But it’s fairly serious now, particularly when twelve year old kids–almost thirteen in Annie’s case–are suddenly talking about making a home for themselves–and you better believe Deanna knows what they mean when they say “home”.

How does this end?  Like so–

She believed now was the time to move on to another subject. “I’m glad you showed up, because there’s something I’d like to discuss.”

Kerry glanced to his right. “Does it involve tea?”

Deanna’s laugh was quite loud. “You noticed, huh?”

“I did as well.” Annie was looking in the direction of the set out tea set, the same one Deanna had used with them the year before. “What do you have in mind?”

“Have a spot of tea?”  Don’t mind if I do.  I’m supposed to go to dinner with friends tonight, but I should be back in time to write some of what’s coming next–

Which could be . . .

Anything.

Misting the Morning Away

It’s 1 November, and in the world I’ve built it’s an important day for my fictional kids:  this is the Day of the Dead, specifically Día de los Inocentes, the Day of the Innocents, which is where you’re supposed to remember the children and infants who have died.  It was the day that several students died, and a few more were prevented from dying due to quick and accidental thinking thinking by Kerry.

It’s also the first day of NaNoWriMo, and a whole lot of people stayed up until midnight to do a little spiriting and get in a few hundred words before going to bed.  It was their opening salvo to squeeze out fifty thousand words of fun and excitement, and get it down on a page somewhere.

As for me?  I didn’t make it until midnight.  I did write out a little over five hundred words last night, but I’m not feeling the NaNo Love this year.  I’ll do my best, but I’m not worried if I don’t make my fifty thousand words this year.

Might have something to do with after having completed my NaNo 2013 novel, I've written five more in the last year.

Might have something to do with after having completed my NaNo 2013 novel, I’ve written five more in the last year.

Really then, if I don’t make my fifty thou this month, I’m comforted that I’m still at this monster, and I will see this through for another–what?  One hundred and fifty?  Welcome to my Infinite Jest.  Georgie Martin and his death dealing got nothing on me, save he’s getting paid to take his time writing.

It’s Kerry time, and he’s in California, not far from where he was born and spent the first eight years of his life.  Since he’s north of San Francisco you can imagine what the weather is like . . .

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry stared out the window of the guest room at the mist covering his grandparents back yard. It was just like the mornings he remember when he was a child. Kerry loved the mist; it was the one thing he missed about living in this part of San Francisco, and what he enjoyed on some morning at Salem. Annie had mentioned that she had morning mist where she lived as well: Kerry wondered if he would see that one day.

He’s been since about five-thirty; it was habit that he thought he’d put behind him after the weekend, but here it was, Monday morning, and he was up as early as if he were preparing for class. I thought Annie might get up early the first day, and I would do the same, but a couple of days later?

Thinking about Annie, even just a little, made Kerry wonder what she was doing. Calculating the time in Bulgaria was easy: she was always ten hours ahead of him. Eight here is eighteen there. She’s probably getting ready for dinner. Whereas I’m gonna have breakfast . . .

He left the room and headed for the kitchen.

 

Such is Morning in Marrionwood, as I titled the scene.  He’s off in a guest room, Mom and Dad are in another room, grandparents in another . . . and what about those grandparents?  We finally get to meet them:

 

His grandfather and grandmother were up: his grandfather Aaron was standing by the coffee maker and his grandmother Margaret was sitting at the little table by the window. His grandfather reminded him a bit of his mother: like her, he was tall, thin, and pale, and even at the age of seventy-three, he still had most of his bright ginger hair. Both looked up as he entered the kitchen, and his grandfather greeting him. “Morning, Kerry. You finally slept in.”

He didn’t want to say anything about getting up early and spending time on his computer. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container of mango juice, which had been bought special for him yesterday. “Yeah.” He gave his grandfather a pleasant grin. “It felt good.”

Aaron turned and topped off his coffee. “Nice to see you’ve gotten over your jet lag so quickly.”

Kerry had popped out of bed Saturday morning his normal time and was questioned an hour later if he’d been up a while due to the time change. He almost blew it by saying “No” and caught himself before he could possibly get caught in a lie. “It’s only a three hour different, and I have a lot of energy.” He turned away as he smile at his own wit. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“They’re out walking the neighborhood.” Aaron held up the pot of coffee while looking at his wife.

She nodded and held up her cup, and finished her husband’s statement. “They’d had the damnedest time getting on local time.

Kerry remembered how difficult it had been for his parents to get on Cardiff time after leaving Sleepy Hollow. And they’re older now, so it’s even harder. “I’m sure they’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

 

Yeah, they’ll be fine, Kerry–unlike you who had the help of a magical mixture that knocked you out for a few hours and readjusted your biological systems so your body thought it was on Pacific Standard Time.  Just like when you flew from Amsterdam to Boston.  Bet Mom and Dad would love to get their hands on that stuff before they leave for London.

Doesn’t look like much is happening, but in the next five hundred or so words is gonna get set up and discover something that will affect Kerry in a big way–

Probably when he begins dealing with stuff . . . you know, things?

Probably when he begins dealing with stuff . . . you know, things?

The order of business today is to finish up this scene–which shouldn’t take too much–and then jump back to Bulgaria and deal with Annie and her Mama.

Oh, yeah:  That’s gonna be fun.

The Boy With the Wingmate Searching

My poor, poor boy.  Bored out of his mind and looking for things to do.  That’s the way things are at Salem right now:  people have cleared out and there isn’t much to do but sit around or sleep.  At least my kid isn’t all sad and emo about his girlfriend heading back home for the holidays.  Or if he is, he’s not showing it.  Much.  He’s only drowning his sorrows in a different way . . .

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry had the library to himself, save for one of Mr. Parkman’s staff occupying his office and keeping an official eye on whatever happened in the cavernous space. He’d been half-reading a book on personal transformation magic, and was surprised by how simple it all seemed. But I’ve been doing transformation magic for four months now, and it’s no long something I thought never existed outside of books and movies. I can do this stuff now.

He had a lot of time to kill. It was only a little after fourteen, and the last notice he’d see said he wouldn’t leave until almost twenty-two. Sure, he’d take his adjustment mixture and sleep for two or three hours, but that left four or five hours where he was gonna need to find something to do—

“Hi, Kerry.”

He looked up and discovered Emma standing about a meter away on the other side of the reading table. He hadn’t heard her enter, but that wasn’t surprising since the size of the room made it difficult to hear things in other areas, and there were silence enchantment throughout the library. Kerry always wanted to ask Mr. Parkman if the Vashta Nerada helped keep things quiet, too. “Hey. How you doing?”

 

You have to ask yourself:  is Kerry the one making a Silence in the Library joke, or me?  Doesn’t get much more meta than that.  I’m gonna say it’s me, ’cause Kerry is just someone I made up, so even if you wanted to say he existed, it’s still me.  Anyway . . .

This is where we see a little of the fakery that goes on with The Foundation and some of the kids.  This is because A and B Levels aren’t “out” to their parents yet, and

 

“Yeah, no kidding.” Most of the C Levels and above who had remained up until lunch soon vanished after they ate. The only people currently on the school grounds were a few instructors, Nurse Coraline and Director Mossman, and the A and B Level students from North and South America. “You don’t know how huge this place is until there’s no one here.” She turned to Kerry. “What time are you leaving?”

“About twenty-two. I’m supposed to be on a United flight getting into San Fransisco about seven PM local. What about you?”

“I’m out of here about eight PM: the flight I’m supposed to take is due to land in Denver right around six.”

Kerry noticed Emma had easily switched back to using standard time instead of universal time. “I see you’re not gonna freak your parents out by saying, ‘When are we having dinner? Seventeen?’”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, it wasn’t that hard. What about you, though? You’re still using universal.”

“I live in Wales, remember?” He shrugged. “We use both times there, but all our clocks are on universal—same with my phone and computer.” He finally closed the book in front of him and set it aside. “No one will get confused if I start using universal. Even after he’d been in the country a while Dad still used it before we moved.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Emma chuckled. “I forget that even though you were born here, you live in England.”

Wales. My dad would be screaming at you right now if he’d heard you say we lived in England.”

“The UK, then?”

“That always works.” He leaned back and stretched his arms and shoulders.

 

Emma’s a bit geographically challenged, it would seem, so she better work on that before someone screams at her.  You might also ask, “Hey, Cassie, how do you know they would get into their respective cities at that time?”  Well, that’s ’cause I looked up real flights to check on times–

Just like The Foundation, I'm fakin' it.

Just like The Foundation, I’m fakin’ it.

Oh, and you might notice I’ve got seat locations down.  That’s because I went into the Seat Guru website and plugged in the flight numbers . . .

Second row, window seat on the right.  That's where Kerry would sit if he weren't teleporting to San Fran instead of actually flying out of Boston on The Foundation's buck.

Second row, window seat on the right. That’s where Kerry would sit if he weren’t teleporting to San Fran instead of actually flying out of Boston on The Foundation’s buck.

And it’s just a coincidence that he and Emma have the same seat assignments.  Sure.  Coincidence.  By the way, Emma’s on a better fake plane.  Just sayin’.

Now, is there a reason for Emma hunting down Kerry.  I know some of you are screaming, “Yes!”, and you’d be right.

 

Neither said a word for nearly twenty seconds. Finally Emma began looking a bit uncomfortable as she shifted in the chair. “Um, can I talk to you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean in private.”

Kerry looked around the empty library. “It doesn’t get much more private than this.”

“I mean . . .” She looked up one floor towards Mr. Parkman’s office. “Where there’s no one around.”

Kerry had no idea what was on Emma’s mind, but now that she was making a big deal about getting away from everyone, he was curious to know what she wanted to say. “Sure. Whatcha got in mind?”

Emma motioned with a nod towards the doors. “Come with me.”

 

“Come with me.”  Hummm . . . and a talk in private.  It probably isn’t anything–and just a coincidence that she waited until Annie was 7399.153 kilometers–or 4597.62 miles, I looked it up–away from Salem before she wanted to speak with Kerry in private.

Sure.  Coincidence.

Emma on the left, Annie on the right . . . yeah, Emma's safe--FOR NOW.

Emma on the left, Annie on the right . . . yeah, Emma’s safe–for now.

Where In the World Is Yule Going?

In my novel the year 2011 is winding down, and people are leaving the school.  Yes, it’s true that there are people of all faiths attending my fictional location, but given that was it originally founded by a bunch of European witches in the late 1600, and that the school still celebrates the old holidays as were once celebrated centuries before, there’s little reason why they wouldn’t clear out the school for a couple of weeks to allow people some time with their families, and to pretty much keep the Åsgårdsreia kids from scaring the crap out of everyone by reenacting the Wild Hunt.

Annie’s leaving:  so is Kerry, though not at the same time.  Annie’s heading back to Bulgaria, and Kerry’s heading to California.  Just like in the days when they “met”, right?  Because of the time zones, Annie’s leaving out about nine AM, and Kerry–well, he’s going to be around most of the day, actually.  You’ll find out more about that in the next scene.

Right now, however, it’s all about getting Annie to the station on time–the teleport station, that is.  The one the school has stashed away for things like the beginning and end of the school year, and the mid-year holiday.

And how is our couple handing this departure?

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry waited in the corridor outside Annie’s room. He’d been there for about twenty minutes, and while he could have waited in the mezzanine commons, he thought it best to stay close to her door.

He didn’t want to miss a moment of walking her to the jaunt platform.

Annie finally emerged. She’d changed her top so she was wearing a dark sweater with a full collar, with her locket positioned outside in full view. She was still wearing her dark tan skirt and black leggings, but had changed out her flats for warmer, thicker, tan boots. She had a brown weekender bag slung over her shoulder, which she set to the floor as she turned to shut her door.

Kerry was on the bag in a moment. “I can carry that.”

“It’s okay: I have it.” Annie lifted it to her shoulder with ease. “There’s not a lot in it; most everything else is already being sent to the jaunt room.” She held out her right hand and Kerry immediately took it before they started walking towards the stairs.

 

Annie laid the same move on Kerry that she laid on her father before leaving for school, and almost a year ago, back when I started writing this novel.  She doesn’t want anyone carrying her bags for her.

And where is everyone at this very moment?

 

Students had been leaving the school for the start of the nearly two-and-a-half-week Yule holiday since late last night and early this morning. Unlike the start and finish of the school year, and A and B Levels were being jaunted to various staging locations around the world with their fellow upper levelmates. While Annie wouldn’t need documentation to explain how she arrived at her destination, Kerry knew once he arrived somewhere in San Francisco, he’d be given tickets and boarding passes to prove he’d taken a non-stop United flight from Logan to San Francisco International, and that he’d return to Boston on the second of January.

Cernunnos Tower was mostly cleared out, even now before nine AM. The East and Central Asian and Oceanic students had already departed, and the Western Asian, European, and African students were in the process of departing now, with some of the South American students departing after them. Except for those students living in Alaska or Hawaii, most North American students wouldn’t leave until late in the afternoon–or as in Kerry’s case, not until late tonight.

 

Because The Foundation has to snow the parents of those A and B Level kids, because they don’t know what sort of witchcraft their little love goblins are up to yet.  Hence the gaslighting being referenced, to make Kerry’s parent think he just spent several hours going to Logan International, and then sat on a flight sailing across country to his final destination.

But that’s for later:  Annie’s talking now.

 

“Both your parents are coming?” Kerry had asked the same question last night, but he was trying to keep his mind off her departure by making small talk.

“Yes.” Annie looked straight ahead as Kerry held first the inner tower door and then the other tower door. She continued staring straight down the covered walk as they strolled through the bright light and brisk morning air. “I wasn’t sure if Papa was coming, but Mama said there wasn’t any way he was staying home.” She finally turned and gave Kerry a smile. “Sometimes it seems like I have a difficult time with my parents, but I do miss them—it’ll be good to see them again.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

Annie didn’t want to dwell on her family holiday versus his. In the last five weeks Kerry had received two emails from him family: one confirming that he was coming to his grandparents home outside San Fransisco for Christmas, and the last one this past Tuesday requesting flight information. “You’ll have a nice time visiting with your grandparents; concentrate on that.”

He nodded and squeeze her hand. “I will. You going straight home after that?”

“Yes. We’ll jaunt home, then I’ll take my adjustment medication, sleep for three or four hours, and when I wake up we’ll go into town for dinner. By the time we get back it should be around midnight, and I’ll be ready for bed for real.”

 

Yep, teleportation, jaunting, whatever you want to call it:  it’s the only way to travel.

"You guys are flying back to Europe?  You're adorable."

“You guys are flying back to Europe? You’re adorable.”

But there’s a bit more to this story than just getting Annie in a room and sending her home.

You’ll just have to wait for it.

Golden Week

The weekend is over, the week begins anew.  And this is a very particular week for me, because there is so much going on . . .

First off, today is the Second Anniversary of this blog.  Yes, it is true, I created my first point on 13 April, 2011, but that didn’t really count.  Two years ago today I scribbled some nonsense, and I was . . . well, sort of creeping along, because I had no idea what the hell I should do with this space.  You want to know something?  I’m still not sure.  But I keep coming back because it keeps getting funnier every time I’m here!  Not to mention, you’re talkin’ to a . . .

Sorry.  I must have mispronounced a star’s name three times.

Then we have 1 May, and that’s a time of celebration.  It’s May Day, it’s International Workers Day–something we in the U. S. used to celebrate until we got pissed off at the Commies and said we were taking our holiday and going home–and it’s Beltane.  Anyway you look at it, it’s the traditional start of summer, and time to enjoy the coming warmness.  It’s also the start of Golden Week in Japan, which is suppose to be the one week when people get time off from their jobs–about they only time they get a holiday, actually.  Golden Week is also the period where Japan sees its greatest number of suicides, and they put additional people on hotlines to handle the surge, so to speak.  Why does this happen?  Is it because the down time gives workers reason to reflect on their lives, and realize how their jobs turn it into a huge crap sack of nothingness?  Probably one of the reasons they don’t do something like that here . . .

And then we get to the end of the week, and it’s 3 May, and we all know what that means?  Yeah, Iron Man 3 opens.  I, for one, do so want to see Pepper Potts in the suit; just something about a woman in powered armor brings out the nasty in me.  Though I probably won’t see it right away, ’cause . . . aliens.

The mini-meltdown is over.  Saturday happened, I sulked, I recovered.  I finished up Her Demonic Majesty yesterday, compiled it, and sent it off for a look-see.  I’m hopeful that I don’t get a lot of, “This totally sucks,” and if I do, screw it:  it’s my novel.  I’ll publish it anyway.  I want it correct, but if they don’t care for it, so be it.  It’s ready:  I just don’t need typos to mess me up.

And I wrote an article.  One about mecha, one that involved me having to put out the math skills.  It was actually sort of fun to do, and I hope it is enjoyed.  It’s always a crap shoot when you send out something like that, but it’s just another way to keep the writing going–

Which reminds me:  I have nothing to do tonight.  Nothing.  It’s sort of sit and think time, I guess.

Or I can sit and do . . .

What a choice for Golden Week.

Nevermore Redux

The holiday was sort of like being stuck in a blast furnace–it was a dry heat, until you hand to spend any time out in it.  Then it was pretty killing.  There was a point where I walked into the garage from the outside, and it felt like I was stepping into an air conditioned room.  It was that bad.

But we had duck cooked on the grill, stuffed with homemade wild rice mixture, and it was pretty incredible.  Hour forty-five minutes on the grill, ten minutes to set, and it’s good eating–about the best you’re going to get for the price.  We’ll likely do the same for Thanksgiving.

But before the duck–writing!

I finished Part Nine of Diners at the Memory’s End, and it wasn’t hard at all.  I needed about five hundred words, and it pulled the end together quite nicely.  Now, as I mentioned elsewhere, all I have to do is plan–aka, write–the Lunch From Hell which is going to make up Part Ten, and I’m off and rocking.  I have a feeling this next section won’t be as bad, but I’m figuring that I’ll have the distractions I’ve been having for a while tugging at me throughout this part as well.

See, this is where I need a nice dark and stormy night, sitting with a bottle of cognac, and start penning away at some incredible tome that’s going to kick everyone’s ass.  Would I have a raven a tapping upon my window, as if they were rapping upon my chamber door?  Maybe.  Who knows?  Maybe I need something to come into my writing chamber and drive me nuts.  It could only help, right?

I have to admit that the last few weeks of writing has seen me in a very dark and dismal place.  I get that way, because hey, I’m bi-polar.  It happens.  But for some reason the last couple of weeks of writing Parts Seven and Eight–Part Eight in particular–had me feeling like the world was crushing me.  Or maybe there were other things crushing me, and I’m only blaming my story and my characters.

Isn’t that the way we’re suppose to do it?  Get all down on ourselves and then blame our friends?  Or our characters?  You’re in my head, get out!

So, onto the stage comes Part Ten:  My Dinner with Cytheria, and Meredith will now have to deal with the woman she scorned, a woman who could turn her into an ice cube without working up a sweat.  Yeah, it could be fun.  Of course Meredith doesn’t get turned into an ice cube, but she doesn’t know that, and neither do most of the people who’ll read this one day.  It’ll be fun, and you’ll even get to see something that, for the first time, hints about Meredith’s home planet.

Now I have another story tugging at me, so I need to finish Diners so that I may get to that.  And there’s still work to do to get ready for NaNoWriMo.

Busy bee, that I am.

Why is there no rest for us writers?