The Tap On Today

Oh, so much happening today and not all of it is… well, great?

I didn’t sleep well last night.  I was up about five AM or so and laid in bed just tossing and turning.  I managed to fall black asleep for a while and by the time I was up and moving, it was nearly 8:30.

I headed out to pick up a couple of sports bras like the one I picked up yesterday, as they were all on sale, and I needed new sports bras.  So now I three new ones for less than what I paid for my last two.  After that I picked up a few things at the store and headed out for lunch, where the waitress tried to give me my check without giving me my food.  Yeah, not happy about that.

Try as I might, I’m still disappointed that I didn’t certify in time to play in my league’s first bout of the year this Sunday.  I’ll likely talk a little more about this in my video on Saturday, but the reality is while I’m not going to totally freak out over what happened, I’m super disappointed in myself and my ability to close the deal.  I really need a win in my life right now, but all I’m getting are a lost of losses.

And that’s not making me feel good at all.

There was a high point to my day yesterday.  It was final practice scrimmage before the big bout and since I’m scrimmage cleared I was a part of the activities, as I’ve been for the last few weeks.  Because we were making it as real as possible, people were calling out our jersey numbers, and that means you need to have them not only on your jersey but on your arms so the refs can see them.  And the tried and true way of getting them is to have them put on your arm with a magic marker.  Which I did:

 

So now you know, when I get certified my jersey number will be 882, which does work into my name.  Which I will have one of these days.

Of that I’m sure.

I didn’t write today but I did take a long nap because it turned cold and gray outside and this depression and lack of sleep made napping a good thing.

I for sure will write tomorrow morning.  I will.

I do so promise.

A Day At the Races: Only the Climb Ahead

You can blame Skye Hegyes for this post.  Kinda.  It’s always the kinda with stuff like this.  I’m a kinda kind of girl.

But back into the post . . . after yesterday’s post she left this comment, which I point out now that I know was fully tongue-in-cheek:

 

Wait… So you didn’t know everyone’s names, their covens, or even where they’d place behind our beloved ones?!? I’m surprised at you, you slacker, you. 😛

 

Like I say it know it was said in jest, but at the same time there’s a kernel of truth there as well.  The last few months have been tiring and stressful, and I’ve been here before and usually get through it, but this time it’s been a bitch of a bitch that doesn’t get the hint that I don’t need this shit in my life right now.

"Stressed stressed, you got my best . . . screw rhyming the rest of this crap."

“Stressed stressed, you got my best . . . screw rhyming the rest of this crap.”

So when I started putting this current chapter together I did slack in some areas–like knowing who the hell everyone was.  It was a lot of work, and given what I put into laying out the track I didn’t much feel like getting down a name on everyone there.

However . . .

I also felt bad because I usually have this stuff worked out.  I mean, that’s what I do:  I get all the details worked out.  I didn’t this time, and I didn’t like it.  In fact I started thinking about it at work, and thinking turns to obsessing, and obsessing to the Dark Side turns, and . . . sorry, wrong world.

You know where this is going, don’t you?  Damn right you do, because if you’ve read this far into this blog–and that would be a long time, as today is blog post one thousand, seven hundred and fifty–you know exactly what’s coming–

Ladies and Gentlemen, the current Salem Coven Racing A Teams:

 

Salem Coven Racing A Teams (Current rosters, March 2013):

Åsgårdsreia

Rivânia Suassuna — E — Uruguay — Captain
Getasew Berhanu — C — Ethiopia
Rezi Lahood — C — Lebanon
Lisa Glissandi — B — United States
Anna Laskar — B — Germany

Blodeuwedd

Tsuchiya Ryoko — E — Japan — Captain
Sofie van Lanen — D — The Netherlands
Soroushi Amouzegar — D — Iran
Maritza Iglesias — C — Argentina
Felisa Ledesma — B — Mexico

Ceridwen

Lee Fang Qing — E — Singapore — Captain
Fana Okeke — E — Senegal
Amitee Jaramillo — D — Chile
Sudarat Chiangmai — C — Thailand
Burney Shaw — C — Ireland

Cernunnos

Manco Mamani — D — Peru — Captain
Darius Roy — D — Canada
Penelope Rigman — C — England
Alexandria Chorney — C — Ukraine
Kerry Malibey — B — Wales

Mórrígan

Malaya Lacsina — F — Philippines
Nadine Woodley — D — United States — Captain
Argus Pelham — D — Tasmania
Nattat Adriano — C — Angola
Emmalynne Neilson — B — United States

 

A few things to point out.  First, Mórrígan is the only team where the team captain is not the oldest person, and they have two members from the United States; they also have the greatest spread of talent, from the F to B Levels.  Blodeuwedd is the only all-girls team:  everyone else has at least one boy.  Cernunnos has the only male team captain, and has three fliers from the same continent, while Blodeuwedd and Åsgårdsreia have all five racers from five different continents.  Also, in researching Getasew Berhanu’s name, I discovered that Ethiopians don’t really have last names, and in his case his last name is actually his father’s given name.  So there.

And given this, here is the lineup for the current race with the best last and the not-best first:

 

Mount Katahdin Cross Country Race 2013

16 — Nadine Woodley (Mórrígan)
15 — Rivânia Suassuna (Åsgårdsreia)
14 — Penny Rigman (Cernunnos)
13 — Rezi Lahood (Åsgårdsreia)
12 — Alex Chorney (Cernunnos)
11 — Kerry Malibey (Cernunnos)
10 — Emma Neilson (Mórrígan)
9 — Fana Okeke (Ceridwen)
8 — Getasew Berhanu (Åsgårdsreia)
7 — Tsuchiya Ryoko (Blodeuwedd)
6 — Nattat Adriano (Mórrígan)
5 — Maritza Iglesias (Blodeuwedd)
4 — Amitee Jaramillo (Ceridwen)
3 — Manco Mamani (Cernunnos)
2 — Soroushi Amouzegar (Blodeuwedd)
1 — Anna Laskar (Åsgårdsreia)

 

Now we know, and so do I.

All that took up about ninety minutes and two hundred words, which means I didn’t have a lot of time for real writing.  Why is this?  I fell asleep when I got home, and I was fighting the Return of the Cold last night, so for a while I had dope head from the medication.  I feel better now, but today we start the watch for Snowmageddon 3:  This Time It’s Personal, and people in The Burg are starting to lose their shit bad.  We’re expecting about a foot of snow by the end of Saturday, and this means I’ll have to go out tonight and pick up staples to help me get through the weekend and into next week.

But I did add to the story–three hundred words exactly.  And now we know is who and what they are doing:

 

All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015, 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

The field ahead began slowing, indicating they were coming into Crossing. Anna quickly whipped to the right; Soroushi tried to do the same and Manco pushed hard to her left trying to get around the Iranian girl, or at the least race her side-by-side up the South Branch section of the course. Iglesias pulled along side Jaramillo as Okeke went wide and almost flew outside the elevation gate. She pulled back hard to her right and sailed back into the middle of the course, causing Iglesias and Jaramillo to nearly crash into her. This was the opening Kerry needed. He dove low and took the turn as hard as he could while keeping good speed. Jaramillo was close enough on his left that he thought she might bump him, but it didn’t happen.

What did happen was his finding four fliers threading the line directly behind him. Tsuchiya Ryoko from Blodeuwedd had managed to reach his six once more, but she was being pressured by Emma, Alex, and Penny behind Ryoko. He didn’t see Rivânia or Nadine, but there wasn’t time to look—

It was time to begin climbing up South Branch.

Technically the only section of the course ahead of Kerry that one could legitimately call South Branch was the long, slow left following the quick right, but all the fliers refereed to this stretch by that name because it more or less followed the stream of the same name on the right and the road to left. It started a hundred meter climb to the turn fast turn. By the time Kerry was ready to leave Section 1 of the course he’d find himself six hundred meters higher than he was now—

But it started here. It was time to make the climb.

 

There you have it:  I’ve got names, I’ve got places.  What I don’t have are faces, but give me time:

I’ve been known to find those as well.

Late Yet Fanciful Colorings

Let me tell you, I’m dragging a bit this morning.  It feels like I have no energy, and that’s never a good thing.  It’s a bit of an ongoing thing, actually, because the last two nights I’ve crawled into bed about ten PM, which is usually ninety minutes earlier than I often get to sleep.  And it seems as if I can’t get into gear to write:  the six hundred words I present today I’ve had to drag out of my system.  Really, I don’t like it at all–

"No, no:  I'm getting to this story.  Only, right now, the inside of my eyelids look so nice . . ."

“No, no: I’m getting to this story. Only, right now, the inside of my eyelids look so nice . . .”

I have a feeling, however, that once I do a little running around, and I eat and take a nap, I may just finish this scene today.  I would like to get it out of the way and move on, because I’m really not enjoying this lurching about in the story.  Like Battlestar Galactica, it’s happened before and will happen again, but that doesn’t mean I like it one bit.

Where are we?  Oh, yeah:  Transformation Class, and minion Kerry was about to do his dance–

 

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

Kerry appeared a touch embarrassed for a second before picking up the lesson from Annie. “You can do the same thing, but it takes a bit of work to get the same sort of gloss that Annie’s getting because you’re changing the appearance of your own body.” He took a couple of steps closer to the class. “It’s almost like working with material but, you know, not.” He flashed a quick smile. “Just like with Annie, I started out with the larger changes first: hair and complexion. After I got those down I started working on finer control—”

Loorea Barling broke into Kerry discussion. “You can change hair and complexion?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Like?”

“Well . . .” Kerry approached Loorea, holding out his hand the moment he reached her work area. “Give me your hand.”

She set her hand in his. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing much—” He smiled, keeping his eyes focused on indigenous Australian girl. In a few seconds his skin and hair darkened as his pale complexion and ginger hair became a match for her darker skin and hair. “Just that.”

Loorea’s shock was evident. “Holy . . . You look like you could almost be my brother.”

 

It would be interesting to see him do this in the A Level Transformation, because there’s a student in there who may have some lingering memory of Kerry working this identical spell on her, and wouldn’t it be interesting to see if that tiny prod would be enough to bring her out of her memory adjustment.  Awkward for sure!

This leads into something else that happened back in good old Kansas City . . .

 

“I’ll take that as a complement.” He released Loorea’s hand and began backing away, letting his hair color and complexion slowly revert to their natural hues. “This is pretty easy for me; you’re not the first person I’ve practiced with, and I’d worked on changing my hair last year—”

“He’s can also do the same to others.” Annie held her hands in front of her as she rocked on her heels. “He sometimes practices on me.”

Loorea went from surprised to curious. “Can you show us, Kerry?”

Kerry turned slightly red before nodding. “Sure, I can do that.” He turned to Annie. “I need an assistant—”

“I can help there.” She stood in front of him, taking his hands. “Ready when you are, my love.”

Kerry ignored the light tittering from the few students who found Annie’s term of endearment amusing. He glanced at Loorea. “You watching?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Okay, then—” A few seconds later Annie’s hair transformed from its normal lustrous chestnut color to a shade of red identical to Kerry’s. “There you are.”

Annie turned to face the class with a huge smile stretched across her face. “He did this same thing to me for Samhain, when we had aqua and blond hair for our costumes.”

 

So now we now that Kerry was the one who did their hair styling for the Samhain dance.  Wonder if he likes Annie as a ginger girl?  Because someone has a smart ass comment about Annie the Ginger Hair Girl–

 

Before Loorea had the opportunity to speak, Pleasure Pimenta, another of the members from Mórrígan coven, commented to the person sitting to her right. “She probably has him change her hair so she can dream about their kids.”

“I don’t dream about our kids—” Annie took two steps forward, the right side of her mouth curled upward. “But I do think about them. And I know they’ll be incredible regardless of the color of their hair.”

Elisha Tasköprülüzâde’s hand shot into the air. “Um—”

Eager to get back on track, Kerry dropped Annie’s transformation and turned to Elisha. “Go ahead.”

“Could you show us the nail thing?” The Turkish girl looked down for a moment, unused to this attention. “Back home my parents won’t let me wear nail polish, and it would be kinda cool if I could change the color of my nails when I go out with friends—” She looked around the room. “You know, ‘cause it would be nice.” She looked back at Kerry. “Does that make sense?”

He gave Elisha a warm smile. “I understand, really.”

“Do you mind showing? I mean . . .” She seems slightly flustered. “You being a boy, it might be weird.”

 

And now I have to write that part, yeah?  Because we all want to see if Kerry gets all weirded out because he’s a boy.  Who knows?  This could be the start of him becoming the lead singer in an 80s New Wave band . . .

Walking Through the Long Stay

Yesterday was one of those good and not so good days.  It was good because I went to a makeup party and hung out with some great women and had a lot of fun.  It was not so good ’cause I had to drive to Silver Springs, MD, which is just north of DC, which meant I needed to drive I-83 to 695 to 95 to 495, which can otherwise be known as Vehicular Hell.  The traffic is always moving, but it’s heavy all the way through Baltimore and Washington, and you can’t let up concentration for most of the route.  I was fine going in, but by the time I made the trek home I was already tired, and keeping my mind on the road proved to be a lot of work, so by the time I stumbled back into The Burg I was fairly exhausted.

Also, the moment I turned on the main light in my apartment–which is like my only light in my apartment–the bulb blew and I had nary a spare, so I had to run out and pick up a new one.  That meant it was at least another half hour before I could relax and watch the last episode of Mad Men, where it appears Don Draper’a navel gazing may have led to the creation of the most memorable TV ad that didn’t involve Barry Manilow.

Still, I had a great time and got to wear my orange skirt for the first time:

As one can see, I don't take great pictures in my apartment.

As one can see, I don’t take great pictures in my apartment.

I was at least comfortable as I drove.  As well as cool and comfortable.

Needless to say, I didn’t write a word yesterday.  I couldn’t even give much thought to scenes because the mind was on the road, and when it wasn’t it’d turned to stone.  I usually pride myself in being able to through some story ideas together, or even work out dialog and scenes, while I’m out on the road, but not yesterday.  Nope, a whole lot of nope.

It’s not that it’s needed.  I have a great idea of where this novel is going, and I know what needs to be said.  The next scene is gift testing . . .

Happens right here, in the building on the left.  we haven't been down here much.

Happens right here, in the building on the left. we haven’t been down here much.

And I’ll recount a little about what the kids went through for that.  It’s not much of a relaxing “Before school starts” weekend, but that’s how things go down.  As the scene that comes after this next will explain, Annie and Kerry are starting to realize that their B Levels are probably going to be a bit ass busting, between the advanced classes, getting called up for minion duty, and whatever else might come their way.  Oh, and that vision will get a little bit of discussion:  after all, why wouldn’t it?

Ah, my kids are growing up so quickly.  Which may not be a good thing.

Back to writing tonight.  Because I can only be so lazy for so long.

The Tired Trek

The last thirty-six hours have been presented me with a real challenge:  how does one write when they aren’t there mentally?

It’s a strange feeling, let me tell you, but this whole weeks has been a bit of a writing bummer.  I’ve been managing five hundred words here, six hundred there, and while I was able to manage nearly twelve hundred on Wednesday night–which really is my night to shine–last night I managed only two hundred twenty-two, and I struggled the whole while I put that out.  Part of the reason was eating way more than I should have:  for some reason I was in the mood to pig out, and I overdid the carbs something spectacular.  That didn’t help at all.

Another reason is I’m tired.  I was up at four in the morning Friday, and last night I was up and down the whole evening, finally giving up the struggle to crawl out of bed about four-twenty and sit in my leather easy chair until about five, at which point I figured it was time to start getting ready for the long day ahead.

Why the trouble sleeping?  I’ve a few troubles going on:  there’s a friend I’m concerned about, and in another week I’m moving on from my old life and into the new one as I finally come out at work.  Nothing really major here, but it all adds up after a while and starts playing on your mind.  Particularly the coming out thing at work:  I’ve finally pulled the trigger on that matter, and though I’ve known it was going to happen one day, it doesn’t mean that I’m not finally getting a case of nerves over the fact that people I’ve worked with for a year and a half are now gonna deal with the New Girl in the Office.

Come on, who wouldn't love that shinny face?  Probably a few people, that's who.

Come on, who wouldn’t love that shiny face? Probably a few people, that’s who.

I’m also recognizing that the end of the novel is near, and I know this is gonna sound strange, but this time, I really don’t want it all to end.  Yes, it’s been a huge part of my life–sixteen months by the time I finally put it to bed–and it’s not only hard to say goodbye to these kids of mine, but there’s the realization that I don’t know when I’m going to revisit them.  There is a need to get out some other stories, and that will take me away from Salem and my Baby Snakes.

I have to finish this story.  And in a way, like them, I know they’re going to be real sadness when that happens.  I even had one of the lines I want to write for them in my head not long after I woke up–which followed, incidentally, a lyric from Wichita Lineman, “And I need you more than want you; and I want you for all time–” which was in my head as I opened my eyes this morning.  Those kids:  they won’t let me sleep.

A smoothie later and I’m finally waking up.  There is shopping ahead of me today, and I hope to get back into the story tonight after I return from my long afternoon trek.  Being out trying on clothes I’ll use for work should go a long ways towards waking me up.

Let’s hope the drive home doesn’t make me sad as I revisit the story once more . . .

The Demons Who Dance

Last night was . . . well, it was different.  It suppose “different” is one way of putting how I was feeling about eleven PM when I was in the middle of a crying jag and I pretty much wandered about the apartment wondering what everything just wasn’t right.

No, not good at all.

I hit a realization yesterday, one that I think everyone who writes hits:  I’m not always writing when I’m at my best, and it has hurt my work.  And . . . Continue reading

Penny in the Rain

I don’t even have to think about the day and know it’s going to be rough.  Why is that?  Getting up so many times . . .

It was hard enough getting up at one AM and then trying to fall back asleep, but then the rain started about four.  Not just rain, but a thunder shower.  I haven’t heard thunder in a while, actually:  before I left home we were having something of a mini-drought, and though there’d been tons of rain in the spring, the summer had seen fit to shut it all down.  So a decided lack of thunder, you know?

Not here.  The storm started right about four and kept at it for about a half hour.  There were times when it sounded like it was right outside my window, but that was probably my imagination–or sound echoing off the mountain ridge a couple of miles away.  It was loud, and it wasn’t going to let me sleep.

Which I haven’t.  I may have dozed off for about thirty minutes at some point, but I was wide awake and not dreaming at six-ten, so I decided to get up, have breakfast, and start working on this post.

I would certainly love to have one good night’s sleep, since it seems as if I haven’t had one all summer long.

This story that’s been running through my head for the last month–I’m trying to clear it out so I can concentrate on other things.  After much consideration, I do not want to begin writing another erotic fantasy story that is going to feel like more of the same.  More of the, “Yeah, I’ve done this already,” feeling that is as bad for your ego and motivation that deliberately setting out to write crap.  I’ve done that last, and ended up with a novella.  I set out to write a novella, and I end up with a fifty-two thousand word novel.

Ideas that eventually aren’t that interesting go in the bin.  Maybe time for them at some point down the road, but not now, not here.

My imagination seems lacking in a way these days.  I suppose it’s the new surroundings and the job and the living out of hotel conditions.  Or maybe there’s something waiting to spring, getting ready to burst out and take over.  Between the last sentence, and the one before that, I actually paused for about a minute because a thought came into my head about an idea I had for a story last year.  There were only two words, but I hadn’t thought of those words in probably a year now.

That’s strange how that works.  Random thoughts popping into your head like that.  Almost as if the idea is trying to tell you something . . .

Tonight, I see an apartment, I get something to eat, and I sit down and brain storm some daddy issues.  The last I may have a handle on–oh, and they’re not my issues, but the issues of a character.

If they don’t make you crazy, it’s probably because they already are.

Trauma Night Confessions

It’s fuzzy head time, brought about by getting up about two AM and not being able to do anything but drift in and out of something that felt like napping, but wasn’t.  There was a bit of pain in my legs and some churning in my tummy, but mostly what I have is a lack of sleep brought on by too many things going on in my brain.

I know there were dreams, but all I remember of them was being in an open area where I had to rate people who looked suspiciously like the Mother of Dragons, only a lot more jail-baity like she is in the novels rather than the more grown woman in the television series.  Why was I rating people like it was a wet tee shirt contest?  I have no idea.  My dreams don’t often tell me what they have in mind; I just roll with the madness.

Perhaps it’s a combination of things.  I have things on my mind that are keeping me . . . not troubled, but worried.  I also finished Chapter Sixteen of my novel last night, and with it ending on a downbeat, that means Chapter Seventeen, the penultimate chapter, is going to start on a downbeat.  The last chapter promises to be better, but this new chapter is going to be somewhat depressing, as well as somewhat confessional.

You bring together the three main character of my story, add in a little something I picked up from Chapter Fifteen, and you have a bit of a mess–one that I created because, hey, it’s how I roll.  Conflict is easy if you remember to follow The Manga Rule, and set up the dynamic of one guy, two women.  Dance them all around a bit, and before you know it something’s going to break . . .

Probably someone’s neck.

So I picked up in a place where the lights are down and there are pools of darkness, and Erin isn’t feeling all that chipper because of something she did.  And that’s where she gets a visit from–lets call her one of the bosses, a top goddess that comes to hold her hand while they work out what’s going on.  It’s this character, the one who is stepping onto the stage for a bit of limelight, that really gave me the idea for this story, because this new character was the subject of an erotica story I wrote for the hell of it maybe ten years ago.  It ended up on a website for a short time, and may still be out there somewhere, because nothing on the Internet ever dies.

There will be talking; there will be sadness.  There won’t be blood, because I can’t see someone getting their brains bashed out with a bowling pin, and I’m not serving milkshakes.  But there will be a bit of hand wringing, because guilt tends to do that to people, even if they are eight thousand years old.

Another six thousand words, maybe more, maybe less.  That’s all that remains for Suggestive Amusements.  Good or bad, it’ll be over, and I’ll move on to the next project.

We’ll see where my muse takes me.

I just hope it isn’t to the place I’m writing about.

 

Dipping Away From the Well

Well, then; that was a problem, wasn’t it?

Last night was a moment of dead reckoning that I couldn’t blow away.  When I mean dead, I don’t mean that I was literally pushing up daises, but rather I had nothing.  When I came to the computer, I couldn’t work up enough enthusiasm to do anything.  The ennui I’ve mentioned the main character in my current WiP is suffering from must have jumped out of the computer and grabbed me, because that’s what I had in large numbers.

Or it could have been something else, something that hasn’t actually bothered me for a few months–that something being depression.  I do think I have a touch of that, because I am not taking care of myself, and that’s always a sign that you’re care and concern are at an all time low.

The thing that helped out, however, was that I had the chance to chat with a couple of people last night.  Online, of course, because this is were most of my life exists there days.  My friend Kim reminded me that I’ve been working quite a lot the last few weeks:  I’ve been getting up at five-thirty every morning, coming home at five PM every night, and then finding an hour or two to crank out a thousand words–usually finishing up that last right before I head off to bed.  She told me I needed to find the time to relax, to take care of myself.

Then there was my friend Ruena, who started chatting, and ended up talking girl things for about an hour.  Though I wasn’t able to get into my story, her words did lift me up considerably, and by the time we were through I was in a much better mood–though by that time I was also falling asleep at the keyboard, testament to what Kim said about me likely being exhausted.

Despite all the things I thought out there about getting to it and writing, there are times when the well is completely empty.  You can go to it as much as you like, but eventually that damn thing is going to be completely drained, and you’ll have to wait a spell before water begins trickling in again.  Maybe it’ll take a couple of hours, or maybe a day, but most of the time it’s going to take a good night’s sleep, and some time away from the inanity that is social networking, to get things back on a even keel.

A change in the routine helps as well.  As I write this, I’m sitting somewhere with a coffee by my side, sitting in a chair, instead of camping out on a floor waiting for my daughter’s morning martial arts class to finish.  I’m considering getting out tonight, just for the hell of it, because It would be nice to leave the house behind and venture out into the wilds of the fair community–which is neither wild or all that fair.

It’s not the environment, however:  it’s the doing.  It’s cracking the code that is your life and turning around so that it works for you.

As for my story?  It’s the weekend–

Word counts are made to be adjusted.

Seeking Balance in the Sideways World

Up early, which isn’t a good thing, because I’m not getting sleep again, and I do need my sleep.  If for no other reason, it keeps me from flipping out and hallucinating throughout the day–

Oh, wait.  That’s called being a writer.

It’s coming up on a week off since I finished NaNo, and I’m feeling uneasy.  I don’t have anything to do, and it’s starting to tug at my head, because I need something to do.  I want to do something besides sit around playing with software, trying to make things that are cool to me, but deep down tell me I’m bored, and I’m stalling for time.

I’m stalling because I’m stuck for a project.

Usually something will hit me, tell me, “Hey, listen!” over and over, like Navi trying to show me the way to go, but it would seem she’s on holiday or something, because I’m not getting any clues as to the next big thing.  Other than to work on graphic projects that are only going to take me so far, because it’s not writing!

I’ve been in this place before.  It’s akin to hanging off the Trollveggen, wondering how much longer it’s going to take me to get to the summit, and if some bastardy trolls are going to get me before I’m there.  It’s the feeling that you have nothing holding you to the world save for a couple of clamps and some nylon rope, and if either of them ever give way, then you’re going to find life interesting for the few seconds it takes for your body to reach the base of the wall.

After that, not so much.

I have a couple of projects in mind, but nothing is smacking me across the face, saying that I need to do this one.  You often know what is striking your fancy almost before it does, but this time I’m stuck with the feeling that what I’m looking for isn’t there–at least not yet.

This isn’t the same as writer’s block, that mysterious force that keeps you from writing anything worth while, where you have no idea how to work through the story before you, or to even get started on a story.  This is more like, the ideas are there, but nothing seems good.  Or interesting.  Or worthwhile.

Maybe it is writer’s block.  If so, Chuck has a bit of advice for getting your Creative Mojo back, and I’ve already seen a couple of points that seem to be pointing at me.  Maybe there is time to do something else.  Maybe there is time to work on another creative release to get the juices flowing in another area.  In fact, I just had something pop into my head, based upon another idea that had come along months ago, and . . .

Well, it seems good now.  Maybe it’ll be good later.

I think I have something I could work on, a good idea that could be better.  Maybe I need to mind map this sucker out and see where it goes.

The story idea might not go anywhere, but it might lead me towards the next big thing.

That makes it worth while.

Penultimate Scrumptiousness

Chapters 23 and 24 of Her Demonic Majesty fell to the editor’s cursor last night.  Almost seven thousand words finished up and put to bed before I headed off to the same.

I’m getting a good feeling for this book.

It wasn’t a mess, but there were things that were clumsy, and they didn’t read well.  I’ve had a year to sharpen my craft, and I see things that I wrote in the heat of the, “I gotta get three thousand words out today,” moment.  So I fixed them–and, I believe, I fixed them well.

All of this was done last night while I teetered on exhaustion.  The night before I’d taken something to help me sleep, and it left me out of it in a bad way.  I’d spent most of the day feeling like I was going to fall asleep, and I think I did nod off for a couple of minutes.  So I went home–and instantly began having issues with my computer.  I think it was in index building mode, because the disk light spun, spun, spun all night, and it made writing a little difficult at times.

I was in an irritable mood as well.  Being tired doesn’t help, and I felt a little put upon throughout the day.  In a way, focusing on my story did a great deal to get me centered and off to bed in a better mood, because I certainly didn’t want to be ol’ Grumpy while trying to get to sleep, let me tell you.

Tonight, I finish the novel.  Then I start on the submission package.  I’ve already put together two, so all I need to do is follow the rules, and adjust accordingly.  Easy peasy, right?  It should be.  If I get it going tonight, I see no reason why I can’t get it all out by Thursday night, the 4th of October.

Then what?

Well, I’m writing another story.  It’s a Halloween story, and I’ve done one chapter, and have three more to go.  I know where it’s going, and what I’m going to do, but I’m going to keep this short and sweet.  If anything, I could end up being my shortest story.

Then there’s NaNoWriMo.  The countdown close has started on the main page, and it’s a reminder that all the nutty people out there who are going to try and crank out fifty thousand words in “Thirty days and nights of literary abandon” had best start getting this writing shit together.  Or, at the least, pretend they know what they’re going to do.

I have my idea.  I think I have a title.  I know what I need to research.  All that remains is to set up my Scrivener project and start fillin’ out cards.  It’s what I did last year, and it’ll work for me this year.

If there’ll be anything good to come of NaNo this year, it’ll be pulling me away from the madness that is the Internet.  I’m going to be incommunicado for most of November, doing what I can to stay away from Facebook, but I will blog during the month.  Writing is writing, and I loved writing my blog during NaNo last year.

Is love really the right word?

Let me get my thesaurus.

The Absence of Mind

No dreams to talk about today, because there weren’t any.  At least none that I could discuss.  You see, I didn’t get much sleep–

Correction:  I was back to getting about three hours of sleep last night.

I fell asleep about midnight, woke up about two, tossed and turned until about five, and the alarm went off at six.  I got a little dream time in during the hour before the alarm went off, but today is a seriously sleep deprived morning.  I was so out of it driving into The Cubical Hell (where I discovered that radio streaming has been blocked, which means it’s over to YouTube to listen to albums) that I was really afraid to be out in traffic.

So today is one of those days where the mind feels like it’s checked out and gone off on holiday.  I feel like I have the chills running through my arms and legs, and time is some relativistic entity manipulated by gamma factors.

Not the day I was expected, but it’s the day you get.  You make the best of it, and hope that by noon, you can get some coffee into the body and pick up a little steam that will carry you into the evening.

This evening I’m going to need it, because today was the start of the two-week push to get my novel nice, pretty, and polished, before I send it off to Harper Voyager for consideration.  It’s never good to try and edit when you’ve a mind full of cobwebs, and today I’ve got Metebelis Spiders–“All Hail the Great One!”–roaming about in my brain.

Yeah, you deal with the day you get, not the one you want.

Then again, being a little tired–or a lot–makes you focus on your work.  I’m not writing new material, but polishing, editing, getting my story in final form.  I’m certain there are things I’ve missed, and I’ll get them.

Twenty-four chapters in fourteen days.  Very doable.  Now is the time to make that push, so that by 30 September, I’m ready to submit.

Then once this is out of the way, it’s time for my Halloween story, and getting ready for NaNo.  The end of the year push when the writing picks up, and carries you through the end of the year, and into the next.

There is something else on the way as well:  my 500th post.  This post is number 495, so come Saturday, I’ll have five hundred in the books, on the Internet, and I’ll be ready for another five hundred.  Well, another two hundred and fifty, at least:  I’ll do another special post when I reach my 750th, and then another when I reach the 1000th.  After that, who knows?  Maybe I’ll retire from blogging.

Ha!  Fat chance.

Though that makes me wonder:  how much longer will I keep at this?  I’ve been going strong for a year, and making another five hundred posts will take about fifteen months.  Sure, I can keep running at the fingers, but what will I talk about?

You know what I’ll talk about–

Anything I like.