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.

…And Call Me Cassidy

This is one of those posts, where I run off the rails and talk about personal stuff.  But then again, the reason I’m back in Indiana is wholly personal, and I’ve not hidden that fact.  Anymore, the only reason I am in Indiana is for personal reasons, but that’s another story.

Yesterday was Name Change Day.

First off, don’t believe I’m ripping off Caitlyn Jenner with this title.  Mine comes from the title used for the serialization of Roger Zelazny’s Hugo Award-winning novel, This Immortal, proving I’m far cooler and geekier.  I’ve always liked the title …And Call Me Conrad better than the one the book was given in final publication, and so did Zelazny when he was alive, so I’m in good company.  And I am cool and geeky, so it fits me perfectly.

Anyway . . . it was my time in court, and the first time I’ve stood inside one since my old traffic court days when I used to drive a little too fast and crazy.  But I was up early, getting stoked on music and a few well wishes from others who were aware of the day.  I dressed pretty much the way I normally dress for work, right down to bringing out a pair of nice pumps for the date.

As you can see, Resting Bitch Face was the order of the morning.

As you can see, Resting Bitch Face was the order of the morning.

You can see the folder with all my paperwork sticking out of my purse, which meant I was ready for action.  And when you’re that ready, the only thing to do is get it in gear and head out for your appointment with destiny.

At least I managed a smile this time.

At least I managed a smile this time.

Court was not like I expected, but then I had no idea what to expect.  I do feel something was up because when I walked into the judge’s office to tell them I was there, the woman at the front desk turned and yelled to the judge’s bailiff, “The name change is here!”  That was the first thing that made me wonder if it was standard practice to do things like that around the main courthouse of Porter County, Indiana . . .

I handed over my paper from the paper where the ad announcing my change was place and my birth certificate and went to wait outside.  A few minute later someone from the office came out and returned my birth certificate and gave me the lowdown on protocol:  my hearing was at ten-thirty, but they had to wait for fifteen minutes to see if anyone showed to object to the change–yes, this is something that is legal and can happen.

It was during that time that all the shackled prisoners who were in the criminal court next to me were led out of morning court for their transportation back to the local lockup, and I do which I could have snapped a picture, but cameras aren’t allowed inside the courthouse.  Orange jumpsuits and Crocs–yeah, not for me, thanks.  I couldn’t be seen dead in Crocs, for one thing . . .

At ten forty-five the bailiff called me into court where I was the only person.  I was given the rundown:  the judge would come in, ask me questions, ask for documentation, and that would then be that.  I was like, “Oh, cool,” and tried to settle down because I’ve been nervous as hell for a while waiting for this moment.

I had the full treatment:  a judge–not the one I’d requested, but another one who was filling in pro tem–the bailiff who’d been so helpful to me, a court reporter, and two court deputies.  I mean, this was really a big deal for me.  I was asked everything on the forms I filled out–are you trying to deceive creditors, are you a registered sex offender, are you currently incarcerated, which, by the way, had most of the people in court laughing as it was evident I wasn’t–and I was asked to present my passport and licence to the judge for examination, which one of the court deputies was happy to do for me–after all, I wasn’t supposed to get out of my chair.

And there was the one question I knew I was going to have to answer in open court, “What is the purpose for this name change?”  The answer was and is simple:  “I’m a transgender woman and I’m changing my name to allow me to conduct business legally as myself.”  Right?  I mean, there are other reasons, but you need your name if you’re gonna do business in this country.

After that question court was over:  I was told to wait outside as my change was processed and they’d be returned to me shortly.  I was outside the courtroom for about three minutes before I heard, “Okay, Cassidy–”  Yeah, that was nice.  It was also over.  I headed out to my car and decided to send a message to one of my friends back near The Burg to let them know the change was done, and to tell her to let all the people in my crocheting group who’d wished me well that day that I was out of court.

We all need our Big Girl Papers, yeah?

We all need our Big Girl Papers, yeah?

As you can see, court lasted less than thirty minutes, and most of that time was spent waiting for someone to show up and say I was doing something wrong.  After court I went to the Social Security office and filed to change my card (that took thirty minutes), then had lunch and returned to court to amend my birthday certificate, a process that took about fifteen minutes of filling out papers.

What remains today is to head over to the BMV in about two hours and apply for a new license.  New name, new picture, and a new gender marker.  That last I may need to argue a little on, but I’ll get it.  Once that’s done it’s a trip to the bank to get my name changed on accounts, and then I’m finished with Indiana business; I can head back to Harrisburg tomorrow, which I’m going to do anyway.

And I'll have this paper in hand--probably the most important one of my life.

And I’ll have this paper in hand–probably the most important one of my life.

I’d considered a lot of different things to say on this day, but when it came right down to it, there wasn’t any point in reflecting on my past self–who I don’t even recognize anymore, even when I look at old pictures–there’s just staying on the path to the future.  This isn’t the end of my transition:  oh, there’s plenty more to do.

But from here on out I do everything as me.  Myself.  I.

Cassidy’s the name, and I’m finally here to stay.

A Year Down From Coming Out

Let’s talk about the last year.

Last year was the time when my transition was shifting in high gear.  I’d finally started on hormone replacement, and I’d started coming out slowly in person, to the point where I was sorta living as a women pretty much everywhere save work.  Pretty much everyone on line knew I was out, and most of them were asking questions about what it was like to go through the craziness.

It was then, last year, that I created the post Welcome to My Trans World, which all actually arose from questions about what I need to do every two weeks when I perform my hormone shot.  I filmed them on the Friday afternoon after returning from work, and spent nearly the whole night uploading them to YouTube so I could get them into my blog the next day.

The funny thing is, at that time I didn’t realize that I’d posted them on 10/11/2014, because 11 October is National Coming Out Day, when those who are still hiding their sexual orientation and/or gender identity are encouraged to let those around them know the truth.  On this day in 2012 I altered all my on-line presence to reflect my new identity, so I’m pretty familiar with the concept of getting out of that closet.

I’ve actually planed on doing a follow-up for some time now, because why not?  Some people are still interested in what I’m going through, and the changes that have occurred in the last year have turned out to be pretty extensive.  I was told that last year’s videos were fairly informative, and I thought, “Maybe I can help others get a handle on what they’re going through as well if I do more.”  Just remember, kids:  it’s the thought that counts, but actually doing something helps a lot more.

So here we go:  four more videos talking about the good and the bad of transition and HRT, and some of the things I’ve experienced and are experiencing right now.  Hope you find them informative, and perhaps a little helpful.

 

First off, though, we get down into an intro, so if you don’t want to continue you can stop right now:

 

Now we get to the business.  Here I talk about what has been the good part of hormone replacement therapy, after being on it for more than a year:

 

You can’t have the good without the bad, and there that comes roaring down:

 

Here are some of the things related to my transition that have nothing to do with hormones, but are nonetheless good, because they are a huge part of my transition:

 

And finally, a few final feelings about what I’ve went through, more or less, in the last year, and why transitioning was important to me.  This also gets pretty emotional in parts, so be ready:

 

There you have it.  I hope, if you went through each video, you enjoyed what I had to say, and took something away from this.  And for everyone else who simply shows up to look at the excerpts of my novel, don’t worry:  that’s coming real soon.  I only gotta write a few hundred more words and you’ll get totally hooked up.

Would I lead you astray?

Nightmare Discussions at 30,000

Not an original or witty title today, but those are the breaks, you know?  Wit only goes so far on some days, and this isn’t one of them, so I gotta force myself to steal from The Twilight Zone to bring the post.  At least we don’t have to worry about gremlins on the wing of this place, ’cause the witches on this flight would burn its ass down in no time–

“You really think so? Let them take their best shot!”

Keep it up, loser, and I’ll work you into the story.

My kids are not quite home yet.  After all, there’s the whole Adjust on the Bus thing, and they have some time to fly when they come out of that.  And come out of it they do.  Though Annie’s wakey-wake time is just a bit different . . .

 

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

Annie slowly raised her seat and looked about the cabin. It was empty: no one else had joined them as they’d begun adjusting, and the one attendant who was charged with taking care of this portion of the aircraft was not present. The cabin was dark with just enough illumination for one to find their way about without tripping over things, and nearly silent. This last she remembered from their return flight to Amsterdam, when a sound muffling spell was erected not long after takeoff to minimize the sound of air rushing past the airframe at eight hundred kilometers an hour. Some people found it unnerving; Annie found it comforting, for it reminded her of mornings at her lake house as the sun came up behind the mountains, keeping the valley where she lived in shadow and peaceful silence.

There was a soft moan to her right, and Annie was reminded that she wasn’t alone in the forward cabin . . .

She looked over the partial clamshell that separated their chairs when they were fully reclined. Kerry was still out, but it appeared he was shaking off the effects of the adjustment. She found it a little strange that he was still out, for the other two times they’d adjusted on a flight, she’d fallen asleep together and awoke together without additional time passing between either of them opening their eyes.

Soulmate isn’t awake?  Not when you’ve done it together all the other times?  No way this could be a problem, right?  Right?  Is this thing on?

Not this time, however. Kerry moaned once more, and Annie watched him squirm slightly under his blanket. She reached over, preparing to shake him—

Kerry spoke in a soft mumble. “I don’t know why you wanna . . .” His head turned slowly to the left as his brow furrowed. “Why you kept wanntin’ to see me? I don’t wanna come closer.”

Annie was both surprised and shocked. She wasn’t an expert on Kerry’s sleeping habits, but she had fallen asleep with him many numerous times during the Midnight Madness well as shared a bed with him, and had never heard him talk in his sleep. It wasn’t an indication he didn’t—it just meant that she’d never heard him—

Kerry slowly shook his head and spoke in his dreamy mumble. “You keep sayin’ that, but you’re wrong, I don’t know you—” He sighed softly. “You’re crazy, really. I don’t know that I want you to know me.” He shook his head again. “Well, you should forget.”

Annie’s hand was still in place, hovering in the air over his body. She lay it lightly upon his left shoulder and gave him a slight nudge. “Kerry?”

Kerry’s body went rigid for just a moment before he spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I don’t want your life. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He shook his head three times, then jerked hard. “You leave her out of this. She’s not your CONCERN.”

That was enough for Annie. She shook her boyfriend hard. “Kerry—Kerry.”

 

Annie is unnerved that she’s hearing Kerry talk in his sleep–as she notes, in all the time she’s, as she says, “shared a bed with him,” she’s never heard him talking in his sleep–that only happens in their dreams together.  And whomever Kerry is speaking with–and he is having a conversation, one can tell–someone’s name came up, and he didn’t want to hear that particular name . . .

Does he bolt upright in his seat and scream like they do in the movies?  Well . . .

He went limp; three seconds later his eyes began to open. “Hey . . . Annie.” He stretched. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” She gave him a soft smile she knew he’d see in this dim light. “And so are you finally.”

He lay limply, staring up at the cabin ceiling. “Where are we? What time is it?”

She checked the flight display on her personal monitor. “We’re over Newfoundland: it says Boston time is zero-twenty-one.”

“Sounds about right.” He started raising his chair. “Penny said we’d wake up about ninety minutes out from Logan. And last year we woke up about the same spot.” Once his chair was in the upright position he leaned over and kissed Annie. “How you feeling?”

Annie kept her expression as neutral as possible. “I feel fine—”

 

Everyone feels fine around here, ever notice that?  Come to think of it, when was the last time anyone had a cold around this joint?  Broken bones, concussions, and torn ligaments aplenty, but the flu?  That should tell you something about the health of the Witches of the School of Salem.

After the attendant sees to their immediate needs Annie asks about what was going on with Kerry, if he knew he was talking in his sleep.  And he has an answer–and more.

The attendant returned with towels and bottles of San Pellegrino, leaving as quickly as her duty was finished. Kerry spoke as he wiped his face and arms. “I was having a dream.”

“You were?” Annie almost chuckled, but thought better. “I remember when you used to not remember those.”

“That was Last Year Kerry—” He grinned. “Now I’m This Year Kerry.”

Now she did chuckled. “I’m so glad of that. What were you dreaming about?”

Kerry draped his towel over the aisle arm rest of his chair and opened his mineral water. “I was talking to a girl.”

“Oh?” Annie meticulously folded her spent towel. “Anyone I know?”

“It’s not even anyone I know.” He took a sip of his drink after pouring it into the provided glass. “She’s just—I don’t know. It’s all strange.”

 

There was a time when Kerry would have kept his mouth shut about this sort of thing, or at the least not mention things for a few days or weeks.  Maybe he doesn’t want to spend the next two hours sitting next to Frosty the Dark Witch, though, and decides it’s better to open up about this matter.  It’s also possible that he knows he has nothing to hid, and doesn’t try . . .

“What happened?” Annie normally wasn’t interested in any dream of Kerry’s save those she shared, but after seeing his unconscious distress she was more than a little curious.

“Not much, really. She’s walking towards me and trying to get me to walk towards her—”

“Where are you?”

“It something like a big, empty, gray room. She keeps telling me I need to get to know her, but when I ask her name, she says I already know her name.” He shrugged. “She also tells me she already knows a lot about me.”

“Maybe—” Annie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as a coy smile formed. “—you have a secret admirer.”

He snorted. “All ready had one of those: I don’t want another.” He glanced at Annie. “Just someone else to curse, yeah?”

“You better curse them.” There was no need to mention the name of Kerry’s “secret admirer”; during their time in the Grunewald forest they discussed his curse on Emma, and what actions they might take if she discovered and tried to void the effects. Neither anticipated she’d be a problem, though Kerry promised he’d take steps to dissuade her from trying to “steal him away” if she should try again.

 

It’s a sign that their relationship is growing in different ways, because they spent part of their time while picnicking in Berlin to discuss Emma, and what to do should she start going all Fatal Attraction on Ginger Soulmate.  Kerry will handle the problem first, ’cause if it comes down to Annie stepping in to deal with Single Ginger Female, it won’t be pretty.

I’m already half way through Chapter Four–

And inching up on thirty thousand words, which is pretty good for three weeks work.

And inching up on thirty thousand words, which is pretty good for three weeks work.

Now that the writing portion of this post is over, it’s time for an update.  To what, you say?  Well . . . something I mentioned last year at this time.

For the record it’s my birthday, and I’ll cry if I want to–and all ready did this morning, if anyone is keeping track.  A year ago I wrote this, talking not only about my novel in progress–you remember, it’s my own version of War and Peace–but I also wrote about getting ready to go on hormones as I started my transition from the old person I was to the new person I am.  I mentioned that I was starting on a long adventure, one that would end–well, who knows where, mostly because that adventure is still ongoing.

I also posted a picture, saying that for the person in that picture, it was going to be their last birthday–

Contrary to what some people might say, I didn't really attack Kerry on a dark afternoon in November . . .

Contrary to what some people might say, I didn’t really attack Kerry on a dark afternoon in November . . .

And I was right, because today it’s this person’s birthday.

I'm also not the girl of Kerry's dreams, 'cause Annie would kill me if I was.

I’m also not the girl of Kerry’s dreams, ’cause Annie would kill me if I was.

A whole lot of things have happened in the last year.  New glasses, new brows, new wig.  I wear makeup better and I know how to dress.  I’ve had one session of laser and two sessions of electrolysis on my face, and the beard is starting to vanish.  I’ve been on hormone replacement therapy for just under ten months now, and all my labs look fantastic.  My face has changed as fat has moved around, my weight has dropped, my hips and butt are starting to develop, and I have “the girls” as my doctor calls my breasts.  I have crazy, insane mood swings depending upon where I am in my hormonal cycle–yes, because I take shots every two weeks, I do have a cycle–and I’m learning how to get through those as I deal with this thing known as “womanhood”.

Most of all, I’m what is known as “full-time” in therapy vernacular.  Since coming out at work on 2 February I am all lady, all the time, and the only person there is any more is completely and totally me.  I don’t go back to pretending I was someone else:  when you see me any and everywhere, I am the woman in the second picture.  There is no “first picture person” anymore:  as I stated last year, they had their birthday, and now they are gone.  Not forgotten, I should mention, but they are no longer around.

What remains at this point is getting my name and gender markers changed, and I’m at work on that.  By this time next year all my important papers and legal documents should reflect my real name and gender, and there shouldn’t be anything to show an old me used to exist save for a few signatures here and there under my old name.  After that’s complete, about the only thing left to me are the various surgeries I could get if I can afford them.  There’s only one I’m interested in getting, and I may raid my 401(k) at some point in the future to make that a reality.

But the adventure is a year down and who knows how many more to come.  Unlike Annie and Kerry, I don’t have a handy timeline I can pull up and use to figure out where I’ll actually be on, say, 1 June, 2019–and unlike a certain Muslim Seer woman who’s tight with my kids, I can’t see into the future, so I gotta kinda wing it day-by-day.  And that’s okay, because every day is different.  Good, bad, fantastic, miserable:  they’re all different.  In their own way they’re wonderful, even during those when I feel like giving up and moving on beyond The Veil.

That’s because, the ones where I have hope that life is giving me a good day are worth remembering and holding close to my heart.

It’s been an interesting journey–

I wonder how next year will shape up?

A Year and a Day

Today is the last day of March, 2015.  That’s a pretty easy one:  you can look at any calendar, phone, or computer and see that right away.  It’s a good thing, too, because these days it’s also nearly impossible to know from one day to the next what day it should be.  I’m good with that, but not perfect.

Today is also the International Transgender Day of Visibility, the day that is meant to celebrate those of us who have chosen to live our lives as we needed them to be lived, and not pretend we are someone else–something I did most of my life.  Believe me, getting to the point where I could stop pretending wasn’t the easiest thing in my life . . .

My own public coming out wasn’t something I spent a long time thinking about.  I had already begun attending a few transgender support meetings through the winter of 2013/14, but by March of 2014, I was feeling the need to do more.  By that time I’d been in and out of therapy for almost two years, but I felt that I wasn’t making any real progress toward being me.

That started changing on 29 March, 2014.  On that day I drove home from Indiana to Harrisburg in some of the strangest weather I’d ever encountered.  It started out cloudy, then started drizzling in eastern Indiana.  I began seeing snow flurries in western Ohio, snow in central, and by the time I reach not-rocking Cleveland, it was snowing hard enough that only one lane of the three lane Ohio Turnpike was open.  It stayed that way until I reached the Cuyahoga River valley, at which point everything turned to rain–

And stayed that way all through the gathering night as I drove through the mountains of Pennsylvania on the way to Harrisburg.

It was about eleven PM when I reached home, and I didn’t make it into bed until about half-past midnight.  I was up because I was chatting with someone about writing, but as I went to bed my mind was on something else.  Me.

When I woke up the next morning, Sunday, 30 March, I decided that I was lacking as far as my transition was concerned, and if I was going to go through with it, I’d either need to do so, or crawl back into the closet where I’d been for fifty years.  And so, that morning, I threw on my wig, put on a little makeup (really, just a little:  I had no idea what I was doing), got dressed, and headed for my normal weekend morning hangout, the Panera in Camp Hill.  I was nervous, I was scared, I was worried I was going to get chased out of the joint, and while I did get a few stares–lots of few stares, actually–I was waited on and served.

That was the start.  And I even got a picture to commemorate the moment, because if you don’t see it, it didn’t happen, right?

April of 2014 was really my transition month, and the biggest turning point for me was, believe it or not, the fact that I was getting tired of transferring my ID from my woman’s wallet to my male wallet, and I reached the next milestone where I decided I was either going to be a woman or man, and chose woman because, yeah, I was.

Yesterday was my anniversary of my real coming out, where I’d decided to forgo all possible humiliation and walk out of my apartment and show the world who I was.  Yesterday I met with my tax prepare at H&R Block in Valparaiso, IN–you may have heard a little about Indiana lately, as the government here is trying to squeeze the entire state into a TARDIS and take us back to 1915–so I could file my federal and state taxes, naturally.  Last year I’d done so in male mode, but not so much this year.  This year I went as myself, my true self, and my tax lady didn’t bat an eye.  She remarked that I looked good, and asked a few questions about my transition, but mostly what she wanted to know was if I was getting ready to publish anything else, since I had a 1099 from Amazon for book royalties.  (All of fifteen dollars, if you must know.)  As for the whole, “Oh, you’re a woman now?” thing–she could care less.

As I tell people, I still suffer from depression, I still cry, I still believe at times that the end is near, but right now the least of my worries is transition.  The news was good enough yesterday that I was able to determine that I’ll be able to undergo electrolysis this summer, and later today or tomorrow I’ll start the process on getting my name and gender markers changed.

It’s been a strange and wonderful journey.  And as I say, I have pictures.

Then:

Camp Hill, 30 March, 2014.

Camp Hill, PA, 30 March, 2014.

And Now:

Valparaiso, IN, 30 March, 2015.

Valparaiso, IN, 30 March, 2015.

What a different a year makes.

In Through the Out Time

Today is post number one thousand, four hundred, and in another hundred I’ll be up to fifteen hundred.  For this event today, I’ve decided to answer another reader’s question, and this is from Joanne Brunetti, another of my buddies in Hodgepodge Crochet on Facebook.  But this isn’t a writing question:  it’s a personal one–some might say an extremely personal one.  And the question is . . .

 

Was there a specific event that led to you making the decision to go ahead and live your true life?

 

That’s certainly an interesting question.  And I answered it, but not in writing.  I decided that it was just too much to write down, so I recorded a video to talk about the moment when–

Well, you’ll have to watch yourself.  It’ll take about twenty minutes, and I promise it won’t bore you.  So enjoy.

The Ending Starts

The last week I’ve really slowed down a bit on the writing–and yet, in a way, I haven’t.  I didn’t do a lot of writing last night, for which I blame my energy levels being down, and Inherent the Wind and Forbidden Planet being on back-to-back, I was sort of pulled away from the novel.  The funny thing, however, is that when I worked up what I wrote Sunday morning and added it to what I wrote Sunday Night, it’s came out to about twelve hundred words for the day.  I’ve written more, but I’ll take twelve hundred a day.

I realized last night I’m fighting the of the novel.  It’s one of those, “I don’t want to go moments,” and I’m working through it.  The strange thing is when you’re tired you feel like everything you’re writing is drab, and I was getting that feeling last night.  What I had to do to break out of that feeling was go back and read what I’d laid down in the morning, when I’d set down close to nine hundred words in about an hour and a half.  It’s the same ebb and flow, and I knew it was the same thing, the same words, the same characters.  And I felt more alive writing them twelve hours earlier than I had at night.

It’s funny how our minds work against us this way.  I should go back and reread some of my older posts about getting to this point in a story, because I know I’ve been here before.  I had a lot of problems writing the end of Suggestive Amusements because of what I had to do at the end of that story, and I just didn’t want to go there.  It was hard, so hard to get that ending in place.  Also Echoes.  I cried pretty much through the last two pages of writing, because of what the characters meant to me, and the feeling behind the character.

Like a certain Doctor I don’t like to say goodbye.  But I know I won’t be saying goodbye, really, to my kids, because there are more stories to tell.  I just have to finish this novel, then edit a four hundred thousand word story in three parts, get three covers–four when I sell the “Big Book”–and get that done before I move on to B for Beginnings, the second–and I promise, shorter–novel.  It’s a lot of work, and it’s on top of all the other things I have happening right now–

Like getting ready to come out at work next week.

This is the last Monday for the “Old Me” at work, and with the clothing in place–with a few bobbles here and there–I’m ready to go.  It’s just getting to that point where I can blow this final week off and move one.  The term “waiting for the other shoe to drop” has a different meaning for me right now, and I know I’m gonna be geared up come next Monday.  And thinking about finishing this novel isn’t helping.

"Send Annie and Kerry off to their homes alone and figure out how long it's gonna take me to do my make up in the morning.  This is so not fair!"

“Send Annie and Kerry off to their homes alone and figure out how long it’s gonna take me to do my makeup in the morning. This is so not fair!”

I will promise myself right now that I will finish the Invitation scene tonight.  Once that’s finished, that’s really the penultimate “school event” and then it’s a goodbye to all the students and . . . then Annie and Kerry start the trip home.  With a few stops along the way, but–

This is it.  It’s the beginning of the summertime blues.