In case you missed the announcement the first time around, my story "Becoming" is now live at The Absent Willow Review. It's a fantasy piece, about a beautiful fairy named Elinor who is unhappy because she can only see her flaws when she looks in the mirror. If you've ever loved someone enough to try and change everything you are, check it out.
"Becoming"
Welcome, Pansies!
I'm so happy that I live where I do. Today, it was actually warm enough for me to wear shorts as I did my daily gardening chores. When I trimmed away the freeze damage from my perennials, I noticed little shoots of green beginning to poke up from the soil. The world is waking up again, slowly. In another couple of weeks, the daffodils, pansies, and snapdragons will come into their own. Soon after, the azaleas will bloom and the trees will start to bud out. I can't wait. I come alive again along with the Earth. We'll see a few more weeks of on-and-off cold weather I'm sure, perhaps even a couple more light freezes, but still, it's coming, and it lifts my spirits. I'm not sure I could live in a place where there are snows into April. I'd probably end up pulling a Jack Torrance.
Also, I finally got back to work on the novel today. The plot is coming together so quickly I have a hard time getting it down fast enough. I'm furiously scribbling notes as I write, hoping I don't forget anything. The notes are starting to form a little nest, however. I need to organize them, maybe by chapter, or by character. I think I'll work on that tonight.
In any case, I'm working, the sun is shining, and Persephone is coming home. Can't get much better than that.
Time Keeps on Slipping Into the Future
Another day off the grid. There seem to be a lot of those this time of year. I'm juggling a lot, and the cracks are starting to show. No writing is getting done, which hurts, but there's no help for it. Sometimes things take priority. Taking care of my children, being there for every sniffle, every school project, every tantrum and sleepless night, is a decision I made long ago. They'll be grown and gone one day and I'll sit here in the silence and wonder where the time went. While I have it, the words will have to wait.
In other news, rain has arrived in Louisiana. After a year of droughts and hot, dry weather, in October the skies opened up, and in the last month or so have made up some serious ground. As I write this various areas of the state have received anywhere between three and eight inches of rain, with more on the way. Flood watches and warnings have been posted just about everywhere. In my backyard, we are now the proud owners of a stream. Welcome, stream. Do not grow any larger, please.
All of this bad weather and holiday madness has also meant I haven't had much time to spend at the renovation project. It's killing me, as I've grown very attached to the place again after all these years, and I've very much enjoyed the process so far of renewing and remaking the place where I spent my childhood. It's also been an opportunity for my sister and I to reconnect, something that was long overdue.
One thing was accomplished, however - we've chosen a name. No longer the renovation project, now I give you: Arcadia Farm. A few days ago I registered us as a National Wildlife Foundation home habitat, and as part of the process you're required to give a name to the property. We had been playing around with Arcadia for a while, and after some more debate and suggestions we settled on adding Farm to it. No, it's not a farm now. But, it could be, one day. One day.
The LOML and I are taking the GRE on Saturday, in preparation for heading to grad school in the fall. My goal is a PhD in Creative Writing and Folklore. The plan is to take it slow, but every journey starts with a step, does it not? And so here is my step. Why am I doing it? Partly to become a better writer, to hone my craft and research topics that interest me. Partly because I just love to learn, and I miss academia. Partly because it would be nice to have a backup career. And partly because it's been a bucket list item of mine for a very long time, and, like it or not, we are all steadily marching towards that bucket.
So, it's off to study (wow, are my math skills outdated), and wrap presents, and wipe runny noses, and reminisce of antediluvian days.
Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to nought
Or half a page of scribbled lines ...
11 December 2009
Goodbye and Good Riddance
The hulking mass of rusting metal and tornado fodder that's been the bane of my existence all summer is finally gone. I'm extremely happy, because instead of the solution we expected, having to pay to get the thing towed away for scrap, someone actually took it - a man who plans to renovate it and give it to his sister who currently has nowhere to live. So, not only did we get rid of it, we recycled!
In celebration, we spent the day Saturday cleaning up the aftermath. The movers left the porch and its roof (second photo). The LOML dismantled the porch, but we're still up in the air about the roof section. The tin is still usable, so we put the whole thing off to the side, hoping some brilliant idea will come to us about how to use it. In the meantime, this area of the property looks sooooo much better.
September was the six month anniversary of the start of The Renovation Project, and so far I'm more than pleased with the results. We've reclaimed huge sections of the lawn and flower gardens, started on the wooded areas, and even done a little of the demo work on the house. For a project done on odd weekends and days off, I think we've made lots of good progress.
The novel is coming along nicely as well. Out of my literal mountain of notes and scene snippets, I have cobbled together three good chapters so far in draft one, and the words have come steadily every day. My goal is to finish a draft by the end of the year, but ideally I'd love to be done long before that. I'm thinking hard about doing NaNoWriMo again (yes, I love torture), so to be done at the end of this month would be great. We'll see, though. I'm not going to beat myself up over it - I've missed too many self-imposed deadlines to think that might work.
Rain, rain, rain since we got back home Saturday night, and I'm not complaining. Rain is good for contemplation. It cleanses the mind. And if there's one thing about me that's dirty, well...
'Til next time.
05 October 2009
September 18, 2009
A little more traction this week, though not by much. I have managed 1600 more words on my new story, a werewolf tale called "Father Patrice Hears Confession." That title's subject to change, of course. It's what I'm calling it now, anyway.
What else has happened...let's see. I went to the Friends of the Lafayette Parish Public Library semi-annual book sale and picked up my usual sack or so of books. Didn't find as much as I normally do, unfortunately. It wasn't that there weren't a lot of books available, just not as much in the categories I'm interested in. Science Fiction and Fantasy take up one tiny table in the corner. Other speculative genres and horror are kind of spread around here and there. It's fun, a giant garage sale of books twice a year (and what bibliophile wouldn't love that) but I wish I could have found more in my favorite genres.
Yesterday I read "Brokeback Mountain", by Annie Proulx, from her collection Wyoming Stories. I wanted to read it for two reasons - one, because Annie Proulx is a master of beautiful prose and I wanted to study her style, and two, because I'm interested in including more GLBT characters in my own writing (my recent story "Becoming" being my first attempt). It was wonderful, of course, heart-achingly beautiful and poignant. It evoked a level of emotion in me that I hope to one day achieve in my own writing. The movie was wonderful, I loved it, but maybe because I'm a reader and a writer the short story - condensed, tightly written and powerful - had a much stronger impact on me. I think it's one I'll come back to.
Facebook continues to be interesting. Despite privacy concerns, it's been wonderful for connecting with people I thought were lost to me forever. Old friends, connections broken by life and circumstance, have been popping up everywhere. Makes me nostalgic for my old hometown, and for at least some parts of my childhood.
My son and I are working on growing some little pumpkins for Halloween, though I fear we may have planted the seeds too late. Today I found a female flower, little green baby pumpkin attached, so I hand-pollinated it. We'll see what happens. If push comes to shove, I'll buy a little pumpkin from the store and shove it among the leaves sometime in October. Hopefully he won't catch on that it's a big fake-o.
If you're of the liberal mindset and interested in politics, check out my friend Diane's website, The Wild, Wild Left. I've posted some essays there before, and hope to again eventually, but there are lots of good writers hanging out ranting about this or that. Caution, though - if you're conservative and looking for a scrap, you'll get one - they're pretty devoted over there.
In any case, off to write for a bit. The book sale is ongoing through Saturday, so I may sneak back over there in a little while. Shhh....don't tell anyone, ok?
Image © 2009, Lynette Mejia, all rights reserved
18 September 2009
September 3, 2009
I keep nearly all of my fiction books in my bedroom. Since they number somewhere around 600-700 volumes, you can imagine what that looks like. The walls are lined with bookshelves, which are themselves crammed to overflowing. I designed it that way for a reason, however. Books are my talismans. They make up the fortress that surround me when I sleep. I find it comforting to wake up and see them all there, quietly waiting, sentinels whose magic and knowledge keep whatever lurks in the darkness at bay.
I write in there too. Though most of my business is done in my office, the meat and bones of what I do take place in that room, where I can curl up on my soft bed with my laptop, surrounded by all those voices, some of them still speaking after hundreds of years. Shakespeare keeps me company. So does Dostoevsky, and Milton, and Stephen King and Neil Gaiman. Jane Austen keeps my time. Isaac Asimov types furiously along beside me. Hemmingway and Poe drink in the corner.
They're good company, if a little daunting. My prose wilts like a weed in a forgotten parking lot when I really stop to think about how it compares to what surrounds me on the walls. Most of the time, I try not to think about it, but occasionally it gets to me. I look at those words on the screen, and I wonder, who am I kidding? This is horrible, a monumental waste of time.
But then I stop, and I look around, and I remember that at least some (if not all) of them went through the same thing, or at least something close to it, at one point or another. Everyone has self-doubts. And truthfully, when it comes down to it, I don't write because I think I'll make money at it, or because I think I'll have some sort of fame or illustrious career down the line. I write because I have to, because, for as long as I can remember, it's been my vocation, whether or not I wanted to admit that. I write because, well, what else would I do? In the end, though we all look outside occasionally for validation, the only real opinion that matters is mine. Who gives a shit if anyone else ever reads what I write?
I look up, and they're nodding and smiling. I smile back, and look down again, down at the terrible prose on the screen, the stuff I write, the stuff that makes me happy. I put my fingers on the keys, and I continue.
03 September 2009
Dead Winds' and Spent Waves' Riot
And our newest feature - guess which poem today's title was snurched from! A bit of a game I play sometimes, for those of you who know me well. Several of the blogs I read use song lyrics, snippets of poetry, etc. in their titles, and I get a little thrill when I recognize where it came from. A clue to a secret message; a shared wink, as it were.
1300 words on "Limbs" yesterday, wrapping up my first draft. Today I need to jump back in and start the revising process, though that can be a tricky thing. Sometimes you need to step away from a project in order to see it clearly again. I also hate to do it because I know that, in its current form, this thing sucks, and as many times as I tell myself that first drafts are supposed to be awful, that every piece of art starts out as a crude approximation of its final form, it's still hard to look back at what I've written and see it so mangled and crude. In some ways, it's easier just to look away. It has to be done, though. I need to get some fresh stuff to market.
So here I am, in this bright morning time when I'm groggy and fuzzy-headed and not quite all there yet. I normally like to write in the afternoon, sunset or thereabouts, but the time between 3pm and 9pm is taken every day by homework, extracurricular activities, and the like. Things have definitely ratcheted up a notch this year, for both my kids. And, as a consequence, for me.
Still, I'll do it. In a few minutes I'll rattle into the kitchen for a fresh shot of caffeine, then screw up my courage and open that file. I do it because, despite the anxiety, despite the uncertainty of a paycheck and the nagging fear that I'll never be as successful as I want to be, I still love what I do. Time to get to work.
27 August 2009
August 25, 2009
1200 words yesterday on my new short story, "Limbs", inspired by a chopped up live oak tree I glimpsed along the side of the road Sunday while bringing the kiddos to visit their dad. This will be my first horror story in a while, and I'm happy to be back in the area. I like writing horror, or, as I suppose it could be called, "dark fiction." It's a place where I'm comfortable as a writer - peeking into the darkness we all know is under the bed or in the closet. It appeals to my inner child (and yes I know I was a weird kid. I still am.) For a while the only stories that came to me were fantasy. I'm glad that black-eyed kid is back. I missed her.
In other news, a very unusual August cold front arrived over the weekend, bringing in dry, crisp air with the tiniest taste of Fall. It's my favorite time of year, my most productive as a writer, and it cheered me a great deal to feel the first, tiny yawn of Nature. She'll be going to sleep soon, and I'll be waking up again. But, isn't that always the way of it?
25 August 2009
I Love the Night
Homework done. School papers and forms signed. Time to write.
Terrible time waking up this morning. I've always been a night person, and this is not something one turns on and off with a switch. The first day was taken care of by the fact that I was excited for my kids, but three days in and I'm suffering from severe time-warp shock. It's still dark when my alarm goes off at 5:30am, and, I don't know, that just seems to me like an affront to nature. My body fights it with everything its got. Unfortunately, I know myself well enough to understand that I won't ever really adjust. Oh, well. Guess I'll just play catch up on the weekends.
As it turns out, my best-laid plans of writing all day while the kids are at school have gone predictably awry. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have to be with my son at school every day, which doesn't leave much time for fiction. During the day, anyway. So, as an alternative, the LOML and I have worked out a schedule whereby he takes over when he gets home from work, and I disappear for a couple of hours to write. I'm sure it will be a fluid thing, changing here and there as need calls, but the point is I have set aside time. Everything else be damned, I have set aside time.
This experience I've had the past year or so, the experience of "becoming" a writer, has really opened my eyes to the balancing act most of us have to perform to practice our art. We have jobs, families, a million things that call us from the pen, a million distractions waiting right there at the edge of our vision. That some of manage to do all of these things, play all of these roles, and still find time to create worlds in the time that remains is absolutely amazing to me. It's a balancing act to be sure, a delicate dance, whereby I try to avoid alienating my family, keep up my obligations, and write a book. Oh, yes, and make sure everyone has clean socks to wear.
Yesterday I used my apportioned block to begin a new story, "The White Crow". It's based on another story I started last summer on vacation, one that ended up losing it's focus and being shelved. This time around I managed to pick up the spark I'd somehow lost, and finished the outlining along with a few paragraphs in one sitting. So now I have a plot, and tonight we'll see how closely I end up sticking to it.
You have to want to be a writer. You have to want it bad. Turns out it's not really a choice of careers - it's a vocation.
13 August 2009
No title today. I don't feel like it. Damnit, why should I always have to put a title on these things? This is supposed to be a journal, where I write whatever I want. I'm tired of reading advice posted here and there about using blogs as a self-promotion tool for writers, especially those breaking into the business. But how can readers get a feel for who I am and where my stories come from if I'm consciously constructing posts that ring false, even to my own ears?
I guess it's obvious that I'm in a bad mood today. Impatient. Easily irritated. I hate chaos and confusion. I prefer to write when I am calm, in my own space, curled up in the dark in my bedroom or office. I hate the days when I spend the whole thing chasing after time to sit down and catch my breath. Today has been like that.
Related to paragraph one up there, I haven't twittered all weekend. I haven't posted to Facebook. Instead of slogging through hundreds of unread posts in Google Reader, I just deleted them all this morning. Honestly, I don't know how people do it. How do you post, and comment, and answer, and post some more, all while writing and living anything resembling a normal life? I think I need to step back somewhat, and take a breath. It's all becoming overwhelming.
Despite the fact that I've gone against instinct and put myself out into the public with a web page, twitter account, facebook, myspace, blah, blah, blah, I'm aware that I don't have many readers. I'm mostly speaking into the ether, and most of the time all I hear are my own words echoed back from the blackness. That's ok. I'm going to stop worrying about how much I post here, or there, or whatever. If I have something to say, I'll say it. Otherwise, I write. I'm not doing this for the money, or any potential fame. I write because it's what I do. Period.
I don't need another reason, another outlet, another "connection". I just need me.
15 June 2009
In This Kingdom by the Sea
"Becoming" is tearing my heart and soul to bits with red-hot tongs. Some stories come pouring out like blood onto the paper; some stories require more thinking and planning to be born; and some...some have to be pulled, kicking and screaming, fighting all the way. This is definitely one of those.
Every day I sit down, and stare at it. Then I go off on some tangent, checking email or twitter, or some such nonsense. Eventually I chide myself for procrastinating and get back to it, reading through and making corrections as I go (I'm an in-process reviser girl). Then I get to the end, and the blank space stares at me like the view from the gang plank, and slowly, tentatively, I start walking. Every sentence goes down at a cost. It's taking me forever to write, and I suspect it will take just as long (or longer, if I put it away to percolate for a while) to revise. Still, it's coming. Slowly, damnit, but it's coming.
Some good news today. The folks at The Absent Willow Review let me know that "The Last Fairy Tale" has been chosen to be included in their first-ever anthology, to be released at the end of this year. I'm absolutely thrilled. I love this story, and I loved the experience of writing it (on vacation in the middle of a beautiful forest). So, I'm happy for the news.
The LOML is still away, though, which tempers things. Hard to be apart from him for any length of time. We are very, very close. He is my best friend and confidante, the driving force behind my decision to be a writer, my cheerleader and my other half. I hope he is able to come home soon.
03 June 2009
Dog Days
Not much writing accomplished in the last few days. Friday I was coming home from a dentist's appointment for my son when I heard a progressively loud sound and felt my car tilting to one side. I was close to home, so I managed to hobble in on the flat without damaging my rim, which was good. Since the other three tires were nearing the end of their life spans, I decided to get them all changed, and so the rest of the day was devoted to getting that done. Saturday was an all-day visit to New Orleans to see my in-laws and do a little sight seeing, and Sunday I woke up in pain, which turned out to be a nasty UTI, which meant a doctor's visit followed by a pharmacy trip. I also had to bring the LOML to the airport, as he has a business trip to the UK this week.
Jeez. It's exhausting just talking about it.
I'm not terribly optimistic about today, either, as there is a pool to clean, a lawn to mow, and my favorite aunt who is home for only a couple of days which will require a visit. Tomorrow, though. Ah, tomorrow and tomorrow...
The good news is, I finally know where "Becoming" is going, and I left myself breadcrumbs so that when I can sit down again, I'll already be on the road. The novel, too, is progressing nicely, though I wish I could come up with a title. Summer is always a blessing/curse kind of thing, as the obligations that go along with two kids in school (homework, structured bedtimes and early risings) are gone, but in their place are kids who need to be supervised. I love having them home, but it makes searching for time to write a little more interesting. Taking care of the pool will help - they spend hours entertained and I can sit in the window and get things done.
Like I should be doing now.
01 June 2009
Here, But Not Quite
I knew this week I wouldn't get much done, what with end-of-the-school-year parties, award ceremonies, etc, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with psychologically. When I can't write I feel that constant pull in my subconscious, something akin to a mixture of hooky-guilt and an addiction. It's a constant longing that is only fulfilled by time spent pecking away, digging through my imagination.
Yesterday was fun. No, not really. I brought my car to a mechanic because the a/c is blowing hot air when I am idling at red lights, etc., and he announces that not only will it be $700 to fix that little problem, but that my brake pads are 90% worn and my rotors are warped, setting me back another $350. My nephew told me that the brake thing is much cheaper if you do it yourself, but I really don't relish the idea of driving off the side of a cliff somewhere because I managed to put my brakes back together wrong. So, around $1000 to make everything right, a huge blow to the budget. Can't be put off either, because turns out the a/c thing was due to the engine cooling fan crapping out, a situation which, if not remedied, could lead to engine overheating and the aluminum engine heads warping. Not good.
I did get a little writing done whilst sitting in a coffee shop waiting for the great news. Got about a thousand words on a new story, "Ghost in the Machine", which, unfortunately, I think I'll end up scrapping, because it just sucks. (Did that last sentence really need all those commas?) I want to go in another direction with it. Also got some work done on the novel, as I've changed my mind about the age of one of the major characters, so I had to go back and insert the relevant details in his scenes.
All in all it was kind of a blah day. Today will be better, as I'm heading out to see my little boy perform on stage and get his school awards. Have to pick up some chlorine for the kids' pool. Then home. To write. And get my fix.
20 May 2009
What I Want to be When I Grow Up...
With thanks to The Wonder Cabinet:
From Frederik Pohl's memoir, THE WAY THE FUTURE WAS:
"The times when a writer isn't writing are called "writer's slump." Everybody has it, at least now and then. Nobody, or nobody I know, is wholly successful at dealing with it. I don't know how to deal with it any more than anyone else, but what I do know is a way to postpone its happening, pretty well, most of the time, in a fashion that works, more or less, for me. What I do is set myself a daily quota of four pages. No more, no less; and I write those pages every day, no matter where I am, no matter how long it takes, if I die for it. Sometimes it takes forty-five minutes. Sometimes it takes eighteen hours. Sometimes I am reasonably satisfied with the words that go onto the paper, and quite a lot of the time I loathe them.
"but I DO them. If I miss, if I skip ONE DAY, the rhythm of the stride is broken and the shattered edifice of my life tumbles down on my head. So I do it every day, which means every day there is, including Saturdays, Sundays, Christmas, my birthday, the day I'm going to the dentisty to find out if I'm going to need a root-canal job, the day I fly to London, the day I am so badly hung over that my eyelashes bleed. I do my quota in airports, on boardwalk benches, and in commuter trains. I have been known to take my typewriter along on a weekend date. "Every day" means "every day,"and this is the first rule of writing for me."
12 May 2009
Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On
Most writers will tell you that, by the very nature of the work, they are solitary creatures. Writing is a lonely business, and you have to be comfortable spending many hours inside your own head, rattling around like a ghost in an attic. It can be unnerving at times, hard to face head-on what's in there. Your memories and experiences define you as a human being and an artist, but constantly re-examining all of that shit is not easy.
Sometimes I worry that I'm slipping away from the things that should matter to me. I get so wrapped up in self-examination that I forget about the world around me. My family helps; when they come home at the end of the day they force me back into reality, force me to wake up and blink in the sunlight. That's a good thing. I think that if I lived alone I'd end up one of those crazy recluse artists whom no one appreciates until they're dead because they're loony as a tune.
It's who I am, though. I don't believe I could define myself without that part. Otherwise, I'm only the collection of things and impressions that people on the outside see. I'm a friend, a lover, a mom, a neighbor. But none of those things feel real to me. The writer, the introspect, the crazy cat lady living inside my head - that's who I am to ME. In some ways it's frightening; in others, it's incredibly comforting. Walking that line is where the art happens.
Yesterday I finished a new flash piece, "Invicta", and sent it off to be judged and hopefully not found wanting. If it doesn't sell I may post it on the website as a freebie, just because it's short, easy, and I really like it. I also got through notes and outlines of three stories, two of which could actually turn out to be book ideas. A good day, all in all, despite the unsettling notions sliding around in my head.
I've been tired lately, bone tired. All I've wanted to do for several days is sleep. I suspect it has something to do with a medication change this week, and I'm almost to the point of saying fuck it to the whole thing. I'll give it a few more days to work itself out first. I'm going to the farmstead tomorrow to work on the giant renovation project, then back here Sunday for a day off. I may or may not post, though my money is on next week.
Until then I sleep, and I dream...
24 April 2009
You Say That I Should Care
Finally back at home after a week or so of driving two hours nearly every day to the farmstead, working six or so hours, followed by another two hours home. It's been tough, but very gratifying, to see the place slowly creep back into shape. We have cleaned and replanted several of the front flower beds, raked and burned literally acres of leaves and pine straw, and started the LONG and arduous task of renovating the main house, which we hope to turn into a quasi-retreat. It's been bittersweet but nice to come home. For the first time in my life I feel I have ownership there, and that makes the place seem even more special. It truly is a beautiful piece of land, 10 acres smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A wonderful place for my kids to be kids in the old-fashioned sense, skinned knees, toads and all. A wonderful place to sit, listen to the wind in the trees, and just bask in the quiet. Will post pictures soon.
Today is for catching up on answering mail, paying bills, and writing. I need to finish the revisions on The Graveyard Road and send it out into the wild, something I should have done last week. When that is done I'm going to buckle down and finish the first draft of this novel. It must, nay will, be done by the end of the year. "Or else, what?" the cat asks.
Hell if I know.
17 April 2009
It Will Make My Body Dissolve Out In the Blue
Somewhat of a nonstarter today. Between getting nothing done on the 'tedious minutiae of life' front this weekend (for the uninitiated, that means paying bills, filling out misc forms, the general blah, blah, blah of everyday life), catching up on housework, and leftover exhaustion from yesterday (more on that in a minute), the day was over before it ever got started. This afternoon, normally one of my most productive times, was taken up with kidlet activities.
The exhaustion comes from the fact that on a SUNDAY morning, the LOML and I got up at the crack of dawn and drove 3 hours to do a day of maintenance and yard work on our rental property in Slidell. The LOML replaced the broken doorbell and front porch light, as well as cleaned the gutters and installed guards on them. I, meanwhile, removed a couple of flower beds, dug up umpteen bulbs, flowers, and shrubs, and pruned the navel orange and mayhaw trees. Then we had the joy of packing up all of the plants I uprooted (as a diehard gardener there was NO WAY I was going to let all those perfectly good plants go to waste) and drive another 3 hours back home, followed by unloading said plants, taking care of kidlets, and falling, exhausted, into bed at 10pm. So, as you can imagine, I am sore from head to toe today.
On top of everything else, the weather was dreadful today. Sunny, crystal blue skies (the evil kind - hard and cold like diamond) coupled with howling winds blowing sustained at 25mph with gusts (every two minutes or so) of 35mph or higher. I swear, my vision of Hell is a place where the dust-filled wind blows unceasingly. Tonight a light frost is expected, so I've had to protect all my recently planted warm weather vegetables. Oh, and did I mention the recent plague of flies?
It's all conspired to put me in a foul and unforgiving mood for the evening. As soon as the kidlets are squared away I'm taking a warm shower and sequestering myself in my nice warm bed with my laptop and my writing. Even at its worst, writing is my joy and my release.
06 April 2009
Marking Time
Rainy day here, which is a good thing for two reasons. One, we need the rain - the area is already in a moderate drought for 2009. Two, during the month of March, I have a very hard time staying indoors. The warm sun and the greening Earth are far too tempting. I want to be outside after the long, cold winter. I want to feel the warm breeze on my skin, and dig in the dirt. I want to be a part of the world waking up again. The fact that today is nasty out at least ensures that I'll be inside getting work done, which in my case is a very good thing, since I did in fact spend most of last week outside.
Watched "Flash of Genius" last night with the LOML. I thought it was a pretty good movie, which surprised me because of its low performance at the box office. After we were done I looked up the New Yorker article on which the movie was based, and found it very interesting. You can check it out here.
I did manage to get my website updated yesterday with publication news. Today is set aside to write, write, write, as well as sending a couple of stories back out into the wild. And maybe later on, a walk in the rain. Just for a little while. :)
14 March 2009
Warm and Dark in my Little Black Heart
Don't ask me where that title came from; I just don't know. I make this stuff up as I go along. It's what I do.
Pretty productive day yesterday, the first in a while, as obligations related to the Fly have been taking up much of my time. Was finally able to sit down and add about 1500 words to "Mememto Mori", the new short story. It's horror, by the way, if you didn't catch that from the title. Inspired by this. Have it out at the Online SF/Fantasy/Horror writer's workshop at the moment, but also looking for a market. My new strategy is to start pro and work my way down as I collect rejections. Am thinking of Clarkesworld to start for this one. We'll see though, that may change as I re-read, and put some final edits on the thing. In any case, hoping to have it out in a week.
Work on the novel beckons for now. I think I am done with reviews for the time being. Short stories, probably but no promises. One of the best things about being a writer is when you are sitting around and a good idea just drops out of the sky. When that happens, I have to listen, everything else be damned.
My goal is, 10 stories sold this year, one novel written and off to potential agents. So far I am on track with one sale to date. Hopefully this will be the next one.
12 February 2009
In the Vortex
Well, I'm still here. (More or Less) I apologize for the absence - all of a sudden I found myself sucked into the unforgiving vortex that is Holiday Madness. HUGE family Thanksgiving celebration, followed by equally huge Christmas production that is, admittedly, of my own making. What can I say, I'm a sucker for obsessing over giving my kids postcard-perfect memories of their childhood holidays. I want everyone I love to be happy and well-fed and feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. If other things have to suffer, well, I guess that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. One of those things being, unfortunately, my blog posting.
In any case, I am working, albeit on a reduced schedule (see paragraph one, above). A new short story, "Quid Pro Quo" in progress, as well as plans for three others, "Lilith in Love", "Patterns", and "The Silver Dollar", my first foray into the steampunk genre.
I will return, I promise, after the holidays with regular posting and daily doses of Procrastination Station. Until then, things will be a little thin around here. Enjoy the Holidays - you only get to go 'round this ride once.
