She had always wanted a dog. A fluffy, sheep-pestering, too-big-for-its-own-benefit affection machine, which would have been raised at her feet and on her lap and would see her as a greater constant than the sun.
So it was nice, she supposed, that her allergies would never bother her again.
It was less nice that her sweet new puppy couldn't have come with her.
On the other hand, that might have been a bit of a cruel wish. The puppy deserved to live a full, doofy, normal puppy life.
Even if the damn thing had chewed up her inhaler.
She's be switching to fish, next time around.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
For the Next 365 Days
As mentioned before, tomorrow is my birthday! I'lll be 27 years old, and I will spend the day eating cheesecake and aging :)
This year was wicked rough. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Now, it's in the past. A big preoccupation of mine has been figuring out how to rework my mindset. I wanted to pick some sort of activity for myself for this coming year--something to do daily, to keep me on the right path.
I started out thinking about doing something soooooper positive, like, listing some new thing I'd seen or learned or done...and I got bored with that idea before I even imagined the format. But I toyed with the idea, sprinkled it with a touch of the quirky macabre that is more my taste, and decided upon this:
Every day, at midnight, I will publish a new micro story. They will have a common theme that is known only to me (and Wifey, because I think at her all the time), and a more obvious common theme. You'll have to wait until the stories are live to pick these out, but it's going to be a fun project for myself, anyhow.
Once a week, I will do a sketch based on the most favored mini story. Once a month, I'll do something based on that sketch--possibly a painting, maybe some other sort of...art. Maybe a charm bracelet? Or a necklace or something? I do have loads of jewelry making stuff...we shall see.
Basically, I'm making my own trading card set. Or maybe a calendar...we'll see.
It begins in five hours :)
This year was wicked rough. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Now, it's in the past. A big preoccupation of mine has been figuring out how to rework my mindset. I wanted to pick some sort of activity for myself for this coming year--something to do daily, to keep me on the right path.
I started out thinking about doing something soooooper positive, like, listing some new thing I'd seen or learned or done...and I got bored with that idea before I even imagined the format. But I toyed with the idea, sprinkled it with a touch of the quirky macabre that is more my taste, and decided upon this:
Every day, at midnight, I will publish a new micro story. They will have a common theme that is known only to me (and Wifey, because I think at her all the time), and a more obvious common theme. You'll have to wait until the stories are live to pick these out, but it's going to be a fun project for myself, anyhow.
Once a week, I will do a sketch based on the most favored mini story. Once a month, I'll do something based on that sketch--possibly a painting, maybe some other sort of...art. Maybe a charm bracelet? Or a necklace or something? I do have loads of jewelry making stuff...we shall see.
Basically, I'm making my own trading card set. Or maybe a calendar...we'll see.
It begins in five hours :)
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
My Family Has a Term for This
You know how some cranky adults have coffee makers? Well, there are
two adults who are occasionally cranky living in this apartment, and a
third arriving soon, and do we have a coffee maker?
For all that effort, the ancient Walmart laughing gesture of a coffee maker has melted a hole into its...self. It's a private matter. Sometimes, we position the wonky-shaped pot with the metal wire filter positioned juuuust right so the coffee doesn't just tinkle down the side of the pot, nor does a third of the batch wind up on the counter, just staring up at us, daring us to ladle creamer out and
None of this. NONE of it! Is enough to make me start drinking tea exclusively.
Nah. We have Mr. Coffee or some knockoff bullhawk.
We
also have a new pot, because we thought the old one wouldn't fit in the
car (we were wrong). The new pot didn't turn out to fit the machine, so
we had to MacGuyver the machine to pour anything out. We put a metal
wire filter between the coffee mug and the filter nubbin.
 |
| Also, please take a moment to envy my Hyperbole and a Half mug. |
Otherwise,the coffee just bogs up in the filter arena. Boiling water. Coffee grinds, grinding on each other. A failing filter. Empty cups. It is an urban nightmare, Freddy Kreuger style.
For all that effort, the ancient Walmart laughing gesture of a coffee maker has melted a hole into its...self. It's a private matter. Sometimes, we position the wonky-shaped pot with the metal wire filter positioned juuuust right so the coffee doesn't just tinkle down the side of the pot, nor does a third of the batch wind up on the counter, just staring up at us, daring us to ladle creamer out and
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Hour 27
Full disclosure: I cackled a little when I came up with that title.
I've spent the last 27 hours awake, which amuses me mostly because I'll be 27 on the 14th. Which means I'll be old enough to die like a musician! (Nobody laughs at that joke, for some reason).
As I mentioned in my previous post, I've had a touch of insomnia. It got better for a while, then resurfaced, and has been sort of hemming and hawing on my pillow ever since.
Ew. I just reread that, and...ew. Can you blame me for struggling to sleep?
Sheep counting aside, I have spent a lot of time thinking. Making plans,
[Full disclosure II: the authoress totally fell asleep right there. Like, passed right out, woke up with keymarks on her face. This continuation occurs several days and several hours of sleep later.]
editing SIREN, busting out my mad scanning skills at my Nightjob, and taking loads of stuff off of
The List.
I'm not sure whether or not I've mentioned The List.
As a result of my, shall we say, unique heritage, I skipped many traditional experiences. Chicanery and movies and weekend shenanigan tales that 'everyone' has in common, I simply don't have. The List features all of the movies and tv shows my more cultured friends have insisted that I catch up on.
The List, in its original form, suffered a little during the move. But I managed to get it across 3,000 miles and around a lot of paper-hungry damage devils, and I've cleared off about half of the original titles. The main benefit to this is that the inside jokes don't fly aaaaaaall the way over the top of my head when anyone or thing references the classics.
Today, I watched Beowulf.
I've been 'eh' and 'urrrrh' about watching that one ever since it came out, because I hold a special grudge against work that claims to present the 'true' story, dismissing the source material as anything else. It's weird how much that bugs me. Like, clenched jaw, grumbled swears, one violent eye roll and a snort puff of derision. That is how I respond to such claims on book jackets.
Beowulf, as the rest of the world already knows, is a grunting, thrusting, sweaty meatloaf of a film. They took a bold swing at artistic and made a really gross looking project that would have been impressive but confusing twenty years ago...and it is not twenty years old. Everyone knows that the movie drags on and on like and struggles to drag the ancient tale into the modern story telling platform, and fumbles pretty lustily with that goal the whole way.
Now, I know all of these things, too. I have scratched one more item off of the list of barriers between me and the rest of the world.
Yaaaaaaay.
I've spent the last 27 hours awake, which amuses me mostly because I'll be 27 on the 14th. Which means I'll be old enough to die like a musician! (Nobody laughs at that joke, for some reason).
As I mentioned in my previous post, I've had a touch of insomnia. It got better for a while, then resurfaced, and has been sort of hemming and hawing on my pillow ever since.
Ew. I just reread that, and...ew. Can you blame me for struggling to sleep?
Sheep counting aside, I have spent a lot of time thinking. Making plans,
[Full disclosure II: the authoress totally fell asleep right there. Like, passed right out, woke up with keymarks on her face. This continuation occurs several days and several hours of sleep later.]
editing SIREN, busting out my mad scanning skills at my Nightjob, and taking loads of stuff off of
The List.
 | |
| Note: The List is written is various messy inks. The typed page next to it is the SIREN manuscript. |
I'm not sure whether or not I've mentioned The List.
As a result of my, shall we say, unique heritage, I skipped many traditional experiences. Chicanery and movies and weekend shenanigan tales that 'everyone' has in common, I simply don't have. The List features all of the movies and tv shows my more cultured friends have insisted that I catch up on.
The List, in its original form, suffered a little during the move. But I managed to get it across 3,000 miles and around a lot of paper-hungry damage devils, and I've cleared off about half of the original titles. The main benefit to this is that the inside jokes don't fly aaaaaaall the way over the top of my head when anyone or thing references the classics.
Today, I watched Beowulf.
I've been 'eh' and 'urrrrh' about watching that one ever since it came out, because I hold a special grudge against work that claims to present the 'true' story, dismissing the source material as anything else. It's weird how much that bugs me. Like, clenched jaw, grumbled swears, one violent eye roll and a snort puff of derision. That is how I respond to such claims on book jackets.
Beowulf, as the rest of the world already knows, is a grunting, thrusting, sweaty meatloaf of a film. They took a bold swing at artistic and made a really gross looking project that would have been impressive but confusing twenty years ago...and it is not twenty years old. Everyone knows that the movie drags on and on like and struggles to drag the ancient tale into the modern story telling platform, and fumbles pretty lustily with that goal the whole way.
Now, I know all of these things, too. I have scratched one more item off of the list of barriers between me and the rest of the world.
Yaaaaaaay.
Monday, November 3, 2014
Eponybothers
Work on the new novel is coming along. Unfortunately(?) I've reached the point in the tale where the main characters...kinda need names.
I've often had this problem: my characters come to fruition as people before they have names. By the time I know their deepest fears and dreams, their favorite foods, what element they would represent in Avatar...other characters are still calling them 'Hey You.'
The first novel I completed followed a character named Thomas Kaiser. I chose his name after a kaiser roll sliced open my middle finger on my right hand at the bakery.
I was halfway through SIREN, with no name chosen, when an oven accident left my with a severe burn on my right pointer finger. That was when I decided the narrator of that novel would be called Cinder :)
I don't have much direction for these new character's names. I offered my thumb to the cat to chew on, but she declined to assist me with the artistic process. So I'll continue working, and be sure to report on the amusing injury that leads to the naming of the new narrators :)
I've often had this problem: my characters come to fruition as people before they have names. By the time I know their deepest fears and dreams, their favorite foods, what element they would represent in Avatar...other characters are still calling them 'Hey You.'
The first novel I completed followed a character named Thomas Kaiser. I chose his name after a kaiser roll sliced open my middle finger on my right hand at the bakery.
I was halfway through SIREN, with no name chosen, when an oven accident left my with a severe burn on my right pointer finger. That was when I decided the narrator of that novel would be called Cinder :)
I don't have much direction for these new character's names. I offered my thumb to the cat to chew on, but she declined to assist me with the artistic process. So I'll continue working, and be sure to report on the amusing injury that leads to the naming of the new narrators :)
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Adventures Ahoy?
To help me get back into the groove of the unyielding grindstone dance, I've decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. I first participated six(?) years ago, when I decided to get serious about this 'writing' thing. I have since written two and a half novels, started two more, signed with my excellent agent, lost and regained my mojo multiple times.
In leaping back into the psychotic but tender embrace of NaNoWriMo, wherein thousands of writers attempt to write 50,000-word novels alongside thousands of their own kind, I've tapped back into the dizzy glee that is Being a Writer. And I've remembered how I excited I was, once, when I decided to attend a writer's conference.
Instead, I lucked out and fell into a creative group in Missoula, full of wonderful women who inspired me and kept me excited about work on SIREN. Then I lucked out and fell into a situation where I met my agent, Pestritto on Rye. I haven't lucked out for a while, and have struggled to make new creativity buddies. NaNo seemed the way to go, but they're a little disorganized there. If I saved up and went to a proper writer's watering hole, though...
So, I'm thinking about attending a conference, as an unpublished, agented author who just wants to make some contacts in the industry. By the time I have enough duccats saved, I could possibly have another draft of SIREN complete, as well as at least one readable draft of this new (untitled) novel set in the same world.
I see few downsides to the idea, aside from the fact that I'd have to save and then surrender considerable duccats, as mentioned. But that's sort of a part of any great adventure in the modern world, isn't it? At any rate, it would give me something to build towards, which is something I've been missing.
Anyone else got plans for the new year? Or advice for my venture?
In leaping back into the psychotic but tender embrace of NaNoWriMo, wherein thousands of writers attempt to write 50,000-word novels alongside thousands of their own kind, I've tapped back into the dizzy glee that is Being a Writer. And I've remembered how I excited I was, once, when I decided to attend a writer's conference.
Instead, I lucked out and fell into a creative group in Missoula, full of wonderful women who inspired me and kept me excited about work on SIREN. Then I lucked out and fell into a situation where I met my agent, Pestritto on Rye. I haven't lucked out for a while, and have struggled to make new creativity buddies. NaNo seemed the way to go, but they're a little disorganized there. If I saved up and went to a proper writer's watering hole, though...
So, I'm thinking about attending a conference, as an unpublished, agented author who just wants to make some contacts in the industry. By the time I have enough duccats saved, I could possibly have another draft of SIREN complete, as well as at least one readable draft of this new (untitled) novel set in the same world.
I see few downsides to the idea, aside from the fact that I'd have to save and then surrender considerable duccats, as mentioned. But that's sort of a part of any great adventure in the modern world, isn't it? At any rate, it would give me something to build towards, which is something I've been missing.
Anyone else got plans for the new year? Or advice for my venture?
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Insomnomnomnia
Sleep has been evading me pretty hard since The Troubles started in Missoula, back in June. Here and there I get a day where it's all I want to do, or I manage to work myself hard enough that I can get a solid five hours or so, but it really is a bit of a nuisance.
I haven't had insomnia quite like this since I was a teenager--and then it wasn't so bad, because I had an early-morning seminary class to zip off to, anyway. Between the ages of 14 and 17, I averaged about 2-3 hours of sleep a night. I'm dealing with it now the way I dealt with it then: media gluttony.
I'm reading, viewing, and gaming at everything I've missed out on between Dayjob and having a social life. I watched the first two seasons of Green Arrow, along with The Roommate, in three days. It's not a record, by any means, but it's still...er, impressive, right?
I've been out and about and around, but haven't really made any friends here. I've roamed the streets for hours and hours. I've looked into activities and events for the hip youngsters in the area, and the closest thing I've been able to find involves a 20-minutes car-ride. Or, for those who sold their cars before moving, a 4.5-hour bus-ride.
I think I'm going to just have to get used to being lonely again, because it's making me all...snappy and crab-like. I know I've been taking it out on the friends who are still talking to me, and that sucks. That is a sucky thing to do. I kinda hate that.
So! Redirecting all of that energy!
Even though my computer freezes up entirely if I start laying out more than 40 wpm, writing is happening. Since deciding--along with Pestritto-on-Rye--to lay SIREN to one side for a minute (as I couldn't focus on revisions, so functional work had slowed to critical molasses levels), I've started work on a new, fun, tragedy-filled story.
It's set in the same world as SIREN, although in a different location, and several decades prior.
Two sisters are separated, and each cast into a world that goes completely against their natures--one is cast into a wild wood full of savage beasts and worse people. The other is carried off into a culture that despises her own.
Though they have no means of communicating, their stories remain connected through their common strengths as they adapt to their new worlds, while struggling not to forget who they are.
It's oodles of fun.
I haven't had insomnia quite like this since I was a teenager--and then it wasn't so bad, because I had an early-morning seminary class to zip off to, anyway. Between the ages of 14 and 17, I averaged about 2-3 hours of sleep a night. I'm dealing with it now the way I dealt with it then: media gluttony.
I'm reading, viewing, and gaming at everything I've missed out on between Dayjob and having a social life. I watched the first two seasons of Green Arrow, along with The Roommate, in three days. It's not a record, by any means, but it's still...er, impressive, right?
I've been out and about and around, but haven't really made any friends here. I've roamed the streets for hours and hours. I've looked into activities and events for the hip youngsters in the area, and the closest thing I've been able to find involves a 20-minutes car-ride. Or, for those who sold their cars before moving, a 4.5-hour bus-ride.
I think I'm going to just have to get used to being lonely again, because it's making me all...snappy and crab-like. I know I've been taking it out on the friends who are still talking to me, and that sucks. That is a sucky thing to do. I kinda hate that.
So! Redirecting all of that energy!
Even though my computer freezes up entirely if I start laying out more than 40 wpm, writing is happening. Since deciding--along with Pestritto-on-Rye--to lay SIREN to one side for a minute (as I couldn't focus on revisions, so functional work had slowed to critical molasses levels), I've started work on a new, fun, tragedy-filled story.
It's set in the same world as SIREN, although in a different location, and several decades prior.
Two sisters are separated, and each cast into a world that goes completely against their natures--one is cast into a wild wood full of savage beasts and worse people. The other is carried off into a culture that despises her own.
Though they have no means of communicating, their stories remain connected through their common strengths as they adapt to their new worlds, while struggling not to forget who they are.
It's oodles of fun.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)