Back in the NaNoWriMo Saddle Again

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Well, I got Day One down, and I wanted to finish Day 2 before blogging but I haven’t, in that I’ve written precisely zero words so far today. Zero, zip, zilch.

But that’s OK, I’ll get there.

That’s the thing with NaNoWriMo. It doesn’t have to be pretty or elegant or even any more graceful than an elephant in a tutu, which, come to think of it, could be very elegant and I’m sorry elephants.

It just has to get done. Whether that’s bright and early before the sun does it’s daily dramatic entrance, or way late at night when it’s just you and the owls and the raccoons.

Raccoons are always working on their novels late at night. That and eating garbage. Those are their things.

Some NaNos are painless spigots of daily word counts, with barely a sweat raised.

Others are so tough, sometimes you just don’t hit that 50,000 mark. But you know what? That’s fine too. Perfection is overrated. And nonexistent, but that’s a whole other blog post.

What are you still doing here? We have words to write. Or, at least one of us does.

I’m not naming names.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

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Monday’s Epic Beating Around the Bush

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I’m a tardy blogger today. Not going to beat around the bush, which is a really weird expression when you think about it, and I’m going to have to look up its origins later.

But I digress.

I’ve been wrapped up in watching the fallout from this morning’s indictments of Paul Manafort and Rick Gates, and the sudden announcement of a guilty plea from George Papadopoulos, which made me think of the show “Webster.”

The ground is shifting, friends, and we can can watch the earth move in real time. There is no overstating the importance of these indictments. We have finally reached the bottom step of a steep, steep climb.

But at least we’re not still miles away from the stairs.

Oh, and I had to look up the beginnings of “beat around the bush,” because of course I did. It stems from hunting, when people would flush out birds or other game by circling their hiding places.

And apt choice of phrase indeed.

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

Technical Issue #78636, Hit Publish Without a Title.

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So many technical difficulties today, the kind that don’t want to be resolved so you have to kind of whack at them until they hobble off, defeated. On top of that, the hammering hasn’t stopped. I mean it’s stopped since yesterday, but it started again.

You get it.

Earlier today I was thinking about typewriters and our nostalgic obsession with them. The idea of fingers flying as the keys clack, the solid thud against the…paper rolly thingy; the ding of the end of the row hitting return.

Or so I was promised by all of my black-and-white movies from the 1940s with plucky secretaries dressed by Edith Head who are smarter than their handsome high waisted suit-wearing bosses who never mind at all.

Of course, the men are always the bosses. But I digress.

Apparently I’m not the only one annoyed by the hammering, as I just heard a yell, or maybe that was the hammerer with a momentary lapse in aim. Who’s to know.

Well, the person who yelled, but whatever.

Luckily my imagination doesn’t suffer from the same technical issues as the equipment required to move anything it comes up with outside of my head, so at least there’s that.

Maybe I should get a typewriter.

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

 

Listening for Hoofbeats

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Alexander Hamilton by Alonzo Chappel [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I’ve got a roiling case of the blahs today. It’s rainy and gray and we’ve had one major disaster after another, and I am starting to realize the cavalry isn’t coming. Any Cavalry.

Of course, that’s the point, that’s the idea of the targeting that Putin’s been doing across social media platforms, getting into the psyche of all, whether stoking the fires of hatred, of misogyny, of suspicion, of despair.

If anyone knows despair, it’s Russia. Ever read any Russian literature?

I rest my case.

So what can we prescribe to help us get through what is becoming the roughest of rough patches, what might extend to a global rough patch akin to sand paper? Well, my Russian literature joke kinda did it for me, I have to admit.

My needs aren’t great.

We will have gray. We will have blah that slides into something else, something darker. If we didn’t, under the current circumstances, we would be something less than human.

But.

It’s humor, even the slightest glimmer of humor that can see us through this, give us the strength until we don our armor and realize the one and only truth:

We are the cavalry.

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

 

 

Dream a Little Dream

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Henri Rousseau, “The Dream” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Such strange dreams last night. Vivid and as solid as sitting here typing away. Only much much weirder.

Everything made sense while I was in the dream; nothing felt especially out-of-place, but when I woke up, the memory of something so polar opposite to my waking life felt jarring. Incongruent.

Which spellcheck still insists isn’t a word.

Dreams fascinate me, the way entire worlds are built, sturdy worlds with neighborhoods and streets and homes which feel familiar yet don’t. And yet from the moment we float up to consciousness, even before we’ve opened our eyes, they slip away from us, those visits to another place we’ll likely not see again.

It’s nice, as a writer, to have a built-in source of inspiration and ideas. You don’t even have to take your dreams word-for-word; sometimes just the mood or setting will spark something.

Meanwhile, I still find myself wondering how something that can seem so real could never exist at all.

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

Monday, Monday Always Monday

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By Zimmermanns (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

And back around again to Monday. New week, new need to cut my fingernails, as they’re now at the length of clacking against the keyboard and it’s driving me crazy and slowing me down.

No one wants slow typing fingers. Writers definitely don’t want slow typing fingers. If your ideas get too far out in front of you, they sometimes dissolve into mist and you can’t catch them. Ideas are a elusive.

I’m trying to cut down on caffeine again, and attempted to trick my brain with a half-caf. My brain is smarter than I thought. Or more caffeine dependent. Either way, upside is that another cup of coffee only brings me to one cup of coffee.

What’s that, hypothetical reader? Decaffeinated coffee still has some caffeine, which means that another cup of half-caf might mean more caffeine than a regular cup of coffee?

Spoilsport, I say to you, hypothetical reader. Spoilsport indeed.

While a week of peace and general calmness seems to be too much to ask in our alternative universe, I do wish all a week of good words, great ideas and smooth sailing, whatever your endeavors.

Unless you’re some kind of evil-plotter, in which case I wish you all those things only if your evil-plotting stays firmly in your manuscripts.

We are adrift right now in this vast sea of uncertainty. Good thing I brought a pen.

 

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.

When Alien Invasion Starts to Sound Good…

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By Annika Laas (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Hello Friday. My head is pounding, it’s raining again and this week hasn’t ended any better than it started. Don’t know what I was hoping for, really, beyond a tidal shift in the space-time continuum, setting us back on our real course.

Perhaps that was an out-of-proportion hope.

A friend sent me an article yesterday about a drunk man who claimed to be a time traveler from the year 2048, shifted back to warn us about an impending alien invasion. As a writer, I’m skeptical.

He claimed the aliens sent him here, but if the aliens are so awful that he needed to come warn us, why would they send him back to warn them about…them? Terrible plotting.

Then again, his blood alcohol level was sky-high so maybe the whole writing-while-intoxicated thing is a myth borne of very very discreet editors.

Frankly, the article left me with the well-worn more questions than answers. Apparently he asked for the “president of the town.” If our governmental structure has broken down that much by 2048, isn’t that the story?

Ugh. And we’re back to now.

So here’s hoping for an alien invasion? Here’s not hoping for an alien invasion? Here’s indifference to an alien invasion?

I have to admit my curiosity about other life forms from the far-reaches of the universe and the science they use to travel perhaps unwisely outweighs my fear of them.

But at the end of a week like this week, I prefer the possibilities of the absurd to the realities of the absurd.

For more on my thoughts about Charlottesville and rising bigotry, please read An Open Letter to My Friends of Color.

Check out  my full-length novels: 

Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only)   

Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) 

 Her Cousin Much Removed

 The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management.

And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!

Peruse Montraps Publishing.