Much of yesterday's list hangs over my head this morning—my own personal version of Damocles' sword.

My excuse?

I took a nap. Which was rather strange, seeing that I'd only been up for a few hours, and I crashed for another two. The reason why is all too clear this morning, and it came clear last night: I have the onset of my first cold.

It's about the right time of year, too. This would normally be the week before report cards and parent conferences, except that we switched to the trimester system.

I'll probably get a second one then.

So, there was little done in terms of chores, and today I hit the list as soon as I return from my morning choir group.

If I was tired yesterday, I'm even more tired today: the coyotes (apparently in the back yard, so I worried about Harley challenging them for territory and they discovering a nice snack) howled for an hour or so around 1A, and Harley demanded breakfast at 6:30. He is now asleep. I am not. That seems dreadfully unfair, seeing that he slept through the coyotes' verbal assault on our neighborhood.

My sample ballot arrived yesterday. I am disgusted enough with the political status quo that the temptation to vote Green is high. I've overcome it for now, but any more idiocy on the part of our duly elected officials and I will put them all time out. Permanently. This even goes for the Democrats who chose to vote for the latest piece of idiocy masquerading as an auto-stamp of approval for the incumbent's authority. Where are their mothers? (Because if this doesn't resemble sandbox play with one kid hogging all the toys and the others standing around with their fingers in their mouths (or up their noses) wondering what to do about it, I don't know what is.) People I know are far more articulate than I on this action, so I'll leave it at that.

Last night, I tweaked my rusalka story. I lost a couple hundred words, heightened the action at one critical point and made it more difficult for her to save her brother, and then tried, really TRIED to get the ending to reflect the title.

I've printed it out, and I'm sending it off this morning.

So. Progress, of a sort.

I've also figured out a way to decide which order to send the stories out in: the ones that have sat the longest are the first into the firing line.

D'oh.

-Kill the alarm.p
-Coffee. p
-Spend the next 20 minutes trying to figure out how to make checks in html.p
-Continue for another hour after school.p
-Realize I do not remember the witty stuff I was going to say.p

(My head hurts, dammit. Although I do believe I may have figured out how to make Hannah's and Amanda's thingies view as thingies rather than question marks.)

Stupid html. No one should have to work this hard for a single character.

Another rejection for "Paper Crane", poor unpurchased story, this time garnering a "charming story in a way." (I still can't believe I got a "charming" out of Nick.) I've welcomed it back, given it a cozy spot in my hard drive, and am currently soothing it with copious applications of coffee.

(Okay, so that last bit is me. Happy?)

Still, it's sad that there aren't enough children's markets for this one. Jer would have bought it, or, at least he said he would, and then he went and shut down FB. Maybe that was just his way of avoiding it. ;)

I'm back to looking into children's book markets, although it's on the long side (2100 words, and I swear it's about as tight as I can make it right now) with no real way of making it shorter than cutting off the framing sections. (Another issue for me in terms of plausibility as a picture book—I have yet to see a nested story idea like this ever in any of the ones I've owned. And I have... um... a lot. *refuses to think how much money that involves, but it's way more than everything else I've purchased over the years for the classroom.*

The thought of trying to sell this as a book is far more intimidating than anything else I've considered. It's along the lines of a query and send the entire manuscript, because it's only ten pages. Doesn't seem like much, does it? I mean, there's no Big Evil Synopsis.

So I researched some of the potential book companies last night, for there are a few that are currently accepting unsolicitated manuscripts. If I can scrape together enough courage, I shall write a query letter tonight and see.

Dammit. This story does deserve publication in some format: short, picture book, or even a short kids' video.

But how?

Okay, so there's the usual submission process, and I have to somehow twist my brain around to submitting to a book editor, rather than a magazine editor. I'm pretty sure the odds there are higher, too.

And something to leave you with:

"Yellow eyes, set on a sleek black head and sharp as the pin that had pierced his family, stared back. Another rasping call burst from its throat. 'Silly thing,' the bird croaked. 'You will never fly like that. You must perch on the edge of the nest to take off.'"

Time to get some more submissions out.

Unfortunately, that's not what I managed to accomplish yesterday. No, I was all about speeding up Windows on both machines and fixing that overheating issue on my laptop. Oh, and getting rid of that "little or no connectivity" message I suddenly had on the laptop.

I have no check marks to prove it, but yay! I fixed everything.

I ran virus checks, the anti-spyware, took off software I don't use, defragged both computers, dumped some of my startup programs, and turned off some system services.

I blew the heck out of the laptop, even though I'd cleaned it fairly well the last time, and was rewarded with a small chunk of dust. Instant back to little or no heat and quiet fan.

The latter? The "little or no connectivity" issue? Took me hours of research and tinkering.

Finally, I learned how to set my default gateway in windows, uninstalled and then reinstalled my Netgear card, and voilà!

Everything works.

Housework? Um... no. Not so much.

Slush and choir practice, yes. Picking up fresh eggs? No.

The critting I'm supposed to do? Not yet.

But hey, there's a glow of accomplishment anyway. And I'm smiling at my laptop instead of worrying over it and deciding not to turn it on. So!

Yay! Life is good.

I am not alone this morning.

No, the Slug is in the shower using my hot water, and the Spousling is making a vat of french toast.

I have no idea where Harley is. He's not licking my ankles, for a change.

No writing. Much staring at rewrites (not mine, unfortunately.) I fell asleep on the couch in front of the TV, which was on and lonely since no one was glued to the screen. The Slug couldn't believe I was watching TV. Well, I wasn't. I was watching the backsides of my eyelids. Which I did for over an hour. And then I dragged myself upright, ate some dinner, and went to bed.

And twitched.

I hate that.

So, at 10:30P, I traipsed downstairs and took my first ever sleeping pill.

Took a while to wear on, but I finally fell asleep.

This morning I'm up, semi-perky, and have the onset of another cold.

Stupid germs.

This morning I am Lysoling children. Anyone care to join?

Notes to self from various body parts:

1. Do not kneel on countertops to replace bulletin boards. Either stand on them, (do not fall off!) or use your tippy toes. Or, get a chair, doofus. Thx. - Your Bad Knee, now swollen and stiff.

2. Design a plastic faceguard (utilizing a shoulder strut suspension system) between you and all the little germy beast pests children. K? Thx. - Her Royal Honkiness.

3. Gargle. Dammit. - Teh Frog Formally Known as Your Throat.

4. Never volunteer as Union Rep again. Ever. (Also rethink that non-stop driving trip to Denver over Christmas with family and dog.) - Your Sagging Butt and Weary Ears.

5. The updates for your steering system have been installed. Reboot for a full eight hours for them to take effect. - Teh Sleepy Brain (AKA, Dead Head).

6. Consider "stay in bed all week" as the goal for this vacation. Or else. (See the mechanic sooner than you think for a full engine rehaul, not to mention those pesky flat tires you call feet, the loud-kneed joint, and the lungs that are threatening to join the striking nose.) - The Body

7. Placate us with Guinness or suicide bombers will visit your tongue. (Oh, and there will be no sense of taste, but that's a minor issue with a couple of us giving up our lives in your mouth.) - Luv, All Your Little Tastebuds.

I don't know about you, but this morning? I'm thinking bed might be the safest place for me.

Day 1:

Did it! Stayed in jammies all day. I finished 3/4 of my book and started another. (Yay! I get to go to the library. Note: change out of jammies.) I managed to be sedentary the entire day. I would request more knee re-injuries from thems-that-be, but the recovery time sucks after the first month or so. Unfortunately, I did accomplish a few things, passed out slush, frex, and paid a couple of authors.

I'm chipper this morning, and not stressed. I need to do less on all Saturdays.

Day 2:

Start with choir at 8:30A. Run home. Change. (Can we do something about this changing issue? I want software where you click on your apparel, and voilá, the item appears on your backside. And fits.) Clean something, like, oh, say, bathrooms. Two. Change. Go to library. Plan a day away for the entire day with Spousling. Decide where and what we will do. Change. Gym. Shower and change. Second choir. Home. Eat. Dishes. WRITE, DAMMIT. Anything. I am not picky. Then REWRITE something. Change. Fall in bed to read.

Oh, it's heaven for an entire week.

(Just before it's a return to the new version of hell: Kinder2.0 w/extended day. So yes, my little gremlins for 2.5 more hours! YAY!!!)

This week is all about repairing myself.

I'm back to avoiding the writing. It's one of those love/hate relationships. I love my stories (the finished ones, the unfinished are hated with the hate of all hate) and all I want to do is sell the damn things. Is that too much to ask? I mean, really?

So, for Amber's sake, I am staring at the ashes story or my cages story (now reset in medieval China, and threatening novelladom.) I will choose one. Cross my heart. And then I'll look at the mother/son story (sans the mother) and see what I can do to fix up that puppy and make it really SFnal. Rewriting will be my two sisters on the asteroid story. I haven't nailed the end, reading between the lines of my reject from Sheila. (This will come as no surprise to chance, Amber, and Charlie, of course.)

Did I mention the landscape quilt I need to finish? And the new yarn for a scarf that needs to be knitted? Or catching up with the rewrites for Ideo?

But yes! This week I am resting.

Right.

Doesn't it look like it?

I reopened Cages last night. That would have been after the search for the file, and the bazillion variations of it that appeared, and then it was merely a matter of finding the most recently dated version, and saving that to the shared writing files.

I did manage a few words as I reread it, began reading as an editor, slid into reading as a reader, and forgot about everything else. That would have been about halfway through. I still love it, and the concept of a woman who searches for a key to release her husband, but finds the key to release herself from her own prison.

But what do you mean I introduced He Bo, a new character, just before I stopped writing this? What do you mean I suddenly had snow and a frozen river? What was I on?

Fortunately, I've already figured out what he wants, what the struggle is between them, how her needs will conflict with his wants, and what she will gain from the experience. Vaguely. I do have a list of things she needs to grow, and it's got to be one of those.

This, by the way, is obstacle number two. She's managed to catch sight of her destination just before that encounter, so it's a step in the right direction.

I am also at the top of page 37. This does not bode well in terms of length. I'm approaching only halfway. Aeeeiiii.

The knee got pummel massaged last night for a while, which helped with the swelling this morning. (Even though the muscle now feels bruised to the touch.) This morning I have it raised and iced.

With frozen edamame.

Which beat out the frozen Alaskan Cod.

I am trying to decide if I should attempt walking or not. I chickened out of the gym yesterday, so it's back on the list for today. Along with a bunch of other stuff. Sadly.

*adds nap to list*

That just brightened up my entire day. The difference three letters makes....

The only difficulty with abandoning a work midstream and then returning months (if not years) later is:

My memory.

Iced-over river in high summer? Check.

He Bo? I have a vague recall of throwing that god into the mix.

Abandoned shrine? Um....

Goddess of the abandoned shrine? Say what?

Other goddess who iced over the river and turned He Bo's hands blue? WTF?!

Dammit. No wonder I stopped writing.

So it's back to researching the stuff I'd already researched. Little things, like what province did I set this in? And what mountain is she going to? (Not Lushan, probably too common, but the mists, oh, the mists. Lovely, lovely threats.) Who is the shrine's goddess? Who is this goddess intruder? Why the hell does He Bo have blue hands, and was that something I came up with or something that the god just has???

Okay, so it's like I started watching the movie halfway through and I am currently demanding answers of the Spousling, who has seen it completely at least once before, and knows the plot line.

Unfortunately, I've set my answers to SETI mode. Stuff goes out. Nothing but static returns.

This time I refuse to change the channels. This will be a damn good story once I slog through it. Then I can get to the good part: the rewriting.

So yeah, I'm irritated and fussy, and more prone to sporking the characters to get them to talk, rather than holding a pleasant interrogation.

*Spotlight shines on blue-handed guy cuffed to a straight-backed armchair*

Grand Inquisitor holding a steel spork behind her back: So, how long did you say you've had this goddess stepping on your territory?

He Bo: Um... I didn't.

G.I.: *spork*

He Bo, hastily: But since you've asked so nicely, I'll still refuse to tell you.

G.I.: *sporking ensues until He Bo resembles colander* Did I mention the general crankiness today?

The Colander formerly known as H.B.: Little late, don't you think?

So far I've accomplished: feeding the dog (first things first, especially when he decides to stand on your head and lick your hair, because the next place he'll be licking is your face), harangueing the Slug into doing the dishes from last night that she didn't do then because she "had other responsibilities", which included watching the dance competition show, although "she didn't watch the end," and french-braiding her hair after she finished the dishes and pots.

Thankfully, she gave me a lever there. Because pointing out that we'd gone all the places she'd needed to go wasn't quite enough to push her over the edge into actually doing the damn pots.

To hell with negotiation. This is all about blackmail.

And another spit in the bucket at my cages story.

I don't like where it's going, already. My subconscious is clutching words to its bosom and releasing them one. at. a. time.

Phrases? No such animal.

I can't say I have favorite lines, exactly. I'm never enamored of my prose enough to leave well enough alone. What does catch me are the concepts or feelings I'm trying to express. Like, this one, from last night:

Jaio settled to her knees, and shot him a quick glance. "Wealth? There is little enough of that in these lands, as my husband would inform you quickly enough. What wealth is found in rivers other than fish for a meal and water to make tea or with which to wash? Both are wealth enough for any mortal."

So, Jaio is turning out to be pragmatic. And wise, in some respects. With lots of growing room for the bits that have been stunted over the years of her marriage.

It's the little things that make me happy.

Just not accomplished. Minor details.

When in doubt, sneak up on the wordage. Word count is a state of mind.

And she's solving stuff all right. Too simply. There's no danger involved for her, and I will have to discover a physical threat (or one that stops her journey entirely, since a fear of not completing the journey dogs her travel, which means, also, that I need to up that fear), but hey. That is what the rewrites are for, right? Fixing the damn story that is broken even as you write the damn words condemning it to brokenness.

In other news, Harley managed to con two dinners. I fed him before I left and announced that news to the world at large, which was simply Not Paying Attention.

The Spousling gave him a second meal while I was gone.

Harley believed he could con me into a third upon my return.

Look, the monkeys were being really generous today, so chances were better than average, right?

Hanging out by the dinner table while we all ate didn't net him anything either, but by then, his stomach felt full and he was asleep.

Despite the extra feeding, he was awake at the usual time and demanding another meal.

Dog: a stomach on legs with a demanding tongue.

Oh, and now? I have red in my hair. Lots of little streaks.

I like them a lot until I find myself under fluorescent lighting with the hair fluffed and then I think of Elmo missing his yearly fleececut. (How else do they get Elmo clones? D'oh.)

It's one of those despondent mornings: I can't write, at least not at a pro level, and whatever made me think I could, and this story sucks, and probably a bunch of others, too. Bleah.

I'd push reset, but I'm pretty sure I've got a limited number of self-critiquing comments. Plus, they're all negative. But that's my Magic 8 Ball for you.

So, yeah. Yesterday I put the story up on the 'orkshop, again, with a new and improved ending, supposedly, but like all fictional floozies, it lied to me and claimed far more than it was capable of doing.

Can we just say right now that Insights Suck?

No wonder I don't sell much. Most everything I have is stuck in my hard drive on hate. Or maybe it's disgust. Or a wishful "some day I'll fix that puppy" (which in my case means no way in hell and btw, the puppy's already set to no spawning mode.)

I did write six crits, and apparently made one crittee extremely happy because I gave her tons to think about for a rewrite.

(Okay, so that sucks, too. In a weird way. Because I have fears that my vision for other people's work is far superior to my own. Scary, but there it is. My life's goal was not to be an editor.)

I did open the *gasp* novel last night for the first time in two years. (And we know just who to thank about that, now don't we? *cough*leahjaime*cough*) I know I wrote a new chapter designed to be the opening one, and could I find it?

Of course not, dammit. I searched for an hour or so, gave up, and went off to bed to read.

It's there, though. Somewhere. I just have to find it. Preferably by using the correct spelling of the character's name, because the one I used last night was misspelled. I just didn't realize it until this morning.

I have twenty+ files of this damn thing, and I can't cope. There's the full and complete version of it where I crashed to a halt at 33K or so. There are three files, one for each POV character, with all of their scenes in it (that was in the wild hope I could write one at a time, then splice them all together. Um... no. That was not my best idea.) There are three files labeled notes. A few that have to be duplicates, but who knows, and that missing beginning chapter.

Kill me know.

But first I get to finish my coffee.

Meanwhile, if I'd going to be depressed, I should probably head straight back to bed. But I'm pretty sure the dog is already there and sleeping on my pillow.

It's going to be a loooooooong day.

Everything's a bit rosier this morning—but that could be do simply to the fact that I did something to my lower back and have other suckiness to dwell upon. However, a dose of ibuprofen and several minutes with the massage instrument of torture, and it's now better. If I sit very straight, which is not a bad thing.

I have three critiques, one which really helps in pinpointing where I have to tinker. This is good, and I am going to have to find some way of indicating what things I've 'orkshopped, so I have a clue as to how many times I've thrown them up there. I do not enjoy wearing out the sympathetic eyes I have.

This morning is slushing. I have crits to reciprocate and some rewrites to work on for Ideo. There's the bit where I lie on the sofa and create a master file of all the scenes I've written so far, because I wrote more in the individual files, but never cut and pasted those to the novel file itself. I know I've written more than 26.6K and that's what my novel is telling me it has.

Of course, those words could be imaginary, I suppose. Right up there with that new opening chapter I simply cannot locate.

Currently, I'm alone (well, as alone as you get with a needy dog) and willing to use the time I have thoroughly.

Go me!

Did I mention only two more days before I head back to school? Oh, the torture.

(That just demands another cup of coffee to compensate for the sudden blow upside my noggin.)

I slaved over the story again. The story. The one that's been irritating the heck out of me by thumbing its nose, trampling my psyche, and pulling the rug out from under me.

But I received four crits that pointed in a direction I thought I could follow, and I rewrote it. Again.

I have another new ending, this one focusing on family and responsibility. I'm still looking at one bit to see if it's contributing to the story or not, and if it is, I've got to figure out how to raise the tension throughout that bit. Then, of course, there's not enough guilt on the part of the older sister, so I've got to increase that, too. Plus, even with her name, some readers aren't catching on that Maia's a girl. Something else to tweak, but damned if I know how at the moment. She's wandering an asteroid in a spacesuit; it's not as though she's going to be checking her face out in a mirror for smudged makeup or worrying over her hair.

I'll come up with something. I always do.

Eventually.

I got two crits out last night. Today is more about Ideo and trying not to freak that my managing partner, Amber, is abando deserti off for a vacation in the wilds of NZ. For a MONTH. Without me. Leaving me to do the next issue all on my lonesome with no backup support.

Meanie.

*sniff*

But my feelings are hurt. Not at all. And I hope she has a terrib terrific time and enjoys herself thoroughly.

I'll just be in the corner sucking my thumb for the next month. Crying.