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It's raining! And the dog is happy. Yes, I managed to catch him and dry him off, only to return to the family room to see... Yep! The Bone.¹ On my rug. Sitting there. Me: Harley! What is the bone doing inside? My guess is it was a combination of wet dog and bone. In her bed. Twenty-three pieces of fiction to html... and I'm done! Well, I'm done with that section. There are still a few more things to nail for the issue today, and then I can have people proof (it always helps to have extra eyes) and send everything to Lisa for the .pdf. But glory be. ¹Read yesterday's ETA entry. |
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February 1/I don't remember.
February already? Another craft month from hell. There are some months that should never have another celebration added to it, and February is definitely one of them. (This year's add-on is Chinese New Year. Between that and Groundhog's Day, the two President's Days, and Valentines, I'm at max with the prep. Which kind of explains why it took me three days to sneak up on the writing before I produced the required 750. Geez. So there I was, writing one of the caravan scenes and a new character walks in. He's a merchant. His name in Benim. And he wants Kalim for something, I do not know what, because the guy isn't talking. Now it would be handy for Kalim to have the benefit of eyes that have studied both the warrior and priesthood castes, and getting Kalim's eyes opened to the former might be a v. good thing. (And oh, by the way, self, I don't see Kalim suffering enough. You'd think a little more harboring of anger and angst would be right there. Do something about that, will you?) Then, as I was exploring various artists sites, the novel rose up and smacked me in the head with a request for elaborately carved sand memorials for those souls who rate a tattoo. Well, damn. I wasn't expecting the hind brain to answer when I said, "Those are cool!", and not only demand some for itself, let alone give me a way to use them. God save me. Who knows what the silly thing is going to demand next. Bonbons? Its very own camel? (Damn, that could be worked in.) Moral: Stop thinking of ridiculous requests when the hind brain is likely to perk up its little ears and go YEAH! I CAN USE THAT! Really, the only thing I have going for me is my rapid loss of short term memory. February 8/That would be a big, fat zero.The new issue of Ideomancer is slowly pulling together. I finished all the issue's icons last night, which was a minor miracle in and of itself, seeing how much the DeQuervain's thingy is kicking my right hand. The new mouse is helping, as is the fact that I've just switched to mousing with my left hand. Um... mousing has slowed to the progress of a banana slug. Too damned right-hand dependent, that's what it is. The novel demanded not only a new character, but a new threat to the caravan. Swell. Something that's never been mentioned in the first 37K of the damned book now streams into the mainfront of my brain. No, nothing has been set up. Nothing at all for this. I've been spending the non-writing time (which means all of it, because I'm certainly not opening the laptop) to make this threat plausible. Which is getting there. Escape for the people involved? Um... no. A lot of red shirts are gonna die. Which should twist my protag into knots and give that piggyback personality of his something to dig his teeth into. Again causing much consternation for Kalim. It's definitely time to get back to writing. My dreams are becoming ever so much weirder and clearer. Typing doesn't seem to involve the wrist as much as the mousing, or maybe it's because I'm cheating and resting my wrist on the wrist support pad. Therapy, with any luck, will start this week and go for a month. Just so long as this doesn't become a longer-lasting disability, because seriously, anything that takes your dominant hand out of action is a pain. I'm very grateful I don't write in longhand. That puts strain on the wrist, and who would have thought that?! Not me. Meanwhile, don't any of you kids out there try this at home. It sucks. February 17/Still zero.So, the goal is to start, tinker, and finish the Ideo ish this weekend. I've held off, trying to give the wrist time to recuperate, and I was doing okay with that goal. Until this morning. When I picked up a Le Creuset lasagne pan with my dominant hand and yelped. No more picking up Le Creuset pans. Any of them. Ever. Yeah, so now picking up the damn coffee pot since it tweaks the wrist. Today's agenda looks like this: drive child to Ventura for CPR training. (45 minutes, minimum.) Drive home. (45 minutes.) Do some Ideo work for three hours. Drive back to Ventura. (Repeat minutes.) Be harassed on the return trip with child that she will spend 30 minutes of her precious time tomorrow waiting outside the training place since I need to be somewhere else thirty minutes later. (Repeat minutes.) Minutes donated freely today have no application to minutes needed tomorrow. There's a reason this particular child doesn't have a significant attachment thus far. Yes, it's called not being ready in terms of selflessness. I've opened a story (not too old, just last year's) and am tinkering with the end, simply because there's a market I can send it out to if I get this ending nailed once and for all. I'm staring at the beginning, attempting to see what kind of circle I can nail for the POV character. And yes, there's one, but my hindbrain isn't coughing up the answers. If there's any additional time this weekend, I might be working on that. And tinkering with the novel plotting so I can pick up writing that again. Rich Horton positively mentioned Ideomancer's December issue in his January Locus column, so I'm happy over that. So much of success in publishing in the small niche that we are is about those people who send us their work. I'm always grateful to slush for that very reason, even if some of it does burn the eyes on occasion. If I haven't ever thanked you writers out there for giving me a reason to keep publishing—this is it. We're very proud of Ideomancer and rightfully so. Even when we don't get the praise. February 18/Yep. You guessed it.New rule for Ideo submissions... and I'm only half joking. Where the sum of all authors is greater than three, prime numbers of authors greater than three are unacceptable. Seriously, guys, give me a fighting chance at balancing the visuals. Twenty-three pieces of fiction to be htmled, twenty-three pieces of fiction to be htmled, take one down, smash it around... Oh, fine. I'm down to seventeen now. But golllllllllllllllly. I did look at the story. Again. No, I have no wonderful insight on how to get the ending to zing. My muse sucked up all the inspiration and moved to someplace with snow. I suspect K-15 since she knows I won't attempt climbing and the eldest attempted mother-killer has not enough money to make that dream possible. Fine, story, be that way. See if I open you again any time soon. Then I loved, loved, loved my fellow choir member's request this morning: "Please, Marsha, do the descant—it's too high for me." No problem, okay. And then I look at the music, only to see in horror the damn thing has two high F's. I survived and hit the damn things, but eeesh. What the hell was she thinking? (Well, other than the "See?! You did it!" Um, yeah. I did. But there was angst involved with that. Lots of angst.) I can tell that this is the kind of day it's going to be: all angsty and terror-driven. ETA: For a really good time, set on infinite loop. Dog: *barkbarkbark* |
