At exactly 1:40, my inbox yielded this:




beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/

And there is much gnashing of teeth here, for I must not be distracted from my tasks at hand. I shall read and comment next week, as I am tied up with a novelist retreat throughout Sunday.

Damn you, Scott Andrews, and your tempting new magazine!

Must return to critiquing, must return to critiquing...

My sister and I conversed on this subject a few weeks ago. We agreed that neither of us was much good at it. On the other hand, I recall a friend saying that the more she had going on, the better she got at managing her time. I believe this is true too, at least for me: I'm as organized as I have to be, but only that much. Or should I say, the less time I have, the better I utilize it.

The majority of my time over last couple years has been spent at my computer, putzing away at writing without deadlines. I work a total of 12 hours a week and grump about that much. I accomplish very little. This fall, I got involved in a few writerly activities so that pull me out of the house. I go to a SF writing course at the Loft on Wed nights, I'm attending a Donald Maass one day workshop tomorrow, and in another two weeks, am participating in a self-organized writers retreat with 7 other folks from the TCSFWN Meet Up group.

The upside is that I'm immersed in reading and critiquing on a level that I only experience when at Odyssey. I polished a partial piece for my class to read and I had to revise a couple chapters of my novel for the retreat. I will bring those chapters to the workshop tomorrow.

The downside is that I feel unfocused and pulled in several directions. Instead of writing, I tend to spend too much time playing freebie computer games like mahjong and Poppit. I'd like to be writing...and in fact, feel as confident as I ever have about my abilities.

Did I just have a breakthrough? I feel so confident about my writing that I fear actually writing something and proving myself wrong? Am I avoiding having to look at direct evidence of how much I have to learn? And people try to say that LJ is a waste of time!

Next question: will this self-revelation motivate me to spend a productive day? Stay tuned...

Vote here: http://www.pbs.org/now/polls/poll-435.html

Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine Issue 36 has arrived:




http://www.andromedaspaceways.com/News0016.htm

It includes my first story in a print magazine: "The Robber King and the Blood Orange Tree".

Also, a shout out to another local writer, Michael Merrian. His wonderful poem "The Problem Was" is also featured.

This makes me want to put my novel on break so I can retool some short stories and re-enter the short market. However, I don't dare take a break now, it would be too hard to get back to it. I have a plan of revising one story that I'll submit in October to TotU, but other than that, I'm sticking to the novel revision.

I do love gadgets. In fact, I am a partner in crime with my husband, when it comes to loading down the house with more useless objects. (You won't hear me admit that often, and I wouldn't have said it if I didn't know for a fact he never reads my LJ.)

I'm waiting for my latest gadget to arrive:


This device will make me happier, more focused, and help me lose weight. I guarantee it.

My kitchen resembles a Jawa's paradise of various small appliances, some of them gathering dust on shelves or hidden in cupboards, but some of them used and loved. You never know until you buy an appliance if its going to be useful or more hassle.

Some gadgets that I couldn't live without:
Cuisnart Food Processor
The Pizz-azz
Coffee-maker
Toaster
Cuisinart Grill

Gadgets I should live without but use once a decade:
Breadmaker
Wafflemaker

Should go away but haven't:
Pressure Cooker
Air Popcorn Popper (ugh, does anyone like air-popped popcorn? If so, I'll mail this to you.)

Okay, so what is the point of this, other than to see if I can write the most boring LJ entry ever? I also love cleaning gadgets, but I'm too self-conscious to list all the items that I own that are supposed to keep my home clean and sparkly with a minimum of effort. I will simply admit that buying a new doodad gives me motivation to perform tedious and repetitious tasks.

This tendency surfaces in my writing habits. I have an outline program that I purchased back in my "Writer Digest" days. I use Google Document. I adore PB Wiki and oh yeah, now I have Liquid Storybinder. Purchased "Campaign Cartographer" because I can't draw maps worth a damn. (I need maps to write, I really do. If not maps, then floor plans. Something about the way my brain works, or doesn't work.)

I alternate between all these writing gadgets to kick myself along the road to plot and character development. I'm surprised that the costly outline program actually works, because I tend to think of it as overpriced and not worth it. But its become a workhorse in my process, helping me regain focus while I pick apart the bones of my story.

Nevertheless, the gadgets only take me so far. There's the spark within that isn't always present and no amount of fiddling with gadgets can always inspire. It's not here today, which is why I'm posting instead of working on my novel.

Your result for The Mythological Profile Test...

Werewolf

Take The Mythological Profile Test at HelloQuizzy

Open letter to television "journalists":

Please do not do another feature about Chinese food and how yucky it is to us Americans. You make us all look like idiots and besides, I'm tired of seeing the same shots of scorpions crisped on a skewer.

Thank you.

Actually, her reign of terror was ever so brief, but it took a couple years off my life span. Last night, I went to bring her into the house, but she got her crazy face on...the one that means her brain has vacated her body and she's operating on pure adrenaline. The cause of the excitement was man walking by with his leashed dog. In our struggle for control, Patsy won the day when her collar came off in my hand. For a brief shining moment, I thought she was going to obey me and follow me to the house. Then she seemed to realize she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to, and dashed across the yard full out, looking like a stag in full run.

My husband was looking out the kitchen window and saw her fly by, so he was outside in seconds. We both ran down the block and she was already out of sight. By the time I got to the end of the block (so painfully slow compared to her), I saw the man and his dog, but no Patsy, so she apparently changed her mind. Where she'd gone was anyone's guess.

We quickly organized an all-dog alert and both sons were ordered home to assist in the search (and both responded immediately by jumping into their cars, cell phones still open). All I could picture was some neighbor calling the police over a non-collared pit bull on the loose. After all, we adopted her from a rescue group because she'd been found as a stray when she was just a year old. Obviously, she's run far in the past.

My husband decided to cover ground in his car, and I returned to the house for a leash. While I was walking down the block again, yammering to my husband on my cell, I saw a teen-aged girl come jogging down the street. Then I realized she seemed intent on heading towards me. I asked her if she'd seen a big black and white dog, and yes, she had it in her yard on a rope. When I followed her home, it turned out she lived directly behind my house, one house over (too complicated to explain this suburban tract that makes it possible to never see one another.) She was as shocked as me to realize how close our houses are, although fences separate the lots. Her mother was sitting with Patsy in their backyard. Turns out their dog escapes regularly and heads for our backyard when he does. Patsy seemed mildly happy to see me.

Neighbor lady asked me "Is that a pit bull?" in a cheerful way, so I knew how truly lucky we were. I always dodge the question because technically, she isn't necessarily a true pit bull, but we don't really know. She looks like a duck, quacks like a duck...only with longer legs. The girl who rescued Patsy loves dogs and experienced with handling them, so more good luck. Patsy is friendly, but can be energetically and powerfully friendly. As I led her away from their yard, my husband pulled up in his van, followed by one son in his car (the other one still on his way from the other side of town.) So all is well that ends well, but we really need to fence a section of our backyard for Patsy, and buy her a collar that doesn't keep expanding. The one she's wearing is now on the last hole.

I figure the dog must have had less than 5 minutes of freedom, given where she wound up. I'm not sure what speed limits my sons broke to get home, because the second one showed up minutes later. She is a much loved dog, that's *fer sure*.

Yesterday was a workday for me, meaning I showed up at Borders at 7 in the am and shelved for 4 solid hours. I did nab a nap when I came home, ate some lunch and started working on my novel outline. (I'm outlining the novel it was written, while making some notes about changes to come. Then I'll post it up and start rearranging, adding, and deleting (oh noes) events.)

Roofers show up around 3pm, somewhat expected. The contractor said he would be stopping by to drop some stuff off--but I didn't know they were dropping it off onto the roof. Nor did I expect a dozen guys with their vehicles to fill our driveway. After an hour of pounding (with a very submissive bully tucked under my desk and between my legs), the contractor comes to the door to discuss the insurance claim. This turns into a complicated conversation involving phone calls to the supplier and the insurance company, and then the doorbell rings.

Tree removal guy is there, he's cut the tree down and wants his check. I look out a window to be sure that said tree is gone. It is, and lolling near the fresh stump are four roofer guys, enjoying the fine afternoon. I write a check to Tree Guy while Contractor talks on the phone to the supplier. Next up, a shiny red Transam convertible which I recognize as belonging to Carpet Guy. Contractor is still on the phone as Carpet guy writes up a contract and asks for a deposit check. Contractor finally leaves during that process. Meanwhile, No. 1 son shows up and reports 4 guys are lounging in the backyard.

Carpet guy leaves. No. 1 son announces reason for visit: he needs a check to cover emergency root canal...

Funny thing, I read this in a novel at TNEO, and told the author there were too many characters introduced too soon. Since she doesn't read LJ, I emailed her this morning to retract that criticism. And I haven't even gone in to detail about the zany personalities of the Contractor and the Carpet Guy. Tree guy was just a walk on, while No. 1 son is a major secondary character.

Once again, I arrive home from TNEO filled with good intentions and solid ideas for my writing. I also find myself yearning to return next year, even though I thought I'd start skipping years, what with air travel rates and time constraints. We'll see...but if my year goes according to plan (and does that ever happen?), I'll be at just the right point with my novel to submit it to the extended novelists group.

What I learned, where I went, what I did:

I met all kinds of cool people from other classes that I hadn't met before. I hope to get their LJ handles soon, but it's hard when the names don't match the nicks. By the end of the week, I was starting to wear out on the "summer at band camp" accomadations, but today, I'm ready to go back. It's just amazing to spend a week talking about writing, writing, writing, and not seeing anyone's eyes glaze over.

And that was my summer vacation. How's yours?

Phew. TNEO is a sprint, compared to the Odyssey workshop, which is a marathon. Today I am luxuriating in unaccustomed free time...although I should be compiling notes, going over crits, washing clothes, and so on. That will all wait until tomorrow.

My flights to Manchester sucked big time, but gave me the karma I needed to fly home without negative incident. I spent the evening cuddling my very-missed pooch until she got tired of the love fest and put herself to bed in her kennel.

This afternoon I will go see "Dark Knight" with the hub and if I am so blessed, the sons will accompany us for their second viewing. I shall make simple sauce and pasta for dinner because I am tired of eating in out.

I've entered TNEO preparations nearly full-time now, at least mentally speaking. A whole lot of thinking going on. I did finish critiques through Round 2, and that means I only have 7 critiques total for Round 3 and the Synopsis round.

I've become a fan of several of my co-TNEO attendees, and find their work difficult to critique, other than to write an essay on what I liked. Even the work that isn't "my cuppa", is generally well-written as far as style goes.

The weekend was very social, which makes it difficult for me to focus on writing. In other words, I didn't write this weekend. The only significant writing that I did over the past week was to work on my slam piece for the reading at B&N. I separated a portion of a chapter, but now I have to force someone to listen to me read it, so I can determine if it is interesting, or too full of descriptive passages and not enough conflict.

I spent some time reading "Word Painting", actually rereading the portions that I read a couple years ago. I felt more receptive to the material than when I first read it, but I was likely on overload when post-Odyssey. I think the meditative aspect of the first chapters appealed to me, since my brain seems to be buzzing around without focus since I finished my rough novel draft.

Fiction reading eluded me until I started "The Talisman" co-written by Peter Straub and Stephen King. Not that I find it compelling, but rather relevant to the two novels I wrote over the past year, blending horror and fantasy elements.

I saw "In Bruges" on Friday night at the dollar theater (two dollar actually) and that has been on my mind ever since. Probably the best movie I've seen this year, and certainly the best screenplay I've seen in even longer. The dialogue is out of this world, and the story builds from an almost dull beginning, that seems angst-driven and depressing, and grows into a near-farce, punctuated by violence and ending in tragedy--all tempered with dark humor and thems of self-redemption and personal honor. Written and directed by a playwright, who's name escapes me at the moment. But I will be looking for more work by him.

TNEO looms only two weeks ahead. I'm entering an "on hold" mode for everything else, which I wish I wouldn't do, but apparently am helpless to stop myself.

My son, the artist calling himself BadNRad, was caught on video during his gig at MEMF 2008 in Chicago last weekend:



CDs are now available for sale from the trunk of my car (and my husband's), although I understand it will soon be available online via Itunes, etc.

It was a satisfying and productive week for me. I finished the first draft of "Rare Breeds", and although I keep thinking of scenes that I forgot to include, it was a happy moment. I feel freer now, as far as re-examining the plot directions.

The subject header is an RSS headline that I read this morning, perusing my monitor before drinking my coffee:

Man hits deer, thrown from bike, killed by car

My poor groggy brain read and re-read this sentence, ala Eats Shoots Leaves, for several times before comprehending what it meant. Once I did get it, the tragedy of the event made me feel rather guilty for all the comic images I had dredged up first. Blame it on caffeine or sleep deprivation, or overanalyzing in the critiques I've been working on, but here's what I read:

1. A man hit a deer--as in punched it, because he was thrown from his bike, after the deer was killed by a car.

2. No, that can't be right. A man hit a deer that was thrown from a bike...stop there, that isn't working either.

3. A dead deer was thrown from a car...hitting the man on the bike, but no, the man supposedly hit the deer...I need some coffee...

4. A man on a bike ran into a deer, was thrown into a car, and died. Now I get it. Jeez, that's horrible.

I'm curious to know if it's just me, and that headline is instantly obvious to everyone else. Let me know what you thought first when you read it.

I managed to finish my novel draft this week. I am very happy for this, although each subsequent chapter is full of holes and inconsistencies, right to the last wrap-up which is rather silly. I will be getting a lot of critiques on the early chapters at TNEO, which is not for another month. I hesitate to look at the chapters that I submitted (first six) until after that. Which is fine, I have tons of research to do, although not the fun kind. It's the boring factual stuff.

Still, I want to keep writing fiction daily, or close to it, but I find myself feeling rather...betweenish. I don't want to start revision on my other languishing novel, since I'll get pulled back into "Rare Breeds" in another month. I could tinker with any number of short stories or my heavens, start a new one.

Meanwhile, I've started two different books and can't get into either one, and the only thing preventing me from starting yet another is knowing that I won't get into that one either. My brain is in a curious place.

I have a number of things to work on, like critiques and a lesson plan for the workshop. The critiques are getting done at the steady rate of one a day. I do a first read of one writer, and an in depth of the prior day's first read.

The Internet has failed to provide me with any satisfying distractions, although I did come across some references for google and wiki-fu. I might wind up cleaning the house today. It's been sorely needed, but I had a novel to finish.

Warning to cat lovers: You won't want to read this.

I had a rather creepy memory today of an anecdote that has to be over 35 years old. A friend of my sister's moved into a cheap apartment in a poor neighborhood. One morning, she came out and found on the sidewalk: a dismembered cat's tail.

One reason the story stuck at the time was that was the neighborhood I was moving into, along with my fluffy white cat, Farina. Nothing happened to Farina, so you can rest easy about that. But I worried constantly, nearly freaking out when she escaped out our window one day. She returned, looking like a gray tabby with all the dirt, but tail intact.

What I was thinking about today was that the horrifying part of this anecdote is what is missing from the story. The cat. And that is that nature of horror: what is missing and left to the imagination. The more I contemplate the cat's fate, the more awful it is to think about. That tail, even though I never saw it, haunted me for years. I was sorry to have it resurface today until I analyzed it. And now I've served it up on LJ.

Because this is an evil evil time-waster:

http://www.ugo.com/channels/comics/heroMachine2/heromachine2.asp



I had a hard time figuring out how to save the image into my own album, and didn't cut it off very well. But I had to force myself to stop playing with it and do some work instead.