I'm so tired this morning.
I've had to retype the above sentence twice because I couldn't find the home keys. My hands are twitchy on the keyboard and my head keeps nodding.
I slept well last night, and kept sleeping till my alarm woke me up. Usually I'm up before the alarm.
I'm up, though, if not totally awake, and I'm going to rescue myself with a good cup or three of coffee. Today's coffee, from Mokaska Coffee, promises not only caffeine but epiphanies.
Hope that wakes me up. I'll let you know if I have any epiphanies.
Monday, September 30, 2019
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Editing Gaia's Hands Again
I actually started working on editing Gaia's Hands yesterday while sitting at Mokaska Coffeehouse in St. Joseph. Their new digs are amazing, by the way -- spacious and warm. Their coffee is always full of intriguing hints -- spice and chocolate, or bold berry, or citrus.
How did it feel editing Gaia's Hands after a long break? I see things that need to be smoothed out, things that need to be added. I have a better feel for the characters than I've had before, and that's saying a lot, as these are two characters I've lived with for years.
I remind myself that I literally have known these characters for years, as Gaia's Hands was the first novel I wrote. Jeanne Beaumont, the scientist trying to ignore the web of mysticism she's being drawn into, and Josh Young, the mystic grounding himself in writing. They represent the yin and yang symbol, constantly shifting roles.
The sad thing is that I will have to take a break from them again, first because Whose Hearts are Mountains will soon return from dev edit, and second, because November will soon arrive and I will work on a new novel for NaNaWriMo.
I hope, soon, to get Gaia's Hands in shape for some sort of publication.
How did it feel editing Gaia's Hands after a long break? I see things that need to be smoothed out, things that need to be added. I have a better feel for the characters than I've had before, and that's saying a lot, as these are two characters I've lived with for years.
I remind myself that I literally have known these characters for years, as Gaia's Hands was the first novel I wrote. Jeanne Beaumont, the scientist trying to ignore the web of mysticism she's being drawn into, and Josh Young, the mystic grounding himself in writing. They represent the yin and yang symbol, constantly shifting roles.
The sad thing is that I will have to take a break from them again, first because Whose Hearts are Mountains will soon return from dev edit, and second, because November will soon arrive and I will work on a new novel for NaNaWriMo.
I hope, soon, to get Gaia's Hands in shape for some sort of publication.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
The Woman Syndrome
Note: To the Ukrainian bot that hit this blog 18 times from three different operating systems and without hitting a single post, I have one thing to say: I have no information about Joe Biden.
That said, I continue to write and to try to get published. Writing has become part of who I am, even if I started at it late. Let me correct that -- I never took myself seriously before. If someone liked what I wrote, I said, "Oh, that little thing? It's nothing."
This sort of self-deprecation disguised as modesty is part of the baggage women are taught from an early age. We're told -- at least women in my generation were told -- that we shouldn't upstage the men in our life, so if we excelled at something, we should play it down. We should deny it. Women were taught not to brag; "to brag" meaning "to assert any talent, quality, or achievement; to tell the truth about their accomplishments".
Inwardly, however, women were taught to castigate themselves for not being perfect. The grades are never high enough, the job performance never good enough, the house never clean enough.
What a dilemma -- women must be inwardly perfect while preserving the illusion of mediocrity. So women hide the 98% they got on the exam while beating themselves up about the other 2%. In this schema, women not only can't win but shouldn't win.
I don't know if women are still brought up this way, but when I discuss this with my students, the women nod knowingly. I've had several female students say, "I don't want to brag".
I wonder if this gets in the way of my getting published. I send things out to journals and publishers with the thought "I don't know if this is good enough," and when I get rejected, I think "It probably wasn't good enough." I wonder if this attitude of mine is reflected in my cover letters and pitches. I wonder if my attitude causes good things to be reflected from me in some sort of reverse "The Secret" (a new-agey book about how we can attract good to us; a lot of bunk).
But that is part of the syndrome. Not only do I hold myself responsible for rejections, but I hold myself responsible for not attracting success to myself.
I really think I should cure myself of the syndrome.
That said, I continue to write and to try to get published. Writing has become part of who I am, even if I started at it late. Let me correct that -- I never took myself seriously before. If someone liked what I wrote, I said, "Oh, that little thing? It's nothing."
This sort of self-deprecation disguised as modesty is part of the baggage women are taught from an early age. We're told -- at least women in my generation were told -- that we shouldn't upstage the men in our life, so if we excelled at something, we should play it down. We should deny it. Women were taught not to brag; "to brag" meaning "to assert any talent, quality, or achievement; to tell the truth about their accomplishments".
Inwardly, however, women were taught to castigate themselves for not being perfect. The grades are never high enough, the job performance never good enough, the house never clean enough.
What a dilemma -- women must be inwardly perfect while preserving the illusion of mediocrity. So women hide the 98% they got on the exam while beating themselves up about the other 2%. In this schema, women not only can't win but shouldn't win.
I don't know if women are still brought up this way, but when I discuss this with my students, the women nod knowingly. I've had several female students say, "I don't want to brag".
I wonder if this gets in the way of my getting published. I send things out to journals and publishers with the thought "I don't know if this is good enough," and when I get rejected, I think "It probably wasn't good enough." I wonder if this attitude of mine is reflected in my cover letters and pitches. I wonder if my attitude causes good things to be reflected from me in some sort of reverse "The Secret" (a new-agey book about how we can attract good to us; a lot of bunk).
But that is part of the syndrome. Not only do I hold myself responsible for rejections, but I hold myself responsible for not attracting success to myself.
I really think I should cure myself of the syndrome.
Friday, September 27, 2019
Letdown
Yesterday I woke up with that feeling that something good, really good, was going to happen.
Instead, I got two rejections.
It's laid me a bit low. It's not that I haven't been getting rejections all along; I can be a bit superstitious at times, and I felt as if the universe bitch-slapped me.
I'm stewing in the very common writer's self-castigation: My writing isn't interesting enough, my writing isn't good enough, I'm not good enough.
Still, I turned my pitch for Prodigies to Pitch Wars, which is a competition to find established authors who will work with you to improve your pitch materials so that they entice agents.
I keep trying, because I will never get published if I don't try.
Instead, I got two rejections.
It's laid me a bit low. It's not that I haven't been getting rejections all along; I can be a bit superstitious at times, and I felt as if the universe bitch-slapped me.
I'm stewing in the very common writer's self-castigation: My writing isn't interesting enough, my writing isn't good enough, I'm not good enough.
Still, I turned my pitch for Prodigies to Pitch Wars, which is a competition to find established authors who will work with you to improve your pitch materials so that they entice agents.
I keep trying, because I will never get published if I don't try.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Justice for All
"... with liberty and justice for all."
This is why I think the announcement of formal impeachment proceedings against President Trump is good news. Clear evidence exists that President Trump has colluded with foreign entities for the purpose of influencing elections, which is an affront to the democratic process in the US. It is the job of the president to keep the nation's good, rather than his own desires, in mind.
Some would argue that the democratic process in the US isn't very democratic, and they would be right. The need for a huge "war chest" to run for president restricts all but the wealthy and famous. The Electoral College exists as the remnant of a system where only white male landowners could vote. Polling places are cut disproportionately in areas where less-wealthy blacks live.
However, Trump's apparent attempt at manipulating Ukraine with an eye to collusion and the earlier suspected collusion with Russia, if proven, are major subversions not only to the electoral process but to the security interests of the United States.
Americans know this -- at least the majority of Americans who have not bought into the cult of the bully Trump. And they want justice for all, not just the rich and powerful.
This is why I think the announcement of formal impeachment proceedings against President Trump is good news. Clear evidence exists that President Trump has colluded with foreign entities for the purpose of influencing elections, which is an affront to the democratic process in the US. It is the job of the president to keep the nation's good, rather than his own desires, in mind.
Some would argue that the democratic process in the US isn't very democratic, and they would be right. The need for a huge "war chest" to run for president restricts all but the wealthy and famous. The Electoral College exists as the remnant of a system where only white male landowners could vote. Polling places are cut disproportionately in areas where less-wealthy blacks live.
However, Trump's apparent attempt at manipulating Ukraine with an eye to collusion and the earlier suspected collusion with Russia, if proven, are major subversions not only to the electoral process but to the security interests of the United States.
Americans know this -- at least the majority of Americans who have not bought into the cult of the bully Trump. And they want justice for all, not just the rich and powerful.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
A bloody good time
I don't have a lot of time to put in a big post, because I will be moulaging a bunch of high schoolers for the high school docudrama. This means that I look at a card detailing injuries and recreate it on a volunteer using makeup.
The docudrama exists as a way to scare teens out of drunk driving, distracted driving, and various other jerky things teens do while driving that will get them and others killed. The woman who runs it encourages us to get severe and bloody with our casualty simulation because they will be seeing it from a distance (unlike Missouri Hope, where people will see it close up).
It's a fun time.
The docudrama exists as a way to scare teens out of drunk driving, distracted driving, and various other jerky things teens do while driving that will get them and others killed. The woman who runs it encourages us to get severe and bloody with our casualty simulation because they will be seeing it from a distance (unlike Missouri Hope, where people will see it close up).
It's a fun time.
Monday, September 23, 2019
Belief and Doubt
I sent the first three chapters of Apocalypse off to Tom Doherty Associates (TOR) yesterday. I have several story submissions out and the manuscript for Prodigies at DAW. I have several queries on Apocalypse out to agents.
And I am filled with doubt.
I believe I'm a good writer, or else I wouldn't push myself to improve, and I wouldn't try to get published. I just feel doubt every time I submit. But I keep submitting anyhow.
Doubt is just a feeling. It is not reality. Some might point out that getting all the rejections I've gotten is a reality and that I should just give up. But I believe the process is subjective and that, sooner or later, my work will speak to someone.
My belief and doubt coexist; I choose to act upon my belief.
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Writing Dark
I don't consider myself a very dark person. If you meet me in person, even when I'm depressed, I come off as perky, if somewhat squirrelly. (Some of this is a pose to keep my students from feeling threatened). If you know me well, I'm pretty straightforward.
But sometimes, I write dark themes. In The Enforcer, the Archetype Boss Aingeal, serving in his role as enforcer of a Chinese gang, murders his rival and sends a bloody message to the leader of the gang. In Hands, a young man discovers his freakish talent to heal -- and kill. The very short story I'm writing now, The Message, involves an act of revenge for a mother's death.
I suppose Apocalypse, with its end of the world scenario, is dark. I never thought of it that way. I guess I write dark themes more often than not.
I think I should challenge myself to write something completely funny for a change. The ideas that come to my head, though, aren't funny.
Maybe funny is a new goal to work toward.
But sometimes, I write dark themes. In The Enforcer, the Archetype Boss Aingeal, serving in his role as enforcer of a Chinese gang, murders his rival and sends a bloody message to the leader of the gang. In Hands, a young man discovers his freakish talent to heal -- and kill. The very short story I'm writing now, The Message, involves an act of revenge for a mother's death.
I suppose Apocalypse, with its end of the world scenario, is dark. I never thought of it that way. I guess I write dark themes more often than not.
I think I should challenge myself to write something completely funny for a change. The ideas that come to my head, though, aren't funny.
Maybe funny is a new goal to work toward.
Saturday, September 21, 2019
I was born for autumn
I'm feeling in the mood for autumn. Meterological fall started August 31, but it hasn't felt like fall lately given the 85+ degree weather, and astronomical fall won't be for a couple more days.
Today, it's raining outside, which puts me more in mind of fall. I like fall best because it is a season of introspection, of putting away the revelry of summer and taking stock of how many leaves I've seen fall in my life. The crisp mornings with scarlet and orange maple against the clear blue sky recall perfect moments, while the dark, icy rain reminds me of past travails.
I was born in autumn, born for autumn. It suits my dramatic side, the part of me who wants a black cape to walk through the whispering leaves. It suits the writer in me who wants to write of the dark corners of the psyche.
I will welcome autumn with a cup of cider or a glass of brandy, toasting the harvest and the darkening nights.
Friday, September 20, 2019
Experiment results:
About a month ago, I made the vow that I would go about writing as if I'd already been published. Here's the result:
I will get back into novel writing for NaNo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. I've already committed to a novel -- I'm going to tackle the book I've been postponing for the longest time, Gods' Seeds. So if I don't start noveling (is that a verb?) before then, I will go back to writing novels in November.
Yes, I was considering quitting, but my developmental editor is suggesting I keep writing, and I respect her judgment. I think it's good to have external voices to help counter the dreary self-doubt that writers have a tendency toward.
My dev editor also suggested trying out for Pitch Wars, which is a competitive process by which one can get an intense pitch workout. I will be trying for this, because I have the desire to improve.
And I'm still submitting, mostly short stories and flash fiction, but also queries on Apocalypse. I may send out to one or two novel publishers this weekend because I expect a rainy time.
In writing as if I've already been published, all I've lost is the negative self-talk. I think I could like this.
I will get back into novel writing for NaNo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. I've already committed to a novel -- I'm going to tackle the book I've been postponing for the longest time, Gods' Seeds. So if I don't start noveling (is that a verb?) before then, I will go back to writing novels in November.
Yes, I was considering quitting, but my developmental editor is suggesting I keep writing, and I respect her judgment. I think it's good to have external voices to help counter the dreary self-doubt that writers have a tendency toward.
My dev editor also suggested trying out for Pitch Wars, which is a competitive process by which one can get an intense pitch workout. I will be trying for this, because I have the desire to improve.
And I'm still submitting, mostly short stories and flash fiction, but also queries on Apocalypse. I may send out to one or two novel publishers this weekend because I expect a rainy time.
In writing as if I've already been published, all I've lost is the negative self-talk. I think I could like this.
Thursday, September 19, 2019
Keep Writing
Keep writing.
That's my advice through the times of rejections, the times spent wondering whether we will ever get published.
Keep taking those ideas and putting them into words, and then hone those words so that they spin the scene, the emotions, the characters, the plot.
Keep writing, keep editing, keep improving. Realize that we shouldn't write for the glory of being recognized; most of us, even traditionally published, will not see a huge number of readers. Give those words life, and they may change the world even if nobody else ever reads them, because they have changed us.
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
This Too
Every now and then I get to a point where I'm convinced I've reached the end of my writing career, that I'm ready to put the whole thing down.
This is one of those times.
I just don't feel as much like a writer when I'm writing short stories. I'm not as focused (obsessed?), I have to come up with many, many more ideas rapidly (which I don't know if I'm good at), and I don't have the attachment to my characters.
Years ago, you wouldn't have caught me writing a novel, and I never imagined I'd prefer novels to short stories.
Yet now is the time for short stories and sending them off to magazines and waiting. I've gotten a lot of rejections, but I keep trying.
I feel like quitting sometimes. I've felt like quitting many times before.
This too shall pass.
This is one of those times.
I just don't feel as much like a writer when I'm writing short stories. I'm not as focused (obsessed?), I have to come up with many, many more ideas rapidly (which I don't know if I'm good at), and I don't have the attachment to my characters.
Years ago, you wouldn't have caught me writing a novel, and I never imagined I'd prefer novels to short stories.
Yet now is the time for short stories and sending them off to magazines and waiting. I've gotten a lot of rejections, but I keep trying.
I feel like quitting sometimes. I've felt like quitting many times before.
This too shall pass.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
Taking stock of the blog
These are the things that I've learned in writing this blog.
- My blog gets an average of 20 hits a day. I would like to up that, but that might not change till I have a product (a published book). Let me know if I'm wrong.
- The national origins of my readers will always surprise me. The other day, a reader from Vietnam showed up. I've had visitors from Singapore and Egypt lately. Among my regulars are Germany, Poland, Portugal, India, Ukraine, and Russia.
- I know virtually nothing about my visitors. I know what time of day they visit, how often, what they've read. I do not know who they are or why they've decided to visit. As far as I know, I know nobody from Portugal, Ukraine, and Russia. I don't assume that my Polish, German, or Indian readers are the people I know there. I know that either Russia or Ukraine houses that annoying SEO bot that occasionally drops me URLs to webcam girls. (I don't go there).
- I will keep writing this blog. It may change direction as my needs as a writer change, but it will probably always be a combination of creative writing, musing about writing and being a writer, and the occasional "this is what my life looks like right now."
Monday, September 16, 2019
Are you trying to be funny?
I consider myself a pretty funny person, with stories, puns, dark humor -- a pretty good complement of funny.
However, I tend to write pretty dark, picking topics that might be too close to home at times (climate change) or contemporary with fantastical elements (immortals, people with preternatural talents).
What are some ideas for a funny (maybe dark funny) short story?
I have to come up with a novel idea (see what I did there?) for NaNoWriMo in November. Wish me luck.
However, I tend to write pretty dark, picking topics that might be too close to home at times (climate change) or contemporary with fantastical elements (immortals, people with preternatural talents).
What are some ideas for a funny (maybe dark funny) short story?
- A vampire at an NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meeting
- A man who time travels to the future to find it's being run by sentient cats
- A man who tumbles an autocratic government by introducing them to cat memes
- An "elixir of life" that ends up inducing extreme altruism
I'm actually having fun here! Let's see if one of these becomes a short story.
***********
I'm almost to the point where I might take up Gaia's Hands again for editing. I'm not convinced it has good bones, but I'm willing to wrestle with it. I might have Whose Hearts are Mountains on dev edit soon.
I have to come up with a novel idea (see what I did there?) for NaNoWriMo in November. Wish me luck.
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Bits and Pieces
Having a relaxing weekend in Kansas City celebrating my birthday, just as I needed. Now in a coffeehouse on the south Plaza, typing this and drinking coffee and trying to come up with good ideas for writing.
The computer issue was a ID-10-T error (look at what that spells carefully); it was my dongle for the mouse rather than the USB port itself. But what the heck, it got me down here for a birthday celebration.
I'm feeling really frustrated with ideas of what to write, however. I just finished a short story called "God's Broken Promise" which was based on an experience I had. Richard keeps suggesting characters -- a guitar-shredding Buddhist monk, a woman with a pack of cats -- but I can't find the stories there. I guess I don't start with characters like I thought I did. I start with plot, run with theme, and then the characters make themselves known.
So what do I want to write about? I want to write short stories with twist endings -- shocking or satisfying or dramatic or silly. (I haven't written enough silly stuff lately). I want to write novels again (although I'm about to embark in another dev edit).
I need ideas that grab me.
The computer issue was a ID-10-T error (look at what that spells carefully); it was my dongle for the mouse rather than the USB port itself. But what the heck, it got me down here for a birthday celebration.
I'm feeling really frustrated with ideas of what to write, however. I just finished a short story called "God's Broken Promise" which was based on an experience I had. Richard keeps suggesting characters -- a guitar-shredding Buddhist monk, a woman with a pack of cats -- but I can't find the stories there. I guess I don't start with characters like I thought I did. I start with plot, run with theme, and then the characters make themselves known.
So what do I want to write about? I want to write short stories with twist endings -- shocking or satisfying or dramatic or silly. (I haven't written enough silly stuff lately). I want to write novels again (although I'm about to embark in another dev edit).
I need ideas that grab me.
Saturday, September 14, 2019
Disgruntled with my computer.
I have no words of wisdom today; just a grumble.
Remember the new computer I got a few weeks ago? It's on the fritz; same problem as the previous one. The USB port failed again, and it keeps making that "boop boo buh boop!" noise Windows machines make when you plug something in to the USB port.
I am beginning to think the surface book has a problem with its USB ports, in which case anything they replace this with will have the booping/failed USB port problem. Which makes me upset -- I didn't get a computer for it not to work.
I hope they can fix this to my satisfaction.
Remember the new computer I got a few weeks ago? It's on the fritz; same problem as the previous one. The USB port failed again, and it keeps making that "boop boo buh boop!" noise Windows machines make when you plug something in to the USB port.
I am beginning to think the surface book has a problem with its USB ports, in which case anything they replace this with will have the booping/failed USB port problem. Which makes me upset -- I didn't get a computer for it not to work.
I hope they can fix this to my satisfaction.
Friday, September 13, 2019
melancholy
Things haven't been going well lately.
I think I'm feeling the emotional toll of losing two cats (the long-time cat Snowy and baby kitten Belvedere) in a week. Strangely enough, Belvedere is the hardest to get over, even though he was only five days old; he had a purity about him with his little milk mustache and his snuffling my hand.
There's not much good to balance that unless you count the fact that I'm still writing. I don't want to go to work today; I just want to sleep.
Of course I'm going to go to work. That's top priority; in Maslow's Hierarchy of needs (a psychological construct), physiological needs (food, clothing, and shelter) are the foundation that needs to be satisfied before we fulfill any other needs:
I think I'm feeling the emotional toll of losing two cats (the long-time cat Snowy and baby kitten Belvedere) in a week. Strangely enough, Belvedere is the hardest to get over, even though he was only five days old; he had a purity about him with his little milk mustache and his snuffling my hand.
There's not much good to balance that unless you count the fact that I'm still writing. I don't want to go to work today; I just want to sleep.
Of course I'm going to go to work. That's top priority; in Maslow's Hierarchy of needs (a psychological construct), physiological needs (food, clothing, and shelter) are the foundation that needs to be satisfied before we fulfill any other needs:
And physiological needs cost money, which one gets by working.
In a deep depression (which I am not in), I have to remind myself of this basic fact because the inertia and hopelessness weigh me down into immobility. In a hypomanic state (which I am also not in), I have trouble concentrating on the need to go into work. In either case, the larger than life emotions of bipolar overwhelm the logic of everyday life. So constructs like Maslow's Hierarchy keep me focused on the facts of life.
So right now I'm sleepy and sad. It's an easy day at work today, as I get to watch other people run a poverty simulation. Then there's the weekend, and time to recharge.
Thursday, September 12, 2019
requiem for Belvedere, a five-day-old kitten
Belvedere (aka Belly Cat) died this morning after declining for the past day. We don't know why he died; as he had been rejected by his mother, he might have had a defect incompatible with life. I don't know.
In his five days on this earth, he traveled to work and back with me and resided by my bed at night so I could feed him every two hours (my husband took the evening shift so I could pre-nap). He squeaked and rumbled and squirmed, a delightful little creature.
As the days passed, though, he squirmed less. Last night he quit urinating, and I knew he wouldn't make it to go to the vet the next day.
I was right. When I awoke this morning, he was limp and not moving. No heartbeat.
We did the best we could, buddy. I'm so sorry.
In his five days on this earth, he traveled to work and back with me and resided by my bed at night so I could feed him every two hours (my husband took the evening shift so I could pre-nap). He squeaked and rumbled and squirmed, a delightful little creature.
As the days passed, though, he squirmed less. Last night he quit urinating, and I knew he wouldn't make it to go to the vet the next day.
I was right. When I awoke this morning, he was limp and not moving. No heartbeat.
We did the best we could, buddy. I'm so sorry.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Happy 56th birthday to me
Today I'm 56 years old.
For you younger people out there -- time just chugs along and you hardly notice it until you get to one of those milestone years -- 40, 50, 55. You're too fixated on things like careers and children to wake up and think, "wow, I'm getting older."
The grey hairs, the wrinkles, the thickening of the body come gradually, until you look in the mirror and see someone who looks older than you remember being.
You don't even notice that the cultural touchstones -- the music stars, the memes and jokes -- flow and change around you, and you wake up one morning to find that the younger people around you don't get your jokes anymore.
But you've survived so much! Everyday events that would panic you before -- a flat tire, sleeping through the alarm -- you now handle with aplomb. Your fears that you can't handle crises have been proven wrong time after time.
And you have stories to tell. Middle age (late middle-age?) is a great time to start writing. Or find friends who like to tell stories and swap them.
When you're older, you have the perspective of years, and that is your gift to the world.
 |
| This is not me. This is Belvedere the kitten, who's 4 days old |
For you younger people out there -- time just chugs along and you hardly notice it until you get to one of those milestone years -- 40, 50, 55. You're too fixated on things like careers and children to wake up and think, "wow, I'm getting older."
The grey hairs, the wrinkles, the thickening of the body come gradually, until you look in the mirror and see someone who looks older than you remember being.
You don't even notice that the cultural touchstones -- the music stars, the memes and jokes -- flow and change around you, and you wake up one morning to find that the younger people around you don't get your jokes anymore.
But you've survived so much! Everyday events that would panic you before -- a flat tire, sleeping through the alarm -- you now handle with aplomb. Your fears that you can't handle crises have been proven wrong time after time.
And you have stories to tell. Middle age (late middle-age?) is a great time to start writing. Or find friends who like to tell stories and swap them.
When you're older, you have the perspective of years, and that is your gift to the world.
Tuesday, September 10, 2019
Belly cat and updates
Update:
Belvedere the kitten (Belly for short) is still alive in his fourth day, slurping down syringefuls of milk and sleeping in happy milky drunkenness. He's absolutely tiny:
I'm not quite getting enough sleep given his every two hour feeding schedule, but this too will pass.
Meanwhile, I've gotten a few more rejections from agents and I just don't know what to do about "this doesn't really grab me" comments. Still haven't heard from DAW and it's officially been six months.
I wrote another short story I'm thinking of posting here but, since my stories are the least read of anything I post (TL; DR?) I don't know if I will.
Waiting for another idea to come my way.
In other words, I'd feel down except for the kitten. Kittens somehow exude happy chemicals.
Belvedere the kitten (Belly for short) is still alive in his fourth day, slurping down syringefuls of milk and sleeping in happy milky drunkenness. He's absolutely tiny:
I'm not quite getting enough sleep given his every two hour feeding schedule, but this too will pass.
Meanwhile, I've gotten a few more rejections from agents and I just don't know what to do about "this doesn't really grab me" comments. Still haven't heard from DAW and it's officially been six months.
I wrote another short story I'm thinking of posting here but, since my stories are the least read of anything I post (TL; DR?) I don't know if I will.
Waiting for another idea to come my way.
In other words, I'd feel down except for the kitten. Kittens somehow exude happy chemicals.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
I'm Mom to a Baby Kitten!
Life can change at a moment's notice. One moment the waters are perfectly calm, then a hasty decision can create turbulence that roils the waters for weeks, or even years, to come.
We've taken on a foster kitten.
Belvedere (Belly Cat for short) is a newborn orange-and-white kitten whose mother rejected him at birth. We don't know why; he might have a defect or she might have had too many mouths to feed.
We're feeding him by syringe every 2 hours, which means we're waking up for dinner time every two hours. He's pooped once and peed several times, so the plumbing works. Right now he's calm, but when he screams, he sounds like a squeaky toy.
The other cats will have nothing to do with him. Girlie gave him a good sniff and then hissed at him (because newborn kittens are threatening).
I hope Belly survives. I hope he's not too burdened not having a mommy. I hope he grows up to be a cuddly cat. We're doing our best.
We've taken on a foster kitten.
Belvedere (Belly Cat for short) is a newborn orange-and-white kitten whose mother rejected him at birth. We don't know why; he might have a defect or she might have had too many mouths to feed.
We're feeding him by syringe every 2 hours, which means we're waking up for dinner time every two hours. He's pooped once and peed several times, so the plumbing works. Right now he's calm, but when he screams, he sounds like a squeaky toy.
The other cats will have nothing to do with him. Girlie gave him a good sniff and then hissed at him (because newborn kittens are threatening).
I hope Belly survives. I hope he's not too burdened not having a mommy. I hope he grows up to be a cuddly cat. We're doing our best.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
In Search of Small Happinesses
How do I kick myself out of these blahs?
These aren't bipolar blahs, they're just plain blahs. Lots of rejections, one dead cat (RIP Snowy), nothing exciting to look forward to. Except my birthday, and I have my psychiatrist's appointment that day. So lots of reasons to stay blah.
If I want to stay blah, I can rehearse my hurts and aches and pains, hoping that I can win some sort of concession from God ("Look at all this crap that's happened to me. I deserve some compensation!"). Note: It doesn't work, and it keeps me from seeing good things that could be happening.
It's my responsibility to do what I can to get into a better mood. I wouldn't say happiness is a choice, because that's unfair to people like myself who face depression. But I can help myself until I feel better or. in the case of depression, till the meds kick in or I can talk to someone else. When I'm depressed, it's so much harder to think of these, much less do them. Work helps me connect with people, and that helps a little, as does forcing myself to write. These things don't get rid of the depression, but they take the edge off it.
What can I do? I think I've talked about this before, but I need a refresher, so here I go again:
These aren't bipolar blahs, they're just plain blahs. Lots of rejections, one dead cat (RIP Snowy), nothing exciting to look forward to. Except my birthday, and I have my psychiatrist's appointment that day. So lots of reasons to stay blah.
If I want to stay blah, I can rehearse my hurts and aches and pains, hoping that I can win some sort of concession from God ("Look at all this crap that's happened to me. I deserve some compensation!"). Note: It doesn't work, and it keeps me from seeing good things that could be happening.
It's my responsibility to do what I can to get into a better mood. I wouldn't say happiness is a choice, because that's unfair to people like myself who face depression. But I can help myself until I feel better or. in the case of depression, till the meds kick in or I can talk to someone else. When I'm depressed, it's so much harder to think of these, much less do them. Work helps me connect with people, and that helps a little, as does forcing myself to write. These things don't get rid of the depression, but they take the edge off it.
What can I do? I think I've talked about this before, but I need a refresher, so here I go again:
- Gratitude journaling -- three things I'm grateful for every night. I admit I fall behind on this, because at night I generally want to sleep.
- Walking -- I could walk to coffee this morning. That might be a good thing.
- Pet therapy -- with five cats, this isn't hard to do.
- Getting out -- I'm contemplating the Board Game Cafe, as usual.
- Accomplishing something using my character strengths -- I have a story I'm writing which I'm not currently in love with; I can send Whose Hearts are Mountains off to dev edit; I could come up with a new story. Or submit more queries/submissions.
- Connecting with people -- Board Game Cafe works.
So I'm off to take care of my mood.
Friday, September 6, 2019
Looking for the Good in Today
It turns out we had to put Snowy to sleep yesterday; she had had a stroke as suspected. It's always a little hard to witness, the anesthesia and then the needle to the heart.
I'm a bit subdued today -- a little tired, a little down. It's about Snowy and it's about a lot of rejections lately, with no glimmers of hope on the publishing front. I don't despair as much as I used to with rejections; I've become inured to them. I am wondering once more if my writing is unmarketable, and if so, why.
Looking for the good in today -- my classes are going well and I'm getting enough sleep. I've been productive both in writing and in submitting (short stories and the like). I stirred myself up enough to write this.
I'm a bit subdued today -- a little tired, a little down. It's about Snowy and it's about a lot of rejections lately, with no glimmers of hope on the publishing front. I don't despair as much as I used to with rejections; I've become inured to them. I am wondering once more if my writing is unmarketable, and if so, why.
Looking for the good in today -- my classes are going well and I'm getting enough sleep. I've been productive both in writing and in submitting (short stories and the like). I stirred myself up enough to write this.
Thursday, September 5, 2019
For a dying cat
My cat Snowy is dying.
My husband and I think she had a stroke because we discovered her laying in front of the dresser and occasionally meowing strangely last night. We don't have an emergency vet here, so we have to wait till the vet opens at 8.
The next morning, she hasn't moved, and she meows piteously when moved. She's limp, except for her two front paws, which seem curled into themselves. Eventually, she doesn't even meow, only breathes. Barely breathes.
I doubt there's anything the vet can do. If she's indeed had a stroke, the chances of her having another are high, and she may not recover from this one. As I've said, it's highly likely we'll say our goodbyes at the vet's office.
I will remember Snowy as a peculiar cat. Black and long-haired with a white locket (we didn't name her), she carried herself like a diva and sat with her front feet crossed daintily. She had a fascination with doors, and would paw at them trying to get to the other side.
Soon, she will be on the other side of the door, where I am told she will climb a grassy hill to the Rainbow Bridge and wait for us. All pets go to the Rainbow Bridge, it is told, which makes it more charitable than the Christian view of Heaven. We, the humans, stay behind, taking care of our other cats, missing the presence of our Snowy.
My husband and I think she had a stroke because we discovered her laying in front of the dresser and occasionally meowing strangely last night. We don't have an emergency vet here, so we have to wait till the vet opens at 8.
The next morning, she hasn't moved, and she meows piteously when moved. She's limp, except for her two front paws, which seem curled into themselves. Eventually, she doesn't even meow, only breathes. Barely breathes.
I doubt there's anything the vet can do. If she's indeed had a stroke, the chances of her having another are high, and she may not recover from this one. As I've said, it's highly likely we'll say our goodbyes at the vet's office.
I will remember Snowy as a peculiar cat. Black and long-haired with a white locket (we didn't name her), she carried herself like a diva and sat with her front feet crossed daintily. She had a fascination with doors, and would paw at them trying to get to the other side.
Soon, she will be on the other side of the door, where I am told she will climb a grassy hill to the Rainbow Bridge and wait for us. All pets go to the Rainbow Bridge, it is told, which makes it more charitable than the Christian view of Heaven. We, the humans, stay behind, taking care of our other cats, missing the presence of our Snowy.
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
Writing Small
Stories have several aspects to them that make things interesting:
Writing short stories, on the other hand, feels strange -- all the parts of the story are there, but they're a lot smaller, with one sentence often carrying the seed to all the parts: For example, "A woman hallucinates about the end of the world -- or does she see visions?" With that idea/character/plot, I proceed with the story.
Short stories are harder for me because of motivation. I can't dwell in a short story for months at a time like I can novels, so it doesn't tempt me as much. I'm with the characters and the plot only for a short time, and I have to make the best of my time.
- The plot -- what's actually happening; the action. In a novel, there may be more than one plot (designated as A plot, B plot, etc.)
- The themes -- these are the wider messages of the piece. They have big implications: man vs. nature, greed doesn't pay, etc.
- The characters -- these are the people in the story. Generally you will have one or two main characters and maybe up to 8 point of view characters in a third-person ensemble piece.
- The setting -- people want to know where something happens and what it looks like.
When I write novels, I seem to start with character and plot first. Like "who is this person and what have they gotten themselves into?" Inspiration comes from that kernel of the story and spreads out from there as I'm writing.
Writing short stories, on the other hand, feels strange -- all the parts of the story are there, but they're a lot smaller, with one sentence often carrying the seed to all the parts: For example, "A woman hallucinates about the end of the world -- or does she see visions?" With that idea/character/plot, I proceed with the story.
Short stories are harder for me because of motivation. I can't dwell in a short story for months at a time like I can novels, so it doesn't tempt me as much. I'm with the characters and the plot only for a short time, and I have to make the best of my time.
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Being Bipolar
I'm feeling a bit down these last couple of days, sleeping a lot, probably a letdown from the really successful first week. I hope it's that and not my moods crashing.
Being bipolar (bipolar II -- without full-fledged mania), I worry about these things. I'm pretty stable on my meds, until I'm not. There are a number of triggers that can knock me off balance -- not enough sleep, stress, certain medications (pain meds and Benedryl for example), missing a couple doses of meds, more than a tiny amount of alcohol ... some of these things I have control of; others are out of my control.
Too much sleep is a sign of a downturn, and I've done a lot of sleeping the past couple days. On the other hand, I stayed up late Saturday night, and -- did I mess myself up there?
Probably not. There's such a thing as temporary sadness, or a down mood --
That's one of the problems with having a mental illness -- having moods, even normal ones, is seen as a chargeable offense. Admittedly, losing control of bipolar can result in mania, which if full-fledged scares others with its unpredictable behavior. Depression is its own disruption -- it looks less scary on the outside, but can result in suicide. It's really hard for a bipolar person to know they're in one of these states because they feel real.
However, even in a bipolar episode, there are things I've learned to do to keep me functional during upturns and downturns. The biggest one is to contact the doctor for a medication adjustment. Making sure I'm getting to bed at a consistent time each night, using cognitive journaling to separate moods from real life, and getting to work every day helps until the med adjustment takes hold.
So if this ends up being a depressive episode, I know what to do, and that is to manage things as if this were any other illness.
Being bipolar (bipolar II -- without full-fledged mania), I worry about these things. I'm pretty stable on my meds, until I'm not. There are a number of triggers that can knock me off balance -- not enough sleep, stress, certain medications (pain meds and Benedryl for example), missing a couple doses of meds, more than a tiny amount of alcohol ... some of these things I have control of; others are out of my control.
Too much sleep is a sign of a downturn, and I've done a lot of sleeping the past couple days. On the other hand, I stayed up late Saturday night, and -- did I mess myself up there?
Probably not. There's such a thing as temporary sadness, or a down mood --
That's one of the problems with having a mental illness -- having moods, even normal ones, is seen as a chargeable offense. Admittedly, losing control of bipolar can result in mania, which if full-fledged scares others with its unpredictable behavior. Depression is its own disruption -- it looks less scary on the outside, but can result in suicide. It's really hard for a bipolar person to know they're in one of these states because they feel real.
However, even in a bipolar episode, there are things I've learned to do to keep me functional during upturns and downturns. The biggest one is to contact the doctor for a medication adjustment. Making sure I'm getting to bed at a consistent time each night, using cognitive journaling to separate moods from real life, and getting to work every day helps until the med adjustment takes hold.
So if this ends up being a depressive episode, I know what to do, and that is to manage things as if this were any other illness.
Monday, September 2, 2019
Labor Day
It's Labor Day in the US, which these days has less to do with celebrating the worker as it does one last steak on the grill before autumn. Makes sense, as the US is hardly pro-worker right now.
I'm feeling decidedly unmotivated. I have a bit of homework to grade, and a short story (flash fiction?) to tweak. I should probably send out my next set of queries (I have at least 30 to send this time around) but I'm so not feeling it.
Maybe this is a day to rest. My longtime readers know, however, that if I say that I'm most certainly NOT going to rest.
************
8:45 AM CDT:
Ok, I got the grading done. Still don't know what I'm going to do with myself today, but I do wish I had more coffee.
************
9:09 AM CDT:
Just tweaked the flash fiction. Desperately need coffee even though I had two cups this morning. Have espresso beans, but I just found out my Moka pot is missing a gasket. I don't know if I want to drink cafe American though.
***********
9:14 AM CDT:
Trying to psych myself up to do querying. Also still trying to solve the coffee problem, because I'm not sure I'm up to going out at the moment to Scooter's (with its corporate air and its uncomfortable booths) ...
Ok, not gripping blogging today. Better go figure out what to do on my day off...
I'm feeling decidedly unmotivated. I have a bit of homework to grade, and a short story (flash fiction?) to tweak. I should probably send out my next set of queries (I have at least 30 to send this time around) but I'm so not feeling it.
Maybe this is a day to rest. My longtime readers know, however, that if I say that I'm most certainly NOT going to rest.
************
8:45 AM CDT:
Ok, I got the grading done. Still don't know what I'm going to do with myself today, but I do wish I had more coffee.
************
9:09 AM CDT:
Just tweaked the flash fiction. Desperately need coffee even though I had two cups this morning. Have espresso beans, but I just found out my Moka pot is missing a gasket. I don't know if I want to drink cafe American though.
***********
9:14 AM CDT:
Trying to psych myself up to do querying. Also still trying to solve the coffee problem, because I'm not sure I'm up to going out at the moment to Scooter's (with its corporate air and its uncomfortable booths) ...
Ok, not gripping blogging today. Better go figure out what to do on my day off...
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Bleak futures
I'm in Kansas City on the Plaza at Kaldi Coffee, drinking a cup of Ethiopian coffee. In coffee tasting notes, this cup has big berry with a tart lemon acidity. I'm enough of a coffee connoisseur (read: snob) to appreciate differences in tastes, and Ethiopian coffee happens to be one of my favorites.
In some of the futures I write, this coffee would no longer exist in the US. In one of the futures I've written, Country Club Plaza itself lies in ruins bombed in street riots, crumbling and teeming with the destitute. It's weird to sit here with double vision, questioning the peace I sit in, the calming electronic music, the superlative coffee, the pastry counter tempting me with its wares.
But isn't this the double-vision we all face when hearing about climate change, poverty, injustice? We know these things are in the world, yet they seem unreal when we're sitting at leisure in our favorite places.
I try to extricate myself from the spiderweb of comfort, to do something more concrete than to write, but I don't know what to do. The president of my country signs executive orders to mine and log the natural wildlife reserves and parks, guts the Environmental Protection Agency, and emasculates the regulations that have brought the US back from the smog-filled days of my childhood. I feel powerless.
Recycling doesn't seem to be enough. Driving a compact car seems paltry. I need to get out of my comfort zone to do something, because I'm the one who can afford to. What can I do? I can write about the difficult futures and their seeds in the present. I can write about the evils of the present. I can write these deftly enough that they're readable.
And I can vote, and encourage others to vote in ways that choose nature over profit. Maybe that would mean fewer coffeehouses like this; I don't know. But I'd give up some of my comfort for that world.
In some of the futures I write, this coffee would no longer exist in the US. In one of the futures I've written, Country Club Plaza itself lies in ruins bombed in street riots, crumbling and teeming with the destitute. It's weird to sit here with double vision, questioning the peace I sit in, the calming electronic music, the superlative coffee, the pastry counter tempting me with its wares.
But isn't this the double-vision we all face when hearing about climate change, poverty, injustice? We know these things are in the world, yet they seem unreal when we're sitting at leisure in our favorite places.
I try to extricate myself from the spiderweb of comfort, to do something more concrete than to write, but I don't know what to do. The president of my country signs executive orders to mine and log the natural wildlife reserves and parks, guts the Environmental Protection Agency, and emasculates the regulations that have brought the US back from the smog-filled days of my childhood. I feel powerless.
Recycling doesn't seem to be enough. Driving a compact car seems paltry. I need to get out of my comfort zone to do something, because I'm the one who can afford to. What can I do? I can write about the difficult futures and their seeds in the present. I can write about the evils of the present. I can write these deftly enough that they're readable.
And I can vote, and encourage others to vote in ways that choose nature over profit. Maybe that would mean fewer coffeehouses like this; I don't know. But I'd give up some of my comfort for that world.
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