Must Keep Writing...

Sent out a story a little early today.  Also printed out a short story for Wordos instant-critique.    The 500 words that popped out earlier today is interesting, but it's got a grim feeling to it.  

After Wordos there was a good discussion about meaning of what writers write.  "The meaning" is a poetic term, somewhere between "heart" in movies and "moral" in fables, which I think not only applies to the written words we produce, but also what the act of writing means to our lives as writers.  I guess it's time to look up an old essay by John Chiardi, "How Does a Poem Mean?"  

There was also some discussion about Golden Ages and their helpful and baneful aspects.  One helpful thing that I got from the discussion is the concept that while a Golden Age can straightjacket people into restrictive roles, the story of a Golden Age can be a statement of a community's values.   (This is what I get for reading Ronald Hutton, William Dever, and Cynthia Eller.)

Afterward, watched a video about robot-controlled cars racing through the desert; I'm hopeful that some ideas for the Mars story I'm trying to write will come through.   There were some good character ideas from all the robot engineers as well.  

Must Sleep.

Tea!

I've written about 500 words this morning. Kind of scattered right now -- I'm letting what wants to come out out.. but it's not the serious Mars story (well, at least not too much).

Muriel continues to express her little kitty needs loudly and often.

And thank goodness, the tea's come!

Today's Summary

Reviewed: 

• Coils of Love (9900 words -- fantasy)
  
• Corporate Samurai (6600 words -- fantasy)
  
• Are We There Yet (900 words -- slipstream)
  
• A Martian Tall Tale (800 words -- humor fantasy)
  
• Anti-Logos (1900 words -- personal essay)
  

Samurai was e-mailed out to a market.  Coils' size may make it a difficult sell; market research tonight!  Are We There Yet I'm going to send out to a market that opens Wednesday.  The tall tale goes to Wordos for critique -- I think it's funny, but we'll see how badly it gets teared apart by the critique.  

---

My tea appears to be stranded in Hodgkins, IL; it's been there since the 25th, having started its journey from Stratford, CT on the 23rd.  

Two Manuscripts!

Well, OK... more like one and a half (I have to make the changes to one electronic version).

Murie continues to be an irritant.

Monday Writing

Manuscripts everywhere!

At least they're mostly filed now. It amazing what a bad filing system can do, but now at least everything is mostly consolidadetd -- I need to decide what to do with old critiques... they're sort of interesting but it's a little early to start a museum to critiquing.

I've run out of milk and O.J. -- so it's off to the store before writing.

I've Read About These Somewhere...

Our farmer delivered produced today. I should have reminded her that I'm sensitive to peppers and can't eat them. I managed to give a few away so they won't be wasted.

But there's still one problem; or rather two.

I recognize the eggplants, the tomatoes, the cabbages and broccoli.  But I don't know what one green leafy vegetable is -- I know it's not spinach, and I suspect it might be related to kale.

And I have no idea what the long white thing is. Last time I saw something like this I called it a white carrot (it was a turnip) and Mark's never let me forget it. So, it wants to be purple, like an eggplant, except that it's mostly white; and it's long, like a cucumber -- I think I'll call it an "albino eggumber."

If you can identify either of these mystery vegetables, let me know (and send a recipe).

Writing and Floss

Ah morning. I guess that I'm not much of a morning person. If I can set things up the previous day then I can glide through routines until I'm fully awake.

Last night I printed out my story marketing data so I have concrete goals for the next few days. Today is a backlog day -- there are several manuscripts that need minor tweaking so I can send them out.

Interesting dreams last night. I think my oral hygenist symbolized my anxiety about not "writing enough." OK, and I need to floss more.  Then there was the "returning to school" motif; when I tried to walk passed the art building my legs stopped working -- it was like walking through molasses.

I must not have been awake.

The serious manuscript became humorous -- as Mark often says, "I'm the funniest person I know."

More Writing

Whew. 

Getting ready for another day of writing looms ahead.

And I'm out of Ceylon tea (thank goodness for the UPS tracking site ... at least my tea has left New England and is somewhere in the midwest).

Ash Friday

Ugh.  Well... I've got the beginnings of something.  

I once had a calligraphy instructor who told the story about a painter who painted and painted and burned her practice paintings.  She had a lot of ashes. . . which was good, because that meant she was doing a lot of painting.   I think she kept the ashes in a clear jar on a shelf somewhere.

So today is what I call an "ash day."   Except that I don't have ashes in a... glass... jar -- oh, wait; now that I think about it, we do have Pickles' ashes in a crystal jar in the garage loft (along with the unfiled John crap and seasonal decorations). 

Muriel continues to be an irritant.

Let the Typing Begin!

Must. Not. Stay. Up. Late.

A rocky start this morning -- I stumbled around this morning and didn't quite get to writing at the stroke of 9 AM. Slogged forward, reminding myself to type when I stopped, and slowly the setting for a story on Mars is taking shape.

My little break is almost over, more later.

The Garage... continued

Wow, Mark. You're as right as right can be: there is a lot of my unfiled crap up in the garage loft.

Oh well, I think the art crap, camping crap, clothing crap, and cleaning crap is coming along.

I can see the floor anyway.

Writing. But first, cleaning

I've got the house to myself for the next nine days.

So today I'm cleaning the garage.

Oh. Right. The cat is reminding me that she's here, too.

Paint Break

Taking a quick break from house painting (for lunch).  I suppose that listening to Philip Glass's opera Appomattox on the radio while painting wasn't exactly the cheeriest of musical choices.

Oh well. I guess I'll have to get a copy of Akhnaten or something.

Back to the paint...

Footage from Shrewsbury Faire

Recovering from the Shrewsbury Faire.

I had a lot of fun singing with the Pearwood Pipers and playing the harp between gigs. Someone liked my harping so much that he offered to post me on YouTube; he turned out to be a friend of one of the Pearwoods.



The cool moments of the faire for me were walking to the privies at 4 AM in mist illuminated by the stars of Orion. Oh yeah, the full moon (nearly) was cool, too. There were a couple of faire guests who were simply thrilled to see a harper (especially when I managed to plink out the Harry Potter Theme for them -- OK, not quite period, but they were ten and decked-out from head to toe in Hogwarts-wear). There's also something to be said for singing madrigals with a choral of forty.

And at this year no one asked us who died as we danced the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance. 

OK, yeah; and I sang The Shark Song for the participant talent show (always a big hit).

Bingo Bugs

One sunny day, the bugs assembled to vote. They were not much larger than a fingernail and yellow, like fireflies, only with hard wings, like ladybugs. They liked being tapped on their backs, which would make them arch and half-open their wings. They didn't flash when they were tapped, but instead gave a strong impression of purring.

They gathered together onto bingo cards and we counted how many were in each cell. Quite a few didn't get into cells; they stood, straddling the line between two or more. When this happened, we bent the cards along the cell borders, trying to force the bugs to vote one way or another. At a safe distance, circling around us, black crows watched with keen interest. They wanted to eat the bugs and hoped to peck the straddlers off of the creased cardboard -- but they'd just as happily eat the other bugs, too.

We tried shooing the crows away, but they kept returning.

Romanes Eunt Domus

We're still painting the house. It's going about as fast as it did last year; but at least this time around we're using colors. On two occasions, I've painted "Romans Go Home" on an unfinished portion of house. It makes me chuckle when I see it, and then I paint over it. Mark, however, doesn't see the humor.

We asked some friends and three of them smirked. So now I'm asking my readers.