A Writer's Solstice Altar

I’ve connected with a writers’ Zoom session to write. I’m writing a blog entry instead of working on a short story because it is easier to write a blog entry. I am supposing that instant gratification is in play—and in any case, writing a blog entry is better than staring at a paragraph and spending an hour researching on the web to polish a single sentence; or going back-and-forth on cutting-and-pasting the opening paragraph of the moment; or, worst of all, staring at a blank screen and not writing anything.

Today is the Winter Solstice. It’s hard to believe that this time last year Mark and I were walking around Las Vegas. The Solstice Spiral Walks that I helped to facilitate with C.N. aren’t happening at the local UU Church any more, so I won’t be drawing chalk spirals as a guide for fir boughs and candles or playing a tone drum in the pouring rain while congregants walk a spiral and contemplate the returning light. On one hand, it’s one less thing to do; on the other hand, I miss holding contemplative ritual space, even if the only folks I really knew at UUCE were C.N., G.M., S.H., and some other acquaintances.

A couple of days ago, I attended a Starhawk-Wiccan Solstice ritual (and potluck) at a pagan friend’s house; they conduct rituals for the greater Eugene pagan community. The ritual reminded me a little of the ritual Sunday services at UUCE: there was a lot of singing and swaying in place. As we stood in a loose circle and sang songs about the Children of the Goddess, the joke “Why can’t Unitarians sing? / Because they’re too busy scanning ahead to see if they agree with the words” came to mind. During a moment of ritual contemplation, I was thankful to be married to Mark. I did not sing “Nobody can hold back the dark,” during a closing chorus, but it was a near thing.

I was going to say that it looks too rainy and grey this Solstice morning to focus the sun’s light onto a candle, but as I looked up from the computer screen, wan sunlight shone onto the kitchen nook. Perhaps, I thought, there will be a break in the clouds later for strong enough sunlight to shine through. —And as I watched, the sunlight strengthened.

Recognizing that there’s no time like the present when it comes to ritual (or astronomy) and the Oregon sky, I leapt up from the keyboard and away from the writers’ Zoom session, scooped up my Anubis matches, the giant magnifying lens, and a beeswax pillar candle in a copper cauldron. (Why, yes; I do have ritual tools readily handy at my house, doesn’t everyone?)

I hurried outside to the deck. There was honest-to-goodness blue sky above. The sun shone above a thick bank of grey clouds and grazed the roofline of our southern neighbors’ house. It’s winter solstice, and shadow of their house stretches across the yard and brushes up against our foundation. The wind gusted.

“Behind you.” Mark was entering and exiting the house to do some yard work.

The deck was relatively dry for a damp, Oregon winter day. I set up the candle on one of the four round outdoor end-tables I originally bought to use for altars and attempted to focus the sunlight onto the match held against the wick. A spotlight circle of sunlight shone on the outside of the candle; the wick was deep in a thin shell of beeswax from previous candle burnings. I broke off most of the wax, turned the candle, and tried to shine focused Solstice sunlight again.

“Behind you,” Mark said.

I stood over the candle looking down on it; a thin wisp of smoke rose from the wick. Then my hair fell forward in a curtain, which made it hard to see what I was doing and risked making Mark’s dire predictions about solstice fire, candles, and really any sort of combustion, come true. I riffled my pockets for a nonexistent hair tie, all the time watching the sun, the clouds, and the shadow of our neighbor’s house.

I pulled my hair behind me, crouched down, and refocused the sunlight. The wind gusted again. The magnifying lens projected an upside-down tree onto the white smoke of the smoldering wick; I moved the patio furniture altar out of the shadow of tree branches.

Mark, who was picking up dog poop from the yard, asked, “The sun’s pretty low. Have you ever done this this early before?”

“No,” I said, watching the cone of sunlight waver as I tried to place its focal point onto the wick. This was technically a ritual, and I hadn’t grounded, invoked a proper circle, or invited the four directions. I hadn’t reflected on the hinge of the year, or the returning light, or numinous and immanent Earth processes. I hadn’t taken a moment to dedicate or rededicate my life to anything in particular.

I quietly sang, “Bring from the center of the sun…” and flame sprang from the match and wick. The wind guttered the candle; I picked it up, held it close, went inside, and brought the candle to the desk—in the writers’ Zoom session, I saw myself, long haired, in red plaid, holding a copper cauldron with a flaming candle in my hands.

I placed the candle next to my keyboard and mouse. Happy Solstice, I thought, and returned to the writers’ session.  The sun dimmed as the grey returned, but I had Solstice Fire on my desk.

Old Skydiving Memories

We’re cleaning out the garage, straightening out the old boxes of holiday decorations, tools, tents, furniture, books, and old paperwork. In the course of this, I found a manuscript of my 1995 skydiving memoirs. Oh. My. God. I was so earnest at twenty-nine, half a lifetime ago.

At the time, I wanted the memoir to be exploration of the questions, “is truth a static thing to be discovered or revealed, or is it an evolving thing that one grows into?”, “what are the boundaries of self, and when am I not-I?”, “how does one navigate and integrate different cultural groups?” and “what have I got to show for my thirty years on this planet?” Reading the account now feels like a collection of description-lite, barely-strung-together situations.

It mostly works on a mechanical level, but it doesn’t seem to work on a cathartic level—part of the problem is that I am not giving the reader enough background information. If I were going to write it again, I would introduce some of the folks more thoroughly. I would look for and emphasize repeating images and motifs in the descriptions of the jumps. I would address the elephants in the room: Arcosanti, my burgeoning queerness, and my failures at finding True Love and Romance. And I would add the last skydive I ever did, by myself, a few days before I returned to Oregon.

Pre Winter Solstice Musings

It's the eve of the Winter Solstice.  In about sixteen hours the Sun will be the farthest south that it gets, and it will begin climbing more northerly.  The day afterward we'll have a new moon.    I'll be glad for the extra sunlight.  

Tomorrow I'll be laying out a spiral and holding ritual space for a Solstice Lights Spiral Walk.  The forecast is calling for more clement weather this year.  With any luck, I'll be able to ignite a candle with the light of the solstice sun.  Last year it rained and rained and rained, which made having an outside spiral walk with candles challenging.  This year we're a little more prepared for uncooperative weather with LED backups and more covered lights.  Also, we have an indoor Plan B if it looks like a Second Flood is going to happen.  At least a horrific cold snap, which I'd seen in a long-term forecast last week, doesn't appear to be happening.  

What the Winter Solstice means to me is that this is a time to examine the structures that sustain and renew us for the rest of the year.  That there's a New Moon about twenty-four hours later means that both the conscious, primary processing, and the unconscious, secondary processing modes are focused on the same inventory of systems of maintenance.  At the risk of sounding like Dion Fortune raving her herself, the deity that I associate with this time of year is the Castellan, who sits on the Inward Deosil Spiral between the Grid of Systems and the Tree of History. 

I believe this calls for a Tree of Life tarot reading with a yearly-planner and scones.

---

Today I spent the morning in a Zoom conference writing with other writers.  I managed to polish and write a bit on a short story that I've been toying with for the last few months.  I've been discovering the plot as I go along, and the next step is to focus on what the main character's emotional stakes are—I've got all of the visual eye-candy and cool magical McGuffins in, so right now the story is functioning on a wonder-story level, but it needs more work to function on a "character dissatisfied with their situation" level.   

Story Images

I've tricked out the Secret Writing Lair with a large leaded crystal, and now little rainbows are splashing themselves over the grape leaves and the foliate head.  This is a good thing, as it keeps my my mind off of the rising temperature.  At some point over the next week or two, the grapes will have produced bunches that are sweet enough to eat; we're hoping to get to them before resident night critters do.

Thursday night's full moon was more a meditation than an actual ritual.  I lit some incense, sat in the backyard circle, and listened to the evening sounds of frogs and crickets and the fountain.  Shortly after the moon rose, some neighbors about a block up the street began howling (later, Mark called it a full moon party).  It was kind of cute, but struck me at the time as slightly performative.  

I've continued to play around with MidJourney.  It's great for rendering abstract or general images, but I'm finding it difficult to direct the AI to produce images with a specific narrative that could be used as e-pub cover art.  Either the images become more uncanny as the AI adds extra heads, limbs, or body orifices or else it latches onto rendering an irrelevant object.  An attempt at a Victorian man at a large fireplace holding a chess knight resulted in a horse-headed gentleman with a hearth in his torso.  I think the trick is to not get too carried away by the AI's variations, which tend to become more bizarre and surreal as one goes along.

So, if I wanted an image that  Leonora Carrington might paint, the AI works great; aliens, I'm covered; specific fantasy story characters... well, if they were on fire or undead or extras from The Nightmare Before Christmas, I'd be good.  I did have some success pointing the AI to images to use as a starting point—Capricorn renderings looked more like goats and less like early experiments by Frankenstein.   Creating an image that will convince a reader to read the story, well... that's going to take some extra work.

Practically speaking, there might be a legal issue using AI generated images as cover art, because an AI (or the person using it) can't hold copyright for the image.  I suppose I'll have to look into the difference between using generated images and using public-domain images.

Writing wise... I reviewed some short stories and polished some bits that are more obviously in need of it after a period of not looking.  Another manuscript I looked at either needs to have the character's stakes heightened and the word-count shortened, or else I need to sit back and do some very loose outlining because the manuscript right now feels like an introductory chapter to a longer story.  I can see that my penchant for visual description needs to be reigned in, too,  

And I need to gear up submissions, too.

"We'll Go Masked."

The last few months have not been conducive to writing, but there's been a recent shift, and I'm hoping that the mental energy spent on various distractions and stressors will be available for more creative endeavors.  

Last week I went to a public outdoor ritual.  The organizers had done a lovely job putting out a circle of candles; light blazed from more candles set up on a long altar.   I was looking forward to it--even if I might have to use an umbrella--but the longer I stayed the more apparent the COVID masking and vaccination check protocols I thought were going to be followed weren't.

After some mental risk-evaluation gymnastics involving the number of unmasked folks there, their proximity, and the efficacy of my own mask, I thought I'd be able to stand on the far side of the circle from the unmasked.  Then an unmasked woman came up and handed me song lyrics, and someone else started perambulating the circle's boundary with his nose poking out over his mask and I realized I'd spend the entire time A) wondering if I was going to catch the omicron variant and pass it to my folks and, B) judging people instead of celebrating the station of the sun.

So I left.  

During the walk home, I wondered if I might have said something like, "Who do I show my proof of vaccination to?" or "Is this a masked event?"  I might have if I had recognized anyone else other than the ritual's leader.  The whole thing reminded me of a passage in Starhawk's "Truth or Dare," where women self-censor and have a Disney Ritual instead of something possibly deeper.

When I got home, there was a garden stake with a lit candle over one of the small tables I use as an outdoor altar set up in the center of the backyard circle.  It was like coming home to a sanctuary, and I spent a grateful moment enjoying the flickering flame.  

Presently, Mark (and the dog) came out; the setup was an outdoor bistro for his dinner.

I went in, attempted to write, and wound up making some edits on a various works-in-progress.

Resting Weekend

I need to start writing my dreams down, lately I've been remembering more of them, at least in the mornings, and some of them feel like they could be stories, or at least like my dreaming brain is trying to come up with stories.

This weekend was a resting weekend.  I met with a critique group via Zoom, but I had not submitted a story for critique, so I only gave critique.  It was pleasant to visit with folks afterwards.  The closest piece I have in my inventory that is critique-ready (sort of) reads more like a first chapter than a complete story, and I spent some time earlier in the week writing the beginning of the next chapter.  

Mark and I worked on a birthday present for my dad--I have to say that Mark has done the lion's share of the work.  We'll see how well the gift goes over when we present it.  COVID has made celebrating with my folks a bit more awkward--we don't want to give them the omicron variant, which is currently being actively spread in the community, so we'll have to mask up in their house and not take a meal together.  It feels like a step backward after the easing of masking requirements in December.  Luckily, most of us are still within about two months of our boosters.  

We took Aiofe to Zumwalt Park, near Fern Ridge Reservoir.  It's a very large area, and dogs can be off-leash there.  Aiofe chased a ball for almost two solid hours.   

In the past, I've managed to photograph a bald eagle and other birds.  This time, the reservoir was drained so much we could walk to the places where ducks and geese had swum among water grasses.  (Some folks were in the news the previous day when they were detecting in the reservoir bed, got stuck in mud up to their hips, and had to be rescued by emergency services.)  Mark did spot a bald eagle, but it was too far away, even for my camera's zoom lens, to get a good photo of it.  

Back home, I trimmed away the sod and grass that had grown over the bricks in the back yard's ceremonial circle.  I think maybe the bricks might be set into the ground too deeply; it seems like I have to trim back overgrowth about every three months.  I guess maintaining the brick cirlce is like getting one's teeth cleaned.  Clearing them is easier when our ground, which is mostly clay, hasn't dried out with the summer's heat.  Working on the circle, my thoughts kept returning to The Day Jobbe, and I had to keep singing We Three's "Center of the Sun" and make an effort to stay focused on finding the brick's edges with my shovel.  

The Day Jobbe has been taking extra amounts of my concentration and vitality lately, and it I have to make an effort if I want to get any writing in in the evenings or weekends.  Or sleep.   One of the drawbacks of working remotely--which I otherwise appreciate in a COVID era--is that location ceases to be as great a cue to transition between work and not-work; when working from home becomes the routine, it becomes more difficult to put down the mental threads of work.

Once the bricks were cleared, I was pleased at how the circle was more prominent.  I didn't feel like holding a ritual right there and then, but I did get a stick of patchouli incense to burn, and after perambulating the circle three times with it, stuck it into the east, and sat down facing east to play my tongue drum.  I've been re-reading Dion Fortune before bed and have been reminded that two skills I should revisit are the ability to concentrate and the talent of imagination.  Bringing the music forth, I was struck with how playing an instrument improves both.

By now it was late afternoon; the setting sun was painting the clouds and eastern hills crimson, and the temperature was dropping.  I took the remains of the incense stick and discovered that I could use it to make smoke rings.

Quick and Dirty Guide to Ancient Egyptian Magic

Last week was the last of my Zoom classes on ancient Egypt and Egyptian magic.  Since I justified it as writing research, here's my writer's take-away from the last few weeks.

Ancient Egyptians conceived of a natural force, called heka, which was created by Re before time as a resource for humans to use to ward off bad things.  I suppose in a way it's like static electricity, in that some objects will hold it, and a user of heka can direct it.   To speak a spell is to have heka in one's mouth. Powerful magical items hold and direct lots of heka; some things have more intrinsic heka than others: like the king, graveyards, books, gold, names, precious stones.  

Heka was also used to combat the forces of chaos -- the desert, storms, sickness, dangerous animals, and foreigners --  in order to uphold "maat," or truth and order.  (The imagery of foreigners in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, foot ware,  religious iconography, and in magical texts is the xenophobic elephant in the pyramid of Egyptian studies.)  Heka could form a protective shield encircling the magician, or could in turn encircle and bind the forces of chaos.   

Ancient Egyptian spells involve ritual actions or gestures, special or exotic focus objects, and written or spoken words -- especially names.   So if you're writing a magic scene set in ancient Egypt, your spell-caster is going to be waving around an ankh (at least) while using as many True Names as possible.   Spells to subdue an enemy might involve breaking pots with a person's name written on them, or melting wax images of them.   In some rituals, a magician/priest has the goddess Maat painted with white paint upon his tongue so that his words are true and pure. 

Colors had magical correspondences.  Green was associated with plants, and therefore flourishing growth.  Blue (like lapis) was associated with heavenly powers.  Black was a powerful color (maybe associated with the fertile black soil?).  Red was a color of power, but also chaos, associated with the chaotic god Seth.  Magical scrolls might have magical names or chaotic powers written in red ink (otherwise, they mostly used black).

Scholars like to spend a lot of time writing about the boundaries between ancient Egyptian religion, magic, and medicine.  This is because the boundaries between the three are blurred.   Ancient Egyptian (Early- and Middle-Kingdom, at least) spells tend to begin with a story about the gods as a kind of "this is the way the universe works" starting statement, and then has the spell caster identify with one of the god-protagonists in the story.  Also, magic spells were part of a non-exclusive toolkit -- along with prayers and mundane actions -- for healing or averting ill fortune.

Scholars also like to talk about how ancient Egyptian magic is different from the modern (-ish) western concept of sympathetic magic as put forward by Sir James Frazer.  I'm not sure there are that many differences, since ancient Egyptian magic operates with the Law of the Macrocosm and Microcosm, the Law of True Names, the the Law of Contagion.  On the other hand, I'm not sure how to classify a spell that requires one write write the spell onto one's body and then lick it off for it to work -- consuming or otherwise taking the spell into one's mouth was a way for illiterate folks to activate the potency of a spell.   

Simplifying things greatly, ancient Egyptian magicians came in three flavors:  the king as high-priest of the nation casting spells to uphold order (maat), a scribe-priest associated with a temple's scriptorium (or House of Life) who might cast healing spells or compile magical guidebooks for navigating the afterlife, and common folks who used charms, talismans, and magical gestures during times of crisis (like birth or death) to manipulate health and luck (and hippos and crocodiles) or avert the evil eye. 

Although there was a mention of foreign (Nubian) women and their terrible spells, most magicians in ancient Egypt were male priests working out of a temple.  There might be a sample bias here, as temple priests were more likely to leave a record of spell (or medical triage) books.  Being a priest was a part time  job, and when they were off of temple duty, they were typically doctors or scribes.  As time went on, the priesthood became hereditary.  So if you're going to write an ancient Egyptian magician, they're going to be part of a literate elite, or connected with the royal court.  

Ancient Egyptians made heavy use of amulets, like the ankh (for life); others include the djed pillar (for stability), the shen (for protection), the scarab (for regeneration), and the wedjat eye (for wholeness and protection).  Amulets could be as simple as a knotted thread, or a magical word or symbol written onto a piece of cloth and put into a small bag, or even a tattoo.  

Finally, ancient Egyptian magic was concerned with helping folks attain a good afterlife.  Afterworld spells can be attested throughout the Egyptian kingdoms, starting with the Pyramid Texts (~2353 BCE, and which were reserved for the king),  to the Coffin Texts (~2100 BCE), to the Book of Gates (~1500 BCE) , The Book of Going Forth By Day (~1550 BCE, available to the upper classes), The Book of the Hidden Chamber, The Book of Adoring Re in the West (~1425), and other Netherworld Texts.  These contained spells and rituals a person would need to recite in order to navigate the perils of the netherworld or Duat and unite their ka (or spirit) with their ba (or soul) -- much in the same way Re the sun god was thought to unite with Osiris the mummiform god of the underworld.  The  Book of the Heavenly Cow (~1341) appears to be a collection of stories featuring gods and sorcerers.  

Once we get to around 300 BCE, Egyptian magic starts to look more familiar.  For one thing, it seems to be more about curses and bindings and less about protection, healing, and the afterlife.  The gods become more syncretic.  The spells begin to become more abbreviated and cryptic.  During this time we start to see gods like Abraxius, and magical anagram-like words, like abracadabra make their appearance.  

I suppose if I were going to write about an ancient Egyptian magician, I'd do an alternate history magician.  They would need to be able to read and write.  They'd need to have good observational skills in order to detect and move heka.  They'd need to be versed in the creation myths of their society in order to make use of the Law of Macro-and-Microcosm.  They'd be a boy-scout type concerned keeping the system running orderly.  I'm split on what gender to make them, although writing a non-traditional / non-male would be give them a social hurdle to get over.   Or maybe I'd make them a foreign magician trying to work within their adopted land's system (more opportunities for conflict there) -- maybe they could be a lover or spouse of a native.   I'd probably make my magician a mystery solver -- so I guess a police procedural or Brother Cadfael type of character.   

. . . or . . . 

 maybe I could make them a kind of shabti figure (a kind of Egyptian golem). . . doing work for a magician. . . 

. . . or . . . 

maybe this school-teacher / anthropologist is digging in modern Egypt, and she finds this box from the time of Queen Hatshepsut, and inside the box is an amulet of Isis, and....

Sunday Morning Writing

Last night I stayed up way too late reading old "Dykes to Watch Out For" (the moving van volume).  As a result, I had some weird dreams about moving into an old house that had its front end on a fraternity row (in the dream it was a cross between 26th Street between Monroe and Tyler Streets in Corvallis and a mashed-up quad from Carleton College and the UO), had its middle in a New York City Times Square shopping mall, and its end and garage near an ocean (which required a twenty minute drive through winding coastal hill forest roads just to get around to the front).   I remember liking the house's interior, but other than a vague recollection that I was starting a new job with academia, I don't remember much.  

The yard is blooming in a haphazard way.  Mark would like more formal plantings, but neither of us has the inclination to plan that far ahead.  It doesn't help that our soil has a high clay content and probably has orchard chemicals in its past.  Mark does have many bonsai and other potted plants outside, and he did build a raised bed, but the effect is more like the back-side of a gardening store than an actual formal garden.  Oh well... Mark has some plans for arbors, so that will be nice.

Mark has taken Aoife on a hike, so I'm writing in the garden circle.  We'll see how long I last before the pollen overcomes me.  Since the dog is gone, I've opened up the garage for cross-ventilation and have just been visited by Cicero's brother, Spencer.  It remains to be seen if our cats will actually venture into the yard -- oh!  and here comes Smokey now, to sit on my keyboard and shed all over everything.  

(On cat session and tea-refresh later)

I'm continuing to study Egyptian hieroglyphs: I've got the uniliteral "alphabet" ones down and I'm slowly adding bi- and trilteral signs to my pile of flashcards.  𓆣 is a trilateral sign pronounced (by Egyptologists, at least) as kheper, and has the same phonetic value as   𓐍 𓊪𓂋 .   I've got a few more on-line classes, and by the end of them I should be able to do a translation of an offering formula.   I'm hoping that I can find the siting of a love poem from the Journal of Egyptian Archæology, translated by Sir Alan Gardiner, and used in Philip Glass's, Akhnaten, (I breathe the sweet breath that issues from thy mouth / I behold thy beauty every day...) but so far I haven't located it (reading ninety-year-old oh-so-polite arguments of how to translate three-thousand-year-old poetry is amusing, however).  Thinking about it some more, I suspect the original is in hieratic and not hieroglyphic, but it would fun to see the original and see how "call thou my name unto eternity, and it shall never fail" was written:  was it "give voice" to my name ?  or "invoke" my name ?  or "speak" ?   Given the ancient Egyptian attitudes toward magic and the written word, I'm curious how how much of the poem is a spell.  

Market Analysis

I've finally taken a critical look at a handful of stories from this one market that I can't seem to get stories into.  In the past I've mostly just read what they've published, with the occasional jaundiced eye (especially when they publish a list story).  Typically, when I get a "guess why we didn't buy your story" form rejection from this market is the time that they publish something stunning and brilliant.

Probably my biggest mistake is sending them stories over 1000 words.  They'll publish up to 1500 words, but a 400-800 word story is more likely. 

My second mistake is using too elevated diction (I like playing with cool words); I need to keep story diction a notch slightly above conversational unless I'm purposefully making fun of Ye Olde Speech.  The list stories might have "literary" word play and imagery, but the diction in them will still be conversational.

My third mistake is sending them sword and sorcery fantasy.  Although they publish fantasy, it feels like they have a sci-fi or near-future preference.  The fantasy they do publish seems to be urban fantasy or magical realism or fantasy poking fun at fantasy tropes.

From the sample stories I looked at, I'd say a common theme is "discovering someone (or something) is not what it first appeared to be," with connections to "what makes a person real?" and issues of social equality (i.e. dealing with some "-ism").   Another common theme is post-apocalyptic or a end-of-the-world setting.

Finally, the ending has to be strong, preferably with an epiphany -- oops, I mean a sudden discovery.

Reorienting To Writing

I've arisen early to write.  Well, maybe not so early.  And maybe it's blogging, but at least that is working with words.  

My writing has slowed down and I need to take steps to crank it back up.  I'll skip the excuses, and say that I'll have to be more disciplined both with and when I work with words so that I can increase my daily word count and stay engaged with the specific piece I'm working on.

I've currently got (counts) eight flash or short story pieces that are stuck, and a score of three-paragraph story stalls.   Stepping back, they're very long on description and character mood, but short on conflict and character choice.   They're vignettes or almost poems.  My old self would write "More Ninjas!" in red pen on the manuscript.   I think this is what happens when one doesn't budget enough daily time to write and keeps returning to start-up exercises.  

The other strategy is putting a screen limit on social media; my phone makes it too easy to nip in and the next thing I know I'm either doom-scrolling or schauden-scrolling.  

Moon and Venus

The Moon is getting close to Venus.  It's supposed to be nearer tomorrow, but given the penchant for cloudy skies in late Winter, I figured I should take pictures now.  In a few more days, the Moon will sail past Aldebaran and the constellation Taurus.

While I was setting up, Cicero jumped up on The Fort and just happened to line up with the crescent moon.  I'm not sure why he was up on the very top rail of The Fort; maybe he likes to be as high as possible in an attempt to survey as much of the neighbors' yards as he can. 

On the Writing Front:  I've been cleaning up a 20,000 word manuscript.  Thank goodness for the computer's ability to speak text -- I've found a couple of phrase echos and a number of stupid clerical errors.  I also ran into a weird Scrivener bug where it would display one version of my text if I was looking at it on a scene document-by-document basis and an earlier version if I was looking at it on a pan-scene Folder basis.   I ended up having to create a new Scrivener file and copy-and-paste the scene documents in. 

On the Gym Front:  I went to the gym Monday (2/24) and did the Push-Pull Routine.  I went kind of late and felt tired the next day.  So tired, that I made Writing Day Hot Bath With Candles and Recordings of Singing Bowls Day and skipped the gym Wednesday. 

Weekend Updates

Gym report:  I met with my trainer today (11/7) and went over a new routine.  It's more aerobic, and the sets are designed to repeat reps until exhaustion.  There are a number of new exercises, but we only got through about four fifths of them before I had to sit down -- I don't know what happened, it felt like a sugar crash or heat stroke; I'm guessing I managed to run out of ATP... Or something.  

The other theory is that I was doing so many jumps, squats, and crunches that my body was going into shock in protest.

My trainer was pretty cool about it; I felt like a wuss.  I'm still thirty-two in my mind, but lately my body seems bent on reminding me that I'm in my mid-fifties.  

I went again Friday (11/8) and managed to get more-or-less through the new routine before stalling out during the burpees (of which I did four, if one is being charitable).  I quite obviously have little stamina when it comes to aerobic exercises.  The whole point, though, is to convince my body to start consuming the extra fat I've got stored as a bicycle tire around my waist and other areas, in the hope that my lower abdominals will start to show up at some time within the next two years.

On the migraine front.  It's possible that I've found a pattern:  too much 70% chocolate.  Maybe chocolate plus tea.  Plus a short night's sleep.  It might work out with, stay up late the night before, rush out to work without a proper snack, get distracted at work with HTML editing, documenting, and other keyboard-based support, and not notice that I've snarfed through more than a third of a Very Dark Chocolate bar and refreshed my tea about three times.  Get a migraine light-show at noon.  

  Anyway, that's one theory.  Although why it's taken five years for this to manifest is a little curious.  I've cut back chocolate to only one square in a thirty minute period, imposed a limit of only three squares a day, and pushed back the second round of More Tea to 10 AM.  We'll see what happens.  The goal is to go a month without another one of these things.

Other theories include blaming my endocrine system, tequila, my slightly twisted Progressive Lens glasses (recently re-aligned), and too much time on my mobile device. 

On the writing front, I bit the bullet and purchased a new, bulkier wireless keyboard to type on.  The old keyboard gave years of service, and I appreciate it's slimness, but I'm not missing having to stop typing to try to get the lower third of the keys to register.

Early November

The Halloween decorations are slowly going back into storage.  There's a few odd bits around:  an orange votive candle glass on the kitchen table; the bat cutout hanging from the front light; a white jack-o-lantern grinning like a skull on the backyard table, and an orange one knocked face-down to the lawn and leaves by a delinquent squirrel.  Oddly, there are still burnt orange and maroon leaves clinging to the trees out back.

On the gym front:  managed to get to the gym last Monday, Friday, and Monday and this Wednesday.  Last Wednesday I had a minor scintillation migraine, so I stayed home.  I'm finally going to meet with my trainer this week to see about an alternate work-out to mix things up, since I seem to be plateauing with my current workout.

On the writing front:  Had a passible writing night Tuesday actually writing and lightly editing a short story.  I'm still not not wildly enthusiastic about the default space, a mezzanine in a local super market, mostly because it can be really distracting there if the wrong group shows up.    I've got some stories in the mail, and it would be a good thing if there were more things out there.

On the music front:  I've discovered a new to me music group called Helium Vola.  They're a kind of German Enya, or a more Techno Stary Olsa, or a more operatic Dead Can Dance.  Some of their pieces are irritating, and seem to be more suited to a modern dance take on ritual than something to listen to -- but I'm finding many pieces that are uplifting (if in a sometimes goofy and frantic way).

Writings News and Delta Ponds

 The big news this week is that my short story, "A Summoner's Tale," is on-line at the On The Premises site:  https://onthepremises.com/issues/issue-34/issue-34-place1/  I'm glad this story found a home.

Sunday, Mark and I went for a walk in Delta Ponds.  I brought along my camera and managed to catch a few photographs of turtles, cormorants, nutria, and white egrets.  Mark actually likes nutria -- I always thought they were a kind of large, furry water rat -- and we learned that they have an attractive undercoat underneath their disheveled overcoat.

OK.  I guess they do have cute little paws.



The white egrets were the most difficult to photograph. 


The one we first saw was across the ponds, and the only way to not get a shaky shot at that distance is to use a tripod or at least rest agains a signpost or fence. 

We lucked out in that the egrets flew much nearer, and I was able to get some more close-up photographs.   I had been fiddling with the manual settings, but I realized that I was much more likely to get a passable photograph if I let the camera do things on automatic.

One egret flew up into a near-by tree, and for once my camera was able to focus on the bird and not the branches (or leaves) in front of it. 

Thursday Update

On the writing front, I sent out a manuscript and got a 24 hour turn-around rejection.  Very likely, the manuscript was too far on the fantasy side of the science-fiction/fantasy spectrum.  It's also long, so I'm not sure where to send it next.   I've been looking at old, put-aside manuscripts, and I'm coming to the conclusion that A) they don't suck quite so much as I thought, B) they've got some things in them that need polishing, C) I should get them into the mail.

On the gym front:  I went to the gym Monday and Wednesday night and did the regular routine.  I've been extending my legs out when I've been doing the bench presses, and the other night I noticed some improvement in my, uh, front lats?  side abdominals?  (looks at muscle chart) oblique external abdominis?  So yay!   I also bumped into my trainer, who says he really wants to mix up what I've been doing with a set of bench-heavy sets.

Friday Update

Went to the gym Wednesday night, did the usual routine.  Going consistently has resulted in some nice reductions, but it also means that I wake up around 9PM. 

On the writing front:  Got a short, detailed rejection for one piece -- mostly the story wasn't the editor's cup of tea.   I've been working on older pieces that have been languishing in draweres post-critique.  Taking a long break from pieces has been useful for spotting clunky writing (and excising it).

Oh, and the Autumnal Rains continue....

Cat Grooming

Friday I had to attend to some family business, which meant that I went to the gym on Saturday and did the regular routine (OK, I didn't do the Roman Chair curls because I was feeling a little tired). 

The weather has turned autumnal -- we had lots of lightning (unusual) on Thursday night, which unfortunately sparked a few fires up and down the valley.  Luckily we had rain Saturday and Sunday, which helped to dampen the flames.  The temperatures arent' supposed to get much higher than the mid-seventies today, which is pleasant. 

As we were leaving for a day trip, Smokey became concerned that we were Leaving Forever.  He paced back and forth in front of the car making squeaky meows and looking at Mark.  So... Mark lied down on the street and Smokey groomed him.  Three minutes later, a much more happy Smokey let us drive to Corvallis, where we celebrated my mother's birthday.

On the writing front, I managed to slip some editing in during the family business.  I'm also keeping my fingers crossed for good news from a market that's short-listed one of my stories; we'll see if it beats the competition and is published.

Cylinder Seals

 On the art front, last month I discovered a bunch of cylinder seals.  They are interesting to me because, in a way, they are like 3000 year old comics art.  Only without the word-bubbles. Historically, they were rolled onto clay documents to authenticate them.


They were used as jewelry and as amulets.


What I like about the artwork is that it's tiny; I would be hard pressed to create one without a 3D printer and CAD.


The scenes I like are the ones with praise or processions in them; I'm not overly fond of the ones that are hunting scenes or fierce animals eating herbivores... although there are a few griffon seals that have stunning detail of the wings and feathers.


Overlooking the fact that these were probably luxury goods of the elite, I like the romance behind taking something as mundane as sealing tax records or contracts with a beautiful work of art.


What if our cars' tires left impressions of processions in their tracks, or printed pictures of local animals?  Or--thinking back to the days when plastic credit cards embossed their numbers onto carbon paper -- if we could electronically sign documents with beautiful RFID rings?


I think the 3D printing revolution was supposed to usher in a new Arts And Crafts Movement, but I guess it hasn't done that, yet.


On the gym front:  Went to the gym Monday 8/26) and Wednesday (6/28).  I realized that since I've come back from New York, I've been doing the standing cable pull wrong because I've been gripping the pulls by the dowels and not by the webbing above them.  This explains why my wrists along the tops of my hands have been feeling sore.  I should have figured it out earlier, because doing the exercise felt wrong as I was doing it.   Wednesday, I felt tired and over-full from dinner, so I spent more time on the elliptical and less time doing bench presses and standing rows.


On the writing front, I've sent out nine submissions and received five rejections over the last week (since 8/23).  Some of the markets I've submitted to in the past have vastly reduced their response time, and I've been able to quickly re-submit a rejected story.  I've currently five manuscripts pending a response.  I've got my eye on one in particular (which is probably not healthy) and I'll know more about three of the submissions in about two weeks.

Writing Day

I'm calling this picture, "Curiosity, before the pavilion of the subconscious, turns away from the font of dreams."

Went to the gym Wednesday (7/17) and did the regular workout.  I was kind of tired, but once I got going I managed to do everything within about an hour.  My weight has been stating about the same, which I suppose is good--but I'm trying to get more definition in my lower abs.  I'm blaming a mediocre diet and the fact that I'm in my mid-fifties for lack of meaningful progress.  Doing "mummy tummy" exercises  while I brush my teeth seems to help.

Thursday night I was restless, and wound up taking a power-walk up the hill.  I think going to the gym at 8:30-ish is conditioning my body to want to be active in the evening.  I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.  I saw one bat (we have some resident fledermauses on our street).  At the reservoir, I thought I might see the rising moon, but it was too early for night sky objects other than Jupiter and a faint Antares.  Saturn became visible as I walked home.

Back in our yard, I took some photos of Jupiter and its moons, but I haven't uploaded them to see if any of them are clear enough to share.  I tried photographing the Big Dipper, the Summer Triangle, and Cassiopeia; but I think the star-trail video the camera took probably came out the best.

Friday morning is a writing day, and I'm warming up with the blog.  I've got the laptop raised a little so the screen is closer to eye level, and I'm writing outside under the pavilion.  I would have a wireless keyboard in my lap, but Cicero has claimed that territory as his own.  

Writing Weekend

Some poppies sprouted up in the back yard.  Mark's a little mystified as to how they got there.  We weren't quite sure what they were at first.  The flowers started blooming last Tuesday or Wednesday, and they must have done their thing because both blooms have dropped their petals.  More blooms seem it be in the works.  The flowers are a pretty lavender shade, and we're hoping for more volunteer plants next year.


Gym Report:  Skipped Friday and went to the gym Saturday.  I dialed back the weights to my original values, but youch, I've definitely pulled a latissimi dorsi on my left side -- possibly when I lifted Smokey in a cat carrier on the way to the vet -- which doing any kind of press quickly revealed.  I'm managed to do everything, and the exercises seemed to help loosen up where I was tight.

The universe it trying to tell me something, I think, on three separate occasions the last few days, someone has told me a variation of "Getting old means putting on a sock and pulling a muscle."


On the writing front:  Mark and The Child went with some friends to the coast, so I managed to get some work done.  Some of it was actual re-casting exposition into action.... and I'm finding it helpful to think of a recently critiqued manuscript as a detailed outline.  Or something.   Looking at the word count... not stellar progress (not quite 1000 words).   But... there was some back-story filling going on, and also some research (space beer and aereospace composite materials).  So, not a total loss.

In related news, I Did All The Laundry, made crustless quiche, diagnosed a solar LED string, created three glass tiles, watched "Age of Ultron," and administered cat meds to a cat that hates cat meds.

I got a contest rejection Friday night, which I suspected was going to happen because the market usually contacts folks about a week before the winners' announcement date, and I hadn't been contacted.


Dreams have been kind of weirder than usual, lately, with long, complicated plots.  Unfortunately, I haven't been motivated enough to arise and write them down as I wake, so I only remember the odder bits.

Last night I dreamt someone was trying to silence witnesses by driving pencils up their noses in order to make them lose the power of speech.  In a typical dream-logic hole, I don't know why this wouldn't prevent them from writing down messages.   In another dream, I was looking through a camera that made all the microbes in one's mouth light up... it was sort of a cross between a macro-lens and a microscope, and I was looking into a celebrity's mouth. . .