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.

Dreaming a Story

 I've got a few quiet moments to myself Friday morning.  

A few years ago, I used to regularly have about fifteen minutes in the parking lot at work for reflection and writing (school drop-off schedule didn't quite mesh with the work schedule).  With various life changes and the COVID pandemic, I don't always have that bubble of time to think about stories, or the latest dream, or various wildlife sightings.  

I must have tried to dream about my current fantasy short story because I dreamed I was a Merlin-esque character in a story Mary Stewart might write.  I had been pulled out of retirement or my hermitage, and was being accompanied by a young man to my old home in a forest of holy and oak.  As we were riding, he was about to tell me something important, when I motioned that he should stop.  A falcon or similar raptor flew out of the forest and alighted on the top of some trees; this indicated that there was someone nearby eavesdropping on us.  "They must have known that you'd come to fetch me," I said, "and have been watching me for some time.

There wasn't too much more; I found a spot next to some ancient trees where my stone house used to be... I have a vague sense that I lived in a stone treehouse.

On the wildlife front:  I'be been seeing the hummingbirds less, probably because they're up right before the sun rises and I am not.  However, we have had an increase in dragonflies, both the small ruby kind and the large sapphire kind.

Notes On the 2020 Tolkien Lecture on Fantasy Literature

The last week it has been rainy, and I haven't been taking too many photographs.

I had hoped that I would be able to photograph the Moon as it swung underneath Jupiter and Saturn, but the clouds did not cooperate, and the morning skies were only clear by the time the Moon was past Mars.

The rains also kept me from writing outside, which means I didn't get much writing done, period.  I'm also going to blame crazy pollen counts (and sinus headaches) for my lack of writing, too.  

I am slowly making progress on edits for a 7500 word story, so there's something.

Saturday, morning (8 AM PDT) I listened to Pembroke College’s Tolkien Lecture on Fantasy Literature, which was an online symposium of previous speakers -- Kij Johnson (2013), Adam Roberts (2014), Lev Grossman (2015), Terri Windling (2016),  V.E. Schwab (2018), and  Rebecca F. Kuang (tba) -- discussing how science-fiction and fantasy literature respond to, and provide inspiration during, moments of despair and personal difficulty.

I'd hoped to be able to use Zoom to get in, but I was shunted to the YouTube channel.  The panel was like an excellent OryCon or NorWestCon panel.  I found the running chatter on the chat-bar distracting and had an open notepad over it.   At the end I found myself missing convention panels and the occasional meeting with the Wordos at the local bar and grill.

It was interesting to hear how the panelists' work styles were affected by the pandemic differently.  What I took away from that was that the pandemic was good for research; that the tension between the isolation of writing and the communicable quality of performance provides the creative force to write; and that--extroversion or introversion aside--what the writers missed were the social interactions story-telling needs to function: interaction with others refilled the well of creativity.


On writing crises, the consensus was that writers write crises anyway, and this was going to change the science fiction and fantasy literature in the same way Spanish Flu, the World Wars, the Vietnam War, 9-11, and climate change changed (and is changing) the literature of their times.   In terms of making a difference, the sense was, (borrowing from Dorothy Sayers' "Gaudy Night") if what you do well is art, use your art to  help someone on the front lines get through it.  Someone else pointed out that women, queers, and people of color have been writing about living through crises of existence for 30 years.

The panel touched on Eucatastrophe, hope, and how fiction is an attempt to make sense of the world in a world that doesn't make sense.   And how memes were a way of sharing culture "from the bottom up."

In talking about working away from the Mono-Myth of the Hero's Journey, the panel sort of addressed what to do with the concept of "The Good Guys" and "The Strong Ruler," and I wished someone had formulated a question addressing how to strain out some of the more toxic ingredients from the soup pot of tales.   The consensus seemed to be that simple, un-glorious things like washing one's hands is a new way to (heroically?) save a culture, and that this could be the start of a move away from stories with Grandiose, external Evil (slay the dragon) and toward more nuanced, internal challenges.  

Before concluding, the discussion turned to the nature of the landscape (A Stranger Rides Into Town /  The Protagonist Gets Lost in the Forest, Confronts a Guardian, and Returns Re-integrated) in story.  What struck me was when Teri Windling pointed out that Urban Fantasy started out in the 1980's ("War for the Oaks," deLint's Newford stories) exploring the numinous landscapes of The City, but by the 1990's had turned into Urban Vampire and Werwolf Hunting (Buffy).



So now I'm re-reading bits of Jane Yolen's "Touch Magic" and wondering things like, in a culture where the global village has the Internet -- with its memes and hypertex narrative -- what has been the influence on the development of "The Lively Fossil" of Faerie Tales?

And wondering which personal myths I write.

Animals and Everything

Week four? of Shelter in Place.  We continue to work and study from home.    I drive the car some place once a week just to keep it moving.  We walk place or hang out outside when it's nice.   What I do notice when I drive, is that traffic is very light, but that there's two or three instances of loopiness from other drivers making interesting choices or random pedestrians crossing the street in random fashions.

Stuck my head out of the window this morning (Wednesday), thinking that I might see the Lyrid meteors, but it was raining.  The last few days have started out overcast, but have cleared by mid-afternoon.  The snow

Some time in the night, a bag of dog treats had spilled -- I suspect a midnight snack raid -- and there was about 2/3rds of a cup of treats on the kitchen floor.  If I had been more properly awake, I would have swept them up -- but the dog was happily hoovering them up.  Later, it crossed my mind that maybe the kibble wasn't proper dog food.

On the Writing Front:  did a final pass on a 6900 word story by having the computer read it back to me.  I've been polishing for a while, so the process caught only a few odd places where there was a missing "the" or some other word-o.

I should put more stories into the mail.  One of the last items, which I thought had been in the slush for 90 days, apparently had been rejected after 5 days and the reply was stuck in my spam filter or something.

On the Gym Front:  Did my Power Walk, only without music this time.  On the plus side, the music keeps my tempo up; on the minus (?) side, having the soundtrack makes me pay attention to the surroundings differently.  I am unsure if having the soundtrack makes me more engaged with the neighborhoods I walk through (because I'm compensating for not hearing soft sounds) or if the soundtrack engages the woolgathering part of my mind that pulls me out of the world when I walk.  Came home and did some free weight work; looped an elastic loop over a cherry tree branch and did some cable pull-downs.

On the dream front:  I haven't exactly been having the intense dreams that some folks have been having because of COVID19 lockdowns.  I did have an intricate "back at Reed, failing Physics, freshly-discovered missing attendance" anxiety dream, which I'm going to attribute to an unsettled stomach this morning.  I had an intense advising meeting with Del Rhodes--who in real life was the head of the Psychology Department, but in the dream was a perky Physics Professor.   I can't recall the conversation verbatim, but she said something ambiguous, which I took the wrong way, and replied with a pointed remark, but after some back-and-forth, we ended up on the same academic plan.

On the animal front:  Aoife and Smokey just now had a nose-to-nose meeting.  Smokey was in the windowsill.  There was no growling, barking, howling, snapping, or claw swiping.  Mark says Cicero made some kind of wailing noise from outside the window (which I think I heard from the next room) along the lines of "Oh, Smokey! You're gonna die!"   There's apparently a second meeting going on in the Cat Sanctuary, so I better go see what's going on.

Moon, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter

This morning at 5:20 I managed to pull myself out of bed and photograph the morning sky.  The Moon, Mars, Saturn and Jupiter were lined up east to west.  At first I wasn't going to.  I really would have preferred to photograph the morning before, when the moon would have been about thirteen degrees to the west, underneath Saturn, and I could have composed a picture about a quarter of the size (and with greater resolution).  And I would have, if yesterday morning hadn't been completely overcast (the day before had been clear!).  But, this morning, the planets shone bright.

I trooped out in my slippers and PJ's and set up the tripod on the other side of the street.  I supposed I must look like Arthur Dent, the kids from Narnia, or possibly an absent-minded professor.    Smokey and Cicero joined me -- between the advent of the dog and the clear weather, they've been spending a lot of time out of the house.  I think they weren't expecting food.

Yesterday I did some marketing and got discouraged over one very short story that hasn't found a home; it's been through the usual professional markets, none of the semi-pro markets seem right for it (wrong theme or they only want reprints or they're closed), and I found myself thinking about self-publishing it..... and on one hand it seems like a cop-out, and on the other hand I'd have to call myself "Fit-Of-Pique Publishing," and on another hand do I really want to put stories out there that might not have been picked up for a reason (although I suppose I could call myself "Glowing Rejection Press")?

On the gym front, I did my power-walk Wednesday evening...and I'm wondering if I might try the jogging path again to see if my knee joints have beefed up enough to not bother me jogging.  The power-walks are fun and all, but I feel like I'm not getting enough of a workout.

Sheltering in place is going well all things considered, but it is wearing on my nerves.  We're very lucky: no one in the house is sick, we are able to work remotely, on nice days we can escape to the backyard, and so far our immediate families are healthy.   Occasionally the cabin fever does strike me and I have to resist the shriek trying to climb up my throat and the urge to run berserk into the street.  As soon as it's safe to do so -- which probably means next October -- I want to dance in a drum circle or go clubbing or something.

Cute Wildlife

Friday afternoon, I was writing outside.  The weather during the first part of the week had been cold and rainy.  As I usually say during boundless stretches of grey:  "we can always use the rain, but if the sun doesn't come out soon I'm going to curl up under my electric throw until the light returns."

Now that Spring is here, we should get more days where there's a terrific mix of sunshine, cloudbursts, and rainbows.

Last Friday was bright and warm, and a good day for writing at Café John (the outside patio table with an umbrella).  The new fountain was on and bubbling, and providing a soothing sonic backdrop.   I had my slippers off and was warming my feet on the deck,  working on the order of scenes in a 7000 word short story (do I go back and forth between the three time periods, or do I just tell the whole thing chronologically?  The first part feels YA, should I just accept it, or should I try cutting out the early parts of the story as backstory that's driving to the last scenes...?)



A flash of yellow caught my eye, and I saw a goldfinch on top of the fountain.  This was surprising because I thought the flowing water would make it difficult for a small bird to find purchase on the stone's polished surface.  The bird splashed around a bit, then flew off to the blooming cherry tree and came back with a friend.  They proceeded to take a bath.   The whole scene was what I would have called "Terminally Cute" in my Reed College days, and what Mark and I usually call "Oogie-Boo!"






To clarify, they weren't being Snow White Disney Birds Cute, nor were they being Flower Fairies Twee.





I grabbed my camera, set the ISO to 1600, and snapped a few shots from just inside the sliding patio door.  Reviewing the photos later, I discovered that the camera can resolve drops of water flying through the air.










There were no mystic signs of ornithomancy later.  Or sudden appearances of elegant ball gowns, either.








I'm sure once the cats overcome their fear of the new dog and venture once again into the backyard, they'll be quite pleased to discover the new water-powered cat-feeder.

Writing Day

I woke up with a sinus headache under my left eye.  I was fairly congested, and I’m not sure from what.  I also had a tension headache in my neck, which I’m attributing to riding in Melissa’s car with too low headrests, looking at mobile devices, and possibly hanging a camera around my neck for a while.

I took a walk around the block to try to clear things up.  Mary’s house is near the border between New York and New Jersey, and it’s possible I walked into another state.

After a yoga session, Mark did some more early-morning weeding.  I did some lopping and got the last few branches hanging over the house.

I spent some time writing a short story about Aliens; the story is congealing slowly.  And skimming through old manuscripts to see how much editing they needed (a lot).  During times like this, I can hear Jay Lake saying, “Finish what you begin.”  I have too many manuscripts on my hard drive that I’ve started, then lost interest in, and allowed to languish.

Rest?

On the gym front:  I've pulled something in my arms (again)--it's the elbow joint in my left arm this time--and it's been a bazillion degrees the last week, so aside from some elliptical work, I really haven't been going to the gym much.

One the writing front:  the novel is at a virtual standstill, and I'm thinking the best route may be to look at the 52,000 words I do have and break them into short stories.  Lately, I've been not writing more than I have been writing.... I don't know if this is a function of pollen, heat, sleep, "man-o-pause," politics, a mutable Summer schedule that throws routine out the window, binge-watching Queer Eye or what.    On bad days I write less than 500 words; on worse days I write variations along the lines of  "You can't write.  You write crap.  You're too old.   You're too white and cis.  You're not gay enough.  You're too lazy.  You're a fake.  Fake fake fake.   You're not literary enough.  You're not dark enough.  You're not enough."

OK... some of it is related to not getting into an anthology and doing research to try to figure out where the story failed for that particular market.

I might try a stab at personal essay, which used to be fun, but I'm not sure if I have anything new to say.

On the music front: I've been playing my harp more.  Yay me.

Writing and Musing

Managed to get a little under 1500 words Tuesday night.  Wednesday, I broke down the chunk into individual scenes and removed the obvious "start-up" pieces where I'm writing notes to myself.  Looking at one scene, the character comes off as a randy guy looking to score a one night stand, and I need to either have him poke fun at himself or intersperse pensive moments or have character interaction instead of a character sitting in a common-room thinking.

I did a quick review of my story inventory, and I don't have anything that matches the anthology's new feel; either the story's science fiction, or the tone is too heavy, or the characters are gay men (the stories are supposed to have female protagonists).  I do have an urban fantasy I might send, except it ends a little on the dark side and the protagonist is neither a down-to-earth sorceress nor a kick-ass fighter.  It does have the Fair Folk in it... and there is a magic-using Fey Woman in it...and it does deal with cultural issues... so maybe I should send it (waffles in indecision).

The irises in the back are beginning their decline.  I think we have about a week of their blooms left.  The lilac is also blooming, and I'm enjoying going between the two an inhaling their sweet musk.  

Weekends, Gardens, Gyms, and Writing

Friday was a special dinner with my family to celebrate Mark's new job.  I had a nice chat with my Mom, and my Dad and I had a fun time singing "Cinder-Harry" in high-pitched mouse voices.  I didn't chat so much with my sister and brother-in-law; but they did like the chocolate mousse I made.   We got home late, and the cats were angry with us.

Saturday we went to the Japanese Gardens.  The day was pleasantly warm, and we got there early enough that we could park near-by.  Mark enjoyed the bonsai.  I was surprised at how much like Japanese prints of coy the coy looked like.  I'm thinking the thing I liked the best was... the artistic views through branches of mountains or waterfalls or cute little benches.   We met up with some friends and then relocated to Vancouver for the rest of the day.  We got home even later than Friday, and the cats were angry with us.

Sunday was rainy, and we mostly lounged about the house.

Went to the gym Monday :  about 25 minutes and 300 calories on the Nordic Elliptical.  Downstairs 13x(40+50+60)lbs on the pec fly.  13x(40+50+60)lbs on the deltoid fly.  13x(70+85+85)lbs on the lat pull-down.  2x13 Roman Chair curls.  3x13x35lbs barbell curl.  Someone had switched out the handle on the triceps pull-down with two rubber stoppers on a rope, so only 3x13x20lbs there.  And then it was time to run away.

I got my hands on two previous copies of the anthology I got rejected from, and the newer editor has a different take on the stories than the original editor.   I'd say the tone of the stories has gotten lighter (but so far I've only read five out of seventeen in one anthology and two in the other).     The anthology has been fantasy-based, with swordswomen and sorceresses, and I was surprised to run across one urban fantasy set in Boston--I'll have to see if there are any more urban fantasies.

Looking at my story that was rejected for not being what the editor wanted for the anthology, I'd say while my character's existential problem is strong, her immediate problem needs to be amped up; the high fantasy setting is too high; the language too elevated above contemporary language and dialog; and there's no light-hearted laugh around the Enterprise bridge ending moment--neither is the ending a pause before "the adventuress and friend(s) go on to further adventures" ending.  Also, my story doesn't at least touch on any social issues, like class, colonialism, or prejudice (three of the stories so far).  I'm thinking my other "this is fine but not right for us" rejected stories are too high on the Tolkien-Wanna-Be scale, too.   I'll have to look and see if I have any lighter short-stories ready. 

Gym and Rejection

Went to the gym Tuesday(4/24):  about 20 minutes and 260 calories on the Nordic Elliptical.  Downstairs 13x(40+50+60)lbs on the pec fly.  13x(40+50+60)lbs on the deltoid fly.  13x(70+80+90)lbs on the lat pull-down.  2x13 Roman Chair curls.  3x13x35lbs barbell curl.  I had to pick up The Child, so I cut the session short.

Mark has been single-handedly replacing the vinyl floor in our kitchen, the sanding of the underfloor has been the hardest work.  I'm thinking I should get him a Bob The Builder award or something.  The floor looks very nice, and incidentally matches our Denby.  

The weather has been sunny and in the high 70's... as long as it doesn't get into the high 80's next week, I'll be happy.  It's supposed to cloud over and be cooler later in the week.  Although the warmer weather is friendlier to my hands and feet and shoulders and knees, I am hoping that we continue to get rain, as the prediction for the Vally this Summer is for a dry summer (and drought conditions in Eastern Oregon).  The snow pack is way down this year, too.  

Tuesday night turned into an editing night, and then a socializing night.  

Wednesday I managed to set up a table under the shade of the cherry and get some writing and editing in.  OK, and I wrote some bad hikue.  And then I checked my e-mail and saw a form-letter story rejection from an anthology I've been trying to get into for several years.  I know rationally that the story isn't what the editor's looking for, and I know rationally that the editor's not being paid by me to critique my story, but man this is irritating (an abmigious "it's fine but not for me" rejection) and depressing (I'll add this to my pile of "your story is good but not good enough" form rejection letters).

Fantasy Worlds and Language

Tuesday night was a writing night.  I think I managed 2500 words (Scrivener on the iPad reports word counts in a different fashion from Scrivener on the Mac).  I focused on character emotions more, and rounded out a minor character from a 1D girlfriend to a 2D girlfriend. 

Language bits that are interesting; I was describing a character's proclivities as not Sapphistical, when I realized that this is a Fantasy World and the historical Sappho doesn't exist, therefore, I'd need to come up with a different word.  . . . and as I'm writing this I'm realizing the Island of Lesbos doesn't historically exist, either.  I guess while I'm at it, things can't get erotic, because the pantheon that includes Eros wasn't around.   Bother.

Fine Lines

Went to the gym Monday.  210 cal and 20 minutes on the Nordic Elliptical.  13x(30+30+40)lbs on the deltoid fly.  13x(30+40+50)lbs on the pec fly.  14x(50+60+70)lbs on the lat pull-down.  3x13 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x13x35lbs barbell curls.  13x3x30lbs on the triceps pulldown.  3x10X5lbs lbs on a lat extension and forward lat extensions.

Writing -- Scrivener is giving me a low word count for Monday, probably because I was editing and took words out (or moved swathes of text to "research" (i.e. it's back story, or it's notes I wrote to myself.   Tuesday worked out so that I had a bunch of time to write (thanks Mark!) so I got about 2000 words (I think).  

Not that I want the entire novel to be filled with sex scenes, but I let myself work on what will probably be two intimate scenes (maybe two and a half, if you count the dialog).  On one hand, I don't want to write a rutting scene; but on the other hand, characters are sexual beings.  I want the language to be lyrical, but at the same time I'm pretty sure most lyrical-sex-people are lyrical before or after sex because it's hard during.  Anyway, it's a fine line between earthy and explicitly crude; between lyrical and euphemistic; and between satisfying the animal and the sublime. 

I'm reading Paladin of Souls, which I'm liking the language in.  The author is sparse with her setting description, which is a lesson I could learn from.  

Writing and Bubbles

Tuesday night was a writing night.  I wasted some time looking at the ephemeris I'd generated to work out exactly when the moons were full or new and came to the conclusion that I need to sit down and make a calendar that I cary around with me, because the tables are useful, but a little too detailed, which makes finding dates for the full or new moons difficult.  Also, it's easier to read the table on a larger screen than the iPad.

Then, of course, the keyboard started acting up -- it's had over five years of hard service between being carted everywhere in a shoulder-bag, and now the space bar and some of the keys in the " < > ? and ] area get stuck.  Having runonwordswithnospaces can really break the writing flow.  Bridging the keyboard over my knees seems to improve its performance, so I typed that way for a while (it's also the way I type when I'm in the car and the iPad is draped over the steering wheel).

I managed to pump out about1800 words in about a two hour period.  Mark loaned me his headphones, which really helped; there might have been a baby crying in the foyer where I was, but I'm not sure, because the phones blocked the sound and I was listening to Renaissance dance tunes from Germany, Italy, and England.   I went bace and forth between several scenes, and once again found myself telling Vance's back-story in the village of Perinth before he left for the capitol of Lampton.  I'd worked out how he'd do a spell . . .  and (d'oh!) I've just realized I need a good reason for the characters to not have a mundane locksmith make a copy of the key they've got.   

The down side of a long writing session is that my hands were a little sore when I woke up (some days are heavy typing days at work, too).  I'm not sure if it's from all the typing or if it's from the rainy weather we're having.  

The other day Mark discovered was the perfect morning for blowing bubbles -- the humidity and coldness and pre-dawn stillness made it so that the bubbles he blew stuck to the grass in the backyard for a good half and hour.  While he was blowing them he looked like one of those whimsical wonder-workers from a late 1980's painting.  In the next painting he'd be dusting and hanging up a ker-jillion stars.  In the painting after that he'd be ribbon dancing clouds into existence just it time for them to turn flamingo pink from a sunrise.  In the next, he'd be bringing a mountain pine martin a snack while surrounded by cardinals, blue jays, and tanagers.  

Musing on Fantasy Travel

Sunday was a quiet day, as was the weekend.  We went for a walk around a Eugene nature preserve set between two highways.  I'm not sure how the birds get any sleep.  Mark was very excited to see a nutria.  We had hoped to see more of the beavers than two dams and three lodges (one look abandoned).  There were lots of ducks and geeese, and a few herons.

I was thinking about how fantasy travelers would feel, mostly because there was a light rain and my hands got cold holding the binoculars, so I spent most of the walk with them tucked under the layers I wore (a sweater-hoody under the Romulan Jacket under the wool cloak).  My feet were a little cold because my gym shoes aren't exactly waterproof -- which made me think about horses and walking along roads and tracks and if one were on the road how much firewood would you need or want to carry... and now that I think about it, one of you is a magic user who spent time working in the lighthouses of a port city, so making light wouldn't be a problem.  So two guys and their horses, traveling on a road. . .  so inns or bandits... oh, or coaches.  Right. . . .

On the TV front, Mark found a recording of the new Queer Eye.  I'm trying to think if the new Fab 5 are substantially younger than the originals... and I'm thinking that they're mostly in the thirty-something demographic, which makes them look younger because I'm now in the fifty-something demographic.

Word Count: 750 words.

Monday.  Went to the gym.  300 cal on the Nordic Elliptical.  3x13x30lbs deltoid fly.  13x(30+40+40) pec fly.  13x(50+0+70)lbs on the lat pull-downs.  3x13x30lb barbell curls.  3x13 Roman Chair curls.  3x13x30lbs triceps pull-downs.  No free dumbbell work.

Word Count: 750 words. 

Gym and Plotting

On the writing front:  The total word count for the novel so far is 5150 words.  This is kind of bad since probably half of the words existed before I started with the goal of writing 1500 words a day starting at the last full moon.  Also, a good portion is notes to myself on magic systems and character sketches and suppositions about geography.  I'm giving myself some slack for "outlining" with the ephemeris data.  Oh well... moving forward.

Some of the difficulty comes with the inner censor.  The latest incarnation sings a certain filk-song I co-wrote a long time ago that starts out, "I am a young maiden, I live in the sticks..." and touches on many plot points of a popular series.  I keep seeing parallels in what I'm exploring and it stops me to worry/ponder about what I'm writing.  I have to keep reminding myself that this is my first attempt at a long piece, and that it's okay for it to be a beginner's novel.  Still, when I find myself writing "The Call to Adventure" scene or the "I love you. / I know." scene, it's hard not to wince.

Gym:  hauled myself to the gym Saturday.  On the elliptical, I decided that I would risk having "Prince Valient and the Lost Valley of X" series and write different responses to revenants, keeping in mind that various chapters in 'The Fellowship of the Ring" are different responses to The Ring and it would be cool if I could pull off something similar.  Which meant I could have a character like Hypatia of Rhodes (good) who is a revenant (bad) and have my main characters debate the merits of cool research sustatined by requiring the blood of others.  250 calories (I think) at 35 minutes.  Downstairs I was feeling my shoulder so 3x13x30lbs deltoid fly and 13x(30+30+40)lbs on the pec fly.  13x(40+50+60+70)lbs on the lat pull-down.  3x13 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x13x30 lbs on the barbell curl.  3x13x30lbs on the tricepse pull-down.  3x5x7.5lbs on dumbbell extensions.  

Between writing Saturday at Café John and a Secret Location, I managed 1100 new words.  Not the best words, and I wish I had two to three times as much, but at least they're there. 

I'm blaming the cloudy weather and rain for some of my soreness Sunday morning.   A writing session at a Secret Location Sunday afternoon yielded 840 words.

Cat News and World Building

Yesterday afternoon, (Friday,The Ides of Winter) was practically 70F, so I managed to get some writing done outside. I was visited by a small black spider, who seemed  to be particularly interested in my tea:  I had to shoo it out of my teacup twice.

It appears that what Smokey has been wanting the last few nights is to sleep in our bed.  When Cicero came to our house, there was a divying up of rooms and territories (for reasons that I don't understand, as at the time Cicero was a five pound kitten and Smokey was a sixteen pound cat).  In any case, Cicero somehow got our bed.  The cats get on tolerably well, although Cicero is a little too rough-and-tumble for Smokey's tastes.  Apparently, there's another territory shift going on, or the borders are relaxing or something, because after meowing a few times at 2 AM, Smokey jumped into our bed and began grooming the top of Mark's head (which is an old, familiar trick).  

There's a big wedding for later today -- one of my first cousin's daughters is getting married --  so this morning's plan is to go to the gym when it opens, write, and then go to the wedding and reception.

Saturday workout (since I'd hadn't gone since Wednesday, I decided to try for a fuller session):  30 minutes and 300 cal on the Nordic Elliptical.  Downstairs was very chatty.  3x13x30lbs on the deltoid fly.  13x(30+40+50)lbs on the pec fly.  13x(40+50+60+70)lbs on the lat pull-down.  3x14 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x13x30lbs bar-bell curls.  3x13x30lbs on the triceps curls.  Bits of free-weight work.  And now I want bacon.

On the writing front... I've hit a point where the magic user is thinking about how to do a spell, and the moons' phases could affect his spell, and I realized that if I was going to be consistant in the story, I really needed an ephemeris of the moons' and the sun's position in the sky.  The variable nature of the length of time the moons take to make a complete orbit means that the concept of a month is more fluid.  Looking back at other fantasy books, unless there's a race to get the McGuffin to the Mystic Place by the Full Moon, there's not much detail -- but it's the sort of detail that's going to shape how the characters speak and think.  

I set out to program a switching set of orbits, and after wasting some time trying to put together a web-based program on Wolfram, I reverted back to a Perl script on the iMac.  Several hours later and about 80 lines of code... I had a program that would spit out an ephemeris table.  Now I have to review it by hand to make sure it's doing the right thing (there's a state where the program will double-switch the moon's if they're haven't moved far enough away from each other).  

What building the ephemeris has shown me is that there will be a Red Moon Season, when the smaller, ruddier moon is larger (and faster) and a Blue Moon Season, when the larger moon is prominent.  Which means the story will have phrases like "Blue Moon Fortnight" (which is 14 days, like ours) and "Red Moon Fortnight" (which is a few days shorter).   So I don't go too crazy, the fantasy world's sun moves at about the same speed as ours... and I think I'm going to use a 360 day calendar of 12 months of 30 days each, with an intercalendary period just before the winter solstice.  

Gym and Fantasy Body Image

Went to the gym Wednesday (1/31) evening.  20  minutes on the Nordic elliptical for about 200 calories.   Downstairs was crowded. 13x(30+30+30)lbs deltoid fly.  13x(30+40+50)lbs pec fly.  13x(40+50+60)lbs lat pulldowns.  3x13 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x13x30lbs barbell curl.  3x13x30lbs triceps curls.  I forgot to do the free dumbell work.  

Crazy sexy dreams last night.  Probably the oddest was that a knee-high Joker (as in Batman) Doll sort of came to life, ran around, and turned into a 20-something, pastey-skinned, green-haired sometimes naked --and always dangerous-- skinny hottie.  OMG, I don't know where that came from--I'm not much of a DC, Batman, or Joker fan.   I'm going to blame some of the fantasy character pictures I was looking at on Pinterest for ideas what Jerick and Vance look like -- apparently most 20-something wizards are white, thin, wear an exessive amount of layers or else a poet's shirt with a plunging neckline to show off gym-pecs, and sport smouldering looks while grasping arcane flames.   I think I saw one black man.  All axe fighers look like Conan's little brother. 

Oh yes, and apparently I need to create a character named Franscesca Labyris, ... who I think is an urban fantasy, lesbian P.I. who sends mystical creatures back to the Otherworld with her magical axe.

Eclipse and Writing

I managed to haul myself out of bed at 4:30-ish this morning in order to see the total lunar eclipse.  When I poked my head of of the door, the moon had a dark bite out of it, and small puffs of cloud skirted over it.  I spent the next quarter of an hour alternately gazing from our deck at the moon in various types and aspects of cover and resting on the couch until it looked like the eclipse was going to be visible through the clouds.  Then I woke up Mark.

The shadowed parts of the moon glowed a kind of rusty orange.  Sometimes it glowed; other times it was a dull brown.  A shrinking sliver of silver at the base made the moon look like a smouldering ember on a silver plate, or like an Egyptian Barque of the Moon.  Then the clouds would cover the moon, and all that could be seen of the moon was a half-closed eye.  

The sliver of light on the moon shifted as the moon traveled through the Earth's umbra, and just before totality, the cloud cover rolled over the show and no further view of the eclipse was possible.  So we went back to bed.

On the writing front...

I've given myself a deadline of May 1 to write a 90,000 word novel.  I suppose if I think of it as nine 10,000 word stories it might actually happen.  In order for this to work, I'm going to have to pound out 1500 words a day for the next three moons.  The new moon is right after Valentines day.  The next full moon is March 2.  The secod new moon is St. Patricks, and the second full moon is March 31.  The third new moon is Tax Day, and the 3rd is May 1, the Ides of Spring.  When I announced my intention to Mark, he was ... pragmatic.

Of course, yesterday's word count was a whopping 350.  But I finally ditched Jerick's larger hand-axes for smaller throwing hatchets.  I guess I'll have different members of the Order of the Axe use different types of axes.

Oh. I got a rejection for a short story yesterday.  Yay.

Sunday Gym, Sticks, and Moons

Went to the gym Sunday (1/22) afternoon.  20 some minutes on the Nordic elliptical for about 220 calories.  13x(30+30+40)lbs deltoid fly.  13x(30+40+50)lbs pec fly.  13x(30+45+70)lbs lat pulldowns (different machine).  3x13 curls on the Roman Chair.  3x13x30lbs barbell curl.  3x13x30lbs triceps curls.  Some assorted free dumbell work.  

The gym folks said that I could use the Zumba Studio for bo-stick work, but between the support beams, hanging light fixures, and ceiling fans, it's not a good idea.  I had better control of the stick before my workout; surprisingly, I was more of a butter-fingers with it after (I thought I might be more limber, but I guess not).

On the writing front, The Family went on a hike Sunday, so I was able to get in about 700 words in of back-story.  I also found a Fantasy Map Generator on Saturday, which was cool, and made me think about the landscape--I'd had the characters in a fairly "grey" hilly landscape or else a generic fantasy city, and the map generator was a reminder that most early cities are going to be on the coast or along a major waterway.  The other "writing" project was figuring out the story's moons -- in a moment of insantity, I gave the world two, co-orbital moons.  Several hours of pen-and-envelope calculations later, I figured out that larger moon (which is like Earth's Moon), takes either about 30 days or 41 days to make an orbit, and the smaller moon takes either about 24 or 48 ... and they switch places high or low orbits every 79 or 106 days.

Of course as I'm writing this I'm looking at all the influences and thinking too many times, "I can't make it like X" or "Ooh, this is really derivative of Y."  I should just write it and then go back and edit it.  So... The next step is to spend a little more time exploring characters and places and then doing a kind of slow NaNoWriMo over the next eight weeks (eyes a calendar).