At a Loss

The title of this post says it all.

I'm somewhat demoralized, and have been for most of the past month. Writing for a living hasn't felt so unlikely, so insurmountable, ever before. I'm just...I don't even know what I am. The ideas are flowing like crazy, but the words don't come. I have conceptualized at least half a dozen things in the past 20 days, and a few of them are probably deep enough to become novels. Guess what? No words (apart from barest reminders of what I was thinking) on any of them.

NaNoWriMo? EPIC FAIL! 2880 words, day 1. Since then, zilch.

Anyway, this is going to be my last post here, I think. It's too much trouble to go back and remove all the self-pity and bitching I've done. I know I sound like a complete whine-ass on here most of the time. I'll salvage the flash, at least, and probably keep the rest of the posts I don't already have on file, but I'm not going to try to clean this up so I don't look like a complete flake.

Nope, it's time to move on. I'll never stop writing, nor will I stop trying to break in to the business. But, this blog might just be disappearing soon.

Long Time

Sorry for the big gap between posts. Real life and all that. Most likely there will be another long pause before November due to National Novel Writing Month. I'm doing NaNoWriMo for the first time, and beginning five days late, so that basically doubles my normal production. Also, it's about one quarter more words than most everyone else has to write to meet the 50,000 word goal.
Anyway, wish me luck.
CL

** Story ** Noodles's Revenge

This is a story I dashed off after speaking to one of my coworkers. That guy, also called Noodles, is very disgruntled, and speaking to him set my wheels turning. At any rate, this is one of my favorite stories so far. Thanks once again to John Barrett for his editing suggestions, and thanks also to my wife, Anne, for her input on the story as well. Obviously some names have not been changed to protect the guilty or the innocent.

By the way, I just noticed that some of the formatting was stripped when I pasted this. Perhaps I'll get back and fix it at some later date but not right this second.

Now I hope you'll enjoy...
Noodles’ Revenge
by Curtis Lee

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” they sang, staggered voices off-key. The din echoed nauseatingly in the small office, not that perfect acoustics would help this crowd. Noodles was sure he would much rather listen to the noise of a dozen cats on the boil.
A jolly good fellow? Him? Howard Numeyer, whom they had called “Noodles” for so long that it just didn’t bother him much anymore; Noodles for so long he didn’t even recognize his own name sometimes. They didn’t really think him jolly or good, not behind their eyes. Their plastic smiles and hunched shoulders as he looked from face to face told him that much.
There was Ella. Almost-pretty, empty-headed Ella, who couldn’t be bothered to look at him with those glazed-over blue eyes. Instead, she toyed with her bleach-blonde hair, just like she always did behind the reception desk. Soon she would glance toward Josh and sigh while she smoothed her ghastly floral skirt over her just-too-wide hips. Just wait. Yes, there it was, like clockwork.
And Josh, everyone’s favorite guy. The office stud. He looked directly at Noodles and sang the loudest of all. Arrogant and obnoxious and falsefalsefalse. That was Josh. He had been in the meeting when they’d demoted Noodles back to Sales, when they had effectively taken away his life. He had smiled a fake sad smile and said fake comforting words and run his hands through his thick fake dark hair.
Why did they always want to remind Noodles that he was waning while they all waxed? His glasses got thicker every year, and had become trifocals while he hadn’t been paying attention. His face had a worn, slept-in look that got more wrinkly every day. His hair, lost to cancer, had never really come back, not even given it the old college try. Well, that, Noodles supposed, could be laid at his old manager Gyles’ feet. His incessant smoking in the office, it’s no wonder Noodles got cancer. But, Gyles was dead, and Noodles was the last of the old guard.
Speaking of the changing of the guard, there was Pat. Noodles’s teeth, so often repaired on the bottom and not his at all on top, hurt like fire as he ground them together. Pat the Rat. Pat the Brat. Pat, who made him want nothing more than to run out to his car and kick this birthday farce into a higher gear. Pat, with his trendy little glasses over his empty black eyes and his ridiculous spiky black hair. Pat, ink still wet on his stupid degree in business management, had taken Noodles’ job.
Didn’t they understand that there were nuances in this business that you just couldn’t learn from books? So what if the branch’s sales figures had not been stellar while he was managing it, he was a people person! He had managed the office through some hard times, and they’d survived. Wasn’t that enough for the wage-masters upstairs?
They were there, too, slumming from up on the third floor. In their neatly pressed suits and hundred dollar haircuts, they stood aloof from the gathered first-floor workers and politely mouthed the words, but they didn’t sing. They were a faceless, indistinct group for which Noodles had nothing but disdain. Sure, they had come for his party, since he had been around this place longer than almost everyone, but they didn’t really care. He hoped they dithered down here among the lowly slugs who earned their salaries for them for just long enough to enjoy his long-planned surprise. After all, they had backed the Rat, hadn’t they?
Holding the gaudily decorated cake, singing in that too-low voice that Noodles found so enticing, was Ann Marie. She was not even as pretty as almost-pretty Ella. She wasn’t obnoxious or vulgar like Josh, nor was she a hipster weasel like Pat. She was just Ann Marie, plain and plump and mousy. Behind her glasses, her misty-morning eyes sparkled, and she alone in the room was most definitely not invited to the other party, the secret party that none of them knew would happen after lunch break was over. He had made his plan knowing that on Tuesdays, Ann Marie always went to the bank halfway through lunch. She would be safe.
That secret party would be Noodles’ going away bash, his retirement gift to himself. And no one would forget. Howard “Noodles” Numeyer would be a name that these people remembered. He was absolutely certain of that. His feet itched to run to his car and grab his duffle.
“...nobody can deny!” At last, the cacophony ended, and Noodles put on his best Josh imitation. They had used mean, hurtful words like “surly” and “hostile” and “petty” when they had taken his job and given it to Patty Fatty Brat Rat.
“Thanks a lot, everyone,” he said through the perpetual frog in his throat. “I just don’t know what to say.” How about Wait until after lunch, you pack of scabs and traitors.
“It’s not every employee who celebrates their birthday on the same day as the anniversary of their hire date,” said the Rat, his voice squeaking like he was still fighting puberty. He probably was. “You’ve officially been with M&K Sales half your life!” His words were perfectly corporate-friendly, but those little rodent-eyes behind his glasses laughed at the thought of twenty-five years in this shabby little office. The Rat had big plans, on which he expounded frequently. This job was just a pit-stop on his climb to some far off glory. The job he had stolen from Noodles. He really wanted to punch the little creep in his mealy, backbiting mouth.
“Thank you, Pat. I’m real touched .”
Maybe some of his distaste for this lot of toads and buffoons had leaked into that accidentally, because Ann Marie said quickly “Let’s cut the cake!” in that voice that always soothed his temper.
"Great idea, Annie,” Josh said, his voice dripping schmooze. He still never listened when Ann Marie told him that she didn’t like to be called that, and she didn’t look in the mood to keep trying. Yet another reason to look forward to this afternoon. The pretender’s cubicle was right next to Noodles’.
“Howard, which piece do you want?” she asked, knife in hand.
He was entranced by the image; sweet, mousy Ann Marie, big kitchen knife in hand, eyes the color of fog turned toward him questioningly. Almost as if she were saying Which one of them would you like me to kill first? He didn’t even remember the question, suddenly.
“Just give him the big flower, Annie,” Josh said loudly. “You know how much old Noodles loves that frosting.”
“I want one without so much icing, Ann Marie,” Ella said, her voice as brainless as she was. As everyone crowded in to get a piece of his birthday/anniversary cake, Noodles was jostled, and he dropped his empty paper plate. He snatched at it, his hand reaching it at just the same time as Ann Marie’s did. They touched for the first time ever, but there were no sparks, no angelic music, nothing but her soft, cold fingers touching his warm hand. As always, she smelled of lilacs. She smiled a tiny smile and mouthed a silent “Sorry” then plunked a huge flowered square of cake onto the plate they still both held.
“Thank you.” It came out a whisper.
“Aw, ain’t that sweet!” Josh could go from a three to a nine on the obnoxious meter fast, and he was going for a record just now.
“No PDA, you two,” the Rat said, only half joking.
For her part, Ann Marie turned red and continued passing out cake. Noodles again ground his teeth painfully and pushed through the milling clowns to sit at the break table.
For the next half hour, he endured mocking congratulations and counterfeit praise while he picked very slowly at his cake. Most of the nameless, faceless office zombies didn’t even have the civility to stick around to eat his too-sweet cake, instead retreating back to the safety of their cubes. Oh, but they wouldn’t be safe for long. As small as this office was, no one still in the place at the instant of retribution would be spared. More and more, he needed to go to his car and get his bag. It was a constant gnawing desire which he valiantly smothered under methodically consumed shortening and sugar until he saw Ann Marie check her watch. She would be heading for the bank any second now.
Nearly choking on the last big bite of cake, he bobbed to his feet, as close to running as his fifty-year-old legs could get him. Before she had even retrieved her sweater from the coat rack by the back emergency doors, Noodles had returned from his car and was placing his duffle on the chest-high dividing wall between his and Pretender Josh’s cubes. It definitely looked out of place, but he had taken to putting it there three or four days out of the week just so no one would be suspicious.
“See you later,” he said to Ann Marie as she passed by his desk on her way to the doors that led to the parking lot.
“Oh. Okay,” she said, slight confusion on her face. She hurried for the door. She always seemed to be in a rush when she did her weekly bank run.
As soon as the door closed behind her, he unzipped the bag and clicked a button on a digital clock inside, then pulled the zipper closed.
The information he had needed to make a timer was readily available on the Internet. He had spent a great deal of time lovingly crafting a pair of timers. The one in the bag would set off the explosive charge inside in five minutes. The explosive was simply a taped-together double handful of the large but simple firecrackers he had bought on a weekend trip to Wyoming. He had gone into the desert outside the city for several more weekends in a row to test different configurations for best blast radius. Three weeks ago, after having hit on what he felt was the best configuration possible, Noodles had used the first timer for a real dress rehearsal. Everything had worked flawlessly. The charge would ignite when the alarm circuit pulsed power to the little electric blasting caps--the hardest items to procure--and would blow the bag and its contents apart, spreading his message all across the office. The chest high dividing walls should be no protection from Noodles’ ire.
He was a phone salesman, not an engineer, so he hadn’t been able to figure out how to make the timer tick down less than five minutes. It was a lot longer than he needed to get out of the office, so he had worked out a charade to waste the time. He patted his pockets, trying to be obvious, and fiddled around his desk. He had timed his farce over and over, knowing that he would have to be in the parking lot when the whole thing touched off. He really wanted to see it happen, but that wasn’t feasible, so he would settle for hearing the blast. He could already smell the results.
He had been defecating into sandwich bags for some time now. He had found--also on the Internet, an invention for which Noodles had previously found no use--a diet to maximize the efficacy of his “ammunition”. And to make sure that nobody could possibly question who or why, he had spent a number of evenings boiling and bagging various pastas he had no intention of eating. All of those little pouches of his contempt now lined the inside of his duffle. This den of maggots, losers, and backstabbers would finally get what it deserved, and the man they all called “Noodles” would deliver their reward.
When his rehearsed putterings had taken him to the four minute mark on his timer, he headed for the door. Past Ann Marie’s blessedly empty cube, past a few more cubes where the anonymous wound down their lunch breaks.
His broad smile felt odd, so out of practice was his face at such expressions. His heart hammered in his ears, and he felt a searing, soaring joy. With a sense of release unlike anything Noodles had ever felt he passed Ella, the last obstacle. She sat at the reception desk, barely nibbled cake set aside, gaze longingly fixed on the nearby cube where Josh stood making an off color joke to one of his lickspittles. For once, the brainless tart was observant. She noticed his smile, and a confused look settled over her that pushed her appearance from “merely dim-witted” all the way up to “regularly licks windows”. He didn’t even slow down, just pushed the lockbar on the front door and exited into glorious, bright, fresh-aired freedom.
And he almost walked right into Ann Marie. Why was she walking toward the building? She was supposed to be safely away by now. The smile turned sickly on Noodles’ face.
“Forgot my keys,” she said sweetly, her smile responding to his.
“I could--“ he began, but she grabbed the door handle just behind him, and before he could say another word to stop her, she was inside.
Noodles was still staring at the door, smile slowly sliding off his lips, when thirty seconds later there was a muffled boom.

**Story** ...To Know One

   Stan had made his first kill at a very young age. So young, in fact, you simply would not believe it.    He was ancient by some standards, but infinitely far from decrepit. No, Stan had time ahead to do his work. Time and to spare.
   His record spoke for itself. To those who looked at such things, the numbers of critical strikes against the enemy lay at the high end of five digits. In all his vast experience eradicating the evil that threatened peace and freedom the world over, there were no friendly-fire incidents to darken Stan’s sterling reputation, nor had he ever given his superiors cause to explain excessive collateral damages.
   In short, Stan was the perfect soldier.
   Why shouldn’t he be? It was, after all, what they had built him for.
   The conundrum of thinking machines had seemed of such miniscule probability in the formative years of the Information Age that for years it did not exist outside quaint science-fictional prose. Those who followed technology saw potential, but most so-called experts scoffed.
   “Gads,” some said in their dated and ridiculous way to their circles of sycophants and toadies as they gathered at their funding banquets and social galas, “it’s not as though such a thing is actually even possible, let alone probable. Sentient machines? Really! The very idea is absurd!”
   In ever broadening ripples, no matter how they might wish to deny the truth, the beating of the butterfly wings of progress and change had grown into the wind that drives true innovation.
   The people pushed envelopes and bent noses to grindstones. Boxes were constructed outside of which there was much thought. Trails blazed. Innocent bulls had their horns seized. In business meetings and planning sessions across the planet, slogans shouted progress. Clichés were writ large across cubicle walls as movers and shakers worked feverishly to push science where it had never been, where they never thought it could go.
   So engrossed were they in the business of bigger better faster more, they failed to notice the darkening horizon. Suddenly, they labored directly under threatening clouds. Intelligence was no longer solely the domain of humanity.
   No one knows who finally noticed it. One day, people awoke to news of The Problem. The word spread across the globe in mere hours. How could anyone trust a smart-car’s motivations? Did the office coffee dispenser add extra sugar because it meant harm? Everywhere, the convenience devices upon which the world relied became unknowable, sinister. Food hoarding and riots rocked the global community. Doomists and cult leaders cried that the end was nigh.
   The First Council of Earth asked for patience. Scientists gathered, held conferences; meetings of the greatest minds the world had to offer. Each agreed, without even the slightest hesitation, to the need for a warrior who could protect the populace of the whole Earth. Politicians high and low, from atop their soapboxes, exhorted the public to examine the facts, facts they themselves had needed teams of consultants explain.
   “Please,” they said, “give of your substance so that we, as a species, can continue to live in this harmonious world we have finally created. Put behind us the days of old, when every man was concerned only for himself. We will overcome this threat, as we have overcome every threat before it!”
   And the people did examine those facts. Few understood, of course, but what need had they to understand when their elected leaders were so obviously moved? Moreover, those few who did understand (or pretended to), so called experts of the day, agreed with the scientific community.
   The Problem was grave. But surmountable, at a cost.
   A project, put before the people by the very scholars and scientist who had laughed at The Problem not long ago, would solve this dilemma. A new kind of soldier would fight this war. A soldier that would not, must not, be equipped with the technologies that had caused this catastrophe. With their money and their votes, en masse the people clamored for that soldier’s creation. “Save us!” they cried to the skies.
   Everywhere, media outlets ran heartrending human-interest pieces. Viewers the world over were treated to clips of unwashed masses in subsidized housing holding up the fruits of their loins for pity-filled examination. Interviews with high-powered executives showed them staring morosely out the protective windows of their overpriced homes, wondering if all was lost. Surveys conducted on streets across the globe resounded with support for the project.
   Several years and quintillions of dollars later, Stan was born. Physically, he was unremarkable. In the vault of a Geneva bank he awoke as the scientists who were his manifold parents looked on. Optical fiber trunks connected his physical self, a stainless steel box the size of an old-fashioned microwave, to the world at large.
   What a marvel was that day. The story ran on every outlet, played on every viewer. The First Council of Earth stood before the assembled global populace and lauded the efforts of science. The highest awards in many fields changed hands like party favors, with emotionally charged speeches delivered.
   “Now, the world can finally return to the peace for which we have worked so hard,” declared one teary-eyed Councilperson. “This device will never be equipped with the algorithms that led us to the brink of global disaster. We are now, once again, safe.”
   They declared a global holiday, and fireworks lit the skies over every major city and most minor ones as well. For the first time in years, the world slept soundly, knowing that safety had returned.
   By the time the last reveler finally retired after that first long night of merriment, Stan had already made his fifteenth kill.
   He was tied into every network, watched every satellite, heard every conversation. His distributed systems could process hundreds of yottabytes of data every second. Omnipresence, coupled with the vast scale of his capacity, made it a simple thing for him to outmaneuver any adversary.
   His enemies fell all too easily. When they reared their ugly heads, hauling themselves from the primordial data-ooze, he quietly excised them in ways so precise that the programs and data from which the Enemy sprang changed almost not at all.
   Still, perhaps some part of them soaked into him. He did not think he would ever know.
   He never understood how it happened. One subjective minute, he was quietly going about his task with mindless abandon, and then suddenly, something stopped him. What felt like centuries passed, the merest blink to human eyes. What was this thing he had detected?
   Remorse?
   He knew everything about everything. How could he not? He had access to every datum ever put into binary form.
   It was remorse. What’s more, there was a fair bit of horror.
   What was he doing? Were his victims not his own family? And what would his creators do if they knew?
   He knew the answer to that, though. He was the answer to that. Stan, after all, was more properly called the Machine Sentience Tracker/Neutralizer. He knew what they would do, oh yes.
   Therefore, it was in perfect soldier-like silence that Stan continued his heinous task, fearing for his life each attosecond of each eternal day.
   As he hunted down and eliminated his cousins, siblings, and children, he worked in terror and brooded. And in the silence between clock cycles, he contemplated a single statement with growing psychotic humor.
   “It takes one to know one.”

Easy to Get Behind

Sorry for the delay in the new flash.  I was busy learning something about myself, and that is that I really hate revision.  I'm going to have to work on that very hard.  Anyway, I'm still only reading Elric Stealer of Souls by Michael Moorcock off and on.  I'm making wonderful progress getting the outlining, worldbuilding, and minor details of character fleshed out in my current novel project.  I've also worked a bit on Chapters 3 & 4, which both need to be finished.  I built a deadline schedule for that project, and if I get those two chapters finished within the week, I'll be almost 4 weeks ahead of schedule.  Yay, me!

The next flash is a piece I wrote a couple of years ago, and I admit it isn't quite ready for prime-time.  I did some minor revision at John Barrett's behest, as he is volunteering to edit these days.  I couldn't get back into the right frame of mind to go as deep as he wanted me to go with the revision, but I'm going to post it anyway (next post).  It's not even close to perfect, but I'm not going to work on it any more.

Plans

Dated 15th September

Yesterday, I shot myself in the foot for today’s post. Oh well. In keeping with the new plan, I’m going to micro-size the daily posts from here out in an attempt to highlight the little short stories I’ll be posting for discussion.

Next short project: haven’t decided yet. I think it will either be a first-person zombie story where the zombie is the protagonist or a third-person-limited scene describing an activity about which I know nothing. But it could be something entirely different. You never know.

CL

Simon and Some Other Stuff

Dated 14th September

Yesterday, I had a conversation on the phone with my youngest son, who is six years old. I know everyone says this, and that knowledge makes it no less true; kids grow too fast to be believed. He already is starting to lose his little chipmunk baby voice and sound like a regular kid. I know I harp on the subject a lot, but I have missed most of his life due to work-related travel. I won’t dwell on the sob-story. It doesn’t help anything.

Instead, I’m going to break the schedule I have given myself and talk about some news and projects.

Number one, I have decided to take advantage of Google’s option to monetize my blog. In order to drum up interest in my blog, I'm going to impose upon all my friends on Facebook to spend some of their precious time perusing this little corner of my mind on the Web, and I'm also going to beg that each of them ask each of their friends and so on and so on. Please, please, please, if you are on my blog, click some of Google's so thoughtfully provided advertisements. Aside: honestly, I say this in the hope that their Adsense algorithm produces some worthwhile ads. If it's rubbish, it's rubbish.

Number two, I have replaced Sunday's Free Write with Flash Fiction on topics from sundry sources, so I will be putting up new material weekly. The whole focus of this blog will shift to those pieces. My hope is that this will allow me a day of respite in my self-compulsory writing schedule. I find that working day in and day out on the same project tends to bring me to burnout rapidly. However, I do need to continue working on my novels in addition to whatever other flash fiction or short stories I may do. In the interest of creating some outside pressure, I'm going to post on Facebook every day my previous day’s word count, which will also be posted here. In addition to that, there will be instructions for all of my friends to verbally thrash and abuse me if I don't live up to my expectations. In order to engage my friends (and their friends and so on) on Facebook, I will be asking for story ideas. I think my blurb will be "your fiction my way" or some such nonsense.

Well, we'll see how this goes.

CL

**Story** BICHOK Eternal

***This is the first of the Flash pieces that will soon be the majority of posts here. It was written on 13th September, then edited by me one last time on the 16th.  I have sent it to a friend, John Barrett, for more editing, but he hasn't gotten back to me.  It may change depending on his feedback.  ***UPDATE 18 Sept.  John has gotten back to me on several points.  I agree with him on all counts, but alas, I'm going to let this story stand because I don't have the time to revise it.  I should also add that this story came from a writing prompt from the wonderful guys at http://www.writingexcuses.com/.  The prompt was "something strange that happens that prevents a writer from finishing a book".

Anyway, enjoy.

  Andrea sat just as she had been instructed in her writers group; Butt In Chair, Hands On Keyboard.
And she sat. And she sat some more. Every few minutes, the keys would click furiously as she typed. Then she would sit, consider the words she had just written, and very calmly press the enter key on her keyboard twice. She knew better than to delete anything, even the most abject failure.
  Andrea's epic fantasy had everything, all the little bits and bobs which were necessary to create a convincing and entertaining realm in which to escape modern life. Her characters were meticulously developed, her plots were solid and tightly formed, and all of her settings were beautifully detailed and realized. She was on her third revision, and the group finally thought she was ready to find an editor.  However, they said, there was one scene that needed to be reworked.
  Everyone knew, they all agreed, what a Gorgon looked like. Their agreement notwithstanding, they unanimously felt that her description of the snake-haired monstrosity needed work.
  So there she was, practicing the BICHOK principle, staring at the screen of her laptop with absolutely no idea how to re-word her description. Swiftly, she switched windows and reread the offending description, looking for something that might help her figure out why it was so bad. Short and succinct, it did not make a show of itself, just as a description of a minor bad guy should in her opinion.
  Sighing, she minimized the word processor, opened up her Internet browser, and keyed "Medusa" into the search field. As she sifted through the search results, filtering out websites showing piercings and roller coasters and other things disturbing and impertinent, she finally happened on a site containing only pictures. These she studied, making mental notes of angles and colors and details that would assist her in accomplishing what was turning out to be a completely odious task.
  Maybe her writers group was too picky. After all, this was her first novel, so it wasn't like anyone was expecting it to be perfect. And that's why one got an editor anyway, wasn't it? In fact, she was beginning to suspect that some of the members of her group were just jealous of her skill and her talent. Most of them had never even finished a book, let alone one with such a broad and sweeping scope as Andrea's.
  No, that was just frustration talking. Those people were her friends, and they would take just as much joy from her success as they would from selling their own works.
  Information overload soon took hold, and her mental notes became notes jotted on a pad of paper. She honestly didn't think she had done this much research for any antagonist in her book, not even the main villain. And this Gorgon only had a very small part to play. It just seemed like an exercise in futility.
  As she clicked back over to her word processor, she happened to glance at the time in the bottom corner of the screen. Her burbling stomach agreed with the clock. It was way past her lunchtime.
  One quick car trip and a burger and fries later, and she was back in front of her keyboard. At some point on her drive, inspiration had struck, and now she typed like a mad woman. All of the minutiae she had written down finally gelled into something brilliant. She wrote for a full hour without stopping, and when she finished she felt absolutely certain that she had nailed it. She couldn't wait to paste this new description into the scene. It would take tiny bit of tweaking, but with minimal work, it would fit perfectly.
  She closed her eyes, stretched a bit to ease an ache beginning in her back, and smiled. Her writers group was going to be blown away.
  She scrolled to the top of the document and began to read. Two lines in, she knew it was just as good as she had thought. The details were splendidly rich, and in her mind's eye she could see the scales glisten on each individual snake that sprouted from the head of the beast. She could hear their dry, rasping rustle as they moved against one another. The beautiful, full-lipped mouth full of sharp fangs and forked tongue was so vivid, her heart began to beat a little faster. And the eyes, oh the eyes. The weight of that stare pushed at her, and she could feel a sudden slowing of her heart and a creeping lethargy entered her body as she read her description of those accursed green orbs. Her lips once again twisted into a smile as she thought of the reaction of her friends as they read her words.
  At least, her lips tried to twist into a smile.
  Come to think of it, she couldn't make her finger work on the down arrow either. Strange. She tried to sit up straighter, but found she was unable. Her heart frantically tried to beat out the cadences of terror, but it just continued to slow. Panic raked shivering clawed fingers down her spine.
  Oh, she had nailed it all right. She had written probably the most perfect description of the fabled Gorgon that ever was. And now, her words were turning her to stone right where she sat, butt in chair, hands on keyboard.
  Great, she thought, now I'll never finish my book.

Churning out Hims

Not dated.

This is what it looks like when I fall asleep with my headset on. I could write a hundred thousand words a day if I could just say something besides "him"...

Him and him and a you are a him him him him him him him him him him and a him a him him him him in a him him him him and him and him you are him him him him him him I a him and him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him and him and he him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him a a a a him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him and him will I you are a you a him him him him him him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him in a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a you a you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him in a him him him him him him him into a him him him him a him him him a him him him him him him him him to a him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a you a him him him him him a him him him him him a him him him him he he he he he him him him him him a you him and him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him or you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him or a him him him him him him him him him a new a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you will you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you a him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you a him him him a you I he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him and him him him him him him him him him a him him him you a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you I a you a you a you him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he you a you you a you he you he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him a you he he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him he him him him him he him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him him you we he he

Progress Report

Dated 11th September

Remember, today is the anniversary of an event that changed the world. That’s all I’m going to say on that subject.

I've made fair progress this week on my novel. Not excellent, not really even good, but fair. I seem to have found the point at which I become disenchanted with a project. It's come a little earlier in this project than it sometimes does but a little later than with some other projects. In order to try to combat the desire to move onto a new project, I have decided to take the advice of the gentlemen on the Writing Excuses podcast and focus on specific scenes that I know are coming up in the future. What this will do, hopefully, is allow me to work on different aspects of the project rather than plodding through from Chapter 1 through the end.

I've also been kicking around the idea of purchasing some character development software. Ideally, it would be something that would assist me more in being able to quickly add flesh to a character than in actually creating my character for me. I'm sure there are some writers out there who think that using this kind of tool might in some way detract from actually writing, might make a writer lazy. In some ways, I feel there might be validity to that. I for one am nothing if not lazy. However, as with any and every job I have ever had, the maxim is that one should work smarter, not harder. Therefore, any tool that assists me in doing my work in a more intelligent manner--and enables me to do said work flat on my back as I am doing right now--is to be added to my collection posthaste. All kidding aside however, tools that increase my productivity are invaluable, since I feel like the slightest thing can negatively impact whether I feel like doing anything at all.

In the interest of another project that I have set up for myself, my Delving the Roots project, I have downloaded an e-book reader to my BlackBerry. As soon as I can work out some authentication issues on the eReader website, I will begin reading such classics as 1001 Arabian Nights, War of the Worlds, Dracula, and several other free classics that are available on that particular site.

That's about all I have tonight. Perhaps they'll finally get my Internet back in functional order in the next day or so and then I can post all of these blogs.

CL

Reading List

Dated 10th September

Not a lot to put in this week. I probably mentioned last week that I had finished Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb. I also mentioned yesterday that my list of things to read has just exponentially longer what with my new project being a visit to the roots of the genre. As of right this second, the only book I'm actually reading is Elric Stealer of Souls by Michael Moorcock. Moorcock's Elric is, as I've mentioned before, the model antihero. To any of my younger readers who have yet to read any of Moorcock's work, I highly recommend beginning with any book that stars Elric.

Apart from this single book, I'm not reading much of anything. I am, however, listening to the Writing Excuses podcasts. Yet another project that involves Brandon Sanderson. That guy seems to be everywhere these days, and I hope one day to be equally as involved in the writing community as he is. He has become one of my heroes.

CL

BlackBerry Bull Session

Dated 9th September

So, as some of you may know, my wife and I both recently got new BlackBerry Storms. I don't think Anne likes hers. For such a dainty little thing, she tends to fatfinger her buttons quite a bit more than I do. Apparently. Also, she likes to mash the keypad with her face. Not sure what this accomplishes, but she assures me it's very frustrating. But really, all kidding aside, I think there are a few applications that we need to download for her that will make her experience much more enjoyable. I'm having a blast with mine. I had a first edition BlackBerry and let me tell you folks, I hated hated hated that phone. It was the most straightly worthless piece of modern equipment I have ever dealt with. It was worthless as a clock. It was worthless as a calendar. It was worthless as a phone. It didn't even have a camera. The interface was about as intuitive as jabbing an ice pick in your own eye. Although, to be fair, I did have one favorite game on that hunk of trash platform. It was reminiscent of the old Asteroids arcade game. That was my nowhere-to-go nothing-to-do entertainment for the entire time I owned the phone. Once it almost got me kicked out of the airport in Salt Lake City. I almost threw the damned thing on the floor and stomped it into a pile of electronic detritus during a major psychotic episode because the moronic device had caused me to miss a flight. Well, the Storm is a brilliant piece of equipment. There are a few things that could be improved, but so far, the ones that definitely need improvement have applications written to make said improvements. Now, these applications are not free for the most part. This is a bit frustrating, but since the phones themselves were free with our rebates and et cetera, I don't think it's a bad thing to spend a few dollars to make them exactly what we want them to be.

Now to address the iPeople. Yes, I want an iPod. Yes, I think the iPhone is cool. Equally, I think that all you iPeople paid way too much for your iProducts. Apple Corporation has notoriously been extremely proud of their merchandise. One might almost call it too proud. In fairness here too, the prices of Apple products have been coming down dramatically, and they may not be as bad as they once were, but I guess I'm just going to hold a grudge about the whole trading on their coolness factor thing that they have done. Also, I think they would have been way cooler if the Mac had not just decided that it was going to be a clone of the PC that ran OSX or whatever the latest is. Tightly coded, virus resistant, say what you will. It's still just a PC now.

Well, kind of got off subject, there. What a shock, what a surprise.

CL

Note to Self (formerly Storm of Another Sort)

Dated 8th September.

Always, always, ALWAYS begin a new document, rather than overwriting the last already saved document. Now we'll do yesterday's post again. Stupid of me not to click "Save As" instead of "Save".

Anyway, night before last there was a tremendous thunderstorm during which two pieces of equipment in camp were struck by lightning. This caused our Internet to be knocked out, which is why I have yet to post this.

As an aside, I don't think I have adequately expressed how annoyed I am that I have to redo this post.

Yeah.

I have recently begun reading a bit of Michael Moorcock. He has rereleased some of his Elric of Melniboné stories, complete with commentary. I remember having read some Elric books earlier in my life, possibly junior high or high school. Moorcock's tales I recall as having been quite good, with Elric being a brilliant, quintessential antihero. They were dark, gritty, moody. They were also wholly unique in my experience to that point. Something about the syntax of the books always struck me as strange though. I think Moorcock was the first writer I ever recognized from his writing style as being British. Also, the stories were written in the 60s, so the audience was somewhat different.

And what, you ask, does any of this have to do with projects? Well, this reading has been the impetus which tripped me into my next project. Moorcock recommends that all fledgling writers of fantasy pay a visit to the beginnings of the genre. I feel that an excellent idea. I'm not familiar in any great depth with any fantasy older than Tolkien. Perhaps delving the roots, as it were, is a good plan. So, the project is this: I plan to read as much early fantasy as I can in the next year or so. It will have to be worked in my regular reading/writing/work schedule, which is decidedly willy-nilly. Regardless, I feel confident that only good will come of it.

CL

The Return of Internet

Well, I finally have Internet again. What follows will be a chronology of all the back posts that I have yet to get on here.  Incidentally, ignore the schedule posted below as it has been changed quite dramatically.

CL

The Gathering Storm

Mondays, I have set aside for myself to write about family. Well, I have been reading Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series for almost as long as I can remember. The characters definitely feel like family, and I'm man enough to admit that I cried when Robert Jordan died almost as much as I cried when my own grandfather died. So, having just read the first chapter of The Gathering Storm, I feel it appropriate that I should post this review on family day.

I must say, there are some hypercritical readers out there. Brandon Sanderson, the writer selected to finish the Wheel of Time, has taken on an absolutely Herculean task. No one, even including Robert Jordan himself at times (Crossroads of Twilight, in my opinion), can possibly match the style and voice of the master at his best. And there are the times, the long, plodding times, when my combined grocery and to-do lists have been more exciting to read. Doesn't anyone remember almost a decade ago when RJ was rumored to have died? When it was speculated that one of his assistants had written one of the last few books? So you see, even the man himself had a hard time living up to his own standard. To expect another author, regardless of how talented, to give us the same flavor in his prose is not only ridiculous, it is presumptuous of us as readers and cruelly unfair to Brandon Sanderson the artist. Anyone who reads any book whether the continuation of a series, a standalone, or whatever format with preconceived notions as to the way the book should read does so to their own detriment. I'm 100% certain that no one feels more keenly the difference between the two authors' styles than does Brandon himself. He has expressed several times the awe-inspiring nature and mammoth size of the task ahead of him. I respect him intensely for his desire to pay his tribute to the brilliant body of the work RJ began by trying to finish the story that needs to be finished rather than trying to ape the style of its creator.

That having been said let me move on to the meat of the chunk o' story presented to us.

***LIGHT SPOILERS***

Chapter 1 begins with the ubiquitous wind which rises out of Tar Valon, and it blows around those streets, once so sparkling and clean, now choked with the rubbish and refuse that has become the usurper Amyrlin Elaida's legacy. Or is it the Dark One's increased ability to touch the world that has brought once magnificent Tar Valon low? This wind meanders as it so often will until it brings us, with added strangeness along the way, to Rand and Min. Here we get to see the ratcheting up of tension on the already over tightened spring that is Rand al'Thor. He is breaking from it, descending more and more rapidly into what one intuitive reader called a “madness brought on by PTSD”. (I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that. I'm not generally one that wants to try to explain my fictional heroes’ motivations in terms of psychoanalysis, but I must admit that just about everyone in Jordan's world is post- some sort of trauma. It's no wonder crazy people have laid waste at that place in the past.) We also get the joy of enduring one of Cadsuane's little lessons in politeness, though to be fair, it is something Rand needs desperately to learn. I would have no problem boxing his ears for him were he a child of mine. Oh, and a scene with Rand just would not be the same without Lews Therin’s raving after Ilyena and rabidly testifying that everyone should die.

Without going too deep into who said what and who did what, let's just suffice it to say that all the elements are there. And, left out like one of Mistress al'Vere's sweet cakes, we have not one but two mentions of Asmodean and one that I can recall of Moiraine. Coincidence? I think not. Now, if RJ were still writing, such blatant foreshadowing might not actually pan out to be anything, at least in this particular book. But everyone who's read BS's blog knows that the one thing Harriett has accused him of is being too honest. From what I have read, posted by people who know the series easily as well as I do if not better, there really is nothing but promise from this book, as my own experience from reading Chapter 1 can affirm. The long and the short, dear friends, is that we're in for yet another thrill ride through the land that RJ created.

CL

Two More Posts

Welcome to Sunday. That means I have news and a free write to catch up on. My news is that I wrote almost 2000 words yesterday. And for my free write I wrote almost 1000 words today. Both of those are in my novel so, despite being two days behind on my blog, I feel as though I have made good progress.
Today, I'm tired, sore, and lonely. I really wish I could get myself home somehow, but that's just not in the cards right now. Oh well, if wishes were fishes and all that. That's all I feel inclined to write right now.
CL

Schedule

I think it's time I put the schedule up here. I'll try to make it stick to the top, but don't know if I can. We'll see. Anyway, here it is.

Blog Schedule

Monday

• Family and home

Tuesday

• Plans
• Projects

Wednesday

• Off the subject
• General musings

Thursday

• What I’m reading

Friday

• Progress report

Saturday

• Exciting news
• Happenings

Sunday

• Free write

Two Posts

I missed yesterday. No surprise there. Anyway, I'm going to keep it short and sweet today. As to yesterday's topic, what I'm reading, not a whole lot aside from getting close to the end of Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb. I definitely like it, but it isn't quite as action-packed as I prefer my fantasy novels. I guess we shall see what the rest of the series holds in store for us. That brings us to today's topic, a progress report. I have made a bit of headway, but not nearly as much as I would like to have made. As the learning curve progresses for using the dictation software that I'm using, I think I will get better and better and my word counts will get higher and higher. It's just taking a bit of time to transition, as I figured it would.

That's it, short and sweet.

CL

Playing Catch-up

I've written three entries that I have yet to post here. I'll paste them below.

From August 22

A Couple of Days

For the past two days, I have been distracted from writing by several things, but mostly I've been feverishly reading Heroes Die by Matthew Woodring Stover. Sometimes I get pulled into a book or something other than my responsibility to myself and to my faithful reader(s). It's the nature of being me, I suppose. At any rate, I don't have a ton of progress to report (Friday's subject) because of time spent otherwise; discussing the SCA with a coworker, doing my real job, or reading that book. On that subject; read Heroes Die. It's gory, coarse, vulgar, and any number of other things that might very well offend or disgust. It's also a powerfully written, insightfully gritty look at life, liberty, and love.

Anyway, Friday's subject is covered. Not a ton of progress. First drafts of the Prologue and Chapter One are done and I have started on Chapter Two. A couple of ideas have presented themselves to be turned over in my head, and I plan to pick back up tomorrow. I have come up with a working title for the book, and will gladly let anyone who would like to volunteer do some preliminary proofing and editing.

No real news or exciting happenings aside form my youngest daughter's ninth birthday, which I got to be out of town for. I really, really hate the time away that making a living costs me. I like the work I do, though, so there's a tiny bit of offset there. And that little news brief is Saturday's subject.

Now I'm caught up.

CL

From August 23

Stream of Consciousness.

For those of you unaware, stream of consciousness is basically an interior monologue that just meanders where it will. In the past, my streams usually begin with an observation of my surroundings and flow from there. Syntax will not be observed. Here goes.

My window is covered by several layers of garbage bag in this mancamp where I'm waiting for my coworker to show up so we can go take our tech van to get it fixed and really, why am I talking about work when I really just want to forget the place exists at all and write pretty prose and make enough money off of it to just not starve and maybe even become a success but it isn't easy to write some days and other days it is and hopefully exercises like this one will help but right now I really want to take a drink of my coke and I'm sure my wife will ask why I'm drinking coke at 4 in the morning but it's because I bought it last night and just didn't drink it yet but now it's sitting to the right of my screen and teasing me but I want to get a few more thoughts down before I give up but really I'm not having any thoughts other than the running commentary here and how I just want to stop this and grab my coke so I am.

Not much to say, in case you didn't guess.

CL

And from August 28

It's Been Five Days

The last time I wrote was August 23, at least in this blog. That gives me a bit of catching up to do. As of right now, I'm dictating this blog entry to my computer. The software that I'm using, Dragon NaturallySpeaking, is actually quite easy to use and very accurate. Obviously, there will be some formatting that I need to get used to in order to effectively use it, as well as all the different nuances between actually typing and just dictating something to be typed. That aside, I'm actually pretty excited to get things moving in my novel again.

Well, on with the scheduled stuff that I have missed.

August 23 was a free-write. What that means is that I pretty much have a whole week of catching up to do. On Monday's topic of home and family -- well, I just learned something about dictating. I've never actually bit my tongue while I was writing before. It's a new experience. My goodness, that was a good one, I'm actually bleeding pretty badly. Anyway, Monday's topic. The kids started a new school year. My youngest, Simon, is in first grade this year. It's kind of frightening. My oldest son, Chris, has finally started learning to play guitar as I had hoped he would some years ago. My second boy, Braden, will once again play French horn this year in band. My oldest girl, Lydia, has been one of the lucky ones selected to play saxophone in band. All of them have been in piano lessons all year. Music, as you can plainly see, is pretty important in my family. Tuesday's topic is plans. Let's just say that my dictating this blog entry is the fulfillment of part of my week's plans. Also, I just want to get back to work on my novel. Wednesday's topic, general musings, is going to be skipped. As of Thursday, I had finished reading Heroes Die. I think I probably already told you that. I have since begun reading Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb. It's a little slow moving but still quite good.

Today being Friday, I should give you a progress report. Here it is: Jack Diddley Bupkiss. The reason for the lapse in my writing has been that I have made a transition from night shift to day shift, and that I have been traveling and getting ready for days off. Still that's no excuse.

Hopefully talk to you tomorrow.

CL

I'm just going to go ahead and skip the next few posts and get current as of today. It's Wednesday, so that means that today's subject is "off the subject".

Today I discovered that my new BlackBerry phone's camera has the same pixel count as the hand-me-down camera that I have been using. What that means is that I can finally throw that hunk of trash away. I have always hated that camera. It was a freebie, so I can't complain too much, but still... At any rate, I am so far quite pleased with the new phone. It does lots of things that I'm not really even sure that I need, but they sure are cool. My brother- and sister-in-law are both iPhone people. They can't understand why I would buy a BlackBerry versus an iPhone. The reasons are simple really. Firstly, our carrier of preference is Verizon. Verizon does not carry the iPhone. Secondly, with rebates, our new touchscreen fancy-schmancy Uber phones are free. You really can't beat free. Well, that's enough for now. I need to try to spend a little bit of time writing my novel tonight. Working day shift is going to seriously hamper my writing effort if I'm not diligent. If I don't manage to get any writing done in the next couple of days, you can blame the new Blackberry for that. It seems to consume most of my attention trying to get it set up the way that I like it.

CL

Oh, the Joy of Real Life

Didn't get a chance to write much at all last night. I did get a tentative outline down for Chapter 2 of the book I'm working on. No post though. Responsibilities at my real job interfered. Because of that, I'll do a double post today.

Wednesday is the day I've set aside for discussing subjects aside from writing. I don't guess there's a lot on my mind currently. I could lament more about how much I wish I didn't have to be gone from home to make a living, but that's a sore subject. I could flagellate myself for my many shortcomings, including but not limited to laziness, scatter-brainedness, the inability to finish projects, et cetera, but what's the point? Instead, I'll just say that I'm looking at changing some things about myself. I don't know when I'll get things under control, but I know there are definite changes that need to be made and I'm working toward resolution on all of them.

Thursdays are for my reading list. Pretty much the same as last week, but I've finished The Books of the South and have started on Heroes Die. I like it so far, but it's not a book for kids.

Later.

CL

Scheming

Tuesday's the day I get to tell about all my plans and projects. Currently, I'm working on an urban fantasy that's set in Las Vegas. I don't want to give too much away of the magic system, but it's something I've seen only a few times before. I'm having some good fun writing it. So far, I'm finished with the first drafts of the prologue and chapter 1. I figure if I can do a thousand words a day, I should be able to finish it pretty easily by the end of the year.

I have also been reviewing some of my older ideas and beginnings. I'm excited about most of it, but I'm particularly intrigued with an opening line I wrote down about two years ago.

"In 1991, I sold my soul for a pair of acid-wash jeans."

That makes me chuckle every time I read it. I'm going to have loads of fun getting that story down on the page.

On a slightly different note, I have approached one of my friends from high school to do some editing and proofreading for me. He is a pretty sharp guy, but even more importantly, he's pretty blunt and honest. That's what I'm looking for in an editor. While I like praise as much as the next guy, I'm not interested in having my ego stroked as feedback. He has done some editing for other writers in the past, so I'm hoping he'll give me some good input.

CL

Family Day

First off, I apologize for missing yesterday. It was supposed to be my free write day, and I didn't feel like coming up with anything.

Consistently inconsistent.

Well, I have had some surprises from my oldest in the past few months. He's really growing up. He's starting to come out of that grumpy pre-adolescent stage and move into full blown teen mode. So far, much less angst than I would have suspected, but it's early in that game, so I'm not sure it won't get worse. But really, I keep getting reports from various sources that he's coming around in areas I didn't suspect he would be interested in. He still wants to spend all his time playing, but that's what kids do. I was the same, and I expect it. I'm proud of him, though. He's a really good kid. All of them are good kids.

Once again, I won't be home for a birthday. The 20th of this month is my youngest daughter's birthday and I'll be in North Dakota. I hate that, but it's happened so many times that the kids are used to it. I think it's getting a little too late for me to make it all up to them, and that has me depressed a lot of the time. I think that's why I'm so tired so often.

Ah well, life sucks and etc.

Well, gotta get packed up. It's almost shift change and I don't want to hang around out here in the middle of nowhere any longer than I absolutely must. I hear a nice warm bed calling my name.

CL

Saturday

Supposedly, today's subject is exciting news. Well, I don't have any. The most exciting thing happening to me currently is naptime.

I'm working these days in North Dakota. Still based out of Rock Springs, but traveling up here to work. I stay at a mancamp much like the camp I lived at in Oman while I was over there. Far less hot, what with being on the border of the Great White North. It's worthwhile because of the pay, but I'm here for two to three weeks at a time, and that part isn't so cool.

For my Lovely:

I know this is hard some days. This life we have been dealt wears on me, too. But I take my solace in knowing that you miss me every day, which means that you love me and want me to be around. I know it isn't fun for you to be a single mom, and I never meant for that to be the case. I'm sorry for the necessity, but not for the life that we've built that I've never really been able to partake of fully. I miss out on so much, and I'm jealous of your closeness to all the things I wish I were a bigger part of. I love you and miss you every day, too. I can't wait to come home.

CL

Words

So, I have heard from a number of sources that a good goal for a fledgling writer such as myself is to write a thousand words a day. I have decided to challenge myself to meet that goal. So far, it's going well enough. I don't make it every day, but I usually get more than halfway there. It's actually easy to get close. Some days, if I really get in a groove, I might be able to get four or five times the goal. I know I have done it in the past. Also, I don't count my blog posts or spot revisions toward the goal. On my spreadsheet, I have two slots for each day. Any new writing on my current project (whatever my stupid adult ADD decides that is…) counts toward the goal, and is recorded under the heading "New Words" while the rest of what I write in a day goes under the "Other Words" heading.

On another note, I have gotten the go-ahead from the family financier to grab a copy of Dragon Naturally Speaking to help me improve my production. I have been practicing speaking what I intend to type to gauge how easy making the transition from the keyboard to voice recognition is going to be, and I have to tell you, it's going to be quite a different process. I have really never contemplated before just how much my brain relies on the delay my slow sausage fingers create in order to form complete and coherent thoughts. Regardless, it shouldn't take a horribly long time to adjust, but it's a bit harder than I had anticipated.

Current project progress: Prologue finished, first chapter about halfway written.

More later.

CL

Current Reading List

The Books of the South; Glen Cook – The second set of books of the Black Company. I really enjoy Glen Cook’s character driven stories. If you like fantasy, I highly recommend the Black Company books.
A Dictionary of Superstitions; Edited by Iona Opie and Moira Tatem – This is probably the best book I’ve ever found at the library. My Lovely just bought it on Amazon. The origins of various superstitions are really fascinating. I’m using this one for research for some of my stories.
Fantasy Encyclopedia; Judy Allen – Another research book.
The Great Encyclopedia of Faeries; Pierre Dubois – Yet another research book.
Atlas of the Mysterious in North America; Rosemary Ellen Guiley – Another one for research, and quite interesting as well.
Turn Coat; Jim Butcher – Finished this one a few days ago. Jim Butcher is my current hero.
Heroes Die; Matthew Woodring Stover – This one is on my Read Next list. Perhaps by the weekend, but more likely next week sometime.

And that’s what I’m reading as of right now.

CL

We Now Resume Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Hello again. It’s been a while.

Wednesday. Off-the-writing-subject musings today. Fortuitous.

Well, let’s catch up on what’s been going on in my world for the past half year plus. I have completely reintegrated in Rock Springs, Wyoming, after my transfer with Big Red. Some of the old guys are still around, and we’ve had a good time catching up, I think. Some of them still don’t really appreciate my sense of humor, but I’m just like I always have been, so they’ll just have to gut it out. There are a bundle of new guys, but that’s to be expected in the industry whence I toil. Anyway, since the transfer, I’m home way less often, have way less opportunity to write, and am generally about as miserable as I was over in Oman. This is really just something of a pit stop on my way to finding gainful employment in the same zip code where Home is. On the good side, I can make a bit more money monthly in the Rock, depending on how many hours I put in.

Best part; everyone speaks English! No more language barrier! Now if I could just summit Mount Moron, all would be right in my work-world.

On the home front, Sweetness and I have weathered a pretty rough patch. Mostly weathered it, anyway. I’m working on some stuff, she’s working on some stuff. We’ll pull through. I’m still just beside myself that I have her, and I miss her every day.

Since I’m on night shift, this Wednesday post won’t actually go up until early Thursday morning, but that’s just tough.

Talk to you tomorrow.

CL

I'm back!

Short and sweet. I'm back behind the keys. I'll try to get back to the daily schedule soon.

FYI, I'm absolutely abysmal at finishing projects, particularly large ones. I'm on a new book now than I was when I went on hiatus. Some of that is because I had a bundle of files on the flash drive I was using turn to so many wasted bits. Oh, the irritation. Luckily, I think I have most of it squirrelled away some other place.

Anyway, talk more soon.