Well, here's a lesson learned about trying to make a global change in a Microsoft Word document... if you try to change the name "Lee" with another name, say, Brian, then words such as "sleeping" and "leeching" become "sBrianping" and "Brianching."
Over 107 pages, that's a lot of crap to go back and look for.
I am very tempted to leave all those weird words, just to make the editor eventually earn her $5.62...
Saturday
Tuesday
25 January 2011
I'm willing to beet anyone reading this knows their own email address. Right? You are all intelligent enough to know your own initials, own last name, whether or not you had numbers associated with the email. So I'm guessing you don't wander around the Internet signing up for varied services using the wrong freaking email address.
Like, one that belongs to someone else.
But the person who keeps using my email address for every damned thing under the sun. STOP IT ALREADY. You're a moron. Really. Because you keep using my address, I now know what activities your kids are involved in, where their scout meetings are help and at what times, I know what schools they go to, I know what car you drive and when your scheduled maintenance appointments are, I know your birth date, and now I know that you're out there looking for love.
Oh yeah. You signed up with match.com today.
If I were a lesser person, I would log onto your account--because hey, in the confirmation email they sent me your user name AND password--and screw with things, but I'm not that person. No, I'm now having to jump through hoops to get match.com to remove my email address from their system.
I don't really need them, you know? I've been with the same person for 30 years and I don't see that changing, so getting any email from them at all is a waste of my time. To have to get it to stop, well, that's just freaking annoying.
I wouldn't mind if it was an isolated incident, but you keep doing it.
Freaking stop it already.
You're not alone; there's another person who had a brain hiccup and used my address, but she at least tracked the error down and is apologetic when I get stuff meant for her. You? You're just bouncing all over the place, and you've done it in a way that leaves your personal information open to someone you don't know.
It's a damn good thing I'm not one to scam, or honey, I would be taking your ass for a long, painful ride.
Like, one that belongs to someone else.
But the person who keeps using my email address for every damned thing under the sun. STOP IT ALREADY. You're a moron. Really. Because you keep using my address, I now know what activities your kids are involved in, where their scout meetings are help and at what times, I know what schools they go to, I know what car you drive and when your scheduled maintenance appointments are, I know your birth date, and now I know that you're out there looking for love.
Oh yeah. You signed up with match.com today.
If I were a lesser person, I would log onto your account--because hey, in the confirmation email they sent me your user name AND password--and screw with things, but I'm not that person. No, I'm now having to jump through hoops to get match.com to remove my email address from their system.
I don't really need them, you know? I've been with the same person for 30 years and I don't see that changing, so getting any email from them at all is a waste of my time. To have to get it to stop, well, that's just freaking annoying.
I wouldn't mind if it was an isolated incident, but you keep doing it.
Freaking stop it already.
You're not alone; there's another person who had a brain hiccup and used my address, but she at least tracked the error down and is apologetic when I get stuff meant for her. You? You're just bouncing all over the place, and you've done it in a way that leaves your personal information open to someone you don't know.
It's a damn good thing I'm not one to scam, or honey, I would be taking your ass for a long, painful ride.
Sunday
23 January 2011
I sat down last night to read over the 80,000 words I had carved out for the current work in progress; hell, that's novel length all by itself, other than the storyline has not wrapped itself up yet. By the time I was done reading, however, I was left with roughly 63,000 words, because 17,000 of those words frankly kinda sucked.
Well, it wasn't suckitude on the scale of sucking so hard that the moon was in risk of being pulled out of orbit, but there were large chunks that did nothing to move the story forward. A lot of it I found amusing, but only in a this-is-only-funny-in-my-head kind of way.
So I did some literary surgery, set the offending matter aside (I didn't totally delete it because, hey, it might work later, or in something else) and went to bed, where I actually fell asleep quickly and had weird dreams about Max being the size of a Golden Retriever and one holy-hell-this-could-happen dream about being on the SGK 3 Day and getting lost because I didn't pay attention to the signs along the way and didn't notice that there was no one else walking with me until I was back near home, circling the park.
Now, that's a hell of a long walk and a very long time to not notice the lack of other walkers. And since it involves walking across the Bay Bridge, which is decidedly not foot-traffic friendly, I figure I must have been on crack or something at the start of the dream. Dream crack, folks. I don't do drugs before bed.
Well, other than the Benedryl.
And sometimes Vicodin.
So I woke up this morning, a little wary of Max, who was sitting on top of me, staring holes into my face as he projected feed me feed me feed me into my brain, and headed for my laptop, determined to make up for some of the 17,000 words I sliced and diced last night.
Since this morning I've added, oh, 1200 words to the manuscript; it's not that I don't know what to write, or what comes next. The problem is that I do. There's a bitter-sweetness to this story, and even though I (and anyone who has read the first 4 books in the series) know how a big chunk of this turns out, I'm having a problem going there.
I have to break a couple of hearts, and I really don't want to now that I've explored their relationship.
It has to happen, though.
It won't make sense if it doesn't.
Hell, maybe I can introduce a Golden-sized cat into the mix. At least that would distract me, if not feed a few more really funky dreams...
Well, it wasn't suckitude on the scale of sucking so hard that the moon was in risk of being pulled out of orbit, but there were large chunks that did nothing to move the story forward. A lot of it I found amusing, but only in a this-is-only-funny-in-my-head kind of way.
So I did some literary surgery, set the offending matter aside (I didn't totally delete it because, hey, it might work later, or in something else) and went to bed, where I actually fell asleep quickly and had weird dreams about Max being the size of a Golden Retriever and one holy-hell-this-could-happen dream about being on the SGK 3 Day and getting lost because I didn't pay attention to the signs along the way and didn't notice that there was no one else walking with me until I was back near home, circling the park.
Now, that's a hell of a long walk and a very long time to not notice the lack of other walkers. And since it involves walking across the Bay Bridge, which is decidedly not foot-traffic friendly, I figure I must have been on crack or something at the start of the dream. Dream crack, folks. I don't do drugs before bed.
Well, other than the Benedryl.
And sometimes Vicodin.
So I woke up this morning, a little wary of Max, who was sitting on top of me, staring holes into my face as he projected feed me feed me feed me into my brain, and headed for my laptop, determined to make up for some of the 17,000 words I sliced and diced last night.
Since this morning I've added, oh, 1200 words to the manuscript; it's not that I don't know what to write, or what comes next. The problem is that I do. There's a bitter-sweetness to this story, and even though I (and anyone who has read the first 4 books in the series) know how a big chunk of this turns out, I'm having a problem going there.
I have to break a couple of hearts, and I really don't want to now that I've explored their relationship.
It has to happen, though.
It won't make sense if it doesn't.
Hell, maybe I can introduce a Golden-sized cat into the mix. At least that would distract me, if not feed a few more really funky dreams...
Thursday
20 January 2011
How to annoy your entire readership of 6 people: find yourself a little too blog-blocked to be able to write anything worth their time. Granted, that doesn't stop me often, but the last ten days or so...yeah, not a lot to tell.
Well, other than I've pretty much decided for sure to walk the SGK 3 Day in San Francisco again, so training will resume on that front soon. As will the training blog and rock The Pink, when I decide what the heck to do with it.
And other than that I've been working on the next book--really working! What a concept! Even when I'm playing around online, the story is percolating in the back of my head and I find myself distracted anytime I try to write anything else. Like, right now. I'm tapping away on the keyboard for my blog, but I have Word open and I can feel the characters who are waiting there tapping their feet impatiently. I'm keeping them waiting because they're adults on a first date, and frankly, I've never been 30 years old on a first date and I'm out of my element there. Hell, even as a teenager I didn't have a lot of first dates. I had a lot of hanging out with friends that turned into dating. Even with the Spouse Thingy, our first "date" was bowling with friends who never showed up, and it turned into us bowling alone and then going for a walk through Orangevale Park on a rainy night.
The worst of the last ten days, though, came yesterday when word filtered through on Facebook about the loss of a friend. Her name was Tracy Crowe, and anyone who hung around Wil Wheaton's Soapbox a few years ago probably not only knew her, but liked her immensely. She went through a few user names--Just Trae, blackbirdshaq--but my favorite was RunsWithScissors. She was funny as hell, warm and wonderful, and far, far too young to die.
One of the last things I'd mentioned to her was that she shares a name with my editor, and once in a while I'd have to stop to think about which Tracy I was talking to. When editor Tracy saw on my FB page about the passing of my friend, she reacted from her gut and sent a message: I don't know who said that, but I'm fine!
When I explained about my other Tracy Crowe, and how wonderful she was and how young, editor Tracy replied with this:
Hon, I would trade places with her if I could. I've had such a long and incredible life, and if only there were a way that the Tracys could swap.
The thing is, I know she means it.
I wouldn't want either Tracy out of my life. Editor Tracy is old and mean and tries her best to make me cry, but she is also the kind of person who would say something like that and mean it.
You know, most of my friends are of the online variety, and I treasure them deeply. You don't have to meet someone face to face to develop genuine feelings of affection for someone. It's wonderful when you actually do get to meet, but those friendships...just as real.
My online friends have brought a lot into my life--some I've known (and have met) for 20 years, some manage to make me do things like walk 60 miles up and down the Hills from Hell--and when I lose one...
Tracy wasn't the first, but I hope she's the last for a long, long time.
Well, other than I've pretty much decided for sure to walk the SGK 3 Day in San Francisco again, so training will resume on that front soon. As will the training blog and rock The Pink, when I decide what the heck to do with it.
And other than that I've been working on the next book--really working! What a concept! Even when I'm playing around online, the story is percolating in the back of my head and I find myself distracted anytime I try to write anything else. Like, right now. I'm tapping away on the keyboard for my blog, but I have Word open and I can feel the characters who are waiting there tapping their feet impatiently. I'm keeping them waiting because they're adults on a first date, and frankly, I've never been 30 years old on a first date and I'm out of my element there. Hell, even as a teenager I didn't have a lot of first dates. I had a lot of hanging out with friends that turned into dating. Even with the Spouse Thingy, our first "date" was bowling with friends who never showed up, and it turned into us bowling alone and then going for a walk through Orangevale Park on a rainy night.
The worst of the last ten days, though, came yesterday when word filtered through on Facebook about the loss of a friend. Her name was Tracy Crowe, and anyone who hung around Wil Wheaton's Soapbox a few years ago probably not only knew her, but liked her immensely. She went through a few user names--Just Trae, blackbirdshaq--but my favorite was RunsWithScissors. She was funny as hell, warm and wonderful, and far, far too young to die.
One of the last things I'd mentioned to her was that she shares a name with my editor, and once in a while I'd have to stop to think about which Tracy I was talking to. When editor Tracy saw on my FB page about the passing of my friend, she reacted from her gut and sent a message: I don't know who said that, but I'm fine!
When I explained about my other Tracy Crowe, and how wonderful she was and how young, editor Tracy replied with this:
Hon, I would trade places with her if I could. I've had such a long and incredible life, and if only there were a way that the Tracys could swap.
The thing is, I know she means it.
I wouldn't want either Tracy out of my life. Editor Tracy is old and mean and tries her best to make me cry, but she is also the kind of person who would say something like that and mean it.
You know, most of my friends are of the online variety, and I treasure them deeply. You don't have to meet someone face to face to develop genuine feelings of affection for someone. It's wonderful when you actually do get to meet, but those friendships...just as real.
My online friends have brought a lot into my life--some I've known (and have met) for 20 years, some manage to make me do things like walk 60 miles up and down the Hills from Hell--and when I lose one...
Tracy wasn't the first, but I hope she's the last for a long, long time.
Sunday
9 January 2010
Happiness is turning just the right way and having your back pop in just the right spot, suddenly alleviating over 3 weeks of pain that often bordered on the edge of shoot me now, it'll feel better. Yesterday I was sitting at my office desk, turned to the right to get a disk out of the CD drive, and felt a series of small pops, and 95% of the pain was gone, just like that.
What I'm left with is one sore spot that feel like a giant bruise would...very tolerable. It's still a pain to bend over and pick things up off the floor, so I'll avoid that for a while, but still, this is so much better that it's like getting a elated Christmas present (though I would have prefered to not spend my actual Christmas the way I did...)
The only downside is that now I'm more aware of how much aching is still in my shoulder, but even that's not bad. It's not even whine-worthy (not that I won't...)
Another week or so and I may even be able to give the Skki Trikke another try. Though I admit, I saw a ski bike online today and it was really tempted to order, just to give me something to play with and not risk upending myself into the snow again.
Very tempting...
The only downside is that now I'm more aware of how much aching is still in my shoulder, but even that's not bad. It's not even whine-worthy (not that I won't...)
Another week or so and I may even be able to give the Skki Trikke another try. Though I admit, I saw a ski bike online today and it was really tempted to order, just to give me something to play with and not risk upending myself into the snow again.
Very tempting...
Tuesday
4 January 2011
I should know better than to spew forth sunshine and rainbows like a post-Taco Bell fart fest when it comes to crap like my back. No sooner than I proclaimed by back to be getting better than it seized up on me again. I wasn't quite back to square one, but close. I've been inventing new compound swear words...I'm not sure how many more I can cough up, so it's time for something to give.
So today I asked the Spouse Thing to make me a doctor's appointment, and the doc had a open slot at 1 pm, so off we went. I touched my toes for him, I leaned left, I leaned right, and he poked and prodded, and declared it to be muscle inflammation, and to do basically what I've been doing. But... he wanted me to see a physical therapist. You know, so someone else can torture me, because that seemed like so much fun...
He did give me a scrip for Flexeril in case I need it, so there's that.
The PT group was just down the road so instead of calling for an appointment the Spouse Thingy thought we should just stop and go it. So we did. I figured I'd get seen in a couple of days, but an hour later some skinny thing that I could probably break in half with a well aimed wicked garlic burp was making me bend in directions I don't think I was ever intended to bend in, and then she hooked electrodes to my back, slapped a five hundred pound heated weight on top, and left me there for 15 minutes as my lower back and buttocks were cooked to a medium rare.
Thing is, I felt better as soon as it was over. I'm not foolish enough to think I won't wake up tomorrow and have it hurt again, but for now, I'll take it.
I'm supposed to see her twice a week, but she thinks the recovery will be fairly quick, at least in terms of pain relief. She thinks, however, that the issue is a mildly bulging disk; the treatment for that versus inflammation is the same, though, and she did stress mild. I've also apparently been exacerbating it by my really horrible sitting posture, so the Spouse Thingy moved the love seat out of the family room and into the living room and brought in a chair that will force me to sit more upright.
In the bigger picture, the back issues are likely related to my shoulder injury; I spent a couple of weeks not moving much, slouching on the sofa while trying to not drool onto my laptop's keyboard. Toss my crappy posture on top of everything--the back has always been problematic--and bingo...we have taken a vacation to the City of Ouch.
It's not a nice place to visit, and no one wants to live here...
I'm leaving soon, though. Cause it really sucks.
So today I asked the Spouse Thing to make me a doctor's appointment, and the doc had a open slot at 1 pm, so off we went. I touched my toes for him, I leaned left, I leaned right, and he poked and prodded, and declared it to be muscle inflammation, and to do basically what I've been doing. But... he wanted me to see a physical therapist. You know, so someone else can torture me, because that seemed like so much fun...
He did give me a scrip for Flexeril in case I need it, so there's that.
The PT group was just down the road so instead of calling for an appointment the Spouse Thingy thought we should just stop and go it. So we did. I figured I'd get seen in a couple of days, but an hour later some skinny thing that I could probably break in half with a well aimed wicked garlic burp was making me bend in directions I don't think I was ever intended to bend in, and then she hooked electrodes to my back, slapped a five hundred pound heated weight on top, and left me there for 15 minutes as my lower back and buttocks were cooked to a medium rare.
Thing is, I felt better as soon as it was over. I'm not foolish enough to think I won't wake up tomorrow and have it hurt again, but for now, I'll take it.
I'm supposed to see her twice a week, but she thinks the recovery will be fairly quick, at least in terms of pain relief. She thinks, however, that the issue is a mildly bulging disk; the treatment for that versus inflammation is the same, though, and she did stress mild. I've also apparently been exacerbating it by my really horrible sitting posture, so the Spouse Thingy moved the love seat out of the family room and into the living room and brought in a chair that will force me to sit more upright.
In the bigger picture, the back issues are likely related to my shoulder injury; I spent a couple of weeks not moving much, slouching on the sofa while trying to not drool onto my laptop's keyboard. Toss my crappy posture on top of everything--the back has always been problematic--and bingo...we have taken a vacation to the City of Ouch.
It's not a nice place to visit, and no one wants to live here...
I'm leaving soon, though. Cause it really sucks.
Sunday
2 January 2011
Alrighty. When last I whined, on December 26th, I was still in all kinds of pain with no sign of it letting up. My shoulder ached, but my back seriously hurt, and I could barely move. My fingers kept twitching towards the Vicodin, and I spent my time sitting here with a heat pad on my back, just hoping for a little bit of relief.
Then a couple of days later, one my my FB and cat blogger buddies, who knows about these things, suggested I might want to use ice instead. Ice, he said, helps in the acute phase of inflammation--the first couple of weeks. Since I trust him because he does know about these things, I did what he said: I started using ice 2-3 times a day.
Lo and behold, within a day the back was feeling a little better, and in just a couple of days the knife that had seemingly been jabbed into my back fell out, and all I'm left with is soreness.
So now I have a sore shoulder, sore chest, and sore back, but I'm not eyeing the Vicodin as if I desperately need it; I'm still taking Ibuprofen 3 times a day, but I'm down to half a Vicodin at night...I had been taking two.
So, it's progress.
All in all, I worry more about the back than I do the shoulder. Past experience tells me that all I have to do is move the wrong way and something will seize up again, so I'm moving carefully. I'm not doing anything I don't have to do, just in case. The shoulder will heal up eventually, and I don't think I need to worry about it twitching the wrong way and all those tendons starting up the Spasmodic Momba. It will simply be what it's going to be.
But I do need my back to get to the point where I don't worry about what moving about will do; I don't like the inactivity, and the weight is starting to pile back on (and surely that has nothing to do with dutch apple pie...or Oreo cookies...)
I have to admit, I realy want things to be back to near normal in a couple of weeks so that I can go back to Sierra at Tahoe and try again.
Surely I won't wipe out a second time.
Right?
Lo and behold, within a day the back was feeling a little better, and in just a couple of days the knife that had seemingly been jabbed into my back fell out, and all I'm left with is soreness.
So now I have a sore shoulder, sore chest, and sore back, but I'm not eyeing the Vicodin as if I desperately need it; I'm still taking Ibuprofen 3 times a day, but I'm down to half a Vicodin at night...I had been taking two.
So, it's progress.
All in all, I worry more about the back than I do the shoulder. Past experience tells me that all I have to do is move the wrong way and something will seize up again, so I'm moving carefully. I'm not doing anything I don't have to do, just in case. The shoulder will heal up eventually, and I don't think I need to worry about it twitching the wrong way and all those tendons starting up the Spasmodic Momba. It will simply be what it's going to be.
But I do need my back to get to the point where I don't worry about what moving about will do; I don't like the inactivity, and the weight is starting to pile back on (and surely that has nothing to do with dutch apple pie...or Oreo cookies...)
I have to admit, I realy want things to be back to near normal in a couple of weeks so that I can go back to Sierra at Tahoe and try again.
Surely I won't wipe out a second time.
Right?
Saturday
Tuesday
Sunday
26 December 2010
Christmas Day at Casa de Thumper was nice and quiet; the Spouse Thingy had to work Christmas Eve night into Christmas morning and he slept until 1:15, getting up earlier than normal, and the Boy came over around 1:30. He made pizza for all, and we watched a little Doctor Who (because I am woefully behind on on it, and they don't mind seeing repeats), opened gifts, just had a nice, quiet time.
My day was probably quieter than normal...because I can barely move. The shoulder and chest are improving; on a scale from 1 - 10, with the post-Skki-wipeout pain having been around 8.5, it's down to a tolerable 5. Things on that front are healing nicely. In fact, the recovery is so steady that I don't think it will take nearly as long as the doc warned it could be. Motrin was handling the pain, and I was fully mobile.
"Was" being the key word here.
(Fair warning...copious whining follows.)
My lower back started to ache on Wednesday evening. I didn't think much of it; I have arthritis at L4 and L5, and some aching comes along with that. It aches 90% of the time, and a little Naprosyn makes the worst of it usually abate.
Thursday morning it hurt a little more, but not too badly. Thursday night...someone stabbed me in the back with a red hot poker. I started to get up from the sofa and there was instant fire. And Buddah, the little shit, took the opportunity to jump up onto my back since I couldn't stand upright; I tried to reach back to get him, but he flattened himself like a pancake, and I wound up shuffling down the hall, bent over, with him riding me the entire way. He only jumped down when I went into the bathroom and turned on the water.
I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me.
That was a Vicodin kind of night.
Friday. Holy Carp. There was a lot of moaning and groaning coming out of me, enough that the cats probably got fed up. I know I got fed up. Moving was becoming a rapidly increasing exercise in agony, and when Santa needed to fill the stockings....well, Santa finally said "Phck it," dumped everything on the sofa, shuffled slowly down the hall, took 2 Vicodin, and went to bed.
Christmas Day, the back was still not cooperating. I did well to get from the sofa to a chair in the other room, and then back again later. If not for being served, I'm not sure I would have eaten much at all yesterday, because getting into the kitchen was a literal pain in the ass as whatever muscle in my lower back has decided to clench angrily sent fiery fingers up my back and down into my glutes.
Seriously, I don't think my back has ever been this bad. I really need some new swear words to use when get up, because I'm running out of old ones.
It was a 2 Vicodin night last night, too. It's not doing a damned thing for the pain, but it helped with sleep.
Today...no better, and the weird spot on my chest feels like something ripped again. So I'll spend my day sitting here, not doing much at all. I'm only getting up to pee and to take Motrin and/or Naprosyn. If the bathroom were more comfortable, I think I'd just stay in there so that I wouldn't have to get up at all.
How I know it hurts and I'm not just enjoying the whining: getting my gallbladder out hurt far less, and getting the brain tumor removed was only slightly more painful. Seriously.
Still...Christmas was very nice. It was nice to just sit here with the Boy and the Spouse Thingy, and even the cats were semi-social. I swear, they both acted like they knew what day it was and that they had to be good, because there was shrimp in the fridge, and bad kitties don't get shrimp...
The kitties, being good...
My day was probably quieter than normal...because I can barely move. The shoulder and chest are improving; on a scale from 1 - 10, with the post-Skki-wipeout pain having been around 8.5, it's down to a tolerable 5. Things on that front are healing nicely. In fact, the recovery is so steady that I don't think it will take nearly as long as the doc warned it could be. Motrin was handling the pain, and I was fully mobile.
"Was" being the key word here.
(Fair warning...copious whining follows.)
My lower back started to ache on Wednesday evening. I didn't think much of it; I have arthritis at L4 and L5, and some aching comes along with that. It aches 90% of the time, and a little Naprosyn makes the worst of it usually abate.
Thursday morning it hurt a little more, but not too badly. Thursday night...someone stabbed me in the back with a red hot poker. I started to get up from the sofa and there was instant fire. And Buddah, the little shit, took the opportunity to jump up onto my back since I couldn't stand upright; I tried to reach back to get him, but he flattened himself like a pancake, and I wound up shuffling down the hall, bent over, with him riding me the entire way. He only jumped down when I went into the bathroom and turned on the water.
I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me.
That was a Vicodin kind of night.
Friday. Holy Carp. There was a lot of moaning and groaning coming out of me, enough that the cats probably got fed up. I know I got fed up. Moving was becoming a rapidly increasing exercise in agony, and when Santa needed to fill the stockings....well, Santa finally said "Phck it," dumped everything on the sofa, shuffled slowly down the hall, took 2 Vicodin, and went to bed.
Christmas Day, the back was still not cooperating. I did well to get from the sofa to a chair in the other room, and then back again later. If not for being served, I'm not sure I would have eaten much at all yesterday, because getting into the kitchen was a literal pain in the ass as whatever muscle in my lower back has decided to clench angrily sent fiery fingers up my back and down into my glutes.
Seriously, I don't think my back has ever been this bad. I really need some new swear words to use when get up, because I'm running out of old ones.
It was a 2 Vicodin night last night, too. It's not doing a damned thing for the pain, but it helped with sleep.
Today...no better, and the weird spot on my chest feels like something ripped again. So I'll spend my day sitting here, not doing much at all. I'm only getting up to pee and to take Motrin and/or Naprosyn. If the bathroom were more comfortable, I think I'd just stay in there so that I wouldn't have to get up at all.
How I know it hurts and I'm not just enjoying the whining: getting my gallbladder out hurt far less, and getting the brain tumor removed was only slightly more painful. Seriously.
Still...Christmas was very nice. It was nice to just sit here with the Boy and the Spouse Thingy, and even the cats were semi-social. I swear, they both acted like they knew what day it was and that they had to be good, because there was shrimp in the fridge, and bad kitties don't get shrimp...
The kitties, being good...
Friday
Sunday
19 December 2010
It's been cold and rainy here, and the forecast suggests it's going to stay that way at least through Christmas. Normally, that many days of rain would have me whining about not being able to take the bike out, or the Trikke, or the Strider... but since I can't do any of those things right now, I'm kind of enjoying the rain.
But...I really do need to get out there and walk. I have the treadmill, but it's different. I prefer walking outside, wandering around the town, seeing and hearing and smelling things that aren't in my face most of the rest of the time. Outside, I'll walk further and for a longer period of time than I will inside on the treadmill. It's not exactly logical, but there we are. I'm not an exactly logical person.
And there's the whole oh-holy-carp-this-kinda-hurts thing I have going on. I never realized how much a person's shoulder and chest moves with the simple motions of walking. The shoulder achiness I can deal with, but I have that place on my chest that just burns, and when I move the wrong way...damn. So I haven't made much of an effort to walk, even though I want to.
I'm a weenie that way.
When this has all healed up enough--half the time I think it'll heal quickly, the other half I'm afraid it really will take 12 weeks--I'm going to have some serious catching up to do conditioning-wise and weight wise. Sitting on my ass is not doing kind things to my weight (and neither did the pound cake I caved into this last week...or the cookies) and even if I keep the calorie count reasonable, if I can't move around I'm going to expand in ways I really don't want.
Yep, this is the argument I have in my own head. Move and hurt. Don't move and get fatter. Take it easy and decrease the healing time. Suck it up and do things and don't get fatter.
On the plus side, I can drive now, so I'm not stuck here. I can get out and about if I need to, but driving isn't all that comfortable when I have to navigate a turn, so I'm not jumping in the car and taking off on a whim. Max's friends can relax, though; I did go shopping for his Christmas present, but it's not wrapped and under the tree yet. Mostly because he would smell it, or Buddah would, and my furry friends would shred the paper to get to it.
What? Like you don't buy Christmas presents for your furballs...
But...I really do need to get out there and walk. I have the treadmill, but it's different. I prefer walking outside, wandering around the town, seeing and hearing and smelling things that aren't in my face most of the rest of the time. Outside, I'll walk further and for a longer period of time than I will inside on the treadmill. It's not exactly logical, but there we are. I'm not an exactly logical person.
And there's the whole oh-holy-carp-this-kinda-hurts thing I have going on. I never realized how much a person's shoulder and chest moves with the simple motions of walking. The shoulder achiness I can deal with, but I have that place on my chest that just burns, and when I move the wrong way...damn. So I haven't made much of an effort to walk, even though I want to.
I'm a weenie that way.
When this has all healed up enough--half the time I think it'll heal quickly, the other half I'm afraid it really will take 12 weeks--I'm going to have some serious catching up to do conditioning-wise and weight wise. Sitting on my ass is not doing kind things to my weight (and neither did the pound cake I caved into this last week...or the cookies) and even if I keep the calorie count reasonable, if I can't move around I'm going to expand in ways I really don't want.
Yep, this is the argument I have in my own head. Move and hurt. Don't move and get fatter. Take it easy and decrease the healing time. Suck it up and do things and don't get fatter.
On the plus side, I can drive now, so I'm not stuck here. I can get out and about if I need to, but driving isn't all that comfortable when I have to navigate a turn, so I'm not jumping in the car and taking off on a whim. Max's friends can relax, though; I did go shopping for his Christmas present, but it's not wrapped and under the tree yet. Mostly because he would smell it, or Buddah would, and my furry friends would shred the paper to get to it.
What? Like you don't buy Christmas presents for your furballs...
Thursday
Wednesday
15 December 2010
A few months ago, when I was training for the 3 Day Walk and wanting to go into San Francisco to make use of the hilly terrain there, I got a traffic ticket. Nope, I wasn't speeding...we were looking for a place to park at the Concord BART station, stopped at a red light, and then the next thing I know, after I made the turn, I was being pulled over.
The charge? Turning right on a red where it is clearly posted you can't do that.
The thing is...we were positive the light was green. The Spouse Thingy had asked me why I wasn't going, I pointed out the no right on red sign, and I waited. I know the light was green when I went.
The cop pulled another woman over at the same time for the same infraction.
Now...this cop was polite and reasonable. When we both said we were sure the light was green, he said he would go back and check the timing on the lights. If he was wrong, he'd dismiss the ticket. He was very nice, we didn't argue, he didn't argue. He was just doing his job.
Cut to now. I never got a notice one way or the other about the ticket. You're supposed to get a courtesy notice about the ticket; how much the fine is, where to pay, etc. But, if you don't get one, it's still your responsibility to figure it all out. Even though none of that is on the ticket.
Okay, fine, I can deal with that.
But, we waited for the the courtesy notice, or something to say hey, you were right after all.
Nada.
The ticket has to be resolved by Monday. So I got online to pay it...entered the citation number and got a message saying the citation couldn't be found. Use the docket number instead.
I never got the freaking notice about it, and the docket number would be on that notice.
So either the ticket doesn't exist and the cop dismissed it, or I'm expected to do contortions to pay the bail on it. and ya know, if I'm in the wrong, fine, I'll pay it. Who knows, maybe we both had a brain fart and just imagined that green light. But the citation number did not exist in the system...
So the Spouse Thingy got on the phone...and entered into phone hell. He never got through...but did get the info that the Contra Costa County Traffic court closes at 2 pm every day. It was 1:30...no time to get there.
Y'all know ho freakishly weird I am about going places by myself the first time? Yeah, this is problematic. Because today was really the only day the Spouse Thingy could have gone with me. In hindsight, we should have driven there anyway, just so I'd know where to go. I would have been okay with that.
Mostly, I just wanna know if I got a ticket or not.
'Cause, really, the light was green!
Swearsies.
The charge? Turning right on a red where it is clearly posted you can't do that.
The thing is...we were positive the light was green. The Spouse Thingy had asked me why I wasn't going, I pointed out the no right on red sign, and I waited. I know the light was green when I went.
The cop pulled another woman over at the same time for the same infraction.
Now...this cop was polite and reasonable. When we both said we were sure the light was green, he said he would go back and check the timing on the lights. If he was wrong, he'd dismiss the ticket. He was very nice, we didn't argue, he didn't argue. He was just doing his job.
Cut to now. I never got a notice one way or the other about the ticket. You're supposed to get a courtesy notice about the ticket; how much the fine is, where to pay, etc. But, if you don't get one, it's still your responsibility to figure it all out. Even though none of that is on the ticket.
Okay, fine, I can deal with that.
But, we waited for the the courtesy notice, or something to say hey, you were right after all.
Nada.
The ticket has to be resolved by Monday. So I got online to pay it...entered the citation number and got a message saying the citation couldn't be found. Use the docket number instead.
I never got the freaking notice about it, and the docket number would be on that notice.
So either the ticket doesn't exist and the cop dismissed it, or I'm expected to do contortions to pay the bail on it. and ya know, if I'm in the wrong, fine, I'll pay it. Who knows, maybe we both had a brain fart and just imagined that green light. But the citation number did not exist in the system...
So the Spouse Thingy got on the phone...and entered into phone hell. He never got through...but did get the info that the Contra Costa County Traffic court closes at 2 pm every day. It was 1:30...no time to get there.
Y'all know ho freakishly weird I am about going places by myself the first time? Yeah, this is problematic. Because today was really the only day the Spouse Thingy could have gone with me. In hindsight, we should have driven there anyway, just so I'd know where to go. I would have been okay with that.
Mostly, I just wanna know if I got a ticket or not.
'Cause, really, the light was green!
Swearsies.
Tuesday
14 December 2010
Why I should not be allowed to text:
And I have wanted Red Vines ever since...
(Yes, this was really Char's and my text...)
In other news, I had a follow up with my doc today and my arm is not about to detach from my body at the shoulder. Everything still hurts, but it's better every day and I have reasonable range of motion. It's just a matter of giving it time to heal up. He's kind of all over the map on exactly how long that will take. Everything from 6 weeks to 6 months.
If not for one particular place on my chest, I'd guess closer to 6 weeks, because the level of pain notches down noticeably from day to day. That one spot, though...it's being a little bitch. Still...I have high hopes that I'll feel comfortable driving by Friday and motorcycle-worthy after Christmas.
And oh yeah, I fully intend to hit the slopes again before the season is over. I am going to own that Skki Trikke.
And I have wanted Red Vines ever since...
(Yes, this was really Char's and my text...)
In other news, I had a follow up with my doc today and my arm is not about to detach from my body at the shoulder. Everything still hurts, but it's better every day and I have reasonable range of motion. It's just a matter of giving it time to heal up. He's kind of all over the map on exactly how long that will take. Everything from 6 weeks to 6 months.
If not for one particular place on my chest, I'd guess closer to 6 weeks, because the level of pain notches down noticeably from day to day. That one spot, though...it's being a little bitch. Still...I have high hopes that I'll feel comfortable driving by Friday and motorcycle-worthy after Christmas.
And oh yeah, I fully intend to hit the slopes again before the season is over. I am going to own that Skki Trikke.
Sunday
12 December 2010
Pass the cheese, 'cause I've got the whine...
Okay, so far the recovery hasn't been too bad. I ache, but as long as I don't move, the pain isn't horrible. The shoulder itself hurts a little, but the worst is actually where the pectoral muscle connects to the sternum--that feels like it's ripping away every time I move--and there's this weird spot along my shoulder blade that feels like someone jammed a stick in there and won't pull it out.
The overall body achiness is subsiding, so, yay.
It could be worse. During the day taking Motrin is enough, but I'm still taking Vicodin at night. Night time is a double whammy; I can't roll over so I'm stuck sleeping on my back, but I'm a side and stomach sleeper, so my back really starts to ache after a while. I did notice last night that I managed to get my hips rolled over a little, so that's something. At least it takes the pressure off for a few minutes at a time.
But so far the absolute worst part of all this is boredom, and not being able to do anything. I'm pretty freaking mobile, but I can't lift anything, so I can't even do basic housework. I can't drive, so I'm stuck at home, and I hate being stuck at home. I'd walk to the store, but that one place on my chest seems to be seriously affected by the gravity of walking, so I'm not sure that would be my greatest idea. And while I feel like walking, I don't know the level of my endurance. I was sleepy as hell for a couple of days and I'm not sure how long I can wander around before the achiness gives way to fatigue.
All right, I take it back...the worst part has been the weight gain. Ten freaking pounds in the last few days. Yes, I know a good chunk of it is water, muscle trauma and all that, but it doesn't make me feel any better about it. I know part of it isn't water, it's from sitting around doing nothing. So even after I shed the water weight, I'll still have 2-3 extra pounds to deal with, and I was having a hard enough time with my weight before that. 1500 calories a day, reasonable activity, and I hadn't lost a damned thing in almost a year.
I was already frustrated; this is just pushing me over the edge. I am really pissed off about it.
So sore, bored, and ticked off...not a good combination.
There needs to be better crap on TV.
Okay, so far the recovery hasn't been too bad. I ache, but as long as I don't move, the pain isn't horrible. The shoulder itself hurts a little, but the worst is actually where the pectoral muscle connects to the sternum--that feels like it's ripping away every time I move--and there's this weird spot along my shoulder blade that feels like someone jammed a stick in there and won't pull it out.
The overall body achiness is subsiding, so, yay.
It could be worse. During the day taking Motrin is enough, but I'm still taking Vicodin at night. Night time is a double whammy; I can't roll over so I'm stuck sleeping on my back, but I'm a side and stomach sleeper, so my back really starts to ache after a while. I did notice last night that I managed to get my hips rolled over a little, so that's something. At least it takes the pressure off for a few minutes at a time.
But so far the absolute worst part of all this is boredom, and not being able to do anything. I'm pretty freaking mobile, but I can't lift anything, so I can't even do basic housework. I can't drive, so I'm stuck at home, and I hate being stuck at home. I'd walk to the store, but that one place on my chest seems to be seriously affected by the gravity of walking, so I'm not sure that would be my greatest idea. And while I feel like walking, I don't know the level of my endurance. I was sleepy as hell for a couple of days and I'm not sure how long I can wander around before the achiness gives way to fatigue.
All right, I take it back...the worst part has been the weight gain. Ten freaking pounds in the last few days. Yes, I know a good chunk of it is water, muscle trauma and all that, but it doesn't make me feel any better about it. I know part of it isn't water, it's from sitting around doing nothing. So even after I shed the water weight, I'll still have 2-3 extra pounds to deal with, and I was having a hard enough time with my weight before that. 1500 calories a day, reasonable activity, and I hadn't lost a damned thing in almost a year.
I was already frustrated; this is just pushing me over the edge. I am really pissed off about it.
So sore, bored, and ticked off...not a good combination.
There needs to be better crap on TV.
Thursday
9 December 2010
So.
Earlier this year the Spouse Thingy and I gave skiing a try, but it was pretty much a failure due to an unwaxed ski and wet snow…I didn’t even finish the 2 hour beginner’s class because of it. Unwaxed ski = ski that won’t slide = twisted knee.
The consensus after we gave up? "We're too old for this shit."
But, we like the idea of fun in the snow, so over the summer we planned on getting a couple of Trikke Skkis, because they’re easy to ride, and easy sounded really good.
A couple of weeks ago we ordered two of them, and on Monday we drove up to Sierra-at-Tahoe and bought our season passes (because hey! These things are easy to ride, so we’ll ride all winter long!), then spent the night in a cheap motel so that we could hit the slopes bright and early. And it was a beautiful day... No wind, abundant sunshine, and the temp was right around 32--bonus in that it wasn't at all crowded, which is what we hoped for, being new to the spiffy Trikke Skki.
We had to field a lot of questions from the curious about the Skkis, but soon enough we were walking them partway up the bunny slope so we could test ride them and make sure we knew how to stop, which seemed like an important thing to know how to do. We did that twice, were satisfied that we could do it, and headed for the ski lift...determined to stick to the bunny slope because, hey, we're not stupid.
But ya know? From the top, the bunny slope looks pretty steep. So we headed sideways, from one side to the other, a sloping lateral move, just to test the stopping thing again. And then I decided sooner or later I was going to have to go down that hill, so off I went.
And it was awesome. I had the carving motion down fairly well because of the street Trikke, and I was able to slow myself a bit when I thought I was going too fast. Sweet. And so much fun.
And then a snowboarder stopped--in a logical place to stop, seeing as how he was nearly at the bottom--so I needed to not only stop, but avoid him. So I leaned into the slope--what one is supposed to do to stop a Skki Trikke--and was slowing, but I made the mistake of turning the front ski in the opposite direction. I launched off of it, over the handlebar, onto my right shoulder, and the Skki landed on top of me.
Easy to ride...not so easy to stop. Not if you're going pretty fast.
My very first run on my brand new spiffy toy, after paying for a season pass, and my season just might be over. Nothing broken, but tons of bruises. My left foot was pretty mangled (not sure how) and I strained nearly every tendon that keeps my right shoulder connected to my body so badly that the doc says it should heal in 12-18 WEEKS. And that I'd probably hurt less if I'd broken it.
Go me!
This was me after he told me that:
No Skking, no motorcycle ...=sob=... I am so freaking sore, even thinking about moving hurts, and I am Teh Bummed.
Well, other than the Vicodin. That part has been fun...
Earlier this year the Spouse Thingy and I gave skiing a try, but it was pretty much a failure due to an unwaxed ski and wet snow…I didn’t even finish the 2 hour beginner’s class because of it. Unwaxed ski = ski that won’t slide = twisted knee.
The consensus after we gave up? "We're too old for this shit."
But, we like the idea of fun in the snow, so over the summer we planned on getting a couple of Trikke Skkis, because they’re easy to ride, and easy sounded really good.
A couple of weeks ago we ordered two of them, and on Monday we drove up to Sierra-at-Tahoe and bought our season passes (because hey! These things are easy to ride, so we’ll ride all winter long!), then spent the night in a cheap motel so that we could hit the slopes bright and early. And it was a beautiful day... No wind, abundant sunshine, and the temp was right around 32--bonus in that it wasn't at all crowded, which is what we hoped for, being new to the spiffy Trikke Skki.
We had to field a lot of questions from the curious about the Skkis, but soon enough we were walking them partway up the bunny slope so we could test ride them and make sure we knew how to stop, which seemed like an important thing to know how to do. We did that twice, were satisfied that we could do it, and headed for the ski lift...determined to stick to the bunny slope because, hey, we're not stupid.
But ya know? From the top, the bunny slope looks pretty steep. So we headed sideways, from one side to the other, a sloping lateral move, just to test the stopping thing again. And then I decided sooner or later I was going to have to go down that hill, so off I went.
And it was awesome. I had the carving motion down fairly well because of the street Trikke, and I was able to slow myself a bit when I thought I was going too fast. Sweet. And so much fun.
And then a snowboarder stopped--in a logical place to stop, seeing as how he was nearly at the bottom--so I needed to not only stop, but avoid him. So I leaned into the slope--what one is supposed to do to stop a Skki Trikke--and was slowing, but I made the mistake of turning the front ski in the opposite direction. I launched off of it, over the handlebar, onto my right shoulder, and the Skki landed on top of me.
Easy to ride...not so easy to stop. Not if you're going pretty fast.
My very first run on my brand new spiffy toy, after paying for a season pass, and my season just might be over. Nothing broken, but tons of bruises. My left foot was pretty mangled (not sure how) and I strained nearly every tendon that keeps my right shoulder connected to my body so badly that the doc says it should heal in 12-18 WEEKS. And that I'd probably hurt less if I'd broken it.
Go me!
This was me after he told me that:
No Skking, no motorcycle ...=sob=... I am so freaking sore, even thinking about moving hurts, and I am Teh Bummed.
Well, other than the Vicodin. That part has been fun...
Tuesday
30 November 2010
At 11 o'clock last night, my eyes were blurry.
My head hurt.
My asterisk...it was a weird combination of numb and sore.
I'm not sure I was even speaking coherently.
That's what happens when your head has exploded and your brains are all over the room. Things hurt. Speech is difficult. Vision, not so wonderful.
All of that is the effect of NaNoExploMo* and 3 days of being planted in one position, trying to crunch the 13,000 words you're short in your NaNoWriMo effort. And really? You're doing it all so that you'll be a WINNER and get the spiffy PDF winner's certificate that you an print out and display for the whole world (or the people who wander into your house) can see.
Now, there is a t-shirt you can buy so that you can share it with the whole freaking world, but the goal is that PDF.
Seriously.
Yesterday morning, I still needed 5,000 words and was fairly sure I was not going to get it until the last minute--and the last minute would be fine, because at least I was going to make it this year.
But at 11 last night, or thereabouts... 50,054 words.
OK, my count was 50,215, but the NaNoBots counted it low. But it was still over 50K, so I got my certificate and a spiffy graphic to display on my blog.
Word, doods.
Now, what I have is 50,000 + words of total crap. 75% of what I've written will never make it into the final manuscript, but I have the bones of the story, and I know in which direction it will go. I also discovered a few things about characters I've been honing since I was 15 years old, some that made me a bit sad, some that made me laugh.
I hadn't intended to do a 5th Charybdis book so soon--I have 3 or 4 others in the hmmm this would be decent stage, but there was some actual campaigning from a few different corners of the Internet. More than one person wanted another book in teh series, and NaNo was a good time to see if there was another story there, one that would be worthy of fleshing out from concept to completion.
This story got its start while I was training for the SGK 3 Day; as I walked along, early on in the training, the first pages came to me; I knew it was going to be a different bent, written in a tone the other books don't have, but it strongly appealed to me, so I took notes, thinking that someday I'd get to it.
And here we are. I finished the NaNoEffort this year, got my PDF, got my blog graphic, and have what I hope will be a fairly decent start on a fairly decent book.
No, don't ask me what it's about. I can never answer that clearly.
But I will tell you this:
The working title is Flipside, and we're going to heaven, people...
*Thanks to Char for that lovely expression
My head hurt.
My asterisk...it was a weird combination of numb and sore.
I'm not sure I was even speaking coherently.
That's what happens when your head has exploded and your brains are all over the room. Things hurt. Speech is difficult. Vision, not so wonderful.
All of that is the effect of NaNoExploMo* and 3 days of being planted in one position, trying to crunch the 13,000 words you're short in your NaNoWriMo effort. And really? You're doing it all so that you'll be a WINNER and get the spiffy PDF winner's certificate that you an print out and display for the whole world (or the people who wander into your house) can see.
Now, there is a t-shirt you can buy so that you can share it with the whole freaking world, but the goal is that PDF.
Seriously.
Yesterday morning, I still needed 5,000 words and was fairly sure I was not going to get it until the last minute--and the last minute would be fine, because at least I was going to make it this year.
But at 11 last night, or thereabouts... 50,054 words.
OK, my count was 50,215, but the NaNoBots counted it low. But it was still over 50K, so I got my certificate and a spiffy graphic to display on my blog.
Now, what I have is 50,000 + words of total crap. 75% of what I've written will never make it into the final manuscript, but I have the bones of the story, and I know in which direction it will go. I also discovered a few things about characters I've been honing since I was 15 years old, some that made me a bit sad, some that made me laugh.
I hadn't intended to do a 5th Charybdis book so soon--I have 3 or 4 others in the hmmm this would be decent stage, but there was some actual campaigning from a few different corners of the Internet. More than one person wanted another book in teh series, and NaNo was a good time to see if there was another story there, one that would be worthy of fleshing out from concept to completion.
This story got its start while I was training for the SGK 3 Day; as I walked along, early on in the training, the first pages came to me; I knew it was going to be a different bent, written in a tone the other books don't have, but it strongly appealed to me, so I took notes, thinking that someday I'd get to it.
And here we are. I finished the NaNoEffort this year, got my PDF, got my blog graphic, and have what I hope will be a fairly decent start on a fairly decent book.
No, don't ask me what it's about. I can never answer that clearly.
But I will tell you this:
The working title is Flipside, and we're going to heaven, people...
*Thanks to Char for that lovely expression
Friday
26 November 2010
This is the Boy, in all his Polar plunge glory.Last year he and a bunch of his friends dressed up and braved the way-too-cold waters in the San Francisco Bay, jumping in to raise money for the Northern California Special Olympics.
Now that they've all warmed back up and the shrinkage has unshrunk, they've decided to do it again.
The Boy wants to raise some serious coin this year: for every $500 raised, an Special Olympian is set for an entire year. He'd like to support at least two, and to that effort, he's offering something in exchange for support...
For every $5 a person donates, they get a chance at winning a $250 Amazon gift card.
$250!!!
That's some pretty decent coinage right before Christmas, and the lucky winner will be selected on December 15th. You win, and you'll get the gift code in your email ASAP, so that you can shop in plenty of time for holiday delivery.
For more details, pop on over to Curt's Polar Plunge.
Thursday
If the kitties knew what today was, they would be sorely disappointed. No turkey in the oven, no special Fancy Feast... We're doing schnitzel today instead of turkey, because it's not a diet friendly kind of thing so we never have it, and turkey is diet friendly, so we can have it anytime.
There will be pie, however.
I think Max and Buddah will survive the disappointment.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Friday
19 November 2010
The Write Life
I'm sitting in Border's with my large iced tea (extra ice), trying to get caught up with my NaNo project for this year. I'm woefully behind...by a good 12,000 words, I think. It's not all that important to be right on target, because in the end what I want to wind up with is a decent story, not just 50,000 words, but... yeah, I kinda want that dorky PDF You're a Winner! certificate.
But...I'm sitting here with my iPad and bluetooth keyboard, which tends to attract a bit of attention. Usually people just want to know about the iPad, a few want to know about keyboard, and just about everyone wants to know how much this setup costs. Most of the time I want to snark, "More than you can afford, sunshine," but I think that has mre to do with 1) wanting to be snarky, and 2) for some odd reason wanting to call everyone "sunshine" lately. I don't know why.
But today there's a group of writers doing the same thing I'm doing (ok, they're engaging in NaNo activities...I don't guess that all of them are writing a blog post right now.) At first they wanted to know about the iPad because hell, it's easier to lug around than a laptop, and with the right app you can also move your work to your computer later for more thorough editing.
Yes, it's tres spiffy.
But the curiosity over the iPad quickly waned and discussion about the things we're working on ensued. A couple of overacheivers have surpassed 50K and are on their way to a full length novel. A couple are struggling to hit 20K. All are excited to talk about what they're working on.
I admit, I was feeling a ltitle squirrely about saying I was working on the 5th book in a series, but after some prodding, I talked about it. The assumption was that I'd been doing NaNoWriMo every year and those were my efforts, and oh, wouldn't it be nice to someday see all our books in print?
That's when the kid who has my ice tea perfected piped up from the counter, "Oh her books are published!"
Now, when something like this happens, there are a few things sure to follow, right after I bludgeon the tattle tale with my tea-wet bendy straw. Sometimes I get bombarded by questions about finding an agent, what rights did I sell, AM I RICH?!?! and WILL YOU READ MY BOOK? and to be honest, it's a little weird to say, "Don't be impressed...I own the publishing company."
Sometimes I get asked about the editing process. I tell them my editor consumes Carnation Instant Bitch for breakfast every morning, and that she's meaner than mean...but she gets the job done. And then, no I won't hook you up. I want her to keep liking me.
The ones who are truly interested in writing and not the possibility of a contract with a $500,000 advance ask about the writing itself. The process. How do I work? Where do my ideas come from? How do I choose first person over third? Do I edit as I go along or do I write from a stream of consciousness and edit later?
These kids (they're all about 25-30...so they're kids) fall into the latter group. They could have cared less about my income or connections; they wanted to know about what it's like to be a writer...and seemed genuinely surprised that in my book (no pun intended) they already are writers.
You write, you're a writer.
As simple as that. (Ha...yes, that was intentional.)
So we sat here talking and there wasn't much writing being done. And that's all right, it's not like my manuscript is going to commit suicide if I don't add another 5000 words to it today. But eventually, the talk about frustrations and not quite grasping outlining and plot versus character driven works turned into, "Please. Will you look at this and tell me why it's not working? Just this chapter. Please?"
I hate doing that. Mostly because I hate telling people the truth about something they've poured themselves into. It was kind of hard to say no, though.
So I read. And inwardly I cringed. The truth is that it wasn't working because it was mundane; it was boring on a level of boredom I rarely experience. The thing is, I could see what she was trying to do and where she was trying to go with it, but there was just so much. Writing is painting pictures with words, but there is such a thing as TMI. There are things better left to the readers' imaginations.
So I began pointing out some things that needed to be edited out in order to tighten the story (but after NaNo, since word counts count here...) The things were simple: a monotonous section describing the character flossing, for example.
"But those are things real people do," she tried to say. "And you write what you know, so..."
Real people floss their teeth, yes. But real people also sit at the dinner table and eat; real people defecate; real people pick their noses and a few eat the treasures they find. That doesn't mean the reader wants a detailed description about how many times the character chews his food, unless it lends something to the story. Readers don't necessarily want to read about how well or ill-formed a character's poop is unless they've been poisoned and it's a part of the plot. And unless the character is a child or someone elderly whose filters are gone, I can't imagine wanting to read about someone eating boogers.
Real people do boring things; we either write them in a way that makes them not boring, or we leave them out.
Mostly, we leave them out.
Luckily, she got where I was coming from. And perhaps not so luckily, I gave someone else an idea for one of their secondary characters, an old woman in a hospital bed; she thinks it would be wickedly funny if the protagonist, on visiting her, finds her digging in her nose and popping what she mines right into her mouth without a second thought about it.
Glad to be of service.
I don't often spend much time contemplating what it's like to be a writer, and what that might mean to someone who wants to be where I am, even if it's not under contract to one of the Big Six. When I think about it, I guess it would be like me sitting down with someone who is playing in the big leagues. I do know several writers who are (and frankly, they're not thrilled to know a whole bunch of indie writers outsell them regularly...) but to sit down with someone who's not just there but there? If I could get my brain to engage I think I'd be asking questions, too.
The problem would be getting my brain to engage. I doubt it would.
I really am quiet in person.
Surprise.
So. Now I get back to work, unless someone starts talking again, which seems likely, because holy crap, these people like to talk.
(Oh phfttt you know I enjoy it.)
I am sooo not winning NaNo this year...
I'm sitting in Border's with my large iced tea (extra ice), trying to get caught up with my NaNo project for this year. I'm woefully behind...by a good 12,000 words, I think. It's not all that important to be right on target, because in the end what I want to wind up with is a decent story, not just 50,000 words, but... yeah, I kinda want that dorky PDF You're a Winner! certificate.
But...I'm sitting here with my iPad and bluetooth keyboard, which tends to attract a bit of attention. Usually people just want to know about the iPad, a few want to know about keyboard, and just about everyone wants to know how much this setup costs. Most of the time I want to snark, "More than you can afford, sunshine," but I think that has mre to do with 1) wanting to be snarky, and 2) for some odd reason wanting to call everyone "sunshine" lately. I don't know why.
But today there's a group of writers doing the same thing I'm doing (ok, they're engaging in NaNo activities...I don't guess that all of them are writing a blog post right now.) At first they wanted to know about the iPad because hell, it's easier to lug around than a laptop, and with the right app you can also move your work to your computer later for more thorough editing.
Yes, it's tres spiffy.
But the curiosity over the iPad quickly waned and discussion about the things we're working on ensued. A couple of overacheivers have surpassed 50K and are on their way to a full length novel. A couple are struggling to hit 20K. All are excited to talk about what they're working on.
I admit, I was feeling a ltitle squirrely about saying I was working on the 5th book in a series, but after some prodding, I talked about it. The assumption was that I'd been doing NaNoWriMo every year and those were my efforts, and oh, wouldn't it be nice to someday see all our books in print?
That's when the kid who has my ice tea perfected piped up from the counter, "Oh her books are published!"
Now, when something like this happens, there are a few things sure to follow, right after I bludgeon the tattle tale with my tea-wet bendy straw. Sometimes I get bombarded by questions about finding an agent, what rights did I sell, AM I RICH?!?! and WILL YOU READ MY BOOK? and to be honest, it's a little weird to say, "Don't be impressed...I own the publishing company."
Sometimes I get asked about the editing process. I tell them my editor consumes Carnation Instant Bitch for breakfast every morning, and that she's meaner than mean...but she gets the job done. And then, no I won't hook you up. I want her to keep liking me.
The ones who are truly interested in writing and not the possibility of a contract with a $500,000 advance ask about the writing itself. The process. How do I work? Where do my ideas come from? How do I choose first person over third? Do I edit as I go along or do I write from a stream of consciousness and edit later?
These kids (they're all about 25-30...so they're kids) fall into the latter group. They could have cared less about my income or connections; they wanted to know about what it's like to be a writer...and seemed genuinely surprised that in my book (no pun intended) they already are writers.
You write, you're a writer.
As simple as that. (Ha...yes, that was intentional.)
So we sat here talking and there wasn't much writing being done. And that's all right, it's not like my manuscript is going to commit suicide if I don't add another 5000 words to it today. But eventually, the talk about frustrations and not quite grasping outlining and plot versus character driven works turned into, "Please. Will you look at this and tell me why it's not working? Just this chapter. Please?"
I hate doing that. Mostly because I hate telling people the truth about something they've poured themselves into. It was kind of hard to say no, though.
So I read. And inwardly I cringed. The truth is that it wasn't working because it was mundane; it was boring on a level of boredom I rarely experience. The thing is, I could see what she was trying to do and where she was trying to go with it, but there was just so much. Writing is painting pictures with words, but there is such a thing as TMI. There are things better left to the readers' imaginations.
So I began pointing out some things that needed to be edited out in order to tighten the story (but after NaNo, since word counts count here...) The things were simple: a monotonous section describing the character flossing, for example.
"But those are things real people do," she tried to say. "And you write what you know, so..."
Real people floss their teeth, yes. But real people also sit at the dinner table and eat; real people defecate; real people pick their noses and a few eat the treasures they find. That doesn't mean the reader wants a detailed description about how many times the character chews his food, unless it lends something to the story. Readers don't necessarily want to read about how well or ill-formed a character's poop is unless they've been poisoned and it's a part of the plot. And unless the character is a child or someone elderly whose filters are gone, I can't imagine wanting to read about someone eating boogers.
Real people do boring things; we either write them in a way that makes them not boring, or we leave them out.
Mostly, we leave them out.
Luckily, she got where I was coming from. And perhaps not so luckily, I gave someone else an idea for one of their secondary characters, an old woman in a hospital bed; she thinks it would be wickedly funny if the protagonist, on visiting her, finds her digging in her nose and popping what she mines right into her mouth without a second thought about it.
Glad to be of service.
I don't often spend much time contemplating what it's like to be a writer, and what that might mean to someone who wants to be where I am, even if it's not under contract to one of the Big Six. When I think about it, I guess it would be like me sitting down with someone who is playing in the big leagues. I do know several writers who are (and frankly, they're not thrilled to know a whole bunch of indie writers outsell them regularly...) but to sit down with someone who's not just there but there? If I could get my brain to engage I think I'd be asking questions, too.
The problem would be getting my brain to engage. I doubt it would.
I really am quiet in person.
Surprise.
So. Now I get back to work, unless someone starts talking again, which seems likely, because holy crap, these people like to talk.
(Oh phfttt you know I enjoy it.)
I am sooo not winning NaNo this year...
Thursday
11 November 2010
edit: In the time it took me to write and post this, Amazon took the book down. So, I basically offer my opinion here for...no good reason at all...
No, I won't be boycotting Amazon.
No, I won't be boycotting Amazon.
The Internet practically exploded yesterday over news that Amazon is selling a heinous-sounding book titled “The Pedophile's Guide To Love and Pleasure: A Child-Lover's Code Of Conduct.” I say heinous-sounding because I haven't read it and I'm not going to; I would assume that, based on the title, it's a piece of crap and not worth the effort to browse even the front matter, but I'm not going to bother.
I'm not even going to link to its Amazon page. Who the hell wants that in their search history?
If the book is as the title suggests—and that is a giant if—the writer is a sick fuck and I sure as hell don't want him lurking around my playground, but.
BUT.
He had every right to write the book. Hitler had every right to write Mein Kampf. William Powell had every right to write The Anarchists Cookbook. There's a ton of crap out there, and people have the right to write it all.
You have the right to not read any of it.
Now, I take issue with Amazon saying to not sell it would be censorship, but my issue is more with the idea that they're using the wrong word there. If they edited the shit out of it before putting it out there, that would be closer to censorship. If Uncle Sam steps in and forces the book from sale, that would be closer to censorship. Amazon not selling it would simply be an exercise of a business decision. As a business, Amazon doesn't have to support a writer's right to free speech, and no, they don't have to sell the book.
But they're going to sell it, and based up their precedents, they should.
Look, it's a Kindle book, submitted through their DTP platform. It's 100% self-published. The way the Kindle-author publishing relationship works is that they provide a platform, anyone who has written something they want to sell can upload it, and Amazon will sell it on their behalf—as long as it is not illegal material—for a hefty cut of the list price. There is no human sitting there reading every book uploaded to the DTP (though you can bet the book in question has now been reviewed; that it's still for sale suggests no illegal content.) It's a place where independent writers can get their work into the hands of the public, where they can try to sell and begin to create professional reputations. Some of them get noticed and generate enough sales to be picked up by either Amazon Encore or a major publisher. Most sell a book here or there, and are happy enough with it.
But the model is that anyone can sell a book there. Anyone. A book can be wonderfully written and worthy of a Pulitzer; a book can be complete garbage worthy of ridicule, but the great thing about the independent writer's relationship with Amazon is that everyone has an equal chance. Good or bad. Worthy or not.
If Amazon has to start making the decision about what's worthy or not, then what do we lose? Gay fiction? There are a whole lot of uptight right wingers out there who might think that we need to lose the LBGT fiction for sale. Some of it is freaking good, but should we lose that because it offends someone else? What about Christian fiction? Most of the Christian fiction I've read is horribly written; if that offends someone else, should it be eliminated? Because, really, I've wanted to shoot myself after reading some of it. How about vampire porn? The undead getting it on with the living? Well, that's offensive, let's get rid of that. There's a book on Amazon about becoming a pimp. No one should become a pimp or even know how, so strike that off the for-sale list.
Let's ban the books that the HBO series Dexter was based upon. Serial killers are amoral and don't belong out there with the good folks.
And hey, there's this series about some kid wizard and we can't have our kids reading or learning about magic, because even though it probably doesn't exist that's just wrong...let's get rid of Harry Potter.
Laughable? There are people who wanted that banned, you know.
People who never read a single word in any of JK Rowling's books.
And once we've started in on the books, what else? Amazon sells condoms. Do we get those banned because kids might order them and =gasp= use them while having sex? You can get sex toys through Amazon. I bet you can buy whips and chains and cases of whipped cream; who knows what perverted people can do with those, so it's best to not make them available.
It's a slippery slope; start with one thing, and others lose traction and follow.
I believe in freedom of speech for everyone. Not just for the people saying things I agree with, but especially for the people who say things I think are creepy and stupid. Those idiots from the Westboro Baptist Church that walk around carrying signs claiming God hates gays? That soldiers die because God hates the USA? I find that horribly offensive, but that's their right.
If it's not criminal—yelling FIRE in a theater; kiddie porn; etc.—then let it be.
Walk away from it.
Talk about it, but don't try to ban it.
Don't ignore it, but don't give overblown publicity to it. Because, folks, this is a book that would have died quickly without the uproar; the author is only getting the attention because everyone is making such an issue of it.
Attention leads to sales. Remember the movie “Porky's?” It was a horrible movie about kids looking to get laid; we were living in Utah when it was released, and it was destined to be in and out of the theater in about a week...until people started protesting it. The more people screamed about it—Oh my God it's a movie about SEX--the more curious other people became. And so ticket sales skyrocketed, and it stayed in the theater for weeks.
Remember when Sonia Johnson chained herself to the gates of a Mormon temple because the church came out against the Equal Rights Amendment? The church did little about that, and for good reason. The more she screamed about it, the more people investigated the church and its credo. The LDS church gained quite a few members from that.
The heinous-sounding book that would have languished as data bits on a server somewhere might now find an audience. It might now find a sales base. At the very least, it's giving the author the attention he probably shouldn't get.
And that, my friends, is probably opposite of what the first people calling for a boycott intended, but it is a likely result.
Amazon is not, and should not be, the moral arbiter for the world. And in the end, a boycott on Amazon not only draws attention to the person who wrote that book, but hurts the other independent writers who have only Amazon as their sales base.
Amazon won't be hurt by a boycott; those indie writers, though, they run the highest risk of being hurt. They're the ones who get trampled in the stampede to condemn an entire company for what one person chose to write about. Not the guy who wrote the book that upset the world, not the company standing behind its policies of open publishing, just the little guys.
So no, I will not boycott Amazon over this. I embrace freedom of speech, even for sick twisted minds... and hey, I also enjoy the idea that if it turns out that book is a how-to guide, then it does become something illegal, and anyone buying it becomes fodder for the judicial system.We should teach them how to bend over and pick up the soap now, so that they're not ill prepared.
Sunday
7 November 2010
Lots of complaining online today about the time change, including me. I hate it. But what I'm hearing is a lot of We don't need Daylight Savings Time Anymore.
Ow, Contrair, mis amis.
(That's french for WhuuuT? Shut the Fark up!)
What we don't need is Standard time. I want DST. I want my extra light at the end of the day, because farkit I'm night blind (as I remind everyone every freaking year) and I hate pushing the clock back and getting that light in the morning.
Plus, DST = energy saving.
For real.
I read it on the Internet.
Oh, and it's Daylight Saving Time. No plural on the "saving." I read that on the Internet, too. "Savings we bank; we are not banking extra daylight."
Yeah, someone has a stick up their ass on that, but it kinda makes sense.
Either way... I freaking hate changing the clock back.
Ow, Contrair, mis amis.
(That's french for WhuuuT? Shut the Fark up!)
Plus, DST = energy saving.
For real.
I read it on the Internet.
Oh, and it's Daylight Saving Time. No plural on the "saving." I read that on the Internet, too. "Savings we bank; we are not banking extra daylight."
Yeah, someone has a stick up their ass on that, but it kinda makes sense.
Either way... I freaking hate changing the clock back.
Thursday
Monday
1 November 2010
NaNoWriMo.
The month when thousands of aspiring writers commit to coughing up 50,000 words that will hopefully, at some point, comprise a novel. I signed up again this year, because while I was pounding the pavement training for the Susan G. Komen 3 Day, I found a story brewing inside my head, and began to mentally write it.
I took notes, horrible notes, with the idea that when the Walk was over, I would start working on the book.
And then I remembered NaNo, and figured why the hell not? Use November as an enforced springboard into getting the thing started. I know I can do 50K in a month; hell, when I was working on The King and Queen of Perfect Normal I had a 12K day (I don't recommend this...your fingers really hurt at the end of the day...) If I write 2000 words a day, I'll be well over the 50K by the end of the month.
So here we are at noon on November 1st, and I have written...nothing.
Go me.
(I probably write about NaNo Every year...still, here's my previous advice about NaNo)
In a nutshell: get all Nike on the NaNo vibe, and Just Do It...
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