Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

This is what happens when the Impertinent Daughter gets bored halfway through an assignment to write a journal entry as if she were a colonist who had managed to survive a year in one of the New World colonies in the 1600's...



"Friday, August 29, 1600-something -- Sunny. The recent arrivals to the colony were a great relief to all of us as they came with supplies. I mean, we have been trading with the Indians for food and some of their supplies, but... it isn't the same as using what we good English folk are used to using. Besides, if there is anything our new arrivals (and some poor, clueless souls here) should worry about, it's the werewolves. Those bloody pests have been getting too many a man as of lately! Tomorrow night is the full moon and some of the stronger men are going to go hunt them down and rid our colony of these beasts the illness. I think it may come from the water? Or whatever we have been eating. We basically live in a swamp. What the Indians don't give us and that the other colonial men pick up is probably not good for us. And then there's the natives themselves! I've seen some in the woods outside of the borders of our colony, but they don't venture too near. Probably because we're all obviously diseased here and they don't want it. Besides, they've got their own problems. I hear the werewolves are getting them, too. The infestation is worse than I thought diseases are spreading to them and from us no less! But, at the moment, that is of no matter, I have survived a year here in this new world colony, even if it is crawling with moonlight freaks a little dangerous... it is an occurrence worth writing about!"



Part of me wants her to turn it in just like that, but I'm fully aware that as it's only day three, and she doesn't know the teacher well, it's probably a little too early to be testing the bounds of the woman's good humor. Still, she's awesome, and incredible, and I love the skew in her humor!

Werewolves. Heh, heh... utterly wicked and delicious!!!

Yeah, y'all are probably tired of hearing about this, but... this is the seven day forecast for Central Texas...




I saw a story in the news that cattle are dying from... drinking too much water. Yes, you read that right. See, a lot of stock tanks (what most folks think of as "ponds" are called "tanks" down here) have dried up, and pastures have withered, so... ranchers are moving their cattle to pastures where they can pump in a water supply. The cows, of course, are understandably thirsty, and if they drink too much too quickly, well, it's more than their bodies can handle and they die. More than 90 percent of the state is in the two highest drought categories. Where I am is in the "exceptional" category.

And because there is no moisture in the soil whatsoever, it's just... baking out there. It's like walking into an oven when you go outside, which I'll admit, I don't really like to do all that much. Because, there's only so much clothing you can remove before someone gets charged with indecency! This is the first time I've ever wished we had a pool, but at the same time, I'm glad we don't because, omg, the water bill!!

My latest writing project is going well... when the kids leave me along long enough, that is. I'm hoping to be done by tonight, so I can get it edited and ready to send off by tomorrow night. And that is all I will say about that, for now.

Now, if I can just the the Migraine of Doom to go away and leave me alone, that would be totally awesome!!

And last, but not least, I want to thank star54kar for the kiss! And eloquent_toast, madeyemax, and lusiology for the chocolate!! Because, you know, chocolate fixes EVERYTHING!!

*squooshes you all*

Okay, so... apparently I can write when I'm away from home.

I've had a plot bunny stalking me for a few days, and when we decided to make an excursion into Austin yesterday to hit Barnes and Noble and Book People to use our gift cards, it finally decided to attack.

I keep a notebook in my purse for writing purposes (yes, how old fashioned of me, right?) and I tried writing in the car, but you know, that didn't work so well. However, I remembered that my iPod Touch has a note writing app on it, so... I decided to try that et voila!

So... I can write when I'm not sitting here in my nice comfortable Auntie Nook where I have all this space and references, and I can look out the window and see my garden when I need distraction or to think... no, I have to be AWAY from it and... *head-desk*

Guess I'd better start looking at local options for places to write. Because, seriously, I can't keep tripping into San Marcos to hang out at the library to write! No comfortable corners there anyway.

There used to be a place here called "Java Motion" where I would go after dropping off the kids. I'd take the laptop or a notebook, buy a hot chocolate and something to nibble on, find a table in a corner near the window so I could see out on the square, and I'd spend a few hours writing. Didn't do it often, but when I did, I was always productive. They had wi-fi, so if I needed references, I could go online. It's closed last summer, and it looks like no one's going to buy the place and make a substitute. Which sucks.

The Dairy Queen here has wi-fi, but... no. No thank you. There is a library here, and while there is a nice space for writing, with at least two or three semi-private carrells, people with laptops are banished to this really crappy folding table in a very drafty hallway near the back, right by the restrooms. Not an ideal situation for writing in. And, there's a place called "The Baker's Rack" that has wi-fi, but it's small and a wee bit crowded...

Gah, why can't I write here????

On another note, the Impertinent Daughter did this rough sketch this morning, which I looked at with great amusement. She'd asked me to name a character for her to sketch, and my brain did it's usual thing of emptying of any useful content whatsoever, and I do remember grumbling something about not having enough caffeine for this before suggesting the first thing that came to mind. She, of course, shot it down immediately, so I responded with, "Roxas!" in desperation.

Which made her roll her eyes.

This is the result...



It's not Roxas. She said that. She said, "I don't know who this is, though it's kind of like you, kind of like me, but more like you when you're all 'I haven't had enough caffeine for this,' and all."

So, it's very like me, except I don't drink coffee because of the brain explodey thing. But, you get the idea.

So now I'm off to... um... not write. Or at least figure out where I can write. Woot. I think.

It's been a busy week. I got to argue with Dr. Endocrinologist about my thyroid medication. The dosage was lowered during my last visit because my levels were too high (????) and not even three days after the dosage change, my hair started falling out again, I was experiencing Personal Antarcticas again, my skin was drying out... oh, yeah, I was a totally happy camper, don't you know? I especially enjoyed the falling asleep at the drop of a hat part, yeah, that was fun. Not.

And after all that hair grew back in again, too! Damn it! Now I'm going to have weird short tufts sticking up when it starts growing back in again! *grumble grumble*

So, basically, Dr. E. had a very grumpy, snarly, and very determined Auntie in his office. He laid out all the risks of increasing my dosage, with increased risk of bone fractures, heart palpitations, and laid them next to the hair loss, the fatigue, the dry skin, the cold flashes, the weight gain (I had lost over twenty pounds and gained them all back!!), the hair loss, the sleep disruptions, the hair loss, the lack of appetite, and did I mention the hair loss??

He's increased my dosage back to where it was, thank you very much!

The rest of the week was spent on frantic bouts of last minute shopping for the walking stomachs kids, who seem to be outgrowing or wearing out everything they own all at the same time. I had to get it done before noon today, because... it's kind of hard to shop for the kids and have the stuff you buy be a surprise if they're with you. Plus, the Husbandly One will be off for the next two weeks as well, since business slows down at this time of the year. Which is totally awesome, but makes me wistful, because I miss the years where we'd have a couple of days to ourselves before school let out for winter break. Heh.

I think this is the first time I've sat down in three days!

THO, of course, is feeling rather stressed right now. Let's just say that koshweasley isn't the only one feeling screwed by his employer at the moment. No, THO still has his job, he's just... not terribly happy at the moment. His boss makes the Grinch look like a happy, cheerful, and entirely generous sort of fellow.

*more grumbling with occasional snarls thrown in*

Oh, I almost forgot one of the funny things that happened this week. Soccer practice has started in earnest for the Impertinent Daughter (she made the high school junior varsity team, YAY!). This means she has to go to two different campuses; the freshman campus for her classes, and the high school for athletics. This week, they were taking their midterms, which meant their schedules were... well... nuts. I mean, come on, y'all have heard me bitch about this school district, so you know it's going to be chaotic, right?

Normally, a bus runs between the freshman campus and the high school for this purpose, but... the schedule was, as I mentioned, chaotic. Meaning the Impertinent Daughter's class was letting out a little late for her to catch the bus for the high school. The bell rings at 3:42, the bus leaves at 3:45, and they had to be at practice by 4. Sounds simple, right?

*snort*

Three minutes is plenty of time to run to your locker, switch out your stuff, and haul ass out to the bus. I even told her that. "Hell, you're a soccer player! Hauling ass is normal for you!"

Except... her group was taking a TAKS diagnostic as part of their mid-terms. Which meant they got out at a little closer to 3:50.

So, on Tuesday, I had three teenage girls in my minivan, along with the Impossible Son, and let me tell you something right now. Teenage girl pong is just as bad as teenage boy pong.

*wrinkles nose*

Eeeeurgh!!! My eyes were watering!! and the only reason I didn't fling open the windows right away was because all three girls were changing into their practice gear on the way. In fact, I think the only reason one particular group of boys aren't road-kill is because the bus driver who nearly plowed them was paying attention to driving.

They were too busy staring open-mouthed at my car while the Impertinent One whipped off her shirt and tugged on her jersey, much to my astonishment (and theirs), and I had to remind her that while our windows are tinted, the front windows aren't that tinted, and they could still see her. They couldn't see anything beyond her shoulders and bra straps, because she had her back to them, but still!! It was an amazingly weird experience to be driving along with clothes and soccer gear flying all over the car, the Impossible Son in the rear seat wailing about his eyes burning and oh, gods, can we open a window, Mom, pleeeease???, and all with Japanese ska playing in the background.

Surreal doesn't even cover it.

And just to wrap up my week in total, I managed to get about five pages written today that didn't suck. Now, if I can just keep it going! Somebody grab me the Anti-Writer's Block spray!!

I have been trying to write. Really. I have.

But... *sigh*

Everything I've done so far is full of suck, and that's speaking objectively. I feel like I'm trying to write through this huge... barrier... and its sucking the ... gosh, I'm not even sure how to put it. Let me put it this way: I've been working on a piece of original fiction, taking what I normally push into fanfiction, and writing something new. Right?

Am I stuck on an erotic scene? On a hot one on one passion session with lots of smut-tastic action?

No.

What am I stuck on?

One phrase. One damn, niggling, stupid, idiotic phrase to describe the sound of someone running down a running path that will lead up to one of the main characters looking up to meet another main character. You know, that "moment" where the eyes meet and something sparks, though they don't act on it, at least not right away, but the potential is there, and you just know it's going to go somewhere?

Yeah.

*bangs head into desk repeatedly*

AAAAAUUUGGHH, WHY IS THIS SO HARD ALL OF A SUDDEN?????

I mean, I know this is the usual slow climb to recovery that has happened after the last two times I lost files in a hard drive crash, but JAYS, this is driving me nuts!! There is NOTHING worse than having this ... need and craving and just gods, I have to write something, but it's just not coming. It's like... something inside got broken or is out of order, or maybe I didn't notice the "writer is currently out of service" sign, but it's like torture, and it's driving me nuts.

Even writing my posts feels unnatural and just... not like me.

I know that part of it also has to do with the fact that my thyroid is... totally out of control right now, and I've been waiting for the Impertinent One to be settled back in school before calling to reschedule my appointment. Now that she's actually made it through a week of being back on a full-time schedule, I think I can call, because y'all, I am telling you, I can't live like this any more. I'm not sleeping at all, my hands and feet are swollen, the exhaustion is crushing me again, and no matter what I do, I am gaining weight like crazy, which is... seriously depressing when I allow myself to think about it. But that's what happens when your metabolism takes a nose-dive. Once I get the dosage adjusted, I'll feel better and the weight will start coming off again, but for now... I'm just not a happy camper.

And I can't write. Oh my gods, I can't write, and it HURTS.

SO. Monday morning. I will call the endocrinologist and say, "Hey, who do I have to blow to get an appointment ASAP? You can ask my husband for references, I'm really talented at it!" I mean, whatever it takes, because seriously, y'all... I can't do this again. I enjoy getting a full night's sleep, really I do! And I miss having the energy to do things... Auntie wasn't meant to be a couch potato!! I know I haven't said much about how things were going with me, but... it's been rather a lot to deal with and... well... I just... didn't want this to turn into a blog full of me complaining about all the things that are going wrong in my life. Because... there are a lot of things that are pretty darn good about it, you know?

Every once in a while, though... it all sort of backs up and goes catty-whompuss on me and I have to vent.

I want to write again. I want that feeling back of my fingers flying on the keyboard and being lost in trying to capture the images in my head in words on a page and...

*sigh*

I HATE THIS!!!!

Nicked from lusiology.


The "You Should Write..." Meme!
my thread at my journal

Like lusiology and the user previous to her, I have linked this to my own journal, just to simplify things. Should be interesting to hear your ideas...

Ever been working on something for months, writing, researching, struggling with it because, dammit, you just know you can make it work, but every attempt seems to just be... wrong. It's stiff, unnatural, refuses to flow no matter how you try to rewrite it, no matter how many different angles you try to approach it from, and your deadline is looming closer and closer, and you start getting desperate, because you don't want to ask for an extension, you know you can do this but... AARRRGGHHH!!!

Then life seems to throw all these obstacles and blocks your way, keeping you from working on it, until finally, it slams into you with all the force of a speeding train... you're writing about the wrong characters. It's not a story about this person... it's a story about those two people. And suddenly, everything flows the way it is supposed to, your fingers are flying across the keyboard, it's so easy to write now, whereas before, it was like trying to slog through mud uphill in a torrential downpour with a 150 pound pack on your back.

Serious, that drives me nuts. And it drives the people around me nuts, too.

I hate being a writer.

But then, sometimes, it just comes so easy, words seem to flow from my fingertips, and I can literally see the story before my eyes, like my own little movie and I'm just taking notes, really. The characters speak to me, leaning over my shoulder and whispering suggestions as I write, making me laugh at highly inappropriate moments when I suddenly realize why a certain thing needs to happen in the process of a story, or almost making me cry when I realize someone has to die and why. Sometimes, I feel like I am just a medium through which the story comes, the conduit that brings it to life on paper, because it can't stay in my head or it hurts, like they're drumming against the inside of my skull, trying to escape, and I can only relieve that pain by writing them out of me, and it feels so good, so good when it all works, when it comes together and it works and I know it works, there it is, see?

I love being a writer.

And this is why the Muggles think writers are crazy. And maybe we are. But who cares, as long as it makes a good story?

The kids are back in school, the Husbandly One is back at work, and I have the house to myself once again. It's quiet, peaceful, and chilly. Though, it's amazing how much the house warmed up when I remembered to reverse the ceiling fans again and set them on slow. I had re-set them to the summer position (clockwise) just before Christmas because... it was warm and muggy.

I think that should have told me right there that Christmas was going to be off this year. The weekend before Christmas had been so cold, the way it's supposed to be... and then Christmas Eve day had been so warm I was actually wandering around the house barefoot and in shorts. Sweating.

*shakes head*

In fact, it stayed warm all the way until yesterday morning. The times I've worn my hoodie since Christmas has been because it's been cold indoors, like at the hospital in San Marcos. Or because I was experiencing personal winter.

Right now, though, I'm cold because it's cold outside. It's raining and 34 degrees. Great for the first day back to school, right?

I'm relieved, though. Time to myself is writing time, and I am very badly backed up where that is concerned. I mean, I've been writing, but in dribs and drabs. I think the last thing I posted was the follow-up to "A Visit," and then, the piece I wrote for harry_holidays. I'm working on more original stuff than fan fiction, these days, and I suppose that's only natural. My little notebook, which I keep in my purse, is full not only of the notes I keep to myself, reminding myself of phone numbers, things I need to do, and all the other things I have to write down in order to remember them (I call it my "low tech Blackberry"), but it is also full of writing notes. Story ideas, plots, drabbles, you name it. I've learned to jot such things down the moment they pop into my head, or at least as soon as possible, because many times, they flutter right back out, which is frustrating.

For example, on one page, I've scribbled, "My dreams were full of fire and smoke, heat curling the edges of a paper I held in my hands, smoke that burned my throat as I tried to peer through it, trying to figure out where I was, and why I was there. Even after I woke up, and started about my day, smoke seemed to permeate everything, hazing my vision as I walked outside for the paper, making my throat and chest ache ..."

I have no idea where I was going with that, nor what the heck I'm going to do with it.

How about this little tidbit? ...

He stared up at Draco, shivering as even the warming charms couldn’t warm his failing body any longer. Draco held his hand, staring back, trying to memorize every single detail of his face, of his eyes, of the way he just… looked. James swallowed, reaching up to touch Draco’s jaw. “Who wants to live… forever… anyway,” he rasped as tears filled the dark eyes.

Draco lifted the frail hand to his lips. “I don’t,” he whispered. “Not without you.”

James’ pale lips trembled. “I… I would do it… if I could… for you, Draco… I swear I would…”

“I know, love, Shhhhh,” said Draco, letting his own tears fall. “Shhhh… I know you would…”

“I tried so hard, Draco,” he whispered, the tears finally beyond his control and spilling from his eyes. “I tried so hard to live… I did…”

“I know…”

“I want to live,” he said, fiercely. “I… I want to live, Draco… and… and be with you…”

“I know, James…” He closed his eyes, kissing the hand in his, pressing it to his wet cheeks. “I want… so much with you, James. But… I’m grateful for what we’ve had.”

“I’m not,” said James, almost angrily. When Draco looked at him, startled, he closed his eyes. “I want more… I’m greedy, I want… I want more… it’s not enough…”

Hermione was sobbing quietly into Ron’s chest, and Ron was watching them with a dull-eyed despair. Harry had turned away from Ginny and was staring resolutely out the window, almost past his endurance.

“I love you,” whispered Draco. “I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, on the train in third year. I have known you were the one from the moment you fell in my lap that day, and… I never stopped hoping, somehow, someway… that… that we would…”

“Draco,” James whispered, and Draco stopped, staring at him, then he stood.

“No! No, not yet, not now, James, no, you can’t! You can’t die yet, please, baby, please… one more minute, please… I love you, don’t go, don’t leave me… James, James, please, please!!!!”

James stared at him intently. “I… I love… you… love you… always… love… my Draco… love…” and then he was struggling to suck in a breath, trying to breathe, his eyes focused so hard on Draco, who wanted to shout for a healer, but didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to waste that last moment, the very last moment he’d see love and life in those beautiful, luminous eyes. Slowly, the focus shifted, he was staring at Draco, but no longer seeing him, his eyes on some far horizon, and on a rasping, wheezing exhale, he breathed, “Free…” and was gone.

“James!” The wail was ripped from Draco’s heart, and he fell forward on the still breast, sobbing. “James! James, oh, gods, James…”

???

Who the heck is James, and what was I thinking when I wrote this? I've left no clues to myself, and yet, there it is. Nice little bit, a bit sobby, a bit schmaltzy, maybe a bit cathartic, but...*shrugs*


Then there's this lovely little piece that looks promising... if I can just figure out where I was going with it...

When Brian, exasperated beyond bearing, found Joshua, it was after hearing music drift down the stairs. Some sort of stringed instrument by the sound of it. He followed the elusive notes up the stairs, around a corner, and up another set of stairs hidden behind a tapestry until he found himself on a rooftop platform. His host was perched on the railing, one knee up, one leg down, while his back was braced against a column that provided support for an even higher platform. His face was turned toward the setting sun as he cradled a mandolin against his belly, his fingers moving idly over the neck as he played only to amuse himself, eyes lost to imaginary wanderings that left his lips upturned in a quiet smile...

Like I said, I have no idea where I was going with that.

I'm awfully glad THO is accustomed to living with a writer, even to the point of helping me do research from time to time. Though, really, he kinda enjoys helping me do some of that research...

Though I would like to know why I wrote "Expresso/no expresso, cheese, sandwich, no filler..."

*ponders*

Nope. Nothing. No idea, really. I imagine if any of you tried to plumb my mind, you would find it an inconveniently dark, slightly damp, and completely confusing place. With unexpected corners. And Labrador Retrievers bounding up to knock you over and drool on your shoes. Or something like that.

Yes, I am going into writing mode. Can you tell? Well, I'm off to huddle over my keyboard for an incomprehensible two or so hours, and then I'll be much more coherent and together. I hope.

Distractedly,

Auntie

Still not getting comment notifications, apparently because LJ and my email provider don't play nice together. But, LJ is working on it, presumably talking nicely and perhaps offering cookies and a really cool bike and maybe things will be resolved soon.

So, if my replies to your comments seem more sporadic than usual, well, you know why!

In the meantime, I thought y'all might like a peek at one of my current projects. I've been working on it for some time, and I'm getting close to being finished (finally, huzzah!).
( It's a big picture, so beware!! )

Okay, so the Impossible Son and I are working our way through Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and as I'm reading out loud to him, I came across a line a few weeks ago that I have been meaning to ask about.

Okay, so here it is. In Chapter 12, which is entitled "Professor Umbridge," on page 248 of the U. S. edition, I came across this line...

"There had been a previous occasion when Harry, expecting to be caned by Professor McGonagall, had instead been appointed by her to the Gryffindor Quidditch Team."

O_O!!!

Caned???

So I went back and checked Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (man, I hate that title, it pisses me off every time I see it), and I found this little snippet...

"Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

'Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?'

Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?"

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone page 130

The first, fifth, and seventh books are the only ones I don't have Bloomsbury editions for, so I'm asking those of you who have them... is it the same? The Impossible One said, "Caned? What's 'caned' mean? She would hit him with a candy cane? Or an old lady walking cane?"

Well, that took some thinking! You know, "Must... not... give... BDSM explanations... to child...ERK!" Though, you know, the mental image of Professor McGonagall whacking Harry Potter over the head with a candy cane (the Impossible Son's explanation when I asked him what he thought it meant) nearly made me inhale my iced tea! Especially the way Mr. Manzie verbally illustrated it, by whacking his Chimchar over the head with a pencil (imaginary candy cane) and saying, "BAD Harry Potter! BAD Harry Potter!! No more flying for you!"

Oh dear!

As y'all can see, my equilibrium is somewhat re-established, and when I told my family how close I came to Giving Up Writing Forever, their individual expressions of horror were something to behold, and for some odd reason, reminded me disturbingly of when I was a kid and my parents were trying to quit smoking. My sisters and I would put up with it for about a week, and then we'd beg them to start smoking again.

THO said, "I may not always understand what you're going through, but I'll always support you in this. Just... what can I do to cheer you up when you get so... grumpy?" He was being diplomatic and tactful. Believe me.

"Um... stop trying to cheer me up?" I said with a smile. "Really, when I'm grumpy because I'm having a hard time working through a plot, because my characters won't cooperate, or because I've written myself into a corner, or for whatever reason, I don't need to be cheered up. I need to be distracted or just plain left alone. If I'm unhappy because of anything else, by all means, cheer me up, but if it's my writing... it's better to leave me alone. Make sure I have water, or tea, and then tiptoe out quietly and let me get on with it."

Really, someone needs to write a manual entitled, "The Care and Feeding of Writers: A Manual for Spouses, Partners, and Those That Love Them in Spite of Themselves." I'm sure THO would be first in line to buy one!

Speaking of which, I've been sitting here trying to think of extremely annoying songs. I'm working on my NaNo fic, and my character has a hangover. I'm trying to think of the last song you'd ever want to have blasting out of your phone as a ringtone if you've got the Hangover from Hell. So far, I've got the Dropkick Murphys and "I'm Shipping Up to Boston," which gives me fond, fond memories. Ah, the joys of retaliating against neighbors listening to THEIR obnoxiously loud ethnic music with MY obnoxiously loud ethnic music. Anyway, beyond that, I'm stuck. I mean, I guess I could make it something by Megadeth, or some equivalent, but... hmmmm... I must continue to ponder.

I'm up to 3, 735 words so far. Wanna know what the hardest part of doing the NaNoWriMo is? NOT going back to edit. Usually, I edit as I go along, then run back and fix awkward phrasing, or re-write something that doesn't fit... and we're not supposed to do that.

It's driving me nuts.

Okay, I'm rambling now, so, I need to toddle off to bed. But I did want to ask my question while I could!