I wasn’t going to write an update this morning. Many people will be waking up to celebrate Christmas, others have already been there/done that, and many more will either be going about their normal lives (or as normal as things can be) either not celebrating anything, already celebrated something, or waiting in anticipation to celebrate their culture’s tradition.
I’m up early, as I often am. So, as always (or usually) I write. Something.
Whatever you do today, be safe, be kind, be happy.
I have been going over the corrections and suggestions in my latest novella manuscript that I got back from my editor. There are some errors I still make, but overall, so far, there hasn’t been a sea of blue edits.
I have to start thinking about book covers. I should have done this sooner because I know it will take some time to source this task. Any cover designers out there you would recommend? Or, are you one? Maybe you want to be one . . .
It was v-v-very c-c-c-c-cold for a few d-d-d-days last week, then it became warmer, and now they (the weather people) are forecasting above freezing temperatures tomorrow. It made me think of this poem that I wrote and posted in February:
Winter
If you have never seen the hoarfrost cling To wires, fences, posts, and trees If you have never witnessed heavy snow On every tree branch hanging low If you have never watched the ice floes beat Upon frigid shores too cold for feet
Ventured across a frozen lake, I’ve done With sundogs adorning the low noon sun I’ve trudged with snowshoes on wind-blown drifts Even biked by snowy cliffs Shoveled walks and pushed out cars Watched breath become a frozen cloud When others dare not go outside I’ll fear not, I will not hide
I do often dream of warmer climes But I sure would miss the wintertime
I stopped by a friend’s place to check on the dog. After a brisk walk, I kindly directed her to take care of her business as her owner would not be home until later. Having thoroughly explaining the situation, she proceeded to take her number 2.
Now, keep in mind that she is not a scientist by any stretch of the imagination, but I will let her explain in her own words what transpired, to create what followed that I consider a comedy of errors. And I quote:
“Well, you see, the excrement was lacking the necessary mass and density to allow gravity to exert sufficient force to extricate it form the luxurious hairs around my bumular area.” (See, I told you she wasn’t a scientist).
So, when I attempted to remove the problem in question with a sanitary wet-wipe, I must have pulled on one of those luxurious hairs situated near the aforementioned ‘bumular’ area, which startled her, causing her to dash away and make the ill-fated decision to take matters into her own ha—paws.
She scooched her butt along the frozen ground which accomplished two things—none of which were the desired outcome:
The action increased the surface area dramatically, diffusing it unevenly (not onto the ground)
The temperature of the ground created what could only be called a ‘poopcicle’ in the ‘bumular’ area
Opening the door allowed the dog to seek shelter inside where rugs and carpets abound—perfect for doggie bottoms. I quickly scooped up the hell hound and placed her in the tub. Now, where is the puppy shampoo?, I wondered.
Not wanting to leave the dog very long in the tub, empty of course, I frantically opened cupboards and closet doors, to no avail. Warm water and a rag it is, then.
Now, the dog is used to being bathed and groomed, so thankfully she did put up with me and the warm, wet rag, and several minutes of washing and rinsing. When I had effectively removed all traces of unwanted residue, I dried her off and let her sit on the towel to complete the process.
Finding the only dog hair product available, a bottle of fur de-matting/conditioning spray, I sprayed the fragrant aerosol mist on her behind and spent the next few minutes combing out the luxurious hair around her bumular area.
My work done (this was not what I had expected), I received the kiss I always get when I leave. She watched me sadly as I closed the door. As I left, I could only think of one thing:
“She’s going to go lick her ass, isn’t she . . .?”
NaNoWriMo Totals to Date: 16 664 words (17 264 if you count the forward that I wrote and and some duplicate paragraphs I found lurking at the bottom of the word doc.), 26 cups of coffee, one cup of Earl Grey, one cup of tea (unknown), two glasses of Rum & Coke, one glass of cabernet, and a half-pint of a Session IPA.
NaNoWriMo Totals to Date: 13 580 words, 19 cups of coffee, one cup of Earl Grey, one cup of tea (unknown), two glasses of Rum & Coke, one glass of cabernet, and a half-pint of a Session IPA.
Weekend Wrap-up:
Did I mention that I’m a slow writer? 1000 at a sitting (usually an hour or two) is doable and I occasionally reach that, but 300-800 is usually the norm. If I had all day to write, maybe I’d have more, but I’m like a bucket under a leaky pipe.
Huh?
It fills up slowly drip by drip, then when it’s full you dump it out before having to wait for it to fill again.
From my blog this week:
I revisited some reading related posts from a year ago, but I won’t repost the reposts.
NaNoWriMo Totals to Date: 8218 words, 12 cups of coffee, one cup of Earl Grey, one cup of tea (unknown), one glass Rum &Coke, one glass of cabernet, and a half-pint of a Session IPA.
I had a few author interview questionnaires to put together, so I got caught up on those. Now back to the writing.
Weekend Wrap-up
From my blog this week:
I hope you have enjoyed some of the revisits of some of my earlier and favorite posts. I have to admit that I had to edit a bit before linking. a few spelling errors and outdated reference needed to be fixed.
From the blogs of other’s:
I visited some blogs that had the tag NaNoWriMo to see what other writer’s experiences has been so far and to offer encouragement and congratulations. One writer has already finished the required 50K words.
NaNoWriMo Update: 4168 words, 6 cups of coffee (will be 7 soon), and one glass of cabernet. Yes, that was my evening writing session.
Other writing news: The novella I started last November is almost ready to go to my editor. Any other writers out there get tired of re-reading their story, looking for errors? Sometimes you just have to “Let it Go”, right? So, before I start writing today, I’ll go over it one last time.
Non-Writing news: The clocks turn back an hour tonight for many regions. Now it gets dark at 6. Tomorrow it will get dark at 5 and continue to get darker earlier for the next month and a half, so by the solstice say bye-bye to the sun around 4-4:30.
But on the bright side, the days start to get longer. Must. Remember. To. Take. Vitamin. D.
When I realized that Halloween landed on a Sunday—how often does that happen?
“More often than when it lands on Friday the 13th. Now, that would be spooky.”
Well anyway, I decided to take advantage of the alliterative possibility, and created “Spooky Sunday”.* I then realized that I have nothing to write about today, so here we are on “Somewhat Spooky Saturday”.
Let’s talk horror stories, shall we?
“Finally.”
Quiet you. When you are asked about horror writers, who do you think of? Stoker? Shelley? Barker? King? Koontz? Rice? Lovecraft? Poe? Need I go on?
“Nope. It’s quite alright.”
Anyway, there are many. I don’t read much horror, but I did get started with King early in his career. I read some Koontz and Saul before discovering Poe and Lovecraft. There is something about Victorian horror that modern writers just can’t come close to. Maybe it’s the flowery writing or the ability to creep a reader without resorting to gruesome details. H.P. Lovecraft is the only horror writer that made the hair on my skin rise up and sent a shiver through my spine. I wish I could remember which story it was—or maybe I don’t.
I’ve written poetry, science fiction, post-apocalyptic, and humor, but never horror, although some may argue that my short story There’s no Place Like Home is more horror than post-apocalyptic.
Lines by Leon 