Clouds

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Yesterday was one of those days.

No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get into writing, and when I took the dog for a walk it was cold and wet and the clouds were cluttering the sky so much it was impossible for even a single ray of sun to break through.

After the walk all I wanted to do was take a nap.

Today has been so different! I woke with an overwhelming compulsion to write, so write I did. When I came up for air to I take the dog for a walk I was rewarded by a glorious sun warming a perfectly blue sky.

Which makes me wonder.

Was yesterday as gloomy and cloudy as I remember? Was that why I couldn’t write?

Or do I remember it gloomy and cloudy because I couldn’t write?

Does it really matter what the weather is outside?

Or do I see clouds when my head is cloudy, and sun only when it’s clear?

Through a virtual wormhole

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Today I had a shocking surprise.


I fell through a virtual wormhole and found myself in the World That Time (and Commonsense) Forgot.


Yep. It was crazy. There I was on the Internet, searching for an event in the past that could, if changed, result in a drastic alteration to the present.


It was research for a book, so don’t get all worried. I don’t have a time machine that will let me swoop through history, making changes to the timeline that will either make the world wonderful, or destroy it.
Not yet, anyway.

Anyway, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I’d been sucked into that wormhole I mentioned earlier, and discovered that the residents of the WTT(C)F  had absolutely no respect for women. Worse than that, they seemed to think women should be treated more as property than people.


According to them all women are weak, inferior creatures with fluff instead of brains.
Which I find odd, since I know just as many strong, intelligent women as men. 


Now, don’t get me wrong. This is not the first time I’ve run into someone with a bad case of sexism. But the misogyny I witnessed in the WTT(C)F was horrifying and rampant!


I scrambled out of that wormhole as quick as I could. Of course now I’ll have to clear my cache and my history to make sure no remnant of the WTT(C)F survives anywhere on my computer. 


It makes me shiver in disgust, just to think about it.


Luckily, I’ll get over it pretty quickly. I’m tough.


I have a long history of doing well academically, so I’ve never believed that bull that men are intellectually superior to women. 


I wonder when the human race will stop stereotyping, and just judge each individual …well, individually?


A hundred years?
Two?

Getting back to writing

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A forced break from writing can be good, but not if it occurs at the point when there are only two chapters left to write.

Just two. And the book will be finished.
(Except for revisions, of course, but who counts those?)

As the time for the trip approached I tried my best to reach the end of the book. I knew how awkward it would be to have to dive in and begin again at the end.

But no matter what I did, the end of the story remained just out of reach.

Worst of all, that naughty storyline kept tangling itself around my feet and tripping me up.

It was frustrating. More than once I saw the finish, there at the end of what looked to be a straight flat road. So off I’d race, full tilt, happy that the way was clear.

Only to find myself flat on my face, my feet all tangled up in plot.

I guess the story wants me to take my time and untangle all those knotty places in the plot. No racing through to the finish!

It might take me a little while. I know me pretty well, and once my writing routine is interrupted, it can take a bit to get back into the rhythm of writing.

Hope those two chapters have more patience that I do!

 

Apartment living – an education in greed

We spent a year in Cadence Apartments in Ballard (formerly known as Lockhaven). Life is all about new experiences that teach us, and our experiences in that apartment complex certainly were educational.

About greed.

Lesson One: Always do your research

This is one of those lessons, as a librarian, I shouldn’t have had to learn.

If we had done our research we would have known the history of the place, and we never would have moved in. Any company that kicks out long-term residents (we’re talking over thirty years), just so they could renovate and charge triple the rent, is a company with a wallet where the heart should be.

Too bad we didn’t find out that little tidbit until after we’d signed the lease.

Lesson Two: Wait until the apartment is move-in ready before you sign

We had already sold our house and needed a place to live, so we were in a bit of a hurry. Which explains why we signed the lease before we saw the finished product. The apartment we saw lacked finished floors, the bathroom was bare of the normal bathroom parts, and none of the appliances had been installed. But we were told only the best would be used in the renovations.

We weren’t concerned. We trusted that the complex owners would make sure the renovations were topnotch. They had their reputation to protect. Besides, why would they cut corners on their investment?

But when we moved in we found that someone had decided to keep the old tub as-is, which was so stained it was hard to tell what color it was supposed to be. I sighed a little as I realized I’d never feel comfortable soaking in that nasty tub. So a year of only showers it was. Lesson learned.

Lesson Three: Check everything!

It didn’t take long to learn the water was undrinkable. I don’t know if it was the pipes or something else, but it was the most disgusting water I’d ever spit out. I actually saw things floating in it. We had to invest in a water filter right away.

And then there were the floors. I could shower to minimize contact with the tub and filter the gunk out of my drinking water, but to get from one side of the apartment to the other, I had to cross the floor. And no matter how carefully I walked, no matter how much tip I put on my toes, every step sounded like I’d offended a mouse on steroids.

Who renovates an apartment building but doesn’t fix the squeaky floors? Isn’t that kinda basic, especially since it’s an easy fix? Find the squeak, nail down the loose board. All you really need are a few nails and a little time.

Lesson Four: Priorities

The number of things that happened that let me know the tenant’s welfare was not a number one concern continued to grow. My favorite example has to do with a broken lock.

Someone had jimmied open the outer door of my building, and broken the lock in the process. It no longer locked. I notified the manager and received the promise that it would be fixed immediately.

I saw the locksmith arrive the very next day–to change the lock on the office door. Then a team of specialists spent the next week updating the security system that protected the office.

The office, mind you. The lock on our building stayed broken. So much for living in a secured building.

It was more than a week before anyone got around to fixing that broken lock. It was painfully obvious that the safety of the tenants was not top priority.

Lesson learned. We, the residents, were not important.

Lesson Five: It’s all about the money

After our year lease was up we moved out. Even though I’d witnessed multiple examples of what I consider bad business practices, I was still surprised when, out of the $950 we plopped down to move in ($550 refundable), the manager, Ms. Greedy-pants, decided to only give us back a mere $150. Even though we left the apartment clean and didn’t do any damage.

I called to talk to her about it, and she claimed the part she kept was for administrative costs. Hmm.

Lesson Six: Push back


Even though the company as a whole has shown signs that the greed is part of the company-wide culture, I’m willing to give them a chance to prove me wrong. Maybe Ms. Greedy-pants is working alone.

I’ve contacted the main company and requested the return of the rest of my refundable deposit. I pointed out that according to state law, they are required to return the refundable deposit to us unless we damaged the apartment. Even their paperwork states that no damage was done.

We’ll  see exactly how deep the greed goes.

And if I need to start really complaining.

I learned the lesson of the squeaky wheel a long time ago. It is one of my super powers that I keep hidden until the need is great.

So give me the money I’m owed, or the cape comes out of that little purple box in the attic.

Easy-peasy

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I love days like today. Easy-peasy days, when the scenes play out clear and fully formed in my head.

The characters develop, the plot autocorrects, the story builds. No struggle. No mess. No worry. I just write what I see. Period.

If the whole book would come to me like this, I bet I could write it in under a month.

Of course, writing days like today only come around for me once in a blue moon. Just often enough to keep me hooked. I know that if I keep plugging away, trudging through the hard days, one of these easy days will come along as a reward.

And believe me, it is a reward.

The funny thing is, I wasn’t supposed to write today. I usually restrict my writing to the weekdays, and keep my weekends for my family.

But I woke up so horribly early this morning. My eyes popped open, and I was wide awake.

Everyone else was still sound asleep.

My option was to putter quietly around the house until everyone else got up, or write.

I chose to write.
And was rewarded with a glorious writing day.

You know what that means, don’t you?

I must have an Easy-Peasy Day alarm clock!

Rrring!

My dog

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Dogs are such odd creatures.

My dog slept like this (on her back, under a table, front leg stuck in the air) for over an hour. Who knows how long she would have stayed that way if I hadn’t disturbed her by taking her picture.
We find her asleep in strange (to us) places all the time.In addition to under tables, she also loves to sleep with her nose in my husband’s shoe or her head on a metal weight.

Neither of those appeal to me in the least.

There are some things about dogs I’ll never understand.

Never!

Bunny Foo Foo

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When we moved into our new house it already had a resident. A rabbit that liked to hang out in our front yard.

 

In a chat with neighbors I discovered that the rabbit was the offspring of two older rabbits who had been abandoned by their owners. The mama and papa rabbit were captured and sent to a rescue shelter, but this young rabbit was too wily to be caught.

I awoke this morning to find a strange woman chasing Little Bunny Foo Foo around my yard.
When I asked her what she was doing, she said she wanted to capture it to give it a new home.

I have two questions:
She’s not a neighbor, so how did she know this rabbit in my yard wasn’t my pet?
-and-
What does she keep in that huge, raggedy backpack she dumped in my yard while she chased the rabbit?

Run Bunny Foo Foo! Run!

I think she wants your new home to be in her belly!

The scream

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The scream broke my concentration and pulled me out of my writing daze. Startled into action by the raw terror and hopelessness I heard in the voice I raced to the door and ran outside, fully expecting to see a woman lying on the ground in distress.

For it had most certainly been a woman’s voice I heard, screaming the question,  “Anybody?”

I didn’t know if she meant “Will anybody help me?”, “Does anybody hear me?”, or even “Does anybody care?” I just knew she needed help.

But even though I did as thorough of a search as I could without breaking any laws, I saw no one.

I spent a full five minutes looking for anything out of place and listening for further cries for help.
A very tense five minutes.

But there was nothing.

Finally a neighbor stepped outside to water her front yard. It only took a moment to find out that she had heard nothing.

Which disturbed me even more.

Because that scream was too real to be a product of my imagination.

Where had it come from, and why did no one else hear it?

Little steps

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Little steps can get you there.

Take writing, for example. When I  begin a new project, say a book, it always seems overwhelming at the beginning. The screen is so blank, so big, so full of nothing.

How will I ever be able to take this blank screen and fill it up with an entire novel? It’s too much. Impossible.

So I do the only thing I can do. I write the first word.

But words are social beings, they need to be surrounded by others of their kind.

I blink, and suddenly there’s a sentence grinning back at me from my screen. I don’t know where it came from, I just know it’s there.

It disturbs me, this sentence with its mocking smile. It begs for a playmate, and complains that no creature should live in the desolation that IS an almost empty page.

I’m not ready for this. It’s early and I need a cup of coffee and breakfast, so I get up to go to the kitchen. But my fingers never leave the keyboard because I know that if I abandon this sentence it will haunt my dreams and give me heartburn.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. One more sentence, that’s all I need. Then I can close my computer with a clear conscience and go about my day.

Standing awkwardly over my laptop I type a few words, then a few more. The far off bark of a dog fades away…

My stomach growls and I’m jerked back to reality. I look around the room dazed, until I notice that an entire hour has gone by.

I shake my head to clear the last vestiges of fog from my brain, take a deep breath, and force my eyes to the computer screen.

It’s full of words. Better yet, I see sentences and paragraphs.

I read a few lines and smile in relief. I’m in luck. It actually makes sense.

The first little step has been taken. The story has begun.

All will be well.

A few (hundred) more of these little steps and I’ll have a first draft!

 

Blah – a movie

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I wanted to like it. I really did.

But the movie my family and I rented from Redbox last night (which will remain unnamed) was a real stinker. The plot holes in the thing were big enough to fly a star cruiser through!

I don’t know if it was the writing, directing, or editing, or a combination of all three. But somewhere along the line the story got lost in a series of super long action scenes that everyone in my family treated like a series of super long intermissions.

Which says a lot. Because aren’t action scenes supposed to keep us enthralled on the edge of our seats, not strolling into the other room to see if there’s anything good hiding in the back of the refrigerator?

As a writer the first thing I did was try to figure out what went wrong. But frankly, it doesn’t take a writer to know the problem. We, the audience, were given no reason to care about the characters.

Damaged hired gun swoops in and saves a downtrodden girl who is actually royalty, and consequently saves Earth. They fall in love without a single, real conversation.

Blah, blah, blah.

What is a shame. Science fiction is my favorite genre. When it’s done right.