In which I have an ear ache

Well, I didn't watch the debate tonight. I really can't stand to listen to most politicians these days, and it's not like anything either could say would induce me to change my mind. Actions speak louder than words, and there are some of us who look beyond the spin and beyond the landmass we live on....

I tend to look at trends, and extrapolate, and sometimes visions of what the future would be like if things go forward and mutate and whatnot kind of spring full-formed into my head. I tend to look for long-term effects and do long-range, big picture thinking. Which, I think, puts me in a minority. My thought is less for the immediate disater of the day, and more for the projected distaster of the century coming down the line. Ok, that sounds pretty darned pessimistic. I can see good trends too, but lately, well, I haven't been holding out much hope.

Speaking of hope, I watched the webcast of SpaceShipOne doing its first X-prize run. Now there was news worth following. How quickly can I ditch this planet, Mr. owner of Virgin airlines?? Mind lowering your price a tad so I can afford that sub-orbital experience?? If the one trend doesn't come to pass, the trend this little flight is the beginning of will be well worth watching. See, it's not all doom and gloom with me.

As for the story, well, still haven't done much character development. It's been one of those weeks where I feel like a chicken with its head cut off. I actually saw a chicken with its head cut off once, and yes, that is exactly how I feel, right down to the totally disconnected look in the eyes.

The disconnect's been pretty strong lately... I'm finding it harder and harder to focus on conversations, or books, or much of anything. It's like I'm floating off in my own little world inside my head, and I really can't be bothered with any of this sensory stuff... It all just interferes with the haze in my mind.

Meanwhile, back at the parthenon.... I haven't made any more progress into that Athena book. Mind you, I think I was rather turned off by the graphic description of the birth of Venus and the rest of Gaia's children.

Sometimes I think of my gods-world. That world really needs another story or two in it. But that's one where I really do need to wait for inspiration. That's one where I think the world opens itself up to me every once in a while, and I make progress on it. But if it doesn't, I can't really reach it.

Other thing to think about is the magicians story. But I think I need to get a book on magic tricks, and work out the other-world aspects of it a little more completely before I'll make alot more progress on that.

By the way, my ear hurts now. I should probably put some peroxide in it or something so I don't end up with an ear infection. It just surprised me with a few twinges. My throat's been a little sore too. I'm working at home tomorrow for a variety of reasons, but the fact I'm feeling a little off kilter is one of them.

Well, Let's see what else I can write about. The ear is twinging more, so I'm getting a little distracted. But I do want to dig into some of the backstory now while I have the chance. I need to find stuff that's not so totally cliche. So if the characters are outcast, well, they have to be more than just geeky outcasts, as it were. Or maybe they are outside of all the cliques and other unpleasantness. As if one can totally stay outside of that. I was going to say the cliques don't really affect them, but of course, that's probably not true. If nothing else, the clique they're currently in, benign as it is, helps to define them. Question is whether or not they bother with any of the others. By high school, we certainly didn't. But before then.... I'll have to think about this. So I'm off to listen to some Terry Pratchett, try to hold off buying Going Postal until after my birthday, and maybe it's on tape already. Night all!

In which I stroll along the path of good intentions (and we know where that leads)

Well, I almost skipped tonight's entry- it was very late and I was sleepy. But then the thought hurricane started up again, and I figured it was a message to get up and go type out an entry. The book wasn't quite holding my attention. Yeah, I get teased about my book addiction, and I do use reading rather like some sort of mind-altering substance. Books are often the only thing that can shut my brain up and get it to cease its insistent yakking at me. This book, though, wasn't quite up to the job, as enjoyable as it was. So I figured I'd do a brain dump, and maybe I could get that to work. If not, I'll try a book on tape- those usually put me out pretty quickly. Better than Benadryl. Besides, I should try to finish off that Pratchett book I've got on tape.

Well, I really need to do a 180 degree thinking shift about some aspects of my life. Not sure how, though. I doubt staying up til all hours will help the current state of mind, though. I did read that sleep deprivation could, in the short term, kick you out of a depression. In the long term, though, it's worse than nothing. Not surprising.

I don't know. I think I understand the saying that the paths of hell are paved with good intentions. I do mean well. Is it that life is unfair, and meaning well is never enough? Or is it something about the way I look at things? Why can't I look at the good FIRST? I need to make that shift.

Didn't do much toward the story today, other than contemplate the names Calli and Justin and what the meaning switch might imply for the story. Meant to look up some other names, but didn't.

Was going to ramble on about shoulds, etc, but I forgot for the moment what I'd been thinking of earlier. Should is a nasty word, though. Oh, that was it. It was about defining your best. So, I was going to work on getting stuff up off the floor tonight, but succumed to the lure of the book.... So, if I didn't want to do the one task at all, but I did want to read the book, is it "doing my best" to read the book instead of cleaning? Or is the fact I couldn't face the cleaning important too? In other words, what if, with the situation currently, all you really could focus on was book because you were too depressed to do anything you thought you should do? Would reading the book then be "doing my best" when it actually really was given everything that was going on?? Ok, this is now totally incoherent- my eyes are closing. So I guess the brain dump thing might just work.....

In which I settle on some names

It's just a circus, and I'm singing, I'm never really here....

Ok, it's been that kind of week, and who says the week is out yet, it's only Tuesday...
But I whined enough last night. I did play around with names tonight. I'm starting to settle on Calli and Justin. It's a bit of a role-reversal, in that the names are opposite the meanings of the original names, but hey, I like them, and they work. I may switch the original rolls I'd planned, but I dunno. That may happen during the writing.

Filler goes here. I'm rather stumped about stuff today, but I don't want to pause in the typing. I am trying to fill out words, as I will say as often as I can't think of something else to say. But I think I'm pleased with the shape of the story for Nano at any rate. It's more than I had last year. And if I can just blather along, I should do ok.

So, the thing is, do I make Calli the musician, or do I make Justin the musician? I'd rather viewed the guy as a guitar player. May swipe some of him from elsewhere, too. Not Elvis, though. Nor elvish. heheh. Also not sure about their ages. I'm thinking YA at the moment, but it may be aimed a little lower even the charaters aren't.

Ok, so now, I need to figure out how M motivates 'em to start the search, and how or if I'm tossing P into the mix. Need a good name for P, too, unless I mix her in with Calli. I don't think I will, though. M's niece, and much younger, maybe. Maybe a bit bratty? Shades of Red Chief might be fun. Could get serious if I stick too close to the original story, but no one says I have to do that. Framework, that's all. Or a convenient rescue- deus ex machina at work! I'll have to at least have a nod towards a deus ex machina, after all... but I don't dare let it resolve everything!

Ok, I'm moving along. I will be more prepared than last year. More practice doing it every day. Let's see how it all goes. Two days more until the offical sign-up. Next question of course is who will I be there?

Well, the day has ended better than it started, and while I still want to run away from home, I at least want to do something other than curl up into a little ball and whimper. We take our progress where we find it. One of these days I will definitely have to plan a trip to study the dwarves with the backwards feet. I was told their feet were backwards so that no one could track them to where they were going. I have always wanted to know more about these critters. Taking the trip to find out-that would just be cool beyond words.

Guess I'm hitting a mid-life crisis or something. The wanderlust is pretty bad these days. My thoughts all seem to stray to places far away, I need a change in sceneree-ee-ee... Except it's only Tuesday.... Well, that's all folks, at least for today. I'm sticking pretty strictly to the 15 minute thing.

In which I stroll down a musical memory lane

"Here we are once more at the scene of our former triumphs. But where's the Duke?"

Ok, not sure why Patience is running through my head, but it is. Went to the library today to get out some books for my NaNoWriMo thing. Got out a "biography" of Athena. Haven't made it past the creation/birth of Uranus/Birth of Cronus/Birth of Zeus stuff. Woah. That's not like anything I ever read in elementary school. So we'll see if the rest of the book is of any help. Also got out a book I'd read ages ago, but when I read it, the last chapter was missing. I figured I might as well find out what happened. I don't remember much about the book now, but I do remember the bitter disappointment at not finding out how it ends.

Took some walks down memory lane today. Dug up a set of tapes I made when I was in high school. Sheesh. What sappy love songs I listened too. Odd thing was how I still remembered exactly why I taped all the songs I taped. As I listened, I would think "I taped that one because of my crush on Him, I taped that one because my friend had sung it to me at one point and I wanted to learn it, I taped that one because of Him, that one was because of that movie I liked, Oh yeah, that's the one I requested, but they played the wrong song by accident, I taped that one because I didn't turn off the tape in time and I liked the song after it too much..."

Ok, so I found it weird at how quickly all these memories rushed back in, like I'd only made up the tape yesterday. Also felt weird at finding out I really only still liked about a quarter of the songs on it.

Well, been thinking about that novel too. I'm going to steal the plot, good, I don't have to worry about it. My problem might be stealing too many plots. Sometimes when I'm working with myths, I tend to shove too many different things into the same story. I try to tie up too many loose ends, and weave something so complicated I don't really notice that it doesn't hold together properly. So I'm trying to make sure I keep it narrowed down. I'm not playing with the whole of mythology, just the one or two standard stories I want to work off of. Right now it's two. I may narrow it down even farther, and keep it one, but I'll have to see.

Names. I need names for the main characters. I've got the sub, of course. Had that for a while. I need the girl and the boy, though. I have to think carefully about this, because this is a case where the names are going to have to mean more. Then I'll work on what I'm going to make the important setting.

Sad fact: kiddo told me about a book he wants to write. He has an excellent plot. Better than any I've come up with. But we're gonna do NaNoWriMo together, and maybe we'll publish together, too :) Ok, so I can dream, that's ok. I of course intend for each of my books to be bigger than Harry Potter.

And can I take a second to complain about Chasing Vermeer? Ok, I really like what she was trying to do in that book. It's very much the kind of book that tries hard. But I don't think she quite pulled it off. I think there was some sort of thread that needed to run through the book and pull the whole thing together at the end. I personally found that thread totally consipicuous by its absence. But boy, I liked what she was trying to do. Close, but no cigar....

I do read books I like, you know. I'm trying to catch up on all the DWJ I haven't read yet. But I pick apart the stuff I don't like for two reasons: one, it bugs me more and this is about clearing out the underbrush too, remember; and two, I try to learn from it. I do take lessons from books I like, but they are different lessons, and well, you've hit me at a bad time. I still bet I'd love Inkheart if I could only bring myself to read it... It just doesn't feel safe at the moment, though. Isn't that odd? I feel like it will tell me something important that I'm not quite ready to hear.

In which King Harry gets me started

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, and fill the space up with our English words. I expect this will be a "thoughts spin in circles" kind of night. Can't find the keys. Can't find the piece of paper needed for tomorrow. Can't figure out how the bloody universe works. Don't want to go into work tomorrow. Don't want to deal with the mess. Whine whine whine whine whine.

Ok, enough of that. The keys will turn up. If they don't, we manage without them. The paper will turn up. If it doesn't, we manage without it. The universe doesn't work, but there's not a lot I can do about most of it, and my little corner will work if I just keep trying.

Not much thought about the writing today. Trying to get things set up so we can all write and do the things that need doing. Some days life just seems tough. Yeah, this is going to be a whiney one. Bleh.

I think part of my problem is I have a headache coming on. I really don't want to do anything other than curl up into a little ball and sleep for a month. Unfortunately the world does not in fact stop so that you can get off.

I should say something about writing, but I really don't feel like there's much to say. Still prepping for NaNoWriMo, though there's just too much other garbage in my life. I have to keep reminding myself the point is to write at a pseudo-regular time for a certain amount of time each day. And if I stumble, well, I stumble, but I get back up at the keyboard and get the words to come out of my hands somehow.

Had a very strange dream last night. Dreamt I was watching an infomercial for HGH, and that it was some sort of "fountain of youth" stuff. Cured low bone mass, cancer, facial wrinkles, the lot. Weird. I had to wonder if perhaps the radio came on with some sort of infomercial while I was sleeping through it, but that's not usually the stuff they spout at that point in the morning. It was one of those realistic dreams, though. I have no idea what HGH does, by the way. I just know you can get it from just about any major spammer.

Ok, so there it is. I have no idea if that was long enough because I had to stop in the middle for something. But I've had enough, and, well, I have a headache, dear.

In which I take a walk to the Dark Tower

Ok, so why haven't I done this the past few days? I'm not really sure. My outside excuse is that I was just too tired. I'm not sure that's the whole story, though. Part of it is finding private time, but maybe part of it was reading that Stephen King book. The last of the Dark Tower series. Some days, I'd rather read than write, but that wasn't my motivation this time. King tends to make me want to write rather than read. But I needed to finish it quickly to get it back to the next person in line. (Possible spoilers follow--read at your own risk--though I try not to be too specific about any plot points.)

The ending drove me nuts. I've read it before. I realized I'd read that entire story before, though it was a much short version, and it was written by someone else. In the coda, he said don't write him if you didn't like the ending, that it was tough. It's not that I didn't like the ending (not sure that I did, really, mind you, but it was... inevitable...) but that I had read it almost just like that before somewhere. I'm talking about the very end, the last couple of pages, not all the stuff leading up to that.

What did I think of the book? Pretty much what I think of most of his books. I think, too, that I should've read Insomnia first, given how much emphasis was placed on it. How did I feel about all the references to his writing and him as a character? Um... well... If you're a King fan, forgive me, but I thought that he was was rather, um, full of himself. I understand he is trying to work out his feelings about that accident he was in, but I really don't like reading people's therapy. If you're going to write books for therapy, at least have the decency to disguise the fact and not subject us to obvious sessions on the couch.

I guess, too, that once I hit those last couple of pages, it was pretty clear all the rest was... how do I put this? Not at all inevitable. That it was the rest of the story, not the ending, that should have been different. And by that, I mean the entire series, not just the last book. The whole time I was reading the series, I kept thinking it was going to be something different than it was. I kept thinking it was going to be the story I'd read that had the same ending. Is that bizzare or what? I mean, all through it, the characters that wove in and out of his life, the situations they encountered, all seemed... wrong for the story. And maybe that's because I kept trying to make it this other story, the one I'd read. It started the same, with someone persuing someone across a desert and seeking a tower of some sort. And it ended the same, too. (No, I'll not write spoilers at the moment. It's only just out after all.) But none of the middle was the same at all. It was... simpler. More bleak and stark. Wonder if Mr King would be interested in that- that it wasn't his end that was wrong, but his middle. I doubt it. Thing is, I think the story I read was a King story, so the whole thing has left me mightily confused....

Ok, I've gone five minutes over. I need to get that book out of my head. I'm thinking about it too much. It wasn't real, in the weird way I've described above, but I can't help thinking about what it really was. I guess that sort of obsession is why I haven't read Inkheart yet, though it's sort of the opposite. Inkheart feels like it will be too real-- She understands the booklover's mind and how to play with it. And I'm afraid to read it...

In which the plot thickens

Well now, reading Stephen King always gives me the courage to go on and put random thoughts out where people can read them. I'm working through the last of the Gunslinger series, and I still marvel at the wealth of unnecessary detail he chucks into a chapter. He writes it just as he thinks it, and if he goes back to edit, I see no sign of it. So maybe if I spew forth, I too can write four gazillion books. I think I said this before, but really, in terms of this blog and the NaNoWriMo,and the getting stuff done, I'm using him as my role model. In terms of getting stuff that is publishable, well... obviously he's publishable, but I expect any reasonable editor out there would laught hysterically at an unknown name trying to put out something like what I'm reading. But then, I tend to think that of half the stuff I read today, so maybe there's something in it. I still maintain that the secret to commercial success is not to be a good writer, but to be a good storyteller.

I'm still a tad under the weather I think. I'm definitely moving into the seriously sleep-deprived realms at any rate. But maybe I'll sleep better tonight. Last night I kept waking up trying to reorganize my schedule for the previous day. A bit late for that, but my mind worried at it and worried at it like a dog with a bone. And when I do sleep, it's that weird sort of waking sleep, where you seem to be overly aware of everything going on around you, but you aren't really awake. Your mind seems clear, but then it isn't really. So anyway, I've been up since about 3 am this morning. Wonder if it's hormones or what.

I'm putting in random paragraph breaks because otherwise my eyes will meld together looking at the type on the page even if I'm not reading it. So I'm thinking seriously now of what I want to write for the nanowrimo. I went to the library today, but it's too late in the evening to find the books I want (have to stay with kids, get kids home, etc- no real browsing time) but I think I'm going to base the plot on some combination of O&E and D&P. (Is that Greek to you? That's ok... you don't need to know more than that right now...) That way the basic outline is ready-made.

Next job will be to work on the characters. They're not cutouts, and they'll be a little different, but that, of course, is what will make it all work out. Location, too, I'll need to think about, but I'll have to get out my books first. Oh, for the record, this is the underworld story we're talking about.

Ok, losing track of how long I've been writing here. Had to stop a couple times. Sorry, I really really cannot write when there is the threat of someone hanging over my shoulder. Drives me batty. (Not that driving me batty is too hard, mind you. Most things seem to drive me batty these days... But I digress, even if digressing is part of the point I think I've said enough on that for the time being.) It's been at least 10 minutes, though, so I'll churn onward for another five. And no, I don't care I'm mixed numbers with number words.

I think the odd headache I'm having, which has been for several days now, is mostly sleep deprivation. I'm tired of tired of tired.... Well, I think I'll head to bed. Wish me no dreams, thanks. I need some quiet tonight, and my dreams have not been kind. (I guess the one advantage of morning pages is that you can capture your dreams... maybe I'll start with 5 mins in the morning doing the dream stuff, and then 15 in the evening doing the daily brain worry-bone dump.....)

Now this really is goodnight, since my eyelids are closing....

In which I spew words just to spew words

Trying this downstair today. Not much to say- I feel pretty brain dead. But spew, spew, words. If I can keep the words coming, that's really all that matters. I don't care right now what words they are, even. I could sing of the color blue or ecru, I could try to block the sound of Yu-gi-oh from my ears, I can wonder why kids can keep up an endless stream of inventiveness that I just do not seem to have any more. Is that because kids avoid the self-censor for the most part? I don't know, I just know that words must flow, every day, or I'll never get them to flow. In Haroun and the Sea of Stories, the storyteller is hooked up to a faucet from which story ideas flow all the time. I could use one of those. So here I'm asking to be hooked up to this faucet. I think the words will matter in the end, though I hope these particular ones don't. I am just chattering to fill up space today, yes, and I think I have nothing to say. But the Artist's Way says it's ok to say you have nothing to say, even if you say it for three pages (or fifteen minutes as the case may be). I guess there is a lot a could say about how hard the day was, particularly the bit between work and dinner, but I don't know, I've said that to others, and it doesn't really bear repeating, and besides, it's all over now. So let the stream of consciousness flow. Hey, it worked for James Joyce.

The key, I think, is just momementum. If I can get stuff down on a regular basis, without thinking too much about anything other than getting words out of my head an onto paper, then maybe I'll be able to write regularly even though I don't think I have the time, energy, inspiration, whatever the excuse of the day may be. It's only fifteen minutes, after all. I can do fifteen minutes of writing that I don't self-censor, can't I? And once this is the habit, it will be, well, the habit. And I will get words and words down. And then I can go back and make the words into the story they were meant to be. But if the words get stuck in perfection and excuses, well, that doesn't do me much good, does it? I really want this to work, you see. I really want to be able to churn out book after book like Stephen King. I'd prefer they be good books, and well written, but that can come after they are books. I need to work past the "concept" stage and just get what needs to be said out. If I can do this, I can, I hope, do that too.

And so I plow on, no straight furrows today, just words because I need to keep pushing hard to get them out. I felt I ran out of things to say before I started. As you can probably tell. And now everyone walks in, and I have to stop, unless I can squeeze my last two minutes out of it. Or not. Too many pulls... Maybe more about that tomorrow. Or maybe not.

In which I beg for tablescraps

Some days I feel pathetic. I feel like a puppy dog with big eyes begging for scraps and, more importantly, a pat on the head. I usually feel this way after I've finished something. I so desperately want praise for it, for someone to like, and to tell me it's a good job. My own praise doesn't really do it- I don't really believe myself. Mind you, I don't really believe anyone else, either, but I still want to hear kind words. When I post stuff on writing sites, I go back over and over again within the first few hours waiting for comments. Heck, even if I'm just posting comments, or giving someone the answer to a question, I wait around to be patted on the head. Good doggie. And I feel pathetic, but I do it all the same. But for all that, I don't want people looking at something I'm not ready to put out there. Finding a good time to post is hard, because I don't want anyone reading over my shoulder while I'm typing. Telling me what I should or shouldn't put down. Telling me I should or shouldn't feel a certain way about something. And those two things are probably related. Probably part of the "I didn't get it right, did I?" syndrome. So this is all about what I want to say, how I want to say it, and who cares what anyone else things about it, right? Well, hopefully that will be true eventually. I don't know if that's true now, because I still have the puppy-dog aspect to it all- I want someone to pat me on the head and say "Good stream of consciousness there" I avoid posting to blogs because in my heart of hearts, I believe I really don't have anything interesting to say to anyone. Probably all comes down to the fact no one ever acted as if I had anything interesting to say for most of my life. It's a hard habit of mind to escape. But for years, I never bothered finishing sentences under the assumption that I wouldn't get the chance to anyway- someone would interrupt with a "more important" thought. And maybe that's why I can't finish stories. I can't finish them because, in my heart, I believe no one but me wants to read them. That someone will come along with a more important book and make mine look stupid. Like in the end, it doesn't matter. So what to do about all this? Who knows. It's there, it's in the open, and everyone who reads this will either pat me on the head or tell me I'm stupid, or just sit there and say "Gee, I feel that way too," or hundred of other possible reactions. And I'll probably never know. I think the reason I'm putting these thoughts where they can be read, but (unless I spread this link more than I have) are very unlikely to be read, is because that way I can just cater to my innate knowledge that yes, the world could read this if it wants to. Even if they don't. I've never been able to keep up diaries because, well, I've always assumed that no matter how private I try to keep them, someone will read them anyway. So maybe I'll do better just assuming that from the beginning. Or maybe I won't. But at least I'm churning down words, and really, in the end, that's my main goal for this. If some underbrush gets cleared out of the way at the same time, so much the better. But I still need to find some time for this when no one can read over my shoulder. I won't have it shot down before it's put down by anyone but me.
So there.

In which I ramble aimlessly

Well, I went to bed early last night, so maybe this is a good time to switch to morning.Slept very poorly, and had bizzare dreams, mostly bad. Left me in a weird mood this morning. Luckily I have a little time to dump here, maybe it'll take the bad taste out of my mouth. (I originally wrote down the dream, then deleted it, because I didn't want to read it again later. So I'm still self-censoring, but I think in this case, it's the right thing to do.) I think the tossing and turning afterwards was all wrapped up with ideas of how the world is going, and how horrible things could get very quickly. I wish people could see beyond tomorrow and the next dollar, but there seems to be a serious limit of long-range thinking in the world right now.

Well, I expect the world itself will survive, even if humans don't, but I really need to start the day on a better foot than that. It would be a good time to work on my thoughts for the shimmerworld story, since that's going to be about where I see the world heading if things don't change soon. Maybe that's what I can do. My 1984 as it were. Problem is, as always, the set-up is well worked, but the action is lacking. No plot yet. I wish I could accept that plot might be as totally simple as "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl", though in this case, it's more like "girl meets world, girl helps world, girl goes back and helps own world". But getting from that kind of rundown to a full blown novel is something else again.

Well, time's up. This is shorter than usual since I deleted a bunch of stuff, but there it is.

In which I wander among shades of grey

Well, here I am again, still at night. Will try harder to switch to the am next week. Feeling sick today, probably from not enough quality sleep. I am falling asleep at the keyboard, so don't expect coherence. This will be more random, I think, because I really can't think of much to say. One thing I'd like to doi s stop reacting to life, stop the feeling that my main goal is to get through the day without going insane, and actually enjoy what i do. Kind of hard- my heart is not into my work at the moment, and scheduling is so tough there's not much time for any sort of quality time.

Been thinking a bit about books again. Started Inkheart. Didn't get very far yet (too tired to keep awake!) but I can tell it's a booklover's book. I suspect it's going to be one of those books I wish I'd written. Some nice quotes in it too, mostly about books. I continue to spend a lot of my daydreaming in the car time constructing fantasy occupations. I have to stop and pull myself back. I heard the other week in an exercise class that one problem with people is that they don't push their feet against the ground as much as they should when they walk, and that this prevents people from feeling grounded. Interesting thought. I may play with that. Lord knows I don't feel in the least bit grounded. I feel less and less here every day. It's just so hard to care anymore. Thing is, I keep feeling there is something I ought to be doing that would make a difference-something unique to my talents. But I can't see it. I have sweeping images of where everything is headed. There's an odd sense of certainty about them. But they've been wrong before (for example, I was pretty sure we'd use nukes. Granted we may still, but I thought we'd use 'em right away.) but there's this sense of clarity, of destiny to the ideas. Maybe it's one of the possible futures, and I feel I have the obligation to help steer us away from it. I don't know. Can I use this somehow to spur either action or a book? I don't know that either.

I feel like I can see more sides than most people around me now- I can see sides that aren't there yet, that sort of thing. The trends. The vibes. But so many people see things in black and white that the grey shadows creeping over everything get by in the colorblind spots. And we can't let the shadows win. We can acknowledge the grey and then, and only then, we can move on from where we really are. Black and white is easy. Shades of grey is hard. But the easy road is rarely the right road. Which is why I think I need to figure out what the heck I'm supposed to be doing.

In which I follow a gossamer thread

So far so good. I'm being consistent. Though I really really really need to switch to mornings. Still doing a little backtracking, though, so there's still some censorship involved. And I'm staying on safe topics, which may end up counterproductive. I'm interested that I still feel stupid about this. Read a book recently about seeing your emotions reflected back. Saw the main plot point for miles. Re-read Homeward Bounders, too, which I love. I think I bring these up because of the sense of alienation I've been feeling. I seem to be exisitng in almost any plane but this one. I'm finding it hard to anchor myself. Of course, I always found it hard to anchor myself, but it seems even worse than usual. I'm just so not here. Which is why I've been singing Circus so much this past week.... But it's more everything than relationships, so if someone should stumble across this and wonder, it's not anyone specific that my "So if I lie to you and smile at thoughts, It's only half way here... it's just a circus, and I'm singing, I'm never really near" refers to. Just life in general. Like when people core dump on me, I can't really... I can't find the word I want. It's not that I don't listen, or absorb it, or hear it, I do all that, but there's a layer of caring? interaction? something, anyway, that insulates me from it. Had an almost stranger start core dumping when I was calling to find out something about the kiddo's school clubs... I hear ya, sister, but I can't dredge up the empathy (that's the word!) I usually have. It's a much more superficial thing right now.

So there are layers and layers between me and everything at the moment. Not much seems to be helping. I'm stretching into a thinness so fine the thread is a gossamer that can barely be seen. Rather like in The Princess and the Goblin, but I wonder, if I took hold of the thin gossamer that is my current life and followed it as Irene did, would it lead me anywhere I really wanted to go? Something worth pondering. Need to reread that, too. Something comforting about Victorian sentimental morality. I'm not going to segue into politics, though I think about that a lot. I half promised I'd keep those thoughts off the web for the time being. I'm trying to work all the anger and frustration into a story, too, and if I vent here, it'll end up here and not where it might really do some good. It's all about apathy and entropy... Anyway, should be catharctic. I'm going to have to settle on what to write for NaNoWriMo, though. I'm bouncing between the two- the shimmer world and the underworld, as I'll codename 'em here. Advantage to underworld story is it has a built in plot. I could use a built in plot...

Ok, straying all over the place tonight. Crescent moon, thumbnail moon tonight. Magic time. Time to follow the gossamer thread, and hope it's strong enough to hold up under the tension stretching it even beyond spider silk. I need a vacation, the "Stop the World I want to Get Off" kind. By the way, once you get to three hurricanes, with a fourth on the way, the word "deliberate malice" starts to pop into mind... Almost makes you believe in a divine being. But then, so does DNA and quantum mechanics. Well, here's my fifteen minutes of fame almost up again. I wonder if that had anything to do with the choice of fifteeen minutes? Serendipity rules! Now I'm going to try to remember the word for when coincidence rules in other ways- like the not-quite random meaning that comes out of tarot decks. There's a word for that... Synchronicity, that's the word I'm looking for. Synchronicity.

In which I ponder the quantum mechanical nature of life

I often wish I could just tape my thoughts and replay them. I had a long monologue with myself coming home from work about what I was going to write here. It was, if I recall correctly, fairly profound. Ah well. I'm tired of being tired, but there it is. I keep trying to push the words out and to practice pushing the words out. It's all about conquering perfection. This may be dumb, it may be profound, it really doesn't matter as long as the words are set down. I don't know if I care whether or not anyone reads this. But I want to get used to spitting out words, any words, and silencing my inner critic. Fifteen minutes a day of drivel, or whatever. I'm still down on it since it's not perfection, but perfection is just a form of procrastion. Ok, there was really a lot I wanted to say about the evils of perfection, and betrayal, and stuff like that, but first I'm going to blather about possiblilities.

I like the quantum-eye view. The Schroedinger's cat thing- the cat is neither alive nor dead until you actually look. It's like rolling dice: the total can be anything from 2 to 12, but until you actually role, all sums are possible. Not all sums are equally likely, but all are possible. Then you roll, and it's a 7, and all those possibilities vanish in the face of reality. Relationships are very much like that. In the beginning, before anything happens, all outcomes are possible. And you can think of all outcomes, or dwell on your favorite ones, and they still have the possibility of coming into being. But once you make a choice here, have a date there, the observations replace and narrow down the possibilities. That first being in love stage is before the wave function collapses, and the dreams are endless. I just like thinking of it that way because I'm a geek. But I hear geeks are in vogue now anyway.

So that's my quantum view. Life is like that too- a new baby is pure potential, uncollapsed wave function. Life observations narrow down the behavoir until poof, you have a kid in therapy because you yelled at him for not brushing his teeth at night once too often. All the things I could've been, done, or chosen are buried in that collapsed wave function.

I've actually run on about that idea before, when I tried doing this thing on paper. But I didn't get any father with it on paper than I usually do. I am always too aware someone else will read it, and off goes the inner critic censoring every third word and telling me how idiotic it sounds and how no one could possilby be interested in anything I have to say. So I'm faking myself out. I'm going to start with the assumption that anyone who wants to can read this, and I'll probably find out that no one is reading it. Of course, I am not currently letting anyone know where it is, though I did break down yesterday and give the link to someone. But I'm also trying to fight this pathetic urge to seek out approval for what I do. Sad, but there it is. This is all about finding out where I am so I can move out of that place into another one.

And with that, dear readers, I will leave you with this quote:
Lord, what fools these mortals be.

In which I wax eloquently on book mold

The idea behind this blog is that I just type and type, rather like the Artist's way. Normally I'd type in the morning, but I'm too exhausted to do that. Now... What to type? No idea. Too tired to think. But I've promised myself at least 15 minutes a day. And maybe an evening core dump will be more useful anyway, in the "help me sleep" department. Let's see... I feel like I'm wrapped up in the silken threads of a cocoon. I need the insulation from the world to... heal, I guess, but I don't know from what. Too much struggle to get out at the moment. I felt pretty harassed all day at work, though who knows why. Part of it was the result of a core dump from a friend. I'm a good core dump, anyway, just wish I trusted anyone enough to core dump on them. Guess my non-audience is nominated, anyhow. Ok, so now what? I don't really feel like working out all my feelings and that sort of stuff. I'm too tired to be witty. Working on some stories, though. Want to try NaNoWriMo come November. This is part of that. Will probably not put that writing up here- this is the work stuff out blog. The stream of consciousness clearing house. That sort of stuff. The blah blah. Ok, yes, I'm filling words, rather like Lucy in "A Book Report on Peter Rabit." So sue me. By the way, Oprah gave out a bunch of cars to her audience. Wish someone would hand me a car. Though really, I wish someone would hand me a used book store and the money to run it. It's a pity that used bookstores so seldom make money. I think there's a symbiotic virus or something that lives in book mold. I have to inhale "musty old book" air on a regular basis to keep sane. So I went to my favorite old used bookstore, in a tiny alley. It's the sort of bookstore you'd write a story about. (I've already worked it into one of mine...) And I just breathed. And I felt better, I really did. Though I wasn't there long enough. I needed at least two hours. Unfortunately lunch is only 1, and I had to spend half of that eating....

I've also been looking up how much some of my mom's books might be worth. Woah. Better take good care of some of them. One is being offered for over a grand. Blew my mind. I wouldn't dream of selling it, but if anyone did, I'd want to make sure they knew enough to get full price. I have quite a few books like that. One of the reasons I want to own a used book store is so I can have a place to put all the books I want to run my fingers along. I guess it really is an addiction.

I'm really playing with the idea of quantum mechanics as a world view, too. Ok, that's 15 minutes, so I'll leave my adoring public with that teaser and save something to say for tomorrow morning if I can make it out of bed in time.

Time to make the donuts...

Ok, let's see how far I get with this one...