Signing off..

This journal thing is too much. Writing is sometimes too much. I feel as if I'm always under pressure lately, or forgetting things. I could be because of the new job and long commute, but I don't know.

Most of the time, I spend seated at my computer trying to justify why I'm trying to write when I feel like my brain is one big constipated mess, frankly.

I'm missing important dates, bills are piling up that I can't pay or that I'm trying to pay in time enough to avoid shut off. It's given me migraines again and made me want to do nothing more than sleep. When I'm not sleeping in what little free time I have, I'm ignoring or forgetting those I care about and letting time slip away.

I'm ready to simply bury my head in the sand and not come out. If life is a game, I'm failing at it badly. Very badly.

This is my last entry here. One less pressure to do something, one less thing to remember in the ever growing list of things I keep forgetting or that I'm too brainless to keep up with.

Creative roll of the dice

I'm now buried ass deep in my novel and it's hardcore science fiction and coming out in fits and starts. I've never written in first person, third person present. Very challenging.

I'd originally started it because of Nanowrimo but the novel has decided that it will not be put on a deadline, so that's all out the window.

I'm also writing frightfully out of sequence and hoping that eventually everything will be a cohesive whole in the end. Not sure how long it will be. Too early to tell.

Still waiting on on whether Neo-opsis will accept my fantasy tale. The slush editor told me she was forwarding it to the senior editor. I'll query in another week or so...hasn't really been that long and I know they tend to take their time.

Still no word from Insiduous Reflections. *sigh*

Back to make more pages...

Happy Samhain...err Halloween

Okay, it's Samhain to all us Pagans. Deal with it!

I found a gorgeous gothic gown yesterday. I'd been invited to a party by some friends, waffled about actually wearing a costume and then gave in to the fun of it. The dress is heavy black velvet with a wonderfully detailed bodice and damned if I didn't look hot in it in the fitting room. I patted myself on the back for the 40 lb weight loss, discovered the dress was half off on sale and giddly purchased it and some black lipstick (Okay, so I wanted punk/goth! *g*)

I dressed with care, applied my makeup, pulled on my fanciest killer boots and got a 'Ms. Race, you look hot!' from my daughter's friend who was staying over so they could eat way too much candy/junkfood I'd bought them and and watch scary movies. I preened, pleased at my ability to please even a picky teen, then sat gracefully in a nearby settee. At which point, the side of the lower bodice promptly came apart, due to some flaw in the material.

I was about to cry when Elvira, Mistress of the Dark and her husband, Clint Eastwood (dressed in his best Spagetti Western gear, naturally) showed up. They bundled me off and Clint Eastwood told me, conspiratorily, that no one was going to get to the lower bodice because they'd be too busy looking at the UPPER bodice. *giggle* He's a harmless perv and all night he got to protect not only his wife's ample...assets but my unravelling bodice and assets as well!

Dispelling the myth that all deathmetal heads are losers, we drove to Merlin's (the host's) party, which was housed in an old house he was restoring. He owns like half the neighborhood and had just started renovating this and decided to turn it into a haunted house before he had to seriously start making it renter friendly, complete with unfinished walls, flowing mist and eerily realistic mannikins and skeletons and horror stuffs (including a guiottine in the back yard). It was wonderful! Heavy metal, guys on motorcycles and some odd concoction that I only had one of but made my head swim. I remember Clint Eastwood gave me a cigar and I actually smoked it. The host's mother fell down drunk and there was only one fight (in the haunted mineshaft on the upper floor, naturally). I spilled a drink on the already ripped gown and really didn't care after I had another beer. I drank bottled water after that (are you still a cool deathmetal head when you're mature enough to supply soda and water to your guests that don't drink until stumbling?)

The evening ended with Count Dracula and a Civil War soldier graciously escorting me to my car after I got a migraine and had to leave or rip my skull apart in agony.

My take on the day:

1. Hot Topic should have a sign that declares 'Buyer Beware!' at the door. For the money I laid down, the costume should have withstood a nuclear attack

2. Clint Eastwood buys the bestest cigars.

3. Merlin has gorgeous hair (no really, waist length curls...I touched it!)

4. Deathmetal heads make good hosts.

5. Stay away from mysterious drink concoctions. Always.

Because I like talking to myself:

I decided that, after Word decided to become my dire enemy, I downloaded ABIWord, which was recommended by a few other writers after I'd googled for advice on how good it was. Thus far the program works pretty well, although it doesn't have all the bells and whistles of Word. Most of those bells and whistles went largely unused by me anyway. Seriously, all a writer needs to be able to do is type the story, spellcheck the story, get word count, save it in a decent format for distribution, add headers and that's about it.
ABIWord does all that and therefore I am happy.

I finally broke down and did a spreadsheet of everything I have out currently and discovered I'm less of a lazy ass than I thought I was. Five stories out, one up for consideration possibly and yet another I got notified was being forwarded from slush to the main editor. No, I'm not easily googled, nor do I have a clique of special friends who will publish me and not pay me for it, but I finally decided that my success depends solely on me, and not everyone else. I'm the one who has to face the scary white space each day and channel the muse. I don't need the large circle of friends to pat me on the back or give me virtual hugs. I have a small circle who I know will give me the kick in the ass that I need to get over my self pity and do what I love to do best: WRITE.

Somedays, that's all a writer can hope for.

While I'm at it, shout outs to those friends:

Ms. Lori(L. Lynn Young), who sold a short story to Brutarian.

Yvonne Pronovost, who sold a short story to Aiofe's Kiss.

S.A Parnam (Angelina), who's story 'Elfbane' appears in Issue 4 of Neo-Opsis Magazine.

You go ladies!

My Word...

I can't get it to load. Worse, I've a story I needed to send to an editor who requested it and I can't get it to load. I'm not happy and perhaps this is the sign I needed. The sign that says I will never be a success at writing and perhaps I should just give up. I don't know the right people, I impress no one and I'm tired.

'Nuff said.

The thin thread that never breaks...

I've been thinking a lot about the nature of friendship. It's partly because I sucked it up and contacted someone from a writing club that left abruptly. I broke all ties with her for a lot of reasons--some quite silly. Still, afraid of rejection, I wrote her anyway. Amazingly, she wrote me back and that thin thread that binds grew strong again.

What creates that thread? I've had few really lasting friendships and some have come about rather oddly (at least some might think it). My longest lasting thread was created 20 years ago on a bus on the way to see a David Bowie concert. Marriage, childbirth, misunderstandings...the thread has grown thin at times, but it has never broken. It is made of sturdy stuff, that thread.

Another friendship started completely online and yet became quite strong over the years, enforced by actual meetings, long telephone conversations. It's an often frustrating endeavor, this friendship--we are so different. But it has lasted despite all that.

Others I've been close to--that tenuous thread has broken completely. What makes it different, I wonder? Is the thread still there, just simply invisible to the soul and only waiting for some fine glue to reconnect it?

For me, I think it's a question of whether my mind and soul truly connected with that other person. I've often been able to tell just the right time to call someone I care about--call it a sort of 6th Sense. Friendships are a fine art and yet nuturing them requires nothing more than the ability to open up and let the walls crumble, to never let the thread become so frayed that it breaks altogether.

Take care of those threads my friends. They are our life lines.

The Light at the end of the tunnel might not be a train...

I'm feeling guardedly optimistic lately. I'm starting a new job on Monday. I'm guarded, because I'm afraid being too happy will jinx me. I'll miss all my collegues where I'm leaving, and scared for their futures once the end date approaches.

One the writing front: A flash that got very high critiques just got rejected. Blah...

HOWEVER, I currently have my lovely and well rejected favorite story being held at a new horror zine that pays pretty decent rates. Hopefully they'll use it, however they did tell me to feel free to shop it elsewhere if I wanted. I'll give it some time before I do that I think. A maybe is always better than a 'Hell no!' and gives me hope.

I caught the tail end of the VP debates. Wow...they seemed a bit more animated than the presidential debates. I'm hoping Kerry's ratings in the polls go up. I'm scared of Bush and what he'll do if given 4 more years. I've never been this SCARED before, of any administration. Fear is something I choose to write about, not live.

Anyway, I've nothing more witty to say so I'm off to get ready for the day. Yeehaw!