Quite often, when we face an uncertain future or an uncomfortable present, we retreat into the safety of the past. Perhaps we look at old pictures or videos, listen to favorite music, pay a visit to an old haunt. We loll about in warmth and golden light, bathed in the memories of good friends, good fun, good food, good times. It can be nice to get away from the pressures of today and the gnawing fear of that space on the calendar marked 'tomorrow.'
But sometimes, even a trip to the past is not the sanctuary we're looking for. On a drive through the old neighborhood, you find the new owner of the house you grew up in has painted it a different color, built a garage on top of the garden, or cut down the tree you used to climb. The empty lot you used to play hide-and-seek on has a strip mall on it. The old elementary school is now a community center, an office complex, a senior citizen complex. Even the past can get run over.
This was illustrated clearly this past weekend when I took advantage of an offer from Blizzard Entertainment and dropped in to check on the world of the World of Warcraft, the Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game (MMORPG) that took our world by storm. My wife and I played over the course of about five years, from the mid- to late stages of the game's first expansion, The Burning Crusade up until about halfway through the Cataclysm expansion. I dropped out due to a combination of factors (I may have blogged about this before, but I don't remember): waning interest in the game, rising interest in writing, and technical problems on Blizzard's end that for a time made loading in and out of different zones frustrating at best, impossible at worst. To my surprise, I didn't miss the game as much as I thought I would (I missed the people, though; I was fortunate to fall in with a good bunch), which in itself says it was a good time to get out.
But I did miss it, and would find myself thinking about it with the hazy glow of nostalgia. So, when I saw Blizzard was offering a free weekend of play to inactive players (including a free upgrade* to just short of the most recent expansion, Battle for Azeroth, released last year), I decided, why not? It might be fun to peek in, get the lay of the land, and maybe have a little fun.
As you can gather, it was not all rosy glows and warm fuzzies. The game has changed, which I knew. The abilities I had gotten used to over the course of seven years of playing my paladin (and my warlock; can't forget him) were...there? Sort of? Some of them? I had to spend time rearranging the location of all my spells and abilities on my toolbar because some things were gone (Hammer of Wrath? Exorcism? Holy Wrath? Where are you?) and there were new things that I didn't even have a clue about how to use.
But that wasn't the worst of it. Heck, every expansion brings changes. The paladin I left alone in Stormwind was very different from the one who started out swinging a wooden mallet in Elwynn Forest five years before. No, the worst of it, the most disappointing of all was losing my name. Blizzard seems to have a policy that they'll keep your character forever, but after 2 expansions of inactivity? They'll release your name. And it was gone, just like that. I was surprised at how much it bugs me, even though I was there for a weekend, nothing more.
Actually, there was one other thing that bugged me.
When I left the game, I was in a guild. An active, chatty guild. Log into the game, and there would be a bunch of greetings in guild chat, a constant conversation running as background text like a CNN chyron, only instead of the news of the day, it was the news of the guild. Jokes, snippets of personal information, in-game accomplishments, requests and stories. More than the other people running around you in the game world, that guild chat let you know you were part of a community, not alone. And it was gone.
I know that some of the people I played with way back when are still in game, but I have no idea if they're still on the same realm or moved off, or if they switched factions or started playing other characters. I do know the guild has been disbanded, and no one I knew was around, and that even if I did figure out how to play my character again, it wouldn't be the same.
At least I've got my memories.
Showing posts with label life in general. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life in general. Show all posts
Monday, March 25, 2019
Monday, October 29, 2018
A note
This morning, I quick wrote a post about writing. At the close of it, I wanted to acknowledge the terrible events of the last week (pipe bombs, synagogue shooting), but I did not wish to relegate them to a footnote to a post about something as trivial as writing. At the same time, I really just don't know how to express my anger and frustration with what is happening to this country. I honestly fear for the future of this country more than ever, when we have politicians whose first impulse to the news of pipe bombs is to raise the specter of 'false flag operations,' or to immediately insist (yet again), that guns have nothing to do with a shooting in a synagogue, or that words don't matter. Words matter. They matter a lot. The President, the Vice President, and the lackeys in Congress are either flat-out lying when they say they don't, or are too stupid to see the connection between what they say and what people do. Either way, it's clear they are not people who should be running this country. My heart goes out to the people who lost family and friends in Pittsburgh, and I hope we can get through this time without worse.
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Monday, October 22, 2018
The dreaming brain
Once, many years ago, I woke from a dream about....I don't remember what. What I do remember about the dream is that someone or something was tapping. On a door, maybe. On a floor. I don't remember who it was doing the tapping, or what they were tapping on, only that they were tapping. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. No particular rhythm to it that I recall.
I woke up. It was morning, the sun was shining, and though the dream was over, the tapping continued. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap tap. Stumbling out of bed, I went to the window and discovered the source of the noise: a woodpecker was outside, digging at the wood around the window frame in its search for bugs.
It always amazes me how outside stimuli can work their way into dreams. I've never been entirely certain how dreams work (and I've never been particularly interested in looking it up for some reason): do they unfold in your brain over a longish period of time, i.e., over several minutes, so that what feels like a long dream really is a long dream? Or are they more like flashes of lightning, something that is in reality a fraction of a second long, only it feels like a long time? If it's the latter, then was that woodpecker working on the window before I started dreaming, and was the dream built to accommodate this noise? Or, if the dreams take place over a long period of time, did my brain just decide to take this new sound and throw it in, like a cook might grab some spice off the rack to throw into an already boiling stew? Maybe I'll look into it, because it is pretty interesting, how it all works.
At about four this morning, I woke up from a dream that, again, I don't remember at all. The only thing I do remember is there was a muffled thump or bang that was literally right on the boundary line of dream and awake. I lay there under covers, still half asleep, trying to decide if that noise had been in my head or outside of it. The noise was not repeated. The house was as quiet as a house usually is at 4 a.m. I debated briefly whether I should get up and take a pass through the house to make sure no one was roaming the house, or that the roof hadn't fallen in, or the expansion tank hadn't blown on our furnace again (though I was awake for that one a couple of years ago, and it was LOUD, let me tell you; this was a totally different kind of noise). After a brief inner debate, I was able to go back to sleep.
It wasn't always that way, though. For several years, it was common for me to wake up in the middle of the night, or to be drifting off to sleep and snap awake, and just feel compelled to check the house for...I don't know what. Something. Someone. There was never any rhyme or reason to it. No dream or nightmare, sometimes, I wasn't even asleep. I'd just get this feeling, a super-creeped out feeling, that I needed to do a walk around. And even when I knew logically there was no reason to get out of my warm, comfortable bed, I would not be able to rest until I got up and checked every room in the house, sometimes even going into the basement. Never once did I find anything amiss.
I wonder if those super-paranoid, check every room in the house moments were related somehow to child protection instincts. My children are both grown, and though the Magpie lives with us full-time, and the Catbird part-time (we'll see what happens in May when she graduates), I have not had one of those 'gotta check the house' moments in years, maybe not even since they were in middle school.
The mind does some really interesting things, doesn't it?
I woke up. It was morning, the sun was shining, and though the dream was over, the tapping continued. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap tap. Stumbling out of bed, I went to the window and discovered the source of the noise: a woodpecker was outside, digging at the wood around the window frame in its search for bugs.
It always amazes me how outside stimuli can work their way into dreams. I've never been entirely certain how dreams work (and I've never been particularly interested in looking it up for some reason): do they unfold in your brain over a longish period of time, i.e., over several minutes, so that what feels like a long dream really is a long dream? Or are they more like flashes of lightning, something that is in reality a fraction of a second long, only it feels like a long time? If it's the latter, then was that woodpecker working on the window before I started dreaming, and was the dream built to accommodate this noise? Or, if the dreams take place over a long period of time, did my brain just decide to take this new sound and throw it in, like a cook might grab some spice off the rack to throw into an already boiling stew? Maybe I'll look into it, because it is pretty interesting, how it all works.
At about four this morning, I woke up from a dream that, again, I don't remember at all. The only thing I do remember is there was a muffled thump or bang that was literally right on the boundary line of dream and awake. I lay there under covers, still half asleep, trying to decide if that noise had been in my head or outside of it. The noise was not repeated. The house was as quiet as a house usually is at 4 a.m. I debated briefly whether I should get up and take a pass through the house to make sure no one was roaming the house, or that the roof hadn't fallen in, or the expansion tank hadn't blown on our furnace again (though I was awake for that one a couple of years ago, and it was LOUD, let me tell you; this was a totally different kind of noise). After a brief inner debate, I was able to go back to sleep.
It wasn't always that way, though. For several years, it was common for me to wake up in the middle of the night, or to be drifting off to sleep and snap awake, and just feel compelled to check the house for...I don't know what. Something. Someone. There was never any rhyme or reason to it. No dream or nightmare, sometimes, I wasn't even asleep. I'd just get this feeling, a super-creeped out feeling, that I needed to do a walk around. And even when I knew logically there was no reason to get out of my warm, comfortable bed, I would not be able to rest until I got up and checked every room in the house, sometimes even going into the basement. Never once did I find anything amiss.
I wonder if those super-paranoid, check every room in the house moments were related somehow to child protection instincts. My children are both grown, and though the Magpie lives with us full-time, and the Catbird part-time (we'll see what happens in May when she graduates), I have not had one of those 'gotta check the house' moments in years, maybe not even since they were in middle school.
The mind does some really interesting things, doesn't it?
Monday, July 23, 2018
Monday Musing: Is this necessary?
Hey, folks, as of my usual post time I am, as we used to say in the days of World of Warcraft, AFK--Away From Keyboard. I'll be traveling home from a weekend away and will almost certainly not feel like posting when I get home. So, here's an actual advance post of things that caught my eye, either this past week, or some time in the not-so-distant past.
Thing One: Giant Jeff Goldblum statue in London.
Did you see this? It turned up last week. And all I can say is, "Why?"
I have to say, I do find it amusing how he seems to float in the air, like it's not just a giant Jeff Goldblum statue, but it's the ghost of a giant Jeff Goldblum statue. I suppose I shouldn't criticize. On Long Island, where I grew up, we have The Big Duck.
Thing Two: Do we need this level of specificity?
I may have posted this one another time, or I may be confusing this blog with my personal Facebook page. Isn't "Apple" the default flavor on Applesauce? Like, if it's not labeled, you just assume it's apple?
Thing Three: Escape hatch
One of my favorite features on newer cars. Just in case the mob tosses you in the trunk with the intent of putting you in a shallow grave somewhere upstate.
I especially like the way the person is jauntily running away from the car.
That's all for me for now. Have you ever seen things that don't seem strictly necessary?
Thing One: Giant Jeff Goldblum statue in London.
Did you see this? It turned up last week. And all I can say is, "Why?"
I have to say, I do find it amusing how he seems to float in the air, like it's not just a giant Jeff Goldblum statue, but it's the ghost of a giant Jeff Goldblum statue. I suppose I shouldn't criticize. On Long Island, where I grew up, we have The Big Duck.
Thing Two: Do we need this level of specificity?
Thing Three: Escape hatch
One of my favorite features on newer cars. Just in case the mob tosses you in the trunk with the intent of putting you in a shallow grave somewhere upstate.
That's all for me for now. Have you ever seen things that don't seem strictly necessary?
Monday, July 16, 2018
Monday Musing: Overburdened, self-inflicted
This morning when I go to work, one of my tasks will be to complete my timesheet for the pay period that just ended. It's going to show a lot of extra time. This past week was a seven-day work week, which included a ten-hour day in the middle of it. So, I've been a little crispy around the edges lately.
I'm also contributing to my own burnout: on top of what was a 60+ hour work week, on Saturday night, after helping to put on a first-time, minor event, I rushed home, changed, and then my wife and I dashed out so we could volunteer for a local charity pouring beer at a concert. I may have written about this last summer: my organization was the charity at one such concert which meant organizing 60-70 volunteers. It's a heck of a lot of fun (and a good fundraiser: my organiztion made over two grand in approximately five hours), but it's exhausting. And then there's the MOOC, the Massive Open Online Course offered through the University of Iowa, which just started yesterday (slots still available, I believe). I did my required readings and discussion participation for the first unit already, and now have to write something.
Ah, writing. Yeah, about that. This week has been unbelievably bad for writing. After getting off to a rousing start on the revisions for my WiP, which included two 3000+ word days in late June and a massive 5600-word day on July 4 (here's to holidays!), this week has been a disaster. In the last five days, I've amassed a whopping total of 347 words, and those 347 came hard and grudgingly. My goal of having this one out on submission by the end of the summer is slipping away.
When we write our stories, the obstacles we force our heroes to overcome can be external or internal. External: my job is really busy this week--I have to work seven days and a night, so I have little time and I'm really, really tired at the end of the day. Internal: I can't say no, thus I overextend myself and leave myself more exhausted with less time to do things I want (or need) to do for myself. Like writing. And I end up crispy around the edges.
Other random thoughts for the week that was and is to be:
Best news all week was the rescue of the boys and their coach from that cave in Thailand. Outstanding work by the rescuers, and very sad to lose one of them in the rescue effort.
I'm not a big soccer guy, but congratulations to France on their World Cup victory.
I read the indictment. I'm really curious about the identities of a) "a candidate for US Congress"; b) "a then-registered state lobbyist and online source of political news"; c) "a reporter"; d) a person who was in regular contact with senior members of the presidential campaign of Donald J. Trump." I suspect more indictments are coming.
That's all I got; what's going on with you all?
I'm also contributing to my own burnout: on top of what was a 60+ hour work week, on Saturday night, after helping to put on a first-time, minor event, I rushed home, changed, and then my wife and I dashed out so we could volunteer for a local charity pouring beer at a concert. I may have written about this last summer: my organization was the charity at one such concert which meant organizing 60-70 volunteers. It's a heck of a lot of fun (and a good fundraiser: my organiztion made over two grand in approximately five hours), but it's exhausting. And then there's the MOOC, the Massive Open Online Course offered through the University of Iowa, which just started yesterday (slots still available, I believe). I did my required readings and discussion participation for the first unit already, and now have to write something.
Ah, writing. Yeah, about that. This week has been unbelievably bad for writing. After getting off to a rousing start on the revisions for my WiP, which included two 3000+ word days in late June and a massive 5600-word day on July 4 (here's to holidays!), this week has been a disaster. In the last five days, I've amassed a whopping total of 347 words, and those 347 came hard and grudgingly. My goal of having this one out on submission by the end of the summer is slipping away.
When we write our stories, the obstacles we force our heroes to overcome can be external or internal. External: my job is really busy this week--I have to work seven days and a night, so I have little time and I'm really, really tired at the end of the day. Internal: I can't say no, thus I overextend myself and leave myself more exhausted with less time to do things I want (or need) to do for myself. Like writing. And I end up crispy around the edges.
Other random thoughts for the week that was and is to be:
Best news all week was the rescue of the boys and their coach from that cave in Thailand. Outstanding work by the rescuers, and very sad to lose one of them in the rescue effort.
I'm not a big soccer guy, but congratulations to France on their World Cup victory.
I read the indictment. I'm really curious about the identities of a) "a candidate for US Congress"; b) "a then-registered state lobbyist and online source of political news"; c) "a reporter"; d) a person who was in regular contact with senior members of the presidential campaign of Donald J. Trump." I suspect more indictments are coming.
That's all I got; what's going on with you all?
Monday, June 4, 2018
The Bee and the Barr
Late last night, I gave in to an itch and rubbed my eye. I knew it was a mistake, but the eye had started itching madly right around the time Last Week Tonight started. Twice during the program I dribbled a little cool water into the corner of my eye, but it did no good: the itch remained. And though I knew the itch was the result of an allergy (I had cut the grass earlier in the day, and it was raining, and it's spring/summer), and though I knew exactly what was going to happen if I gave in, I stuck my finger in behind my glasses and rubbed.
Ahhh, such sweet relief! There is nothing quite so satisfying as scratching as scratching an itch. It's so...so...so. It's just so.
Here's the problem with this sort of itch, though: while it feels positively orgasmic while you're scratching it, it doesn't solve anything. As soon as I pulled my finger out from behind my glasses, three things happened: 1) the itch returned, as bad and insistent as before; 2) it now felt like a lash or something was stuck beneath my eyelid, even though I didn't have to check in the mirror to know this wasn't true, and 3) the phlegm factory in my head went into full-scale production mode, churning out mucus like Soviet factories cranked out tanks in World War II. I ended up taking Benadryl, and while it did the job, taking Benadryl at midnight means waking from a bizarre dream at 5:44 with no recollection of the alarm having gone off and a tongue that feels about as moist as the Mojave Desert. My head is clear of phlegm, but my brain is rather sluggish, which might explain this post.
The sad thing? All of this was predictable. I've been here before. It never ends well. Experience tells me there are certain types of eye itches that I must absolutely leave alone, and last night's was one of those. I knew it, and I reaped the consequences. But it felt so good!
Last week, Roseanne Barr and Samantha Bee both scratched some particular eye itch, Barr in her Twitter feed, Bee on her show, Full Frontal. (If you've been living under a rock, Barr's tweet was a racist shot at a former Obama administration official, while Bee dropped a C-Bomb on Ivanka Trump) Barr was fired from her show before the day was out. Bee is still employed, though she has lost a couple of big advertisers. She is supposedly going to address this on this week's show. At this point, I'm guessing she'll keep her job, since the network (TBS) joined her in falling on the sword. Unless there's enough of a backlash.
What was Roseanne thinking when she fired off her 2 a.m. Tweet? What was Bee thinking when she dropped the C-bomb on air? I can't say for sure, but I imagine it was a lot like me with my eye itch: it felt really good until the entirely predictable--and avoidable--reaction.
Ahhh, such sweet relief! There is nothing quite so satisfying as scratching as scratching an itch. It's so...so...so. It's just so.
Here's the problem with this sort of itch, though: while it feels positively orgasmic while you're scratching it, it doesn't solve anything. As soon as I pulled my finger out from behind my glasses, three things happened: 1) the itch returned, as bad and insistent as before; 2) it now felt like a lash or something was stuck beneath my eyelid, even though I didn't have to check in the mirror to know this wasn't true, and 3) the phlegm factory in my head went into full-scale production mode, churning out mucus like Soviet factories cranked out tanks in World War II. I ended up taking Benadryl, and while it did the job, taking Benadryl at midnight means waking from a bizarre dream at 5:44 with no recollection of the alarm having gone off and a tongue that feels about as moist as the Mojave Desert. My head is clear of phlegm, but my brain is rather sluggish, which might explain this post.
The sad thing? All of this was predictable. I've been here before. It never ends well. Experience tells me there are certain types of eye itches that I must absolutely leave alone, and last night's was one of those. I knew it, and I reaped the consequences. But it felt so good!
Last week, Roseanne Barr and Samantha Bee both scratched some particular eye itch, Barr in her Twitter feed, Bee on her show, Full Frontal. (If you've been living under a rock, Barr's tweet was a racist shot at a former Obama administration official, while Bee dropped a C-Bomb on Ivanka Trump) Barr was fired from her show before the day was out. Bee is still employed, though she has lost a couple of big advertisers. She is supposedly going to address this on this week's show. At this point, I'm guessing she'll keep her job, since the network (TBS) joined her in falling on the sword. Unless there's enough of a backlash.
What was Roseanne thinking when she fired off her 2 a.m. Tweet? What was Bee thinking when she dropped the C-bomb on air? I can't say for sure, but I imagine it was a lot like me with my eye itch: it felt really good until the entirely predictable--and avoidable--reaction.
Monday, May 21, 2018
Airing it Out
One of the things I was very fortunate to do whilst on my blogging break was take an actual vacation, not just a vacation from the blog. My wife and I went to Las Vegas for a week, and stayed with her cousin. It was quite an experience, and I may share some pictures of it at some point, but today is not that day. Instead, I want to talk a little about air travel.
To get to Las Vegas, we had to take two flights. We flew from Albany at about 6am to Charlotte, where we met my brother-in-law (he was heading out there as well, and was the impetus for the trip). From there, we flew to Vegas. The magic of air travel is that you can leave Albany at six in the morning, spend something like ten hours in transit (we had a three hour layover in Charlotte) yet still arrive at Las Vegas at one in the afternoon. Wait, I guess that's not the magic of air travel as much as it's the magic of time zones.
I'm still new enough to air travel that I find the whole thing incredible. I mean, think of it: you're in a metal tube with 150 of your closest friends, and you're 35,000 feet in the air. Thirty-five thousand. It still boggles the mind. I understand the principles of flight well enough to understand how it happens, but it's still kind of magical when I get right down to it. And I love the perspective of looking down on towns and houses and cities, on forests and mountains and, in the west, canyons and deserts. A window seat is pretty much required for me; I don't know what I would have done on the five-hour flight if I hadn't been sitting by the window, because the sad thing is, the reality of air travel doesn't really match with the promise. Once you get off the ground and reach cruising altitude (35,000 feet!), the trip itself becomes kind of dull (on the flight out there, we ran into cloud cover from just west of the Appalachians to western Arizona. It opened up for the last forty-minutes or so of our flight, which did provide us some pretty good views). Seats are too cramped, the plane is really, really noisy, and those windows? Kind of small. I guess they have to be, but I would prefer a window that I didn't have to break my neck to see out of.
The thing that might be most amazing about air travel, though, is all the other stuff that had to be invented to support it. Baggage carts and carousels. The jet bridge. The pushback tug. Radar stations. To quote Sheriff Bart (Blazing Saddles):
To get to Las Vegas, we had to take two flights. We flew from Albany at about 6am to Charlotte, where we met my brother-in-law (he was heading out there as well, and was the impetus for the trip). From there, we flew to Vegas. The magic of air travel is that you can leave Albany at six in the morning, spend something like ten hours in transit (we had a three hour layover in Charlotte) yet still arrive at Las Vegas at one in the afternoon. Wait, I guess that's not the magic of air travel as much as it's the magic of time zones.
I'm still new enough to air travel that I find the whole thing incredible. I mean, think of it: you're in a metal tube with 150 of your closest friends, and you're 35,000 feet in the air. Thirty-five thousand. It still boggles the mind. I understand the principles of flight well enough to understand how it happens, but it's still kind of magical when I get right down to it. And I love the perspective of looking down on towns and houses and cities, on forests and mountains and, in the west, canyons and deserts. A window seat is pretty much required for me; I don't know what I would have done on the five-hour flight if I hadn't been sitting by the window, because the sad thing is, the reality of air travel doesn't really match with the promise. Once you get off the ground and reach cruising altitude (35,000 feet!), the trip itself becomes kind of dull (on the flight out there, we ran into cloud cover from just west of the Appalachians to western Arizona. It opened up for the last forty-minutes or so of our flight, which did provide us some pretty good views). Seats are too cramped, the plane is really, really noisy, and those windows? Kind of small. I guess they have to be, but I would prefer a window that I didn't have to break my neck to see out of.
The thing that might be most amazing about air travel, though, is all the other stuff that had to be invented to support it. Baggage carts and carousels. The jet bridge. The pushback tug. Radar stations. To quote Sheriff Bart (Blazing Saddles):
Monday, March 19, 2018
Random Thoughts
It's been a tough week, capped off by the long drive to get the Catbird back to school from spring break. Here are some random thoughts:
*Defenestrate is a great word, but, boy is it hard to work into everyday conversation.
*There is nothing more optimistic in this world than a dog.
*Waking up to single-digit temperatures again kind of sucks, but it looks like we're at least going to have a snow-free week.
*I need to find my next writing project.
*The Bruins are doing their best to make a believer out of me.
*Waiting is still the hardest part.
*There is nothing quite like a good bagel in the morning.
*It's nice to have it still light at 7pm, though I'm not crazy about waking up again in the pitch dark.
*Black Panther was a lot of fun.
*It's going to be hard for season 2 of Jessica Jones to top season 1, but two episodes in, they're off to a good start.
*David Byrne sounds like David Byrne--yet he doesn't. I find this video strangely compelling, and the song has been stuck in my head the last couple of days. It's funny how people's voices change as they age.
That's all I've got for today--what's on your mind?
*Defenestrate is a great word, but, boy is it hard to work into everyday conversation.
*There is nothing more optimistic in this world than a dog.
*Waking up to single-digit temperatures again kind of sucks, but it looks like we're at least going to have a snow-free week.
*I need to find my next writing project.
*The Bruins are doing their best to make a believer out of me.
*Waiting is still the hardest part.
*There is nothing quite like a good bagel in the morning.
*It's nice to have it still light at 7pm, though I'm not crazy about waking up again in the pitch dark.
*Black Panther was a lot of fun.
*It's going to be hard for season 2 of Jessica Jones to top season 1, but two episodes in, they're off to a good start.
*David Byrne sounds like David Byrne--yet he doesn't. I find this video strangely compelling, and the song has been stuck in my head the last couple of days. It's funny how people's voices change as they age.
That's all I've got for today--what's on your mind?
Monday, November 27, 2017
Back to normal...for now
We have a saying around my office to describe those draggy, low-energy days that happen from time to time: "Feels like the day after a board meeting." That's because our board meetings take place in the evening, they run typically two, two-and-a-half hours long, and there's a certain degree of stress in preparing for and participating in them. The day after a board meeting tends to be a little hazy, hard to get started on things, hard to concentrate on any one thing (especially if we're distracted by talking about things that got done--or not--at the meeting the night before).
Today is going to be one of those days.
Yesterday, the Magpie and I drove the Catbird back to college, which meant leaving around 8 in the morning and getting back just before 8 last night. I did all the driving (not out of any sort of chauvinistic "I'm the man, so I drive" attitude, but because neither of my girls has a license at this point, which is...odd, but is what it is right now), and while there was no snow and mostly little traffic, I'm finding that the older I get, the more I feel it. I'll probably be having a little of that "Isn't this day over yet?" feeling around two o'clock.
Thanksgiving was good, it was nice to have everyone home, nice to stuff ourselves on turkey and all the works, nice to hear my girls doing their silly things together. Writing was also good for me: I managed to do a full read-through and note-making on my massively-bloated WiP, and I'm hoping to start working on the second draft of it starting tonight (and I still really like it !!!). The previous project is with Agent Carrie and will hopefully be ready for submission by January. Seems like a pretty good place to start the final leg of 2017.
That's it for me; how's things with you?
Today is going to be one of those days.
Yesterday, the Magpie and I drove the Catbird back to college, which meant leaving around 8 in the morning and getting back just before 8 last night. I did all the driving (not out of any sort of chauvinistic "I'm the man, so I drive" attitude, but because neither of my girls has a license at this point, which is...odd, but is what it is right now), and while there was no snow and mostly little traffic, I'm finding that the older I get, the more I feel it. I'll probably be having a little of that "Isn't this day over yet?" feeling around two o'clock.
Thanksgiving was good, it was nice to have everyone home, nice to stuff ourselves on turkey and all the works, nice to hear my girls doing their silly things together. Writing was also good for me: I managed to do a full read-through and note-making on my massively-bloated WiP, and I'm hoping to start working on the second draft of it starting tonight (and I still really like it !!!). The previous project is with Agent Carrie and will hopefully be ready for submission by January. Seems like a pretty good place to start the final leg of 2017.
That's it for me; how's things with you?
Monday, March 13, 2017
Spring Break
When I wasin college, spring break was Fort Lauderdale, maybe Daytona. That was where everyone wanted to go, to get away from the grind of campus and the pressure of mid-terms, papers and projects. All anyone wanted was a few days to relax in the sun, kick back for a few days, enjoy the ocean and the beach.....
...or not.
My spring breaks were always spent on Long Island, U.S.A. I never really had the money to go down to Florida for the week-long debauch, but I had friends who did, friends who had a great time down there--what they could remember of it, anyway. Was I deprived? Maybe. Maybe, like New Year's Eve in Times Square (something else I haven't done, though I did spend on memorable one in the Quincy Marketplace in Boston, so that's kind of the same, right?), perhaps Spring Break is something everyone should do once--although I do wonder how many young lives are ruined by their experience, and I'm secretly (now, not so secretly, I guess) glad that neither of my girls has jetted off to Florida or Cancun or wherever Spring Break occurs these days.
This and That
WE picked up the Catbird from school on Friday and had a marathon day of driving there and back again. Though we keep vowing that she should take the bus, we never actually make her do it (maybe this weekend....). It's nice to have her home again, even for just a week.
OVER the weekend, I managed to add about 5600 words to the WiP--I'm not quite sure how I managed that, but I did. No progress on the RiP, though. Maybe I should change it to the RiS, as in "Revision in Stasis"....
THE continued actions of the Trump Administration and the GOP majority in Congress should make it clear to all by now that their motto is "Business uber alles." Anything that filters on down here to the rest of us is just a bonus.
SEND HELP!
The winter storm watch is now a winter storm warning. Twelve to eighteen inches possible. Good thing the Catbird is home to help shovel!
That's it for me; how are you?
 |
| These guys look like they just realized they spent a week drunk in a hotel room and missed out on all the babes! |
...or not.
My spring breaks were always spent on Long Island, U.S.A. I never really had the money to go down to Florida for the week-long debauch, but I had friends who did, friends who had a great time down there--what they could remember of it, anyway. Was I deprived? Maybe. Maybe, like New Year's Eve in Times Square (something else I haven't done, though I did spend on memorable one in the Quincy Marketplace in Boston, so that's kind of the same, right?), perhaps Spring Break is something everyone should do once--although I do wonder how many young lives are ruined by their experience, and I'm secretly (now, not so secretly, I guess) glad that neither of my girls has jetted off to Florida or Cancun or wherever Spring Break occurs these days.
This and That
WE picked up the Catbird from school on Friday and had a marathon day of driving there and back again. Though we keep vowing that she should take the bus, we never actually make her do it (maybe this weekend....). It's nice to have her home again, even for just a week.
OVER the weekend, I managed to add about 5600 words to the WiP--I'm not quite sure how I managed that, but I did. No progress on the RiP, though. Maybe I should change it to the RiS, as in "Revision in Stasis"....
THE continued actions of the Trump Administration and the GOP majority in Congress should make it clear to all by now that their motto is "Business uber alles." Anything that filters on down here to the rest of us is just a bonus.
SEND HELP!
The winter storm watch is now a winter storm warning. Twelve to eighteen inches possible. Good thing the Catbird is home to help shovel!
That's it for me; how are you?
Monday, February 27, 2017
Monday Musing: Is it on, or off?
I have strange thoughts that come to me seemingly at random. In this way, I suspect I'm not all that unusual; most people, I suspect, have oddball, random thoughts about the world around them. Hell, some people make themselves a nice living off of these things:
Once in a while, I wake up with these things. Last week, for example, I woke up with the odd realization that, in the Grand Theft Auto universe, there are neither children nor pets. No dogs or cats running around, and definitely no kids. It's odd that I had never noticed it before, and it's odd that I woke up with that in my brain, as I wasn't even thinking about Grand Theft Auto (though, perhaps, it's an indicator of the addictive level of game play) at the time--at least, not in my front brain. Something must have been happening in my back brain, though. I suppose having players be able to mow down, shoot, blow up, and beat to death innocent children and pets is a line the folks at Rockstar Games just did not want to cross. (SIDE NOTE: Just a few days after waking up with this thought, an in-game version of comedian, Katt Williams made the same observation. Said Virtual Williams: "I ain't seen a dog, or a cat yet. Hmm, just thought about it didn't you? Go ahead, think back. No, that wasn't a dog. That were probably a short person like myself, bending over to pick up something." I found it rather amusing, given how close on the heels of my own revelation it came)
Later the same week, during dinner, I said something about a timer going off, and that just made me stop right in my conversational tracks. Why do we say things like, "The timer went off" or "The buzzer went off" or "The smoke alarm went off" when what really happened is those things actually went on? Think about it for a second: you're cooking your dinner, you leave the pork chops in a little too long, and there it is, a house full of smoke, and then the awful sound of a smoke detector shrilling in your ear--but it's really not the sound of it going off, is it? It's the sound of it going on. The sound of the smoke detector going off is actually silence--blessed, wonderful silence.
Thinking about it logically right now, since I'm making this post up as I go and have no end in sight, I wonder if the phrase comes from the days of wind-up timers. When the timer stops running--when it goes off--you get the single stroke of a bell: Ding! That's a timer going off. Clock radios, electronic timers, those just keep running until you stop them; it's just a different phase of the operation.
I'm hoping I haven't inadvertently plagiarized someone's comedy routine here. It seems like the sort of thing that must have been covered, but I don't remember hearing it. Anyway, that's all I've got for today. What about you? Do you ever have these oddball moments of observation about our world? Please share!
Once in a while, I wake up with these things. Last week, for example, I woke up with the odd realization that, in the Grand Theft Auto universe, there are neither children nor pets. No dogs or cats running around, and definitely no kids. It's odd that I had never noticed it before, and it's odd that I woke up with that in my brain, as I wasn't even thinking about Grand Theft Auto (though, perhaps, it's an indicator of the addictive level of game play) at the time--at least, not in my front brain. Something must have been happening in my back brain, though. I suppose having players be able to mow down, shoot, blow up, and beat to death innocent children and pets is a line the folks at Rockstar Games just did not want to cross. (SIDE NOTE: Just a few days after waking up with this thought, an in-game version of comedian, Katt Williams made the same observation. Said Virtual Williams: "I ain't seen a dog, or a cat yet. Hmm, just thought about it didn't you? Go ahead, think back. No, that wasn't a dog. That were probably a short person like myself, bending over to pick up something." I found it rather amusing, given how close on the heels of my own revelation it came)
Later the same week, during dinner, I said something about a timer going off, and that just made me stop right in my conversational tracks. Why do we say things like, "The timer went off" or "The buzzer went off" or "The smoke alarm went off" when what really happened is those things actually went on? Think about it for a second: you're cooking your dinner, you leave the pork chops in a little too long, and there it is, a house full of smoke, and then the awful sound of a smoke detector shrilling in your ear--but it's really not the sound of it going off, is it? It's the sound of it going on. The sound of the smoke detector going off is actually silence--blessed, wonderful silence.
Thinking about it logically right now, since I'm making this post up as I go and have no end in sight, I wonder if the phrase comes from the days of wind-up timers. When the timer stops running--when it goes off--you get the single stroke of a bell: Ding! That's a timer going off. Clock radios, electronic timers, those just keep running until you stop them; it's just a different phase of the operation.
I'm hoping I haven't inadvertently plagiarized someone's comedy routine here. It seems like the sort of thing that must have been covered, but I don't remember hearing it. Anyway, that's all I've got for today. What about you? Do you ever have these oddball moments of observation about our world? Please share!
Monday, December 26, 2016
Monday Musing, Post-Holiday Edition
Christmas has come and gone, though the Holidays-with-a-capital-H are still upon us. Yesterday was a lovely day, a full day, and now we're sort of back into the routine. For example, here I am, improvising a blog post, waiting for my first cup of coffee, and realizing I just forgot to set the timer so said coffee is likely to come out of the French press too bitter. All systems working as intended.
Things are not normal, though. For one thing, I'm not scrambling as much as on a typical, didn'tfinishdraftingapostandnowI'vegottogetitdonebeforeIhavetoleaveforwork Monday. That's because New Boss decided (and got approval of the Board) to shut down the office for the week. Part of it was no doubt selfishly motivated: she wanted to spend time visiting family away from home this week, but it was also in recognition of the fact that me and my fellow underling co-worker both had put in a lot of extra hours over the year, particularly when we were down a staff person this summer. It's nice to be recognized for this, though not expected, and I won't expect it next year.
But it leaves me with a full week, and it's kind of strange to think of a full week without work. What does that leave me to do? For one, I still have to fix my thermostat. I bought a new one, along with some replacement wire (I got a look at the old stuff--it's so old, it's the kind that's covered in cloth. Can you say "Fire hazard? I knew you could."), but wisely decided seven o'clock on a weeknight was not the best time. Just in case I do something wrong. It shouldn't take long, and it should be pretty easy, but I'm the kind of person who turns simple jobs into complicated affairs. Know thyself, right?
There is also lots of reading to be done. I have a book on the end table, and another one at the library, I'm curious to see if I can finish both before next year, or if one (or both) will be first on the 2017 reading list. On top of that, I'm beta-ing for a friend and am woefully behind on that. I feel guilty, but it's not always easy--or fast--to beta. I hopefully have not taken so long that she changes the name of one the characters (it's kind of strange when you have an uncommon last name to see it in a work of fiction), or decides to have him killed off in some embarrassing or grisly way (of course, since I haven't read all the way through yet, that could be exactly what happens to him).
And, of course, there is writing, writing, writing. Job one, right? So, I suppose it's time to close this one up and get to it, and make this a working Holiday week.
What about you? Are you working this week, or are you back to your normal schedule?
Things are not normal, though. For one thing, I'm not scrambling as much as on a typical, didn'tfinishdraftingapostandnowI'vegottogetitdonebeforeIhavetoleaveforwork Monday. That's because New Boss decided (and got approval of the Board) to shut down the office for the week. Part of it was no doubt selfishly motivated: she wanted to spend time visiting family away from home this week, but it was also in recognition of the fact that me and my fellow underling co-worker both had put in a lot of extra hours over the year, particularly when we were down a staff person this summer. It's nice to be recognized for this, though not expected, and I won't expect it next year.
But it leaves me with a full week, and it's kind of strange to think of a full week without work. What does that leave me to do? For one, I still have to fix my thermostat. I bought a new one, along with some replacement wire (I got a look at the old stuff--it's so old, it's the kind that's covered in cloth. Can you say "Fire hazard? I knew you could."), but wisely decided seven o'clock on a weeknight was not the best time. Just in case I do something wrong. It shouldn't take long, and it should be pretty easy, but I'm the kind of person who turns simple jobs into complicated affairs. Know thyself, right?
There is also lots of reading to be done. I have a book on the end table, and another one at the library, I'm curious to see if I can finish both before next year, or if one (or both) will be first on the 2017 reading list. On top of that, I'm beta-ing for a friend and am woefully behind on that. I feel guilty, but it's not always easy--or fast--to beta. I hopefully have not taken so long that she changes the name of one the characters (it's kind of strange when you have an uncommon last name to see it in a work of fiction), or decides to have him killed off in some embarrassing or grisly way (of course, since I haven't read all the way through yet, that could be exactly what happens to him).
And, of course, there is writing, writing, writing. Job one, right? So, I suppose it's time to close this one up and get to it, and make this a working Holiday week.
What about you? Are you working this week, or are you back to your normal schedule?
Monday, September 5, 2016
Whoa, What Is This Place?
It's September and my self-imposed blog break is over. I return a bit refreshed and even have enough ideas sketched out to get me through a month of this--the question is whether or not I'll do enough pre-writing on these would-be future posts to make it not too much of a struggle or not. I'm thinking I might. At least for a little while.
Now, I must admit, I've totally screwed up. I sat down this morning thinking how I would ease into the blogging thing by reporting on my reading list for the third quarter. I even started writing up the introduction. But, somewhere on my way to get the coffee ready (and it's still not ready; another two minutes or so), my fogged brain did some calculations and I realized I'm too early--the third quarter doesn't end until the end of September. Which means I'll actually have to post something else (I knew my reading list for the quarter was looking a little thin!). Let me think of that while I get me some...
One sip, and things are suddenly much better!
So, reason for the break: as I may have said when announcing this break, I really haven't been happy with either my post quality or the fact I've been squeezing things out under pressure. I like to post on Monday mornings, and several of my posts were coming Monday evening, and I think I even deferred one to Tuesday. Not what I wanted. So, here's where I place the blame for all this!
Summer is typically my busiest time at the job, as I have a lot of outdoor work to arrange, and I also tend to have a lot more weekend work because of the nature of what I do. This summer was no exception. It was compounded, however, by the departure of my boss, who told us back at the end of March that she was leaving. Her last day was in mid-May. While the board of directors searched for a new boss, I took on most (hell, pretty much all) of Old Boss' responsibilities--in addition to my own. I didn't necessarily work longer hours, though perhaps I should have, but my days were definitely packed a bit more.
I did not realize until New Boss started how much the job was weighing on me, until New Boss started. Some of it was almost certainly the pressure of carrying two sets of job responsibilities; I suspect there was some anxiety in there about what kind of person New Boss would be. She started in early August, and so far, so good.I like her personally; professionally, I think she's going to do a great job. The evidence of how tough the summer was for me is that I realize I've been in an extremely elevated mood for the last three weeks or so--my energy level is up, my mood is up. I'll ride that as long as I can.
On top of all the other stuff, summer is summer and both girls were home (Yay!). We're a one-car family (Boo!). So, there was a lot of ferrying of people back and forth, and a lot of car juggling going on.
And then there are the worries of being on submission, even though through most of July I was on Amnesia Mode where that was concerned, and working on The Next One. I'm happy to say I made solid progress on The Next One, particularly during July. I slowed down a bit in August, but there is some reconfiguration I need to do on that piece.
Anyway, New Boss is working out really well so far, the Catbird is back at school, thus cutting some of the car juggling, and I'm back and ready to blog--at least this week, so far. I've been keeping tabs on many of you, but tell me: How's your summer been?
Now, I must admit, I've totally screwed up. I sat down this morning thinking how I would ease into the blogging thing by reporting on my reading list for the third quarter. I even started writing up the introduction. But, somewhere on my way to get the coffee ready (and it's still not ready; another two minutes or so), my fogged brain did some calculations and I realized I'm too early--the third quarter doesn't end until the end of September. Which means I'll actually have to post something else (I knew my reading list for the quarter was looking a little thin!). Let me think of that while I get me some...
 |
| Coffee! |
So, reason for the break: as I may have said when announcing this break, I really haven't been happy with either my post quality or the fact I've been squeezing things out under pressure. I like to post on Monday mornings, and several of my posts were coming Monday evening, and I think I even deferred one to Tuesday. Not what I wanted. So, here's where I place the blame for all this!
Summer is typically my busiest time at the job, as I have a lot of outdoor work to arrange, and I also tend to have a lot more weekend work because of the nature of what I do. This summer was no exception. It was compounded, however, by the departure of my boss, who told us back at the end of March that she was leaving. Her last day was in mid-May. While the board of directors searched for a new boss, I took on most (hell, pretty much all) of Old Boss' responsibilities--in addition to my own. I didn't necessarily work longer hours, though perhaps I should have, but my days were definitely packed a bit more.
I did not realize until New Boss started how much the job was weighing on me, until New Boss started. Some of it was almost certainly the pressure of carrying two sets of job responsibilities; I suspect there was some anxiety in there about what kind of person New Boss would be. She started in early August, and so far, so good.I like her personally; professionally, I think she's going to do a great job. The evidence of how tough the summer was for me is that I realize I've been in an extremely elevated mood for the last three weeks or so--my energy level is up, my mood is up. I'll ride that as long as I can.
On top of all the other stuff, summer is summer and both girls were home (Yay!). We're a one-car family (Boo!). So, there was a lot of ferrying of people back and forth, and a lot of car juggling going on.
And then there are the worries of being on submission, even though through most of July I was on Amnesia Mode where that was concerned, and working on The Next One. I'm happy to say I made solid progress on The Next One, particularly during July. I slowed down a bit in August, but there is some reconfiguration I need to do on that piece.
Anyway, New Boss is working out really well so far, the Catbird is back at school, thus cutting some of the car juggling, and I'm back and ready to blog--at least this week, so far. I've been keeping tabs on many of you, but tell me: How's your summer been?
Monday, July 11, 2016
Monday Musing: Clunky Computer Edition
This is one of those mornings where my computer is wheezy and sluggish and unresponsive. It gets like this once in a while, where it takes forever to switch between tabs, and heaven forbid if I try to close a tab or a window or anything like that. It's times like these when I make sure any of my work is saved, saved, SAVED. What does it need? Maybe a restart, or a run-through with Spy-Bot. Maybe I should pour some of my coffee into it, because that's about how I feel right now, myself! So, where to start?
Ah! The chestnut! On the left is the "tree" as of May 23. On the right is the tree as of this morning:
It's put on an inch, maybe two. I'm wondering if I should ditch the corrugated plastic tube in favor of a cage. I have little doubt that rabbits (which are not nearly as numerous as they were a couple of years back), woodchucks (which are far more numerous) and deer (which are ubiquitous) would snap that tender mini-tree down in an instant if I left the tube off. I'm not sure how much more growth it's got in it for the rest of the summer, but we'll be checking in again with it.
The Magpie will kill me for this, but what the heck. She and a friend of hers from school have started doing a...podcast? At any rate, once a week they review a cartoon or anime series or movie, updating every Friday. This week's "review" of Captain Planet made me smile. Check out their Youtube page here!
And speaking of: it's always interesting to discover the ways your children are like you. And the ways in which they are not. The Magpie has eagerly sought our input (mine, the wife's, and the Catbird's, that is) and wants us to watch her videos. When I threaten to post the link on Facebook, she gets a little nervous. "Don't do that!" She would prefer family to watch, not people she doesn't know (though they do want more people to watch). As for me? When I do any sort of public program or public speaking (and I used to do it pretty much for a living), I hate presenting to an audience of people I know. The worst for me was when I would go into my kids' school--I loved the kids, don't get me wrong, but I would always be much more nervous than walking into a room with a hundred strangers. This carries over into my writing life, too: it's why it's much easier to share what I've written with relative strangers like my beta readers, my writers' circle, and my agent than with my wife.
Speaking of writing, I am in another project now, hooray! I have a feeling, however, that this one may be even tougher to write than the last one, which gave me fits throughout. I'm in that stage where I'm in the beginning, and I have a path to the middle of the story, but the ending is not quite clear yet. Of interest: author Brandon Sanderson teaches a writing course at Brigham Young University. His lectures are being made available on Youtube, posted once a week. I've been watching and finding it interesting. Will it change how I write? Maybe not, but maybe I'll try something new.
I think that's about it for me. The computer seems to have woken up without me having to pour coffee into it. I, on the other hand, could use some more, and so I say, "How are you?"
Ah! The chestnut! On the left is the "tree" as of May 23. On the right is the tree as of this morning:
It's put on an inch, maybe two. I'm wondering if I should ditch the corrugated plastic tube in favor of a cage. I have little doubt that rabbits (which are not nearly as numerous as they were a couple of years back), woodchucks (which are far more numerous) and deer (which are ubiquitous) would snap that tender mini-tree down in an instant if I left the tube off. I'm not sure how much more growth it's got in it for the rest of the summer, but we'll be checking in again with it.
The Magpie will kill me for this, but what the heck. She and a friend of hers from school have started doing a...podcast? At any rate, once a week they review a cartoon or anime series or movie, updating every Friday. This week's "review" of Captain Planet made me smile. Check out their Youtube page here!
And speaking of: it's always interesting to discover the ways your children are like you. And the ways in which they are not. The Magpie has eagerly sought our input (mine, the wife's, and the Catbird's, that is) and wants us to watch her videos. When I threaten to post the link on Facebook, she gets a little nervous. "Don't do that!" She would prefer family to watch, not people she doesn't know (though they do want more people to watch). As for me? When I do any sort of public program or public speaking (and I used to do it pretty much for a living), I hate presenting to an audience of people I know. The worst for me was when I would go into my kids' school--I loved the kids, don't get me wrong, but I would always be much more nervous than walking into a room with a hundred strangers. This carries over into my writing life, too: it's why it's much easier to share what I've written with relative strangers like my beta readers, my writers' circle, and my agent than with my wife.
Speaking of writing, I am in another project now, hooray! I have a feeling, however, that this one may be even tougher to write than the last one, which gave me fits throughout. I'm in that stage where I'm in the beginning, and I have a path to the middle of the story, but the ending is not quite clear yet. Of interest: author Brandon Sanderson teaches a writing course at Brigham Young University. His lectures are being made available on Youtube, posted once a week. I've been watching and finding it interesting. Will it change how I write? Maybe not, but maybe I'll try something new.
I think that's about it for me. The computer seems to have woken up without me having to pour coffee into it. I, on the other hand, could use some more, and so I say, "How are you?"
Monday, May 9, 2016
Monday Musing
Another Monday morning that catches me rather bleary-eyed and unprepared. Second cup of coffee is on its way in and I'm not much better off than when I got up!
-Despite having to work through almost all of my Saturday, attending a memorial service for a really good guy I knew through work, having to mow my lawn on Sunday, and Skyping with the Catbird last night, I managed to work through over 50 manuscript pages over the weekend. Since starting the actual revision work (as opposed to reading and making notes) I've cut 4,000 words and 15 pages, tightening things up considerably. What do I like better, drafting or crafting? It's hard to say. There's nothing like the rush of pouring words out on the page. Then again, there's nothing like polishing something to a high shine and smoothing out the rough edges.
-I woke from a dream this morning in which both my parents were alive. I didn't see my father; he was running his trains off in another room. It's very unusual for me to dream about my parents. I have had several dreams in the past (including two in the recent past) about their house, of all things, but not usually them. Maybe it was all the pictures of people with their mothers splattered all over Facebook on Saturday.
-The graduation photos have started appearing: kids of friends and family who have no business leaving college so soon are getting out! The Magpie graduates officially next week; she came home on Friday (though she has one more paper to turn in yet). It's interesting how, not all that long ago, she loved being in college and didn't want to think about life after, and now she's happy to be out. In true Magpie fashion, she's skipping the university graduation, though we are going to the much more intimate departmental ceremony. I'm not heartbroken by this decision at all.
-Music! Because, why not? From a performance 39 years ago (!) yesterday.
-That's all I got for today. How was your weekend?
-Despite having to work through almost all of my Saturday, attending a memorial service for a really good guy I knew through work, having to mow my lawn on Sunday, and Skyping with the Catbird last night, I managed to work through over 50 manuscript pages over the weekend. Since starting the actual revision work (as opposed to reading and making notes) I've cut 4,000 words and 15 pages, tightening things up considerably. What do I like better, drafting or crafting? It's hard to say. There's nothing like the rush of pouring words out on the page. Then again, there's nothing like polishing something to a high shine and smoothing out the rough edges.
-I woke from a dream this morning in which both my parents were alive. I didn't see my father; he was running his trains off in another room. It's very unusual for me to dream about my parents. I have had several dreams in the past (including two in the recent past) about their house, of all things, but not usually them. Maybe it was all the pictures of people with their mothers splattered all over Facebook on Saturday.
-The graduation photos have started appearing: kids of friends and family who have no business leaving college so soon are getting out! The Magpie graduates officially next week; she came home on Friday (though she has one more paper to turn in yet). It's interesting how, not all that long ago, she loved being in college and didn't want to think about life after, and now she's happy to be out. In true Magpie fashion, she's skipping the university graduation, though we are going to the much more intimate departmental ceremony. I'm not heartbroken by this decision at all.
-Music! Because, why not? From a performance 39 years ago (!) yesterday.
-That's all I got for today. How was your weekend?
Monday, May 2, 2016
Squeezing Time
Last week was one of those weeks.
Each year, the organization I work for runs a garage sale. The purpose of said sale is for people to find new homes for old items that would otherwise either go moldy in a basement or garage or end up in a landfill. It also helps raise a little money for us. It's pretty popular. So I spent about 90% of my work week in a dusty garage (because our garage sale is literally in an old garage), hauling old furniture and boxes getting things set up. It's physical, and dirty, and tiring, and in the back of my head I'm always worrying about the office things that are maybe not getting done while I'm not there.
On Saturday, on the first day of the sale, I actually spent my day with a group of college students doing some trail cleanup and maintenance in a local state forest. This was also physical, dirty, tiring work, but I came out of that, not exactly refreshed, but with a little more pep. It's the difference, I guess, between working in a rather dingy garage sale space and working in the great outdoors.
Yesterday was my day of "rest." I worked on the revisions to my current project, which I've been working on steadily all week. Yesterday I managed to put in three good chunks of time on it, probably totaling six or seven hours over the course of the day and evening. It's not dirty work, but it is tiring and it does take a toll on the body as well.
I'm coming into a stretch where I'll be working part of just about every weekend for several weeks, and where I may not be able to get a day off in the week for a while. I also may have to put in some extra hours during the work week here and there, as I'm temporarily filling two positions at once. Both girls will be coming home in the next week-and-a-half, which means there will be more squeezing of time. I won't let that cut into my writing time.
Back when I used to hang out on Absolute Write, people would regularly start up threads with titles like "How do you find the time to write?" And they would start the thread talking about all the demands on their time that kept them from writing. When I responded (after a while, I stopped, but my reasons for quitting AW are a post for another day), my answer was always pretty much the same: "I want to be published. For me to be published, I have to finish what I start. Therefore, I find the time." It's not always easy, but it's how it has to be.
How about some music from the Tedeschi Trucks Band?
Each year, the organization I work for runs a garage sale. The purpose of said sale is for people to find new homes for old items that would otherwise either go moldy in a basement or garage or end up in a landfill. It also helps raise a little money for us. It's pretty popular. So I spent about 90% of my work week in a dusty garage (because our garage sale is literally in an old garage), hauling old furniture and boxes getting things set up. It's physical, and dirty, and tiring, and in the back of my head I'm always worrying about the office things that are maybe not getting done while I'm not there.
On Saturday, on the first day of the sale, I actually spent my day with a group of college students doing some trail cleanup and maintenance in a local state forest. This was also physical, dirty, tiring work, but I came out of that, not exactly refreshed, but with a little more pep. It's the difference, I guess, between working in a rather dingy garage sale space and working in the great outdoors.
Yesterday was my day of "rest." I worked on the revisions to my current project, which I've been working on steadily all week. Yesterday I managed to put in three good chunks of time on it, probably totaling six or seven hours over the course of the day and evening. It's not dirty work, but it is tiring and it does take a toll on the body as well.
I'm coming into a stretch where I'll be working part of just about every weekend for several weeks, and where I may not be able to get a day off in the week for a while. I also may have to put in some extra hours during the work week here and there, as I'm temporarily filling two positions at once. Both girls will be coming home in the next week-and-a-half, which means there will be more squeezing of time. I won't let that cut into my writing time.
Back when I used to hang out on Absolute Write, people would regularly start up threads with titles like "How do you find the time to write?" And they would start the thread talking about all the demands on their time that kept them from writing. When I responded (after a while, I stopped, but my reasons for quitting AW are a post for another day), my answer was always pretty much the same: "I want to be published. For me to be published, I have to finish what I start. Therefore, I find the time." It's not always easy, but it's how it has to be.
How about some music from the Tedeschi Trucks Band?
Monday, April 18, 2016
Easter Eggs
If you're a video gamer, regularly watch DVDs, or even just a user of computers (and who isn't at this point?), then you're probably familiar with "Easter Eggs." These are hidden bits of coding that reveal or unlock some special feature or joke: maybe an extra level in a game; a goofy message; an extra video clip; the names of the members of the development team. They don't necessarily add anything of real significance to the experience, but they are no doubt fun for the people making the product, and give the end users plenty to do as they seek them out.
 |
| He's even got Indy's trusty whip! |
Late last week, I found what I consider to be an Easter Egg in a book.
Technically I suppose it's not an Easter Egg. Books can't have Easter Eggs in the same way as so-called interactive media; what books can have are inside jokes and self references, spoofs and homages. Readers might get the literary references (when Stephen King and Peter Straub co-wrote The Talisman, you can be that naming their 12-year-old hero Jack Sawyer was a nod to Twain's Tom Sawyer), but they can't be expected to get the inside jokes--unless they know the author. In this case, I do, as she lives and works locally. More importantly, I know the person whose name she dropped, and while the way she used it didn't unlock any secret levels or hidden chapters, it did unlock a laugh from me. Right or wrong, I took it as a bit of a backhand at her boss.
When I write, I let bits of myself out into my characters. Places that are or were important to me often filter into it (I have a terrible habit of including ocean beaches as significant places in my writing), but I have not included names of people I know, or written directly about things that have happened to me or my friends and family. No Easter Eggs in my writing. What about yours? Do you include deliberate references to people, places and incidents from your life in your writing? Do you hide Easter Eggs?
Monday, April 11, 2016
Monday Musing, Post-Event Edition
Up at my job, we have a phrase we throw about from time to time: "It feels like the day after a board meeting." This phrase is usually uttered, you guessed it, the day after a board meeting. Said board meetings typically occur on Thursday evenings, and, while they only last a couple of hours, they have a tendency to disrupt the day that follows.
Saturday was one of the big events that we co-sponsor, Earth Festival, which draws a pretty big crowd for the day. And though yesterday was the day after, I'm still feeling it today. So, we'll just ramble here and there.
-From the Crazy Weather Department: In February, we scheduled two events in a nearby state park that were supposed to be snowshoe hikes. We saw some snow, tucked away in little pockets and hollows in the woods, but there was no snowshoeing to be done either day, and the second one was so warm, light jackets were all that were required. Tuesday last week I led what was billed as a spring hike in a state forest. When I woke that morning, the temperature was just above zero--yes, zero, on April 5--and there was five inches of snow on the trail. The daffodils that had come up before that 'spring' hike? Yeah, they're dead.
-From the I Sent it out Like That? department: I read Carrie's comment notes on my latest manuscript right away, but I delayed on delving into the actual manuscript for a week or so, just because I'm a coward. I swear, I went over this thing multiple times, ran spell checks, read for consistency, hangers, etc. And still, as I read, what do I find? Reading one especially bad sentence, I'm thinking, "She must think I'm a total idiot!" It seems no matter how often and how hard you go over things, something always seems to slip through. The very first piece I sent out to a literary journal had a bad typo in the very first line. Ugh.
-From the Here We Go Again Department, volume I: A while back, I think I mentioned how some Windows Update screwed up my MS Word, making the font look terrible on screen. I uninstalled that update, and when the next update came out, I installed that, and everything was fine. When I type in word, the spacing on em dashes and ellipses are all screwed up. They run together. And it's not just new documents. As I read through my manuscript, it's there, too. Carrie didn't mention it in her notes, so maybe it didn't screw up format for her, I don't know. Haven't seen any solutions on the web.
-From the Here We Go Again Department, volume II: Came home from my event on Saturday and found the Bruins, in their latest installment of "Must Win" hockey--lost. No playoffs, for the second year in a row. The Recency Effect points to their dreadful 3-8-1 record since March 15. All Other Things Being Equal, had they won one of their first three games this year, they're in the playoffs. Though maybe that isn't for the best.
Well. This whole post sounds a lot gloomier than it should. I think I need some more coffee...
Oh, I hope it's not going to be that kind of week....
Hope you all had a nice weekend!
Saturday was one of the big events that we co-sponsor, Earth Festival, which draws a pretty big crowd for the day. And though yesterday was the day after, I'm still feeling it today. So, we'll just ramble here and there.
-From the Crazy Weather Department: In February, we scheduled two events in a nearby state park that were supposed to be snowshoe hikes. We saw some snow, tucked away in little pockets and hollows in the woods, but there was no snowshoeing to be done either day, and the second one was so warm, light jackets were all that were required. Tuesday last week I led what was billed as a spring hike in a state forest. When I woke that morning, the temperature was just above zero--yes, zero, on April 5--and there was five inches of snow on the trail. The daffodils that had come up before that 'spring' hike? Yeah, they're dead.
-From the I Sent it out Like That? department: I read Carrie's comment notes on my latest manuscript right away, but I delayed on delving into the actual manuscript for a week or so, just because I'm a coward. I swear, I went over this thing multiple times, ran spell checks, read for consistency, hangers, etc. And still, as I read, what do I find? Reading one especially bad sentence, I'm thinking, "She must think I'm a total idiot!" It seems no matter how often and how hard you go over things, something always seems to slip through. The very first piece I sent out to a literary journal had a bad typo in the very first line. Ugh.
-From the Here We Go Again Department, volume I: A while back, I think I mentioned how some Windows Update screwed up my MS Word, making the font look terrible on screen. I uninstalled that update, and when the next update came out, I installed that, and everything was fine. When I type in word, the spacing on em dashes and ellipses are all screwed up. They run together. And it's not just new documents. As I read through my manuscript, it's there, too. Carrie didn't mention it in her notes, so maybe it didn't screw up format for her, I don't know. Haven't seen any solutions on the web.
-From the Here We Go Again Department, volume II: Came home from my event on Saturday and found the Bruins, in their latest installment of "Must Win" hockey--lost. No playoffs, for the second year in a row. The Recency Effect points to their dreadful 3-8-1 record since March 15. All Other Things Being Equal, had they won one of their first three games this year, they're in the playoffs. Though maybe that isn't for the best.
Well. This whole post sounds a lot gloomier than it should. I think I need some more coffee...
Oh, I hope it's not going to be that kind of week....
Hope you all had a nice weekend!
Monday, January 4, 2016
New Year Noodling
First post of the new year, and I'm in rather familiar territory: not knowing what to write! So, we'll ramble.
-We did not watch the ball drop--it's just not the same without Dick Clark (though the last time I saw Dick Clark, that wasn't the same, either). We did do a countdown, complete with New Year's hugs and kisses, and I ran outside for a few seconds to bang a wooden spoon against the bottom of a pot. It's something we used to do when I was a kid, part of an old tradition that may have been for good luck, or to chase away bad luck or spirits or something. A lot of people on the block used to do it; here in rural New York, where the neighbors are a little more spread out, I'm the only one who does it.
-The first time I ever came across or heard of "First Night" was when my not-then-wife and I were in Boston for her brother's wedding back in the 90s and we kind of stumbled across it. We had a sort of magical night, which included lucking into a table at a restaurant in the Faneuil Hall Marketplace (New Year's Eve dining without a reservation? Don't try this at home). When we got done with dinner (around 11:30), we walked out of the door and right into the countdown, fireworks, all of it. It was incredible (even more incredible was how fast the place emptied out when it was over).
Since then, First Nights are all over the place, but this weekend, I found myself wondering: shouldn't it really be called Last Night? Or First Morning? Just wondering.
-This weekend we had visits from a couple of the Magpie's friends, and while I know these kids don't want to hear it, I couldn't help but ask them how they were feeling about impending college graduations (I recognize these poor kids have to answer the same questions every time they run into someone they know, but I can't help myself; I'm curious). The consensus seems to be 'Quite Nervous.' I don't remember if I was quite as terrified when I was staring down graduation or not, but I think this is a scarier world than the one I came of age in. These are good kids, smart kids, and they'll be all right. It will be interesting to see where they're at a year from now.
-Yesterday, I did something I haven't done since April: I went to the writers' circle I'm a part of. I have no good explanation for having been away so long, except things started getting crazy toward the end of the Catbird's senior year; there always seemed to be something to do, even on Sundays, and then I got to the point where it was habit not to go.
It was a small group, a number of people missing, and the room we worked in was cold, but it was fun. It was fun to write something that was not part of my current manuscript, a one-off bit about a woman watching her boyfriend get dressed. Good fun, and even if it leads to nothing (and this, I'm pretty sure, is exactly that), it was nice to spend the time and get those creative juices flowing in a slightly different direction. Now, to make going a habit again!
-Finally, this song has been stuck in my head for the better part of a week. Maybe it's the goofy title. Maybe its that pedal steel guitar. Maybe it's that jaunty piano. I don't know. It's catchy, even if it's kind of dark, lyrically.
That's all for me for this week--hope your new year is off to a great start!
-We did not watch the ball drop--it's just not the same without Dick Clark (though the last time I saw Dick Clark, that wasn't the same, either). We did do a countdown, complete with New Year's hugs and kisses, and I ran outside for a few seconds to bang a wooden spoon against the bottom of a pot. It's something we used to do when I was a kid, part of an old tradition that may have been for good luck, or to chase away bad luck or spirits or something. A lot of people on the block used to do it; here in rural New York, where the neighbors are a little more spread out, I'm the only one who does it.
-The first time I ever came across or heard of "First Night" was when my not-then-wife and I were in Boston for her brother's wedding back in the 90s and we kind of stumbled across it. We had a sort of magical night, which included lucking into a table at a restaurant in the Faneuil Hall Marketplace (New Year's Eve dining without a reservation? Don't try this at home). When we got done with dinner (around 11:30), we walked out of the door and right into the countdown, fireworks, all of it. It was incredible (even more incredible was how fast the place emptied out when it was over).
Since then, First Nights are all over the place, but this weekend, I found myself wondering: shouldn't it really be called Last Night? Or First Morning? Just wondering.
-This weekend we had visits from a couple of the Magpie's friends, and while I know these kids don't want to hear it, I couldn't help but ask them how they were feeling about impending college graduations (I recognize these poor kids have to answer the same questions every time they run into someone they know, but I can't help myself; I'm curious). The consensus seems to be 'Quite Nervous.' I don't remember if I was quite as terrified when I was staring down graduation or not, but I think this is a scarier world than the one I came of age in. These are good kids, smart kids, and they'll be all right. It will be interesting to see where they're at a year from now.
-Yesterday, I did something I haven't done since April: I went to the writers' circle I'm a part of. I have no good explanation for having been away so long, except things started getting crazy toward the end of the Catbird's senior year; there always seemed to be something to do, even on Sundays, and then I got to the point where it was habit not to go.
It was a small group, a number of people missing, and the room we worked in was cold, but it was fun. It was fun to write something that was not part of my current manuscript, a one-off bit about a woman watching her boyfriend get dressed. Good fun, and even if it leads to nothing (and this, I'm pretty sure, is exactly that), it was nice to spend the time and get those creative juices flowing in a slightly different direction. Now, to make going a habit again!
-Finally, this song has been stuck in my head for the better part of a week. Maybe it's the goofy title. Maybe its that pedal steel guitar. Maybe it's that jaunty piano. I don't know. It's catchy, even if it's kind of dark, lyrically.
That's all for me for this week--hope your new year is off to a great start!
Monday, December 14, 2015
Information Age?
I thought this was supposed to be the Information Age.
Last week, I was given what should have been a relatively simple task: find the names of the managers of about forty stores in the county so that we could send a letter about changes in the great state of New York's recycling laws. A volunteer committee had compiled the list of stores, complete with addresses and phone numbers, but had not progressed beyond that.
Being a part-time resident of the modern age, I thought, "Okay, I'll google it." After all, everyone's got a website, after all, and surely the name of the store manager is something you'd want to be available, right? I figured it would be a bit of a pain in the ass, but that it would not take a whole lot of time in the grand scheme of things.
I was wrong.
I was wrong about "everyone's got a website" and I was wrong about having the names of store managers on those websites. My web search turned up five names: three managed separate stores from a single supermarket chain (which also lists the manager's name on store receipts). One national home improvement store listed their manager by first name and last initial, only, which means I would have to address his letter as "Dear Mr. M." One other store listed their manager, but that store is actually part of a franchise owned by someone who is actually local. It took me a while to find this out, and then I spent an hour-and-a-half on the phone, calling every store on my list. I got manager names for about half the stores, grudgingly given out by employees who often sounded too busy to bother talking on the phone.
Information Age, schminformation schmage.
Whether this obfuscation of managers is done as a deliberate corporate privacy policy or is because they figure managers aren't likely to stay in those positions that long, and it's such a hardship to change a name on a website, I don't know. I do know it was an incredibly frustrating way to spend an afternoon. And more frustrating was when I would tell the employee who answered the phone what I was after and why, and they would insist on putting the manager on. Just give me the name! The managers typically sounded about as pressed for time as anyone else. They really didn't want to talk about plastic recycling.
I understand why, for example, radio personalities have moved toward giving out their first names only (our local radio personalities include Gomez and Lisa, Big Chuck, and Leslie Ann; I have been on the radio with Big Chuck and Leslie Ann several times (it's a small pond), have met them face-to-face, and still have no idea who they are). As personalities who reach thousands each day, they stand a better than average chance of attracting unwanted attention than the manager of the local Dollar General. Is it possible that someone's going to navigate through a web page just to do this?
Maybe. But it seems to me most issues are going to come after someone meets or sees the manager in the store, where their name is likely to be up on the wall, or emblazoned on their chest in hard plastic.
There's an irony here in a guy who uses his first name only complaining about not being able to find out information about store employees off the web. I get that, I really do, but there's a difference, I think, between what I do here and those other people. I'm not asking for anything other than a name, and while names have power (as just about every mystical fantasy type of book tells us), I'm not looking for home addresses, personal e-mail, or how many kids they have. Just give me a name.
***
On an unrelated note, last week I noticed something rather stunning:
This weekend, we took a drive to do some shopping, and what amazed me was how green the lawns are getting again, and the fact that, here it is, mid-December, and I was able to go out with a light jacket on. I might actually have to get the lawn tractor out before Christmas!
Have a nice week, all.
Last week, I was given what should have been a relatively simple task: find the names of the managers of about forty stores in the county so that we could send a letter about changes in the great state of New York's recycling laws. A volunteer committee had compiled the list of stores, complete with addresses and phone numbers, but had not progressed beyond that.
Being a part-time resident of the modern age, I thought, "Okay, I'll google it." After all, everyone's got a website, after all, and surely the name of the store manager is something you'd want to be available, right? I figured it would be a bit of a pain in the ass, but that it would not take a whole lot of time in the grand scheme of things.
I was wrong.
I was wrong about "everyone's got a website" and I was wrong about having the names of store managers on those websites. My web search turned up five names: three managed separate stores from a single supermarket chain (which also lists the manager's name on store receipts). One national home improvement store listed their manager by first name and last initial, only, which means I would have to address his letter as "Dear Mr. M." One other store listed their manager, but that store is actually part of a franchise owned by someone who is actually local. It took me a while to find this out, and then I spent an hour-and-a-half on the phone, calling every store on my list. I got manager names for about half the stores, grudgingly given out by employees who often sounded too busy to bother talking on the phone.
Information Age, schminformation schmage.
Whether this obfuscation of managers is done as a deliberate corporate privacy policy or is because they figure managers aren't likely to stay in those positions that long, and it's such a hardship to change a name on a website, I don't know. I do know it was an incredibly frustrating way to spend an afternoon. And more frustrating was when I would tell the employee who answered the phone what I was after and why, and they would insist on putting the manager on. Just give me the name! The managers typically sounded about as pressed for time as anyone else. They really didn't want to talk about plastic recycling.
I understand why, for example, radio personalities have moved toward giving out their first names only (our local radio personalities include Gomez and Lisa, Big Chuck, and Leslie Ann; I have been on the radio with Big Chuck and Leslie Ann several times (it's a small pond), have met them face-to-face, and still have no idea who they are). As personalities who reach thousands each day, they stand a better than average chance of attracting unwanted attention than the manager of the local Dollar General. Is it possible that someone's going to navigate through a web page just to do this?
Maybe. But it seems to me most issues are going to come after someone meets or sees the manager in the store, where their name is likely to be up on the wall, or emblazoned on their chest in hard plastic.
There's an irony here in a guy who uses his first name only complaining about not being able to find out information about store employees off the web. I get that, I really do, but there's a difference, I think, between what I do here and those other people. I'm not asking for anything other than a name, and while names have power (as just about every mystical fantasy type of book tells us), I'm not looking for home addresses, personal e-mail, or how many kids they have. Just give me a name.
***
On an unrelated note, last week I noticed something rather stunning:
This weekend, we took a drive to do some shopping, and what amazed me was how green the lawns are getting again, and the fact that, here it is, mid-December, and I was able to go out with a light jacket on. I might actually have to get the lawn tractor out before Christmas!
Have a nice week, all.
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