Kit and I went climbing, though we arrived with only enough time for him to go up the wall once and me twice before the rec center closed. He went first and did a challenging path that had him straddling a ridge for nearly a third of the way, but he made it with only a couple of cheating feet moves (where he used rocks not on the path).

Me, I’m not really at the point where I’m good with following paths yet. I’m just trying to get my arse up the wall. The first time, I only made it about as far up as last time, and I came down nearly in frustrated tears. I hear my head say, “I am so tired of being afraid of this,” while my outside voice instead of crying asks Kit to tell me what he thought I was doing wrong.

There’s time for another quick one, and that “pushed to the fustration point = new learning plateau” concept Steve talks about proves true in my life once again. This time I seem to have a more intuitive understanding of what I’m supposed to do, and I make it up the wall an entire bodylength further than I could previously go before I decide to come down. Another bodylength and I’ll be past the first major ridge, scant meters from the top.

Conclusion: I don’t have a fear of heights. It’s been the distrust of my body all along, and my body is healing.

It was all very simple, really. I was sitting here, reading this story from someone wanting to join our writer’s group (clever story, literate, not quite ready for publication but easily able to be made so, good style overall, can’t see why we wouldn’t let said applicant in). Five minutes after finishing, something was still tickling the back of my editor brain, and I went searching the crevasses of the internet. (Ok, I found most of what I needed on Wikipedia, but moving on…) (Reader Beware Warning: Thar be discussion of arthropoda and bodily fluids in the words ahead.)

Dark secret revelation time (no not THAT one): In another life, I was an entomologist. Or perhaps even in this life, if I ever decide to go back to school. Yes, I really am that weird. I used to collect roly-polys (in a jar at first, and later outside under the bricks in vast colonies). I wore cicada shells in my hair and on my clothes as a child–I had a jar where I collected each season’s found shells. (Looking back, I bet my mom liked that habit about as much as she liked my inability to quietly burp, but that’s too much tangenting for now. But wait, check out this cool cicada-molting animated gif!) Though I’ve not taken many formal entomology classes, they were very memorable for me, and pieces of what I learned there were reinforced in some of the other animal science classes I took when we got to the pests and parasites lesson sections.

To paraphrase and completely take out of its context the bit of the story that was poking me (and get back somewhere near my point), at one point in passing “horse flies” are equated to “stable flies”. My fidgety mind finally bursts out with “Hey, I think I remember learning that a stable fly was a different species from a horse fly. And aren’t horse flies those really huge fuckers that bite worse than a fire ant, and the stable flies are the ones that suck blood?” Quick, to the Wikimobile!

And I found that there was rightness on both sides (or wrongness, depending on your viewing lens). According to the Demi-gods of Wikery, it is a true statement to say a stable fly is also known as a horse fly, but not true to say that a horse-fly is the same as a stable fly. Or even more nerdily explained: both flies in question are of the order Diptera, also known as “true flies”. However the stable fly (sometimes called a horse fly) is of the Family Muscidae, and are bloodsuckers with mouth-parts similar to mosquito construction. The horse fly (which is similar to a deer fly, but is not a stable fly) is of the Family Tabanidae, where the adult female (but not the male) fly has mandibles that are serrated and designed to tear a piece of flesh off and drink the blood that oozes forth. So it all depends on your perspective (or which fly-borne transmissible disease you prefer), and mine is I’ll stay away from both the muscidae piercers and the tabanid masticators, thanks.

I think I crossed the line from geek far into nerd with this admission. Why yes, that was fifteen minutes of my life spent seriously contemplating fly mouths, why do you ask?

I wrote 7.5 pages (so far) today on my story in the collaborative project. I spent 2+ hours giving some editing advice to a friend who is newly discovering her prose writing talents, hopefully she’ll go back later and read all the thoughts people gave. It’s gorgeous to see her blooming and turning out quality, literate first drafts, learning how to revise, and having obviously lots of fun playing in the created(-ing) world sandbox. We (DreamCafe) did many household calls and errands and shopping. Had a writing date with fellow Voluptuary Jennifer and cleaned up more parts of rooms and moved a freezer with her help.

A productive day, however you slice it.

So far I’m not worried about my individual writing work, so long as I start on it within the next few days. The whole point of doing this mindfully is to balance being able to work on both personal and collaborative projects without either one suffering from Creative Attention Deficit (or CAD-like behavior). (I’m already doing daily work on the business work.)

The day’s work seems like good stuff, too. Fun to write, full of exciting cool bits, a new genre (for me) to explore, positive feedback on the first written parts. Even if it was utter tripe, I’m glad to be writing again. It’s all (pointy-teethed) kittens and (man-eating) butterflies from here on out!

Fear-of-heights check: inconclusive

Body-seriously-fucked check: affirmative

I rather think that I won’t know if I have a fear of heights until my body is working more the way I’m used to, and it’s quite possible by that time I’ll have engendered a phobia from not trusting my body. I’ll keep climbing, keep stretching, pick a little higher rock as a goal each time. We’ll see whether my body bends or my mind breaks first. Yay self-experimentation.

In other interesting climbing news, I talked Kit into taking the orientation class last night, and he took to it like a monkey in a tree, like Andrea did to her spinning, like a cliche clings to a bad metaphor. It was really nice to see him excited and charged up on the exertion high afterward, hopefully he’ll keep coming back. Yay catalyst goodness for others.

Especially because I think I need a smaller harness; mine fits fine now, but if I lose any more weight at all (likely) I won’t be able to tighten it at the waist any further. So if we take Kit shopping for gear then he can have mine and I can get a new one.

I bought my own climbing gear today. Harness, ATC, chalk and bag, shoes. My climbing shoes are awesome; small orange and black shoes that cling to my feet, delineating the high arches and insteps. They even come to tiny points at the toes for greater precision; on my feet, they look like little elf shoes.

My carabiner and chalk bag match my little orange shoes; I wonder if I can spiffy up the plain gray harness without causing problems…

Tonight’s the last night before the holiday weekend the wall is open. My legs and feet aren’t doing well today, but I’m hoping with some stretching I can get some wall time in.

*****

I’m also thinking seriously about a punching bag in the backyard. I have gloves from when I was a kid, I think I even vaguely remember proper form. My need for touch is so pathologic right now I sometimes grasp too hard when reaching out; the emotion-skin connection too easily overwhelms. My awareness of my own physical strength is shifting and I have to learn the body controls anew as I discover previously unnoticed changes. Violent visions begin to invade my dreams. There’s too much screaming inside.

Or wait, are those my characters instead?  Writing will tell the tale…but I think the “sound body, sound mind” philosophy is looking mighty attractive.

Oooh now that’s just a lovely phrase. Say it a few times with me. Tidying detritus, {repeat}. Once you’ve completely removed all sense and meaning from the words, please feel free to move on to the rest of the entry.

I cleaned up a scene to post in the writer’s group (and send to my Mom, she liked it), wherein I fanfic-ed myself by writing a crossover scene between my main protagonist from my current novel-in-progress and the main character from the collaborative project story I’m about to start writing (probably when this entry is done, since we were going to clean my room but I’m waiting for breakfast instead). This was really fun.

I panicked (not really) at getting back from all the con-going to find that I’d piled up enough rejections that I only had ONE piece out circulating. I cleaned up those loose ends and now have three things oot and aboot and more on that massive list from yesterday coming soon to a flatscreen or book near you (or at least a slush pile).

I wrote an author bio and picked a pic for the “Taking Flight” anthology where my story “The Reap Assessors” is included. Waiting for permission to use the picture, plan to send that off today.

Other than the list, looks like the only writing I need to finish is compiling the notes from 4th street. Seems like that’s a good activity to pair with getting writing done; I can either write up my notes or write on stories. Either way, writing is getting done, and the joy spreads. (Or sometimes oozes and dribbles.) Dunno what I’m on about today with all the parenthetical statements, I’m sure it’ll work itself out. And now, some phrases much harder to say clearly in repetition than tidying detritus:
Unique New York

Red Leather, Yellow Leather

Toy Boat

Cinnamon, Synonym

More? Theater warm-ups people remember? My mouth no more wishes to sit in solemn silence, no matter how dull or dark the dock. Hee hee.

Forget your legs and feet are numb, trust your body is where it is and you’ll find the sensation again.

*****

July is a packed month in an entirely different way from June. No cons, not much leaving the house, but tons of shop work, house work, and most (and best) of all, writing work! I spent 5 hours in work meetings today, largely positive and a good start to a busy and balanced month. We’ve spent probably that much time again talking here at the Dream Cafe about our pet collaborative project this evening, both in and out of the hot tub.

I’m going to attempt to list my works in progress and (very roughly) when they will be done. Once I write the next blog entry I’ll probably move this data to “My Writing” page so I can monitor my progress better. (I also use the submissions tracker over at duotrope.com for a different way of tracking what is out where. What with all the traveling I’m down to barely anything at all circulating for publication. This can’t go on!) Plus I have to learn to balance collaborative and personal projects, lay in those good habits right at the start so I’ll have less integration problems later.

Therefore, in order of when they need to be done…

* a short story for consideration in an anthology due July 31 (already have notes, general ideas of characters and plot, and it’s been cooking for a month in my head. This one will be drafted quite soon.)

* meeting with mom about big brain business fun, preferably first meeting in sometime in July (if Kit and I can gather notes in timely fashion)

* 21st century storytelling paper (collaborating with Kit O’Connell) due September 25 (also need presentation ready)

* story of some length no shorter than a short story but potentially up to novel length, from collaborative project, due at same time as paper (preferably before; looks like I’ll be branching out into learning to write a mystery story. Fun!)

* other diverse collaborative project bits, due same as above two

* magical realism story with the twins, due as soon as it gels enough to write

* Elliot’s story, due as soon as I figure out major structural horribleness

* novel-in-progress, first draft due end of December at latest (I solved the Chapter 7 problem: I’m ignoring it, leaving it in outline form, and moving on to chapter 8. I’ll be wading through with editorial scythe once the draft is done anyway; so far there are about two chapters that approach anything resembling “good”.)

* other sundry projects, both related to the novel and not, due whenever they jump out of my head and onto the page

This doesn’t mention at all the 5 single-spaced pages of poem and story ideas that could demand brain space at any time, nor all the writing ideas I hide in my LJ and forget to tag. I think that should keep me busy for at least a month or two, yes?

Didn’t get to phone or climbing shoe errands today, hopefully tomorrow.

…or,

Hey Kij!
I went to the climbing wall today!

Shockingly, my motivation for doing this was not to climb onto the “women of sf&f==climbers” bandwagon, though reading about it on various friends pages of LJ has evoked the memories–and desire–again. I first thought of wanting to climb at age 15, when we camped next to the Maroon Bells near Aspen, Colorado. I was told then ( and confirmed now) that that particular range is way too dangerous for climbers, and I can accept that. I don’t have to climb that particular range, but I will always remember them as what inspired my desire to climb.

The excuse for years is that my hands are my money, and have been in the last several jobs I’ve worked. But when talking to Kij at the Nebulas she seemed to indicate at least some protection in the form of wrapping was available. So there weren’t any more excuses on the table, and she said a year of climbing will melt and hone my body into the essence of what it is, which sounds rather nice.

Tonight, I am the only one in the orientation class with zero climbing experience. I am already good at belaying by the end of class, but I am the last one to climb, and I have been wearing horrible rental shoes for two hours. Only about 12 feet above the ground, I put my foot on a rock with a protruding edge and suddenly the foot cramp is there, sharp and promising to get worse. I look up and the rocks only get smaller and farther apart from here. I can’t finish, I yell “take” and then come down, disappointed for the moment but knowing I’ll be back.

We take our skills test, and one of the other classmates asks me if I will be her climbing partner. I say yes cheerfully; no one else I know locally is interested in this (well, my daughter, but you have to be 8 or older to go on that gym’s wall). I expect I’ll be on the wall more than the new partner will, but having someone else there even 2 times a week will be helpful.

I bought a pass for the rest of the summer, and if I have time tomorrow I’ll go get proper shoes since the rental ones have proven themselves unworthy within the span of a single evening. They also have package deals for all needed gear at the local shop that are totally comparable to shopping online or at Ar Eee Eye.

This is so much at the limit (or possibly beyond it) of what I can physically do right now, what with all the weird body stuff and changes going on lately. It’s exciting, and a bit scary, and challenging. I’m not strong enough–yet.

Also, writing research, hee hee. I’m sure I’ll find tons of ways to fit what I learn from this into my writing. Fun times.

Well my voice has been fucked up for nearly two months now; I tore tissues before Flipside (taking out my entire upper register) and have kept re-injuring them through things like too much talking. Last night I was down to a whisper after all the talking after the con and on the drive.

I’m going to have to pick a couple of days next week where I just don’t talk, I think. I’d do it this weekend but there’s (yet again) Too Much Going On that I’ll need at least occasional words for.

I need my voice back. Not having my full range of tonal modulations has really been fucking with my head, as well as my craft.

Hoping to work more on 4th street notes this evening; mine aren’t nearly as detailed as my fellow Voluptuaries’ are so perhaps that won’t take too long. Also want to compile a list of works in progress (or those about to be) so that I can remember which stories I want to write next. (It’s easy to get distracted with all the new shinies recently.)

On the drive back, something happened that was the perfect cap to the weekend. We stopped by my mom’s place for lunch and naps and delicious showers before finishing the journey. My mom knew what we were up to at the con and is also a co-conspirator in planning the collaborative project.

She showed us some things she had found in her studio one day when she went in to work on her own art pieces. We passed them around, oohing in awe over what we held in our hands and the serendipitous perfection of the finishing touches. I touched (and now own a piece of) imported artifacts from a world that doesn’t exist yet. Talk about time-travelling. How can we not succeed? The proof sits in front of me as I type.

I got a good couple rounds of goosebumps and a few happy tears over this. This is going to be So. Much. Fun.