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.

Wasn’t quite ready to be done yet, so woke up early-ish (especially if you consider time to bed) and ate oatmeal while watching my fellow sf&f fans, readers, editors, and writers check out (the internet connection in the lobby was horrible for my laptop so I moved around a bit), getting to say final thanks and give happy smiles to those passing by.

I’d say it was a life-changing experience except I was already changing my life along these lines, so I suppose it was more an affirming experience for me. Hearing thoughts I’d thunk for months come out of multiple intelligent other mouths as people bounced ideas back and forth and explored new ways of putting them together was thrilling. Having so many people thinking along similar lines definitely encouraged me to keep running at what I’m chasing.

I also had a great experience Saturday, two panels after the one the Society of Voluptuaries members were on (Advice from new writers), where an audience member called me out by name and told me that my ideas were a “pipe dream” and I was “incapable of succeeding”. I, of course, was grinning like a loon as he was doing it; a strong angry response is categorically no different from a strong positive, both mean you provoked other people to think (and sometimes thinking new thoughts is uncomfortable for folks). Plus, about the biggest mistake someone can make with me, in trying to discourage me and crush my aspirations (heehee), is to tell me I can’t do something.

But my (and other peoples’) grand plans certainly can’t be accomplished in a creative vacuum. We met tons of great people and connected to many brilliant minds over the course of the weekend. My personal universe is going to explode again, hopefully just in the creative realms this time, as I process and synthesize the awesomeness that was the 4th Street Fantasy Convention 2008.

Cant wait for 2009.

…not always, of course. Sometimes it’s external and obvious, like a brown recluse’s venom slowly necrotizing flesh, numbly. More often, it’s an overlooked speck grown gangrenous from within that threatens the limb or organ.

Worst is when it’s the sort of decay that doesn’t show up on med-scans. Putrefaction of the emotions is one of the most feared symptoms. None of these were the the sort of thoughts I wanted to be thinking to myself after a night spent up until 5 a.m. finishing King’s uncut version of <I>The Stand</i> while eating pretzel crackers and cranberry juice. I tried to watch my lab-mate this morning in my peripheral vision for any unusual behavior with no luck. He complained about a bit of indigestion from last night’s takeout during lunch, and I haven’t seen him much since then.

We’ve all felt a little nervous with some really weird memos that came out this morning from the big bosses, and no one has really seen them around today either. Can’t remember when the last time all of the bosses called in sick at once. It must be a friendly stomach bug, half the parking lot was empty when I arrived this morning. And my lab-mate is taking an awfully long time returning from his bathroom break.

You just can’t subtly prepare for a zombie infestation.

EDIT: Conversation on this or any entry posted here is strongly encouraged if you’re interested.  Let me not speak into a void!  I prefer comments here rather than on the LJ feed but if you just can’t click through I’ll take the LJ comments rather than none.

Has it really only been a month since I wrote? It seems like so much longer. I feel voiceless.

Love, love, adore the new house. Pictures soon. When we clear these boxes away, there’ll be tons of room to stretch and dance. And I’m pretty sure enough room for Nolan’s massage table when he visits, too!

The backyard is insanely huge. Kit’s looking forward to a garden. My mom is sending us another easy-gardening article she found. My mom kicks ass, and has joined our Sekrit Projekt team as our ceramic artist. I’m very excited! It sounds like she’s really letting the inner artist out in playing around with this.

In creating worlds, I keep coming back to the art; I can’t escape its pervasive effects. Art, Art, Art. Thou, Art, God. Ahem. Brain burp. (Haha, typoed brain buro. Brain burros! Help, they are grazing!)

Both with the novel and with the collaborative project, a lot of creating the world is coming at it from the angle of questioning how the people in the world’s cultures define their space, and the art that manifests from that seeking defines the culture. It’s intimately intertwined with the land, the people, the point of time-in-history you’re viewing…The art that arises from a people living among the cliffs and rock of mountains will be distinct from a people enmeshed along a coastline, hunter-gatherer cultures will likely have different art tastes than modern urban dweller. Or maybe not; that’s another beauty of art, sometimes you tap into something larger than your little point in space-time.

Also, a lot of the art I envision involves skills I don’t have yet (or sometimes, technology that doesn’t exist yet). If I throw the idea out there in a story, perhaps someone else with those skills and with passion will be inspired to create the art I experience. I’m perfectly fine with this; it’s most important for the art to exist, whether I’m the creator or just the catalyst matters little.

I forgot to mention I would be dropping off the internet for a bit to move, but we are now in our glorious much larger new residence. Ahh, space!

This is a great house too. It’s haunted! I’ve never lived in a haunted house or a house with history before, I’m really looking forward to the experience.

Plus, we already have the hot tub! Delicious decadence (and theraputic too! )

So anyway, I was gone, but now I’m back. Great things are coming soon to a blog near you, stay tuned!

have not-written for hmmm…many days now.

still need to cry, too.

I’ve figured out more of the problem. It’s not a words thing, it’s an energy thing. When I sit down to brainstorm, ideas come. When I sit down and actually outline or write, words come. I can feel the characters alive in my head when I go looking for them. But everything is beyond the gray wall, across the crevasse, and my flyer’s out of fuel. The energy that creativity takes, the physical toll on the body, is daunting right now. I can’t be sick any more, please gods and perverse imps.

The will is here. The muse is ever-near. The energy is fucking drained.

the household is running more smoothly, but I don’t feel any better. Everything is stressful and tiring, and the good things I miss taking the time to appreciate.

I suspect a dog’s evil work, here.

Ah ha! Tirma’s evil twin, the Half-a-Poodle!

Credit for the picture goes to: Kit, for the taking; Jennifer for the poodle sculpting; and Tirma for providing the raw art materials