Yes, It Is All My Fault!

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.