Planning a Trip

 I settled for organizing an anthology of all the short writings and poetry I've done over the course of 50 years. Yeah. Fifty. They were in a box, just lying around and on my blogs, and in notebooks and files. So, I'm collecting them, putting them together as a personal anthology. The good, the bad, the mediocre. None is really ugly but there are a few that come close. 

The poetry from 1972 is most interesting to me. It is pretty awful, but I was 16 and really had only been writing for a couple of years and none of the previous work was poetry. This was my first attempt, as far as I can tell. 

The title, for now, is Journeys. Writing, all of it, is a process and you move from one stage to the next. The trip is long and arduous, but interesting. And you'll either get better at it and learn, or you'll stagnate. 

This isn't what I really want to be doing. However, it is writing and I'm working. I've nearly shoved it aside a couple of times but I keep coming back. I won't get rich. I probably won't make any money on it but it will be there for my future relatives and maybe a friend or two who wants to remember me.

Through My Veins

For three days now, I've been writing. Not new writing, but I've been editing and revising. 

On Wednesday, I suddenly opened one of my unfinished manuscripts and started working toward finishing it. This book is the closest to being a finished draft of all 9 of my manuscripts. I have a couple of others that almost as close. If I can get this edit done and fill in any holes, I can start a real edit. 

The process feels great, but I'm battling pain, fatigue, and depression. Typical day for me. 

But I'm working. Writing. I'm tired of not being able to think or use my hands. I know there's dictation, but it isn't the same. I've tried it a few times and I still have to use a keyboard to edit. And it is so slow. 

I remember when I was 11 and started writing. I loved using my pen and scratching those words onto paper. I didn't own a typewriter and couldn't have used it if I did. They hadn't invented computers yet. Pen or pencil were the only way to write. 

When I moved to the typewriter, I had to relearn to write because there is something visceral about using pen and paper. They're an extension to your body when you write. What you think pours out onto the paper through a pen. The way blood flows through my veins. I learned to type, and the words flowed out at 70 words per minute. 

Then, I got a computer when I was in my mid-20s. The pen and paper fell by way, to be used only for notes or when I had no access to the computer. Doing NaNoWriMo I learned to write faster and at last count, in NaNo alone I'd written over 465,712 words over 11 years! It's ridiculous to not have a finished novel to show for all that. 

I haven't given up, even though it feels I'm running out of time. This week I'm trying to make headway. I can tell that the longer I'm at it, the more I want to do, but my body has betrayed me so long. My neck hurts badly as I finish this post. My back hurts. My hands have hurt for days and a couple of fingers are reaching the end of their lifespan, I think. The pain of not finishing is worse. 

The Horror of Writer's Block

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They're there, somewhere in my head. I know they're there! I hear them breathing, the short, rapid breaths of terror. I can smell the rank sweat of their fear at being found. Sometimes, for a moment, I think I can hear their teeth chatter. And I want to kick down the doors and rip out the walls to find them.

I stare into the mirror and wonder what I can do to get past the barriers they've erected to keep me out. I need some kind of explosive to blow out the walls so they come pouring out in bloody heaps like the innards of a gutted pig. Or perhaps pipe some kind of gas in until it forces them out of hiding into the fresh air, choking, gasping, and clawing at their throats.

Yeah. They're in there. I know. I close my eyes and I can see their shadows darting past the windows of my soul, hoping I won't catch sight of them. I know the words are in there. I just can't make them out.

But I will.

Oh yes, I will.

Battling the Kraken

Within weeks of my October back surgery, I began to feel better. In fact, I couldn't remember when I had felt that good. I'd even begun to write again a bit. It felt nice. I found I could do some house cleaning. 

The holidays hurried by with virtually no notice on my part. No celebrations here. But despite the depressing state of Humbug, I was up and doing things. So much so I pulled a shoulder muscle and was knocked out of things for a week. 

Winter rolled up on me and by the first part of January, I was beginning to think the new year was going to look pretty good. 

Until. 

In the middle of January, sometime around the 14th, someone released a Kraken. Yes, I know that a Kraken is a mythical sea monster from Norway. I'm borrowing the name to make a point. 

This thing began to devour everyone in town. Specifically, me. For the last three weeks, we've battled it. Mike at his house and Sarah and I here. Sleepless nights of violent coughing, choking, and lack of sleep. Days of raging fits of coughing and choking. Mike and I have both seen the doctor while Sarah, youth and beauty combined, bounced back. He saw them twice. We've had cough suppressants, antibiotics, steroids, inhalers, and OTC cough meds. As of today. . . we're still coughing and hacking. Although one could say the severity is less, it is no less miserable. 

I laid off the steroid because, after 3 days, everything I put in my mouth tasted horrible and made me sick. Even water was nasty. Admittedly, Evansville water is nasty on a good day but this was even worse. I started back on the antibiotic after one day off also. They're just wrecking my days. I feel sick and sluggish.

I stopped taking my immunosuppressants weeks ago because I need my immune system at the moment. The cold and this other deadly beast, flu (we've been spared), require extreme measures. I'm staying in but the immune system has to be loaded. 

The drawback, last night I touched the back of my left hand and screamed. It feels like there is a knife stuck between the second and third knuckles and the nerve is in bad shape. There is no sign of an injury, just unholy pain. I put a med called Pennsaid on it and then, covered it for the night with a patch containing the same. Today, let's just say the knife is smaller but I don't dare move it. I was concerned it might be all tissue related but I think it might be the joint and ligament inflamed. I need to be back on the meds soon.

This morning I got up and realized stopping the steroid was probably a good idea. I felt a bit better. I even managed to put away most of the laundry I've washed the last two weeks. Except for the sheets. The sheets are where things live that suck your energy. Probably baby Krakens. I'll get them. Eventually. 

What does all this foolishness mean? It means that precious little writing has happened in 2018. Say, none? Well, maybe a few words. I'd have to check the calendar. I began with good intentions and if you go back and read every year for, well a while, during the first few months of any year, you will see this sort of thing happens every single time. I'm pretty sure now that something is out to get me. 

Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean I'm wrong. I'm not letting it get me down this time. I'm hanging on to one thing. This cold will pass. Winter will end. The air will warm up. The Krakens will go back to Norway. I'll try and head to the Gulf for a bit. 

I'll take my computer with me.

Firing, Hashing, & Crashing

If you remember, before my back surgery I had to hire an assistant. I mentioned it in a previous post. I even posted photos of him at work.  Well, sadly, I fear my assistant has loafing.

👈 Just look how I found him! Sleeping on the job. I'm telling you, you can't find good help these days. Just like Mike Rowe says, 5,000,000 jobs out there and they can't fill them. Probably because of people just like this guy. 

Fortunately, since my surgery, things are looking up and I'm able to type better and I don't have a lot of pain. I do have copious amounts of fatigue but I'm trying to work around that. I've been writing on two novels but I'm going to have to focus on one and get it done. 

There is so much I need to do around here, too. I still have the pass-thru to finish out and a couple of finishing touches in the den. After that, I have to work on the half bath. I have a new security light to get up outside, too. With no handyman about the house and Mike going back to work, I'm flying solo. Sarah said she'd hold the ladder. She wanted to use the drill but I think that'd be a bit dicey. 

And still plenty of writing to do. 

I want to sit down and work on my "world" for All That's Holy". That's been nagging at me. Of course, that could be just to pull me away from the real writing. I also need, that's NEED, to work up the final chapters to Long Summer Run. I'm there. Just do it! Overwhelming to have so many novels in the last stages of completion. This is what NaNo does to you!

Do other writers struggle with this kind of stuff? I fight the RA but mostly, I just do what I have to do, despite the pain. It is the fibro fatigue and brain fog that really gets to me. I can't find a way around that other than sleep.The good news is that now I can snuggle with my pillow on either side and not have to sleep totally on my back. This has been a gift. Things have improved so much since the surgery that it is frustrating to still deal with fibro. I have the added bonus of the bad angel nagging to write this, write that, over here, over there. I feel positively ADD.

I've prolonged the inevitable long enough. I must go write the real story. I hope I've not bored you to tears. If you're on Facebook or Twitter, follow me, please! I need followers. The links are on this page in the column. 

Have a great day!

This Close

What do I know about writing? I laugh aloud as I write the question. What do I really know? I know that I can. I know that I really want to write. But some days, like today, I don't think I know a single thing about the actual writing. I can form an adequate sentence and string together a bunch of them to make an adequate paragraph. If I work at it, I can actually string a bunch of those together and make a good story. I can't seem to finish them. Until now.

I'm this close to finishing The Long Summer Run, one of my favorite NaNo novels. It is exhilarating and intimidating. There is so much work still to do, even though I'm this close.

Is it a good story? Will anyone like it? Will anyone actually want to read it? Have I provided all the necessary components? Is it missing any vital details? Oh my stars, does it suck?

It's missing a whole lot of details. But the basic story is almost done. It has a beginning, middle, and almost end. Of course, the middle is a muddle but my middles always are. They are why I have trouble finishing a story. I can write the first and last of the thing but the middle seems to bog me down. I've been working on that, reading things by various authors that I hope will give me insight. I've run across some really good ones. What have I learned?

I just need to write it. Stop worrying and thinking about it and just do it. The story is all there. That's what I decided over the course of the last few months and attempted to do in November. It was going pretty good until some kind of monster cold nearly slew me. I was down for three weeks and by the time I got up I was only 5000 words in. But it was 5000 words I did not have on November 1. I estimate I have about 5000 more that I actually need.

So, what do I know about writing? Actually, a lot. I know good writing when I read it. And I know sucky writing when I read it. I'm a good editor so when I get to that point, I hope my abilities don't fail me. I know what I need to know to do it.

Knowledge is power, right?

I'm this close.

Summertime and Camp NaNoWriMo 2016

Summer is upon us, or so the calendar says. I just got back from a week's vacation to find I'm ready for the next one. That's a month away, at the end of July. However, before that, there is Camp NaNoWriMo 2016.

Think cabins, campfires, and marshmallows. Think dark nights in the woods, biting flies, and creepy sounds beyond your window. Not feeling it? Well, not to worry. This camp is much more relaxing... in some ways.

There are no real cabins, campfires, or biting flies. No woods with creepy sounds, or creepy crawlies, or bears. Marshmallows are, of course, up to you.

No, instead of the above you will be in an imaginary cabin - cooped up with 11 other people or isolated if you go solo. You can even go naked if you like, just keep the camera off, please. It is more fun with a group. You'll have someone to talk to in the middle of the night. Keep the lights off and use a flashlight to write by to make the experience more real. Sit on your back deck, patio, or porch at midnight and sing campfire songs around the fire pit while chatting with your cabin mates.

Or stream a YouTube campfire on the smart t.v. while you snuggle in your cozy writing space and write. After all, that's what all versions of Nano are about - writing.

So, I just finished setting up my profile, novel, and cabin. I'm notifying all my friends that I have 11 slots open in my cabin. If I don't hear in 10 days, I'll make it public and let CampNaNo give me a cabin or I'll go solo. Either way, I might get some actual writing done. Commitment is important to me and maybe committing to myself will be a catalyst.

I'll leave you now with this....