Why I stink at blogging

Obviously not posting on any schedule.

I should quit looking at it as a distraction. Like now. I should be editing.

Ugh.

On a productive note, we made the annual fruit run today. 170 pounds of blueberries and 4 1/2 bushels of peaches later I swear I'll never do it again. Until next July when the fever hits.

On a "life sucks for some people and I can't do a damn thing about it" note, something has to give. I'll never understand the mentality of hurting someone for the sake of causing pain, or the selfishness of taking what was never rightfully yours just to be a greedy pig. Add lies and deception to get what you want. Mean people suck.

Sorry for the depressing post. It's been that kind of day for a while.

InDUSTrial Distraction

I used to look at the scenery to the south from the back deck. It was fields of corn and soy beans and alfalfa with breaks of trees and a winding creek in between. Now all I see are the three towers topped with seemingly alien antennae and a multi story square of brownish tin. The color does not deceive. It is not the true color of earth or crops.

In the midst of farmland, they erected a plant to wash the soil. Well, not exactly soil. It is meant to wash the sand they dig so deeply to uncover. They drop sticks of dynamite into drilled holes and send tremors through the underground, enough to rattle walls and windows and set the floor rolling beneath my feet.

Trucks carrying this grainy gold abuse the highway with careless tarps flapping to the breeze of high speed travel. Dust particles disappear on the wind to find cracks in walls and windows until they burrow into lungs and labor breathing.

To the west, the barren spring field exposes the neighbor's home and chicken coops. Trucks with orange crates line the field and distract from the yellow play set constructed to protect pipes flowing with natural gas. I imagine children climbing it like a jungle gym, unaware of the danger buried three feet beneath them.

Farmers struggle. Neighbors fight. They take the ground out from under us and send it across state lines in trucks and trains in the name of oil and money. They promise jobs and prosperity. They claim to be good neighbors.

A misfire sounds like an elephant gun shot outside my bedroom window. The glass tinkles as if it's falling to pieces. Another charge dropped sixty feet makes the walls roll and cave inward. Will they bother to search for survivors when the walls give and the roof collapses? "It's all within regulations," they say. "We want to be good neighbors," they say.

They cut corners and contamination seeps into the earth. It could take two years to reach the aquifer. When it hits, we may never know. They don't make tests to uncover these cancerous chemicals.

"We want to be good neighbors," they say. They poison the air and water and pat citizens on the head as if reassuring children. "Here's a nickel or a lollipop," they say and offer meaningless tokens. A nickel won't filter our water. A lollipop won't clean the air.

These good neighbors are killing us a speck at a time. We die a bit each day with the promise of burial beneath what's left of the earth. Tell me. Who will buy their oil when we're gone?

With the sun comes the burn

Since I'm doing everything in my power to avoid editing for a few weeks, I'm making a commitment to at least write more often in the blog. Any practice is good, right?

Yesterday turned into a trip to the local softball to watch my youngest niece play in a tournament. We had sunny skies and warm temperatures with enough of a breeze to keep it comfortable. I even remembered to wear sunscreen on my face, though I forgot to reapply. Three hours resulted in a red tinted face. The top of my head didn't fare as well, or so I discovered in the shower this morning. I need to dig out my cap for the ensuing track meets and games coming up this week.

My oldest nephew stopped after the game with a friend and the friend's boys, ages 2 1/2 and 4 3/4. The boys had a blast playing in a pile of dirt. They get a running start, climb to the top, and slide down the other side. Their pants didn't fair as well.

The open road called. It was nice to drive with music blaring and windows down. The shopping part wasn't as exciting. The warehouse club was crowded and the bookstore and clothing store offered nothing.

Today, I went in another direction, finding what I didn't the day before. The rest will be spent in preparation for Game of Thrones  and reading. I need to get in the practice of reading others books again, since I didn't have the time or the brain power to separate another's story from my own.
 

Now What?

I finished. The story has an end and I reread part four twice to edit. It is now in the hands of a friend who is making notes, watching for consistency, and giving general comments. (Not cowboy boots!)

In the meantime, I've sworn to give myself a few weeks of distance and time away from the story. The problem is the characters won't shut up. They're in my head, telling me to say this and change that.

I'm doing my best to ignore them. I have another idea on tap, but I don't want to get too involved when I know I have alterations. I cleared one book from my to read pile. Last night, I started on the stack of magazines that has been building up un the corner. I watched Six Feet Under on Prime while distractedly paging through articles I never stopped to read. Tonight, it's a blog post and the rest of the magazines (I hope) and Cold Justice. Tomorrow is a softball tournament.

Despite the inconvenience of writing five to seven days a week around a full time job, I miss the task. I feel a bit lost without putting down at least a few hundred words each night.

So, great internet void, now what?

Done, Done. Done, Done.

Yes!!! It has an official ending. 374 days, approximately 334 thousand words, a series of four books in finished! All this while working full time and having a life (rarely, but that still counts).

Now for a break and then editing.

Accomplished in all the wrong places

Well, I didn't hit my goal of finishing book four by March 9th. I tried. There was too much to slog through. I did find an end to the antagonist, so that's something.

So far today, I haven't looked at the book. I put off preparing for an appointment thinking I could slam out the end last weekend. Didn't happen, so no more procrastinating.

Paperwork has now been organized and I have an appointment Friday morning. Wish me luck.

Saturday in the Parking Lot

Today was another day to run away from writing. I convinced myself that I couldn't wait another week with only one black ink cartridge left. Yes, each one lasts approximately three months and I changed it a week ago, but I like to be prepared, and my color cartridges started tripping the "low ink" warning, which means I'll have to use my last back up of color ink cartridges. Gah! It's a never ending cycle.

Regardless of my neurosis, it became the perfect opportunity to run away from home for a few hours. Most people think running away from home isn't a big deal, they do it every day. Work and people beckon and they put on their heavy coats and trudge out into the elements with a grumble. I work at home via an internet connection and phone line. When I'm not working my real job, I attempt to write, at least I have for the last year.

Getting outside gives me perspective. Time behind the wheel disappears in a mix of too loud music and plot holes filling themselves in. Sometimes it's filled with random garbage and obscene comments to poor drivers, but no one is perfect!

I ventured into the dreaded warehouse club that had the lowest ink price and ended up cutting another one and a half stops out of my trip entirely. Yes, it was worth it. $300 later, and my eyes jumping out of their sockets when the credit card bill arrives not withstanding, this trip was a complete success. Not only did I restock my ink supply, but they began carrying my brand and style of toilet paper. Some might say this is insignificant. TP is TP, as long as it does the job, who cares? Not so, my friend! It has to be the right mix of durability and softness and thickness so as to do a commendable job without clogging the pipes. Oh, and can I say, another club store discovery,  Salted Caramel Cocoa, you may have been the find of the day!

The second stop saved me another half of a stop by having an in store special on my cereal of choice.
This opened up an entire hour slated for driving through cluttered parking lots, playing chicken with other drivers and pedestrians who believe they are they only mobile beings in a lot filled to the brim. Add another thirty minutes of good fortune to miss the "oh my god, it's 20 degrees and a snowstorm is coming" doom preppers clogging checkout lanes.

With added time and good spirits, my car found it's way to a local chain restaurant. Four course meal? No problem. Until the creamy potato soup became my undoing. Rich and filled with bacony goodness, I wanted a vat to swim in. But alas, the salad came, as did the biscuits, then the entrée, and finally, dessert. It was a caramel kind of day and lunch was topped off with a piece of caramel cheesecake.

I drove home with the lovely thought of my one and only reader, agonizing over an upcoming character death, (Yes, I enjoyed her pain, I am that evil!) and vowed to spend the hours before the playoff basketball game writing toward The End. I reworked an entire paragraph. And played online. And coordinated late dinner plans that rivaled a military invasion. Now, I'm blogging.

Forty-five minutes left to write. Let's hope tomorrow is a better day. Or that I don't procrastinate until the new Walking Dead. Happy weekend everyone, and no one, whoever you may be. 

Catatonic writing

I have been working on this little project for close to a year now. At this point, rough drafts of a series of three and a half books are waiting for the painful editing process. I am determined to find the end to part four, and the series, before that happens.

That being said, part four is a slow progression. There are too many loose ends to tie in and incorporate to a satisfactory conclusion. The only deadline set is my own, March 9th, a year to the day that this story began on the page.

If I'm lucky, I slip into these states when I write. The sounds from my IPod blend into an unrecognizable din. My fingers find the keys of their own accord, and a seemingly blank mind wraps itself in the character's voice and races away. Much of book one was written this way. In book four, these moments are rare. Most of the time I'm battling another idea that's taken root so deeply, it inhabits my dreams in regular intervals.

Tonight, for a brief moment, I became Leena. I let her doubts and fears wash over me and spill out in a mix of emotional letters. She trusted me to give voice to the thoughts buried beneath layers of good intentions and false smiles. Tonight was a good night to write.

Not Your Ordinary Shopping Trip

I hate mice. There is really nothing complicated about it.

Their tails are unnatural. They are filthy and leave nasty little pellets everywhere. They get into places they shouldn't and chew through treasures.

Saturday I had a lunch date with friends. After leaving early, I decided to get some groceries. The shopping experience was typical of a large chain on a Saturday morning, until I got in my car to leave.

I started my Impala and fiddled with my MP3 player before buckling up for the trip. Jumping out of my skin just happened to be on the agenda.

Normal movement around my windshield wipers would indicate stray leaves or pine needles. This day it happened to be a matted gray stowaway that proceeded to climb up my windshield. After two seconds of shock, my reflexes kicked in and the windshield wipers sent the critter flying. But not to worry! It survived long enough to duck under another car. I can only imagine the surprise of some random shopper as a mouse scurried past their feet in the football field parking lot. Perhaps it caught a child's eye, and our wayward traveler was just in search of some sarsaparilla.

Wherever you are little mouse, I hope you are happy. The knowledge of your relocation is enough for me.