The Head Cold Blues


Woke this morn in a daze, my head bursting with rivers of mucous. I only had to wonder for a few moments where I could have picked up such a lovely set of bugs. I think that I know where I scooped up the hideous bastards. Within thirty minutes, I had decided to cease to fight considering that it was now far too late in the game for preventive measures. I cancelled the day in its entirety, crawled back between my beloved covers, and snored like an irritated (and possibly death adled) lion. I know this because my own snoring woke me several times.)  “Who IS that pissed off demon? Oh, it’s just me.”

I eventually managed, with the help of a vat of sweetened coffee, to churn out the required daily quota of words for my NaNoWriMo ’15 writing project. It wasn’t so bad actually. I think the mounting intensity of my cold became fast playmates with the rumbling intensity of my story.

Now, however, I am in a world of hurt thanks to shirking the necessary trip to the pharmacy to get the good cold meds. I simply did NOT want to get dressed at that time. Now, howevz, it is 1:30 am and I am racked with breath stealing coughs and rapidfire sneezes to the tune of tiny piddles in my yoga pants. Lovely imagery there, yes? One knows that one is truly ill when an adult is reduced to changing her undies on the regular because of urine leakage brought on by body jarring sneezing and coughing.

All in all, I am fortunate to have made it through yesterday’s yoga class without incident. Looking back, the signs of my impending cold were all there. Retrospect, being the bitch of clarity that she is, also dictates that I may have gotten the whole class sick with my budding baby-cold germs. If so, they should be feeling the effects of this glorious cold-monster by morning. I am sorry, gentle ladies of my yoga class. Truly, I did not know.

Suffice it to say that if I can write tomorrow, I think it would be suitable to write a scene with a runny, oozing zombie. All that will be required for a visual muse is a glance into a nearby mirror. A few minutes spent listening to my respitory system will provide all the writing fodder needed to reproduce the sounds of someone succumbing to zombified death.

I just realized with a start that this is a typical sign for me that Fall has just officially moved into winterous territories.  And so it begins…


Months o’ Computer Woes & No Alcohol Make Lore a Dull, Dull Writer


Gave up drankin’, ya’ll, and my writing has badly suffered the effects.  As life finds a more even keel, it appears that my dark imaginings are in full rebellion.  Those in the know insist that this, too, will pass…that my ideas will return with fervor, rich and vivid, enhanced by a clearer intellect and attention to detail.  I try not to balk, shudder, or grit my teeth in that tight, tense, “sure they will” smile. Yet others insist that my musings will take a turn toward more wholesome pursuits. ::shudder::  Whichever the case may be, for now life is far more likely to find me reading fiction rather than producing it. I try not to dwell. Perhaps, soon, I will climb atop the dark horse of horror and ride her bareback into the depths of Mordor.

Also, my beloved laptop has just returned after months on the fritz. Exactly what I get for bingeing on Youtube vids and whiskey at 4 in the morning while claiming to be “creating art” on a played-out zombie tale. Who was I fooling but myself?  I could barely string together two coherent thoughts, much less a body of fiction worth a squirt of piss.  Haaah!

Perhaps I shall start here…again.  A few, dark, halting sentences, thoughts, half thoughts, ideas…  Maybe.

Crappy Dialogue


NaNoFail of the Day~ My crappy, robotic dialogue between the priests in my post apocalyptic novel.  Only slightly bested by my complete ignorance of Catholicism.  Who’s idea was it to hole up my protagonist in a cathedral anyway?  Oh yeah!  I remember!  My dumb ass.  Well, 1st drafts always suck so I suppose I am on par for the course.

Unholy Mother of Forgotten Blogs, Batman!


Was looking online at a few things and lo-n-behold.  Lookie there!  My ancient, forgotten blog.  Since I am in the midst of another NaNoWriMo novel, I suppose this is as good a place as any to resurrect and to chronicle the madness. But alas, I am tired and frazzled and worn thin as a sheet of notebook paper so for now I shall consume coffee and try to regurgitate a few more sentences before utter collapse into a pool of my own brain leakage.


The World Keeps Turning


I see that the world has kept firmly on its axis during my departure for most of the summer. ‘Tis good to know that all plugs along quite nicely without me.

At any rate, my summer has been a busy sort~ full of writing and fun, drama and woe.  Everything from glamping at an amazing horse ranch resort in a yurt to getting a ticket for driving with expired inspection.  It is time again for school and classes.  Since my work has not caught the watchful eye of Stephen King or Clive barker, I suppose that a couple more hundred classes and a zillion more practice pieces won’t exactly kill me.  Or will it?  Meh~ I’ll die happy.

I spent a great deal of my summer writing.  Horror, dark poetry, even poignantly sweet short stories, all in a vain attempt at improving this craft that seems to own my very soul.  Some of it was decent, most of it pure craptastic drivel, but all of it slicing ever deeper to the core of my unique, if misguided, writer’s voice.

I am none too thrilled about my upcoming class.  Advanced Fiction.  Should more accurately be called Advanced Outlining but I doubt that would draw in a ton of writers all drooling to part with their hard earned cash.  Yet and still, it is a necessary evil, one that I cannot deny no matter how lively my kicks and bellows in the dark.

It is also time for my daughter to enter 5th grade, speaking of kicking and bellowing.  I am sure the month of September will be all the rage in morning fights followed ever so valiantly by homework fights, concluding in the always beloved bedtime fights.  Oh, the JOY!  Not to mention that her homework will be strategically designed to be impossible for a 10 year old without constant and vigilant parent participation.

I have kept up my fitness routine though my beloved elliptical sits unused in the sweltering sun blasted hell that is my front porch.  I’ve found a water aerobics class that has some of the most insane characters in attendance and an instructor who seems to see through my very lazy cringing soul.  I haven’t seen any astronomical weight loss spikes but that is because I eat more butter and cream than Paula Deen.  I really do eat like a cat.  Milk, butter, cream, tuna, salmon, fish, cheese.  No wonder I meow and purr when I’m drunk and act like a mad fool at 4 a.m for no apparent reason.

Anyway, I am back.  And I sure wish some people would notice me on this friggin’ site because I need some friends to talk to here.  Drop by and say hi.  Sheesh.  I only bite occasionally and even then there are warning signs far before any actual bloodshed.  I’d love to post some of my work and get some honest help with them.  Anyone out there want to help an aspiring writer to pull her work together in a more…acceptable fashion?  Hit me up.  I could use the pointers.

The Tiresome, Nagging, Twit Muse


I have found that if I do not write for two solid days that my mind starts to itch.  I get antsy to downright irritated and feisty.  Some days are more busy than others, and I am ashamed to say that writing does take a back burner at times to more pressing things.  I have five decent stories in the works right now.  In my opinion, none of the five are complete duds.  It is disappointing to so easily push aside my promise to myself…my promise to write daily.  But it happens, and with it comes the incessant whine of the jaded and ignored muse.  

Since igniting the little demon, I’ve found that it is not as easily thwarted as I am.  I start to assemble snarky little phrases in my mind that niggle and poke.  If I ignore the muse still, it digs a bit deeper, and the snarky comments start to roll off of my tongue.  By the third day the thing will find ways to ruin my day until I sit down and write.  Even fifteen thoughtful minutes of writing can satisfy the little beast unless it wishes to flesh out a wholly new story idea.  In such instances, it is best to brew a pot of coffee and hang on for the ride.  In my defense, I thought Muse and I would be dating.  I had no idea she was a jealous whore that wanted to bounce straight to the alter.  I thought what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas.  She wants a picket fence and a couple of kids.  I suppose I am more naive than I had originally assumed.

This is my attempt to appease the beast.  And to tell her that I am sorry that I’ve been so busy.  I want to let the demon know that she is as necessary to me as breathing, and that I mean no harm.   I bring flowers and even dyed my hair a fiery red for her approval.  Forgive me, my Queen, and accept my heartfelt yet simple supplications.  Don’t be mad, honey, I’ll take tomorrow off and we will go somewhere pretty.  I’ll pack a lunch with all of your favorite things.  Now, please stop making comments to the lady in the express line who happens to have twenty items.  And while you may be angry that the big truck is taking up both lanes,  he could squash us both like a bug.  And that guy that you called a pretarded fucktwat…yeah, he pays the bills.  Go easy, killer.  I’m right here.

Say What?


Spent all of last week in the pool.  From an hour after rising until three or so hours before bed, I could be found frolicking in one of the three pools offered by Yachtsman Resorts in Myrtle Beach, S.C.  Oh, it was wondrous.   Rarely am I more daring, more graceful, more alive than when I am surrounded by water that I imagine that I can control.  Flips and dives, throwing my legs over the side to bend backwards and downwards along the pool walls until I am hanging upside down, surrounded by a cloud of red hair…I become a mermaid.  I can do things with a pool noodle that defy the imagination, like standing on one foot and appearing to “stand on water”.  I walk the center line rope like an acrobat.  Glorious!

Yeah, it’s all fun and games ’til someone loses an ear.  That’s right, folks.  Now I cannot hear out of my right ear, and every time I blow my nose, it sounds like blowing bubbles through a straw.  That wouldn’t be so bad, after all I expect it will go away, if it didn’t hurt like hell at night.  See, I sleep on my right side, and no matter what position I fall asleep in, I wake up on my right side.  Head pounding, inner ear swelling, hurts all the way down my neck.  

I’ve never had this problem before.  I’ve also never had a mom who knows how to explain the little home remedies and tricks that usually come from the parental units.  I have no idea what to do about this except to suffer in uncomfortable silence.  I tried a little peroxide to see if I could “burn” it out.  Interesting experience listening to your brain go off like an Alka Seltzer (sp).

I am forced to ask myself, “Was it worth it?”  I suppose in many ways it was.  But I am also forced to ask, “How the hell long does this last?”

Woe is me with my thousand dollar vacation and watered out inner ear.  I have one month to figure this out before I am faced with another week-long pool experience at Shenandoah Crossing’s Blue-Green Resort.  I think I shall learn from this experience and invest in some ear plugs!