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Archive for August, 2011

But I’m toast.  48, 409 is where I stop today. It *was* 46, 672, so that’s not bad.

Gonna bring home a ream of paper tomorrow in preparation for the print out of the first draft this weekend.

I need a nap.

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I’m disappointed that the bands from Irene were not clearly defined over Georgia. I’m totally fascinated by extreme weather and would have loved to have seen them. Just ask my child.

A super cell crawled over Augusta in the MOST spectacular way once. She and I were in a parking lot, I was staring at the sky. This thing rolled and boiled like something out of Close Encounters. The hair rose on my arms, but I could NOT stop staring. Then my child’s whimpered, “Mom..” snapped me out of it and we ran like Hell into a grocery store. It was us and about five other people, scrambling into this store and peering back outside. Of course, everyone in the store looked at this group of panicked runners like we were nuts…. until they saw it, too.

She doesn’t particularly like storms since that incident when she was about eight or nine. I LOVE them. Especially hurricanes. They are all powerful and you can do NOTHING to stop them. Bow down, mortal, and submit to their wisdom.

So! Irene’s coming? Time for a drink. Light and Dark rum, orange juice, pineapple juice and a shot of grenadine. An “Ex Pat Hurricane”. I live among heathens, what can I say? Mixed in hurricane glasses, given to me by my child when she got older and could appreciate a good Hurricane Party.  (I so, so love my child)

One name sums it all up for me, my love-hate of hurricanes in particular.

Katrina.

I was on the phone with the airline while I watched Katrina spin into the gulf, headed for my beloved city of New Orleans. I hadn’t been there in about three-four years and this trip was special to me. I had plane tickets for Halloween, two months away, but I knew then I wouldn’t be going. I knew there wouldn’t be anything to go TO. Do you know what the airline said to me? Too bad. You have a year to use your ticket. Just fly in after the storm settles.

Yeah, right.

Four years and two-hundred lost ticket bucks down the drain later, I’m walking in the Quarter. All sparkling clean, smellin’ good…. yes, you heard me right, the Quarter smelled GOOD. There were people riding around on golf carts, spraying smelly-good disinfectant into the gutters. It wasn’t natural. The city had the tourist spots all shiny and perfect. Take a step off that well beaten path and your heart would break. But there I was. Walking in the Quarter and watching the city try to rise once more, having been given another chance to survive. It was a familiar feeling.

The rest of the story is personal. My one last thing that’s mine, and while it’s not mine alone, I know that story is safe. So! While I watch Irene spin up the coast, I’ll worry for my aunt in Kitty Hawk, NC. I’ll worry for Darlene who is so close to NYC.

But…. I’ll be drinking a Hurricane. Aiiieeeee!!! 

 

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46, 672.

Granted, the hardest chapter by far and while I have it outlined to completion, its only half finished.  Five pages, low word count. The problem is most of it’s dialog. I have come up with a new saying.

Dialog is a page generator, but it’s a word count vacuum.

Oh! And funny thing happened on Facebook. A publisher put out a bit of bait to see who would be interested in submitting a zombie story for an anthology. Hmm. I’m loving my zombie. And the husband came up with some cool ideas yesterday when I was bouncing a scene off him. Ideas I couldn’t use for the WIP, but I most certainly could use as a short for an anthology. Yep! I raised my hand. We shall see how it pans out.

The husband finally gave me a grumble today when I said I was making good progress towards the first draft. He said something like, “I would hope so.”

Yeah, you’re right. I think that was a cue. LOL!

It’s eight o’clock, anyway. That’s my cut off. And well it should be since I’ve been sitting at the computer since around 8 or so this morning. Back up tomorrow to do it again.

Night all.

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I’m *tired*.  I think I’m going back to bed this morning. Next chapter up is the huge in your face, ass kicking and my eyes are so blurry I can’t even see the screen very well. I don’t think I have the energy or the sharpness of mind to pull it off.

Yeah, I’m going back to bed.

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43,183 to 45, 707

I’m astonished at how few words have actually flowed.

The husband is fixing country fried steak. Hey, he let the words come out of his mouth that he’d fix it. You can’t blame me for jumping all over it.

 

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I said I’d likely not blog about it and I didn’t. Now I’m gonna’.

That brass ring I was reaching for? I got about an inch from it and had to just let it pass. It sucked to do that. Sucked in a major, major way. But it was MY choice to walk away from it, so I have some small sense of achievement from it all.

Hitting home about how badly it sucked was the arrival of my pretty bit of paper that officially says I am a paralegal. On paper, at least.  Oh, well. The event stressed me half to death. I’m glad it’s over.

I’m completely fascinated by rules/Law and the words that shape them/it. Not about the moral aspects, but how they can be bent and even broken, and how they cannot be. I often get into heated discussions with people about cases on tv. Like….. Yeah, dude is a dirtbag, but he has rights and procedure was violated. I don’t know how many times I’ve told my husband, “I never said it was all morally right, I just said her attorney was competent in the end.” Yeah, that was Casey Anthony stuff.

That would be why I have two Council anointed vampires who rule Consortiums living in my head. Their word is law, right or wrong.

The broken watch subject? Really, I can’t remember exactly which event in particular prompted me to want to use that in the title (I’ve been planning this blog for a week). I just know at the time I was thinking I stay wound up tighter than a broken watch. It’s been way tough these last few weeks to get any writing done.  Way tough.

I’m leaving the house in a couple of hours and leaving the laptop behind. *GASP* I know, right? Well, I need the break. The husband and I neeeeeeeeed the break. Then again, he asked me to bring my tiny little 7″ Asus last time. LOL!

I’m not going anywhere conducive to MY vampires – that would take New Orleans and there’s no way in HELL I’m going to Nola again in the summer. I’m headed to the mountains to unwind that damned watch.

The mountains always wake up other people; a great story line I came up with back in the Cafe days. Let’s just say Bigfoot has a secret. What’s funny about it is I have the title of book 1 and 2. Warrior Woods and Priest Hill – the names of two very real roads in the area where I spent a lot of time below the age of 13. Why is that funny? I don’t have a title for the WIP (work in progress), but I have a title for two books that I have never started. LOL! Maybe that’s a sign, I dunno. But I’m taking a notebook if the laptop doesn’t get packed.

Back in a few days, my lovelies. When I get back, I fully intend to crank out Este and Lien to completion.Lexie and Nia, you’ll have the first draft soon, I promise. My mind and soul just need a break.

Ta!

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The Neighbor’s Cat

It’s no secret – because I have a big mouth and miss her.. and harp on it – that I miss my cat, Kal, who passed last year. Well….

My neighbor has two cats. One looks vaguely like Kal. Blessedly, that one stays away from me and I haven’t seen it in a good while. Not since I saw it standing over by Kal’s grave one morning and it gave me a stroke in my own front yard.

The other is fluffy, all black save white patches under her arms and on her chest. She has green eyes (Kal had green-gold, just sayin’). I call her Mimi because I’ve never asked what her name is and the name Mimi comes from a book – that I still have! – that someone gave me when I was little. Mimi, The Merry-Go-Round Cat.

Mimi has adopted me. It doesn’t matter if it’s the crack of dawn, Mimi will be at my van when I go outside. Lately she’s been getting closer to the house and today she decides to follow me back inside. She stopped at the door. My gram’s cat, Socks, was on the coffee table. They exchanged cocked ears, but didn’t get their hackles in a twist. Cool. SO! In my quest to help them make nice – because my neighbor is being shipped out in a SUBMARINE, so I know damned good and well I’ll end up with this cat ….

I pick…. Mimi….. up. And cuddle her. Hard.

This poor cat smelled like she’d rolled in shit and dead things.

She went right back out the door and I took a bath. LOL!

The Mimi episode is only worth mentioning because I had a nightmare about Kal this morning. One so horrible, I’m not willing to share a single detail. Even in the dream I kept saying, “This is not happening. I’ve got to stop this.” And I couldn’t fast enough. I tried and tried and finally my eyes popped open. I have never been so glad a dream was just a dream in my recent memory. I flat *SANK* in relief.  Then spent the next little while trying to figure out why I dreamed it. And the next little while after that trying to get the *FUNK* off of me.

Now that I’m funk free, I get it. When I’m done boo-hoo-ing, I’m getting back to writing. After all, that’s what Kal wanted.

 

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