Thursday, November 20, 2014

I'm back on track. Publish date, sometime in...a year, maybe.

The Wind-Up Terrier is on it's way. I'm back to work on the thing and happy with the new approach. Hopefully there will be a finished book in the next year. I know that sounds really optimistic (I'm kidding) but that's all you'll get.

As small recompense, here's the rewritten beginning for the book. Careful of expectations. It is only a rough draft.

We live in intriguing times. The nineteenth century is one of advances in every conceivable arena, of science and commerce, convenience and lifestyle. Think of our grandparents. Those that we are still blessed with can hardly conceive of such strange things as these motor carts, seeming roaring dragons with hard-

Miss Euphemia Hatter closed the book in disgust. This was a primer for dabblers. She sighed. It had been a bit much to hope her brother would have ordered a proper engineering book. 
She placed the book beneath the foldup table beside her and picked up her spyglasses which lay beside a fine camellia patterned bone china cup still half filled with tepid tea and set upon a matching saucer. It was time to engage in one of her favorite breakfast activities, dirigible watching. It was more reward than bird watching. The volatile gas bags that were currently all the rage even exploded occasionally, though she’d yet to see one do so. The papers usually covered the incidents which tended to occur in the cities. The victims were usually well to do, or the servants of the well to do, so there was often some mention in the society pages of some London dandy or a lesser lord “perishing in a terrible tragedy.” Euphemia thought they couldn’t expect much better given how so many floated about willy nilly and didn’t bother to read the operating manual. 

She caught sight of two dirigibles, small cruising models putting across the sky and she flicked down another set of lenses to see them better. She leaned forward in her chair, lips pursed but the two vehicles passed harmlessly by. They’d probably only gotten so close to hail each other or some such. That lot was always so keen to out show one another. An accident was unlikely to happen over Swallow’s . Most occurred above much greater urban centres. London or Paris or, most often of all above Belfast as many dirigibles were made within its limits and, Euphemia had to wonder if the great new toys were whisked off the assembly line not more than moments after completion and driven into each other by foolhardy lords and gentleman. That lot were much too eager to show off and not at all interested in taking care to read the manual or have a turn around an isolated hamlet.  She flicked the lenses back up and the world returned to its customary proportions, the bustling town of Swallow’s Field laying spread before her scant miles in the distance with the small cottages and modest houses of the village her family’s manor and factory watched over spanning part of the way between.

Euphemia sat back and drank the tepid dregs of her tea. It would not be nice to see an accident. She would not wish such a volatile death on even the most vapid lord but, good god, for something of interest to happen in her life. Anything at all! She stood and made her way off the platform, boots ringing out against the metal steps and echoing tinily on the tile of the roof. Work beckoned and she must not disappoint. What would her governess have said? At the door to the stairs down into the manor, Euphemia paused and glanced unconsciously from side to side, though she was clearly alone. She reached back behind her and carefully felt her bustle to make sure it was entirely in its proper place. It certainly didn’t do to leave such things to chance. Secure in that, at least, she patted her pale blue skirts and descended.

She fetched her satchel, full of odds and ends she liked not to be without and closed the manor door behind her though she didn’t bother to lock it, there was no point. She walked down the dirt path in front of the manor careful not disturb her maid and the cook who were busy gossiping in the kitchen garden. They had better things to do than curtsy to her. The walk along the road which terminated square in front of the great big block of a building that her family had earned their fortune from was a pleasant one. She felt it did her good to get the old arms and legs moving before she had to sit at a desk for half the day, besides that, the country side was nice early before the air had got time to sour and it was far quieter than the factory.

The factory was alive with workers, mostly women in their matching dove grey work shifts and crisp white pinafores, working the machines or cutting the felt or gluing and sorting decorations. There was movement everywhere within building and the chatter of voices blended with the clatter of the apparatus. Euphemia navigated the work floor, dodging and dipping where necessary until she reached the great iron stair case that lead up to a platform and office which overlooked the production floor, or at least the landing in front of the office did. Euphemia had a desk on the landing and her brother worked within the office. They barely saw each other, if Euphemia was lucky.

Euphemia settled into her chair, hard and proper as it was. It was the sort of chair her former governess would approve of. She would not have approved of the smile that accompanied the thought. Fortunately, miss Leigh had been bundled off to Bath for the last nine months and, save the dreaded but required correspondence, Euphemia no longer had to maintain the appropriate appearance, she straightened the lace picots of one sleeve, though with enough training, even the most difficult lessons had a tendency to take hold.  She did wish though, that a governess hadn’t been needed. Mother had been gone for five years and father for two. Her brother Benton was the head of the family and had acting in such capacity ever since father had started to decline which had been for a while now. Euphemia sighed. She wondered what would become of her. 

Thursday, September 11, 2014

New Plan

I lied. Again.

I don't really have Vampire Girl in me anymore.
However...I do have this little story about aliens and a little girl named Bill.
Really I've just been so tired. Work is tiring. Not being able to finish consolidating my work is tiring. Exercise is tiring. Making dinner is tiring.

Life. Is. Tiring.

I just figured this out. I guess being an unemployed, emotionally unstable hermit would make me not so much an expert on all things that involve daily interactions with people.
Work's not so bad really, at least not the social interactions since you don't actually have to do very much with people. Work goes more smoothly when you pretend other people aren't there, except the people you talk to to keep yourself sane.

On another note, I mildly poisoned myself with a vitamin supplement. Not Iron, thankfully. I know better than that, but something else. I'm not telling what. The very fact that I was so stupid is a little painful to admit. I am pretty used to doing stupid shit by now, though. Sometimes I'm just not there and sometimes the little timed injections of necessary chemicals that my body gives from it's little bulbous glands aren't very well regulated.

I don't think a lot of people read very well. I think reading comprehension is lower than it should be. I'd say it was a bad school system if I was a certain kind of person. I'd say they're poor and dumb if I was another and I'd say their parents just don't teach them stuff when they're little if I was the third kind. What I really think is something else. I think people don't feel they have to and that's the fault of everything.

There's the answer. Everything is Fucked.

No. Not really. There's always going to be some crap that ain't gonna straighten out without a crowbar and a whole ton of pressure and/or heat. The world still functions.
A few to many things are skewed though and there aren't enough people with crowbars.

So, new plan. I try to write a bit on the story that I just barely have a plan for and see where it goes from there. Updates will be sporadic but I can promise, at the very least, once a month.

You should keep expectations low for this one. What I do produce should be pretty extra special but quantity will be extremely varied.

Have fun with life. I do. That's why I'm currently interested in Belly Dance! It's wonderfulllllllllllllllll.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Wordy Day, Control

Do you ever feel like everybody is staring at you? In my case, I think it's true.
I do stare at people I'm vaguely interested in, though. Perhaps they got it from me. That doesn't explain everybody else.

You ever feel tired, even when you've gotten a lot of sleep? I do. I think I still need to make up about a week's worth of sleep.
I would really like it if I could write much again. I don't feel much. I think my synapses are fried, or frozen. I have been getting really outbursty. That might suggest that with the improved sleep I've been getting the synapses are thawing out and being very cranky about it.

I am just so tired of the fact that most people I know really don't much care what I do.
It's disconcerting for someone who came from a somewhat neglectful background.
I don't like it.
Even though I am used to it.
I do have people who care about me but they just don't do it the way I want them to.
My characters don't do things the way I want them to either.
It's almost as if....
As if I am not in complete control.
I don't like it at all.
If I'm not in control, then things can happen.
Bad things
Bad, bad things
Even good things can be bad if you don't know they're coming.
Anxiety reigns
Chaos is just another word for the world's fondness for disturbing a train of thought. (Guess who was just interrupted? :)

(Edit. I read a depression book. I'll tell you if it takes. It's all common sense stuff but the examples really helped me gain perspective which is something just relying on common sense does not do.)

Might be a bit better.
We'll see.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Announcing, VAMPIRE GIRL!

Do you know that I once wrote a story about an insane vampire, who looked like a child, and was obsessed with a character? Imagine that. It's never been done before, right? Well, she's special. She had good quirks. I'm good at quirks.

Did you know that the insane vampire was part of a book that was about a slightly more sane vampire who worked in a shitty fast food joint and then ran off when a vampire showed interest in her? She's weiiiiiird. She's also not really a vampire. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but really, the book was okay, I think. I liked it, but I don't think there's anything wrong with just posting the bits and pieces I have here and perhaps sticking them together with a bit of particularly gluey prose.

This is the introduction of the beginning of my posting of ;Vampire Girl! (Because I had no knack with titles, still don't, really)

There might be some alternate versions that get posted alongside the originals. I was in high school. What sounded coooool then is more obviously a bit cliche now.

So, I hope you'll enjoy Vampire Girl

It will start being released beginning of August, after I sort through eighty files with similar titles. (I do that.) and have something to show for it. Hopefully my memory is right and there's more than a couple of tea stained sheets of paper with doodles on them.


Vampire Girl, The First

So here's the beginning I started with, more or less. Note the somewhat stilted narrative. 

The vampire was more ravenous than she had ever been. The hunger ate its way through her stomach and up her trachea as if what blood still in her had become acid and was melting her body to find a way out.
She bit, fed and soon after loathed herself for her weakness.

She was in a small room with soft colors and a little white dresser. In the corner was a red, race car bed. The air smelled of citrus fabric softener and baby powder. Neither was enough to cover up the meaty tang which soaked the air. In her arms lay a little body dressed in pajamas and with his limp head resting against her chest so that as she moved his wispy blond hair fluttered. The little planes on his pajama shirt were flying in a red sky. She could see that lower down the sky was blue. The red was his blood, still dripping from his neck.

She ripped a bit of blanket off and pressed it up against his neck. There was still time to fix this. She concentrated and began to rub.  

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Wordy Day, Writer's Self Disgust

(This shoulda been published a while ago. I schedule posts and they just don't happen. Really, to the right of this one is Schedule 6/4/14 5:00 AM Central Daylight Time. Was is published? Did you see it? No.) 

Underneath the heavy boughs of the apple tree, the cat lay, Because the sun dappled shadows shifted and danced with every gentle gust, a casual observer would not have seen the small dark orb the rested against the cat and would have been quite startled when, moments after the cat stretched, the little toad leaned back and stretched out webbed feet, using the cat as a furry recliner. It must have been comfortable for the toad let out a quiet noise almost like a purr, if toads could make such a noise. 

Maryjane reread the page, her expression slack horror. She slammed her pen on the desk. This was horrible! A frog and a cat basking in the shade. What the hell was she thinking? Who did this appeal to. Who would read a story with such an introduction? She wouldn't. "It fucking sucks, is what it does." growled Maryjane. She couldn't write anymore, she hated every single word and she tried to ignore it but it got harder and harder. It was just bad and no amount of pretending it wasn't would make it any better. She picked up her notebook and closed it with the pen inside and then flung it right across the room. Pages fluttered as if the thing was distressed as it sailed across the living room in a great big arc and thwapped against pale yellow wall then slid to the floor. Maryjane jumped at the noise but refused to think she'd overreacted. She was pissed! The world suuuuuuuuuucked.

Sunday, June 1, 2014


So, I lied.

There's no book.

There might be a book,

if I can get over my hangups and hold a keyboard without pain.
I have a job where I spend a lot of time using a keyboard and mouse. Seems every week I manage to injure myself. Mouse arm. Fiery shoulder pain. A back that crackles like a cheap fire cracker. No carpel tunnel yet but, fingers crossed.

I willingly admit that I was overly optimistic. I have a lot of things to do, including move. Somewhere in the middle of things to do is getting over my expectations for the book and actually changing it until it's really good. It doesn't help that beta readers, in my case at least, often shirk their duties.

On the plus side, I will be going to college, at least a bit. I need to talk to a councilor to be sure.
I'm also moving,
and training a cat to live inside
and trying to deal with work
and my boyfriend
who is also starting college.

I hope to spend more time writing once I'm settled. I have actually composed nearly all of a middle grade children's book so I have been writing but, really, that's all I'm capable of before I lose confidence or interest or my body starts to hurt.
Maybe that will do well and help me reestablish confidence in my writing.

I'm a pitiful soul, aren't I just?