Bullet points for the brainless

• Maleficent was magnificent: I probably like the idea of the story better than the original Sleeping Beauty. Angelina Jolie's cheekbones are RIDICULOUS in that film. 
• I just want to nap. For like, ever, hours. I miss me a good nap, especially now. 
• Somehow days are super long and time is super short right now. I despise this phenomena. 
• I can't remember the last non-cancer related conversation I had with my sister-in-law, and that's making me physically ill, because it was probably our last actual conversation. (That doesn't involve me coaxing her into taking her meds or trying to swallow her food.)
• I'm ashamed to admit that I watch her breathe, but it's almost more painful to realize how many people I have had to do that for. 
• I didn't get to go home for a shower at all this week - things got hectic (but the slow, interminable kind of hectic that can only happen mid health-crises) and schedules didn't line up. But I'm getting one this week. Almost definitely. 

Now it's pill time again; I have to talk to the hospice nurse tomorrow about when it's better just to not try to wake her vs when I should be absolutely making her wake up to take things. (I feel like never, but I don't want her to wake up in pain because I let her sleep through a dose of her pain meds.) 

In a much needed attempt at not being plugged in,

I'm sending my brother and sister-in-law to bed early, and watching Maleficent with the kids. With my luck, the mother dies. (Let's talk about our Marvel-thon this summer and how all the Avengers are freaking orphans, whose mothers are, you know, dead. Better yet, let's not.) But we're going to attempt it anyways. Wish us luck.

NaNoWriMo

I don't think I mentioned, that - in addition to everything else - I'm also working my way to kick NaNoWriMo's butt this month. I'm sure you'll be shocked when I tell you that my story started out as a fan-fic (and might still wind up as one, we'll see how far I stray from characters, time lines, etc.: It's definitely AU already, so we'll see). Given that I'm still reading (99%) Avengers fan-fic at an astonishing rate - can I make my way through an entire character tag? All 3406 (and growing) stories? Oh, I think I can. I think if it's a challenge, it's personally, totally doable.

So my current word count is 11,226, which was kind of shocking, and awesome, and somehow I'm up over 11 thousand (and 1/5th of the way done!) even though I felt like I'm writing basically fluff and nothingness, and it all comes so quickly, and I've got all sorts of "INSERT PLOT POINT HERE'" notations in the text, for all the stuff I'm going to have to fill in later, but: the words are coming, and maybe keeping me semi-sane in the land of chaos, grief and 'I'm totally out of my depth here, what the hell do I do"-ness.

Stucky fan-fic; rambling here, there, and anywhere my family can't see, and occasional frozen treats ~ things that are getting me through today.

And today was a bad one, folks. Hope yours is going better

Pulling a Donna Moss

So, like I told you, I don't get to go home to vote today, so instead I'm trying to convince my brother that he should vote my ticket for me. Even though this is not in exchange for my actual vote, I explained it by using this example from The West Wing, with Donna trying to get somebody to use their vote to count for hers, as she'd mistakenly voted for the other candidate on her absentee ballot.
This is torturous for my "I can't believe how liberal you are, are you freaking kidding me" somehow (I don't even know how, because seriously?) Republican brother, but I think I'm going to get him to do it. Apparently Martha Coakley needs all the help she can get today (again: I do not understand how it can be close, but according to the news it is), so I'm just glad I'll get 'my' say.

Sacked out on the couch

listening to the oxygen machine and my niece read me William's Doll; waiting for my nephew to come in and finish his homework, too. The kids have the day off tomorrow, and they're working to make it a really free day, to finish all their work so they don't have anything required of them tomorrow.

Their parents are in bed - SisterNc had a bad pain day, and her meds are kicking her butt. She's mostly sleeping her days away, and getting her to eat anything is like UGH. And tomorrow she starts the chemo again. So, joy of joys. Big/Only Brother is in bed too, since he has to be up in four hours or so to head off to work. And the littles are being adorable, and not little at all, and I'm leaving spaces in my conversations for the words I know need to come out, but I'm also typing with my eyes closed half the time, so there's that.

Well: off to a few final hours of math and reading and not getting up early in the morning.

Don't forget to vote tomorrow, if there's voting near you: I won't get to (since home is 25 minutes away and getting someone to come down, take me home to vote for 6 minutes, then drive me back, and then drive home again? Absurd), so if you can, make sure you do!

Night all.

November again

And here we are, ladies and gents. Let's kick this off with literally the shortest post ever. Because I'm sitting in a crowded living room with too many people and too much noise and I can't seem to think straight. So, short post, full of good intentions.

Well, here we are

At the end of November, and I have completed both National Novel Writing Month (#2!) and National Blog Publishing Month (#6!).  Thank you for sticking around for both of those - This year's novel is still unfinished  - in fact, there are a lot of parts where I just wrote such helpful things as "INSERT SCENE WITH MC AND ANGE FIGHTING VEHEMENTLY" and just skipped over the scene itself, for the sake of keeping the words flowing, even if they weren't right for that particular scene that particular day. So, there will still be some writing to be done, but the 50,000 (technically, at this point, 50,348) goal has been met, and that feels awesome.

As for publishing a post every day in November, I am so glad to have made it through another year and to help me break through the grief-word-eating-cloud a little bit. (A little bit? How about I posted more this month than I have since this time last year? Or at any cumulative point this year? Understatement.) So yay!

Now, if only I could read and write simultaneously, that would really help me out, because all of this writing has definitely curtailed my reading this month. She says as she checks the ridiculous number of posts languishing in her feed reader.

I'm just going to let this speak for itself:

Pie Day Mission -

Accomplished! (Everyone came and ate and left safe and sound. Excellent all around. Except remind me to tell you how I should never play Cards Against Humanity.)

Pie Day

I've made 5 pies today - 1.5 with gluten free crusts, thank you very much - and am exhausted.  So, no super fancy words today - Just hope that wherever you are (or are heading) for the holiday, it finds you as well and as happy as possible.

My standards for happy Thanksgivings are low: Parade. Turkey. Mashed Potatoes. No Emergency Rooms, Paramedics, or Hospitals of any kind. You would think that this would be an easy standard to meet, but not in our family. So: Here's hoping for an Emergency Room-Free Thanksgiving for all!

I'm hoping that in addition to the my minimal standards our day will also include Family Members Who Are Not Yelling At Each Other; Game Playing; Pie Eating; No Food Falling On the Floor; and Surprises of Only Happy Kinds.

Fingers crossed, everybody!

Venturing out (or, why I don't go places)

So last night, I did something I've been vowing to do a lot more of, but things - mostly being sick, or trying to accommodate other essential parts of my life - kept popping up and preventing me from doing: Leaving the house to do actual grown-up things.

Now, some of you may want to quibble over the definition of 'adult' when I tell you that the thing I attempted to attend last night was a book signing by one of my new favorite authors, Rainbow Rowell and David Levithan, whose work I have also really enjoyed - and who both happen to write YA fiction - as well as and two other authors whose work I had not had too much experience with before last night, but whose readings last night definitely made me curious enough to put them in my TBR heap.  (Paul Rudnick & Bill Konigsberg), but those quibblers would be wrong.  All books for all people, that's my motto.

Anyways, in order to go to the signing, I did what good chronic babes do - plan ahead, figure it out, try to make it work. I spent the day in bed, recuperating from a rather long Sunday of crafts with the family, and gathering my spoons for what I expected to be a couple hours of an outing (at night, in the cold, which aren't my regular things, so therefore take extra spoons.) Which, I was totally fine with doing - that's this American's life, anyways - chronic illness = chronic spoon hoarding.   I got up early to take a shower, so that I could have a nice long shower coma during the afternoon, and then spend some time getting ready to go out, and then hit the signing. And I rationed my meds & my meals appropriately, so that I'd hit the peak of pain management right around the time of the reading, be able to pop the next dose probably while waiting in line to be signed, etc. etc. - In short, all of the bits and pieces that go into everyday chronic living that people without chronic illnesses don't take into consideration, and usually I don't mention - They're just the cost of living in this body.

But the reason I remind you of that cost is just to show you you that that's where my evening started.  That's the blank slate of my night, if you will: A lot of effort went into getting there, and then it went down hill from there, but I just needed to remind you (and myself) that it took a lot to get there in the first place. 

 I'll also tell you what else is the cost of living in this body, and that is showing up at a book signing - that you have spent nearly a month anticipating, because people you like have been telling you how great this author is and how awesome her books are, and then you read the book and they are right, and she is awesome, and now you Must Meet Her -  a half hour early - to get a good seat, even though I've got my own chair, I like to make sure I'm not in an aisle or blocking people's way or sticking out like a sore thumb or anything - only to find out that the signing - which has been highly publicized by the bookstore through its tweets and tumbls - is down a flight of stairs. 

Now, ordinarily, I have reconned any new experiences quite thoroughly, so that this sort of disappointment is not a common thing anymore: A few years of showing up to places that you can't get into is both demoralizing and informative - you learn pretty quickly to call ahead and triple check.  But the thing about this bookstore is that I've been there before.  More than once.  And while I knew they had a downstairs, used books section, it did not occur to me that the signing would be there, because I had been to a previous signing - much smaller: I admit now that I should have recognized and realized this - that had been held upstairs.  So I was super excited that this little independent bookstore - one of my personal favorites - was having one of my new favorite authors to a signing, and the logistical part of my brain skipped right over the "well, where are they going to put the people for this signing if there are four authors?" part of the equation.

Still - a flight of stairs is an insurmountable obstacle for me, BUT, I was quickly assured by the booksellers that the event would be broadcast over the speakers to the upstairs, so I would be able to hear everything, and that my book would get signed, and that they would have the authors come up to meet me at the end.  So, after some mental realignment, I paid for my new copy of Eleanor and Park (I've only read Fangirl, which I love, love, loved,) and asked the clerk that I'd brought my own copy of will grayson, will grayson to be signed (and was assured that it would be fine), and I set about to listen to the readings and browse the bookstore.

Which - while not optimal, what with the phones ringing and the people upstairs not understanding that when an author is reading you should be quiet - mostly worked out OK.  A few twinges here and there when the crowd upstairs was too loud, or a question downstairs was too quiet, or the crowd downstairs laughed collectively and my gut gave a little pull at being - once again - on the outside.  Everybody down there was fangirling for Fangirl, watching as the authors read a scene aloud, and I was up here, trying to balance books on my lap and stop people from bumping into me while I parked my chair under the nearest speaker in what I hoped to be an unobtrusive corner.

But it got so much worse once the readings ended, and the signing began.  Because then the speakers shut off, and I was cut off from whatever was, collectively, happening downstairs.  Except for the random bursts of laughter, or the intermittent groups of people exiting, all chittery and excited. And I know that the reality of it is that a large group of mostly teenagers and college-aged kids were crammed into a basement room, hot and sweaty in their overcoats, even though it was freezing outside, just because there were so many of them and the line was so long. The reality of it was that the authors tried to talk with everyone and joke and smile and shake hands, and sign and personalize, all while trying to rush things forward, to get to the next person in the never ending line.  I know that that's the reality of it.

And I tried to convince myself - or my mother, as she got more and more put out on my behalf as the hours passed - that I was lucky to be up here browsing through the bookstore while waiting, instead of stuffed downstairs with everybody else.  But I didn't buy it, and neither did she.  Because that's part of it.  That hot cramped, impatient wait in line is part of the experience, and I wasn't getting it.

It's a hard thing, it's a terrible thing, to have something that you want so close, and be unable to get to it. I mean, all that was keeping me from being a part of things was those stairs, and the longer I waited, the more I tried to convince myself that this was all fine with me, that being excluded didn't hit every soft spot I had, didn't make me feel stupid and unnecessary and make me question why I even bothered to leave the house in the first place.

And see - that's the thing that I can't explain to the lovely clerk at the store who kept telling me the line was moving and things were progressing - that it wasn't the wait that was bothering me, it was being left out.  It's the part I wasn't able to explain to the book signing lady who rushed up the stairs, all apologies and explainations of my book getting mixed in with the preorders - that after four hours of waiting, and the store closing down around me, and listening to people joke and laughter rumble up from the basement, I had to go, I had to leave or burst into tears right there. 

The clerk called down when I was the last one left upstairs (Well, me and my pissed-off mum), asking about my book, and I knew just by the tone of her voice while she talked to the person downstairs - that slightly annoyed, slightly embarrassed, slightly trapped 'I don't know what the hell do do with this lady in the wheelchair who's just up here wandering around waiting' tone - that I wasn't near as OK as I was pretending to be: Here I was, in a bookstore nearly all by myself, which is basically like a wish-come-true-territory for me, but after hours of pretending I was alright with being left out, suddenly, my stomach started roiling, and I could feel the tears gathering, that tightness in your chest that warns you you're probably going to cry.

So when the event lady came bustling up the steps a few minutes later and asked for my name again - and then flew back down the stairs to get the book signed - I just, felt frozen.  Felt forgotten and frozen and knew I was going to cry.  In defense, I picked up the book nearest to me, turned my back on the clerk and my mother (who had been getting more and more agitated and whose agitation was wearing on me) and just stared blankly at its pages.  I have no idea what book it was.  I turned pages blindly for the five minutes it took the event person to come tearing back up the stairs, signed book in hand, apologies on her tongue.  I think I thanked her, I know I tried to thank the clerk: I basically "ran" as fast as my wheels would take me so that I would be outside before I started crying.

I mean, it sounds ridiculous to me right now, typing it out, to say that "I didn't get to meet the authors I went there to meet, and so I burst into tears."  That's not it, although that was super disappointing  - Because Rainbow seems so lovely! and her name is Rainbow! And David was hilarious! and the other authors were so charming and self-effacing I knew they would be my kind of people too.  It wasn't just that, is what I mean.  It was being forgotten.  It was forgetting to double check, and thinking I was safe in a place because I've been before.  It was waiting for four hours - patiently and without fuss - and realizing at the end that I should have made a fuss, that I'd made a fool out of myself by waiting. 

See, on here?  On the web? I am totally confident (well, mostly confident) in my ability to stand up for what's right, disability and accommodation wise.  In person, I almost always feel like I'm asking for too much, or that asking for anything is being pushy.  I've gotten a LOT better - you wouldn't believe the things college-age me let people get away with (I don't); but it's still SO hard for me, especially in the moment.  In the moment, I convince myself that whatever other people are offering is alright.  I convince myself that second best or third best or not worst is good enough for me, because it allows me to participate somehow.

Thinking it over this morning, I see all the things I could have or should have said or done -  I should have said something to the event person, right at the start, about arranging to come back at the end of the signing to meet with the authors.  I should have listened to the reading, gone to dinner, and told them I'd be back at the end.  I should have asked to meet the authors when I first got there - before the scheduled signing - once I learned that the event was inaccessible.  I should have done any or all of these things.  Instead, I let myself accept the solutions they offered, with the mindset that them offering any solution should be enough for me.

It isn't enough.  It shouldn't be enough. And that is why I left in tears, and that is why I was so upset last night (and am still upset today): Because it took so many spoons to get there in the first place, only to have my hopes dashed.  Because I rolled around a store I used to love for four hours, listening to authors I enjoy, and now my enjoyment of both of those things will be colored with the regrets of yet another time I didn't speak up for myself. Because my mother sat there fuming and asking if I wanted her to say anything, and it's embarrassing to have your mother realize you should be speaking up for yourself before you do. Because I never got my copy of will grayson signed. Because when they started shutting the lights off and making announcements over the loudspeaker about the store closing, I felt like nothing more than a scolded child.  Because I left in tears instead of raging at the very nice people who made some mistakes and missteps, but probably didn't deserve either.


 Because sometimes I just want to be able to go the fucking bookstore and see an author and not have to worry about spoons and stairs and being left out. 

---- Edited to add: Of course today I see on their website (which, since I generally follow them on Twitter/Tumblr -and again, I had been there before - I hadn't thought to double check and it says "Our downstairs event space is not handicapped accessible; if you need further assistance please call ahead of time for accommodation." So I can't even say that they weren't clear about it beforehand: it's just my own assumptions that started this snowball rolling down the hill. ----

Disappointed.

So I told you guys I was going to a book signing tonight, right?

I'll write more about it tomorrow (or later tonight: I just have to shove some food in my face), but let's just say that was the most disappointed I've been leaving a bookstore since I had my own money & didn't have to have a melt down every time my mother would hold up her 'just one' finger and I had to decide between the latest Babysitter's Club, or the newest Stephen King. (What? That's normal, right?)

For now let's just say that the signing was downstairs; the staff forgot or misplaced my book; and although I was told that the author would come up at the end of the night, and I waited almost four hours for her to do so, they basically closed the store around me with no author in sight. So. It's just one more of those little arrows that chronic illness gets to aim at you, and when your armor's not up to protect you from it, those bastards sneak right in and hit you where it hurts.

Did some crafty things

with my family today - almost all in attendance (4/5 sibling family groups: pretty close!) for at least part of the day.

Most of the craftiness involved ornament making: last year we made lovely wreaths, this year, 2 different kind of ornaments.  One of which was the kind we used to make in the preschool with cinnamon and applesauce  - and glue, I do not remember glue, because at least 3 of the kids I used to teach would have eaten them, glue or not. Of course, I somehow wound up making the dough (even though that is not an easy job) and no my arm wants to fall off.  Mostly, though, it was a pretty good day. But also? I smell like cinnamon, as if I took a bath in it, really.

It's fragrant and festive, but it's a wee bit overwhelming.

Back to the grindstone, word wise: I'm almost at 44,000 with just six days to go - a thousand words a day? Totally doable.

No spoilers, sweeties

I am a Dr. Who newbie (I mean... I could watch all the episodes of 10, 11 & 12 in order on Netflix, but life keeps getting in my way) - I admit that with no reservations.  I am partway through 10's run (I think: I don't know how many more episodes he has), but you also can't exist on Tumblr, Twitter, or the Internet in general without knowing a whole bunch of what comes after - I literally hadn't seen an episode with Tennant in it's whole state (because I like to go in order: I can't help it) until today, even though I've been watching 12's new episodes ever since I fell into the Whovian trap (about a year ago?). 

Lemme just say this, to people who say that 11 is their doctor: I am definitely understanding your love.

So watching The Day of The Doctor today, live, with all the other internet peoples abuzz (although some of my favorite Whovians have given up cable! and couldn't watch live! which made me wish that you could share cable via Internet, I was so sad) - It was an experience.  Tumblr was on the case, filling me in on all the little inside things I had missed: And apparently there were quite a few of them.

(But I did get some! When that happened, I nearly threw myself a party - I definitely felt like Captain America, that's for sure :

For anybody who couldn't watch & wanted to: I hope you get to see it ASAP, and that you are avoiding all other places on the Internets until then. (Why you would be here, I can't imagine, but let's just go with it.)

For anybody who has not fallen into a Whovian hole - I am (not really) sorry that the Internet is talking about the only Doctor I don't want to murder on a regular basis.  And Sherlock. Because the BBC likes to taunt us and knows its audience.


(Side note: if Blogger's spellcheck could recognize that both Blogger and I(i)nternet are words - never mind Tumblr and Whovian, which I know is a bit of a stretch, that'd be great.)

Nine more days

I've been saving a picture (a really good picture) of Baby D to post for a day when no words will come. And every day, nearly, when I open up this window I think "Well: nope - no words today." But so far - to both my surprise and delight - I have been wrong.  Even if it's just the daily word tally (37,695, thank you very much) (although only about 1000 of those were written today) - at least I think of something.

So, hopefully I'll make it through the next nine days without running out of brain cells capable of creating words, and then you'll have a picture of the Dashman as your December 1st reward, for sticking through this whole month (especially all the world count updates).  Or, if you're like me, you'll have about 7,000 blogs in your feed to sort through that day, and you'll be really glad that there aren't any more words to read.

Every single time

I swear to god ... I don't know why I bother with doctor's appointments, really.  Every time I leave with a plan, or a set of actions that I think are coming next, and then the test results come in and... nope! Let's do something completely different.

Talked to Zack today... apparently my Holter monitor did not go well.  I  thought I did super well - I did r e l a x i n g things that day so as not to screw with the bp too much - I rocked the new baby for hours! I... had tea and cookies and chats.  I also apparently had multiple "concerning episodes".  That "did not match up with your reported activities."  Well... duh. 

But... what's 'concerning', exactly, Zach?  "Oh, well you threw a lot of PVCs - 275 in less than a couple of hours"  Now, you may not know it, but PVCs in and of themselves aren't that huge of a deal, always - most everybody has some irregular heartbeat type things every now and then! (I did not know that ~ did you?) But.."that's kind of a lot of them, especially if you weren't ... exercising or something."  Insert loooong hilarious laugh at the idea that I could be exercising, and then, take a moment to think about what could happen if I tried to exercise, which is what I have been telling people for years: My heart feels like it will literally explode, because that is how it feels when I try to stand up, or sit down, or move at all. Except - Hey, look at this; these number say that if rocking a baby and drinking (decaffeinated, btw) tea is causing your heart to race and you to have palpitations, probably exercising would not be wise right now.

Color me shocked.

So I have to go get that looked at 'more in depth', which he did not explain  - Zach is very good at saying things like that and then leaving it to his nurse to call me three days later with an appointment booked and I'll be like "but... what's this for?" and she'll say "Didn't he tell you he wanted you to see the XYZologist?" "No, no he did not."

PLUS, in other awesome (read: unawesome) news, my Rheumatoid "pattern" has "completely reversed itself." Literally, from one blood test to the next - something about which proteins are elevated, the big ones or the little ones, blah blah something I don't know... But what he says next is "So you know how Dr. House is always saying it's not Lupus?"

 "And you've always told me it's not Lupus?"

 "Right; It might be Lupus."

"Or..."

 "Probably, more like lupus AND you know, whatever else is already wrong with you"

 "Zack I do not like these answers."

 "Well, it could also be Rheumatoid Arthritis, because that titer or panel" (honestly, at this point all my notes are just arrows and question marks) "is high as well." 

"Zack, how does that sound better?"

  "No, it doesn't, but... you should definitely see an infectious Rheumatologist."

"Why are there even such things as infectious rheumatologists?"

  "Because of people like you."

(And I swear I can hear him smiling, which, even though I love him, makes me kind of want to kill him.)

"So... which of these should I be the most worried about right now?" I ask him, before he can scurry off to another patient or phone call or the fifty million things he can seem to do at one time.

"Let's just say that if the rheumys can't see you in the next 2 weeks, call me back and I'll try to convince them otherwise."

He talks a little bit more about drugs and anemia (I need to take iron, and that might be contributing to the POTS, which could be adding to the stupid PVCs thing) and then gave me doctors to call and blah blah blah.  BUT we never even talked about my thyroid which was the reason I went to the goddamn appointment in the first place.

So now I'm going to have to call him back and ask him about that, too.  Only I don't even want to know, at this point.  Just sent me the test results with a big SNAFU stamp across the top (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up) - I'll be happy with that.


I do not understand bodies. Or doctors. Or life.

Food stuffs (but not the fun kind)

 I tried making gluten free practice pies for the first time today -

Other people in my family are trying to go gluten free for their health; I am following along because, at this point, I really have no idea what causes anything in my body, and the food in my house is the food I am going to eat.

I have done gluten free before, so I'm not holding out a ton of hope - I have, in fact, gone everything free - literally, for a time I was almost hospitalized because everything I ate caused a reaction. One summer I lived on Gatorade and Saltines. Another, while I was supposedly 'clearing' my allergies with a very sketchy acupuncturist, I lived on fruit and french fries, because I was apparently allergic to every other food in creation. I've been allergy tested for everything - but my test results - as always - come back in some form of completely screwy "I can't decipher this" gobbledygook that the allergist generally just throw up their hands and say "I'm not really sure what to tell you to avoid, because ... well... you have to eat food." Whatever; I'm used to it.  I can only say that the reason I started drinking bottled water in college was that the allergist said to me - "You are so allergic to so many things, I wouldn't be surprised if unfiltered water was causing half of your problems." I don't know if it was or not (obviously not because I have developed 65,000 other problems since then), but I still drink bottled water.  Tap tastes funny.

Anyways, the point of this post was supposed to be about making GF-pie crust for the first time, and how, really, pie crust is my baking nemesis in the first place - It's so... temperamental. And the butter has to be chilled and the real rolling pin is too heavy* and why can't the crust be as easy as the filling!!! Also: note to GF-companies: you start producing some of that ready made pie crust and you might as well be printing cash come Christmas, I promise you. Because pie crust is hard, man.

I made two mini-pies, one for here, one for my sister's house, just to see how they came out... I'm going to try it in a few minutes, but it's not as pretty as normal crust (not quite as golden colored or flaky, somehow).  As long as it doesn't taste like sand, I'm going to go with it. 

If you guys are GF and want to share some of your favorite recipes, please, feel free.  And if you're not, that's ok too, I'll take them (my brother is so not going to go for this, so I'm going to have to stick to some of the regulars).

Also, I did not know that turkeys could have gluten in them - that is very strange and makes my brain hurt.  Apparently, they can inject gluten-y substances into the birds for... flavor? I don't know; looking at it made my brain go, whaaa? Just a little something I learned today that I'm passing on to you.

(Insert The More You Know star and ding here)


*Spoonie tip - I use a pretend-play rolling pin now; It used to belong to the kid's playdough/pretend kitchen sets, but it is the right size and weight for me, so now it's mine.

Let's see if you can decipher this bit:

Sometimes it's really hard to write things because you are so busy not writing other things. It's like the things you are specifically not writing take up so much space in your brain there is no room for any other words to be created, let alone come out.

And other times, all the stuff you are busy not writing shuts its big fat mouth long enough for you to carve out the two thousand words you needed to reach today's goal.

Luckily, I chose to NaNoWriMo this morning, when paragraph two was an option.

Unfortunately, I am trying to write this post this evening, when my only option seems to be paragraph A.

So all you get is some blather about stuff I can't/don't want/know how to talk about, and a note that I previously today have written well (Honestly, it's a historical dream sequence and so far I like it better than the entire rest of the novel. So, come December I might decide that my actual book takes place in Boston circa the fall of 1918, just in time for the Spanish Flu pandemic. But for right now, that's just my ghosts' back story. Yes: ghosts is supposed to be plural, because, better than halfway through the month I have suddenly decided that there wasn't enough peril in my plot and added a bad ghost to antagonize the good ghost and her friends. Don't even ask me. I think my brain is rebelling. The story is never going to end.)

OK, I'm going to go now, that I ... just said a lot of things and didn't say other things.  Happy Monday, everybody.  Less than two weeks to go here. 

Left the house again today

and, while I was out, took two text messages from two different sisters; both of them expressed surprised that I was actually out of the house.  "What is this???" one sister said; the other simply wondered where I was.  Both of them got over their confusion quickly when I told them I was at the library, however.  Even though I was there for an unusual reason - to meet up with a NaNo writing group  - our local chapter had an intermission today; I played Apples to Apples with some very nice strangers, some of whom were still in high school & made me feel very old because they didn't know who Eddie Murphy was, but other than that, it was a lovely time. I put my raffle winning prowess to good use*, watched a bit of Stranger Than Fiction, when it wasn't skipping in the library's DVD player, posed for a group picture (blech) and then wandered the stacks a while until Mom swung back to pick me up.

All in all, a pretty good day, even if I didn't get terribly far NaNo-word count wise.  I met the goal and all, but after such a rock star day yesterday, it was kind of a let down.

Oh well,

 There's always tomorrow.








*Have I not mentioned my raffle winning prowess? I am good at winning things you have to put your name on the back of a ticket for, particularly if you then have to put that ticket into a bucket. It has not extended into lottery winning, unfortunately, but I have won all sorts of things over the years; turkeys, a china doll, a picnic basket, various edible goodies, a basket full of books once, and a whole bunch of rather random things I can't recall right now.  Tonight's haul included a NaNo poster, NaNoBoston stickers, cookies and a travel mug.

Today was

our local NaNo chapter's writing marathon (technically, it still is) - the Boston chapter travels all over Boston/Cambridge/Medford area and writes at all sorts of different places - they even camp out somewhere (this year a church basement, I think) and type the night away: I had hoped to hook up with them tonight at the Starbucks in Harvard Square, but it was not to be.

Which is not to say it was a completely wasted day - I did, in fact, NaNo my fingers off, completing just under 5000 actual words (you know, the ones that wind up in the story), 2 hours of research, and a pretty good outline of where the rest of the book is going.  Except for how it ends, of course.  I mean, I know that it does end, I'm just not 100% sure how I get from where I'm at to where it needs to be (and I highly doubt that I will be able to do that in the remaining 19,995 words, but that's another story). 

So yes: Yay!  Novel is mostly plotted - I've done some course correction, I think I have ways to fill in the plot holes, and I know where I want to end up, eventually. I just have to write the rest of the words to get me (or, rather, my characters) from here to there.

I actually took some time today and worked out some character backgrounds, fleshed them out a little, even though it wasn't stuff I could include in my word count, or stuff that will make it into the writing - I found that knowing them a little bit better on paper (because I already had the beginnings of most of these ideas somewhere in my brain) really helped me focus and speed through.  Hence the 1 hour, almost 2 thousand words with which I am closing out my day.

So, I'm disappointed I didn't get to play with the rest of the Boston WriMos, but I'm going to try again tomorrow - they're meeting at the Boston Public Library for an 'intermission' - a little movie and some games and chit chat and things to clear your head space as we hit the final two weeks.  I'm hoping, now that I've got some scenes in mind and a broad sketch of where to wind up, they won't be that hard on me.

I know for some people, it's hard at this point to keep the momentum coming, but last year week 2 was my toughest - sloughing through all the rough and random edges of a story, trying to figure out how all the scenes should cram together to create some sort of puzzle, gnawing off the pieces that don't fit, and hoping you didn't lose anything too important. I'm hoping that I just cleared that difficult mess of my plate, and the rest will be "oh yeah, I know what needs to go here," or "Clearly I am a genius, because this is the best story ever!!"

Neither of those things are anywhere close to the reality of what will be happening in the next 14 days, but just having the numbers - both days on the calendar and word count numbers - on my side makes me feel good.  So when I am pulling my hair out next Wednesday (because Wednesday is pie-day, and I hope to be finished by then hahahahahahaha), you can all remind me how I said the worst was probably over, and I promise not to curse at you too much.

Of course, as previously discussed, my cursing is currently at Scooby Doo levels, so you have nothing to worry about either way.