Being a House

I'm writing a story for the ghost anthology. And I was going to do somewhere in the UK, but then a realized I would (once again), have to make obscure references to things people may not have heard of.

So I chickened out and wrote about a place in St Louis. And I gave it to some people to read, and they thought it was good, but ordinary. We moved on, and were talking about someone else's story, and odd POV. I had one of those 'on the verge of a realization' moments.

It took about a day before I got to thinking that I could probably shift the POV of the story, to that of the house. Which blows existing tension out of the water, but means I can put it somewhere else.

I started writing it. Turns out haunted houses are Borg-like entities. Now I have to think about how the system works.

Why does fiction always come down to system? I'm having much the same problem with The Road to Hell.

Perhaps I should become a power gamer for a while...

NB

You have to be word-shaped to resemble remarks. You may, however, resent them.

Now it is said, I can go on with my day.

It's been a long time...

So I'm starting with saying sorry. Sorry I haven't posted/logged into Yahoo IM/written you a letter/called you/responded to pigeon post (even with the original pigeon). I could give excuses, but instead I will try and catch up.

I'm still here. Still running Clayton Farmers Market, still working for CLB (exciting new marketing scheme of my devising currently being implemented), still teaching, still writing, still gaming. I'm also now working for Brilliant Antiques (I know, I know - fixing the website is on the job description). I've also been asked to take on the new Wildwood Farmers Market. Last year six jobs was to many jobs, I keep repeating this to myself.

Teabringer's relatives left on Monday (this is an appeal to the Scottish contingent to let me know they are home...I'll try to remember to return the pigeon, or the e-mail, which would be quicker). We had a great time, including an unexpectedly fantastic trip to the aircraft museum. It comes highly recommended. We also went to the Lemp mansion, which is going to provide perfect fodder for the ghost story I'm in the midst of considering. It finally found a structure today. Writing is scheduled for tomorrow and Friday, if other things don't come up.

Mostly, however, posting today was inspired by this lovely lady's thought, in the same vein as Post Secret, but more localized. She has a wider readership than me, so I figure anonymity is more guaranteed, but I can't help but wonder how much speculation amongst acquaintances it's going to create. It looks as though one person may be getting help from it though, so the good done deserves a great deal of praise. Thought provoking idea. To post or not to post, that is the question.

Which reminds me, if you haven't been to Shakespeare in the park, go. You don't have long. It's awesome.

Maybe something less scattered next time.

Still Standing

So I realized last week that I had less out than I've had out all year. The trickle of rejections hadn't really registered as work coming in. So the last week has been spent sending shorts out again.

That and, well, starting another novel.

It's probably a bad idea. I mean, I have one not sold, one not finished an another outlined, but I have this thing in my head...it's why we write, isn't it?

It may be horror. In my head, it's hearkening back to the classics I read as a child. I don't know if I can pull that off, let alone if I can pull it off in contemporary publishing. But I know it needs to come out and be on a page.

I also have a new short story. I was going to have another go at "A Shattered Tear", because the lone image I have is beautiful, and fascinating. I know there is more to it than I had at the beginning of the year. This was my first shot:

A Shattered Tear

The roses were the last of the summer garden, saved from the first frost, given a life extension: one more week. Perhaps they would have chosen to be killed by the swift, cold hand of winter rather than Emily's warm caress. But she prolonged their slow decline into sweet-scented oblivion, avoiding the thorns with ease. Red blood on white flowers would fit her mood, but the roses were yellow and the thought of her own blood repulsed her. So she arranged the vase with practiced ease and pictured the stained flower as she worked.

A single drop of water fell from her eye. Colored lights played through it for the briefest moment before it shattered on the white tiles. Emily looked at the dead tear among the rose petals and longed for the numbness to return. He did this to her. Or she had done it to herself. Or they had done it together. Emily had been so sure that this longing was far behind her. This was never supposed to happen - she had promised herself she would be rational. Sublime. Independent. She rested the palms of her hands on the tiles, finding solace in their cool solidity.

A ghost of herself was reflected in the vase. She thought she looked pretty when she was out of focus. In her mind, he stood behind her. She hoped that a wish would have him there, at her side. In a moment the sweet smell of roses could be his clean sharp scent, a dropped petal the soft skin of cheek. The glint of the dead tear changed to the rare flash of his smile.

Emily remembered him in all his intensity. His need to care for her, to protect her. His need to do small things to please her. And he did please her, more than any man she had known, more than she had let any other man. By now he should have rejected her for being obnoxious or too ferocious in her independence. But he liked her, this man she called friend and thought of as lover.

Vase full, Emily started to clear the flower remnants, crushing petals together in her hand, relishing the moment of destruction. She tried to be a creative soul, but suspected that for every small thing she created she destroyed something else. Emily feared unintentional destruction more than anything. The end of the unknown, the death of a tear.

This man, he was worth the risk of destruction, he was even worth self destruction. Emily surprised herself with that thought, but that was what she was risking. And that was what she feared. Destroying herself before she had time to bloom, before the moment when the light would shine through the tear and let the colors shine.

And this was my second, or the start of the second:

Yellow roses scattered the kitchen. The last of the summer filled the house with the scent of decay. The grey outside the window tainted the petals with a deathly hue. It would freeze tonight.

Claire’s tears shattered on the tile, creating diamond fragments. She watched as they hardened, enclosing their continuously refracting rainbows. Despite the beauty, more tears fell. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, aware as she did it that much-needed money was being absorbed back into her skin. But Claire didn’t want to cry today. It was her time, her place.

The world became a distant place. Claire removed herself from the room, focusing on a petal, a yellow oval with a drop of moisture pulling it towards the tile. Her emotions dulled as the petal bent and the droplet fell from the petal, spraying the tears with a layer of water, softening their hard edges. She gathered the hardened tears and put them in her purse

So I think the second is more my genre, but the first more in style. I'll play with it later.

The one I'm writing until I work out what's going on is Science Fiction. I have to give a nod to Ann and Hesperia and Glory. She inspired the seed for the next bout of insanity. A man this time, and science fiction. It was a reminder that I don't have to be reliable, even if it is hard.

Electric Velocipede asked to see something else of mine. I'm going to bite the bullet and send them something I think is risky. Because you never know.

Kittens

Small problem, outlined below. Suggestions welcome.

Teabringer found some kittens under the back deck (again). He's a soft touch, and they had the cogged eyes Odin's kittens had, and we had ointment left, so he made them see.

I think he was the first thing two of them saw. He called me while I was out, and told me they were at the back door, scratching and yowling for him. They wouldn't go back to their mother. They are horribly underweight and underdeveloped. One still needs hand fed.

I built them a temporary pen in the basement for tonight. Tim is down there with them now. Odin and Loki are happier now the kittens aren't scratching the back door, and Tim is happier not to have a house full of upset cats. However, this is not a long term solution.

This can't continue. The kittens are cute (they are, after all, kittens). One black, one black and white and one a mix of beautiful browns and oranges. If you would like an almost weened kitten, call me tonight or tomorrow morning. Otherwise they go to the humane society. Unless someone has a better plan.

Turns out the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train coming the other way

So I've been quite stressed. I think most of you caught that, but I'm actually winding down a bunch of things now, and I'm feeling much better about the world in general. I even had my ten o'clock appointment cancel this afternoon, so I can sleep in a little tomorrow.

The market has gone well in general. Two more Saturdays left. Despite the minor hiccup that was last Saturday, I think I did everything I could as well as I could do it. There are bigger and better plans for next year; I'm already in meetings to arrange them.

CLB is still offering an interesting opportunity. I'm going to go and play with some stuff on Thursday and see if I can make it tick. They won't want too much extra work yet, but I want to have the research lined up anyway.

The Triangle - otherwise known as the job I love to hate, has a meeting on Thursday. In the words of my Vegetable Journalist Friend, I believe I need to fire myself. It's a waste of my time and their money. I'm getting an interim report finished along with media, customer and member databases, as well as a projected marketing plan to take them through January. I can't do any more than that. The Jaguar event was exactly as I feared it would be: lots of people, very few customers. They can't keep spending funds on things like that. I hate the waste.

I crave fiction - both writing and reading. It's beginning to return to me, and I feel like it's spring for my mind. I often feel that way in the fall, but I'm so looking forward to time next month. I have short stories to go back into circulation, a novel to finish, Belinda to re-send, and a new comic project to start. Draws Stuff and I are going to be busy and having fun with this one. No pages in which we will be shutting our eyes as we complete them. Black's Magic is still at three potential homes. I think B is down to one now (I suspect the mail never got there). I had two articles in Uptown this month and they even looked quite pretty.

Meanwhile, I have been absorbing myself in game - probably a little too much. V is on the up and up, but my true joy at the moment is the brokenness of my Ashes Ghoul. She seems to drift into my thoughts the same way Simon did back when I started Black's Magic. I suspect I could write some awesome fiction with her, but I don't think it would be too publishable, given it's dependency on the WW universe. Maybe something to read for WUTA on a quiet night.

Fencing was great. I need to get back to that too.

My Student won an award at the Literacy Round table Banquet. I'm proud of both of them. The both Aced their tests, and are testing out higher than I had placed them after a year. That means their progress is more than a grade level in the year. I hope they stick at it. Classes are tomorrow.

There was some discussion about "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime" at the dinner. Apparently is was bought for all the high school students in U City and is causing a lot of controversy. It has profanity in it (which I had totally forgotten about), and apparently some of the teachers don't believe the students can relate to it. I am throughly confused. This is one of the best books I have read, it allows issues to be brought up that are usually avoided in a classroom environment. It's a quick and easy read, so no trouble for the slower students, it has challenging concepts for the brightest of them. I'll be going in to talk to one of the board members about it tomorrow. Hopefully he has read it now, and will stand more of a chance of seeing the other side of the coin. But perhaps the current novel is skewing me away from those who wish to protect their children as long as they can.

A Scattered Update

Because it is time.

First a thank you to all of you who remembered my birthday. For the first time this year I felt like I wasn't stuck in the far, far away. I had a great lunch with Anarky (this has become tradition), and the Viderick whisked me off in a car (which will be a Cadillac in my memories) to see friends and to drink Real Beer (TM) in Springfield. I felt very happy and spoiled.
I also have two articles in Uptown magazine in the next issue. This pleases me as I haven't had anything in print for a while. It isn't good for much more than clips, but it makes me happy. I needed something to make me feel like a writer, rather than general dogsbody, again. (WUTA will get chocolate on Tuesday).
There will be a Jaguar show in Clayton next Saturday, from 10-4. I'll be running it. I don't know how many people will show up, but I am trying to build a street team, so if you're interested in earning $100 for being only slightly evil, call me. Incidentally, I believe this will be my last gig with them. I can't make this organization work. It's a waste of my time and their money.
The market will be running an extra four weeks, and I'll be on Fox 2 on the 12th of October to do some publicity. I'm not sure how much exposure Friday lunchtime talk get you, but we need something.
On a very sad note, Lillian died last night. I buried her under the Magnolia tree. Her and Bertie kept me company for many long hours when I first arrived here, and I'm very sad to see her go. As is Bertie. He's been calling for her all day.
I spent most of the day trying to get everything in order. I have had two more job offers that I want to consider, but while the Triangle is still going, I hardly have time to breathe. I need to re-organize my whole life, not just my calender and paperwork. What I really want to do is get back to writing. I have a few projects burning and no time or inclination when I am done with the day.
Ashes is Awesome. Ask someone.