Jasper in January is the title of the next book I plan to release in my year in romance series. I've written the first three chapters, but keep getting distracted. Curse you ADHD! That said, I attended my second writer's group locally. This time a different city, and I found a group I actually liked. This is a big deal. I don't always gel with others. Mainly because I'm an introvert trying to pretend I'm extroverted. We went over some characterization sketches. Using a police sketch to describe the outside of our character. We're doing the inner work next time. So far I've got a 24-year-old female, over five feet tall with a sharp nose, and an oval face. She's got no visible scars, has a fringe bang, with long dark hair with blonde highlighting. She has one tattoo of a goalie helmet, number 35. She's also got some priors for rioting during the Stanley Cup, which I didn't know until yesterday, and it cracked me up because I can envision it so clearly. The priors will not go over well, because the character is about to be investigated for a murder she didn't commit. She has no previous medical history but will have one after she's had a hole ripped in her best outfit. I also sold another book, yay me. Sales have been slower than molasses in January. I haven't sunk any cash into advertising but my husband thinks I've lost my marbles because I want to. Poor man. Surprised he didn't realize I'd lost them 15 years ago. Around the same time I married him. Anyhow, this book isn't going to write itself so I'd best get back to it. I'll throw it up for you all to have a look at, since I'm sure it will have the snot edited out of it.
I have been missing in action from the site for several months. I turfed my science fiction writing for a book that flew off my fingers in a relatively short time. I got this cock-eyed idea to write a romance book. I had an outline kind of flesh itself out in my mind, and then for Nanowrimo, I sat down and pantsed it out. After that, it was a god awful mess, which needed a developmental edit and rewrite of epic proportions. Then it went through the copy line edit phase and then I punched through the remainder of my fear and self loathing to march that dang thing straight over to Kindle Direct Publishing and slap that sucker up as of 5:32 p.m. July 12, 2021. So, yesterday basically. I am beyond jazzed, and I swear to God, and on my mother's grave, I will NEVER disparage another romance author ever again. It turned out to be a billionaire romance, with not so much smut, but enough smut I'd probably pink a few cheeks of a few elderly women. I am beyond tickled, and I'm going to be more regular again on the site now, as I continue to hammer out the rest of the 11 books I've chained myself to. Seeing how there are 11 other standalone books I've promised my readers. https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B0998BSD6N/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0
Recently I was discussing the topic of diodes with a friend. One might wonder about such scintillating conversation, but I quite enjoy the dialogue because I never know how it will invigorate my thinking process. This seemingly inconsequential discussion prompted me to pull out an educational arch-nemesis. My Digital Systems textbook. A tome of torture if ever there were one. Calculations like spells, cast upon paper, derivations of devilry meant to arrive at mathematical feats that some people’s brains should never aspire to, mine in particular. Thankfully this post has little to do with digital systems and more about the fact that I discovered or perhaps rediscovered the manifesto spoken of above. I don’t recall putting it in the book, but the tenets found within the forty-three points rung a little more authentic for me today than in 2012, or whenever it was that I put it in the book for later use. I have to wonder about the timing of finding this but was quite amused to read point 18. Considering I’m writing this post at around 3 a.m. Stay up late. Strange things happen when you’ve gone too far; been up too long, worked too hard, and you’re separated from the rest of the world. I ended up deciding that as part of my growth process I needed to actually hit the publish button on things. I have 20 drafts saved in my WordPress ‘Save Draft’ folder, and I have three children’s books, one historical fiction/clean romance, and three SF books that need to see the light of day. I also started a vlog. Me. A vlog.
Prompt: It’s a beautiful day. While out for a walk, you come across a small child, playing in the mud, naked and alone. When it sees you, it starts to glow. I stoop, removing my coat to cover the child. “Who in their right mind lets their kid out to play in the mud naked?” I mutter something unkind about irresponsible parents. She looks up at me, surprised I can’t perceive the glow that surrounds us both now. “Hey little miss, where’s your Mom?” “You’re my Mommy.” I kind of laugh it off, I’m a mid-forties woman, who has no need for children and I’m certainly not taking on someone else’s responsibility. “Sweetie, I’m not your Mom. Do you remember where you live?” “I live with you.” I’m starting to get a bit perturbed now. I’ve never really liked kids, and this one is no exception. “Just a minute.” I get out my ancient but effective cell phone and dial in our local emergency number. “9-1-1, What is your emergency?” “Um. I’m not sure it's exactly an emergency, but I found this lost kid.” I say as I’m looking at the ruddy face of this kid. “She appears to be maybe eight? “Hey, kid, how old are you?” “I’m seven.” “She says she’s seven.” I answer a few more questions about the child and then hang up. There’s no immediate danger, Child Protective Services and the Police are on their way. “You realize they’re just gonna put me in a home, where I don’t know anyone, right?” I was kind of surprised that a seven year old would have this perception, but given the circumstances, I didn’t think much of it. I stood there shivering, my bare arms bumpy now from the cold wind that has stirred up the tiny hairs on the back of my arms. At least I think it’s the wind. “Well, honey, you don’t know that. They should try to find your parents, I’d imagine.” “My parents are dead.” I’m a little shocked at this, unnerved too, and I laugh uneasily. “Hey, now, I thought you said I was your Mom.” “Yes, and you’re dead too. You just don’t know it.”
Sometimes when I speak with others about past events, I find that I have minimized the impact or the seriousness of the events I’ve passed through. Almost like I feel they aren’t even that important or that they haven’t shaped the entire course of my life. I wonder why that is. It reminds me of something Dr. David Burns once discussed on his Ted talk. Where he was counselling a woman, and she was so depressed because she felt as though she had accomplished nothing in her short time on the planet. Yet, in truth, she had raised a family, successfully completed a couple of doctorates and yet here she was at the point of being suicidal. Now, I’m not suicidal, nor do I struggle with depression, but I think it may be a good reminder to myself that when I get stuck in a bit of a rut, my success rate for getting out of that rut is 100%. I probably have more to say on this, but for now, I’m just going to leave it as is.
I was engaging with the Facebook group that is connected to the virtual writing group I belong to, and they were speaking about composing sonnets. One of the writers mentioned that she composted, and had tried to write one about it. I told her that I had composed this for her. The ode itself accurately describes my experience with composting, and what happened to the contents of the composting bin when I moved a couple of years later. I took it round to the bushes and threw it on the ground so that the compost could actually have a chance at really degrading. I realize this makes me a horrible person, and I'm completely okay with it. An ode to composting, biodegradables galore It sat in my green bin, I was unsure what to do, How am I to support the ecosystem with just one tiny bin or two, Yet try I must as the advertising around here, is making not composting a veritable sin, Eager to absolve myself, I threw my coffee grounds in, I packed in my shells, I even threw orange rinds in a hope to improve the smell, As the days went by, I didn’t notice much change, Save for the fact that the orange rinds were much smaller again, And a tiny mouse had made off with the bits of carrot I had left behind, Perhaps he was much better than I was at things of this kind, My efforts though meager, the little compost bin forgot as I had worse things pressing on the mind, I really couldn’t give a s--t, the earth is much better at doing this, and if I just throw it on the ground it’ll do it in time.
Billboard Screaming about rights When people are being drug from their homes in the middle of the night Billboard Advertising a youth elixir and a model too thin While a child is sold into slavery again Billboard Screams about rights We’re all humans capiche Let’s get it right
When I listen to this piece of music, my mind mentally writes lyrics to it. Today began like any other day, The sun rose, the sun set, The beauty of the sky was just the same, And then you came. Just for you, the sun and stars all shine brighter, Just for you, the moon made the seas roar. And I loved you from afar, lines of text and hours spent, Still retaining so much in my heart of hearts, so much to say. So instead I look at this distance, and my heart breaks in two, And I know that it is irrational to think that we could be anything more, And so I close the door and stop myself from loving you. But it doesn't stop my heart from beating so fast, nor does it make the tears stop falling. So today I grieve, just for you. And I hope and pray that our paths should never meet again. For I don't know that I could be strong. I hope and pray, for there is far too much at stake, and I am not sure I could turn away. So today, I grieve. Just for you. Even though you may love me too. I'm sure there's a refrain, and a chorus in here somewhere. Maybe it will come to me later.
As part of my writer's group, we are sometimes prompted with pictures. I find that the visual stimulation tends to evoke random, but sometimes very pleasant results. In this instance, the photo reminded me of the Cree and Blackfoot Heritage that my son and my grandchildren possess. The person though I had in mind when I wrote this was a young man clad in prairie grouse regalia that I saw dance at a Friendship dance my grandchildren and I attended in Edmonton, Alberta. Sun and Sunshine are the Cree names given to my granddaughters by the elders of the Louis Bull tribe, on their naming day July 25, 2017. Writing prompt: https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large-5/on-sacred-ground-series-4-ricardo-chavez-mendez.jpg A silhouette of a man, whirling rapidly in coloured plume and brilliant regalia was accompanied by the thrum of voice and drum. The high keening wail of the drummers joined in to add to the already loud wail that had arisen from the crowd. The steady beat, of the four male elders on the drums, and their voices added to the power that was being called forth in the room. ‘Great spirit, hear my prayer with favour.’ He danced for his brother, who had graduated from high school that year and had such a promising future ahead of him. Little Eagle held his head high, an eye casting out to the sea of faces. Some of which were familiar some were not. He danced for the revitalization of his culture, and for the bringing forth of the language of his people. Onward he danced. His passion evident in the pounding footwork, and the flying fringe of the leather and beadwork that covered his body. His steps sure and purposeful. His intensity could be seen in his eyes, eyes as piercing as the eagle he was named for. Nose, as sharp and curved as the beak of that same regal bird. He was a sight to behold, but like the bird of his name day, he only lived to fly and was unconcerned with his appearance. His brethren and he, danced onward, the intensity and passion of the movements increasing as the tones of the male singers followed an ancient pattern, a call to movement, a call to restore what was lost. He saw his gangly little brother, Spotted Brown Eagle dancing ahead of him and he smiled and danced harder. It had been a hard summer that year on the reserve. There were many incidences of gang violence, far too many young lives lost to the senseless stupidity of boys playing at being thugs. It had been an even harder winter previously, as they struggled to keep warm in housing that had intended to shelter them, but had fallen to disrepair to a degree. His Kookum’s cough still lingered after such a long bout of pneumonia. He danced too for her. She had taken him in, a small lad, with just a fluff of hair when his parents had all but left him on her doorstep. What he lacked in parental support, his grandmother made up in such large ways. He had always known how privileged he was in ways other children in similar circumstances were not. He danced, remembering the smell of the hot bread coming out of her stove, his smile and sparkling eyes found her in the crowd. Her craggy face, her hair pulled forward in two braids, braided with beaver pelt strips, and circular beaded discs. She had brought him to his first pow wow, and she had first danced with him on the dirt of the floor over twenty five summers ago. Her eyes sparkled back at him, and she gestured with her lips for him to stop gawking at her and get his eyes back on the dance at hand. Laughing, he whirled and dipped, intricately stepping in and out, mimicking the prairie grouse in its mating dance across the barren prairies. He saw his little cousins though in the crowd, and he made sure to turn the back plumage of the regalia to them, he knew they would laugh for days, as he shook and strutted. He was rewarded with an audible exclamation of ‘Wahstaghts!’ from his auntie who saw to the cousins. The cousins, Sun and Sunshine laughed and laughed. Till one nearly fell over the other. He whirled again and again, his heart now matching the drumming, his feet matching the rhythm of both his heart and the music and his soul reached out to the great spirit in joy and his prayers were heard in the most favorable of ways.
August 1, 2019 Character exploration [08:14] CerebralEcstasy: Am not a mouthy piece of work. [08:22] Shaz (writergal): Stop bothering me and allow me to work. [08:24] CerebralEcstasy: stares at shaz [08:25] Shaz (writergal): Must you?! Really? [08:26] CerebralEcstasy: I am bored. [08:26] Shaz (writergal): Are you even capable of being bored? You're programmed to be useful. Go be useful. [08:27] CerebralEcstasy: You're the one who called me here. I was powering up in my quarters. [08:28] Shaz (writergal): Haven't you got a system to fix? Some swords to buy? You know I detest that white suit. Makes you look like a bloody stormtrooper. [08:28] CerebralEcstasy: *offended look* You know damn well I can hit anything I shoot at. [08:29] Shaz (writergal): Well I haven't seen you in the shooting range of late. Perhaps your systems need a recalibration. [08:30] CerebralEcstasy: My systems are fully functional. I do NOT require any messing about in my circuitry thank you very much. [08:31] Shaz (writergal): I see. Have you been working on that sarcasm logarithm? You still suck at it. [08:32] CerebralEcstasy: I'd rather live by dry wit. Sarcasm is the ale of the feeble minded. [08:32] Shaz (writergal): Seems you've had a cup or two then this morning eh Tinhead? [08:33] CerebralEcstasy: You're quite free with that word tinhead. You realize robots have rights too right? [08:33] Shaz (writergal): Yes, the right to be dismantled and used for spare parts. [08:33] CerebralEcstasy: Pfft. [08:34] Shaz (writergal): Now piss off and let me work. [08:34] CerebralEcstasy: I fail to see how urinating on or off is relevant. [08:35] Shaz (writergal): For God's sake Maya. Shut the hell up! [08:37] CerebralEcstasy: Ponders being quiet. [08:38] CerebralEcstasy: Is now a good time to ask about the existential meaning of life? [08:38] Shaz (writergal): I am going to SPACE YOU Maya. Out the airlock on Deck 8. [08:39] CerebralEcstasy: I probably wouldn't be bored then.... [08:39] Shaz (writergal): Reaches for plasma rifle... [08:39] CerebralEcstasy: Now, now lets not be hasty. I think I saw something in the docking bay that needed my attention. [08:39] Shaz (writergal): very well, see to it then. [08:39] CerebralEcstasy: On my way Captain.
I recently purchased a years subscription to a battery of Masterclasses. One of the classes includes instruction by Col. Hadfield, Canadian Astronaut. Whose list of achievements includes installing the Canadarm2 in 2001, Chief of Robotics, CapCom, NASA’s operation in Russia, to piloting a Russian Soyuz. The first Canadian commander of the International Space Station (ISS), to name but a few. He also does not too bad of a cover of 'Space Oddity'. In some sense, when one sits down to write, I think they take on the challenge of becoming knowledgeable in many areas. They fact check meticulously, or at least they should. It was in this spirit that I thought, what better way to learn more about what I'm attempting to write about. What better way to write better about space, than by learning more about space exploration from the lips of someone who had actually been there. I've always adored Col. Chris Hadfield, I loved the way he showcased his particular personality and the quirky way he would interact with the Earth, while he was on the International Space Station. So immediately, even though I am attempting to focus on writing, my first Masterclass was his. I wouldn't have had it any other way. He's a compelling storyteller, and he has an engaging way of expressing how he felt about what he was doing. More resoundingly, I find that his expertise in what he's speaking about is just that. Expert level experience. His explanations are simplistic in nature but meaty enough for those who would like to do more digging. In one of the forums related to the class, it asks the question 'Would you go to Mars?' I think anyone who has ever looked up at the night sky and dreamed of walking on the moon would likely jump at the chance. At least until they got around to thinking of the logistics and practicality of such a journey. I appreciated Col. Hadfield's breakdown of the necessary qualities of those who went to the ISS or to even be an astronaut. He spoke of the value of having a calm level head, under difficult circumstances. He spoke of personalities and leadership styles. He spoke of the way that an individual must learn to be more of a generalist in the sense of what they know, rather than just one specific area of focus. Yet, each comes with their own particular strengths/skill. As he continued to speak, I thought 'I’m listening to these inspiring words about 30 years too late.' While the younger me used to dream of becoming a doctor, she also dreamed of becoming an astronaut. The inability to do mathematics though swayed my decision to not pursue that course. It wasn't until I was in my late 20's that I realized I could actually be successful in math. I needed to approach it differently and have an instructor who could cycle through a number of different ways of teaching it. Mine tended to connect points but skipped steps. The easiest way I can explain it; if we were counting from 1 to 4, I would go from 1 to 4, but I couldn't tell you how I got there. This became apparent to me in some of the later mathematics and physics classes I took. I'd often stay behind and I remember one particular incident where another student and I were listening as the instructor explained a rather complex equation to us. Within moments of him finishing, I exclaimed 'Oh! I get it', and I started to explain the equation we were using to my fellow student. The Prof confirmed 'Yes, that's correct, but he's not there yet. He needs to make different steps in understanding than you do.' I had always believed my brain was incapable of doing the math, yet not only was it doing it was also doing some of the more complex math found in theoretical physics. He floored me even further with the statement 'S, if you could get your math together, I think I could be looking at the next Nobel Prize winner in theoretical physics. I've never seen anyone make the leaps in understanding you do.' Whether he was sincere or not, I don't really know. However, it did encourage me to keep trying. So if you happen to read this, and you think you can't do the math, or coursework that requires some heavy math that's a lie. You need a different teacher. Not saying that the teacher you have isn't fabulous, they may just not be able to put complex subjects into a language that you personally can understand. I found my professor at a local university. Long hair, carpenters jeans and he looked a whole lot like Jesus. I also had a private snicker about that, because I had figured it would require someone who could practically walk on water when it came to teaching me math. So while I've somewhat deviated from the original question, I wanted to encourage those who may look at this, read the question and think 'I'd love to be an astronaut, I'd love to go to Mars, but I can't do the math.' Let me repeat for emphasis, find someone who can teach you the subjects you are struggling with. In returning to the topic at hand, Col. Hadfield thinks that those who will populate Mars are currently in school. I tend to agree with him. The ones who will go there will be our children and perhaps even our grandchildren. So while I would have loved to have gone, I'll leave those goals to the younger generation and do my best to support those curious little minds the best I can.
Sometimes when I write, I'll find pictures that prompt me to start thinking up storylines. When I saw the picture above, one of the main characters in my story came into existence. I haven't yet developed him to the depth of character that he is, but I am enjoying exploring what he might sound like in the character chat thread. At this point, I'm not exactly certain if he's friend or foe, I just know that he has an insatiable thirst for hunting, and acts as a leader among his pack hunting buddies. He also seems to have a destiny that is intertwined with the other characters. Sort of like a medieval quest that he and the others must complete, but they're set in a futuristic world. The plot has just begun to introduce all of these key players to each other and there seem to be eight core participants. I created a mock-up of a book cover and chose a publisher I had read many great books from. Tor is also a publisher that I will end up sending this particular story to. I feel by creating this cover, I am making it a reality. In some way, it reminds me of a quote from 'The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People' by Steven Covey and another reminder from 'Fierce On The Page' by Sage Cohen. Mr. Covey's instruction tells us to 'begin with the end in mind'. So while my novel isn't quite yet finished, and requires a lot of rework I am living as if, writing as if it already were complete. Ms. Cohen's instruction indicates that when we live as if, and write as if, this plunks us directly into the future state we intend to inhabit, and once we've visited there, we have a far greater chance of ending up there. A self-fulfilling prophecy if you will. The prediction which causes itself to come true due to the positive feedback between belief and behaviour. With this in mind, I'm going to put to page what short term goal I have set for myself. To solidify the behavioural piece in this prophecy. By the end of summer 2019, I will have a complete manuscript which is ready to be sent out to publishers. The timeline is ambitious, but if I stop fiddling with things that aren't writing I'm certain the timeline is achievable. How will I work at accomplishing this? I have to revisit the planning board. I'll be doing this via paper, and possibly through cartooning of some sort. I have also been taking each character and subjecting them to a battery of situations and seeing how they react. Additionally, each of the characters who have come together has his or her own backstory. As I wrote, I experienced a splitting of the works and needed to parse off certain sections in order to not muddy the current plot. Yet, each of these tangents away are still relevant. It was at this point I realized that my current novel would be part of a set. I suspect a trilogy, but I could surprise even myself. Each book will focus on one of the main characters, and their interactions with the others. Their titles: Aphelion Delta, Nebulae Sky and Dahm War. While Aphelion Delta is currently the most complete of the three, the other two are also beginning to take shape. Dahm War is a much darker book already than the other two. I am not certain why yet, but its tone is distinctly different. I commit to creating the best story I can without reverting to cliched tropes, and not deviating away from what science fiction really is. Plausible science, surrounded by fiction. I also commit to fact-checking for scientific accuracy. There is nothing worse than reading something dubbed as sci-fi and they've got basic science doing something improbable.
Some of the writing/detail is a bit of a repeat. I am continuing to write here, but am also migrating my writing to a more public blog. I wasn’t quite sure what to write here, but I wanted to diarize some of the details behind my novel ‘Aphelion Delta’. The book itself started with an idea about a mission to Proxima b in the Alpha Centauri quadrant. I had every intention of writing hard sci-fi, but I found myself floundering to keep the story afloat. The flame of inspiration which had burned so brightly began to flicker and fade. It was at that point I decided I was going to ditch reality in favor of a more loosely written piece. What came after was gloriously ridiculous, full of catchy one-liners, and a tonne of silly cliches. While no longer part of the novel, my favorite one-liner from that draft is this: ‘We’re so gonna get our friendly Canadian asses kicked.’ I will leave that with you. At one time I thought it pure gold, yet as my eye has become more practiced, I see it for what it is. Garbage. While that version of my story was certainly fun it still wasn’t exactly what I was after. Despite my literary infractions, I had a very clear vision of what sort of a book I wanted to write and for what purpose. I wanted my reader to share an experience with me, one that would leave them feeling as I had after having read sections of Ben Bova’s, ‘Mars‘. With this purpose in mind, I got serious. I began writing daily, I joined some local writers groups and kept scouring the internet for instruction I could use. I kept writing and editing until it was ‘good’. There were times I’d revisit what I had written and I would vacillate between ‘My god, I don’t even remember writing that.’ ‘Have I developed a split personality and he/she/it has decided to write the book?’ to ‘I wrote this and I don’t actually hate it!’ My all-time personal favorite thought though was a note I wrote in the margin after a particularly heady sex scene. ‘Get rid of all the hard sex, sci-fi book not erotica or letters to Penthouse…‘ Ironically enough, I still think those steamy excerpts are the best part of my writing. I’ve just left them out. I know where they should be, but the tension, frustration, and love I felt in writing these scenes spill out nicely into the dialogue without actually having to be present. I also struggled with the thought of what it might look like for a human woman to have relations with a fully functional android. Many times sci-fi shows men engaging in relations with sex-bots, I wanted to explore the implications and thoughts of a woman who got it on with a walking and talking version of a battery operated boyfriend. That research left me asking ‘Are we as a society ready to discuss these morally grey areas?’ I shelved that idea and didn’t bother looking for further input, because I wanted what I wrote to be solely mine. I’ll probably revisit it later when I’m closer to publication. The afterglow of good writing mentioned a couple of paragraphs above lasted until I threw my baby to the beta wolves (authors/readers/forum folk/family). I’d sincerely like to thank Korbyn Blake https://www.korbynblake.com/ and Matthew Howard https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-Howard/ for their efforts to help me become a better writer and for their constructive beta reads. Through their invaluable and extremely thorough feedback, I became keenly aware of my inability to string sentences together to create both good dialogue and tension. I also received feedback on sentences that were incredibly long. Looks like I haven’t quite killed that little writing faux pas yet have I? Through this forum devoted to the mechanics of writing, I discovered I knew nothing about writing. I mean how difficult could this all be, right? I’ve read a considerable amount of science fiction, fantasy, romance, and historical fiction. I still continue to do so. It should be second nature for this sort of a story to flow out of me. Right? Yeah, big surprise there. It doesn’t happen that way. There are outlines, plot building, world building and this is just the tip of the proverbial Titanic-sized iceberg that almost sank my little foray into the literary world. Not only did I discover that I needed to do a lot of learning, but I also discovered that other writers were actually putting a lot more effort into this whole writing business than I was. I began to let the evil entity of self-doubt permeate my thoughts. ‘If these authors and their publications aren’t getting the recognition they deserve what makes me think mine will?‘ It was at that point, I started looking at why I was writing. Sure, I wanted to share an experience. What else though would drive me on when the clouds of doubt began looming? I decided to delve a bit further into that reasoning as a back burner project, simply allowing it to stew in the back of my mind and onward I went. As part of my world building exercises, I started looking for ways to create worlds virtually. I initially hoped I could then use them to prompt ideas for writing. It was this search which led to my finding a VR platform called Second Life. Initially, I had little appreciation for the site as a whole and had actually deleted my viewer and washed my hands of it. It was by some stroke of fortune, I hadn’t uninstalled the program properly and after a couple of days off, I logged back in. In a moment of world-building desperation, I decided to switch my search parameters to include artwork, hoping that I may come across someone who had created science-related artwork that might drum up some semblance of thought. Instead, I stumbled upon a digital art gallery named Fractal Insanity which took my breath away. While completely unrelated to world-building, it provided the inspiration for the colour changing artwork I wrote of in Matthias’ ready room. More importantly, it changed my opinion that Second Life was a waste of my time and proved that it was more than it originally seemed. I then began searching alien planets and began hopping through a number of different ‘worlds’ or ‘sims’ as they’re called within SL. I found more of the inspiration I was looking for, and the luminescent foliage of SL became embedded in my written world. More to come…
Mother's Day is a bittersweet event in my household. It's littered with grief, anger, sorrow, disgust, and all those emotions that I would much rather just not feel. I had a fabulous Mom. Lost her to a heart attack when she was 42. I was 24. Days like today, I miss her like crazy. I'd always buy her fake flowers, it was a running joke. As I raise my Grandchildren, and I watch their Mother talk about how much she misses her kids on Facebook, the rage sets in. If you miss them so much CHANGE YOUR BEHAVIOUR. Do what you must to make it happen. Let the pain of losing them propel you to become a better person for them, for yourself. I feel cheated sometimes. Yes, I chose to raise them, but I have done my part, in raising my own children and I did my part well. Regardless of the choices they later made. However, because of their Mother's selfishness, and my son's absolute idiocy I am left to clean up their mess once more, otherwise the children are the ones to suffer. It is something I accept and am grateful to be able to do, but I am also human and am allowing myself to be angry. Days like today I can't help but feel out and out like smacking them both upside the head and saying 'If I at the ripe age of 15 could decide to raise you, and do it well, then you at 30 can certainly shoulder this load.' Instead, I'll just write about it, let the grandchildren call their Mom and smile and pretend its all okay.
On May 22, 2010, I married the man I had waited 5 years for. It was agony waiting, and I nearly gave up on him. I was full of uncertainty at that point, thinking that if he didn't know me by now then he was never going to know me. We've hit some dark days in our relationship, and yet we've always come out stronger for it. I was reminded today by a program on Netflix what a couple with a good relationship looks like. They smile, they laugh, they play, they support each other. I realize I've been failing in several of these things. Reminders are important because they instruct us to not give up the truth for a lie.