So today is the first day of my long weekend. (to be followed next week by the longer weekend, wed. to sun.) This is what passes for a vacation around here. Now, if it weren't for car repairs and some lingering medical bills, I might have been able to go somewhere for my vacation.

[aside: I don't have to worry about fixing the Toyota anymore. I now own a '98 Saturn, with only 50k or so miles on it. But the repair bills on the old Toyota? still with us.]

Even if I could just sneak down to Savannah or maybe up to Annapolis that'd be cool. Heck, I had an offer-- a guys weekend out with the old college crowd, catching a Braves away game in Philly, to be preceeded, followed, and accompanied by heavy drinking, with a side trip out to Atlantic City to give our money to professional poker players and blackjack dealers.

Yeah. would-have-beens. Instead, I owe $100 to my roommate, and am spending yet another day off just sitting in the coffeehouse. Mmmm, tastes like vacation.

Still, bad for me is good for you, right? You get to read about my suffering-- which the hit logs have proven is vastly more entertaining to the masses than my usual output-- and there's that suffering-is-good-for-art theory, which likely isn't true but is part of the whole artiste mythology-- and if I'm not at work playing the name-that-tune game with customers, obviously I have more time to write.

I've accumulated quite a few links since the last real web trawl, which shouldn't be surprising-- so I'll need to get those up before all the links are stale.

Project #2: I left Mitch passed out in the hospital. Now, having my characters mad at me is nothing new, but I should maybe get that story really going at some point. (it's only 4 months late) The Prof likely has something to say at this point, too.

And the old-new story has been on the back burner so long that all the old ideas have burned away to carbon. Trey? Yeah, he's my main character. The last time I wrote "chapter one" at the top of a sheet of paper, he was 27 and...

ah, but that story is coming, too. One of these years. I knew a little bit about his past history, but I thought he might prefer to tell it himself. So we pick up the story here...

Amphital: a fantasy novel project
-- first -- previous -- next --


�That deck is a lot bigger than the sort they use at The Three Sheets or The Jackline,� Trey said.

�So young and yet already familiar with the goings-on inside of taverns?� Jesca laughed. �Yes, child, this is a different sort of deck.� She picked up the cards, and then fanned them out across the table in front of her, face up. �You may recognise some of the designs. The decks all have a common source, though as different peoples met and mingled across this world, the cards have changed. New stories and legends are always being told and retold; over time a story may become a card, or inspire one. The common deck has grown, and each Reader draws what they need from that wellspring. No one would use all the cards, though perhaps my deck is more complete than most�

Without looking down, she picked up a card seeming at random, and placed it in the center of the table in front of Trey. �You will not find a deck quite like this one anywhere, child,� she said. �These were painted by my late husband, the paper used was made by my own father, and the pigments were selected and ground by myself. Every Reader will eventually become attuned to his deck, though these... are very close to my heart.�

Trey looked down at the presented card. The Lady, known in the usual card games as the Lady Luck. This card was different though, the Lady was presented seated on a simple throne, of ivory or painted wood, with a slim septer in one hand and a slip of paper, or perhaps a card? in the other. A plain silver circlet capped the streaming hair, a shining jewel or star at the brow. The card was quite lifelike, Trey thought, and almost seemed to move as he looked at it. The face of the Lady was suddenly very familiar. Trey looked at his hostess.

Jesca smiled. �Yes, child, that is me. Though perhaps my dear husband took a few liberties on this one design.� She placed the card back in the deck. �The card is not myself, though. A card will have many different meanings, depending on which cards support or oppose it in a reading, and on the nature of both question and Seeker.

�In the past you have seen a Player's Deck, which has perhaps 5 dozen cards, or what is called the King's Deck, where more trumps have been added. Some consider this to be a bit dangerous, inviting a touch of magic and risk to the game.� She picked up the cards and began to shuffle them. �If there is magic, it is to be found in the players, not the cards. But few gamblers would know that.�

Again she set the cards in the center of the table, but this time Jesca took Trey's hands and held them with hers on top of the deck. �I am attuned to my cards,� she said, �and for this reading you will be also, briefly. Now close your eyes and breathe the way I've taught you.�

Trey closed his eyes and again took in a long breath, letting it out slowly. And again. But the warmth of Lady Rowan's hands on his were at the top of his mind, and he started to blush.

�Perhaps that is enough, child� Jesca said. When Trey opened his eyes he saw a bemused smile on her face, like she knew what he was thinking. But is was still another long moment before Jesca removed her hands, and again took up the cards.

�You have seen five, perhaps six of the seven Suits, and their Ranks. These are common to the player's decks. And you have seen one type of Trump, Personae like the Lady. There are other symbols and markers in my deck, which will be new to you. My deck is indeed special, for my dear husband illustrated each card, even the simple ordinates in each suit.�

Trey had a slightly puzzled look on his face. Jesca again gently laughed. �But perhaps that is too much to go into, for just today's reading. Let's take a look at a few of the cards together.�

The first card up was The Ace of Flames. Trey saw what Lady Rowan had meant, for there was a full painting on the card, like many of the trumps. A single stylized candle flame would have been enough for the cards he was used to, and while this card was similarly marked in one corner, the rest of the card showed sparks flying in darkness, as if a flint were struck on steel. �Ah, the first card of the first suit. As good a beginning as any. The Spark shows potential. Many of the Aces are representations of a start or an origin.�

Trey was intent on the card in front of him. �Aces are origins,� he parroted, and nodded like he understood. He stared as if the painting were about to come to life, to light the table on fire. Again, Jesca laughed lightly and motioned him to sit back in his chair. �Breathe, Trey. And be calm. These are not spells, child, there is nothing to fear. We look into the cards for guidance, like a sailor might consult the stars. Nothing more.�

Next drawn was the Sixth of Stone. Trey had not known the card had a meaning, except as part of a winning run or set in games, but he saw that again the card was illustrated. A loose pile of stones surrounded a short pole carved with runes. �This is a burial marker, a cairn, though of course it might not mean death. Still... child, have you known recent loss?�

The meaning of the card slowly sunk into Trey. He looked away, but he answered her question. �A month ago. My mother, and younger brother.� Trey did not face her, but Jesca thought he might be about to cry, perhaps holding back so as not to appear weak in front of her.

Jesca set down the deck. �This is perhaps not the problem you came to me with, though we may be able to see to this as well.� She touched his arm as before, lightly, and waited for Trey to once again face her. �Will you talk to me of this, child?�

Trey considered. His eyes seemed to search Jesca's face for an answer. Eventually, he nodded.

Jesca rang the small silver bell. �I have time this afternoon, luckily, and this reading will take time.� Rosyl's head peeked in from the curtain that divided the reading room from the rest of the shop. �Rosyl, the tea will be ready soon, I think,� Jesca said.

�Yes, ma'am�

�And join us for a cup, won't you? I think we can close our shop for the rest of the day.�

Rosyl smiled, but still asked �Are you sure, Lady?�

�Yes, Rosyl, a few hours won't matter much. And I don't expect any of our regular customers until early evening.�

�Yes, ma'am. I'll be right in with the tea�

-- next --

nothing says "day off" quite like beer for breakfast
[*chsk*]

Past experience should tell you that any question that starts with "Who?" and involves beer, will likely involve me some point.

So. exercise. this is a follow up to this post, and let me cover some stuff that works, and some stuff that doesn't.

At some point late last May, I sprained my ankle. Or broke it. Whatever, the sucker hasn't worked the same way since. Since then I've tried a number of amelioritives, mostly I've stayed off it and gained weight. Yeah. Sucks.

I'm serious about getting back into a physical regimen.

(I'll wait for the laughter to die down) Now, my first effort failed. Not because of a failure of will, or anything, but rather, a lack of good equipment. I have to brace my ankle to do anything more strenuous that walking.

The first brace I bought didn't do shit. I re-injured the ankle. Neoprene? great for wetsuits and whatnot. Braces? Might as well be a tube sock.

So what works? Old fashioned athletic tape.

Yep. There's a reason it's been used for a half-dozen decades or so. If you know how to use it the stuff really, really does work. (a clarification on the instructions from the linked site: the 'heel locks' they refer to-- take a strip about 30 inches long, start on the back of the heel, go around outside of the foot, go underneath, then over the top, then around the leg; and then repeat with a second strip from the heel to the inside of the foot-- under, over, and around. Heck, you'll figure it out. The key is to use a single strip to go over all the others.)

This is going to represent an investment, over time, because athletic tape runs about 10¢ a linear foot. And an ankle wrap takes about 16 feet. (at that, it's cheaper than my daily Starbucks...)

Still and all, it really works. And eventually I'll either pull out all of my leg hair, or get used to the near-daily defoliation.

[*yahnk* "yeeaooouch! dude!" "could be worse, dude" "how?" "3 and a half feet further up that leg..." "stop!"]

Amphital: a fantasy novel project
-- first -- previous -- next --


Tea was a quiet affair, since the young man did not feel like talking yet, and Rosyl was pleased but still uncomfortable to be drinking tea with company. The cards sat in the middle of the plain oak table, though covered now with a large square of silk cloth. The tea kettle and a plate of biscuits sat safely out of the way on the sideboard; one of the first things Rosyl learned from her mistress was a respect for the cards.

Jesca smiled to herself, but did not talk. She took these moments to study Trey. Trey, for his part, was silent and sitting with his head down while only occasionally sipping at his tea, but perhaps out of politeness more than anything else. He had a lot on his mind, Jesca could tell, since the churning emotions seemed to play across his face like waves on a choppy sea.

Jesca poured herself a second cup, and reached for a small biscuit from the offered platter. �Thank you, Rosyl. Won't you take one as well, child?�

Trey shook his head without looking up. �No, Lady, thank you,� he barely mumbled.

Jesca waited a long moment, several slow heartbeats.

�At least your mother taught you to be polite,� she finally said, �and what else did she teach you?�

Trey winced. He looked up, his eyes both pleading and angry as his gaze met hers. Tears stood at the corners of his eyes. �Lady, I don't...� The words were strangled as the young man struggled with grief, memories, and how to speak what lay so heavy on his heart and mind. �Can't.� Trey shook his head strongly. From his face he seemed about to speak, but no words came.

He hung his again, again silent. Suddenly an animal-like growl came from him and he pounded the table with his fist. He was close to sobbing now, but Trey still tried to reign in his emotions. He lowered his head to the table, cradling it in his hands as he tried desperately not to cry.

Rosyl was decidedly more uncomfortable now. She quietly got up and sketched a quick curtsey, and left. Jesca acknowledged her with a nod, but did she not look away from Trey for a single moment.

Finally, Trey looked up from the table, his eyes once more pleading as he finally met her cool gaze. �Lady?� This last last came out as a question.

Jesca stood, and began clearing the cups and napkins to the sideboard. As she worked, she spoke. �Child, the cards are a good tool, but are not necessary. My herbs and what some around here call my 'potions', those can help as well. But I have helped most of my clients just by providing a ready ear. My regular patrons, perhaps they buy the herbal teas and medicines each week because they think it helps, but more often then not it is our weekly chats over tea that ease their minds and souls.�

When she was done with the table, she did not return to her chair. Instead, she knelt next to Trey, and put her arms around his shoulders. �Now, child. Cry. There is no need to carry this all by yourself.�

And Trey buried his head on her shoulder and cried.

##

�A month, no, now six weeks past. From fever, my mum and little Alben, who was only six� It had taken Trey more than an hour to speak, finally, and a fresh pot of tea. �We were all real sick, the family and the weavers, and the 'prentices and even the neighbours, but it was only...� He choked a bit. �They were the only two who died.�

Jesca handed Trey a napkin, which he took but placed in his lap, instead wiping away fresh tears with the back of his hand. �I miss them, but Father, he seems so,� Trey searched for a word, �hard. Cold. He gets angry when anyone mentions them. He even had all their clothes locked up in trunks, and their rooms cleared. To him, it's like they'd never lived.�

�Losing a beloved wife is a great loss, child. It breaks many men. I'm sure your Father is grieving in his own way,� Jesca said.

Trey shrugged. �I don't know.� He picked up his cup, discovered it empty. Still, he held it absent-mindedly rather than ask for more.

�Were you happy at home, before they died?� Jesca asked.

Again Trey shrugged. �Even before that, my Father was a hard man. But he has a lot of responsibility. He wanted me to take over the shop and the trade, but I was not his first choice. He would rather have one of my older sisters run things, but both are now married and live in other cities.�

�He's always telling me that he hates leaving the shop to me. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. He used to have me beaten, when he thought I failed. He would never raise a hand against me himself, but my lessons have been hard ones, Lady.�

�I loved Mum, and little Alben. Even though,� Trey's brow furrowed. He had not given voice to this thought before, �Even though nothing I did would ever be enough for that man, I would have stayed for their sake.�

�So this is the crossroads you find yourself upon,� Jesca said. �And so perhaps, let us return to the cards.�

The tea service was cleared away a second time, and Jesca removed the silk that covered the cards in the middle of the table.

�A typical spread is five cards, though there are many Readers and at least as many ways to arrange the cards. Some use more, some use less, and many rely on a pattern to hang meanings on. A simple reading is best, in my mind, though not as clear. Five cards, in order, each colouring the meaning of the others.� She picked up the deck and held it in her left hand. With her right, she moved the two face-up cards across the table and presented them in front of Trey.

�The first card represents the seeker, or the problem, or the sought object, or many things. It depends on the Seeker, and the question. You might think of it as a Focus. Here, we have the Ace of Flames, a card of origin and potential. You stand at the cusp of something, child.�

�The second card is one of division, or change, or a decision point. The cairn, the Sixth of Stone, seems to have a clear meaning for us today.� She touched Trey's arm to bring his attention up from the tabletop, and waited until he again looked her the eye before continuing. �And I thank you, for sharing with me. It is your trust in me that may enable me to help you today.�

Trey blushed, and quickly looked down to the cards at the table.

Jesca smiled. �And that brings us to a third card,� she said. �The Coins. An odd symbol, at this point.�
Trey examined the card. It wasn't marked with number or suit, and so had to be one of the trumps. But all the trump cards he had seen used in tavern games had a person on them, and were often numbered. This card had an odd symbol in the corner rather than a number: a cross inside a circle, or perhaps a four-spoked wheel. Trey hadn't seen it before. The depiction on the card was simple enough: Two coins, that might have been Imperial designs though he did not recognise the profiles depicted. One was of silver, the other slightly overlapped the first and seemed to be gold, though the gold was flaking on one edge. Gold leaf over lead? Trey couldn't tell.

�The third card can be a barrier, or an opponent, or an unseen obstacle. In this case, the Coins may represent a debt.� Jesca held a hand over the card and closed her eyes, but quickly shook her head. �I can get nothing further from it. So, let's continue.�

Jesca took a moment, touching each card lightly in turn, before pulling another card and placing it next to the others on the table.

�The Fifth of Wood. The Arrow.� The card actually showed five arrows, bound in a loose bundle with a red cord. The arrows had feathered flights but lacked proper heads; the tips were plain wood, though sharpened and fire hardened. �The fourth card is an action to be taken, or a decision, or a way to overcome the obstacles spelled out earlier. In this case, perhaps it should be remembered that an arrow once loosed can not be recalled.�

Trey looked puzzled. He almost asked Jesca a question, but she saw the look on his face and spoke first. �I told you, child, the cards have guidance, but not answers. Let's take a look at the final card before we try to read the whole meaning. The fifth card of a drawing is not an answer, or the only possible outcome, or the future. It is a way to tie the other four together.�

She repeated the odd procedure of touching each card in turn, before adding the last one to the spread. �The Raven. The Steward of Wind.� Trey had wondered how the Ranks of each suit in the Lady Rowan's deck might differ from those he had seen in other's. Rather then the generic Lords and Ladies, this one depicted the black bird in flight, about to alight on a limb.

�My Ranks are different,� Jesca explained. �Instead of men and women, the Ranks here are animals and forces of nature, each from the element on the Suit. A Guide, a Steward, and a Lord. The Lord of Winds, to use this suit as our example, is the Eagle. I think that better for readings than the typical usage, which changes depending on ruling princes, and from town to town. Though flags and simple figures are easier for most artists to draw, and often say something about current politics. Tell me, down at the Three Sheets, who is on the Wind cards.�

�I don't remember the Knight or Lady, ma'am, though the Lord is the Prince of Halys,� Trey said.

�Interesting that they should choose the Grey Prince, rather than the rulers of Cathon or Gracene,� she said. �Hm. I don't know if that is a comment on our city, or just the patrons of the Three Sheets. Perhaps I should play at cards there sometime soon. But my point is that the temporal rulers depicted on cards has little to do with the meaning of the card in a reading such as this.�

Jesca looked down. �A Spark. A Cairn. The Coins. An Arrow. And the Raven.� She closed her eyes, and took in deep breath, much the way she had taught Trey just hours earlier. �I think the potential in the first card is a potential to be found in you. The second card seems plain now also. The fourth and fifth card both involve flight, but the third...�

She paused, then asked, �What is your father's trade, child?�

Trey was startled and the sudden change in subject, but answered quickly enough. �Wool and cloth. We trade in both, and have a small shop with our own weavers, and deal with others both in town and out.�

�You were taught the business? Weaving?� Jesca asked.

�Some, when I was younger. Since, I've been taught my letters and ciphers, how to read and write and figure,� Trey said.

�So. Not just an honest trade, but commerce, and money. It would be a comfortable life, child. And still you would leave it, if you could?�

Trey nodded. He seemed determined.

�You owe your father two debts, it seems to me,� Jesca said. �And one very nearly cancels out the other, oddly enough. You could leave now, with few hard feelings. But learning is a great gift, and will take you far. This is the greater debt, and you should pay your father back for it.�

Jesca took more than a few minutes to get paper and pen, and to write three short letters. She did not tell Trey what she was doing, so he was left to sit across from her at the large table, and to take in the five cards still arranged there. Shortly, though, she finished sealing the last letter with a dollop of blue wax, and her seal.

�Since you can read child, it makes this task a bit easier. Take each letter to the person it is addressed to. And see me again before you leave town.� She stood and left by the curtained doorway that led to the back of her shop, without saying goodbye. Trey sat for several minutes before finally standing to pick up the three letters, just as Rosyl entered to finally clear the remains of the tea from the sideboard. She curtsied, but said nothing.

Trey thought, Leave town? Yes... but where, and when, and how?

Trey was at least as lost as he had been when he entered the shop. But now at least, with these letters, he had a mission. He wouldn't break any of the seals, but he hoped that the people who received these letters would be able to tell him something of what was in them, and what the letter had to do with his questions.

[to be continued]

So I get to the end of what might be called a chapter, and I realize that while I like bits, and hate bits, and want to rewrite bits (which is the norm) most of what I wrote is OK enough.

The stakes need to higher, though. Right now my MC (main character-- you might want to remember that abbreviation, I'll be using it again) has something to do, & he maybe has reasons to go do it, but I don't get his motivation.

And if I don't get it, ain't no way it's going to come through on the page.

So we introduce another plot line. Actually, I should have started out with it. It's called a hook, meant to draw you in from page one. I'm upping the stakes. Life-and-death sort of thing.

If I were writing this just in neat little text files for my hard drive, I'd likely just set aside this Nth attempt, and start over. (I have done that a lot) But online documents, like web pages or even little insignificant blogs like this one, are dynamic.

And I'm really, really glad I set up the 'previous' and 'next' links. I can start over, write it today (pro'ly tomorrow) and post it to the blog as the new beginning, and then just a link at the end to what will now be chapter two. Unless you take a close look at the date&time bit above the title, you'd never know that I'm writing out of sequence.

Movies get made this way. You film depending on setting, and availablity, and a whole lot of other crap, and then string it together in proper order later. (American Graffiti is one exception I know about; scenes were filmed by the script, in strict order, and Lucas ran his actors pretty ragged because by the end of the 'night' he didn't want them to act tired, he wanted them to be tired. One of those creative-directorly thingys he used to be known for)

A quick gloss of a re-write to make sure things fall in line, and I should be able to start 'chapter 3' this weekend.

Sunday [sic] Morning [sic] Web Trawl #11
tagline: the absolute best links, aged three months for flavor!

It has been at least three months. Actually, It's been since last year (1 Dec 2005). I had to go back and check because I forgot which number trawl I'm on.

And so, on with the expired links!

##

First up, something that combines humor with relevance and civil disobediance. or obedience, in this case: Local GSU students making a point about the disconnect between de jure and de facto with A meditation on the speed limit, from "The Five Year Plan". They did this right around the corner (do interstate highways have corners?) from my apartment; I, for one, am glad I missed being part of it.

##

From the Beeb:

Save the planet just by changing all the light bulbs in your house.

Katrina was a wake up call, and while efforts to rebuild & strengthen the levees are commendable, we may just be hitting the snooze button. New Orleans may be the first of our coastal cities to face extinction.

From our 'Duh' dept.: Internet serves as 'social glue'

Now I'm no lawyer, or a heartless business exec, but if the Fed told me to list nutritional information for my food somewhere, as a practical man I'd would have put it right on the wrappers to begin with. Maybe McD's figures after Super Size Me they really can't fool us anymore. (and via metafilter, even more Supersized Meals.)

Telegrams. Stop.

But on the other hand, if he says that's his valid signature, who can argue with 'god'?

From the 'Bad Idea' dept.: Fertility drug use booms in China

But what kind of Giant Robot does it transform into? And will it be enough to save us from the evil Alien Invaders? Japan sends satellite into orbit.

More from the world of SCIENCE!
Changing the mad scientist sterotype
Scientists make 'slimming' potato
No word yet on whether scientists also found 'grues' in the dark
One more thing that'll kill me
Risk-taking, oddly, may make us live longer
...so we should pro'ly bump the definition of 'old' upward 20 years or so.
...and even more SCIENCE! (via Yahoo news this time): Space: even bigger than you thought.

Also via Yahoo!
[edit: well, a lot of these yahoo links are dead. Damn you Yahoo! I'll see if I can fix that...]

They should also trick them out with hydraulics and ground effects: NYPD Adds Dodge Muscle Car to Its Fleet

Funny what some people learn in college
... then again, Barley is good for you.

another hot release from our 'Duh' dept.: Amsterdam's 'No Toking' signs are being stolen.

Of interest, if only because this means there's one more good reason for me to relocate to Boston:
Big Dig winding down to a close

No word yet on whether this means a menu change is coming at Nathan's

##

And before I get to the Boing (because past history has proven that of course I'm going to link to the Boing) I thought I'd try to give you a little proof that I do, in fact, read more than BoingBoing and web comics:

via Salon: The losing generation. (a pay site, but just watch the ad for a free day pass)

From KnightRidder Newspapers, off of their Real Cities Network: Lies, Damn lies, and statistics: a hidden story behind drunk driving

Here's a real Gem from Twitch: Nacho Libre! Sure to win many many awards next year. And for the Best Foreign Film award, who can resist this new Bollywood Classic.

I lost the click trail on this one, so I can't cite sources, but here's the pirate treasure found under the X at the end of that trail: More and more mashups, Bootie presents the best of Bootie 2005,
direct, and also here

Via the the Times: Some facts on Parliament; only goes to show that governing is thirsty work

& More Beer. (like the Boing, y'all knew this was coming.)
the Dell's drinking my beer, yo
The Worst Beers In The World from RateBeer.com
growabrain: Beverages - Beer Archives
Beer Pong
wear your beer with pride, off of Elsewares. They have all the cool stuff.
Beer fixes everything that ails you.

& my other addiction (though, I don't smoke ciggies, just pipe tobacco): Genetic differences help explain cigarette addiction, from the NewScientist

& my other other addiction: death by caffeine. (.8% of the way there so far today!) (via BoingBoing)

##

And with that we've broken the seal, prepare for the flood: Also via the Boing:

The true fate of all printed words are to turn to dust; only modern means of digitization may finally fulfill the dream of those scribbling medieval monks, to save the knowledge of the ages for future generations. If the publishers will let them. And assuming the mutated rats and cockroaches that follow us after the nu-cu-lar apocalypse can figure out CD-Roms. BB article and link

Prohibition didn't work, and doesn't work; but I don't think the government (or the persistently annoying do-gooders of the world) learned that the first time. But some in law enforcement are now taking up the anti-prohibition standard. BB article and link.

How a Comic is made: BB article and the tutorial.

Hey, I could use this, I'm writing an unorginal fantasy novel! BB article and link.

I had previously linked to the GPX, a linux-based handheld. Well it looks like there's a version 2.0 coming out soon. (or even now, I guess, the link is 6 weeks old...) BB article and link.

Here's Xeni giving us the first heads-up on Songbird, a new web client based on Firefox and from one of the minds that brought us Winamp, along with a bunch of other genius codemonkeys. It's a specialized web browser for music-- not hooked into a single peer network or corporate storefront, but open to everything. Should be tre cool, but I haven't had a chance to play with it much. And I sell CDs for a living-- so I should be pissed that someone is making this easier, but I'm not because studies show folks who download more buy more.
get Songbird here, or here, or here.

SPeaking of downloading music, go try the Unsigned Band Web -- You won't be chipping away at my department's sales #s that way. That's the 'unsigned' part, btw-- no (corporate) CDs yet.

Pretty. BB & Link

Neat! BB & Link & Neato.

##

Before I roll this over and delete all the crap that's in my bookmarks (I didn't even post it all) I leave you with a short moment of web writing zen. I'm not the only one who sees the web as a path to publishing fame (relative) and fortune ("Ha!")

I hate being broke. To be more accurate I hate being broke while using my vacation time-- I mean, here I am nursing a $2 cup of coffee for a couple of hours when I should be blogging in some cozy pub while drinking lovely pints o' the black.

Eh. It is what it is, complaining doesn't change it. And I've got beer in the fridge at home, and $20 besides to see me through to next Thursday. It's just that I hate this wasted opportunity. Two long weekends, one after the other... heck, not having enough scratch for a few bar tabs is the least of it. I wish I could have gone somewhere, instead of just hanging around the house.

Of course, I should have seen it coming-- of the roughly 4.3 paychecks I get each month, two are going to be mostly tied up. (one for rent, most of the next for utilities.) I know this, and yet I never plan for it. (If I was going to do this, I should have picked the third week of the month, and a month with 5 fridays in it so I'd get the extra paycheck before the rent check's due. Well, live and learn.)

I had to use up these last few vacation days before the end of the month, and given that I'm short staffed (seems like the department is always short staffed) I couldn't take more that a couple days off each week anyway. I suppose I could have done it in one block and had like 8 days in a row off, but I decided to go in this past Mon-Tue just to make my life easier. (Who knows what my minions would get up to if left alone for a week? That and while I don't have to do the display set-ups and new releases, it's always faster and easier if I do-- I'd end up re-doing or at least tweaking the setup after the fact anyway.)

Speaking of being short staffed, what's the deal with these part-timers anyway? I remember working part time and always wanting more hours (time=money, after all) but these guys keep asking me to cut their schedules back. Hell, I work 40 hours a week at a higher hourly wage and I'm barely keeping up, what are they doing? (well, besides drinking considerably less beer, I guess.)

Well, if I'm going to get the novel written I'd better rattle off another page or six today.

While I hope to spend at least 8-10 hours each week on the novel writing bit (and that's on top of the usual blogging crap) I hope you folks realize that it may be awhile before I find the time to do this much adminstrative housekeeping again.

"so, where'd you spend you vacation?"
"oh, you know, on the blog..."

New, or at least recent:

Heard it on Radio Free Bender: (which, as a page title, may now be infringing on three separate trademarks/intellectual properties) (neat!) Want to know what album that was? Where to buy it? There's a new content page on the side bar, which will be a ongoing record of the stuff I like -- or at least, the stuff I thought was worth at least a few minutes to upload -- with links to artists' web sites and places to buy their albums.

--related are the three new tracks that I added (or put back) on RFB in the past week.
--also, the RFB link in 'call it a table of contents' now pops to a new window, a quick fix that I stole saw & then borrowed from sacrecoeur.

Blogging the Novel: which as a regular reader you already saw as a blog post just a few days ago, but much like the restaurant reviews, I feel that the info presented deserves a 'permanent' slug on the main page. And of course I'll add to the BtN page whatever future entries seem appropriate.

--related is link/tag/re-org/whatever-want-to-call-it that I did on the fiction entries, as referenced in BtN.

Actually, that may be it. Well, there is the new web trawl-- I have no idea why I signed myself up for these; even as a review-cut-paste-comment kind of deal it still takes way too long. And hell, I've been doing to same thing (to a much smaller degree) even in my regular posts. I guess I'm just trying to take advantage of some of the lovely advantages HTML has over plain text. or something. whatever. forget I mentioned it.

So what's up next?

A lot more fiction. If you don't like it, sorry, it's my blog and I'll cry if I... wait, that's not right...

Let's just speak theoretically for a moment and say one of the (possible) reasons I've been stalled on the novel project is a fear of failure. A fear of rejection. The subconcious thought that I may not be good enough.

Well, I think public exposure and humiliation may be one way to work through that. So: blogging the first draft. Moving on from

"oh my god, what if no one likes it..."

to "I don't care"

to "fook this shite, hand me a beer, would ya?"

I'm trying to change writing the novel from an activity that is so important to my future that I must do it in secret, behind closed doors, etc. etc., to just one more thing I do.

Still important. Still vital. But not something that is so almighty important that a fear of failure keeps me from the attempt. And of course, if I do fall behind, there will be at least a couple of people out there willing to call me on it, bug me about it.

I write. you read. simple dynamic. If it fails, it fails, but it's going to fail at the rate of 10 pages a week.

This past Saturday (hell, is that three days ago already?) I risked the bum ankle on a little experiment, and once more dragged my ass out to the suburbs (maybe not quite the 'burbs - a different chunk of 'urban fringe' in this case) for a lovely afternoon out with the hash (cited previously) for a real test of the ankle, my equipment, and my general fitness level.

Short version: the ankle hurts, the hash is still a bunch of great people (or complete nutjobs, depending on your point of view), a decent wrap done with sports tape will withstand even complete (repeated) submersion in water, and I am just a hack who can only kind-of-hang with the runners who form the core of the hash.

Last bit first-- the "runners" are only part of the hash. Also known as the FRBs ("front running bastard", as opposed to the DFLs -- which stands for "dead f*cking last") (and the fact that there are abbreviations for both might reflect the prevalence of each) --the hard-core running crowd, in this case, often must take a back seat to the hard-core drinking crowd. (though, there is in fact some overlap. genetic mutants. at least, that's my current theory) --Despite the nature of the activity, the hash is not a running club.

Some hashers just walk the trail. Though, in fairness, I should pro'ly note that they 'walk' like olympic marathoners walk. It's a much faster clip than I find comfortable without jogging. I can usually keep up with the dogs. (and the folks out walking their dogs on the hash trail). Usually.

The hash is open to anyone, really, who can manage to hike 5-8 miles without stopping. And that's where I clock in. I aspire to more, but...

And back to first points: the ankle hurts. I have a full range of unrestricted motion, largely without pain if I'm not putting my full weight on it, and that's the good part. Actually-- now (two full days after the fact) even if I were to dance around on it ( ...which I just did; not DDR but I did give the sucker a mini-workout) I couldn't tell you now why/what/how it hurt over the weekend.

After 5 miles, that's a different story. Ouch. I suppose I'll have to pay more attention next time. & a perfect recovery? No. (what's the name of that damn muscle... checking... all hail the internets...) I've been dealing with persistent cramps in my gastrocnemius-- which is the big ass muscle on the back of the calf. (actually, both of them, but yeah bonus points to you if you can come up with a plural for 'gastrocnemius')

I was limping on Saturday afternoon. I still hurt on Sunday. The ankle & attendant muscles were also giving me a few problems this morning, but now both seem OK. (I guess if/when I have more info on that, I'll post.)

Next point: Hashers are great. I've always been an outsider (my fault, not theirs) but even so it was only a half hour or so before folks went from "so... where... do I know that guy from?" to "Dude! where ya been? Been nine months or something, right?"

And point 3: Take it as a product endorsement if you like: I don't know if 3M tested their Nexcare products for water resistance. Not for a swimmer, say, but for the occasional idiot who is going to tape his ankle and then attempt a cross-country running course involving multiple water crossings, most involving full submersion of said injured ankle.

I couldn't say how many times I stumbled/waded across a creek this past Saturday. I lost count. (this is what hashers often call, "a good trail") But even sloshing around in wet sneakers, the ankle wrap held up. Well, it held up OK. I'm not saying it was an ideal solution. But if 3M wants to cite me as a source (with compensation [hint, hint]) then I have to say their athletic tape holds up to the worst I could find, at least for the first 5 miles.

I didn't complete the trail. I took a ride from the second beer stop to the end, shortcutting the shit out of that shit. (quoting: "I find it very hard to complain about any trail with two beer stops") Who knows how I might have felt, or what medical amelioratives I would have availed myself of, if I had chosen to run that last (all uphill, according to reports) mile.

If you are getting a very warped view of the hash from this personal report-- then Good! Dammit! The hash is warped. If you are also warped, we'd love to have you show up for a hash.

link: my home hash : link: local- atlanta&georgia : link: find your own. (via the BBC, even) (!)

Did I have an original point? Can I tie this up into a trite soundbite in the next couple of sentences?

This past Saturday I risked the bum ankle on a little experiment. Apparently, my experiments needed the active & full participation of a bunch of nutjobs and multiple pints before we could get to our 'scientific' results. I survived. I'm doing it again. And that may be as solid an endorsement of the activity as I can muster.

The scream chilled his blood.

Trey was already running late. It was only the new street lanterns the Duke had installed last year that let him work this late at all. Even so, he needed to be back before the second bell, or Master Leonir would punish him for dawdling. Again.

Even with the lanterns, it was best to keep to main streets where the shops and taverns were still open. Where there were witnesses. Whoever's screaming, I guess they forgot that, Trey thought.

Another thin scream, this time cut off early. The second cry for help was enough to allow Trey to figure out the direction, and he started off down a side street. Three alleys over, behind the potters? I think I can make it by going around the Smith Keller's shop. Trey was already moving at a trot now, loosening his belt knife and rounding the corner behind the whitesmith's workshop, when he stopped himself. But what can I do to help? I'm just a 'prentice, not a guardsman or one of the Black Kites. I can only

Another desperate scream cut off his stream of thought. He shook his head, as if to clear it of doubts, and then quickly moved to find the source. The girl. and whatever else we'll find there. he thought. He wasn't running now, but instead moving as fast as he could while remaining silent, sticking to the shadow along the back walls of the shops, and coming up short at the entry to the alley where he was sure the screams originated.

He gripped the hilt of his belt knife hard, as if to find courage there. Steeling himself like a man about to jump off a cliff, he put his head around the corner, just enough to see what was there.

He saw the limp form of a girl being dropped to the hard-packed dirt. She was dressed plainly, likely a shop girl or a perhaps one of the serving girls from a nearby tavern. Her dark hair spilled out on the ground, her limbs fell and lay at odd, uncomfortable angles. Above her stood a figure in a black cloak, any features hidden in the shadows of the half-light that spilled into the alley from the street.

Trey heard a loud voice yelling, “Murder! Murder! Call out the watch!” It took him a moment to realize that the voice was his own, and that he was charging into the alley with his knife already in hand. What in the hell am I doing? was the only thought that occurred to him, before he gained his resolve and ran even faster, hoping to take the attacker by surprise.

He barrelled into the cloaked man and managed to bowl him over. They struggled briefly in the street, when Trey felt a cold hard grip take his throat. From the way they collided, the man was no taller than he, and weighed even less, but this grip was like iron. Trey felt himself being lifted from his feet as he choked and struggled. Half formed thoughts skittered across his brain as he fought for air, and against that grasp. What kind of... is this even a man? And then he also saw that they were not alone. At the back of the alley stood five more figures, also wearing the long black cloak. Each also wore a bone white mask, the sort sometimes used in pantomime plays, the features a grotesque exaggeration of a smiling, leering face.
They stood apart from the struggle, which was just as well. Trey was already dying. He could feel himself blacking out, drowning. He fought and kicked, but the arm that held him might as well been the limb of an oak. It did not budge.

Just as he felt the last of his consciousness slip away, Trey was flying. He hit something hard, and fell to the ground. But he could breathe now. He gasped and pulled in air like a man just breaking the surface of the water. He couldn't move, he could only breathe.

He finally opened his eyes, and saw a city guardsman standing over him. “Are you alright, lad? Here now, take it easy.” With the guardsman's help, Trey finally sat up. Trey saw the knotted cord on the guardsman shoulder, a mark of some sort of rank.

Another guardsman was further in the alley, examaning the girl. “No good, Sergeant. This one's dead,” he said, as he pulled up her cloak to cover her face. Trey caught a last glimpse of that face, contorted in agony. He saw that face and heard an echo of the chilling screams. He shuddered and looked away.

The Sergeant put a comforting hand on Trey's shoulder. “There now, lad. You'll be fine. Can you talk?”

Trey managed a croak, but no words yet. “Time enough for talking later, I guess. This will be a long night,” the sergeant said. Trey could only nod.

The Sergeant quickly barked orders, “Lucan, run to the watch house, rouse the rest of the men. Maccus, you check the other end of this alley, and the adjacent streets.” Both guardsmen nodded, and quickly moved to follow the commands.

Trey could only stare at the body. He'd been too late to help.

##

”I don't see why we had to be there anyway.”
“It was part of the bargain. I also find it... distasteful. But the terms are clear.”
“Do you think the boy saw anything?”
“With these?” He gestured to the cloaks and masks now piled by the doorway. “Even if he saw us, what can he tell the Guard?”

The room was richly appointed, though perhaps a bit small for the six people crowded inside. The two men who had been talking took seats at a small table and helped themselves to the wine there. A well-dressed woman sitting by the fireplace was already sipping her wine, and turned to ask, “Well, Captain? Is this going to be a problem?”

The man in armour was leaning against the mantle. He shook his head. “There is no problem. Just a young man who will soon be,” he paused to stroke one of his long moustaches, “missing.”

One other stood in the corner, a figure who still wore the long black cloak, the hood pulled up to hide it's face. The cloaked figure stood unnaturally still. And at watch at the only window, stood a tall man with black hair and beard, both streaked with grey.

“Don't worry about the boy,” the tall man said. “I know who he is.”

-- next --

Yeah, I'll sort out the links when I catch up to where I was earlier. And I'll have to rewrite that just a touch.

But hey, new fiction. And I'm updating again, might even end up with daily updates for a while.

I used to write college papers this way, too.

I have no fear of deadlines. (this has proven to be a problem in the past) Perhaps it might be a bit more accurate to say, I don't feel the dire need to get things done. It seems like there will always be more time, or at least enough time to finish up, no matter how late the hour. I have no sense of consequences.

And with the damn novel (it being a self-initiated and completely self-motivated project) my lack of urgency is perhaps even worse, because there will be no deadline. At least, not until I get a book contract, with the associated editor, and money already advanced (and spent) and that whole set of headaches.

So I need to change my whole midset. I need to develop new writerly habits-- write daily, same time, same duration, all that jazz. One thought I had was to write before going into work, since I do seem to write better first thing in the morning. I even went so far as to set my alarm 2 hours earlier this morning.

Let me pause for a moment to highlight the main problem with this little plan. If I have to be at work at 7am (which I do a couple days a week) then two hours before I usually get up is 3:30 AM.

...

I didn't rip the alarm clock out of the wall and consign it to a future life as a collection of very small pieces of plastic, but it did take a long moment to fight down that impulse. I'm not saying that I can't get up at that ungodly hour to write. I'm not saying that I won't. I'm just saying that it will take some adjustments. Like going to bed at 10pm each night (at the very latest). Of course, some days I have to work until 11:30pm. So... well, whatever solution is out there, it's not going to be a one-size-fits-etc. sort of thing; it'll have to change day to day and week to week.

Or, I could just continue to write page after page of why I'm not writing. (hm. Could I sell that manuscript? Would anyone want to read a 280 page book of excuses?)

As a way to celebrate the Grand grand-ish (sort-of) Re-opening of the dinnerbell community blog, here is the new-and-improved version of my very first posted recipe

Steak Sammich

zero to eating in 20 minutes. maybe 30.

Shop:

From the Deli, 1½ pounds of Roast Beef.
1 onion
'Shrooms (optional)
Bell Pepper (optional)
Oil
Salt
Pepper
Soy Sauce
Steak Sauce (optional)
Tabasco (optional)
Sliced Cheese (provolone recommended, but buy what you like)
Bread (loaves of sour dough recommended, but if all you have is Wonder Bread, have at it)

Hardware: Skillet. (usually the old reliable electric model I've got)

Recommended beer: Guinness. But that's a standing recommendation. A steak sammich is blue collar, that six pack of pale yellow domestic swill will be just fine

Lab procedures:

First a note: our steak in this case is Lunchmeat.

No, really. Trust me on this. While this is a bit pricey ($8.99 a pound or thereabouts) a good cut of steak is at least as expensive. And we don't need to buy Boar's Head (or whatever the premium brand is at your grocery store)-- after we're done with it, you wouldn't be able to tell. Well, actually, I'm salivating right now thinking of this recipe made with Boar's Head (and with their provolone and swiss cheeses, and their horseradish sauce, and fresh baked sourdough from that little european bakery next to the Tech campus [*homeresque gargle*]) but in a day-to-day sort of recipe, the store brand is just fine. In fact, I usually pick up two 12oz. packages of the Publix Brand Bottom Round Roast Beef (vacuum packed, found in the case across from the deli counter)

Lunchmeat is pre-cooked, pre-seasoned, pre-sliced, and altogether too convenient *not* to use in this recipe.

Slice your onions, mushrooms (crimini AKA 'baby portabello', also available pre-sliced), and bell pepper (any colour is fine). You've eaten a cheese steak before, you know what these should look like.

You can also slice your cold cuts into smaller strips. Or don't bother, whatever. I've done it both ways-- tastes the same-- but it can be easier to serve and eat if you cut the meat into 1" wide strips.

In a skillet over medium heat (300º on my electric model) sauté your vegetables in a bit of oil (or even butter ) until they go all soft on you.

Add in the meat. Stir around a bit, and heat everything through. Salt and pepper to taste. Personally, I use a lot of black pepper. And some Tabasco. But not so much salt, because... wait. Have I told you the secret ingredient yet?

Soy sauce. This is the base for quite a few marinades. (that and a whole lot of salt) I had been buying steak, and marinading it, and all that mess... I don't know what made me switch from the butcher to the deli, and while the substitution was genius (if I do say so myself) to get that one missing flavour, well, I just added soy sauce.

If you don't happen to have a bottle in your fridge (Why not? [*taps foot impatiently*]) then you can save 8 or nine packets from your Chinese take-out. Not as good... but the flavour will be there. You may not need all your hoarded packets, add a few at a time and taste as you go-- but better to have the option to add a little more, rather than run out.

(You can also add a tablespoon of A-1 or insert-your-favourite-steak-sauce at this point in the process. I've tried it, it's good, but just as easy to let your friends/family/guests decide how to dress their own sammich. Assuming you plan on sharing...)

After you add the soy sauce, you can salt to taste. And at this point, we're done.

You know how to serve a sandwich, right? I won't go into it. This will make about 8 six inch subs. Probably more, come to think of it, a pound and a half of meat is a lot. (it's hard for me to say, since I tend to take about half a loaf of sourdough-- say, 8-10 inches-- split it, load it up with meat and cheese, nuke it for a few to get the cheese all melty, and then chow down. but that's not a typical or even healthy serving size. recommended, perhaps, but not healthy)

Big radio shuffle this morning. (while I avoid writing today; yeah, yeah... enjoy the music first, then give me a hard time about slacking on the novel.)

At least two thirds of the tracks are new. I went back to some old favorites (Redwalls, Youngblood, Afroskull) and pulled different tracks for you to listen to. I'm also giving you some deeper cuts from Ashton Allen, Down to the Bone, and Charlie Gillett's 'Sound of the World' compilation.

There are also two new artists up (Jem and J. Ralph), and I went through and cleaned out a lot of stuff that was hanging around on the radio.blog. Just getting dusty over there. Not really helping things.

First, some capsule reviews, and then the links:

I've mentioned Afroskull once or twice, but it has been a long while since I've taken the time to explicitly tell you how cool they are. So: Afroskull is so cool, I could toss it in my backpack with a six-pack to keep the beer cold.. Monster for the Masses is like the lost 70s soundtrack to a movie where Shaft, Cleopatra Jones, and James Brown have to go down to New Orleans and save the Old Ninth Ward from the ravages of Godzilla. (...you don't believe me. Well, you will when you buy the album and listen to the whole thing.)

(equal time: Youngblood Brass Band is tre cool, too, in more or less the same way.)

Jem has been described as "Dido with beats". That's an unfair comaparison, but her voice is good, she is British (Welsh, actually), and the songs do feature some damn fine beats.

And J. Ralph. He made his money doing music for commercials (you've already heard his music, you just don't know it yet). He's made so much bank, in fact, that when none of the major labels wanted to release his orchestral album, he just did it himself. Not too bad for a guy with no formal musical training.

Ashton Allen – Dewdrops
Afroskull – Monster for the Masses
Down to the Bone – Cellar Funk and Spread Love Like Wildfire
Jem – Finally Woken
J. Ralph (here are a couple of interviews, too) – his albums include The Illusionary Movements of Geraldine and Nazu, and the soundtrack to Lucky Number Slevin, available 28 March.
The Redwalls – De Nova and Universal Blues
Sigur Rós – Ágætis Byrjun and others
Sound of the World – a complilation on Wrasse records from BBC DJ Charlie Gillett
Youngblood Brass Band – Center.Level.Roar.. Currently (as of 23 March) available from bn.com though we occasionally sell out. You can also source that through Youngblood's site, or look for it here or abouts

radio free bender
more music entries and the full page of links

So I got up at 3am this morning. It took me about a week to reprogram whatever little cluster I've got in my head, the one that processes things like 'daylight' and 'sleepytime' and 'dude, go to bed already'

I might not have been so cavalier about experimenting with my sleep patterns if said patterns weren't already so fubar. But as it is, well, I guess the insomnia and the odd hours at work and the ongoing addictions to both caffeine and beer are finally paying off! Heck yeah!

I didn't get any writing done. At least not yet. Actually, it went something like this:
3:00. Alarm
(no violence)
3:01-3:20. Lying in bed under the warm covers. Didn't/couldn't fall back asleep.
3:21-3:23. Sitting up. Thinking, "Wow. Dark."
(I bet your thought processes are no more profound at this hour)
3:24-5:14. Wasting time on the internet.
5:15. Second Alarm (a backup) telling me it's time to get ready for work.
So I got ready for work.

...and I show up at work in a very uncharacteristically good mood. Whistling, even. At 6:55 AM. (I must be going nuts...)

I still feel great. And there's the outside chance that one of these mornings, I'll actually write something at that ungodly pre-dawn hour.

Some claim we are at the end of days.

(Read More)

And now let's change the subject, shall we?


Here's a follow-up to this post -- Now I'm finally getting around to some more serious study on at least one of my chosen 'classes' for this 'semester' (it's only been three months...)

(of course we can all see how [*cough*] well I'm doing on the fiction writing chunk of that promise.)

I got the books in from the website this morning:

Morton & Olenik, Japan: Its History and Culture; McGraw-Hill, New York, 2005. ISBN 0071412808

And since Modern Japan is a bit more of interest to me, the other two texts for my class will jump off from the historical reference into something a bit more modern:

Craig, ed., Japan Pop! Inside the World of Popular Japanese Culture; M. E. Sharpe, Armonk, NY, 2000. ISBN 0765605619

Patten. Watching Anime, Reading Manga; Stone Bridge Press, Berkeley, 2004. ISBN 1880656922

After I work my way through these, maybe I'll have a better frame of reference for those wacky cartoons I've been watching.

A post from the coffee shop this afternoon: nothing much to say today, just a lot of half formed ideas and stuff-in-progress, but I'll write about that anyway.

I picked up some more Gillett a couple weeks back: his compilations from 2002, 2003, and 2004. That's about 5 and half hours of music, so I can't really tell you yet what my favorites are. I've got winamp loaded with the all the tracks, along with the Sound of the World (his 2005 compilation) and put the whole mess on shuffle.

[edit 4/1: actually, the three compilations are 6+ hours, and all 8 disks (each complilation is a 2 dicc set) together run 9 hours, 32 minutes. It's almost like Charlie was burning the CDs for a friend, and wanted to get 74min. on each disc.]

This stuff makes great background music. Can't say why that is. The next radio.blog update will likely include as much of a sampling as I can manage.

--Yes, I still use winamp. I didn't even upgrade until about two months ago. Right now I've got version 5.13 ('lite', which is just the music player) running and can't be happier. For ripping my CDs to mp3 I use an old program called audiograbber which used to be shareware, but now that it's no longer being updated it's been released in a full version as freeware. (I rip mp3s using audiograbber w/ LAME encoding at a 256k bitrate, in stereo. I don't really know the technical specs, so more than that I can't say). This works for me- and I get mp3s without any DRM or other unwanted crap. who cares if the tech is already 3 years old? the files sound just fine.

I've got notes for the rest of my new chapter one in my trusty moleskine. (love the moleskines.) It took forever through the bookstore, but eventually the warehouse got them in stock and they shipped to me about a month ago. I've got mine set up sort of like the old ones, but with the new reporter style it seems like there is a heck of a lot more room (even though it's technically the same size). One of these days I'll have to take some pictures and post a how-to on using a moleskine as a custom day-runner-sort-of-thing. YMMV, but that's the nice thing about a blank notebook over pre-printed planner pages-- the thing is always (dare I say infinitely) customizable.

got off track waxing on about notebooks... where was I?
I've got notes for the rest of my 'new' chapter one, along with where the story is headed after that. So I need to, you know, actually write that.

My hesitancy is something I've noted before. It's not a matter of ability, because in a pinch I can always write. (about nothing even. You're reading an example of that right now). Is there something more than just a fear of failure that holds me back? Even when I intellectually look at the stalled process and realize that the problem is me-- I'm the only thing holding me back-- I don't move past the realization to an actual solution. (well, not often) to paraphrase myself "When you see fiction rather than excuses you'll know I've worked through all that"

The usual talking points follow:
(do I sound like a broken record yet?)

In that past 10 months, I guess I've backslid on the weight-loss thing. But I'm going to do something about that this summer. Or something

Unexpected medical bills and car repairs did a number on my microscopic savings, to the point that they are now non-existant savings. So I need to something about that, too.

My social life is dismal. I'm not dating, at the moment. And the longer this goes on, the more I find I like it that way. (a new kind of nuts? maybe so...)

In fact, I find myself giving in to my more introverted tendencies most of the time, and I find I like that too. I might be turning into an odd sort of modern hermit-- I still have to go out and interact enough to earn a paycheck, but past that? I'd rather stay home. When I do go out, I like to go out in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, when close to no one is out. A nearly deserted movie theater. A bar in-between their lunch and dinner crowds. The back corner of the local coffee shop. I can't avoid people entirely, but I can find my own little sparsely populated spaces.

I deal with the public at large through a buffer. There's a shopping counter between me and you. We have set roles, the duration is limited, and then you leave. A bar is another kind of buffer. So are a set of headphones-- while I type I'm usually listening to music, so even in public I'm wearing a sort of "do not disturb" sign.

The internet is great as a "humanity filter"-- heck, if I don't want to interact, I don't have to participate at all.

I may have to come up with a new term. Techno-hermit? I'll think on that and get back to you.

The little battery icon is telling me that I've only got about 40 minutes left, and the bar should be open now anyway-- time to move from one cave to another. Besides, I think I've cleared most of the half-formed ideas out, and things should be calm enough up there for me to think a bit on the novel outline this afternoon.