Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floof-step (catfinition) – dance conducted with humans and cats. The cat rushes the human and tries to entwine around the person’s legs and ankles. The human steps around the cat; the cat counters and tries again to go around the person’s legs and ankles.
In use: “Michael hurried to the phone but was slowed as Quinn engaged him in the floof-step, almost tripping Michael, who barely avoided pitching to the floor.”
With year’s end, Fitbit reported that for the year (which started on January 20th, because that’s when I bought the thing) I averaged six miles per day. That increased to seven miles per day in the third quarter, and up to eight miles a day average in December and so far in 2018. Of note to me is how the charts revealed significant weather changes, and the coming of the wildfire smoke. My mileage dipped with the smoke.
I did suffer injuries and illnesses throughout the year. That affected my mileage. I’ve also become a fan of the pumice stone, removing callouses from my soles.
After tracking my progress, I’m in awe and admiration of those who hike the Pacific Crest, Appalachian Trail, Camino de Santiago and others. To do those miles days after day after day takes a level of endurance and persistence that I think is beyond me.
You ever get side-tracked in your writing progress by reading what you’ve already written in your draft (or beta), becoming bewitched by the story that’s already done?
Yeah, it’s sort of a love/hate thing, isn’t it? Love it because, hey, this is your child, and it seems pretty damn good, even if you’re the proud parent. Hate it because, damn it, I need to write more right now.
This song is one of my defacto songs that I start streaming when I’m walking. Several walking songs are plugged into my streaming library. There’s a Nancy Sinatra offering, where she sings “These boots are made for walking,” and a song less about walking but about getting there from Grand Funk, “I’m getting closer to my home,” and some song by some guy named Miller who sings, “King of the Road.” Which one pops into my stream seems dependent on my mood.
Today’s classic is offered by Edwin Starr. Here is “Twenty-five Miles,” from 1969.
Ta
I dreamed last night people were watching one of my novels from the trilogy in progress. I wasn’t certain if it was on television or at the movies. I could see and hear scenes, and see people, including me, watching them.
Conversely, after waking and thinking about it, I wondered if that was how my novel is delivered to my brain: as a movie that exists somewhere else that I’m watching and recording. I suspected that idea because some of what I saw seemed new to me. I was enjoying it and wowed.
Whichever and whatever it was, definitely time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
See you at the movies.
Don’t you hate it when you click on an internet link to read an article or post elsewhere, and there is no sign of said article or post on that page, or it’s there, but buried in a blizzard of ads, buttons, splash pages, and noise?
Yeah, WTF?
Floofpentine (catfinition) – the figure-eight winding to rub against legs and objects that cats do.
In use: “Tail up, Quinn took a floofpentine route from the room’s exit to its other end, visiting with people along the way.”
You ever step on a floof’s dinglberry that’s a quarter inch in diameter, and the only one in the room, and wonder, what are the chances of that happening in a two-hundred eighty square foot room at four in the morning?
As Sheldon would say, “We could do the math.”
This song popped into a dream last night. It wasn’t streaming when I awoke, but as I was in the kitchen making coffee and considering breakfast options, the song began streaming.
Won’t you take me back to school
I need to learn the golden rule
Won’t you lay it on the line
I need to hear it just one more time
Portions of the dream drifted in with the smell of coffee brewing. The dream had been about school. Not many fragments endured the transition to consciousness. The gist of what was recalled was that I was a distinguished person teaching people. I don’t know what the hell I was teaching them, nor where. I do recall it was more of a Socratic method, and that the dream ended, and the song began, like it was part of the closing credits. I felt joyous, liberated, and satisfied at that point. As I think about it, I could characterize my reaction as triumphant, as I felt like I’d achieved something that I’d worked on for a long period.
And how many words have I got to say
And how many times will it be this way
With your arms around the future
And your back up against the past
You’re already falling it’s calling you
On to face the music
And the song that is coming through
You’re already falling
The one it’s calling is you
h/t to lyricsfreak.com
The song’s title, “The Voice,” is apropos to the dream, as it seemed like an ethereal voice was instructing me on how to teach the others. Not enough survived to do more than ponder the shards like a forensics team seeking clues. It’s odd how many times I seem to dream of others instructing me, or of me, passing on instructions. I also dream frequently of receiving and passing on warnings. Nothing ever comes of them, at least in this dimension.
Here are the Moody Blues, from 1981. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 