Overfloof

Overfloof (floofinition) – in households with more than one pet, the pet that usually keeps order (if there is any order).

In use: “In a household of two Beagles, one German Shepherd, and one Jack Russell along with four cats (and a hamster), a bird was the overfloof. Able to mimic the doorbell, garbage truck, and vacuum cleaner along with the sound of crinkling plastic and their masters’ voices, the bird kept the animals in a wary but peaceful vigil.”

Floofvana

Floofvana (floofinition) – in floofism, a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire, nor sense of self, because one is with their housepets, and the world feels as perfect as it can be, at least for a moment.

In use: “Tired from working and cleaning the house, and running around on errands, she sat down on the couch. The Corgi and cat soon joined her, making room for themselves and each other on her lap. With one purring and both looking drowsy, she soon entered floofvana. Everyone should have pets, she thought. It would  make the world a better place if they did.”

Negotiations

Thinking about my writing process this morning, I think I may have left people with the impression that my muses just dictate to me. That’s a false impression. I write about it in that vernacular a lot because of how the entire process ends up happening, but it’s more involved than that. I’m sure most understand that, but as I’m overly bent toward being pedantic and over-analytical, I’m going to enlarge on my process.

The muses fill me with a concept, general story arc, and the main character. A few other characters and some reveal points follow. This all happens very fast. Ideas constantly bang on my mind to enter the writing realm. Many are rejected outright. Some are briefly entertained about how they can be expanded. Others get a more thorough mind treatment but had deferred until later (which may not ever come).

A few ideas enter the writing hopper where they’re given more writing cogitating time. This is where the muses really enter, tossing ideas about the story and how it can develop. Sometimes, these come on very strong, concrete, and specific. When that triumvirate arises, the writing urge is ignited. It then depends on my schedule and projects that are underway. When I was younger, I split myself between projects. With more experience, I’ve developed a routine of focusing on one project until it reaches some stage of completion. They’re then often edited and revised. After that, they can go in different directions.

Meanwhile, my organic writing-like-crazy process isn’t that straightforward. The muses suggest and I counter suggest. I’ll often consider and present multiple possibilities for character development, story arcs, and how a scene goes. I present them to the muses. They reject, accept, or modify them.

Even then, when I sit down to write, it often doesn’t come out as envisioned. Things take place that I never foresaw. This is the true writing-like-crazy process, and when I give full control to the muses. It comes out and I do my best to type it up without analyzing it or putting it into perspective with the rest of the story, arcs, etc. That comes afterward, when I think about where this piece has taken me and what needs to change, along how it’ll be changed, and why it needs to change.

Of course, the muses and the entire process is mine. There aren’t little elves or gorgeous creatures inhabiting and haunting me, telling me what to write. What I call out as the muses is a deeper subconscious level of thinking and creativity that seems to work at high levels of complexity and speed, and its my intuition. I can’t keep up with that thinking on my conscious levels. I’ve learned to trust that process, not because of great creative or critical success, but because, from that process comes the story-telling, novels, and tales that I enjoy. I write for myself. It saddens me that others don’t enjoy it. I hope that’ll change someday, preferably while I’m alive.

Likewise, when I say that the characters have taken over, I’m using a shorthand to describe a process. The characters were put into a situation. I thought about what could happen and different directions that they might take, and then let it settle into my subconscious mind’s chasms for greater process. Results then spring out when I sit down to write. Sometimes, of course, they spring out beforehand, and sometimes they just explode into my thinking an awareness at awkward moments. Words heard or read, realizations, photographs, a piece of song, a splash of light, a burst of noise…multiple things trigger that explosion.

In the end, my process is all about negotiations, negotiations about how commercial or artistic I’ll let myself flow, the directions I do and don’t want to take, and my acceptance to write like crazy, accept that it needs work, and then keep working on it later, and the intuition to accept this feels right, coupled with the understanding, nothing is permanent. Better ways might emerge. Stay open to them.

Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy. at least one more time.

The New York Dream

A brief snippet from last night’s dream stream.

My sister-in-law, a Florida resident and business women, President of a manufacturing company that she started, was visiting with my wife and me. My wife said, “You should go to New York with Kat (her sister).” Kat was enthusiastic, telling me, “Yes, I can show you around the town and introduce you to people,” while I was resistant, responding, “New York with Kat?” It didn’t make sense.

After a lot of cajoling, Kat left without me, but my wife was insistent that I should go to New York. I was starting to come around. A male friend – someone I don’t recognize from my life but that I knew as a friend in my dream – a dream friend, if you will – came by and told me, “I’ll take you to New York.” Kat called me on the phone then and said, “I’ve made the arrangements. You’re going to New York.”

The dream ended with me beginning to pack to go to New York.

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Once again, the cats contributed to today’s theme music selection. My three boys – Boo, the big black tailless tom, Papi, the orange flash, and Tucker, the black and white long-haired enigma – were following me around. I’d already fed them, but that didn’t stop them from tracking my location and activity.

The three boys do not co-existent in peace. On some days, they glare at one another like they’re bent on mutually assured destruction. One these days, when one violated another’s space, loud, angry warnings were issued. Of course, one cannot issue a warning without the other issuing a warning back.

They weren’t doing this today, though. I suspect the snow and cold were disturbing them. Temperatures in our neighborhood dropped to twenty-one and snow fell all night, so no cat was permitted to go outside. That means, pent up energy. 

Talking to them, though, I said with mild irritation, “I don’t know what you guys want. I can’t read your poker faces.”

Click, Lady Gaga and “Poker Face” (2008) began streaming.

I began singing the song to the cats, doing a little dance for them as I did.

I couldn’t tell if they liked it or not.

Floofxiety

Floofxiety (floofinition) – worrying about a housepet; a housepet’s worry about a noise, activity, or another animal.

In use: “He was on vacation, staying at a lovely beach house, but floofxiety flooded him when he heard about a wildfire near his town. He didn’t care if he lost his house or its contents. He just wanted to ensure his cats and dogs were safe.”

The Reassurance Dream

One of last night’s dreams had me traveling.

It was all going wrong. It began with me leaving an aircraft and discovering that I’d been on the wrong flight and had subsequently landed in the  wrong place. Knowing that I was on a tight schedule, the realization sent anxiety tremors through me.

As I began to sort the situation, I discovered that besides being on the wrong flight, I didn’t have my tickets. I also didn’t know where my luggage was, or where it was headed.

Chaos ruled the airport. Noisy and crammed with travelers, flights seemed to be screwed up for many. My heart was sinking with the magnitude of the mess. Weariness spread through me.

A tall man in a airline uniform called my name and approached. “We know you’re having some problems. Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you and make sure you get to where you’re going.”

Two women in airline uniforms were with him. One woman said, “I’ll make sure that you get on your flight and get to where you’re going. Don’t worry about it.”

The man said, “I’m going to get the flight ready. I’ll come back and check on you.” He walked off.

The other woman said, “I’ll be here to help you. Just come and see me if you have any problems or issues.”

I felt a lot better, and flattered. “Okay, thanks. But I’ll be okay.”

“We know,” the second woman said. “We’ll make sure of it.”

I found myself in a packed waiting area. Finding space on the floor, I set down the one bag that I carried. I planned to call people to tell them what was happening. When I looked for my phone, I discovered it where my wallet was supposed to be. In a flash, I realized that I’d packed my wallet with my identification and credit cards in my checked baggage.

I felt sick. Someone could open my bag, find my wallet and steal my credit cards, and my identification. As I grappled with that, a small calico cat came up to me through the terminal. Butting her head against me, she purred, meowed at me, and sniffed and rubbed against me.

Others noticed the cat and were envious, telling me, “How sweet,” and, “Can I pet her?”

The cat allowed herself to be pet and cuddled, but she always came back to me. I told everyone that I’d never seen her before. Someone said, “That’s your protector animal.”

My phone, the old Blackberry that I used to have, began ringing. It was an old friend who died a few years ago. “I got a joke for you,” he said.

“Why’re you calling me now? I don’t have time for jokes, Randy,” I answered.

“Sure, you do. This won’t take long.” Then he told me a joke (which I don’t remember).

Another old friend, also dead, then called. He also wanted to tell me a joked exasperating me. “I don’t have time,” I said. “Yes, you do,” he replied.

The second woman approached. “We have your luggage,” she said, and then, there was my luggage. In a rush, I opened it. My wallet was in there with my ID. My credit cards were in there, but they’d been cut in half.

The woman said, “They saw your credit cards were in your luggage, so they cut them in half, to protect you.”

While I appreciated them looking out for me, I was upset because my credit cards had been cut in half.

Then the woman put her hand up and said, “They ordered new credit cards to replace those, so you won’t have any problems.” In her hand were replacement credit cards.

The first woman then announced to the waiting area that an aircraft was ready for us. A small cheer came from the passengers in response. As I stood and began gathering my items, the woman came over and called my name. “You need to come first,” she said. Then she told the others, “We want him to get to where he wants to go.”

Everyone nodded in understanding as she led me forward to the waiting aircraft.

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