Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofproach (floofinition) – the manner taken to walk up to, pet, or speak to a housepet.
In use: “One must be cautious in their floofproach when dealing with Tina. She’s gentle and sweet, but she is large and has her floofuliarities. For example, an unexpected hand toward her face will earn one a sharp rebuke.”
I’m streaming the original Beatles’ version of “With a Little Help from My Friends” (1967). Don’t know. My streaming began with Ringo singing the third verse.
“Would you believe in love at first sight?”
“Yes, I’m certain that it happens all the time.”
Why this, today? Don’t know. Some inhibitor breakdown in the stream, a word caught in the wind, a flash in the brain, or maybe a neuotransmitter collision. I usually imagine my neurotransmitters as little sports cars racing through my head on beautifully constructed highways and country roads. Lately, though, ala Sim City, my neuro landscape is more like a hot and humid city under constant expansion, construction, and repair. There’s a lot of jackhammer and bulldozer noise. Big rigs transport loads of information as commuters struggling to get to work in their part of the brain creep along in traffic.
Sorry, side bar. On with the music.
This is a recurring dream. I had it twice, maybe three times in the past few weeks. It’s also a sequel to another dream. The first dream was dreamed at least twice. Both dreams evolved in its depths and complexity, or my ability to remember them. As always, I wonder how much I remember and how much I manage to fill in gaps through my imagination without being aware that I’m doing so.
In both, the backdrop is that I’m with IBM. The first dream has me being given a project. Not uncommon. I have a print out of several pages. Most of the back pages are lines of micro-code. The first page is an explanation that this list of hospitals need to be notified of these micro-code changes by a specific date. It’s a Friday afternoon. The date is the following Monday. So, YIKES. The next four pages are lists of hospitals where this code needs to be applied, with identifying fields.
The first thing I do is get a yellow highlighter and a list of hospitals that are our customers. Then I go through the list, highlighting the hospitals that are our customers. I also make notes in black pen.
Follow-up is to create the letter to send these customers. I do this on a computer, merging the letter with the data fields from the hospital lists, import the letters into email, and send them out. Done and done. My boss checks on me. I confirm with her that it’s done. She’s surprised that it was done so quickly, and I show her what I did and how. Done and done.
The second dream has me at some team party. I work in a one-deep position, from home, so I know few people, but I’m on this campus with my team, who are usually just voices on the phone or names in emails. I’m wandering the party and encounter some product engineers. They heard that I took care of the hospital micro-code notification. They have questions. Essentially, they want reassured that it went okay.
First, I sit with a senior guy with the micro-code in a room full of computers on desks and in frames, with people working on things all around us. It’s very noisy with the sounds of fans, hard-drives, and conversations. He shows me the micro-code and begins to ask who and what questions.
Excusing myself, I go to my computer bag in the other room and get my working company, along with a print out of the letter that I sent, and another print out that shows who it went to and when. I give these to him and tell them what they are. He’s surprised and asks me why I gave them to him. I tell him, that’s what I would’ve wanted to know if I was following up.
Everything is quickly answered with these papers. Other of his team members come by to ask and see, and he tells them what I gave them, and they’re all relieved that it’s been done. Time to party.
But first, another team comes up to check on the project, too. The first team gives the second team my papers, tells them what I did, and everyone is satisfied.
As this ends, another engineer is talking loudly at a table. She’s talking about a modem’s identification and wondering who was dumb enough to use last names as part of a modem’s identification. As I turn, I hear another person say my full name, because that’s the name used as a modem identification.
I go over and tell them it was me and answer questions. Yes, it was ignorant, but I was ignorant about the process, working alone, and learning on the job. She said she can change it for me. I shrug that off, because we’re not using it anywhere except the lap now. It’s older and we use new stuff for production and operations, but the old stuff is helpful for trouble-shooting customer issues who are using old stuff.
That ends. Everyone is going off to the party in the next room. I begin a drift that way. Others find me and congratulate me for the work on the project. That amuses me because it seems like it was such a quick and easy project.
The main party is in a huge ballroom at the end of a hall. Music is blaring and people are dancing in there. That’s also where the restrooms are. I need to use one but can’t get to them because of the dancing crowd. I make a long detour around the crowd until I find a place where I can cut through, go in, use the bathroom, and come back out.
When I do, I’ve decided to look up some people while I’m there. I find several and huddle with them. Speaking loudly over the music, in a huddle with our arms intertwined over one another’s back, I tell them that I’ll be leaving soon, but I wanted to thank them and tell them how much I enjoyed working with them.
The dream ended.
Floofsation (floofinition) – the impressions and feelings known when with a housepet, or while remembering a housepet.
In use: “Seeing the empty ceramic food bowl, he pulsed with deep floofsations of seeing his little long-haired cat rushing up to the bowl, dancing from foot to foot as he ate and purred. Hearing memories of the purr recalled the cat jumping on his lap and gazing at him with shiny, wide green eyes as he kneaded and purred. Teary, with a lump rising in his throat, he remembered how the cat would curl up, look back up at him, and gently bite his chin.”
I don’t know what triggered what filters on my mental streams this morning to be streaming this song. Dreams? Yes, I had several vivid dreams that I recall. Stress? Don’t think so as I don’t seem stressed today. Cats, food, mineral deficiency, too much of a mineral or vitamin?
I don’t know. The human body is a mysterious beast without a decent, modern diagnostics button. Something may have mis-fired, or it all worked exactly as planned. Either way, I’m now streaming “Lovefool” by the Cardigans (1996) on an infinite loop. Posting about it usually stops the loop, so…here we are.
Yeah, another writing rant/post. Aren’t you lucky?
I wondered again about this writing process and how much control I have. Writing today, I reached a scene where I stopped writing to say, “I don’t want this to happen.”
The muses answered, “Okay, we appreciate your opinion. Now write the scene.”
“But — ”
“You’re wasting time,” a muse said. “Pitter patter, get ‘er at ‘er.”
Jaw clenching, I put my hands on my lap and glared at the computer screen. “I’m the writer here. You’re not the boss of me.”
“Yeah, we are,” the muses said with hooting laughter. As their laughing mounted, one shouted, “He thinks we’re not the bosses of him.” That fired their laughter into higher mocking tones.
Saving my work, I locked my computer and went for a walk to shut them up and think.
I couldn’t appreciate their case for what they wanted to happen. I didn’t have an impressive alternative, either. Hard to argue with them when they have a plan and I don’t.
Dismissing that for the moment, I reflected on the epiphany that I’d had, that, ah-hah, I need something else at the beginning, “something else” being mental shorthand for a more involved and complete opening scene (or chapter) that properly sets up the story and consequences, a piece that gives the reader more reason to be invested with the main character, along with the supporting protagonists.
As many writers before me have said, the first draft is the writer learning the story, and you can’t write the beginning until you’ve finished writing the end. All this seems especially true with this novel in progress.
Returning to my writing, I sat down and did as the muses decreed. It was the best thing to do because, at this point, I was wasting precious writing time, analyzing what they were telling me to write and my reasons for not wanting to write that. Besides, this is just a draft. I can always edit and revise this part later, right? I can even delete it.
That cracked the muses up. “Sure,” they said. “Of course you can. You’re the author.”
Sometimes, I’m not fond of the muses. They can be so mean.
The coffee cup is empty except for a cold, bitter dribble. Time to stop writing like crazy, at least one more time.
Gobblefloof (floofinition) – housepet who reminds people of a turkey either by sound, behavior, or appearance; a housepet who eats very fast.
In use: “As soon as the kibble poured into the bowl, the puppy raced in, tail flapping in mad, fast arcs. Sliding to a stop by the bowl, knocking food out of it onto the floor, the little lab became a gobblefloof, chowing down as though it had never been fed before.”
Floofallama (floofinition) – a housepet who resembles a llama; a llama who is a housepet.
In use: “With its big, dewy eyes, long lashes, and curly, soft light-brown fur, the dog was a floofallama, and could have easily been at home on a llama ranch.”
Michael Seidel, writer 