Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofberg (floofinition) – housepet who appears smaller than they are.
In use: “Whenever the puppy slept, he curled himself into a tight ball, and appeared to be about three feet across. That was resolved as the tip of the floofberg, for when he stood and unstretched his long limbs, he was a giant with enormous paws. Everyone agreed, he was going to be huge.”
It was a blah night of sleeping. Weird dreams, of course. At a convention. I’d brought my own coffee. Had a huge bag of roasted beans. They kept spilling out of the bag, but also my coat and pants pockets. That was just one of many bizarre elements.
After I rose, I remained groggy. Rainy and chilly outside, but I liked that. Wanted some upbeat music but the stream found nothing. Started drifting through Foreigner, Free, Foghat. Like, why am I going through groups that start with F? Can I buy a clue. Then Canned Heat, the Doors, and The Allman Brothers played a bit.
Wasn’t until I was making breakfast when something suitable, something that arrived for this low-energy hump day.
Here’s Prince, ’84, “Let’s Go Crazy”. Let’s get nuts.
It’s been a week, hasn’t it? Peggy Lipton, Doris Day, and Tim Conway all passed away this week.
Losing stars isn’t anything new. Although I didn’t know them, they were part of the magic that we thought we had going for us after World War II. They helped us cope as the shit started happening. McCarthyism and the red scare. Korea. JFK’s assassination. Demonstrations and riots. Gulf of Tonkin incident. RFK and MLK’s assassinations. Vietnam. University of Texas shootings. USS Pueblo. Kent State. Watergate. Recessions and energy crises. Iran-Contra scandals. Iran hostages. John Lennon’s murder. Attempted assassination on Ronald Reagan. KAL 007 shot down. Beirut Barracks bombing. Challenger disaster. Operation Just Cause. Desert Storm. Oklahoma City bombing. Monica Lewinsky. Move On. Columbine. Hanging chads. Enron. 9/11. Hurricane Katrina. Virginia Tech University shootings. Housing bubble burst. Global banking meltdown. Umpqua Community College shootings. Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings. Global warming. Isla Vista, 2014 shootings. Hurricanes Irma and Maria. Wildfires. Sutherland Springs Church shootings. Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shootings. Sante Fe High School shooting. Las Vegas shooting. Thousand Oaks shooting. Pittsburgh Synagogue shooting. Measles outbreak. College cheating scandal.
And that’s all just a small bit of America’s piece of it. To think of what’s happened in the rest of the world during those years is numbing.
Now, Conway, Lipton, and Day gone. What a week.
Thank God it’s Friday.
Thoughts on a novelist’s life as they cope with conceiving, writing, revising, and publishing a novel.
How ’bout you, writers? Any thoughts on the stages of coping with your writing efforts?
Floofpectation (floofinition) – a housepet’s strong belief that something will happen; an attempt, through behavior or sounds, to make something happen.
In use: “He had a sandwich. The animals crowded around with floofpectations. In exasperation, he said, “This is banana and peanut butter guys. You won’t like it.” But with floofpectations remaining high, the cats started purring and meowing and the dog emitted a little, “Woof”. Sighing, he held the sandwich out for their inspection.”
After reading some news last night and this morning, my anger spilled over. “You must be evil,” I said in my head to several of the articles’ principals, evil for how their minds work, evil for their indifference about what their actions do to the world or other creatures, evil for their willingness to rationalize murdering and victimizing.
From that came, quite deliberately, Chris Rea’s 1989 song, “You Must Be Evil”.
He came across a disaster. Dead ants were spread everywhere. Most were smashed into small, curled bodies. Some were obliterated. Ant parts were everywhere.
He couldn’t imagine what’d happened. Down on his hands and knees, he ignored the traffic in the street beside him and mourned their losses, watching as the bodies were collected and carried away. After the final body was gone, he went to rise when he saw the ants come out and face him. All were still for several moments. When he felt an appropriate amount of time had passed, he bowed his head and said, “I’m sorry.”
The ants retreated to resume their lives, and he went on his way.
Her name is Simone. She doesn’t know why that’s her name. People ask her why she’s named Simone, and she tells them that she doesn’t know. Many people mention that it’s a French name, and she replies, “Yes, but my father is German.”
She looks away and becomes busy as she answers, as though there’s a story behind her name that she doesn’t want to explore.
Or maybe she’s just weary, at nineteen years old, of being asked about her name.
Flooftonism (floofinition) – the philosophy of housepets, especially insofar as it addresses an absolute and eternal reality that revolves around being well-fed, napping, and having fun.
In use: “Although flooftonism doesn’t call for exclusion of others, Flash the cat* believes that other animals’ presence affects her pursuit of Floofvana.”
*With apologies to nan and Flash the cat.
Michael Seidel, writer 