Flooference

Flooference (floofinition) – An event at which talks on a particular subject are held, or business matters and policy are formally discussed.

In use: “Household pets often hold secret flooferences during which they discuss their roles, including which greater flooferences, such as Floofcon (held in Floof Vegas) or Floof Trek.”

Photo credit to Shadow Cats via Facebook.

Dexys Midnight Floofs

Dexys Midnight Floofs (floofinition) – Identified as part of the second British invasion of the American pop scene, Dexys Midnight Floofs, a.k.a. DMF, was formed in Floofingham in the late 1970s.

In use: “Dexys Midnight Floofs largest hit was “Come On, Floofleen”, which reached number one on the Floofboard’s Hot 100 in 1982,”

Why It Takes So Long

After writing yesterday and while preparing to write today, I was reflecting about why writing is so hard for me, and why it takes so long.

The other morning — Thursday, I think, not really important, though — a muse laid a scene out for me. It was a revelatory moment for the novel in progress.

Whoa. Excitement jumped me like Olympians taking the hurdles. Great scene. I saw it all.

First, though, I saw it with characters that didn’t exist yet. Of all the confounded characters who’d already arrived, this was a new batch, in a new setting. Okay, cool, no problem. I saw how the scene and characters (and their baggage) fit into the novel. I could deal.

I began writing. Well, new characters need some kind of understanding about their traits, principles, and back story. So I mulled that while writing. More details to the general novel were discovered. The bible was updated with these new characters and the setting. All of it was a stimulating exercise.

Meanwhile, I kept writing. Things the muse hadn’t shown me before were revealed. I dealt with those details and kept going, exploring this new territory. I’d write some, go off, do chores or take a walk, come back and write, eat, go off, etc., repeat.

This morning, I thought, alright, I’m almost in sight of the revelation. The original scene still hung like a jewel before me, beckoning on. As I approached it, though, I put it all on pause to look.

Damn, thirteen new characters (five of them fleshed out as more than minor characters), their relationships, and three new facets of perspective via history and organizations. Four chapters, five thousand words. That doesn’t include the bible stuff.

All that to get to one scene.

Which is how the whole fiction writing thing works for me. See something, invent something plausible to explain how it fits, wedge it in there, and begin connecting it to the other stuff.

But that it takes so long, and why writing is hard work for me.

Got a fresh cuppa coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

The Change Dream

I’d arrived, again, at a new military assignment. How many times has this happened in my dreams?

Wearing a uniform, I checked in, found billeting, changed clothes, and wandered around, orienting myself. All this happened within a large, modern building. I was pleased to be there. Anticipation filled me.

Many young people occupied the place. Everyone seemed happy and engaged with their activities. They’d been working on projects, striking me as students. I had to wait several times as people showed off their projects to their fronts, blocking the way.

But I stayed patient, indulgent, as they were younger, and I thought them less mature, and less responsible, so they deserved some latitude.

Eventually, I was assigned my permanent quarters. Going there, I was surprised that a young male and female were in my quarters. They explained that the previous occupant had just left, and they were leaving, too.

Fine with me. I began searching for my uniform and was surprised that I couldn’t find one. How the hell was that possible? I’d worn a uniform while traveling. Yet, that was gone. I’d sent clothing on ahead, but the battle dress uniforms I’d sent on were also gone. Becoming upset and annoyed, I sought some way to purchase a uniform to carry me through until my uniforms turned up.

A sharp jolt interrupted the proceedings. I was on some steps with others when it happened. Earthquake, I immediately assumed, awaiting aftershocks, ready to run. Everyone, including me, started nervously laughing with relief when no aftershocks came, and then resumed our activities.

I heard, then, that new uniforms were on the way, not just for me, but for everyone. A massive change in how we would look was being initiated. At that point, I thought, oh, I’ve been out of the military for a while. Yes, uniforms have changed since my time. Of course they’re changing. I commented on that to a young group that I encountered.

They told me, no, everyone was being given brand new uniforms as part of a makeover. In fact, they said, new guidelines about how people were supposed to act, work, and behave were also expected. They were all excited but also anxious.

Surprised by their news, I then went searching for guidance about how I was supposed to be acting while also searching for uniforms to wear. I then concluded in an epiphany, my uniform didn’t matter. I would just do what I need to do and worry about a uniform later, if necessary.

Relieved by that, I entered a room. Busy with people doing many things, usually groups, I walked around and determined that it was a rec center with a snack bar. Smelling burgers, I decided to eat, but as I walked over to order, I saw a table of blue binders. That’s the new guidance, I deduced after some studying. I took one of those and start reading. Within a few minutes, I thought, why, this is how I’ve always acted.

I looked around to tell someone else my insight, but all were excitedly talking with one another about the new guidelines. After a few moments, I went in, and ordered a cheeseburger. There was ice cream available, too, and though it tempted me, I could smell that cheeseburger. I paid and took it to my room to eat.

I took a bite of cheeseburger and enjoyed it. It was just as promised, juicy and grilled, with onions, tomatoes, and lettuce. A stillness overtook me. Time had changed. So had the world. The things that were normal were no longer true. My little sisters had aged, my parents had aged, I had aged, my wife had aged, the world had aged.

Guidelines pushed aside, I began eating. The dream ended.

Sunday’s Theme Music

“Do you ever get restless?” my wife asked.

Do I ever get restless?

Do cats ever go to sleep?

Good lord, we’ve been sheltering in place with limited contact with others since the middle of March. I’ve had itchings to leap into the car and race away, to find some sanctuary at a beach. I’ve sighed over ideas of meandering through book stores. Favorite places get longing looks as I drive by. Small heartaches are felt as advertisements to travel slip past. When will we safely do these things again?

Last night, I sniffed the cooling summer breeze. The breeze smelled like that time I was on Sicily, and recalled a moment on Okinawa, and a summer night in the Philippines. The breeze reminded me of being in bed in Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and West Virginia when I was a child, and being on holiday with my wife in Astoria, Hawaii, and California. Recollections of living in Germany, standing under the Eiffel Tower, and visiting Korea rode that breeze in. A little bit of the Carolinas, Texas, and Florida came in on that breeze. Other times in Oregon and New Mexico rose on that breeze.

So, yeah, I get restless. After she asked, and I was outside later, staring at the night sky (cloudy, so saw nothing but clouds), a line from Weezer’s “Island in the Sun” (2001) streaked through my stream like a summer meteor.

We’ll run away together
We’ll spend some time forever
We’ll never feel bad anymore

That was followed by that lovely, low key refrain, “Hip, hip.”

h/t to Genius.com

Yep, feeling a bit restless today. I’d love to be on an island in the sun. Hip, hip.

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