A Load of Relief

I’ve been editing the novel in progress, The Constant. It’s the first go-through of the initial complete manuscript. Naturally, there are issues. Things were removed, facts and timelines confirmed — like descriptions and locations — and sections were worked over to make them punchier and tighter. All was going well. I was averaging twenty-five to fifty pages a day, comfortable progress. Then, on page three hundred twenty-seven, I began reading the chapter, Thelma & Louise. I knew within paragraphs that it didn’t work and began the struggle to fix it.

I initially approached it as a wordsmithing problem. Nope; wasn’t it. It was deeper. I wrestled for several days about why this chapter bothered me. The issue was a constant 24/7 thorn for more than a week. I tried working on around it, buy my mind was fused to the issue. I eventually decided it was too much of an information dump and would break it up into more digestible bites. Growing comfortable with that idea, evolving it by establishing where I’d cut it up, I began working on that.

That choice caused another problem, though. No answer arrived to it. Additionally, I found I was adding more material than I wanted to this story aspect. As I wrote, I liked what I wrote, but not that I was adding it.

Around day fourteen, three days ago, two answers came almost concurrently about what to do and how to do it. They arrived after I’d gotten up to let Papi out of the house and fed sick cat because he yelled in the middle of the night. After writing it in my head for a while before returning to sleep, I immediately began working on the revisions when I got up that morning. It was intense.

I finished it today, a satisfying moment. Whether the result will hold up to further reading and revising is another matter. When I wrote the original chapter, in two settings, the results pleased me. But this is all part of the exploratory and creative process for finding story and writing a novel for me.



Clausfloofphobia (floofinition) – 1. Extreme concern or fear about an animal being locked up in a confining space.

In use: “Many pet owners experience clausfloofphobia when it comes to putting their fur friend into a small kennel or carrier to take them to the vet. It never helped that the animal cried, whimpered, or meowed like it was the end of the world.”

2. Deep-seated worry that an animal is locked up or trapped somewhere.

In use: “When Beda’s cat disappeared and didn’t come to her calls, clausfloofphobia kicked in as she feared that he was trapped in someone’s house or car.”

The Red Shot Dream

This was such a persistently powerful dream last night. I awoke from it twice in befuddlement, sure that I’d forgotten to do something that had to do with my shots. When was I supposed to take them? There was a sequence. But wait —

In the dream, only women were originally receiving the shots. They were happy about it. We were all walking around outside, following neat sidewalks in sunshine. The shots were self-injected. A red powder in a miniature Erlenmeyer flask, I don’t know what it combatted. The injections needed to be given in a specific time sequence that was established by people’s DNA, age, and where they lived. As the women went about, happily self-injecting, I joined a hue: “Why aren’t men being injected?” The problem, whatever it was, affected everyone. It didn’t make sense for half of the population to get it and not the other half.

The powers agreed and decreed everyone should receive the shots. I was given my flasks of powder and told my injection schedule.

That’s when I awoke. Sitting up, I peered about for my flasks and tried remembering my schedule. When was I supposed to give myself the next injection? In three hours? What time would that be?

As I realized all that was a dream, I calmed and thought of the dream, then went back to sleep. And — boom — shortly thereafter, I was awake and thinking, what was I supposed to do? Where are my injections?

Tuesday’s Theme Music

The snow made it! Woo-hoo!

Shortly after posting yesterday’s theme music, light snow showers began. A few degrees were sliced off and we ping-ponged between sleet and snow for several hours. As the temperature shimmied down to 33 F, fat flakes faithfully fell, lining the world with white. Then the temperature shimmied back up, the snow stopped, and the sidewalks and streets cleared but remained on everything else. Then heavier snow began and continued through the night. We only achieved one to three inches locally, which, great. It’s up in the Sierras and Cascades where we need it. Reports are that it fell heavy there.

A little sigh of relief.

Today is Tuesday, 2/22/2022. Our temperature is now 31. Thin snow flurries fall in the front of the house; sunshine peeks through waning clouds on the house’s backside. The high temperature is expected to be 43 with lows dipping to 12 to 23 degrees, depending on where you are. My house will likely experience twenty-five. Sunrise was at 6:57 this morning and sunset will be at 5:52 this evening.

The snow affected the royal clowder. Sick cat chilled on his space and Tucker assumed his position beside me per usual. Papi, the ginger wonder, usually likes being the squeeze box, going in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out. Not so last night. Three times in and out, then done. I had a great night of rest.

I have a 1976 Gordon Lightfoot song in the morning mental music stream, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. Wrecks and accidents fascinate me, mostly because I’m intrigued by the backstories, not the mayhem. While researching the Soviet space program yesterday (I’m reading “The Apollo Murders”), I became sidetracked on an accident website. Out of that, my neurons began humming the Lightfoot song. So, here we are.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and boosters when you can. BTW, the clouds have broken and scattered. It’s now blue skies and sunshine out the front window, and the temperature is up to — wait a sec, please.

“What’s that, coffee? You want me to come and drink you? Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Gotta go. Here’s the music. Cheers

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