Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I’d earlier reported that a friend was diagnosed with dementia.
That’s changed.
He doesn’t have dementia. Instead, he has blood cancer which affects his blood flow and the oxygen in his blood. His brain doesn’t get enough, causing cognitive issues.
It’s early days. While the news has changed, we’ll continue doing what we can to help and support him and his family and hope for the best. It’s all we can do, and it is so frustrating.
The 2024 GOP bumper sticker, suggested by Thomas Friedman.
Mood: goopy
Hey guys, here we are, on Wednesday, 02212024. Or 21022024. Or 20240221. All are right, depending on your region, or maybe your profession.
Sprinter has popped back into Ashlandia. Dollops of gray clouds drop rain that glisten with sunshine. Everything is blooming. Snow? What is this thing called snow? Describe it for me, please. Amendment: that was snark. There’s some snow on the mountains shadowing our valley.
It’s 46 F now, and we’re projected to progress to 57 F before the sun pulls the shades on the day and the weather unplugs the warmth. 36 F will be our low tonight. Not bad.
I’m into GOP politics today. Trump’s changing stories about the classified documents he wouldn’t give up keeps me laughing. There were no classified documents because he declassified them, he said at first. Oh, wait, the FBI planted it there. No, no, I didn’t have to turn it over he’s saying now, and we were talking about turning them over when the FBI raided Mar-a-largo. Which, if we follow his thinking, means there were classified documents which he hadn’t turned over, so he lied from the start. And it was protected better than Biden’s classified documents, which is irrelevant, and shows again, that there were classified materials which he didn’t turn over. Doesn’t matter how protected he claims the classified documents were. The point is, he wasn’t supposed to have them, was supposed to return them, tried to hide them, and continually lied about them.
His continuing spin is worthy of a soap opera. “As the Trump Turns” or “General Bullshit”, we can call his shitshow. Who in their right mind will believe these shifting sands of explanations?
Well, I wrote, ‘in their right mind’. That eliminates many GOP members, politicians, and supporters. Take for instance, the state of play with electing and retaining a speaker. The maniac arm of the MAGA GOP make it a point of contention to turn down any bill or measure that might be actual governing, and then forced Speaker McCarthy out after he so desperately pursued the office. Now Mike Johnson has taken over and faces the same demonic situation. Then these fine representatives blamed everyone else for the mayhem they keep causing.
For example, look at the immigration issue. The GOP and their supporters are supposedly up in arms about that problem. GOP state governors are declaring that President Biden and the Democrats aren’t doing enough, even as GOP governors illegally block the Federal government from taking action. Meanwhile, back on Capitol Hill, a bi-partisan bill was created only to have the Speaker and the maniacs withdraw support on orders from Dear Leader, Donald Trump. All but Trump supporters see through this play. Trump and the spineless GOP don’t want an effective answer for the immigration issue and the southern border at this time. Yet one of the maniacs, Marjorie Taylor Green, predictably steps up to complain nothing is being done even after she voted to do nothing.
Their hypocrisy is breathtaking but not surprising. The Trump GOP thrives on selling fear on the issue to their supporters. If a bill is passed, that makes President Biden and the Democrats look effective. The GOP can’t do that! That’s about the single issue they can depend on at this point to keep supporters in line because they’ve fucked themselves with complete abortion bans and the persecution of women for daring to try to make decisions about their own bodies. Now they’re fucking themselves over supporting NATO and the Ukraine. They’re abandoning everything the United States became after WWII.
If you didn’t understand it before, understand it now. The Trump GOP is not progressive. Throwbacks to the Nazi Germany era, the Trump GOP is willing to support a dictator on the basis of no other position but to stay in power. They fear everyone but whites. They even attack powerful women — say a young singer like Taylor Swift, to name one of many women they’ve attacked under Trump — and are eager to shut everyone down except white men, especially wealthy white men. They love themselves wealthy white men and bend over to fuck themselves if they can help wealthy white men. That wealthy white men will save the world is the foundation of their trickledown theory of government.
We shouldn’t be surprised. White ‘Christians’ are one of the GOP’s largest sects. They’ve been afraid of Jews since before WWII and have been eager to undermine democracy in order to stop the Jews. All this is fed by baseless conspiracies. The GOP, as it’s evolved, has depended more and more upon unfounded conspiracy theories to garner support. Are we witnessing its zenith as they support the baseless lies — proven in US courts — that Donald Trump had the election stolen from him, and that they government is actually being run by a shadow government? What happens in the elections of 2024 will reveal much about the GOP and the foundations of democratic republic known as the United States.
With all this happening, The Neurons started singing, “Don’t mess with a MAGA man,” this morning. Up popped the Eurythmics with “Missionary Man” (1986) in the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). It’s an ironic use by The Neurons as they chuckle at the GOP white christians and evangelicals declare that the serial sinner, liar, and adulterer known as Donald J. Trump, a very wealthy man who hoards his wealth and hates any and all who dare criticize him, threatening violence at every turn, is God’s chosen to lead the United States. I need to ask, lead the United States into what? At any rate, to return to the song, GOP politicians at every level eagerly support the MAGA man and dare the rest of us to mess with him.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and please vote. Here’s the music. Coffee guzzling has commenced. On to other writing. Cheers
Whenever I come home, I check to ensure the cats are still alive. I do the same with my wife if she’s napping or in bed. Is this normal behavior.
Signed, Am I Being Macabre?
I was chatting with a writing friend this morning. Well, he’s a friend who is also a writer and was a pro editor working for one of the major publishers. He’d called to ask for help with a non-writing problem but we always talk of writing, editing, publishing, and books when we encounter one another in any venue.
I told him that the new novel is going fast. It seems and feels like an easy write. We chatted about the merits of fast or easy writing and and slow, meticulous writing. After hanging up and writing today, I realized how I’d misinterpreted my own writing process on the new book.
Yes, it is fast writing, but before I type out the words, there’s huge chunks of long, deep thoughts about where it’s at and where it’s going. As I began today, I wrestled with direction, because about a dozen volunteer plotpoints and character arcs have bloomed in my mind. I write fast because they have strong roots and I’m eager to cover them all. The session writing quickly turns immersive and intense. Regret washes through me when it’s over. So much remains to be written, it feels unfair that I must stop.
But, that’s the writing life.
Mood: Coffeemplative
Hello, fellow sojourners of season and space. It’s Tuesday again, but this time it’s Feb. 20, 2024.
Sunshine is crashing through the eastern and southern windows and it’s already 54 F outside, though a bit ‘o wind is still stirring up the trees and ruining the cats’ outings. Layers of grey clouds smother my western view, darkening the pines’ green lines with long, heavy shadows. Rain is expected, but so is a high of 67 F. Can you dig it?
Ah, rain falls through sunshine. Where is the rainbow?
Tucker, my black and white house floof, continues improving. A side effect has emerged. He’d become less interested in Papi while he was feeling ill. Papi thus became bolder. Now Tucker is feeling better and beginning to notice Papi more. Papi has noticed he’s being noticed and is letting Tucker know he knows he’s being noticed, and warnings have been issued.
Finishing up Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism by Rachel Maddow. It illuminates corners of United States history I didn’t know, such as the conspiracy circulated by the Silver Legion or the Silver Shirts. Led by William Dudley Pelley, they believed all Jews are communists, and all communists are Jews. Rising during America’s Great Depression, the movement seemed to flourish in small, rural towns and was favored by white Christians. (Any of this sound familiar?) They believed Jews were starting all the wars in the world and wanted to turn the United States into a communist nation. To save the United States, they wanted to instead turn it into a fascist nation and were looking for America’s Hitler.
I’m summarizing, of course. Ms Maddow offers more details in rousing style. This is just one of many surprising stories about fascism in America. Depressing and infuriating, it’s more history that we Americans should know. I hugely recommend the book. I, for one, was unaware of the deep roots about conspiracies that have circulated through right wing circles for decades. I always believed that my fellow Americans supported the principles espoused in our Declaration of Independence, Constitution, Bill of Rights, and subsequent amendments. My ignorance embarrasses me but also blows my mind. Just shows again, I know so little about so much.
On the fiction side, I’m finishing Crime Manifesto by Colson Whitehead and beginning Widows by Lynda LaPlante.
Today’s music comes by way of JJ Cale, Brian Eno, and a television show called “The Bear”. The show often uses interesting and diverse music. I’ve been a fan of JJ Cale and Brian Eno since the early seventies. When they collaborated and released an album in 1990, I went right out and bought it. The album, Wrong Way Up, didn’t fail me. The first song on it was “Lay My Love” and showed up on “The Bear”. Since hearing it, “Lay My Love” has flickered in and out of my personal mental playlist. Today, The Neurons pushed it through into the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks).
I believe, though they won’t confirm it, that the lines hooking The Neurons were, “I am the crow of desperation” and “I am the termite of temptation”. Instead of those, though, my head rang with “I am the bastard of misinformation”. The Neurons continued my imagined stanza, “I live with what I don’t know. I try to find and remain behind, the knowledge that goes before.” Yeah, I know, I’m not a songwriter.
Stay positive, be strong, lean forward, and vote, please. Coffee drinking has progressed. Onward. Here’s the music. Cheers
I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.
And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.
The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.
Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.
While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.
Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.
Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.
The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.
What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.
The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.
It was the best of stuff and the worse of crap.
I’m working on two items in parallel: a new novel and a finished novel now undergoing its fifth revision.
The new project has that exciting blush attached. Unencumbered by an ending, story and characters emerge through flash floods of thoughts and poured through fingers and keyboards into the ‘puter, evolving into a novel. Great, let’s keep it going. It’s the fun, creative part, where anything goes. I’ll see if it works later.
Meanwhile, on the editing side, I’m facing the dark side of my process. The chapter under the knife in the finished novel makes me gag and cringe. What happened here? Why isn’t it working, I whine to myself. Can no one save me? Or it?
No, this is up to me. After working on it the other day, I shut it down and told myself, leave it for a bit. Let it vacate my mind. Let it ferment untouched and see what happens after the interval. Perhaps insights will arrive; or maybe it won’t seem as bad.
Good plan but when I took it back up, insights were like peace talks with Russia: nothing there. And it was just as bad as before. As waiting didn’t work, I’ve concluded, I’ll increase focus and concentration, drop back one chapter, and read back into it. On reflection, after writing that, I can see that I was confused about what I was writing about, feeling through it, and unsuccessfully capturing and refining what I know, what I’m showing, and its impact on the story. Part of that is that although the novel is in its fifth cycle of revision and editing, this chapter was added in during the fourth round. I thought it was needed; I still feel it might be, but I’m flexible on the matter. I’ll see how it flows.
Alright, time to coffee up so I can novel up and work through this revision.
Happy writing, y’all. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 