Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofkin (floofinition) – an animal with a bright orange color or markings that resembles a pumpkin; an indulgent nickname for a pet.
In use: “”Hey floofkin,” he said as the bright orange tabby ran up to him. Its tail was straight up except for a crook at the end. “Want something to eat?”
“”Mew,” the kitty replied, rubbing against the man’s leg.”
You ever write a word and stop to consider it, and then decide that it looks like it’s spelled wrong? But you then pull out a dictionary or go online and discover that it’s spelled correctly?
Happened to me with pumpkin this morning.
I think I need more coffee. Coffee knows how to spell everything.
There was a lot of action in the dream’s early acts, but I want to jump to the part that was sharpest when consciousness gained the upper hand.
Relaxing at last in the dream, free from the previous battles, I discovered that I had a healing power. By looking at someone, I could focus and heal them. When I did that, a light red beam flowed from my eyes and engulfed them.
The first beneficiary was a sick cat, but I soon started testing the envelope’s boundaries. Walking around on a warm, sunny day, I discovered my eyes’ healing powers worked on any animal, humans included, and any disease or injury. It also worked on plants, trees, broken shoe strings, broken windows, and damaged cars. I just kept walking around, healing and fixing everything. Pretty soon, I had a following and people asking me for help. I didn’t turn anyone down, healing everyone and fixing everything. Everyone was happier and happier.
Now, the two weird parts is that I was wearing a sky blue jumpsuit with a white dickey, and I looked like Gil Gerard as he looked in Buck Rogers.
It was a laugher of a dream.
I awoke with Outkast’s “Hey Ya” streaming in my mind, but another song replaced it. The lyrics, sung by a woman went, “He’s the last of the secret agents, and he’s my man.”
I thought, was that Nancy Sinatra? Sure sounded like it to my brain. Thinking about Nancy granted permissions to stream “These Boots Are Made for Walkin'”, followed by a duet with Frank Sinatra, “Something Stupid”. Hearing Frank made the stream believe it was okay for him to join in, so I heard “Winchester Cathedral” and “Fly Me to the Moon”.
I’d decided I was becoming a basket case, which opened the ports for “Basketcase” by Green Day, followed by “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”. Thinking, enough, I went through a little of “Enough is Enough” by April Wine, followed by “No More Tears” (Streisand/Summers).
By then, I knew that it had been Nancy Sinatra streaming “Last of the Secret Agents” (1966). I never saw the movie, btw. Anyone know if it was any good?
I finished editing and revising the beta version of Six (with Seven) today. That’s Book Three of the Incomplete States series. I began editing and revising it on September 24 of this year, so my editing and revising process has kept going at a decent pass.
The editing and revising process was draining, requiring most of my mental energy. Not surprising, as editing and revising your work forces you to confront weaknesses and doubts. I know that it’s made me more of pain in the ass to live with than usual. Although there are chapters that leave me a little wary, I feel good about the book and project. Part of that is the simple satisfaction of completing another step in the project, but there’s also the element that I’m satisfied as a reader that the writer wrote a decent tale. I was also pleased because some of my worries and fears were allayed. I kept thinking as I edited and revised the book that I needed to do more to clarify matters and tie together the disparate story lines. Then I discovered that hurrah, I did that when I wrote, edited and revised it back when it was the subject of my focus.
The chapters that leave me wary will confuse some readers. They’ll require close reading to follow them, patience, intelligence, and an open mind. So, do I dilute them to reduce those challenges, or leave them? I left them as is for now, as that feels right. This, of course, was the first go in editing and revising, so that can change in one of the next go-arounds.
Of course, the readers can skip these chapters and go on to the final two chapters, which strain the mud out.
I like how Six (with Seven) ends, moving the series’ stories forward, clarifying more, and setting up Book Four, An Undying Quest. I also have more appreciation for the title, Six (with Seven). It’s more whimsical and cleverer than I first realized. I’m not being immodest, but recognize that a lot of these decisions have subconscious insights going on that I don’t appreciate at first.
With three hundred twenty-two pages in Word and less than eighty thousand words, Six (with Seven) remains a slender book in my general pantheon of fiction writing.
Tomorrow, I begin editing and revising Book Four, An Undying Quest. Once it’s completed, I’ll have a first draft of all four. With some hope and luck, it’ll all make sense and flow together to a decent ending.
Now, the coffee is gone. Time to go for a walk, have lunch, do some yardwork, and maybe have a beer to celebrate.
Cheers
I write on a laptop, typing and editing as I go. It has its bennies and shortcomings. For instance, you ever become so excited to write and edit, so looking forward to getting started that the muses are singing in your head and their energy is coursing in your blood vessels? But then you must turn…on…the…computer….
Then…open…the…program…
Then…open…the…document…
And…it…seems…to…take…about…two…million…years..?
Exasperating.
I am exaggerating. It doesn’t take two million years, but rather about three minutes, what with the things that are done automatically on startup, like Internet connections and security software updates. It just feels like a looonnnggg three minutes.
But it’s all open now. I have fresh coffee at hand. Time to write and edit like crazy, at least one more time.
Cofloofitate (floofinition) – to share a place with pets; pets of different species sharing a dwelling.
In use: “Cofloofitating with dogs, cats, and birds, he was surprised by their demonstrated intelligence and compassion. They comforted not only him when he was sick or sad, but watched over one another, too.”
It’s not always easy to keep the fire burning. On some days, it feels like others are deliberately trying to put it out.
Today, I awoke with an actual theme song streaming in my head, to wit, the Hart to Hart music. Since the whole damn opening, including the expository introduction and the music, is stuck in my head, I need to share it to disperse it from me. Sort of like a musical exorcism.
For those of you who don’t know it, Hart to Hart was one of the last century’s American television offerings around the seventies or eighties. Starring Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers, along with Lionel Stander and a dog who was Freeway on the show, it was part of the fun, slick television genres populating our television fare. I wasn’t a fan, for no particular reason. It didn’t draw me (mostly because I was outside of America during those years, and American television was still mostly contained to North America), but I knew about the show through friends and family who were faithful viewers.
Although familiar with the show’s theme music, I had to research the composer. Turned out to be Mark Snow, who has done many television theme songs.
Looking at the clock, he found that it was 2:15, so it was appropriate to go to bed. The cats, though, thought that since he was up, it was appropriate that they be fed. Being a soft touch, he headed toward the utility room to feed them.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. The sound froze him while injecting a thrill of fear through his muscles. It sounded like someone was beating on the house’s side. Glancing toward a cat, he saw that it wasn’t bothered, but continued its quick trot toward him. As he opened the closet and drew out a flashlight, he checked the second cat. It also seemed unconcerned about anything but getting fed.
Had he imagined it? No, it seemed real, he argued with himself, trying to think, what could he use as a weapon? He didn’t know where his baseball bat was. Any hammers he had were in the garage, which is where he thought the noise may have originated. As these thoughts raced through his mind, he thought, maybe his wife had beat on the wall to get his attention. Maybe something had happened to her.
He was moving toward the master bedroom as he processed those thoughts. Opening the bedroom door, he found his wife and another cat sound asleep. So it wasn’t them…
Returning to the front of the house, he turned on the outside lights and the flashlight, opened the front door, and stepped out. I should have grabbed the phone, he thought, looking around.
It was a gusty night, full of shivering tree noises and fluttering, dancing leaves. Even with the outside lights on, the night seemed as dark as a coal mine, sparking new fear and anxiety in his stomach. But, this had to be done. Flashlight lighting the way, he walked around the house, peering into the bushes’ shadows for someone ready to jump out.
Finding everything in order in the front, he went to the garage and confirmed, no one was in there, and the door was locked. Inspections of the back and side yards found no one there. Everything was in order.
He went back into the house, fed the cats, and turned off the lights. It could have been imagination. It could have been teenagers pranking him. It may have been something that happened at a neighbor’s house.
He would probably never know.
