Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofalert (catfinition) – the sound that a cat makes, warning you that something is about to happen. Floofalerts are categorized in related activities, such as puking, fighting, and tearing up the house.
In use: “He’d heard a sound. Stilling, he sat up straight. Yes, a floofalert! One of the cats was puking. It sounded nearby.
“Putting his head down, he closed his eyes. He’d need to be careful and watch where he stepped when he got up in the morning.
“And then he realized that he had to pee.”
On this day, they remind us, Live Aid took place in 1985.
Yes, children, I remember the event, but I believe I didn’t watch it, as I was living in tent city in Egypt as part of Bright Star 85.
In honor of that event, I’m streaming the Boomtown Rats’ “I Don’t Like Mondays”. It’s perfect for Friday, because Monday is always lurking.
Floofotechnic (catfinition) – a display of cat-oriented artworks and information.
In use: “Wealthy with floofotechnics, the CFA Foundation & Feline Historic Museum is devoted to collecting and recording the history of the cat and the cat fancy.”
The turn I’ve encountered with my muse and the characters develops into a complex scene. I struggle to see the setting and put the pieces together.
It’s not writing block. This is like trying to solve a complex logic puzzle by assembling and analyzing disparate bits of information. Part of me is bucking against the muse, because it’s work, and I feel like I should understand it before I write it, while the muse just encourages me, “Don’t worry, just type.”
Part of this is laziness of the whiny, I-don’t-wanna immature sort. It’s groan-inducing work to think about how this fits into what has happened and seeing how these twists and turns affect the ending.
Part of it is annoyance of the sort experienced when you think you’re almost done and then experience a last-minute delay.
A friend comes by. I haven’t seen him in a few months. He apologizes for interrupting me,. I brush that off, and we chat. (His interruption secretly relieves me.)
His wife died of lung cancer almost two years ago. He’s been at a loss and he’s now seeing a grief counselor. He’s visiting his son and grandchildren, and his brothers. One brother lives down in Healdsburg, he said, which surprises me. I thought this brothers live in Chicago and New York. Yes, the one that lives in Ithaca still has a place there, and still teaches one semester a year at Cornell, but has decided to live in California for most of the year.
We chat further and exchange offers and promises. Who knows if we’ll keep them?
Returning to writing, I realize that his interruption was fortunate. As my muse knows, I over-analyze. Part of my issue when I do that is I fall into the weeds of the details. Down there, I can’t see the larger parts and picture.
I know and recognize this from my days as an analyst. It was always useful, after being presented with a problem, collecting and compiling information, to walk away and let my subconscious mind work on what it’s seen without the interference of my conscious mind and its foibles. Because I knew that worked, I cultivated the methodology and was successful with it. Collect, compile, regard, walk away, and then come back. The break always allowed me to see with sharpened focus and new clarity.
It happened today with the writing as well. Resuming, I understand where the muse is taking me and what I need to type. Lesson learned, once again.
Now I can write like crazy, at least one more time.
Just out of nothing and for no reason except that it’s Thursday, or maybe because it’s July, here’s Joe Jackson with “Steppin’ Out” from 1982.
To the left of the back door onto the patio is a black widow’s residence. She builds her web every night.
To the left of the back door, leaning against the wall on the patio, is our broom. Every morning, I take the broom and knock down the black widow’s web.
Last night, I went out to call a cat. Turning on the light, I saw the black widow feasting on an insect in her web.
I thought about knocking the web down, but I reconsidered. Who am I to insert myself into this process that is the foundation of nature?
I fear the black widow and her bite. I doubt she thinks about me. Regardless, this is part of our life cycle. I can’t let fear of her direct my actions. No, I’m not comfortable with it, but should my comfort decide my actions?
I let her web be.
I’m not afraid of anything but everything.
As long as there’s not anything, I’m not afraid of nothing.
My wife told me about foot masks, so I asked her to buy me some. She did. Applied them last Sunday. Got to peel off my first skin today.
