Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.
Pasflooferine(floofinition) – Animals, including birds, who enjoy singing. Although some species are specifically known for their singing abilities, pflooferine isn’t defined as a species or genus, but as a individual characteristic.
In use: “Jade was a pasflooferine of the first order, singing just before dawn so others would get up and feed her, singing to be freed from the house at midnight and then singing again outside the bedroom window to be let back in, even singing a sad lament when she found her litter box not up to her standards.”
I know all of these things. Think most writers do. ‘Writer’s butt’ — the ache of sitting too long, massaging lines, sentences, paragraphs, intentions, plots, and so on — strikes on too many days. I often feel like I can’t do this and think about giving up. Just live a normal life, right? Not think about plotting, pacing, characters, endings, and beginnings. But the itch remains. There’s a story. Write it. Finish it. Move on, and torture yourself again. Isn’t this fun?
I did have thoughts for what is now my third book release too, but they weren’t so funny. Why? Because this was the hardest book to write.
And it wasn’t because I was writing it during 6 COVID lockdowns that spanned 290 non-consecutive days. Or the hell that was months of homeschooling. Not even the mental and physical toll of three postponed surgeries, one major surgery, one unsuccessful surgery, and a follow-up surgery I’m still yet to have, made the book hard to write (although none of those setbacks helped).
You ever think about changing your calendar? I wonder how it would affect us if on each New Year, our first day was 365 (366 for a leap year). Then the days count down, like a Julian calendar in reverse. Today, instead of August 26, 2022, it would be something like Friday, 128, 2022. Then you’d think, oh my goodness there’s only 127 days left to this year. Your conversations would be interesting as people suggesting having a celebration on the 120, and you reply, “Is that a Friday?”
Today’s particulars aren’t notably different from yesterday. When I awoke a few hours ago, the temp. was 61 F. We’re up to 20 C now. Sunset is expected at 7:55 PM after a sunrise of 6:30 AM. Our high will be about 93 F. No clouds in the sky, and it’s blue. Air Quality is 2, so pretty darn good. On the news front, the GOP has shifted targets from the DOJ and are no longer chanting about defunding the FBI. Now they want to defund the IRS. Their cycle, from the false statements of the former GOP POTUS to their continual insistence that the 2020 POTUS election was stolen to some who lost claiming they won (yes, I’m commenting on you, Laura Loomer), to verbal attacks on different government departments seems to be about sowing discord, distrust, and confusion, which destabilizes our government, polarizes our politics, and disrupts our society. So no changes in the news, other than, oh, yeah, flooding, fires, droughts, baseball, football, and other sports. But yea, people cry, Lake Mead’s water level is no longer falling. We’re saved!
From reading news and reflection on my dreams and daily activities and routines, The Neurons feted me with John Lennon, “Watching the Wheels” from 1981. Do you remember when he was gunned down? I surely do. Anyway, The Neurons have “I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round, I really love to watch them roll,” repeatedly playing in the morning mental music stream. That’s how my mood is, to some degree. Moods, like so many things, are a spectrum, so I’ll be sliding along to something else sometime, and then probably back again, and off again, and so on.
Yes, I have my coffee already, and I’ve eaten brekkie — waffles today. Now I’m contemplating the cats washing themselves and contemplating their fur, ears moving as a car passes, a bird breaks cover and tweets, caws, or screeches, pausing as a far dog barks and a prop plane drones closer. Stay positive and test negative and so forth. Here’s the music. Sing along if you will. Cheers
Floofing Hour(floofinition) – 1. A period, which may be more or less than an hour, when an animal displays annoying or irritating behavior.
In use: “The floofing hour, when the cats came in demanding food and attention, was debilitating as everything was stopped to attend the floofs.”
2. The time(s) of a day or night when the quantum portals are open, enhancing animals’ skills as well as allowing them transport between dimenstions.
In use: “For the less adept floofs, the Floofing Hour was posted on the Floofnet, accessible to any animal at any time, but the more developed creatures were telefloofically connected and knew the time with a simple thought.”
I was a young man in this dream — which sounds like it could be the title of something, doesn’t it? — and working in some office. I don’t recall any work details other than I was happy and productive, respected and appreciated by management and my co-workers. A standard variation of the U.S. office space served as setting.
One of my bosses came by and said, “Have you heard of the Pinkerton deal?” I answered that I knew who or what the Pinkertons are, and he replied, “You haven’t heard then. But you will.” He later came by and said, “The Pinkertons have made you an offer, but they want you to move to Austin, Texas. Let me know if you’re interested because we’ll better their offer and move you to Austin. We’d love to have you in Austin.”
I replied, “I’m not interested in moving to Austin so I probably won’t take the deal.”
I received the Pinkerton deal later. I didn’t immediately turn them down because it was a great offer, and I was flattered and impressed. I told them that and they replied that they’d give me the same deal without the need for me to move because they really wanted me to join them.
The same boss as before came by. I told him of the new offer and said I was going to accept it. He said that they wanted to keep me so they would match any offer, and to make sure I spoke with them before I accepted any offers.
Astonished — and again flattered — I agreed. That’s where the dream left it.
We lined it up and took our shot, which landed on Thursday, August 25, 2022. It’s a good day to celebrate and rejoice, endure and persist, recover and comeback. Aren’t they all, to one person or another? Yes, depends on where everything aligns on the spectrum of the moment that day for that individual.
Our alignments bring us sunrise and sunset at 6:29 AM and 7:56 PM, respectively. Our air temp is 20 C but it feels warmer. Asking why, I realize that my cool mountain air seems to be AWOL because everything was too heated yesterday to properly cool down over night, and much of the snow that helped generate that cooling effect has melted away into the streams, rivers, and cisterns. Today’s alignments of pressure systems, rotation, revolution, and sunny influence will take us to 97 F in our valley.
The nearest fire is Rum Creek, northwest of us by some distance. Favorable winds are keeping us happy as kittens as our air quality is lushly green, but those in other areas must bear the smoke and particles. Fingers crossed for the people of Galice and that region’s plant and animal life that the fire’s destruction is limited.
The Neurons are playing “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. The song came out in 1983 and was quickly a ubiquitous song, heard on AM, FM, and TV so frequently, one was soon reaching to change the channel when it came on as the overexposure began grating nerves. Inspired by his girlfriend, Elle McPherson, Whitney Houston, and the woman who became his GF and then his wife, Christie Brinkley – a story told frequently back then — who were hanging out that day, the song has a definite throwback sound to an earlier rock and roll era. The Neurons selected it today because I glanced at a headline, Billy Joel Welcomes Olivia Rodrigo for ‘Deja Vu,’ ‘Uptown Girl’ at Madison Square Garden.
Michael Seidel, writer 