Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofspiration (floofinition) – The process of being mentally stimulated by an animal, especially a housepet, to do or feel something.
In use: She was down, but the dog walked up with this dopey look, with his leash hanging out of his mouth. Floofspiration seizing her, she laughed. “You’re right. It’s too nice a day to sit here feeling sorry for myself. Let’s go for a walk.”
The Wayback Machine injected another song into the stream yesterday.
I was out walking through an autumn day. Reds, golds, oranges, and yellows have been splashed across the foliage but leaves aren’t dropping yet. Temperatures have dropped in a fallish segment, thirties to forties at night, fifties to sixties in the day, with rain showers.
As I walked through this, I noticed how many people weren’t dressed for the day. Maybe, like my friend, in his loud flowery, tropical shirt, they’re making a last stand for summer. Perhaps they expected the area to follow its tradition of quickly reverting to warmer weather, or, it could be that they’re just denying that the season changed, or they’re not paying attention. I also thought that they were tough people, unfazed by chilly, soggy weather, and were wearing tee shirts and sandals because the weather wasn’t affecting them like the rest of us mortals. The majority them looked cold and a bit miz, though.
So, reflecting on the weather change, I chanced to glance upon a far-away scene, where the leaves were a splash of fiery color on the mountain. Natch, the WM poured a 1975 Marshall Tucker Band song, “Fire on the Mountain” into the stream, and off I went, humming and singing as I continued on.
Of course, “Fire on the Mountain” is about a futile search for gold so a man can improve his family’s situation. He fails and dies. That’s often life, innit?
I like watching people, seeing where their eyes move, their non-verbal language, and how they interact with the world. The phone people — PP, or P2, the ones with attention glued to their phones as they walk along — demonstrate little expression or body language. It’s not a surprise; they’re usually totally invested in that little electronic device. They’re interacting with it. It changes when they’re on video, or actually speaking someone, and — of course! — when a selfie is being orchestrated.
As an aside rant, the P2 annoy me when they’re absorbed by their phone and walking. They expect everyone to move aside and look out for them. Sometimes, I’m an asshole, and I don’t move.
Today’s song was inspired by a woman walking toward me. She was quite the haughty person, swapping all with her eyes but avoiding eye contact with anyone. I do understand it more, now, why many women avoid contact that could be misconstrued with others. Many have horror stories about how their friendliness was misconstrued, leading to ugly encounters with men who thought the women were flirting with them.
This woman’s dark eyes struck a chord with lyrics from a past song, “Here comes the woman with the look in her eye.” Before she’d come within six feet, Michael Hutchence and INXS were streaming “Devil Inside” through me. Although this song came out in 1988, when I was stationed in Germany, I’d heard INXS in the early eighties while on assignment at Kadena AB on Okinawa. That’s because I knew some Australian special forces members there. They knew of INXS’ music and introduced them to me. So INXS is forever associated with Okinawa in my mind.
Sad day when I heard that Hutchence had killed himself, thirty-seven years old. He was younger than me by four years, and it seemed astonishing that such a talented, young, and successful person could kill themselves.
I’ve learned a lot since then.
Slipping, sliding, easing, hiding,
it comes, it comes
bringing warmer clothing out and pushing big rain clouds about
it comes, it comes
pasting new colors on leaves and stripping branches bare,
it comes, it comes
before you know it, you look around, and it’s not coming,
Fall is already here.
I did a great deal of solitary walking on the beach last week, a wonderful incubator for re-balancing references and energies, and re-calibrating my compass. Many walking songs streamed along in the background of my thinking. I’d heard this song, “Walking in Memphis” (Marc Cohn and the Blind Boys of Alabama, 1991) earlier in the week. The song melded effortlessly into my stream. One specific verse remained with me.
Walking in Memphis
I was walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walking in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?
The lines’ duality strike me, especially the last, “But do I really feel the way I feel?” Not infrequently, I root through what I’m feeling to discover that what I thought I was feeling wasn’t it at all, and the source for my feelings isn’t always as apparent as the first thing – or the latest matter – or the dominant issue – stalking me. Sometimes, digging and reflection is required to discover what I really feel, and why.
Friends were renting a house in Waldport, Oregon, three bedrooms, three baths. They’d invited their family. Their family couldn’t make it. Would we like to come?
Twist our arms, ouch, ouch, okay, we give, we give, we’ll come! The house wasn’t on the beach, but on a bluff that overlooks the beach, less than a quarter mile to the beach. Topology and beach access rules and agreements made it a ten minute walk to the beach. Not a problem.
We drove through pouring rain to reach Waldport. The sky ratcheted down to a gray sunshine the first night, permitting a walk on the beach. Waldport has fine, sandy beaches, flat, wide, and unpopulated by many others in September. Rain drenched the area that night. We awoke to a misty gray day, but that burned off. Sunshine and blue skies arrived and hung out with us for the next few days, a very welcome guest. Temperatures jumped into the high sixties, flirting with seventy-one inland.
Waldport is a small, comfortable town. Not many eateries called to us but Yachats ten miles to the south and Newport fifteen miles to the north were easy drives up Highway 101. Down in Yachats, we returned to Luna Sea Food twice, and also visited the Green Salmon for some excellent coffee and food. Once again, we struck out when we tried to visit Bread and Roses, as it was closed for the week! Dinner on Tuesday was at the Adobe restaurant in Yachats, where the dining room presented us with an excellent seat to watch the sunset as we ate and drank.
I walked on the beach at least twice a day, in addition to our daily hiking. For the week, I ended up with sixty-five miles on my Fitbit, which was the same as the previous two weeks. I often walked barefoot in the shallows, enjoying the sun-warmed waters churning over my feet.
Meanwhile, we had terrific companions, Marcia, Art, and Lucy. The owners’ net situation kept us off computers except to check email once in a while. We traveled the local coastline, hiking, and visiting the sights. We also walked the Alsea Bay Bridge. Just three quarters of a mile long, the bay’s water were fantastically clear and often shallow. Seals sunned and swum below us, entertaining us with their pastimes (yes, we’re easily entertained). Amanda’s trail in Yachats offered a more challenging walk, giving us fifty flights of steps on our Fitbits, and offering terrific views of the Pacific. Signs warned us about a mama bear and her cubs in the area, so we stayed on guard.
Amanda’s head has been washed away, and has been replaced by a smaller, carved statue of her. Her sad history, shared too many times with other people across America, remains to remind us how inhumane and barbaric Americans and Europeans often treat others.
A return visit to Cape Perpetua was in order, with its short hike to the CCC era stone shelter.
When we were back at the house, time was passed reading, chatting, eating, cooking, drinking wine, and gazing out at the ocean. The moon was waxing and was almost a full moon by the week’s end, splashing its gorgeous glow over the calm, rolling ocean. Not much writing was done, but batteries were drained and recharged.
Got my coffee, and my ass is in the chair. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Watching the gorgeous ocean today, different songs about seas, oceans, water, and sailors sprang into the mental stream. Anchoring in was a later John Denver song about Jacque Cousteau and his ship, the Calypso, from 1975.
Ah, an old favorite, from about fifty years ago. Here’s Humble Pie with a 1972 cover of Jr Walker’s “Road Runner”. It speaks to being on the road yesterday, and then doing some hard hiking.
Here’s a casual writing update, since I was thinking about it.
I thought I was on draft number seven of my latest WIP, April Showers 1921. After yesterday’s writing session, though, I was going through old docs while closing down – browsing the past, if you will – when I realized, wow, this is actually the tenth draft, if you include three false starts.
As I walked yesterday, I looked back on the process of writing this novel. I’d say that the first five or six drafts were about exploring and gasping the concept, characters, and story. A sprawling story, grasping all of its elements and ramifications was difficult. It reminded me of attempting to tell about World War II. So much happened and impacted on other areas, but things needed to be sorted and put into some order that could be followed.
I’d been free-flowing, writing like crazy, with those early drafts, leaping into different aspects of the story, exploring and expanding scenes and anecdotes, hunting for the handle on the characters and relationships. From that came the sense of the story arc, the concept’s fullness, the characters’ complexities, and the beginning and ending.
Each draft was being organized around what had been previously written. The chapters would be cut and slashed, re-written and re-arranged as needed to fit my evolving understanding. Then more was written to expand scenes. Everything was shifted as required to address pacing and coherency.
With the next draft, number seven (or ten, as I see it now) which is the current draft, it finally felt that I was fully in tune with what’s going on. I’ve been rocketing through it. Most of the writing sessions are not long, but intense and explosive. Progress has been strong. As with most of my writing process, regardless of their purpose, my mind continues working on it no matter what I’m doing. It’s not unusual to have an epiphany in a grocery store or while driving the car. Most often, though, as I walk away from the writing day, the muses carry inertia forward, delivering more material for the next day.
It’s fun writing like this, learning the story, telling the story, and feeling it opening up, expanding to include more while contracting to deliver more impact.
Okay, got my coffee, and ass in chair. Time to write like crazy again, at least one more time.
Walking yesterday, I felt terrific, one of those times when you smell the air and look around at everything and think, what a wonderful life. It’d been an excellent writing session. That was parlayed into a long, energetic walk. Along the way, I streamed multiple songs.
The song that resonated the most is a Ben Howard song, “Keep Your Head Up” (2011). These particular lyrics charmed me:
Now walking back, down this mountain,
The strength of a turnin’ tide.
Oh the wind so soft, and my skin,
Yeah the sun so hot upon my side.
Oh lookin’ out at this happiness
I searched for between the sheets,
Oh feelin’ blind, I realize,
All I was searchin’ for, was me.
Oh oh-oh, all I was searchin’ for was me.
Oh yeah, keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
No, no, no, no, keep your mind set, keep your hair long.
Oh my, my darlin’, keep your head up, keep your heart strong.
Na, oh, no, no, keep your mind set in your ways.
Keep your heart strong.
Take a listen and see if you get charmed. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 