Tag: June

Tuesday’s Theme Music

Mood: waitsive (waiting with a pensive feel, ya know?)

Greetings from the third rock. It’s Tuesday, June 25, 2024, and we have a crispy summery morning for you. Temperatures are slipping through the mid sixties and they’d keep that line going until we’re into the mid- to upper- 90s here in Ashlandia. The sky’s so blue, it must be true.

The status quo for me has settled. Act 1 is over, the first half, whatever sports or theatatrical term you wanna apply. We’re at intermission, half time, etc. Next, we’ll see what happens — the debates, the wars, SCOTUS decisions, Dad’s dialysis decision, my annual physical and my ankle, etc. I’m sure you have your own list of matters.

Yes, my ankle worsened yesterday. I went about without wrapping it, and it rewarded me by blooming into a larger size last night. I reciprocated with rest, ice, and elevation. Now it’s wrapped again. Bah, humbug.

With these matters occupying Der Neurons, songs with a waiting theme were percolating in the morning mental music stream (Trademark simmering) but then someone said something that sounded like, “Coming for you.” This was followed by some f-bombs and dog barking, all of which was traced to the street, a good long bomb pass away. A man was walking, his large dark dog unleashed. A woman with a leashed medium-sized canine was taking umbrage and the dogs were cursing one another with great teethy zeal. I went back in and checked on the cats (repping in the back yard) (repping: resting but not quite napping) and resumed my usual routines.

Pretty much a nothing burger, but it shifted Les Neurons’ path. Now they plied the morning mental music stream with “Great Rain” by John Prine with Mike Campbell from 1991. Conducting some forensics, I realized that one point in the verbal melee outside (would that be a verlee?), I thought I heard someone call my name. Confusing and brief, but it apparently hooked The Neurons, inducing them to think of this song’s lyrics, “I thought I heard you call my name.”

Stay positive, stay strong, lean forward, and Vote Blue in 2024. Coffee is being sampled and brain city is coming alive. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

This is it, the final countdown, the last rodeo of the June 2023 season. Today is Friday, June 30, 2023. We blast off into July, 2023 tomorrow. To mark it, the weather directors have punched our temps up into the high nineties. Decent humidity, though, the kind that isn’t felt, but nor is it dry.

Had a wild dream night. Local scamper floofs A & B, commonly known as Tucker and Papi awoke me at 4:46 AM. Tucker did the awakening, tapping my hand with a claw until I began petting him. He wouldn’t be denied. Drifting through half-warm thoughts, I began working on my novel in my head. Finally fell asleep and dreamed, interweaving novel fixin’s with dream fixin’s. Papi then was in, eating — crunch, crunch — which, yeah, great, but then, he cried because he wanted out, and Tucker was a few feet away from the pet door, outside, watching, and Papi just don’t trust Tucker. He finally escaped because Tucker came in through the pet door, leaving the opening on the other side unguarded, letting Papi make a break. I put this altogether by hearing a noise, raising my head, peering, observing, and then lowering my head and trying to return to sleep. Reprised the dream/writing cycle, got interrupted by Tucker vigorously employing his scratching pad, returned to dreaming/writing, and then Tucker came back to request more finger action.

Writing while in bed trying to sleep is never good for me. I get into it, it excites me, and The Neurons won’t back down, and then the muses move in and provoke The Neurons. Then, though, then, the muses began playing Eddie Money, “Think I’m In Love” (1982) in the morning mental music stream. Six thirty came so I got up, opened windows and doors, and welcome a cup of coffee into my life.

Opened openings to combat the coming heat. We have air and it works fine but I’m not an A/C person. Dislike them in stores, restaurants, movie theaters, and the house, Just feels so damn chill to me. Rather sweat a bit. But most Americans seem adverse to sweating. One of those peeves for me.

So, here’s Eddie Money and the band. Let’s raise a toast to June’s final day. My toast has butter and grape jelly. BTW, you know how hard it is to get organic grape jelly these days? Most of ’em are loaded with high-fructose corn syrup, to which, as a progressive, I say, no thanks. Oh, well. Stay as pos as you can. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

June has arrived with the soft sound of muted sunshine. Yes, it’s Day 1 of the thirty that make up June, 2022, different this year; in previous years, June had 31 days.

Just kidding. June hasn’t had thirty-one days since the late sixteenth century when the Calendar Makers convened to settle how many days each month should hold. June had seventy days until that time, and July wasn’t yet a month. Although February was, it had poor representation, and ended up with a short month and an iffy situation. According to the records, this was because February was a very cold month that year at the convention site, and the attendees wanted to keep that cold to a minimum. Such was the thinking that went on back then.

Sunrise was an underwhelming event at 5:37 AM, as clouds were present in force, dictating coverage. One salient aspect to bring out is that today’s sunrise is earlier than yesterday’s sunrise. Changes have already begun. Even though sunset is one minute later than yesterday, we still have the same amount of daylight.

Our temps were top out at about 80 F and hold to 61 now with a mild wind singing through the leaves.

Now, for some reason, the naughty neurons loaded Juice Newton’s cover of “Queen of Hearts” from the early 1980s. “Why?” I asked the neurons. Shrugging with sluggish indifference, they replied, “Why not?”

I think I need to give them some coffee. Let’s be safe out there, and test negative. Cheers

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Contracting and Expanding

The mid-year cusp finds me contracting and expanding among multiple spectrums, like my psyche is inhaling and exhaling, troubling and calming itself, encouraging and discouraging. All’s well, it’s not looking good, but it’s looking better even if it looks like crap.

July is beginning. I’ve completed the first draft of the novel begun in January (April Showers 1921). The first draft strikes me as abysmal. The things that I thought I needed to write and I thought were so perfect make me want to hurl now. Wading through them is like walking naked through a chest-high pool of liquified feces.

It’s wonderful.

This is writing’s essence for me. It’s the matter of thinking on topics and characters, needling the imagination into pulling concepts out of my ass, and then tinkering with it all, hunting the story, wrestling with understanding, and coping with how to tell it, and what I’m telling.

I began a new draft and reorganized the structure. That’s another phase in progress. I’ve edited and revised the first twelve chapters in the past week. Several of the chapters required five or more passes. One chapter remained unsatisfying after six or seven hacks at it. I marked it for more work and continued, remembering that the story being told is the sum of all the separate pieces, and only come together for me when they’re all known and understood. Then, working on another chapter, I went back to the troubling chapter. Eureka! I saw the issues troubling me, clear as a full moon on a cloudless night. Slash, slash, slash, slice, slice, slice, cut and delete, cut and delete, rework, rework. Ah; better. More passes are needed, but it now works.

Others have noticed my focus and intensity. They only see the outer panel. Inside me, it’s as intense as a hot, bubbling cauldron. I noticed the impact on other aspects of my life. Phone calls and emails that are promised are postponed to keep from interfering with my progress. My focus on this novel causes me to forget to do things that I’ve planned, errands to run, et cetera. I know this is the case, but my wife thinks I’m being forgetful because I’m getting old or something. I don’t bother to attempt to correct her, because there’s no value in wasting that energy.

Above and beyond, after reading interviews with authors, I’ve ended up with a long list of books to read. The ideas found and presented are spectacular. I want to go read those stories. It’s far from an altruistic plan. While it’s born in the enjoyment I find in reading and the admiration I have for their success in going the path that I follow, there are more books for me to write. Reading these others will help unleash these book ideas. That excites me.

That thought reminds me of the danger of tastes and preferences. I tend to read science fiction, thrillers, historic fiction, a few ‘literary’ books, mysteries, some non-fiction about science, economics, and politics, but I need to expand that circle. It’s a decent size, but it’s too small for the size of our existence. I’m hungry to find more, learn more, imagine more, and write more.

One thing that I learned while working in the military, startups, and Fortune 500 corporations is the value of pacing. There will be ups and downs, but to finish, I have to manage my intellectual, emotional, and physical energies so that I can be there at the end. That requires introspection and meditation, but my dreams help me.

It’s a different path for each of us. I’m jealous of being who stumble onto their path early and who manage to navigate it to their satisfaction, but I can’t deny that I’m happy to be on this path.

We’re cresting mid-year. I hope you’re all doing well on your paths. Press on.

Cheers

 

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June

Almost halfway through this year that we’ve deemed 2018. My writing discipline remains strong. I hope yours does as well.

The day was cold yesterday, and the trees were whispering, “Winter is coming.” Damn, man, I thought, hope these trees are wrong. By all weather logic that’s been established, the trees should be wrong, but you know how the weather can go these days. Walking in my shorts — for I dressed as an optimist — the breezes darting up my legs to my nether regions made me shiver.

Today, though, the trees are whispering, “Summer is coming.” Smelling grass that reminds me of fresh cut watermelon, I feel relieved by the warm breeze and sunshine that kisses me. Today, I’m looking forward to summer while hoping it doesn’t grow into the smokey, hot oppression of the last several years.

Today, I’m hopeful.

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