Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
It’s a recurring theme for me. I see old people and wonder what they were like when they were young, and I look at young people and wonder, what will they be like when they’re old.
Like her, in the floppy sun hat, green pants, and multiple pastels scarves, short grey blonde hair and wire-rimmed round gold glasses. When did she become that person?
Or take her for example, the blonde early tweener with blue hair and fringe bangs, dressed all in black, with a long-sleeved shirt and tight shorts, white crew socks, and white canvas shoes. She’s a gregarious presence in her small knot of companions. What will she be like in the future?
Weird thing: thirty-five customers by my count in the coffee shop. Four of us are male. Two of the men are working on computers. It looks like the women are all socializing.
Contemplating the dynamics and speculating about people is an attractive way of engaging my mind as I sip coffee and the muse comes to write.
I’m at the point in the novel-in-progress’s progress where I entertain notions of the next book which I want to write.
First, I’m always doing that, no matter where I am in the writing, editing, and revising process. Ideas and characters are stacked up in my head like a giant Costco warehouse. But now it’s reached the point where I’ll transition from mind mutterings into earnest application, chasing a direction, building characters, and so on.
Now, I have one novel in the works where I wrote about a third of it and shared it with friends earlier this year. They said, “That’s great, do more of that.” But there are some ideas which have been lurking in my mind’s niches for a longer period. Some light flashed on them today.
Suddenly a concept jumps into being almost fully conceived. An opening paragraph begins getting typed in my mind. Main characters clear their throats and step up. Then, best of all, a neon-lit title leaps into the scene.
Some muse is behind it all and put together an impressive campaign to convince me to pursue their idea. And it worked.
I’m eager to start writing.
Mood: spacey
The numbers are in for today, Sunday, June 9 2024. 55, 65, 83, our low, current, and expected high for Ashlandia, all in F. The numbers show that our sprummer run remains intact.
My cats are doing well. Still lovin’ sprummer. Tucker has been reborn. But that encourages him to think he’s a young ‘un. Now he wants to spend all his time outdoors. “No,” I tell him. “You’re an elderly housefloof. You’re better off indoors.”
“YOOOWWWLLLL!” he shouts back. “YOOOWWWLLLL. MeeeOWWWLLLL.” He’ll do this until my wife or I leap up and open the door, telling Tucker, “Fine, go get eaten by a cougar but don’t complain to us when it happens. We tried to tell you but you won’t listen.”
Tucker usuallly replies with a haughty, “Murpf.” Everyone owned by a cat knows what murpf means.
It’s National Donald Duck Day FYI. I’m not celebrating it, myself. I’m sure it’s a big deal to someone on this world.
No, I’m celebrating Space Appreciation Day. This is not the same as National Space Day, celebrated in May. Space Appreciation Day is not about the region beyond Earth’s atmosphere or all that ‘out there’ in the dark, starry night.
Space Appreciation Day is about private space. Leg room and elbow room during air travel or in movie theaters. Or room in bed to turn over without leaving the mattress. That’s what Space Appreciation Day, often shortened to SAD, is all about.
Take, for example, writing at the coffee shop. SAD comes into its own there. I don’t want to hear others’ phone calls. First, I’m usually only hearing one side of it, forcing me to provide the other end. Like:
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,” I hear in the coffee shop. Which I fill in to mean, the contract killer is making the hit.
Nor do I want to be a close party to others’ sneezes. Likewise, I don’t want to share my sneezes with others because I see the accusing, wary looks they use afterward. (“What does THAT guy have? He looks like he migh be dying. Maybe I should leave or mask up.”) Ideally, I’ll have a radius of twelve feet between me and anyone else in the coffee shop. And that’s what I pray for when I dance and make sacrifices to the Gods of Space on SAD.
The Neurons wanted to play along but when I thought about space and the distance between me and other objects, they came back with the realm outside of planets’ atmospheres. So I ended up with Muse singing “Starlight” from 2006 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark out there).
Be strong and positive, and enjoy your SAD, however you decide to celebrate it. Vote Blue 2024. I’ve begun the coffee ingestion process, and we have lift off. Here’s the music. Cheers
Dealing with a bad muse today. Experienced with my buttons, she’s pushing them to get her way.
See, I should be editing and revising. It’s round number five on this novel in progress. It’s coming along well but it has a big appetite for my time. I hope, with another round or two, that I’ll have a finished tale that satisifes me. But that comes with a big sigh cuz I’m a little weighed down with the novel. Sixty pages of editing remain of a section which was expanded and shifted in the last two go-arounds. Complicated, they were sloppy and overwritten so I’m addressing what I see. It’s satisfying but tedious.
Bad Muse knows this. She knows that I’m addicted to the creativity experienced while writing a new novel. So Bad Muse is pushing buttons to continue with a new novel in progress. “It’s going well,” she croons, “and it’s fun. Time away from that other one will give you distance and you’ll find the editing is more easily done.”
I don’t know if her logic is right but I don’t like her tone when she says ‘that other one’. So disdainful. Not calling it a novel. Not even referencing it as a book or manuscript. Like she’s talking about another woman, a past girlfriend or wife or such. Oddly, that tone cements a decision that I’m going to edit ‘that other one’.
Take that, Bad Muse.
Back at the homestead. Something is barking outside. Sounds like a sea lion barking up a storm. Understandable, as he’s in the mountains. Probably asking directions for the coast.
It’s Thursday, Jun 29, 2023. Folks are active outside on this cool 62 F morning in Ashlandia today, where the seniors are busy and the coffee shops are crowded. We’re lookin’ fer 90, 92 F, sumpin’ in that area, today. Protect your skin, and hydrate. It’s a no-cloud zone for now.
Coffee drinking has commenced. The cats have been in and out, tickled by their space, entertained by a jay’s activities, soothed by a breeze, warmed by the sun. The jay is always out there doing things — well, dusk to dawn — sorry for the hyperbole — an epitome of energy. Depressing to watch their busy self. Makes me feel like a sloth in comp.
In sad news, sunrise has backed up to 5:37 AM. A moment of silence for the lost minutes. Next thing you know, it’ll be November and the sunrise won’t be comin’ ’round till after seven.
Has been a fast year. I always think that it’s just me feelin’ so but my wife said to me, “It feels like it’s too soon for the fourth of July.” I agree. Feels like we’re shooting through 2023 like a slick uncooked turkey through buttered fingers.
After I began ruminating about time, The Neurons just took off runnin’ with it. Don’t know ’bout you, but that’s how my neurons do. Then people are asking, “You look like you were thinking about something.” You reply, “I think I might have been but I don’t know what it was.” Anyway, The Neurons reacted with “Time Is Running Out” by Muse (2004). I enjoyed the video back when it was released, just under a year before we moved from California to Oregon. Liked those military folks around the table, oblivious and yet doing things as a synchronized act. After my military career, that felt right to me.
Stay pos, and don’t let the bedbugs bite. Here’s the music. Cheers
Thursday again, naturally. May 4, 2023. Man, I remember writing 2011 as the year not long ago. 2000. The years dart past like playing kittens.
A bird on a wire, clouds in the sky. Quiet today, but relaxed, not like Ashlandia is holding it breath and keeping its powder dry. More, subdued. Clouds inhibit the warmth and sunshine. It’s 53 F, and a high of 60 F is expected. Yesterday’s late afternoon grew find after our 2 PM to 2 PM rain shower — blink and you missed it — rising to 68 F and feeling warmer for the sunshine’s due process. Dawn was already developing at 5:09 AM when Papi went out for another inspection, though sunrise wasn’t until a few minutes after six AM was struck. The sun will inhabit Ashlandia’s skies until after 8 PM.
We had a joyous time at the beer guzzle yesterday afternoon. Only way to describe it. Strong turnout, high energy, fun conversation and joking. Eclectic subjects. Always is. Our youngest member, Doctor P, recently retired department head at the local Uni., turns 65 next week, so he’ll be treating us all to beer and pizza.
Political news inspired The Neurons today. After reading a bit this AM and digesting what I’d read yesterday, The Neurons said, “I’ll show you a ‘god’ who falls asleep on the job.” I thought, what’s that from? A bit later, more song emerged, then click, recognition was achieved. Now “Knights of Cydonia” by Muse from 2006 occupies the morning mental music stream. It always reminds me of Uriah Heep from another era, which isn’t a bad thing.
Here’s the music. Stay pos. Coffee is onboard with me, so here we go. Cheers
He worked on a chapter, again, then again. Boredom sank its teeth in him. He found himself chasing clickbait on the net.
A muse slapped him. “Hey. It doesn’t work. It’s not needed. Delete the chapter, fool.”
Well, there it was. He did so, but saved it as a doc. Just in case.
Michael Seidel, writer 