Every year has its ups and downs and 2010 was no exception. Still, it felt like a harder year in many ways. There were unexpected challenges by way of financial disasters, health setbacks and personal roadblocks. At times, I didn’t know how I’d get by day to day. Despite everything, the year ended on a high note. All we can do for the days ahead is work smart and move forward.
I’ve been slogging away, the last few weeks, trying to string together words that make sense. It’s been rough. A nameless ennui that I blame on not having a place to personalize yet. That’s something Andrea and I will be working towards in the new year. Meanwhile, life goes on and the writing must continue so I had to find a way. Deadlines usually help, but I’ve been staring two or three, maybe four, up the ugly side so much lately that I’m beginning to go cross-eyed.
Eventually I’ll get on to something resembling a schedule. This is a note to let you know that yes, I am still alive, despite what my twitter feed may appear to indicate.
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell has finally been repealed. About fucking time. Maybe this’ll be the tipping point to establishing equal rights for everyone regardless of race, gender or orientation. My brother’s back out of the hospital. It’s complex.
Insomnia and I are old friends who nod in passing, acknowledging our shared history like lovers but say nothing. The latest flare of pain caused by fibromyalgia has rekindled that flame and brought an entirely new facet to the relationship.
Fibro flares can be difficult. It’s sometimes easy to forget I’m in the middle of one when I’m sitting and working or active around the house but when I lay down to rest and my body starts to relax the pain gets worse.
We had our first measurable snowfall today — a meager quarter inch or so. I was awake early, or late, depending on your point of view thanks to fibrosomnia day 2. I decided to walk uptown to our favorite breakfast joint where I had three eggs, three slices of bacon, and fried potatoes and onions for under $5. I jotted down some words, made some notes on the next story I’m working on, and on the way back home picked up an extra large half hot chocolate, half coffee at Tim Hortons (which is open 24⁄7, btw) for less than $2.
6 months, 17 days. 201 days. It was May 7th when I had my original issues at the border resulting in my denial of entry. It was three weeks ago that we were planning to have Andrea follow me to California. And then events transpired which changed our mind. A plan was hatched. Action was taken. To our pleasant shock and awe, it worked. I am home. I am officially, and quite legally, in Canada.
I went to my first World Fantasy Convention last weekend. I’ve been to other conventions — mostly smaller, regional conventions like Penguicon, Windycon, and a one-day stop at WisCon last year. I thought I knew what to expect. Boy was I wrong.
First, the new friends. So many of my friends converged upon Columbus that World Fantasy was, for many of us, our first face-to-face meeting. I met what seemed like half of my rival Clarion class, all but one of the Inkpunks (Wendy, we missed you dearly), and so many others from Facebook, Twitter, and LiveJournal.
November 1st is here and that means NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. As someone who is a short story writer, I often look at my friends writing the long form with some envy. They have their own month and I don’t want to be left out so I tell myself that I will finally write one of those novel ideas I’ve been noodling on for forever. Just when I think I’ve picked one and made a decision, the weight of my backlog of revisions, rewrites, or markets I want to submit to smacks me like a brick.
I should have known I was in for a rough day when I woke up to rain. Not that rain is unusual, but I’d never seen it rain in Santa Monica before. It was a nice rain, though, the kind that you don’t mind walking to work in. After a weekend spent riding buses and enjoying the company of good friends (not that I’m complaining), I found myself in a deficit of spoons, though.
It’s a good feeling to put the word END after the last paragraph of a manuscript. This story was born week five of Clarion but I couldn’t make it work then. A little bit of time away and with four days of sporadic effort, it’s a story. Rough around the edges like any first draft but I expect those will be caught when I sent it to beta readers later this week.