Pounding the Keyboard


Moving is bad for writing. This much is certain.

A more pernicious discovery, though, is my recent determination that having a home can be bad for writing, too!

Back in my Usenet days, I participated in a group that focused on the writing of fantasy and science fiction. There was a helpful term used a lot then: “Cat vacuuming”, which referred to the habit of a lot of writers to resort to the most obscure of household chores as a way of procrastinating. Chores never stop, they never go away, and there is always something that “needs doing” around the house. It’s a lot easier to sit down at the desk and then suddenly remember those two light fixtures that have needed new lamps for a month — despite the fact that no one turns them on, ever — and jump up from the desk to act accordingly. I’m discovering that the “butt in chair” state of being, so necessary for writing, was a lot easier to attain in the apartment.

Which just means I need to apply discipline in order to regain momentum, because once I have momentum, then I’m like a friggin’ train, folks. As River Tam might say, “No power in the ‘Verse can stop me!”

In practical terms: after a lot of fits and starts, and shortened writing sessions that didn’t produce much by way of copy, I’m on something of a productive streak again with The Adventures of Lighthouse Boy (not the actual title). That’s my writing tracker spreadsheet up top — note all the blank spaces, but also note how long this book is getting. And it’s only, by my estimation (as I’m not working from any kind of plot outline), I’m only now nearing the book’s halfway point. I knew going in that this book was going to be a doorstop, and sure enough, it is. I’m fine with that, as I wanted to write a lllooonnnggg book, in the Alexandre Dumas vein, with long-held family secrets, and royalty in hiding, and hidden treasure, and daring escapes, and wild coincidences, and femme fatales, and fateful meetings in bright taverns, and loves lost and found, and…a lighthouse above the pounding surf at the bottom of the windswept cliffs. I don’t know what I’ll do with this one once it’s done, but I have some ideas. We’ll see.

In other writing news, as of July 1, I am ramping hard into production on the November release of Princesses In SPACE!!! (not the actual title). I’m making notes for final edits — I need to revise some things, fix a few issues, and insert some material here and there to retrofit that book to better lead into its sequel. I’ve had discussions with an artist friend about cover art, and I’m considering making a book trailer to release online. I’ll discuss more of this work as I go, hopefully as a way of generating some small amount of buzz for this thing. I’m aware that a lot of this groundwork will take a while to bear fruit, as it will probably be the second and third books in the series that start to pile on the momentum. But it has to start somewhere, and I am increasingly thrilled with the prospect of this book’s release into “the wild”.

So that’s where we stand right now. Lots of work to do! Not much time to do it! It’s like that song, the one from Smokey and the Bandit. You know the one. And if you don’t, look it up. Onward and upward! Zap! Pow!!

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Sentential Links

Linkage!

:: I have a confession to make.

I’m not brave.

:: The garbage we hear on TV and from our friends gets into our heads and we tend to talk like everyone else even when we know better. I resolved a while back to stop saying “theory” when I really mean “hypothesis” but it’s hard.

:: The record for keeping the world’s longest (or largest) personal diary might belong to Reverend Robert Shields, who on a whim began one in 1972 and wrote in detail about himself and every day of his life until 1997, when a stroke disabled him. He then turned his opus, which had to be packed up in 91 boxes, over to a university. Exactly how long is it, and is it a good read? Actually it’ll be a while before we know. Rev. Shields donated it to the university in 1999 with the stipulation that no words would be counted and it would not be read until 50 years after his death.

:: Yog’s Law: Money flows toward the writer.

Self-Pub Corollary to Yog’s Law: While in the process of self-publishing, money and rights are controlled by the writer. (I’ve thought about this stuff a lot as I start thinking about gearing up for my first foray into the self-publishing world.)

:: So in that respect, as much as I loved the series, I’m glad Firefly was cancelled. (I’d like to disagree, but I can’t. When we rewatched the series last year, I found this the most troubling aspect of the show. I’d like to think that they would have figured this out in a putative Season Two — and maybe in the new comics which are continuing the story, we’ll find out.)

:: We spent three hours in that booth in the early-morning hours of Labor Day of 2002.

And then we dated, got engaged, got married, bought a house in the suburbs, had a baby, had another baby. And it was all so easy. And it was the hardest thing either of us had ever experienced. Our hearts soared and our hearts were broken – both at the hands of others, of fate, of each other. And romance fizzles as you concentrate on the kids, on your job, on your mortgage, on real life.

:: To remind y’all: you can ask me ANYTHING, and I will answer, reasonably soon, generally within thirty days. Last time out, I kept getting followups, which, BTW, are fine, but it took a bit longer than I had anticipated. (Go ask Roger anything. My next go-round for Ask Me Anything! isn’t until August, so this will keep you busy until then. And yes, I’m aware that I flubbed this past February’s Ask Me Anything!, and I will finish those answers in August. I probably should have skipped it, with the impending move.)

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The day a sitcom ruined my life

It was a Thursday night, my senior year of high school, and I sat down to watch the new episode of Cheers. It was a typically funny episode, focusing on dimwitted Woody and his equally-dimwitted girlfriend, whose name happened to be Kelly. Yup, just like me. In this episode, it was Kelly’s birthday, and Woody had to come up with a gift. Problem was, Kelly was filthy rich, and Woody just wasn’t, so he decided to come up with a gift that would be from his heart. So it was that at Kelly’s birthday party, the time came for Woody to unveil his gift to her. So he sits down at the piano, and then…[sigh]…this happened.


The moment wasn’t even over before my brain started screaming inwardly, “Oh crap. Oh crap crap crap crap CRAP.”

Next day at school, guess what everybody started singing as soon as they saw me. I went the entire day hearing that damnable song every time I turned around. And since Cheers was popular, the song remained in consciousness for a while…and it still has. To this very day — and it’s gotta be 25 years since that episode ran — I will still occasionally find someone whose memory will be jogged, and they’ll get this very specific gleam in their eye, and they’ll ask, “Hey, were you ever a fan of the show Cheers?”

To which I will sigh, and say, “Yes, I loved the show, and if you sing it I will break your arm.”

This threat is never taken seriously.

And that is the day a sitcom ruined my life.

(Via Ken Levine, who is, at the very least, an accomplice in this crime.)

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Instaweek(s)

Some recent pretty pictures!

Our trees are now in full leaf.

I have some new toys lately, like this impact driver. Love this thing!

A recent doodle, for an Instagram 30-day challenge:

Disney characters keep a close eye on the library for me.

We recently went to the local Botanical Gardens, housed in this building. I still need to post my photos of the plant life therein.

Neighbor cat likes to taunt Julio.

I like astromech droids in principle, but I hope they’re not invented before I retire!

It’s Farmer’s Market time of year!

Hockey and basketball are over, huzzah!!!

I made emerald fried rice the other night. ‘Twas quite tasty. Next time, I’ll use a different protein, though — ham, while quick and easy, just wasn’t that exciting.

The other day I got home from work to see my father opening the gate in the backyard. A few seconds later, I saw why: he was giving the two wild turkeys in our yard an evacuation route.

Writing continues, sometimes frustrating, sometimes not…

…and sometimes with feline obstacles.

It’s kind of hard to write a dramatic and emotional scene when this is going on at my feet:

And I had thought about buying a cat bed for the library, but now I see that I don’t need to bother.

Lester also likes being in the kitchen when we’re cooking.

All in all, life is good!

The Daughter, once eight, is now fifteen.

And I leave you with some cautionary words from Satchel.


Excelsior!

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Something for Thursday

A couple weeks ago I did some happy, upbeat songs for the Thursday Thing, so this week I’ll slow things down. Not necessarily downbeat songs, but just some slower tempi, because slow dancing is kinda nice once and again.

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Tony Gwynn

The Law of Big Numbers seems to imply that someone out there hated Tony Gwynn, but it’s telling that I’ve never yet met anyone who did. I’ve met people who hated Michael Jordan, and even Dale Earnhardt, but never yet have I met someone who didn’t like Gwynn as a player. I’m sorry to learn of his passing.

If there’s a heaven, I hope there’s good baseball. Lord knows there should be.

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Hey, I’m on Goodreads!

Actually, I’ve been on Goodreads for quite a while (it says that I signed up in 2007!), but I’ve never used it. Now I’m making an attempt, after reading someplace that being active on Goodreads is a good idea for writers. I’ve no idea if that’s true, but hey, it can’t hurt. So if any of you are on Goodreads, feel free to ‘add’ me or ‘friend’ me or whatever it is they call it.

And then…explain the thing to me! I don’t quite get it…do I actually write about the books I read over there, or is giving books a star rating all there is? Do other people comment on my star ratings and then we have discussions? I do rather like the notion of a book-based social media site, but if someone could give me the dime tour-and-explanation of the thing, I’d be grateful.

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Sentential Links

Haven’t done one of these in a while! Some links:

:: I’m not trying to raise a Mini-Me, but a thinking, separate person. And, increasingly, she is. (This is, to me, one of the more fascinating facets of parenthood: watching The Daughter’s interests and passions develop, and noting the areas of commonality we have as well as the points at which we diverge. Sometimes I have to catch myself and not allow my thinking to shade into disappointment — “Y U NO LOVE STAR WARS AND SPACESHIPS LIKE I DO!” — but mostly, I find it amazing just to watch another person’s way of being develop. It’s surely a sign of something that I, a former brass player and eternal lover of fine pens, have turned out to be raising a string player whose favorite pens are cheap BIC sticks. And that’s OK.)

:: Therapy is a mixed bag. It takes a long time to understand why you’re holding yourself back and when you finally do, it’s not easy to face. And this is just one aspect. It’s better than feeling that way the rest of your life. But the hardest thing I’ve ever done is getting to know who I am, and why. (Another of SamuraiFrog’s always-moving posts of self-examination. It takes a lot of bravery, I think, to write about oneself like this.)

:: Welcome to farm life: epic views, pure joy, beautiful moments, friends in need, chores, different people, chaos, guilt, and disappointment all within one hour of living. I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Farm life wouldn’t be for me…but I’m really glad it’s still an option for some folks.)

:: I would love to travel the ocean in this bad boy. It could be our flag ship that allows us to move away from the Cave of Cool at a moment’s notice. Tell me these have a job onboard that I could do for them besides cabin boy or bait. (Yup, that thing is pretty nifty!)

:: God, I hate having an English professor for a father. (Mine’s a mathematician. On road trips, I’d ask, “How much farther?” and get a response like, “Our remaining mileage is the only positive integer to lie directly between a square and a cube.” Which I kind of miss, actually…but to this day, he still works number-stuff into casual conversations!)

:: Everyone who thinks they want a big cat as a pet should visit this place, see these animals and hear their stories. (I’m reminded of something Chris Rock said, years ago, when one of their tigers attacked either Siegfried or Roy: “People are saying the tiger went crazy, but he didn’t. That’s what tigers do. The tiger went tiger.”)

:: The contrast between funny actors and comics is most apparent in the early episodes of SEINFELD. Jerry is clearly the weak link. And I’m sure he’d admit it. I give him credit for allowing himself to be surrounded by comic actors who were spectacular and he learned and grew along the way, but who are we kidding? He’s a kazoo player in Wynton Marsalis’ jazz combo. (This is true, as in the early seasons Seinfeld is clearly doing stand-up amidst a bunch of actors doing comedy. He got a lot better as the show went on, though. He’ll never win any acting prizes, but he figured out quite a bit of stuff, and show-Seinfeld became much more of a distinct character as the show progressed.)

:: Oh, sorry, the God of the Funkyverse isn’t actually trying to stop Wally and Rachel’s wedding, just drive it into Montoni’s, where by immutable law all economic and social activity in Westview must take place. They don’t call Montoni’s “The Wedding Chapel of Love” for nothing! Actually, nobody calls it that, but Funky refuses to stop trying to make it a thing. (I wish I had thought of doing a blog mocking daily comic strips, way back when. Sigh….)

More next week! (Or maybe not.)

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The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer

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