Priori-what?

Hi folks,

Guess who has two thumbs and is losing their mind right now? That's me alright. My ancient and venerable notebook aka novel/series bible finally fell apart. So, what did I do, I grabbed the nearest big notebook and got right to sectioning it out to finally organize all my notes. At which point I then realized I had editing projects to finish. And then I remembered I had manuscripts unfinished. The list goes on and on.

I'd share a picture of the mess with you but it is spread out over about half the living room. Considering that the kids have been playing legos and with a train set all afternoon, it is pretty clear that this mess is mine. And I am overwhelmed trying to figure out just what to do first. I'm having the same problem with trying to get that bullet journal to work for me.

My problem boils down to one simple one: how to I prioritize everything when everything is SUPER IMPORTANT!!1!elventyone! Throw a heaping serving of depression casserole on top (not nearly as tasty as depression cake) and some exhaustion in the mix for spice, well, you just have a mess nearly as epic as my kitchen this morning.

Here's a non-sequitor that actually isn't. The best process for peeling hard boiled eggs is to take a spoon and get it damp. Then lever it between the shell and the cooked white, underneath the film inside the shell. Carefully and patiently, run it underneath the pre-cracked shell with a gentle hand. This will allow you to peel off large sections of shell with a smooth motion that doesn't damage your egg. After you get most of that shell off, it will actually often happen that the rest will slip off with it. Take your time and do it gently, though, so you are not digging into the egg itself.

I just finished peeling a half dozen eggs and making egg salad at 9:30 pm. Sounds a bit off kilter, considering that this is Friday night and no one has to take a bag lunch anywhere. But, Beloved is asleep on the couch and missed dinner. Like those eggs, I want to take care of things carefully. That means if you love someone, you take care of them as much as they let you. Which may mean making egg salad for when he wakes up at 3 am hungry for a snack before getting into bed. How does this relate to my novelistic troubles?

I can't manage to pick which egg to peel first because they all look like the right one to begin with. So, instead of getting down to the task of peeling eggs (pre-writing work and such) so that I can make that egg salad (write my drafts) to make the sandwich (edit and finish a project), I am standing here with a dripping spoon in hand, wondering if what I really need is a fork and feeling like maybe I need to clean the whole kitchen to find JUST THE RIGHT ONE. Because anxiety is a harsh row to hoe.

I know I need to pick just one thing and do it. Maybe I should bust out a die and make a numbered list. Do the first task rolled or something. Goodness knows I am not using my d-20 anytime soon.

Say what?

So, the picture at the right does a really good job summarizing where I'm at right now on everything. The only thing I feel like I'm doing confidently is metabolizing oxygen into carbon dioxide and producing gas. (So much kale and veggies... I feel like I'm contributing to the world via global warming.)

I keep trying to sit down and write stuff or draw stuff. Just do SOMETHING for this blog. And interruptions pop up all the time when the kids are home. That was the last four days. Today, I find myself struggling with massive anxiety over writing anything. (Even a list of chores was bothering me. It was awkward and unpleasant.)

This difficulty and crisis in confidence is making me dread Nanowrimo this year. I'm trying to finish my project from last year. I only need to write a week's worth of pages. But I can't seem to bring myself to do it. It's awful. And then there is my desire to do the Inktober thing but I flail about that my sketches are not good enough. So, I guess I am going to have to just accept the fact that my work is not going to be 'good enough' and just try to produce something. Hence this post, you see.

Now, I'm going to go back to dealing with this massive pile of laundry and try to figure out just how I'm going to find my way out of the box I wrote myself into on a few things. And attempt to find the energy to finish some edits. I have to get book three out there before Nano, I just have to do it. Or at least get it done before the end of Nano. I've got people who need to get copies for Yule, after all.

The Iron Lily Part 13: Rider of Darkness

As they rounded the bend of the path towards the traveler's rest, they found the door standing wide open. Ewen's cousin waved an arm at them, motioning them to hurry. As they did so, Halthor heard a scream above them. "Don't look up," Ewen ordered as he grabbed Halthor's arm and dragged him forward after he had paused to look around. "Run!" Ewen demanded when a second and a third inhuman scream came from the sky. Halthor dipped his head and ran as fast as his legs would let him. As he ran for the threshold of the traveler's rest, Ewen's cousin came out with a pair of torches.

The axe at Halthor's side began to grow warm as it bounced against his leg. Halthor reached the traveler's rest when Ewen's cousin threw one of the torches. It tumbled through the air, just barely not lighting Halthor's hair on fire. Above the builder, the torch struck a creature moving on the night's currents. The scream returned, nearly deafening Halthor as he ducked and drew the hand axe. Above him, a figure that looked to be a man wrapped in a shroud writhed as it lifted up into the darkness of the night away from the light spilling out of the open doorway.

Another figure of shadow against the darkness screamed as it rushed down at him. The eerie cry was echoed to a point where the clearing rang with it. The hooded figure was nearly upon him, long taloned fingers reaching for him. Halthor swung his axe and the place where the face should have been took the blow. The shadow rose, its grasping hands almost gripping Halthor by the neck. The axe flashed and the hands came off at the wrist. After a moment, Halthor saw the shadow's hands reform, though they now looked to be the hands of a mere human, if humans were made of pure darkness.

The floating figures were not only after Halthor but troubling his companions. Halthor glanced over to see Ewen wrestling with his spear in hand, a cold light shining from the head of it like sunlight on a knife's edge. The shadowy assailiant was attempting to wrench the spear from Ewen's grasp. Ewen, however, was not having such nonsense. His cousin at the doorway to the traveler's rest was waving his other torch around and chasing the shadows back into the darkness. Two of the shadow creatures were approaching Halthor as he was taking his quick look at his companions.

Out of some reflex, Halthor tossed the axe into his off hand and slipped his hammer from the loop he carried it on. As the hammer came up, a noise split the air that was not the screams of monsters. It was a sound like thunder. Halthor threw his axe into the creature approaching him from the left. As it hit the night was illuminated with a sudden blast of light. The creature struck by the axe didn't even scream. It slammed into the ground and then vanished as lightning struck it. The creature approaching from the right hesitated and Halthor smashed his heavy hammer into the face of his monstrous opponent.

Light that should have blinded him filled his senses. Thunder that should have deafened him rolled. Beneath his tunic, the crystal in the filigree stag crown grew warm as if it were sitting in the sun on a summer's day. Hewen and his cousin had been thrown to the ground by the almost simultaneous blasts of lightning from the sky where there should have been none. Two other creatures were looming over them to attack them. In three great strides, Halthor reached Ewen's cousin. Again the hammer struck and again there was thunder and lightning. When Halthor turned his gaze to the creature threatening Hewen, the creature fled. Halthor looked down at Ewen's cousin and offered him a hand.

The man was breathless but he took Halthor's offered hand. As he got up to his feet he went to Ewen. Halthor looked around them, listening for any noises of danger. He stooped to pick up the axe when Hewen walked up to him. Ewen was half shouting when he said, "Father's light, what happened?" Halthor raised the axe up. Ewen's eyes narrowed slightly. His cousin, who was standing just behind Halthor nodded with a look of mute amazement. Hewen stuck the knuckle of his right index finger in his ear and rubbed it. His ears rang. His vision was spotty with after images of lightning and the scene of a man standing where it struck. The ferryman shook his head with astoundment. "Grandfather gave me the temple spear. The other arms are hidden around the town. If the riders go back and attack the temple, it will be bloody," Ewen said.

"Then we go to defend them," said Halthor. Ewen shook his head.

"It's too dangerous. Those four are nothing compared to the ones who send them. And they are coming to Wye and then onward to here. You are being hunted," Ewen said. "The riders will come back again later if we remain outside. Their power is stronger past a threshold and in deep dark.We must go inside. It is very late and the darkest hours of the night are ahead of us. At dawn, we will part."

"What about my pony, and the dog?" Halthor said. Ewen smirked. Halthor glowered at him.

"Elfstock pony and dog are not on the list of what the riders like to eat. I think they'll be safe. Too much light in them," Ewen said, showing the first note of humor since setting out from the temple, "You'll find them nosing around the door at dawn."

Halthor and the other two men entered the traveler's rest and threw the latch. "Apparently the arms need to be cast or stricken against the foe as per how they'd be used in pitched and desperate battle," the weary ferryman said as he sat down heavily beside the fire. "This is something I suspected and Grandfather suggested may have been the case. It is, however, unclear why when you struck the rider with the axe in your hand that it did not do whatever it just did."

"Who and what are the riders?" Halthor asked.

"The hungry dead," Ewen's cousin answered, "They are the souls who were consumed incompletely by the dark children and left to ride the wind and night. They chase the souls of living people to feed on them and fill the void left by the dark ones. That is a void that can never be filled, though, because their food feeds the ones who set them loose. Truly powerful ones move by daylight."

Ewen shot his cousin an angry look. "He leaves at dawn," his cousin said sharply, "He must know what is hunting him. Speaking about it at dark is something unavoidable. As long as we ignore the voices on the wind and keep the fire burning until daylight, we will be fine. Sleep in shifts and tend the flame. You know that is what Grandfather would tell us." Ewen sighed.

Flora & Fauna: Manuscript styles for Herbal & Bestiary.

From Medieval Archives.

Hi there,

I started out with this grand idea of making an illustrated manuscript. I thought it was fantastic and that I was going to use all of my artistry and skills to make something truly amazing. Then I started researching different styles of illuminated manuscripts. Did you know there is a shockingly high number of different illuminated manuscript styles just in Europe? Essentially each region has their own richly detailed styles, some getting down to the individual lineage of the scriptoriums who were putting these things together.

It's subtle, but all there. And then there is what you will find in other regions that is kinda jaw-dropping in complexity. The manuscripts of Persia are probably the ones that I find the most visually appealing. At the same time, however, the manuscripts of the lower portion of the Indian subcontinent is a kinda big thing too. We won't even get into the enormous range of the Chinese and Japanese illuminated and illustrated manuscripts. That is a tradition that has so many different nuanced elements that it literally takes multiple college classes to begin to understand it.

To say the least, I am somewhat overwhelmed by the matter. When I began turning back to look at some of my old artwork, I started seeing details from when I was much younger and not as inclined towards strict realism that was similar to the English illuminated manuscripts. I think to do the artwork for all of this, I am going to have to go back to my own artistic roots and reassess things from there. My test sketches are not that great, but they are test sketches done in pencil. I did reach a final decision on how to handle the actual work in the books proper. I'm going to use colored pencil because it is the medium I am most comfortable with and because the color saturation is a bit closer to what I'd find in the old manuscripts at the present time.

Progress is happening in fits and starts, but there is indeed progress.

Craft of Writing: Don't get too competitive.

Hi there!

Sorry this post is a day late. My boys were very active yesterday and when I finally got time to sit down at the laptop my brain was completely fried. Adhd is a hell of a thing. When I wasn't juggling one kid's temper tantrums over what the other kid was doing (and in one case an epic level meltdown over losing a game of checkers), I was thinking about what my problems had been posting. Being distracted was part of it, as was not feeling well. I was pretty sure that there was something else poisoning the well, however.

Watching that meltdown made the proverbial penny drop. I was trying to compete with EVERYBODY on the internet. It was a disappointing moment, to be honest. Still, it made me step back and look at what the problems were this created. It is something that kicks my perfectionism into high gear and for my internal critic, nothing is good enough. (I kinda wanna stick that chick in a trunk and sinking 'em into the bottom of the lake. There's caves down there, it'll be hard to find the body.) And good gods, how much is this competition with ALL THE INTERNET making me depressed and crazy, on top of the legitimate problems with depression happening.

A little competition is good. It keeps me hungry for doing more and for pushing myself to grow. Feeling like I have to compete with every last Bob, Dick, and Jane who have a website (and a Twitter feed) is something that leads to crippling self doubt. I really don't recommend it. Beloved had a good point the other day when he encouraged me to write for myself. A famous person, I can't remember their name right now, once said that if we write for ourselves, the book will find its audience when we put it out there.

It is not easy to do so. It requires heaps and heaps of courage and vulnerability. It also requires a willingness to do the super uncomfortable things to keep moving forward. (Kinda like this post, to be honest.) But, from what I can tell, the higher quality writing comes out of that place of vulnerability and openness. And that is what I am seeking. Not to edge some invisible, nameless conglomerate figure of the entire internet.

TL:DR version: Don't try to compete with everybody on this rock. It's just going to make you crazy. Compete with yourself, if you must compete. The rest comes along later, the writing is first. Focus on what you want to say and how you want to say it. Everybody and their brother are still going to be there later. Who knows, maybe they'll notice your work and say 'hey, this fits me.' because you didn't chase what other people was saying how things should be done. ♥

Rambling and nattering on.

Hi Folks,

It has been a challenging time for me. Back to school has been exhausting. The biggest hurdle, however, has been my mental health. After feeling somewhat better, but anxious, I have slipped into another depressive episode. I was talking with Beloved about how I was worried it was going to turn into the same kind of mess that last year was. I was (and, honestly, still am) very concerned that the depression was basically going to kill all of my writing projects.

I gave the bitter argument that no one wanted to read about struggling with depression. He looked at me and said that writing is one of my coping mechanisms. He also said that I should write for myself and if I choose to post it on a blog, then I should not worry about what other people had to say about it. It was something that I spent a good part of my evening thinking about last night and tonight. When things hit the point of 'I have to write SOMETHING or give up the blog.' in my head, I started transferring old reading journal posts.

I honestly can't say that the writer's group meeting on the 20th went well. I'm not sure if it is because I went in there anticipating problems and took every small sign of looking at me in askance as a sign of rejection. I'm not sure if it is because I have a legitimate reason to be anxious about some of the members. Or if it is just because I was having a bad day. Social phobia and past trauma combined with depression plays unpleasant games with your brain and your perception of the world. As such, I am going to give it one more try at the next meeting.

It is on the 4th of October. My guts are already roiling and the social phobic part of my brain is saying I should just not go because nothing good will come of it. I think part of my discomfort is the fact that I was the youngest person there by a solid 30 years. It makes my skin crawl because it brings back memories of past writing groups that were just plain creepy. (Some of them were creepy by the virtue of the excited exuberance of having a teen/young adult in the group where the median age is around 60. Others were creepy on the basis of some genuinely ... disturbing members. I left those ones in short order, where as the ones where I was the youngest person there by over 30 years were harder due to the fact that my Grandmother was so excited to have me go with her and my choice was to go or deal with some problematic stuff at home. As a teen, the way out of the house was always my choice.)

I have been finding myself extra anxious about social interaction on-line. I am fairly sure that this is just a natural extension of my anxiety about social interaction at large and the fact that a vast amount of my social interaction is via the internet right now. I am attempting to correct the inclination to basically hide with my bad feelings and bad thoughts when I can't fake being perfectly fine. It gets tough, though, because I have this idea that no one wants to read bad news or about someone's struggles. (Perverse humor in this is obvious considering my primary genre in fiction. I am not immune to irony, it seems.)

So, I am going to attempt to write more. I can't promise it is going to be what it was like before. It may be like this post today. Or, it may be something along the topics that I try to schedule for the day. Some days, there may even be things going on with format here when I feel up to wrestling with that. I have this idea in my head about how this thing should look. It is hard right now for me to translated it from brain fluff to words or even images right now. Scumbag brain is running interference right now. I kinda hate that guy.

But, I'll try to be back soon.

Book Review: Our Cosmic Habitat

Title: Our Cosmic Habitat
Author: Martin Rees
Publisher: Princston University Press Date: 2001

Already, I've finished the preface, the first chapter, and I'm half way through chapter two. This book is oriented much more towards the "lay man" physicist. It's a lower level then Hawking's work and doesn't posess the same ambitious drive to educate. It presents a more toned down and an effort to describe the current state of cosmology.

I'm a little over half way through this book and I'm rather bored. I clearly can see that this does not challenge my understanding of modern physics or cosmology. This is a primer for the newly introduced compared to Hawking's work. It's a bit of a disappointment.

I'm now 2/3rd (roughly) through the text and I'm woefully bored with it. I believe that I'm going to set this aside and work on something else.

[Note: As an introductory book, it is excellently written. If you can make it through highschool physics and a pre-calculus class, then you can get through this book easily. If you managed chemistry with out too much pain and higher level algerbra/geometry, then the book will be challenging. It seems to be a 11th grade reading level book, roughly.]

Original Publication Date: Mar. 25, 2002
Original Notation Dates: Nov. 2002