It bothers me that it bothers me to lose my connectivity at work. So I’ve been thinking about why. Anytime something bothers me, I like to know why.
I know. It’s easier to accept things and just move on, but that’s not how I operate. In the end, I know this particular thing is something I’ll have to accept because it’s not something I have any control over, but I’d like to know why it bothers me so much.
And so, all night long in my sleep, apparently, I’ve mulled. And guess what? I woke up with the answer. Now I feel better.
Anyway, the reason it bothers me is because my connection to the net is my connection to the writerly side of my life. It makes me feel like there’s more to my life than just the 14 hours a day dedicated toward my job.
That figure includes the two hours going to and from and the 9 hours there, including lunch. Every day of the week, that block of time is dedicated to a job that almost, but not quite, gets the bills paid.
So what this realization does for me is that it fuels the fire to find a way to become debt free once again so I can choose more freely how I spend my time.
I almost didn’t get a post in today, which would have messed up a month-long track record of daily posts.
And I really don’t have much to talk about. Today was a lesson in frustration and learning to swallow bitter pills with some sense of gratitude.
Nothing major, just me being spoiled to work-related perks and awakening to that unpleasant fact. They’re taking away most of our internet access, so all of my blog posts will either be early morning or late afternoon ones now.
I’m just heading home from a trip south to visit family and friends. This morning presented with a beautiful sunrise just south of the Moorehouse parish line on Hwy 425, which is about 1/3 of the way back home.
I forgot my flash drive at work today (it’s Saturday 11/21 - this is another of those prescheduled posts, lol).
My anxiety about this is almost dire enough to warrant driving the 70 miles to get it. Had I realized sooner I’d left it, I would have turned around. But it wasn’t until I was sitting down to edit tonight when I realized it wasn’t in my pocket, where I normally keep it.
When I first felt my pocket and noticed it gone, a tremor of panic ran through me. It’s *always* there unless it’s plugged into the computer. Where else could it be? So I mentally started the checklist of all the possibilities, ran to the dirty clothes pile to see if it was in yesterday’s jeans still, but no.
The last place I had it, I remembered then, was at work. Which means I’ll be without it tomorrow (Sunday), too. I’m not sure I can handle being apart from it that long, lol, but it’s too far to go just for that.
When I get there Monday morning, I’m going to attach it to my keychain, as someone so very helpfully suggested. That way, I won’t be able leave without it again.
Sometimes people ask me where I come with ideas for my stories. My initial response is usually something like ‘I have no idea’, but after a little thought I’ve realized that is untrue.
I know where ideas come from, and since one just happened today, I can say a little about how and where it happened. They come from my overactive imagination.
While stopping for gas today (which is now last week because I’m posting this in advance, remember?), I saw a woman with what looked like smallpox. I’m sure that’s not what it was, but the idea that it *might* be is what jump started my mind.
Many scenarios started to evolve, none of them in the least bit realistic. I think I could have built a whole story just my reaction to seeing this woman and whatever medical condition it was that afflicted her. What if it was smallpox?
Admittedly, it wasn’t very nice of me to notice her condition and ponder so in depth about it. In my defense, I was discrete.
So I’ve told you a secret about how story ideas come to me. What about you, how do you come up with story ideas?
Honestly, I’m hoping someone shares something at least approaching the level of my rudeness (which maybe lies not in noticing, but in blogging about it).
You can’t see it from your end of the net, but every time I think of a topic this week (last week to you now), I’m making a note. Then when I sit down to work on my daily post, I am making two posts. One for that day, and one for a day next week (well, it’s last week now).
It’s also helping me to build up a stash of partial posts, which will make it easier on the days when I can’t think of anything to write about… and I’ll be less likely to pull an empty draft that only has a compelling title, as I’ve done in the past. I think I’ve cleared all those out now.
Turns out I will have a chance to make an actual blog post today, instead of using only the prescheduled ones.
I’m thankful for recognized opportunity. So often opportunity presents in my life and I wonder how often its happened when I didn’t even notice. A blog post is an insignificant thing, perhaps, but real, significant opportunities arise the same way – random and unexpected.
Practicing recognition of the open little cracks in windows, the kind that lets fresh air in when it’s cold out, leads to the ability to recognize and fly through when they’re wide open to change and promise.
Today I’m taking the opportunity to visit with my grandparents and parents. My mom and dad come often up to Northwest Arkansas to visit me, but I haven’t had the opportunity to go home often since I moved.
I’m thankful for the good company and flavorful south Louisiana food!
Today is Thursday, Nov. 18 and the thought just occurred to me that I’ll be out of pocket for most of next week and unable to make my daily blog posts! But stay tuned. I have an idea
As in employing all the senses.
First, when I was ready to go outside for the first time right after sunrise, I wondered what the temperature outside would be. Last night it rained, and I didn’t know if I needed a sleeve or not. Touched the glass on the back door and quickly determined, yep, it was chilly outside.
I’m not sure how cool it was, but it was humid and cool enough to make my nose slightly numb after a brisk walk. I’d guess around 40. (Looked at the weather site to confirm and it said 38*F, so I was close).
One of the first sounds I heard this morning was an eagle somewhere in the sky. I couldn’t find it, but the sound is unmistakable, and they are here for the winter. The usual birdsong at dawn filled the air, but soon the jays dominated my auditory channel until a pack of coyotes on the hill broke the cadence with their yippling noises.
On the way back up the hill after finding the mullein I heard a flock of geese approaching, so I stopped to watch them. Their white undersides flashed in the sun when they suddenly switched directions and headed due south rather than the easterly they were on previously.
Speaking of finding the mullein, the sensory experience there was that of rose brambles clinging in a desperate attempt to hold me close to them. Their digging thorns would have been painful were I not dressed for the task.
As I pulled the velvety mullein leaves from their tap-root stalks, I breathed in the pleasant smell associated only with that plant and no other. It is a verdant odor, mingled with humus and microscopic life.
By the time I made it back to the house, distinctly aware of the blood pumping through my veins, I acknowledged that life was good today.
This will be the last teaser from this WIP, since this last snippet will mean I’ve posted about a chapter or so of it already. Next week will be from something new.
Tonight I’m heading out of town, so the posts from this point until Sunday’s will all be pre-scheduled and it might seem like I’ve dropped off the earth for a little while again.
The look in her eyes was worried, and the smile was gone.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The sleeper. He’s waking.”
It was as if she’d suddenly reverted to wild, and her edgy behavior gave me pause.
“Who is this ‘sleeper’? You’ve mentioned him before,” I said.
“When all else fails, he will wake. Our cries – oh Mother of All, it must have been our cries. Our blood must have reached his depth.” She shook her head slowly side to side and moaned. “It was not our wish to wake him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The sleeper wakens,” she said, then moaned again.
“But what IS the sleeper?”
“This is bad, very bad,” she said from between fingers pressed to her face. Her color faded in places as she de-materialized before me. I grabbed her arm, knowing it wouldn’t do any good if she dissipated, but that knowing didn’t stop the reflex.
“Dammit – tell me what’s going on. Tell me now!”
She looked at me with despair, lips a thin line across her face, but her hair still floated in static repel, hovering around her head in an auburn glow.
“The seed you carry is the last hope for your kind now. Blood from the offspring of the tree of life will cause him to sleep again.”
I clutched my belly. Never. No way I’d let harm come to this child. Whatever kind of child it turned out to be.