6 Dec
I've been off sick the last couple of days with
the cold/flu/plague. I just got back from the
base hospital, and they gave me two more days
off--with drugs.
Also, I would just like to note that yes, I know
I complain about publishers taking forever to
get back to me on submissions, but waiting until
I'm sick and then hammering me with rejections
all at once is bad form.
And yes, the world does seem extra icky lately,
why do you ask?
I'm of two minds about this
result:.
|
You Are 50% Left Brained, 50% Right
Brained |
The left side of your brain controls verbal
ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.
Left brained people are good at
communication and persuading others.
If you're left brained, you are likely good
at math and logic.
Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and
quiet.
The right side of your brain is all about
creativity and flexibility.
Daring and intuitive, right brained people
see the world in their unique way.
If you're right brained, you likely have a
talent for creative writing and art.
Your right brain prefers day dreaming,
philosophy, and sports. |
7 Dec
I'm not dead
yet. I just wish I was.
stillnotbored
(it's her
birthday today, btw, so Happy Birthday
Jaime!) suggested I send her a
poem to make me feel better. Ha!
My poetry sucks. Strange Horizons
published the only poem I ever sold
back in 01, and since it's in keeping
with the holiday season (and their
rights to it have long expired) I
figured I'd post it here for y'all.
You be the judge.
The Fright Before Christmas
By S. K. S. Perry
'Twas the night before Christmas, and
all through the morgue,
Not a creature was stirring, not even
the...um...Borg. (Yeah, that's
it. Borg is science fictiony. This
poetry crap isn't all that hard.)
The zombies were nestled all snug in
their coffins,
While visions of juicy brains, ran
through their . . . their . . . (Nuts!
I'd
better come back to that one later.)
When out in the cemetery there arose
such a ruckus,
I thought, "It's a succubus, come here
to . . . (Hmm. Better not.)
I sprang from my crypt, and ran to the
window,
Looking for signs of that netherworld
bimbo.
When what to my pustulant eyes should
appear,
But a battered up sleigh, and eight
rancid reindeer. (Hey, I'm on a roll
here.)
"It's Santa," I thought. "There's
nothing to fear."
The old fart's been dead for over a
year.
His flesh was rotting, his bruises
were purple,
His scalp showed in patches, his beard
was all . . . (Aaarrgghhh!!)
He wasted no time, and got to work
with a cough.
He hefted his sack, and two fingers
fell off.
He spoke not a word, but filled all
the crypts,
With brains, and blood, and a pair of
wax lips. (Hey, at least it rhymes.)
Then he sprang to his sleigh, and with
a wave of his mitt,
Left in a cloud of dead reindeer sh .
. . (Hmm . . . I'll edit that later.)
I heard him exclaim, as he drove out
of sight.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a
good fright!
(What? You were expecting William
Butler Yeats?)
8
Dec
|
You Are: 70% Dog, 30% Cat |
You and dogs definitely have a lot
in common.
You're both goofy, happy, and
content with the small things in
life.
However, you're definitely not as
needy as the average dog. You need
your down time occasionally. |
9
Dec
We're going to see Déjà vu
after Pen gets off work tonight. I've
wanted to see this movie for the past
two weeks, but Pen's either been
working, helping Chantel at the craft
shows, or I've been sick. I'm pretty
much over the flu now--still a bit of
a cough, but the congestion,
headaches, and general run down, run
over feeling have subsided.
Tomorrow we're going into
T.O. to see Wicked, which
should be fun. (The play, not the
actual going into the city--which I'm
sure will suck.)
On the writing front, I
have novels percolating in my head.
The problem with that is they take a
long time to brew--not like short
stories, which are like instant
coffee. Of course, if you leave them
brewing too long they turn into
sludge.
And hey, I hate coffee to
begin with. (It tastes like hot dirty
dishwater, with a hint of lemon--oh,
wait, that's tea. Well, same
difference.)
Hmmm…maybe I should let
my novels ferment, like fine wine.
Nope, that won't work--I hate alcohol
even more than coffee or tea. It makes
me chunda.
I know, I'll let it
simmer. Yeah, like stew, or spaghetti
sauce. I love spaghetti, and I
make a wicked stew, and…okay, gotta go
now. Hungry.
11 Dec
So Wicked was...well...wicked.
Shoshana Bean played Elphaba, and
Megan Hilty was Glinda, and let me
tell you, those women can sing.
Definitely one of my all time favorite
plays. I will never be able to view
the Wizard of Oz in the same way
again, and that's a good thing. (Of
course Steve Nagy's story THE HANGED
MAN OF OZ accomplished the same thing,
except in a creepier way.)
Four rejections last week: two
for the novel and two for short
stories. Not only did I not
publish this year, but the one
magazine that did buy my story
folded before it was published.
Why is it again that
people want to write with me?
12 Dec
So I'm back at work, and feeling much
better. I'm still working on the radar
system master document, and
incorporating the new training aid
into...zzzzzzzzzzz.
Huh? What?
Oh, sorry. Must have
dosed off there for a bit.
Okay, quick question.
What do you do when you want to
write, but you just don't feel
like it? Or does that never happen to
you? It's not just writing either.
Sometimes I want to exercise, too. I
think about what I'm going to do, how
good it'll feel afterwards, and
then....naaaaw.
I mean, I have all these
characters, plots and scenes worked
out in my head. I can see the story
arcs, character background and world
building details, but when it comes to
actually sitting down and getting to
it--it can wait, right?
It's not like I have all
these other pressing matters to derail
me either. I just don't feel
like it. And it's not like I'm
lazy--no, really. I'm not. Usually.
I are so confused.
13 Dec
I have an idea for a new novel about a
virtual reality combat soldier in the
future. It's called "CGI Joe."
Okay, maybe not.
18
Dec
The squadron Christmas party was
Friday night. It was--okay. The food
was great, but the officers have a
tendency to want to speechify smack
dab in the middle of festivities,
which really spoils the momentum. And
there was a live band, which is
okay...I mean I play in a band,
so I'm all for it, except when I see a
live band I always want to play, not
watch, which is frustrating. The band
wasn't bad, but they were a 70s/80s
rock band and they played the same
crap every classic rock band plays.
Saturday we celebrated
Chantel's birthday, as well as her
grandfathers. Chantel's birthday is
actually the 15th, and her
grandfather's is the 18th, so
H A P P
Y B I R T H D
A Y C H A N T
E L A N D
B A R R Y!!!.
Sunday we went to see Eragon. Not bad,
but it seemed a bit rushed. I've never
read the book, so I can't say how
faithful an adaptation it is, but the
movie was only an hour and a half
long, so they had time to add
character/plot/world building details
that would have made it better.
And under the "How do it
know?" banner:
And honestly, I'm not lost. I'm
just exploring alternate routes:
We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar,
Field and fountain,
Moor and mountain,
Following yonder sksperry.
We Three Kings Of Orient Are
from the
Christmas Song Generator.
19 Dec
|
You Are An ENFP |
The Inspirer
You love being around people, and
you are deeply committed to your
friends.
You are also unconventional,
irreverant, and unimpressed by
authority and rules.
Incredibly perceptive, you can
usually sense if someone has
hidden motives.
You use lots of colorful language
and expressions. You're qutie the
storyteller!
You would make an excellent
entrepreneur, politician, or
journalist. |
20 Dec
Writing is like weight lifting--if you
haven't done it in a while, once you
start up again it's really hard.
Getting back into the gym
after a month or so off is
disheartening. You can't lift half the
weight you used to, and you're lucky
if you can do half as many reps. And
everything hurts like hell for about a
week afterwards.
A long lay-off from
writing amounts to the same thing. It
takes forever to get a few measly
words down on pixels, and they're not
half as good as the words you used to
write.
That's why writing every
day is a must. Not only does it keep
your writing muscles in top shape, but
it's easier to remember what the hell
you were thinking about and where you
were going with it when you wrote
those last few pages.
Of course, if I took all
my own advice, I'd be healthy, wealthy
and wise right now. (Well,
okay--healthy and wealthy anyway.)
21 Dec: Fighting with Myself
"Time to get up."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"It's still dark outside. The birds
aren't even up yet."
"Doesn't matter, the alarm went off.
That means it's time to get up."
"That wasn't the alarm, it
was...um...the microwave. Yeah, that's
the ticket."
"Get up. You'll be late for work."
"So?"
"You're in the military. They can send
you to jail for being late for work."
"Will they let me sleep in in jail?"
"Doubtful."
"Okay, just five more minutes."
"You don't have five more
minutes. You still have to brush your
teeth, shave, and shower. Oh, and get
dressed. No going to work
naked--again."
"What if I just brush every other
tooth?"
"That would probably take longer."
"I could skip the shower?"
"No, you can't."
"Why not, everyone else at work does?"
"That's beside the point. You know if
you don't shower you'll still be half
asleep all day at work."
"And that will affect my job
performance how?"
"Oh, yeah. Right. You'll probably get
a promotion."
"No doubt, and--Holy Crap! I'm late.
What's the big idea wasting my time
arguing when I should be getting up?"
"Right. See you tomorrow?"
"06:30. Gotcha."
22 Dec
This cookie will self
destruct in 5...4...3...
Well isn't that nice.
27
Dec
I'm having a great Christmas so far.
Pen and I spent Christmas Eve at her
parents with our daughter and her
fiancée, then Christmas Day at my
parents with my brother and his
family, my sister and her family, and
our son. We had a gut busting turkey
dinner at my mom's, then packed up the
next day and went back to Pen's mom's,
where we had another gut-busting
turkey dinner. (That's two, for those
of you keeping track at home.)
I got a butt-load of
chocolate for Christmas. If you could
convert all of the calories into
electricity, there'd be enough to
power a small city. Like…New York.
Which kind of sucks,
because Pen and I have decided to
start "eating sensibly" in the New
Year, and somehow I don't think
chocolate makes the list. (I doubt
eating two large turkey dinners back
to back qualifies either.)
I also made off with
received almost three hundred dollars
in gift cards (Future Shop, Chapters,
Gas Card, Mark's Work Warehouse,
Famous Players, The Keg, Swiss
Chalet…),DVDs (The Da Vince Code,
Superman Returns, MI:3), some colored
CD/DVD sleeves, a case of Diet Pepsi,
some wall-mounted Japanese calligraphy
that means Luck/Prosperity (that's
going over my writing desk), and a
Buzz Lightyear Talking Room Sentry.
(It's got a laser motion detector, and
when you activate it it threatens you
when you walk in the room until you
deactivate it with the super duper
sekrit code…coooool!)
Oh yeah, Pen got stuff,
too.
Well that explains a
lot...
29 Dec
|
