im in ur lifestyle, making you dependent

 journal, pre-crash  2 Responses »
Feb 252007
 

Electricity. I've always known I was dependent. But there's nothing to drive home the point quite so thoroughly as a blackout.

Last Sunday night saw my suburb (and quite a large number of surrounding suburbs) abruptly without power. All of a sudden I had nothing to do. Couldn't watch the TV as planned. That's okay, I thought to myself. I still have paper and pen, I can write by hand for a while. An hour. The power will be back on by then. Everything will be all right.

Only, it's quite dark inside at twilight. And it's quite difficult, writing by hand by the light of a single paltry candle (in red pen, to make matters worse, because my black ran out after only a couple of lines). Especially if you have eyes like mine. I ended up crouched over the candle, breathing shallowly in case I killed said candle, squinting at the paper, with the headphones of my fast-failing iPod jammed into my ears. Like a child clutching a blankie and rocking herself to sleep, I went straight for the electrical gadget still available to me. Everything, my iPod told me, would be all right.

Provided the power comes back on before the battery fails.

Luckily, it did. But today, one week later, I plug in the laptop. And as I turn away to fetch a drink of water, pop! That's not a good noise when it coincides with electricity. Neither is that smell of fried circuitry. Alas, the laptop power adaptor, she is no more. At least it's only the power adaptor, and not the laptop itself. And thanks to the wonders of modern circuit breakers, everything shut down before the dying adaptor could damage anything else with its flailing electrical currents.

Still. I'm sensing a pattern.

All y'all carry on about your business. I'll be over in the corner, offering up a sacrifice to avert the EMP of doom.

i see my maryanne walking away

 away come away, journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, writing life  3 Responses »
Feb 142007
 

Away, Come Away
New Words: 1,196 / 1,330
Total Words: 2,500

Dead Queen
New Words: 83 / 90
Revised Words: 1,530 / 1,680
Total Revised: 38,274
Manuscript Comment du jour: For some reason I have an image of a hen with mercury poisoning. No, I don't know either. (No — I really don't know. I just live inside my head. I can't explain it!)

I've settled into something approximating a routine, so far as my writing goes. Said routine involves dragging myself awake at 7 (thank goodness for starving cats or I might never get up), staggering through the dayjob until I can have a nap when I get home. Then staying up ridiculously late chasing words.1 It works, sort of. I'm a night-owl, after all.

But I'm noticing the side-effects of a schedule which relies on two substandard dozes rather than a sound night's sleep. My brain is kinda … fuzzy. This is probably not a long-term solution.

Finds of the day:

  1. Tonight, being a day off from the dayjob, I am in fact finished early. Hours and hours early. [↩]

in the wild wild wailing of wind

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen  5 Responses »
Feb 142007
 

New Words: 1,032 / Dead Queen, 356 / Away
Revised Words: 1,672 / Dead Queen
Soundtrack: Toad the Wet Sprocket and Vienna Teng

There have been other words, new and revised, since I last posted a metric. But I'm not going back to look them up, so you'll just have to trust me. At last I've waded through the shoehorning sections I needed to write since cutting 31 pages, and I'm back into revising what I'd already written.

In other news, the worst blood-taking evah? I wasn't lying. My wrist is still giving me grief! Clearly she has done permanent nerve damage and I will be a cripple for the rest of my days. Oh, the trauma, the sheer heart-rending injustice.

But right now it is time for me to collapse. Although how I plan on sleeping, I'm not sure. For something is scrabbling outside my window.

Of course, rationally, I know it's a possum. (There has been a koala sighting recently; I guess since the dog is no longer around, they're happy to come closer.1) But more likely a possum. I know this because there is a hose which hangs across the top of my window, to deliver water to the back balcony when needed. The possums love to use this hose to rappel across between the balconies, like the little military critters they so clearly are. Plus, you know, live in trees — so scrabbling up wooden walls isn't exactly going to be difficult for them.

If it's a boy possum, and he starts up on his mating call (which sounds remarkably like an ancient lawn mower flatly refusing to start), there's no hope for me.

  1. Dogs kill koalas very, very easily. The poor critters have no body fat (so puncture wounds find vital organs almost immediately) and can't live through shock for any prolonged periods. [↩]
 Posted by at 12:43 am

psa

 journal, pre-crash  8 Responses »
Feb 102007
 

Dear members of the public:

There are a range of emotional responses when dealing with the walking wounded public service staff. You can be anything from friendly, to civil, to inattentive, to dismissive, to cantankerous, to downright rude.1 Friendly is always good, and you can't fail with friendly. But if you're feeling low and can't summon friendly, then go with civil and inattentive. That's fine by me. We are not, after all, bosom buddies. And I'm more interested in getting on with my work than chatting about your dog, anyway.

But for those who choose the nasty end of the spectrum, please to remember this: If we treated you in the same manner you routinely treat us, you would complain. Loud and long.

Me, I'm pretty tolerant. And I know what side my bread is buttered. So if you're rude, I will not be rude back. If you get some power kick out of watching me hold in my temper because I can't afford to lose my low-paying job, good for you. Enjoy that while you can.

But in that case please to remember this: Postal workers are not the only service staff capable of a sudden snap. I've quit higher-paying jobs for an ideal, so I'm fully capable of being irrational. Pull your head in. Before I climb over this desk and smack you down. I have staplers, heavy implements like telephones and computer monitors, and sharp scissors on this side of the bench. You have a table full of tatty magazines not even capable of delivering a paper cut.

Nolove
Me

ETA: See, I go and publish my rant, and what is the quote which greets me when I'm done? Seneca. Be silent as to services you have rendered, but speak of favours you have received. *chastised (but only a bit)*

  1. Yes, this list is heavily skewed toward the nasty end of the spectrum. Funny, that. [↩]

and now for something completely different random

 journal, pre-crash  Comments Off
Feb 102007
 

Phrases heard this week which make excellent catch-cries:

Goodbye, trolley people!

I caught this one on TV last night. Flicking through the channels landed me on a movie with Julie Andrews playing a Queen. Don't know why the Queen was standing in the middle of an American street with a stopped tram, but this was her parting comment to the people on said tram. And really, who cares why? It's a brilliant line. Henceforth don't be surprised if I call you trolley person when I'm feeling whimsical.

I thought no way would they keep pushing us — we needed a break. I mean, we're fat people.

One of the contestants on a reality weightloss program. Paraphrased (except for the vital phrase, namely, we're fat people). Precisely. We're fat people. We need more breaks. The logic is impeccable.

the cutting room floor

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, writing life  2 Responses »
Feb 042007
 

I just cut nineteen thirty-one manuscript pages out of the novel. Oy vey, but that hurts.

It took me days and days and days to write those nineteen thirty-one pages first time around, and it's taken me days and days and days to revise them. And now I've gone and whitepapered them.1 Silly novel with the broken back.2

This is the part of revising I don't like, actually. It's not that I'm over-attached to the words (the last few days of revision have been painful, because there's been that nagging in the back of my head that something wasn't quite working…). I am, however, attached to the idea of progress. And somehow, when you measure forward progress by counting up the days words, cutting never does feel like progress.

Le sigh.

  1. It's essentially taken me all day to reach this decision, too. Silly author with her procrastination superpower. [↩]
  2. Silly author for writing a novel with a broken back. [↩]
 Posted by at 6:01 pm

2 February 2007

 away come away, journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, writing life  7 Responses »
Feb 022007
 

New Words: 793 / 900 (Away)
Revised Words: 819 / 930 (Dead Queen)

I did not start a new novel today. Nuh-uh. I would not do that before I'd finished revising the last one. *angelic look*

In other news, there is a nerve which runs through the inside of my elbow. This is not groundbreaking news, I know. But I had blood taken today (about seven tubes of the stuff — it is entirely possible my ophthalmologist has decided to cure my mysterious eye issues by bleeding me), and unfortunately my stupid nerve decided to get in the way of the vein. My wrist is now aching and aching and aching. Something as simple as unscrewing the cap of my water bottle is defeating me.

Oh, and if you ever want to break a blood collector's heart? Nothing so simple. All you need to do is exclaim, when they remove the needle from your vein, "Thank God! That was the worst blood-taking ever!"

The poor girl's face fell through the floor. Me and my stupid mouth.

1 February 2007

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen, the forgotten  4 Responses »
Feb 012007
 

New Words: 547 / 640 (Dead Queen, The Forgotten)
Revised Words: 794 / 830 (Dead Queen)

Four hours after the ophthalmologist used his tricksy drops, and I still cannot focus to save my life. I tried to take a photo of my eye, because hey, who doesn't want to see my eye so dilated there is virtually no iris visible? It's like proof of mutant superpowers. Or something.

(Although, really? I'm not convinced of the need for the "can't focus" mutant superpower. I mean, sure, it looks cool and sharklike, but bumping into walls and crying uncontrollably when the ambient light is brighter than, say, pitch black? Not so cool. On the whole.)

But the photo was a failure, largely due to the inability to focus. (Couldn't see that coming, could you?) So you'll just have to trust me on that cool and sharklike image.