I wake a little early again this morning, taking my time to wake up, read some and get dressed before I head down to the house to start the day for real.
The sun is shining brightly overhead but it isn’t warm by any means. During the winter months, southern Spain will be sunny often but since chilly nights cool everything down considerably, it isn’t a warming sun, just bright.
Since I suspect that today will be another long one spent behind the computer, working on proofreading and editing the latest finished project, I take an hour for today’s exercise now that my body isn’t protesting too much at the prospect, and actually make it through it, without turning red like a lobster. I’m guessing that slowly, but steadily my body is getting adjusted to the intense movements. Though perspiration still gushes and my breathing speeds up, I no longer taste that nasty coppery stuff in the back of my throat after a long jab-jab session and feel pretty pleased by that. Progress is grand that way.
Laundry is handled as usual, and considering I’m hungry, breakfast actually has some taste this day.
Messages on the computer come next, until at long last big brother and I set to work on some serious editing. This leads to a rather interesting debate about “good, engaging writing” VS “correct writing”. After some searching through our book collection we come to the astounding conclusion that they are not the same at all.
A lot of books out there at the moment, published by the big and small houses alike might, for all intents and purpose, be correct, but that correctness doesn’t necessarily make them good and engaging. It is a most troubling concept, I’ve found, because I take less notice of something being correct than I do of something that’s just good, or flows.
I’ll give an example to make my point, and post a few sentences. They mean the same, they are the same, but the writing is totally different. Here goes:
“A delighted sparkle of laughter escaped her lips when she slipped on the moist bricks and managed to regain her balance, just barely, by grabbing hold of one of the old lanterns that lined the street.”
That was one version, now here’s the second:
“Slipping on the moist bricks, she grabbed hold of one of the old lanterns that lined the street. She managed to regain her balance, just barely, and a delighted sparkle of laughter escaping her lips.”
Now, as you can see the first sentence is very long, intricate; putting the emphasis on “her sparkling laughter” which is the most fetching part of the piece-all things considered. That laughter jumps out, it sets a scene and creates an image. It is an effect that is explained by describing the actions leading to it and allows the reader to create a clear image that is added to as, said reader, continues on.
The second sentence is much simpler. A basic description of cause and effect that finally leads to the end result, which has lost a lot of it’s charm once the reader has gone through the entire sum-up leading that “sparkling” point.
Another example, seeing as I’m feeling inspired by my little rave:
“Mesmerized, his eyes followed her progress down the street, heat rising from the depths of his soul as he took in every single movement; the way her long legs flexed with her bouncy step, her arms swinging rhythmically.”
Or:
“His eyes followed her progress down the street. He took in every single movement as heat rose from the depths of his soul. He was mesmerized by the rhythmical swing of her arms and her long legs that flexed with her bouncy step.”
The top one emphasizes how he is mesmerized and describes how it affects him before the explanation for this state of mind revealed.
The second one makes the fact that he is “mesmerized” secondary, and describes his action before the effect is actually experienced.
With a lot of books these days it is a basic process, going from 1 2 3 4 as a set standard that is accepted and considered correct. It appears to be the preferred method of going through a story.
You hardly ever see it all tossed about until an interesting combination pops up: Like starting with 4 that is then explained by 1 2 3 or 3 2 1 or whatever variation thereof.
Take real life, or a movie, for instance. Sometimes when you see someone you’ll notice a look of utter fascination (=4) after which you start looking around to find the source of it (=3). You then proceed to examine this source (=2) and get to where you either agree of disagree with the person (=4) or not, reaching the starting point of the fascination at long last (=1).
A jumble make for a rather interesting image in most cases and it allows the imagination to form an opinion on its own, without forcing one to follow a specific path.
Nothing in real life is ever as simple as 1 2 3 4, and yet it is expected in books, for some reason.
Now, I can’t say which one is “right” or “wrong” and in all honesty, I don’t really care. I can only say what speaks to my imagination most, and what doesn’t.
Perhaps it is comparable with the phrases, “having sex” and “making love”.
The first is the basic deed focused solely on a singular, and often lonely, end goal. (=1 2 3 4)
The second is a journey of discovery with twists and turns that will gradually create many destinations. (=2 3 1 4 or whatever jumble that applies.)
When I read a book, I create an image in my head–much like a movie. It is basic at first, small details creating a simple picture, which becomes more defined as the story develops. But then, once the details have been added (a merging if you will), they, the insignificant details” disappear from my mind, leaving only that picture behind which holds them all without me actually having to remember all the separate aspects.
I think it is one of the reasons why I’m not all that good at giving specific reviews for the books I read. I only retain the complete picture after some time has passed, “good” or “bad”, “light” and “dark”, general atmosphere that sort of thing. It is a very basic memory on the most part, one that’ll allow me to go back to a book I enjoyed, time and again because the image remains and will let me relive it by rereading the specifics that disappeared through time, and thus make it interesting again.
It doesn’t mean that when I reread something, it is all new to me. Not at all. I know if I’ve already read a particular book within the first three paragraphs because in just a few minutes that once formed image will be right there in the forefront of my mind, allowing me to step straight into the fictional world of choice.
Admittedly, I regret the uniformity that is pretty much the preferred form of writing these days. I understand the reasons for it, but it does take away a certain creativity that would make our choices as readers far more versatile. What with such a strict standard to uphold, it is becoming harder and harder to discern one writer from the next, and that is a terrible shame.
The way an author writes, the way a sentence is formulated, the cadence, the prose and all its complexities, and yes, even the typos make up something that can tell a reader a lot about the one who’s imagination is being explored. If the freedom to do so is slowly placed within confines of rules and set formats, one will be just like the next, and all those marvelous writers of past and future alike will just disappear within a single formula.
Right and wrong: Who’s to say what that is, really? Are all those rules not set on those who dared to be different? Were the famous ones heralded from the moment they wrote down their first word, or did they have to change the set order before it was accepted?
What would the written word have been like if those odd ducks out there–ridiculed and laughed at in their time–had not dared to go past the rules of what was said to be literature.
Dialogue wouldn’t have been accepted…at least not in the way that is so very normal in stories these days.
Action scenes that actually allow the reader to experience it, rather than witnessing it from the perspective of the narrator… impossible.
There were so many extraordinary milestones, and yet there are so many who say that the set rules should be followed at all costs, lest there be chaos. It seems that one conveniently forgets that a full life IS chaos, and that chaos is exactly that which makes all interesting.
Every writing class promotes creativity and individuality but a simple reformation of a sentence that is “supposed” to go one way but goes the other, will practically cause convulsions. How can anyone be individual in anything if, in this instance, writing something down can only be done in so many ways?
The debate certainly gives food for thought during the course of the day, while big brother and I throw ourselves into the editing session, head-first.
As is standard when writing, dinner is pretty much forgotten; making us both glance up wanly by the time ten PM passes. This gnawing sensation in our stomachs forces me to tear myself out of my seat to grab a pre-baked pizza disk from the freezer and top it with veggies and cheese–like the sibs had done without either of us noticing it.
The dogs watch with interest as I stand at the counter, applying the wanted ingredients, and Clue perches himself on the chair beneath the stairs where he can watch without the other dogs knocking into him.
He’s doing well enough, I suppose. He does appear somewhat weary today, due to his energetic enthusiasm last night, but the stitches look good, so that’s a plus.
He does manage to catch a piece of pepper, which is a marvelous feat, considering the forty or so dogs that are vying for a treat as well.
But anyways, my stomach is growling by the time the pizza is done, still, I am barely able to down my fair share as we continue to hackle over this sentence and that until at long last we reach the set page for today’s session and call it a day, well past midnight.
My dogs are happy to go up for sure, wanting that bit of extra attention now that I have been off to the fictional world of vampires and such, and barely had time for their most basic needs. They eagerly join me on the bed, Mosha curling in my lap to get her daily dose of cuddling.
Time to go to sleep with hopefully another successful day behind the computer tomorrow.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Clue's homecoming!
I wake up appropriately early this day, having slept well enough to feel up for a brand new day that is wonderfully warm after a chillingly cold night. The monster boxer and her giant mischievous friend make their usual racket, but as soon as they’re outside it subsides.
The sky is a remarkably dark blue, the sun shining down at an angle throwing everything in clear contrast. The trees are of a bright fresh green, almost clashing against the dark yellowish brown of the rock surface that makes up most of the main path.
It is on days such as these that I fully understand why photographers rave about the Costa Del Sol, because the light is literally incomparable. Gorgeous!
Knight II somehow manages to get himself stuck to the fence–in the exact same spot– twice during the forty minutes that pass since he’s let out of the cabin, and I shake my head at his sad little whines before I loose his collar and give him a firm smack on the butt to get him moving.
No exercise is on the day’s schedule, so I take my time going through the morning rituals, reading a few Sherrilyn Kenyon chapters before getting dressed and heading to the house.
Sitabah hasn’t learned anything from yesterday’s mishap. She is already in the courtyard by the time my pack and I arrive, and pounces on Lhabana the moment the black lab thunders through the gate.
They wrestle noisily as I try to drag a reluctant Trin Trin through. For some reason she likes staying on the threshold, growling and tugging at her leash in that exact spot and like usual I have to move further into the courtyard before she decides to come in my pursuit by slamming the gate open fully. Then, while she dashes through, skidding on the moist concrete floor, I hurry back and quickly shove it shut before she can start all over.
She’ll look at me with that adorably disfigured monster face, as if wondering what the fuss is about when she is only playing, and then follows me by sticking to my heels, and peering attentively at the heavy computer back I carry. I know that she would like nothing more than to set her teeth in it and be carried inside, but gratefully she has overcome that particular stage in her life. She’s still a crazy dog, however.
I bring my bag to the kitchen and then move back out to get down the dry laundry. Big brother is already there and proceeds to grab Knight II just in time to prevent the giant from pouncing on the clean clothes I carry and deposit on the table.
Calling at big brother to hold onto the Dane a bit longer, I get the new batch from the laundry room and head back out to spend a good thirty minutes hanging it all. My dogs lie around me, Knight bursting out of the house and looking disappointed at the baskets I have placed high above the ground and decides to start barking in that annoying way of his.
It’s very rhythmical; exactly every five seconds and it can drive me utterly insane if he keeps at it for long. He will, too, if I don’t grab a hold of him and make him sit down. Luckily grandfather arrives at that moment, distracting the big lug enough to have him dash off in hopes of bothering the new arrival and trying to catch him unawares for a good pawing.
I prudently call him back, knowing full well that Knight weighs at least twenty pounds more than the wiry old farmer who chuckles at the Dane’s enthusiasm.
Using this moment of distraction in my pack, I finish hanging the day’s laundry and head inside for a quick breakfast.
By the time the coffee’s brewed, I settle down at the kitchen table and switch the computer on and dial up to the Net for my daily messaging session. Just a few today, and after checking up on all the forums and chat sites I like to visit every now and then, it is time for me to do a quick translate for the dog website project I helped create last month. New materials have arrived and for them to be placed the translations need to be done ASAP.
At long last, big brother and I resume editing last night’s progress.
Miraculously, it’s still good by the time we finish and decide to split our attentions, so I can continue adding new scenes while he does some more research.
I only manage half a page of actual writing before it is time to go and see Clue at the vet’s. The sun has settled beyond the horizon by the time we arrive and the young female vet announced that her boss cleared Clue to come home with us this very evening.
With the assistant getting him from the back section, he comes storming towards us, practically dragging the poor girl along in his eagerness to reach us. It’s as if he senses that he can go home today, so while I discuss further treatment with the young vet, big brother takes Clue outside and brings him to the car.
By the time he returns, the vet is handing me Clue’s daily doses of medication, and rereading the instructions left for her, while big brother tells me how Clue literally leaped into the car to greet the cocker waiting there. I’ve never seen the Pointer act this way, but I am literally thrilled at his joy while I turn back to the vet for our instructions.
Five more days of antibiotics, and then, at least ten days from now, removing his stitches. After that he should be as good as new. Good news, indeed!
We’re chipper by the time we get home, and while we eat a light dinner of vegetables and rice, prepared by little sister, we watch Clue reacquaint himself with the rest of the curious pack that hasn’t seen him for at least a week.
By the time they’ve all sniffed him up and down, he starts running through the house in excitement until at last flopping down between the rest of the snoozing pack, right in the middle of the room.
While I resume writing, occasionally shifting my attention between rereads of older material in other books–because big brother and I are already preparing for the next novella–I slowly get the final scene of the story going.
It’s poignant, romantic, incredibly sad and more than a little horrifying, but I’m thrilled by the time the last words are written down and I stare at the screen with a sense of “DONE! Now what?” I know that the post-writing blues will be here soon, but for a little while I really don’t care.
The story will need some fine-tuning, several rereads, proofreading and edits, but the latest finished project brings the “done” list up to a wonderful 24 stories.
Slowly delight begins to take over, both big brother and I tossing back and forth scenes that have been written down in the past four or five days until midnight has passed and it’s time for us to retire.
A few excited words with the sibs are exchanged–I actually high-five little sister, hah–before I loose the dogs and head up for my cabin.
The night is cool, a wan moon shining above the mountain to the west, and stars sparkle prettily in the black night sky as I make my way up.
My quarters match the outside temperature, and as I turn on the individual lights I plug in the heater. I smile at the dogs rushing from one room to the next, and then back again. They still remember last night’s rat and don’t actually calm down until I have dispersed their food and pick up my latest reading material for some relaxation.
By the time two in the morning goes by, I head for the bedroom and set up the laptop for the nightly session online. Even after having been writing for hours, I enjoy writing today down, if for no other reason than realizing that today’s events were a little less heavy then my usual recount.
A day of good news; it makes me feel remarkably well for a change.
The sky is a remarkably dark blue, the sun shining down at an angle throwing everything in clear contrast. The trees are of a bright fresh green, almost clashing against the dark yellowish brown of the rock surface that makes up most of the main path.
It is on days such as these that I fully understand why photographers rave about the Costa Del Sol, because the light is literally incomparable. Gorgeous!
Knight II somehow manages to get himself stuck to the fence–in the exact same spot– twice during the forty minutes that pass since he’s let out of the cabin, and I shake my head at his sad little whines before I loose his collar and give him a firm smack on the butt to get him moving.
No exercise is on the day’s schedule, so I take my time going through the morning rituals, reading a few Sherrilyn Kenyon chapters before getting dressed and heading to the house.
Sitabah hasn’t learned anything from yesterday’s mishap. She is already in the courtyard by the time my pack and I arrive, and pounces on Lhabana the moment the black lab thunders through the gate.
They wrestle noisily as I try to drag a reluctant Trin Trin through. For some reason she likes staying on the threshold, growling and tugging at her leash in that exact spot and like usual I have to move further into the courtyard before she decides to come in my pursuit by slamming the gate open fully. Then, while she dashes through, skidding on the moist concrete floor, I hurry back and quickly shove it shut before she can start all over.
She’ll look at me with that adorably disfigured monster face, as if wondering what the fuss is about when she is only playing, and then follows me by sticking to my heels, and peering attentively at the heavy computer back I carry. I know that she would like nothing more than to set her teeth in it and be carried inside, but gratefully she has overcome that particular stage in her life. She’s still a crazy dog, however.
I bring my bag to the kitchen and then move back out to get down the dry laundry. Big brother is already there and proceeds to grab Knight II just in time to prevent the giant from pouncing on the clean clothes I carry and deposit on the table.
Calling at big brother to hold onto the Dane a bit longer, I get the new batch from the laundry room and head back out to spend a good thirty minutes hanging it all. My dogs lie around me, Knight bursting out of the house and looking disappointed at the baskets I have placed high above the ground and decides to start barking in that annoying way of his.
It’s very rhythmical; exactly every five seconds and it can drive me utterly insane if he keeps at it for long. He will, too, if I don’t grab a hold of him and make him sit down. Luckily grandfather arrives at that moment, distracting the big lug enough to have him dash off in hopes of bothering the new arrival and trying to catch him unawares for a good pawing.
I prudently call him back, knowing full well that Knight weighs at least twenty pounds more than the wiry old farmer who chuckles at the Dane’s enthusiasm.
Using this moment of distraction in my pack, I finish hanging the day’s laundry and head inside for a quick breakfast.
By the time the coffee’s brewed, I settle down at the kitchen table and switch the computer on and dial up to the Net for my daily messaging session. Just a few today, and after checking up on all the forums and chat sites I like to visit every now and then, it is time for me to do a quick translate for the dog website project I helped create last month. New materials have arrived and for them to be placed the translations need to be done ASAP.
At long last, big brother and I resume editing last night’s progress.
Miraculously, it’s still good by the time we finish and decide to split our attentions, so I can continue adding new scenes while he does some more research.
I only manage half a page of actual writing before it is time to go and see Clue at the vet’s. The sun has settled beyond the horizon by the time we arrive and the young female vet announced that her boss cleared Clue to come home with us this very evening.
With the assistant getting him from the back section, he comes storming towards us, practically dragging the poor girl along in his eagerness to reach us. It’s as if he senses that he can go home today, so while I discuss further treatment with the young vet, big brother takes Clue outside and brings him to the car.
By the time he returns, the vet is handing me Clue’s daily doses of medication, and rereading the instructions left for her, while big brother tells me how Clue literally leaped into the car to greet the cocker waiting there. I’ve never seen the Pointer act this way, but I am literally thrilled at his joy while I turn back to the vet for our instructions.
Five more days of antibiotics, and then, at least ten days from now, removing his stitches. After that he should be as good as new. Good news, indeed!
We’re chipper by the time we get home, and while we eat a light dinner of vegetables and rice, prepared by little sister, we watch Clue reacquaint himself with the rest of the curious pack that hasn’t seen him for at least a week.
By the time they’ve all sniffed him up and down, he starts running through the house in excitement until at last flopping down between the rest of the snoozing pack, right in the middle of the room.
While I resume writing, occasionally shifting my attention between rereads of older material in other books–because big brother and I are already preparing for the next novella–I slowly get the final scene of the story going.
It’s poignant, romantic, incredibly sad and more than a little horrifying, but I’m thrilled by the time the last words are written down and I stare at the screen with a sense of “DONE! Now what?” I know that the post-writing blues will be here soon, but for a little while I really don’t care.
The story will need some fine-tuning, several rereads, proofreading and edits, but the latest finished project brings the “done” list up to a wonderful 24 stories.
Slowly delight begins to take over, both big brother and I tossing back and forth scenes that have been written down in the past four or five days until midnight has passed and it’s time for us to retire.
A few excited words with the sibs are exchanged–I actually high-five little sister, hah–before I loose the dogs and head up for my cabin.
The night is cool, a wan moon shining above the mountain to the west, and stars sparkle prettily in the black night sky as I make my way up.
My quarters match the outside temperature, and as I turn on the individual lights I plug in the heater. I smile at the dogs rushing from one room to the next, and then back again. They still remember last night’s rat and don’t actually calm down until I have dispersed their food and pick up my latest reading material for some relaxation.
By the time two in the morning goes by, I head for the bedroom and set up the laptop for the nightly session online. Even after having been writing for hours, I enjoy writing today down, if for no other reason than realizing that today’s events were a little less heavy then my usual recount.
A day of good news; it makes me feel remarkably well for a change.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The day and memories.
Very little happened today, though somehow my alarm doesn’t go off, making me oversleep and feel more than a little disgruntled when I wake an hour late, due to the fact that I couldn’t really drop away again. Lots of dreams once more, a jumble of “That 70s Show” memories and movies that got so friggin intertwined that I can’t unravel them into a coherent story.
So I’m late, and I’m not liking it at all. I wonder if my fantasy yesterday, of smashing the alarm has somehow had an effect after all, earning me this lovely present of an extra hour.
I have most certainly become a creature of habit these days, since I am seriously out of sorts when I hurry down to the house and have a firm talk with myself about NEEDING to do my exercises today, whether I want to or not.
On the way down I almost have a heart attack at the sound of a pained screech that instantly draws my eyes down to the courtyard, where Sitabah (Weimeraner) is hanging upside down, with her right back paw stuck between the tines of the fence.
As usual she wanted to go into the courtyard with her habitual shortcut and yet somehow ended up getting her toes between caught within the fence.
While the other dogs rush towards her, I exclaim a scream and frantically try to figure out a way to reach her fast, without the rest of the dogs pouncing on her now that she’s unable to defend herself. Much to my relief, Sitabah does an impressive twist with her body and lands on all fours, only shaking a little from her fright.
Still muttering expletives under my breath, I usher the dogs into the courtyard and slam the gate shut behind me, throwing the dogs “the evil eye” all the way into the house where only a few dogs snooze the morning away.
I don’t want to, but in the end I do start my exercises, pushing myself through the routines and working up a good sweat using frustration, as much needed fuel. The boxing bag is a willing victim to my frequent punches and kicks, squeaking on its hook as it swings back and forth in a steady rhythm of channeled displeasure.
Forty minutes, and a shower later, I am still grouchy and literally growl at the dogs as I hang laundry muttering my irritation for no good reason. Poor dogs who have to endure this, but luckily they don’t care much one way or other and just lounge about as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on.
In the end, too late to check my messages, I can finally settle down behind my computer and go over last night’s writing for a good editing session. I feel considerably bolstered by the successful proofreading that have managed to somewhat lighten my spirits, but rather than being able to use this new frame of mind, dusk settles and we once again depart for the Vet hospital.
Clue has improved even more by the time we arrive and spent quite a while petting and greeting the dog that, for the first time since we have him, bounces up and down in excitement, as if demonstrating that he is truly ready to go home now.
Since he is still “wearing” the catheter, which the vet is planning to take out this evening, that won’t be possible. But, if the vet finds that no more pus is forming within the tunnel system, our Clue might very well be going home with us tomorrow evening.
With that bit of news I feel considerably better and after preparing a simple but tasty dinner of rice fried in cumin and pepper, with carrots in herbs on the side, I sit back down behind the computer and write three more pages for the vampire story.
Four or five more to go and then the story will be done, culminating to a powerful ending where life and death are barely separated. It always is a thrilling point to reach, I’ve learned, and I always look forward to it since completion does give a certain sense of satisfaction of a job well done. I’m thinking of celebrating it somehow, but I’m not sure yet how to go about that.
With the first couple of books I finished, way back when, I bought champagne, but over the years, upon completing story after story, I mostly just bounce around a little, chanting, “I’m finished. I’ve finished. Did you hear? It’s finished,” before sinking into a mild depression about finishing the story that has been an intricate part of my life for… as long as it took to write it.
Weird how that works: You work at a story incessantly, working towards that “climax” of completion so very hard and with lots of excitement, only to end up feeling disappointed that it’s over so fast… even when it took years to complete.
Sorta like sex. Hah. In the end it’s the journey that makes it interesting, I guess.
I had a particularly vibrant memory during the course of the afternoon today. It’s an old one. One I’d almost forgotten until something triggered my memory about it and brought the events back to the surface.
I was maybe five at the time. My big brother and I were visiting our father for the weekend and were wandering on the property of the company he worked at… even during the weekends when we were there… playing with one of the local kids when we stumbled upon the hidden stairs leading towards the attic.
Oh that was great place to find treasures for sure. It was filled with old posters, flyers, furniture, clothes and whatnot, when at some point we found a break in the fence that separated two parts of the attic right in the center. Being a curious lot, we of course crawled through it, finding several boxes filled with these hand-sized stickers that were simply too good to pass up on.
Stuffing our pockets full with handfuls of the stickers, we (three kids, all under the age of ten) crawled back out and snuck our way down from the attic in search of places where we could stick our newfound treasures. That entire day was spent moving stealthily all over the property, “decorating” everything from car rims to gutters and windows. We had such a blast, not truly aware that the stickers would be hell to get off again by those unfortunate enough to have received our gifts.
Good times. That place was horrible, and it deserved all the wreckage us rowdy kids could cause. Besides, it served my father right for letting us muddle through on our own while he was supposed to spend some precious time with us.
Usually, if not always, the first thing he did once we arrived at his place, was dump big brother and me at his neighbor’s house so he could get back to work.
Ah well. It did us no harm in the end, I guess. As memories go, we had quite a bit of fun that day, so for that I’ll just forget about “His” part (or lack thereof) in it, and enjoy myself.
Back to the day:
I don’t linger too much at the house tonight, and exchange a few words with the younger sibs before I head up to my cabin, the dogs racing ahead and through the door as soon as I open it. I see something flash past when I switch on the lights, rolling my eyes when the dogs dash after it full force. It is a rat, and for the next hour the more lively members of my pack try to locate the little critter that has gone into hiding somewhere. They’ll get him soon enough, so I’m not worried as I set up my computer and connect to the net.
Only a few messages to answer today, much to my surprise, and delight, since I promised myself to go to bed early for a change.
Now, if only I can post this blog in time…
So I’m late, and I’m not liking it at all. I wonder if my fantasy yesterday, of smashing the alarm has somehow had an effect after all, earning me this lovely present of an extra hour.
I have most certainly become a creature of habit these days, since I am seriously out of sorts when I hurry down to the house and have a firm talk with myself about NEEDING to do my exercises today, whether I want to or not.
On the way down I almost have a heart attack at the sound of a pained screech that instantly draws my eyes down to the courtyard, where Sitabah (Weimeraner) is hanging upside down, with her right back paw stuck between the tines of the fence.
As usual she wanted to go into the courtyard with her habitual shortcut and yet somehow ended up getting her toes between caught within the fence.
While the other dogs rush towards her, I exclaim a scream and frantically try to figure out a way to reach her fast, without the rest of the dogs pouncing on her now that she’s unable to defend herself. Much to my relief, Sitabah does an impressive twist with her body and lands on all fours, only shaking a little from her fright.
Still muttering expletives under my breath, I usher the dogs into the courtyard and slam the gate shut behind me, throwing the dogs “the evil eye” all the way into the house where only a few dogs snooze the morning away.
I don’t want to, but in the end I do start my exercises, pushing myself through the routines and working up a good sweat using frustration, as much needed fuel. The boxing bag is a willing victim to my frequent punches and kicks, squeaking on its hook as it swings back and forth in a steady rhythm of channeled displeasure.
Forty minutes, and a shower later, I am still grouchy and literally growl at the dogs as I hang laundry muttering my irritation for no good reason. Poor dogs who have to endure this, but luckily they don’t care much one way or other and just lounge about as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on.
In the end, too late to check my messages, I can finally settle down behind my computer and go over last night’s writing for a good editing session. I feel considerably bolstered by the successful proofreading that have managed to somewhat lighten my spirits, but rather than being able to use this new frame of mind, dusk settles and we once again depart for the Vet hospital.
Clue has improved even more by the time we arrive and spent quite a while petting and greeting the dog that, for the first time since we have him, bounces up and down in excitement, as if demonstrating that he is truly ready to go home now.
Since he is still “wearing” the catheter, which the vet is planning to take out this evening, that won’t be possible. But, if the vet finds that no more pus is forming within the tunnel system, our Clue might very well be going home with us tomorrow evening.
With that bit of news I feel considerably better and after preparing a simple but tasty dinner of rice fried in cumin and pepper, with carrots in herbs on the side, I sit back down behind the computer and write three more pages for the vampire story.
Four or five more to go and then the story will be done, culminating to a powerful ending where life and death are barely separated. It always is a thrilling point to reach, I’ve learned, and I always look forward to it since completion does give a certain sense of satisfaction of a job well done. I’m thinking of celebrating it somehow, but I’m not sure yet how to go about that.
With the first couple of books I finished, way back when, I bought champagne, but over the years, upon completing story after story, I mostly just bounce around a little, chanting, “I’m finished. I’ve finished. Did you hear? It’s finished,” before sinking into a mild depression about finishing the story that has been an intricate part of my life for… as long as it took to write it.
Weird how that works: You work at a story incessantly, working towards that “climax” of completion so very hard and with lots of excitement, only to end up feeling disappointed that it’s over so fast… even when it took years to complete.
Sorta like sex. Hah. In the end it’s the journey that makes it interesting, I guess.
I had a particularly vibrant memory during the course of the afternoon today. It’s an old one. One I’d almost forgotten until something triggered my memory about it and brought the events back to the surface.
I was maybe five at the time. My big brother and I were visiting our father for the weekend and were wandering on the property of the company he worked at… even during the weekends when we were there… playing with one of the local kids when we stumbled upon the hidden stairs leading towards the attic.
Oh that was great place to find treasures for sure. It was filled with old posters, flyers, furniture, clothes and whatnot, when at some point we found a break in the fence that separated two parts of the attic right in the center. Being a curious lot, we of course crawled through it, finding several boxes filled with these hand-sized stickers that were simply too good to pass up on.
Stuffing our pockets full with handfuls of the stickers, we (three kids, all under the age of ten) crawled back out and snuck our way down from the attic in search of places where we could stick our newfound treasures. That entire day was spent moving stealthily all over the property, “decorating” everything from car rims to gutters and windows. We had such a blast, not truly aware that the stickers would be hell to get off again by those unfortunate enough to have received our gifts.
Good times. That place was horrible, and it deserved all the wreckage us rowdy kids could cause. Besides, it served my father right for letting us muddle through on our own while he was supposed to spend some precious time with us.
Usually, if not always, the first thing he did once we arrived at his place, was dump big brother and me at his neighbor’s house so he could get back to work.
Ah well. It did us no harm in the end, I guess. As memories go, we had quite a bit of fun that day, so for that I’ll just forget about “His” part (or lack thereof) in it, and enjoy myself.
Back to the day:
I don’t linger too much at the house tonight, and exchange a few words with the younger sibs before I head up to my cabin, the dogs racing ahead and through the door as soon as I open it. I see something flash past when I switch on the lights, rolling my eyes when the dogs dash after it full force. It is a rat, and for the next hour the more lively members of my pack try to locate the little critter that has gone into hiding somewhere. They’ll get him soon enough, so I’m not worried as I set up my computer and connect to the net.
Only a few messages to answer today, much to my surprise, and delight, since I promised myself to go to bed early for a change.
Now, if only I can post this blog in time…
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Dogs. Ya gotta love 'm.
It was a lousy night. Apparently I was wrong when I wrote down that I thought I’d be able to sleep last night, ‘cause I couldn’t! I had like a million dreams in half-sleep, so many of them, in fact. I can’t even begin to distinguish the one from the other, and the fact that I totally skipped over the required REM hours, doesn’t help one bit.
By the time my alarm beeps that annoying little whine of a sound, I feel as if I’ve just barely drifted off and seriously consider smashing the darn evil device into smithereens.
Of course I don’t. I’m a little thrifty that way, and don’t like wasting something that’ll cost money to replace, on a temper tantrum. The temptation is very big, however.
What with the busy schedule ahead, I have no choice but to drag myself from the bed and move around like an old hag until the kinks plop out of my spine. For some reason each spinal column decides to misalign when sleep is illusive, not making things any more pleasant as I stumble through the morning rituals, knowing full well that today I will not be able to do my exercises at all. It isn’t beneficial to my mood at all, to say the least.
The dogs howl and bark too loud for my ears. The occasional clawed stump in either my legs or butt annoy me, and making my way down the uneven path seems tricky at best as I head towards the house and forgo all the usual chores because I know that I’ll be needing every minute I can gain during this pressing day.
For a while big brother and I work on the vampire project; with me reading out loud from my computer –my voice a little too husky what with the tickle in my throat– while he reads along on his. It’s a good technique, allowing for instant changes that will read and sound well at the same time, but it is also time-consuming. The session passes so quickly that my head whirls by the time we shut the computer down and clear up the kitchen table in preparation to our departure.
It is on days such as these that I wish we could just let it all stand, ready and waiting for our return, but of course we can’t. It is simply not possible what with more than ninety dogs eager to pounce on anything they can destroy within a moment’s time. Electrical wires need to be stuffed away, Internet connections hung high and computers safely stored in places where the pack can not reach it, no matter how hard they try: And try they will… mostly when I least expect it.
Which brings up an interesting subject: What do you give up or change in order to share your life with a large pack of dogs?
I’ve heard this question on occasion, and due to those I have made a bit of list on the topic.
Curtains: Unless they’re made of Teflon, be prepared to look at torn seams and big holes for as long as they are up. Luckily I don’t like curtains in the first place, so for me that really isn’t a problem, but it makes for interesting sights on the most part. Whether teeth or busy bodies getting stuck in them, they will destroy just about anything in little time. Very few curtains actually make it through a year.
Expensive furniture: One can try, of course, but at some point there’ll be a bite in wood, a dent in metal and tears in fabrics. It is inevitable no matter how well the beasts are watched; one minute is really all it takes.
Extension cords: Hang ‘m high and keep ‘m there. For some reason they’re considered as some sort of snack, ‘cause the dogs will grab them, play with them, (loose or plugged, there’s no difference) chew on them and then by the time it is completely useless leave it lying somewhere.
Wooden utensils/plastic too: Especially the kitchen variety of these nifty little things called ladles, spoons, forks and knives. Unless they’re made of solid steel, silver or any other metal, be prepared to buy lots of ‘m. The metals will disappear too, but every once in a while you’ll find some remote spot in the house where the entire “silver” collection can be reacquired. Good days.
Blankets: Again, try to get Teflon… though I’m thinking that some nifty dog might actually manage to chew through even that with enough time and perseverance–of which they possess a s**tload. Even when they don’t chew through it, their sturdy nails will dig through it at one time or other.
Pillows: In all honesty I’ve given up on any other than those I use to sleep on. The temptation is just too big. It’s a toy, plain and simple: Something to drag along for comfortable snoozing, whether that is in mud or on dry ground. It is most definitely wonderful to tear up in case they get bored. “Feathers are soooo pretty when they’re floating through the room, but bits of foam will do in a pinch.”
Leather: Whether in furniture or clothes. Unless you’re prepared to sit on/dress in said furniture/outfit 24/7/365, and never close your eyes or get distracted for even a second, it’s not the best of choices. There really is little more in this world that is more tempting to a bunch of rowdy dogs than a wonderfully comfortable arm chair made of gorgeous smooth leather.
Knickknacks: They’re fantastic, but unless you’re prepared to place it at, at least, chest height, they’re really just bite-sized chew toys, or make a wonderful smashing sound when they land on the hard floor.
House Plants: I love them. Really, I do! They’re beautiful and they will cozy up a room, always. But… no matter how well they’re guarded, at some point some nifty dog will find his way up a chair, the table or even a cabinet and will have a real live party in the wonderfully tasty soil that you’ve kept at a perfect moistness from the day the plant of choice was added to the room.
Eating: It is all a matter of speed and dexterity. Though the dogs have a pretty good idea which food is specified for a particular species, they are geniuses in getting their treats. Cheese, bread, butter in a tub, tomatoes, apples, you name it. Yum.
A barking dog behind your back will draw your attention for a split second, allowing the second, third or fourth canine to slip his head right under the arm you’ve protectively wedged in front of your sandwich, and, calm as you please, swallow it whole in the mere second it takes you to turn your head back.
Then, while you’re trying to decide which thief you want to strangle, there are ten eager faces staring up at you with those innocent expressions that make it unable to identify the culprit.
As for a nice sit-down dinner… it’s doable, if every single seat is taken or put away while you acquire some canine tendencies and protect your plate like a rabid dog.
Books: Now this is a matter close to my heart, especially since I have lost a multitude of books during the course of the years since we started taking in dogs. They are my most prized possessions, but the only way to actually keep them, and display them the way I like, is to have high shelves, preferably well above hip-level with shelves that are no higher than the books themselves. The dogs LOVE books for some peculiar reason.
You learn really fast not to put a book down “for just a minute” while you run to the bathroom or get a snack, for nine times out of ten you’ll return to find some delighted dog rolling around in torn, drooled upon, and wadded up paper.
Shoes: Get a full-proof, unbreakable, bank vault. Don’t make the mistake of just wandering through it with the door open while you’re convinced that the dogs are locked out of your bedroom, ‘cause in all likelihood you’ll have missed one or two hiding somewhere in a dark corner, just waiting to pounce on boot and sneaker alike.
Never, and I mean NEVER EVER step out of your shoes and let them stand on the floor for even a minute. Take you eyes off it to grab your house slipper from the closet and those beloved leather loafers are history.
Clothes: Keep it simple and dark: Endurable fabrics that won’t tear, or look so messy to begin with that no one will notice the difference if there’s an extra tear or smudge somewhere. Wanna dress fancy? Wait until the last possible minute to slip into the outfit and run! Run fast, and slam the car door behind you while you turn the ignition and tear out of the yard.
Now, none of the abovementioned “highlights” mean that our dogs are misbehaving pests. Not all. Separately they behave just as well as any well-bred and perfectly raised pooch. It’s the numbers that do the trick. It’s the same as with humans, I’m thinking. Put enough of them together and there’s bound to be mischief. Hah.
To give a proper counterweight to all the things I wrote down, here are some definite pros for living with a huge pack of animals:
Loneliness: It is never really an issue. You always have one or more living creatures to yap to. You don’t have to make sense, you can do it any language you like, and just have an attentive audience as long as you’re willing to disperse your petting freely and liberally.
Home security: Seriously, no alarm system can beat the ears, eyes, noses and general protective instincts of a ninety plus pack. I swear that on some days they can hear a frog fart at a two-mile distance.
Personal Safety: I pity the one who tries to harm any of the humans walking around here, I really do. Any intruder trying it is bound to be ripped to pieces if we’re not there to actually protect this unfortunate daredevil… if we would be so inclined, naturally. If we’re friendly so are the dogs… on the most part, anyway… but toss in an unfamiliar presence/scent without warning…Ouch.
Loyalty: Any and all of these dogs will literally give their lives for my family and I. Their loyalty never fails and nor do they judge in any way. They will comfort me when I cry, bounce around in excitement when I’ve got good news, and generally stick to their master of choice until the end of days… if at all possible.
Anti-depression: No matter how bad a state of mind, a pack such as this won’t ever let you wallow in it. They need to be fed, cared for and petted on a daily basis, come hell or high water. No exceptions, no excuses. They will cajole, beg and nag until you have no choice but to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get crackin’.
Love: They will and so will you, no matter how frustration, exhausting, heartbreaking and even bruising they can be at times. Loving these beautiful, funny and affectionate creatures, you will… whether you intended to or not.
Well, I got totally off track again, but who cares? Where was I? Oh yes…
Today is scheduled to include our weekly lessons in town, through which we will have to hurry if we still want to visit with Clue afterwards. So, I need to rush through taking a shower, getting dressed in semi-neatness, and then read through our lesson material some more so that when I’m behind the test computers I will be able to actually supply the right answers.
I’m feeling particularly frazzled by the time we hurry to the car and depart for town just barely following the regulations of traffic just to get there at a decent time.
We arrive at the school right around dusk, and both big brother and I are annoyed at the fact that tonight appears to be a busy night again; leaving on three of the sixteen computers from which we can choose.
For the next hour and a half we go through the test, over and over again, luckily getting more of them right than wrong on this day when other students are constantly distracting me from my lesson material.
Keeping a weary eye on our watches, we wrap up our lessons well before we usually do. Saying quick goodbyes to the teacher now that we have to speed to the other side of the mountain where Clue awaits us at the hospital.
Upon arrival, the Vet informs us that our beautiful pointer is improving, and we see the proof of that as we open the cage and he steps out trying to jump against us in a joyful greeting. He does look much better. Even with the square patch of shaved skin, and the dark blue catheter dangling, his fur is gleaming and his eyes are alert as we take him out for a short walk.
He walks a straight path to a side street, spending a good two minutes to empty his obviously overfull bladder before making a beeline for the car and looking around suspiciously.
I can almost hear him think, “Hey, boss. No one’s watching. We can make good on our escape without anyone being the wiser.” Poor thing. It gets harder every day to leave him in his cage, but what with him not having regained his full strength yet, and the catheter still dangling from the hole in his side, we agree that letting him stay a bit longer is really the best thing for his general state of health. The pack is not always tolerant of members who aren’t up to their full strength.
With Clue making a howling racket in his cage, big brother and I leave and head home.
For some reason no one really feels like cooking these days, and with some tomato soup leftovers to fill our stomachs, big brother and I set up our computers once more, and resume with the story.
Focus is not easy to come by today for some peculiar reason. I barely manage to hack my way trough three and a half pages, during which the lead protagonists go “all the way” at last. There are some snorts as the details get typed down, debates about which way to go about it, bouncing back and forth until I’m finally done and decide to leave the remainder of the details for tomorrow.
Only a few more pages to write yet and so many more scenes to put in: It does seem like a daunting task at times, but mostly I feel up to the challenge.
By the time midnight has passed, and the last sentence for the night is written, I wrap things up and head for my cabin with my eager pack storming up the steep incline.
By the time my alarm beeps that annoying little whine of a sound, I feel as if I’ve just barely drifted off and seriously consider smashing the darn evil device into smithereens.
Of course I don’t. I’m a little thrifty that way, and don’t like wasting something that’ll cost money to replace, on a temper tantrum. The temptation is very big, however.
What with the busy schedule ahead, I have no choice but to drag myself from the bed and move around like an old hag until the kinks plop out of my spine. For some reason each spinal column decides to misalign when sleep is illusive, not making things any more pleasant as I stumble through the morning rituals, knowing full well that today I will not be able to do my exercises at all. It isn’t beneficial to my mood at all, to say the least.
The dogs howl and bark too loud for my ears. The occasional clawed stump in either my legs or butt annoy me, and making my way down the uneven path seems tricky at best as I head towards the house and forgo all the usual chores because I know that I’ll be needing every minute I can gain during this pressing day.
For a while big brother and I work on the vampire project; with me reading out loud from my computer –my voice a little too husky what with the tickle in my throat– while he reads along on his. It’s a good technique, allowing for instant changes that will read and sound well at the same time, but it is also time-consuming. The session passes so quickly that my head whirls by the time we shut the computer down and clear up the kitchen table in preparation to our departure.
It is on days such as these that I wish we could just let it all stand, ready and waiting for our return, but of course we can’t. It is simply not possible what with more than ninety dogs eager to pounce on anything they can destroy within a moment’s time. Electrical wires need to be stuffed away, Internet connections hung high and computers safely stored in places where the pack can not reach it, no matter how hard they try: And try they will… mostly when I least expect it.
Which brings up an interesting subject: What do you give up or change in order to share your life with a large pack of dogs?
I’ve heard this question on occasion, and due to those I have made a bit of list on the topic.
Curtains: Unless they’re made of Teflon, be prepared to look at torn seams and big holes for as long as they are up. Luckily I don’t like curtains in the first place, so for me that really isn’t a problem, but it makes for interesting sights on the most part. Whether teeth or busy bodies getting stuck in them, they will destroy just about anything in little time. Very few curtains actually make it through a year.
Expensive furniture: One can try, of course, but at some point there’ll be a bite in wood, a dent in metal and tears in fabrics. It is inevitable no matter how well the beasts are watched; one minute is really all it takes.
Extension cords: Hang ‘m high and keep ‘m there. For some reason they’re considered as some sort of snack, ‘cause the dogs will grab them, play with them, (loose or plugged, there’s no difference) chew on them and then by the time it is completely useless leave it lying somewhere.
Wooden utensils/plastic too: Especially the kitchen variety of these nifty little things called ladles, spoons, forks and knives. Unless they’re made of solid steel, silver or any other metal, be prepared to buy lots of ‘m. The metals will disappear too, but every once in a while you’ll find some remote spot in the house where the entire “silver” collection can be reacquired. Good days.
Blankets: Again, try to get Teflon… though I’m thinking that some nifty dog might actually manage to chew through even that with enough time and perseverance–of which they possess a s**tload. Even when they don’t chew through it, their sturdy nails will dig through it at one time or other.
Pillows: In all honesty I’ve given up on any other than those I use to sleep on. The temptation is just too big. It’s a toy, plain and simple: Something to drag along for comfortable snoozing, whether that is in mud or on dry ground. It is most definitely wonderful to tear up in case they get bored. “Feathers are soooo pretty when they’re floating through the room, but bits of foam will do in a pinch.”
Leather: Whether in furniture or clothes. Unless you’re prepared to sit on/dress in said furniture/outfit 24/7/365, and never close your eyes or get distracted for even a second, it’s not the best of choices. There really is little more in this world that is more tempting to a bunch of rowdy dogs than a wonderfully comfortable arm chair made of gorgeous smooth leather.
Knickknacks: They’re fantastic, but unless you’re prepared to place it at, at least, chest height, they’re really just bite-sized chew toys, or make a wonderful smashing sound when they land on the hard floor.
House Plants: I love them. Really, I do! They’re beautiful and they will cozy up a room, always. But… no matter how well they’re guarded, at some point some nifty dog will find his way up a chair, the table or even a cabinet and will have a real live party in the wonderfully tasty soil that you’ve kept at a perfect moistness from the day the plant of choice was added to the room.
Eating: It is all a matter of speed and dexterity. Though the dogs have a pretty good idea which food is specified for a particular species, they are geniuses in getting their treats. Cheese, bread, butter in a tub, tomatoes, apples, you name it. Yum.
A barking dog behind your back will draw your attention for a split second, allowing the second, third or fourth canine to slip his head right under the arm you’ve protectively wedged in front of your sandwich, and, calm as you please, swallow it whole in the mere second it takes you to turn your head back.
Then, while you’re trying to decide which thief you want to strangle, there are ten eager faces staring up at you with those innocent expressions that make it unable to identify the culprit.
As for a nice sit-down dinner… it’s doable, if every single seat is taken or put away while you acquire some canine tendencies and protect your plate like a rabid dog.
Books: Now this is a matter close to my heart, especially since I have lost a multitude of books during the course of the years since we started taking in dogs. They are my most prized possessions, but the only way to actually keep them, and display them the way I like, is to have high shelves, preferably well above hip-level with shelves that are no higher than the books themselves. The dogs LOVE books for some peculiar reason.
You learn really fast not to put a book down “for just a minute” while you run to the bathroom or get a snack, for nine times out of ten you’ll return to find some delighted dog rolling around in torn, drooled upon, and wadded up paper.
Shoes: Get a full-proof, unbreakable, bank vault. Don’t make the mistake of just wandering through it with the door open while you’re convinced that the dogs are locked out of your bedroom, ‘cause in all likelihood you’ll have missed one or two hiding somewhere in a dark corner, just waiting to pounce on boot and sneaker alike.
Never, and I mean NEVER EVER step out of your shoes and let them stand on the floor for even a minute. Take you eyes off it to grab your house slipper from the closet and those beloved leather loafers are history.
Clothes: Keep it simple and dark: Endurable fabrics that won’t tear, or look so messy to begin with that no one will notice the difference if there’s an extra tear or smudge somewhere. Wanna dress fancy? Wait until the last possible minute to slip into the outfit and run! Run fast, and slam the car door behind you while you turn the ignition and tear out of the yard.
Now, none of the abovementioned “highlights” mean that our dogs are misbehaving pests. Not all. Separately they behave just as well as any well-bred and perfectly raised pooch. It’s the numbers that do the trick. It’s the same as with humans, I’m thinking. Put enough of them together and there’s bound to be mischief. Hah.
To give a proper counterweight to all the things I wrote down, here are some definite pros for living with a huge pack of animals:
Loneliness: It is never really an issue. You always have one or more living creatures to yap to. You don’t have to make sense, you can do it any language you like, and just have an attentive audience as long as you’re willing to disperse your petting freely and liberally.
Home security: Seriously, no alarm system can beat the ears, eyes, noses and general protective instincts of a ninety plus pack. I swear that on some days they can hear a frog fart at a two-mile distance.
Personal Safety: I pity the one who tries to harm any of the humans walking around here, I really do. Any intruder trying it is bound to be ripped to pieces if we’re not there to actually protect this unfortunate daredevil… if we would be so inclined, naturally. If we’re friendly so are the dogs… on the most part, anyway… but toss in an unfamiliar presence/scent without warning…Ouch.
Loyalty: Any and all of these dogs will literally give their lives for my family and I. Their loyalty never fails and nor do they judge in any way. They will comfort me when I cry, bounce around in excitement when I’ve got good news, and generally stick to their master of choice until the end of days… if at all possible.
Anti-depression: No matter how bad a state of mind, a pack such as this won’t ever let you wallow in it. They need to be fed, cared for and petted on a daily basis, come hell or high water. No exceptions, no excuses. They will cajole, beg and nag until you have no choice but to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get crackin’.
Love: They will and so will you, no matter how frustration, exhausting, heartbreaking and even bruising they can be at times. Loving these beautiful, funny and affectionate creatures, you will… whether you intended to or not.
Well, I got totally off track again, but who cares? Where was I? Oh yes…
Today is scheduled to include our weekly lessons in town, through which we will have to hurry if we still want to visit with Clue afterwards. So, I need to rush through taking a shower, getting dressed in semi-neatness, and then read through our lesson material some more so that when I’m behind the test computers I will be able to actually supply the right answers.
I’m feeling particularly frazzled by the time we hurry to the car and depart for town just barely following the regulations of traffic just to get there at a decent time.
We arrive at the school right around dusk, and both big brother and I are annoyed at the fact that tonight appears to be a busy night again; leaving on three of the sixteen computers from which we can choose.
For the next hour and a half we go through the test, over and over again, luckily getting more of them right than wrong on this day when other students are constantly distracting me from my lesson material.
Keeping a weary eye on our watches, we wrap up our lessons well before we usually do. Saying quick goodbyes to the teacher now that we have to speed to the other side of the mountain where Clue awaits us at the hospital.
Upon arrival, the Vet informs us that our beautiful pointer is improving, and we see the proof of that as we open the cage and he steps out trying to jump against us in a joyful greeting. He does look much better. Even with the square patch of shaved skin, and the dark blue catheter dangling, his fur is gleaming and his eyes are alert as we take him out for a short walk.
He walks a straight path to a side street, spending a good two minutes to empty his obviously overfull bladder before making a beeline for the car and looking around suspiciously.
I can almost hear him think, “Hey, boss. No one’s watching. We can make good on our escape without anyone being the wiser.” Poor thing. It gets harder every day to leave him in his cage, but what with him not having regained his full strength yet, and the catheter still dangling from the hole in his side, we agree that letting him stay a bit longer is really the best thing for his general state of health. The pack is not always tolerant of members who aren’t up to their full strength.
With Clue making a howling racket in his cage, big brother and I leave and head home.
For some reason no one really feels like cooking these days, and with some tomato soup leftovers to fill our stomachs, big brother and I set up our computers once more, and resume with the story.
Focus is not easy to come by today for some peculiar reason. I barely manage to hack my way trough three and a half pages, during which the lead protagonists go “all the way” at last. There are some snorts as the details get typed down, debates about which way to go about it, bouncing back and forth until I’m finally done and decide to leave the remainder of the details for tomorrow.
Only a few more pages to write yet and so many more scenes to put in: It does seem like a daunting task at times, but mostly I feel up to the challenge.
By the time midnight has passed, and the last sentence for the night is written, I wrap things up and head for my cabin with my eager pack storming up the steep incline.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Real-life horror and... power failure.
Well, it was a busy day, and I’m running late so I’m going to see if I can get this all down before I totally go past my bed time.
I wake up feeling grubby for some reason. I can’t explain it, nor can I find its source, so, hoping for improvement as the day goes on, I head for the house. Once there I am rather pleased to be able to go through the laundry bit record time and then settle behind my computer for another writing session, just as soon as I’ve finished with my messages.
Just when I’m about to start on the vampire bit for real, the electricity flickers, goes off and then on again, announcing that something is amiss. Though I try, for some reason I can’t really focus on writing, with the continuing lapses in the electricity, becoming more frequent in the hours that pass until at last the power shuts down entirely.
After flicking the switches on the fuses several times, we shrug it off, mumbling about the unpredictability of the power company and shut our computers down by the time my battery is warning me that it’s almost depleted.
Rather than twiddling our thumbs while we wait for power to come back on, big brother and I head up to the bungalow to make use of daylight hours and put in the new linoleum we’ve acquired several days ago. It fits fell enough, creating a smooth surface for when our tenant returns.
Next, we remove the inner door that really is too narrow for the passage of a wheelchair, after which dusk announces that it is time to leave for our daily visit to Clue.
The power’s still off, and though I suggest a quick peek at the fuses and wires, big brother informs me that nothing can be wrong there since it was all recently replaced for the dreaded power company inspection.
So, we head for the village, stopping on the way to get our order of our new kitchen counter loaded up and then proceed on our way to the Veterinary hospital.
A few customers are there before us, but as we wait for our turn, the vet bids for our patience while he deals with the other customers. He says that he has to have a long talk with us about Clue’s condition.
Of course my stomach does an immediate flop from worry. And I can feel tension humming all through my body as we wait, and then follow the vet into the main examination room.
Slowly, he shows us an entire array of X-rays, explaining that all the bones look fine and that nothing is wrong with Clue’s spine or basic physical condition… and then drops the bomb.
This very morning they did a biopsy on Clue’s side where a tiny bump had formed during the time of his stay. The vet tells us how he’d found a small (coin-sized) hole in the swollen tissue and in order to measure its depth he had inserted a catheter– which proceeded to slide in, and in, and further in, going on endlessly. He makes no secret of his own astonishment, or that of his two assistants while discovering this, and reveals two more X-Rays where the catheter is fully inserted.
It does go on endlessly and I stare at the pictures in horror as I try to imagine what possibly could have caused such a… well, the only word to describe it is a tunnel system through Clue’s entire torso filled with puss and dried blood.
Next, the vet disappears into his office, only to return with a metal dish that is filled with the nasty substance, consistent of colligated blood, fresh blood and black little lumps, which he has removed from the mentioned tunnel system. There’s so much of it that I feel a little nauseous.
For a moment I actually don’t know what to say, and just stare from the pictures and the bloody mess, to the Vet, who actually appears fascinated by this find and actually informs us that this is definitely a case for the books that will be told over and over again to his students in the future.
At long last, I get over my stupor and manage to ask what he thinks caused this. I wonder if it was a bullet, or maybe some sort of parasite, and am even more astounded when he explains his hypothesis.
He thinks that sometime in the past year Clue has somehow inhaled one of the big grass seed that tend to float around in this area during the summer. Now, this seed is no normal seed, apparently. It has a big head, two long stretching appendages sticking out, and lots of hooks that tend to get stuck in the fur of our longhaired canines every now and then.
Gesturing us towards his computer, he puts on this small home video where three of said seeds are shown on a white sheet of paper. Next, as the camera zooms in, some water is sprayed over them after which, much to my astonishment, the seed seems to come to life.
It looks like an alien, I swear. It starts to shiver and then slowly –amazingly– begins to flip over making its way off the paper while applying this shocky drilling motion.
It begins to dawn on me where the Vet’s heading by then, my heart beating sluggishly and somewhat sickeningly when I listen to the full hypothesis.
He thinks that after inhaling the seed, the darn thing slowly, but steadily, started to drill its way through Clue’s body, creating the maze that we saw on the X-Rays.
Gods. I should write a friggin’ horror book about “Seeds of destruction” or “The Attack of the grass seeds” or some such. Walking through a beautiful meadow won’t ever be the same.
Hearing the vet talk about it, I’m not at all surprised that Clue was in pain, and even lost the use of his legs since the puss had been pushing against his spine, and listen while the doc tells us the worst part of it all: There’s no way in hell that they will be able to locate the seed, should it still be inside Clue’s body.
There is a slight chance that his body has broken down the bio material, or that it has already left his system through some sort of tiny wound without notice, but there’s no way to be sure. It will be just a matter of watching and waiting.
So, with that bit of disturbing news, we visit with Clue, finding him lying in the cage looking rather miserable and acting sluggishly pained, due to the catheter that will need to stay inside the tunnel system until antibiotics have stopped the infection and thus start the healing process.
He wants nothing more than go home with us. It is clearly visible on his face when the vet suggests that we should take him out for a bit; let him walk. We do just that, taking him out to the car and telling him that he’ll be all right and that he can come home just as soon as he feels better and the catheter is removed.
Poor Clue tires fast, however, and soon we bring him back inside, giving him some more affectionate pats before we have to leave again.
It is quite like the vet said. These particular seeds are a miracle of nature, allowing the seeds to burry themselves deep in the ground where they can grow up to be plants, but they’re a genuine DISASTER for dogs.
I feel a bit depressed as we head home. Arriving to semi-darkness now that the solar panels are our only source of electricity, and help big brother put the new kitchen counter safely away before we head into the house where a Thai meal –made by the younger sibs– awaits.
They’re shocked by the news of Clue, as well as annoyed by the lack of power as little sister and I finally convince big brother to check the fuse box since it has become apparent that all our neighbors still have power.
Armed with torches, he and little brother head into the pantry where the fuse box is located, and minutes later they inform us (with appropriate chagrin) that indeed one of the wires has melted causing the entire box to short.
Within minutes the mess is replaced and repaired, making a weak cheer go up as the younger sibs joke –the way we always do when the power’s out– “Thank God, here we thought we’d actually have to talk to pass the time.” Before they wave a jaunty goodbye and disappear to the location of choice throughout the house.
It has been a long standing joke between us all, since on the overall we see little of each other due to different interests, unless there is a joint project that needs to be dealt with.
For a while I lounge in front of the TV watching an NCIS rerun. My dogs are draped over my feet and knees, as I try to muster the energy to switch my empty battery computer back on, and get some more work done.
A big mug of coffee finally gets me to my feet and back to the kitchen table to start.
It takes me a while to get in the spirit of writing. My mind is awhirl with worried thoughts that I can neither pinpoint nor categorize since they combine with the disturbing news of Clue, but I work hard at it, because I’m determined to get at least a full page down.
In the end, after letting big brother pelt me with information that he has been compiling for the story to get my motor running, so to speak, the creative juices start to flow again.
The first few paragraphs go slowly, stuttering from my fingers until at long last inspiration strikes and the words begin to flow automatically. For the next two hours, with me shushing an enthusiastic big brother every two minutes (he’s like me that way, once he gets going it is practically impossible to shut him up) until five marvelous pages bring the latest story up to two thirds of the way.
What with midnight having passed, and the younger sibs impatiently waiting for me to get my butt out of the house so they can do their nightly cleaning before they settle down for a snack and a movie, I finally jot down a few details to remind me of all that’s whirling inside my head, and shut the computer off.
By the time I settle on my bed for my usual relaxing time on the Net, worries are once again wreaking havoc on my brain: In particular because my stereo is on the fritz and won’t start for over an hour due to the long hours of power failure.
Silence is not my friend these days, I’ll admit.
If there’s no noise, or, more specifically, music, I hear myself think. Not a good thing! My own brain is my worst enemy if it is allowed to run free and I’ve found that I need at least three different kinds of input to function properly. Hah.
But my usual chats and talks online calm me enough –with the help of music playing on the background at last– for me to feel somewhat relaxed by now.
I think I’ll be able to sleep, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed, just in case.
I wake up feeling grubby for some reason. I can’t explain it, nor can I find its source, so, hoping for improvement as the day goes on, I head for the house. Once there I am rather pleased to be able to go through the laundry bit record time and then settle behind my computer for another writing session, just as soon as I’ve finished with my messages.
Just when I’m about to start on the vampire bit for real, the electricity flickers, goes off and then on again, announcing that something is amiss. Though I try, for some reason I can’t really focus on writing, with the continuing lapses in the electricity, becoming more frequent in the hours that pass until at last the power shuts down entirely.
After flicking the switches on the fuses several times, we shrug it off, mumbling about the unpredictability of the power company and shut our computers down by the time my battery is warning me that it’s almost depleted.
Rather than twiddling our thumbs while we wait for power to come back on, big brother and I head up to the bungalow to make use of daylight hours and put in the new linoleum we’ve acquired several days ago. It fits fell enough, creating a smooth surface for when our tenant returns.
Next, we remove the inner door that really is too narrow for the passage of a wheelchair, after which dusk announces that it is time to leave for our daily visit to Clue.
The power’s still off, and though I suggest a quick peek at the fuses and wires, big brother informs me that nothing can be wrong there since it was all recently replaced for the dreaded power company inspection.
So, we head for the village, stopping on the way to get our order of our new kitchen counter loaded up and then proceed on our way to the Veterinary hospital.
A few customers are there before us, but as we wait for our turn, the vet bids for our patience while he deals with the other customers. He says that he has to have a long talk with us about Clue’s condition.
Of course my stomach does an immediate flop from worry. And I can feel tension humming all through my body as we wait, and then follow the vet into the main examination room.
Slowly, he shows us an entire array of X-rays, explaining that all the bones look fine and that nothing is wrong with Clue’s spine or basic physical condition… and then drops the bomb.
This very morning they did a biopsy on Clue’s side where a tiny bump had formed during the time of his stay. The vet tells us how he’d found a small (coin-sized) hole in the swollen tissue and in order to measure its depth he had inserted a catheter– which proceeded to slide in, and in, and further in, going on endlessly. He makes no secret of his own astonishment, or that of his two assistants while discovering this, and reveals two more X-Rays where the catheter is fully inserted.
It does go on endlessly and I stare at the pictures in horror as I try to imagine what possibly could have caused such a… well, the only word to describe it is a tunnel system through Clue’s entire torso filled with puss and dried blood.
Next, the vet disappears into his office, only to return with a metal dish that is filled with the nasty substance, consistent of colligated blood, fresh blood and black little lumps, which he has removed from the mentioned tunnel system. There’s so much of it that I feel a little nauseous.
For a moment I actually don’t know what to say, and just stare from the pictures and the bloody mess, to the Vet, who actually appears fascinated by this find and actually informs us that this is definitely a case for the books that will be told over and over again to his students in the future.
At long last, I get over my stupor and manage to ask what he thinks caused this. I wonder if it was a bullet, or maybe some sort of parasite, and am even more astounded when he explains his hypothesis.
He thinks that sometime in the past year Clue has somehow inhaled one of the big grass seed that tend to float around in this area during the summer. Now, this seed is no normal seed, apparently. It has a big head, two long stretching appendages sticking out, and lots of hooks that tend to get stuck in the fur of our longhaired canines every now and then.
Gesturing us towards his computer, he puts on this small home video where three of said seeds are shown on a white sheet of paper. Next, as the camera zooms in, some water is sprayed over them after which, much to my astonishment, the seed seems to come to life.
It looks like an alien, I swear. It starts to shiver and then slowly –amazingly– begins to flip over making its way off the paper while applying this shocky drilling motion.
It begins to dawn on me where the Vet’s heading by then, my heart beating sluggishly and somewhat sickeningly when I listen to the full hypothesis.
He thinks that after inhaling the seed, the darn thing slowly, but steadily, started to drill its way through Clue’s body, creating the maze that we saw on the X-Rays.
Gods. I should write a friggin’ horror book about “Seeds of destruction” or “The Attack of the grass seeds” or some such. Walking through a beautiful meadow won’t ever be the same.
Hearing the vet talk about it, I’m not at all surprised that Clue was in pain, and even lost the use of his legs since the puss had been pushing against his spine, and listen while the doc tells us the worst part of it all: There’s no way in hell that they will be able to locate the seed, should it still be inside Clue’s body.
There is a slight chance that his body has broken down the bio material, or that it has already left his system through some sort of tiny wound without notice, but there’s no way to be sure. It will be just a matter of watching and waiting.
So, with that bit of disturbing news, we visit with Clue, finding him lying in the cage looking rather miserable and acting sluggishly pained, due to the catheter that will need to stay inside the tunnel system until antibiotics have stopped the infection and thus start the healing process.
He wants nothing more than go home with us. It is clearly visible on his face when the vet suggests that we should take him out for a bit; let him walk. We do just that, taking him out to the car and telling him that he’ll be all right and that he can come home just as soon as he feels better and the catheter is removed.
Poor Clue tires fast, however, and soon we bring him back inside, giving him some more affectionate pats before we have to leave again.
It is quite like the vet said. These particular seeds are a miracle of nature, allowing the seeds to burry themselves deep in the ground where they can grow up to be plants, but they’re a genuine DISASTER for dogs.
I feel a bit depressed as we head home. Arriving to semi-darkness now that the solar panels are our only source of electricity, and help big brother put the new kitchen counter safely away before we head into the house where a Thai meal –made by the younger sibs– awaits.
They’re shocked by the news of Clue, as well as annoyed by the lack of power as little sister and I finally convince big brother to check the fuse box since it has become apparent that all our neighbors still have power.
Armed with torches, he and little brother head into the pantry where the fuse box is located, and minutes later they inform us (with appropriate chagrin) that indeed one of the wires has melted causing the entire box to short.
Within minutes the mess is replaced and repaired, making a weak cheer go up as the younger sibs joke –the way we always do when the power’s out– “Thank God, here we thought we’d actually have to talk to pass the time.” Before they wave a jaunty goodbye and disappear to the location of choice throughout the house.
It has been a long standing joke between us all, since on the overall we see little of each other due to different interests, unless there is a joint project that needs to be dealt with.
For a while I lounge in front of the TV watching an NCIS rerun. My dogs are draped over my feet and knees, as I try to muster the energy to switch my empty battery computer back on, and get some more work done.
A big mug of coffee finally gets me to my feet and back to the kitchen table to start.
It takes me a while to get in the spirit of writing. My mind is awhirl with worried thoughts that I can neither pinpoint nor categorize since they combine with the disturbing news of Clue, but I work hard at it, because I’m determined to get at least a full page down.
In the end, after letting big brother pelt me with information that he has been compiling for the story to get my motor running, so to speak, the creative juices start to flow again.
The first few paragraphs go slowly, stuttering from my fingers until at long last inspiration strikes and the words begin to flow automatically. For the next two hours, with me shushing an enthusiastic big brother every two minutes (he’s like me that way, once he gets going it is practically impossible to shut him up) until five marvelous pages bring the latest story up to two thirds of the way.
What with midnight having passed, and the younger sibs impatiently waiting for me to get my butt out of the house so they can do their nightly cleaning before they settle down for a snack and a movie, I finally jot down a few details to remind me of all that’s whirling inside my head, and shut the computer off.
By the time I settle on my bed for my usual relaxing time on the Net, worries are once again wreaking havoc on my brain: In particular because my stereo is on the fritz and won’t start for over an hour due to the long hours of power failure.
Silence is not my friend these days, I’ll admit.
If there’s no noise, or, more specifically, music, I hear myself think. Not a good thing! My own brain is my worst enemy if it is allowed to run free and I’ve found that I need at least three different kinds of input to function properly. Hah.
But my usual chats and talks online calm me enough –with the help of music playing on the background at last– for me to feel somewhat relaxed by now.
I think I’ll be able to sleep, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed, just in case.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Close call, writing and sex.
Last night, after shutting down my computer for the night, I went to gather the dogs into my cabin, and couldn’t find Trin Trin anywhere. Somewhat perturbed I head out into the yard, calling for her repeatedly with only a faint whisper of a sound coming from behind my cabin, well out of sight. A few more calls ensued, and when the monster did not come running –the ways she usually did– I went back inside to get my penlight and headed for my little backyard, instead.
Mosha and Lhabana were making a racket there, so with a certain sense of foreboding I switched on the light, and needed a full three seconds to realize what was going on. Trin Trin had attempted to scale the fence, and then somehow managed to get stuck with her collar on the top of it. This left her to dangle down the height of the fence with her back paws just barely skimming the ground.
I rushed towards her, muttering something about her being an idiot for attempting such a feat, while I tried to wiggle my way towards what appeared to be an already exhausted body that was partially hidden behind one of the Eucalyptus trees. With somewhat frantic tugging, and lifting Trin Trin who was hardly even moving as she stared at me, I finally, with quite some effort, managed to untangle her collar from the wires and set her down on all fours.
She staggered a bit, looked a little dazed and then started to wag her tale in a rather excited fashion. All was well, but I was shaky while I lay in bed for hours trying to fall asleep.
But, on to today:
I wake to a bright and shiny day, with a clear, blue, sky overhead when I let the dogs out and go over the night’s dream.
It was on a ranch, I recall, horses aplenty, and a warm august day when I return from my ride and head to the large stables, painted in a fresh red. A couple of teens are chattering excitedly behind while they sit atop some bay quarter horses, their voices mixing in with the sounds of cattle grazing steadily in a paddock nearby. I feel exhilarated from the ride, sitting in the saddle comfortably as I pat the black and white pinto beneath me on his neck and croon that he did well.
From the ranch house a woman appears, standing on the wrap-around porch as she waves at us the moment we pass, promising a hearty meal for when we’re done taking care our horses. She’s familiar to me somehow, blond and blue-eyed and partial owner of the large spread on which I currently reside.
Dismounting in front of the stables, a handsome man comes from within, smiling his welcome as he helps the youngsters to the ground and instructs them to follow me inside where we can unsaddle and feed the eager mounts before we call it a day.
I go through the motions of taking the saddle down with little effort, chatting with the teens that are obviously inexperienced with horses, if their halting movements are anything to go by.
They’re a cheerful lot though, and in little time we are done and head back out to wash up and join the man and woman inside the ranch house that is painted in a pale yellow and white.
It is a lovely place, I muse distractedly, rubbing my dusty palms against the Jeans that encase my legs, and climb the steps leading onto the porch wearing gorgeous leather boots.
The man and woman, obviously our hosts, usher us towards kitchen where a table filled with food awaits, along with several cowboys of old, who beckon us to hurry because they are starving.
I am about to sit down when suddenly the dream fades, making me sigh regretfully as I sit up in my bed and make a desperate grab for the monster, before she can bounce to the floor and start her daily tug of war with my quilt.
The morning rituals pass without incident and with enough speed to allow me to arrive at house right on time. Exercise day is here again, and I feel revived enough to go through the routine without feeling like a stork, the way I did the last time. The motions go smoothly and I make good time covering them all.
A hot shower follows, as usual, before I set out to hang the day’s laundry while locking Knight II up in the pantry, lest he drags the basket to the dirty floor again.
Not much later, after eating a quick breakfast, I eagerly settle down at the table to get my messages of the day over with and start on the vampire story once more.
It takes me a little while to get back in swing and as the day progresses the number pages steadily increase until dusk falls and it is time to visit Clue at the Vet’s.
Once there, big brother and I are informed that the latest test results show that Clue doesn’t have encephalitis, much to my relief–but I’m also chagrined for having been scared with such a serious disease in the first place. With the main veterinarian finally there, they seem to have located the real problem at long last.
Added to the bacterial infection, which they had already discovered, there is a slight bump on his side and when they examined it, taking a biopsy even, they found that the bump is filled with puss that most likely leads straight to Clue’s spine–in the exact spot where we said he was hurting in the first place.
According to the vet, it is pressing against his spinal column causing the partial paralysis to his back legs. Now Clue will be operated upon tomorrow, while they see what they can do to remove the abscess and thus, the problem.
If all goes well he can come home afterward or the next day, which Clue will most certainly appreciate since today, for the first time since we brought him to the hospital, he is actually howling at the end of our visit and he is back in his cage.
Though I hate leaving him behind, again, I am much relieved that the problem will be dealt with at last.
Once at home, and the younger sibs already having fed themselves with a curry soup, I decide for a portion of French fries along with a salad to serve as tonight dinner, before resuming with the latest book project.
Since this particular tale will be aiming for the paranormal audience, a love scene is written in quite some detail. And while big brother and I discuss the options of when, how and for how long, hysterical laughter fills the house, since everyone –for some reason they’re all listening in on the ongoing discusson– has their own opinion about this matter.
Will they go all the way such a short time after meeting each other? Where will that first special kiss be shared? Which position are they in when they do the deed? All valid questions that seem to demand the most ludicrous responses from males and females alike, as suggestions are tossed back and forth between us all.
By the time I finally get it all down on a whopping four pages of double-meaning dialogues, roughhousing in a dark alley and some seriously excited protagonists, I’m so weak with laughter that is all I can do to read the pages out loud for all to hear.
Seriously, real life does not do a paranormal vampire romance novel justice.
Having spent the majority of the day immersed in engorged manhoods, throbbing female parts and God knows what else, I finally decide to call it a day and shake my head while I shut the computer down. I’m amazed that the poor machine isn’t steaming. Hah.
Sex. It is a strange thing, really. If done right– the way I always try to describe “it” can be a wonderful way to deepen the insight into the main protagonists of a story while still fitting somehow. Yet if it is done wrong, it is just downright tardy.
It is one of the things that seem to be a major problem in today’s commercial fiction. Those who started out with the explicit sex/love scenes did so in a tasteful manner, fitting such scenes into an intricate storyline that allowed the reader to decide whether to just skip these parts, or fully enjoy them. But as the years past and the popularity rose, some authors appeared to think that if they just put in enough skin, grunting and groping they were home free.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I read a book, I want to read, feel and see an actual bond forming between the hero and heroine. Whether they have sex behind closed doors or right, slap-dab in my face is really a secondary matter to me.
It annoys me to no end to read about some lusty couple, filling a solid two thirds of a story with their sexual prowess and have them proclaim true love at the end, when they have barely exchanged three full sentences between them.
If that’s the way a story goes, than it isn’t what I perceive as love, no matter how blinding their orgasm or how often they proclaim to have never experienced anything of the likes before.
Without some emotional connection, some form of actual bonding, they might as well be using inventive props. Hah.
I do understand that sex is “hot item” these days –pardon the pun– and it is for that reason that I’ll write it down… I mean I’m a writer, and basically they’re just words put in a certain context… but sometimes I do miss the old days where the couple falls in bed kisses– and promptly the next morning is there, and they’re having breakfast with silly smiles on their faces.
I know it’s hokey, but after reading through a pile of “mixing bodily fluids” hokey sounds really good. As a matter of fact I am often inclined to grab a horror just to get in a different mindset after such exploits.
But enough of this little rant: It really all comes down to personal taste anyway.
Where was I? Oh yes, shutting down for the night.
With the dogs leading the way, I climb up to my cabin for some fun and relaxation, as soon as they are fed and I have changed into my comfortable sleeping clothes.
I am careful to keep a close eye on Trin Trin, who shows no particular interest in repeating last night’s stunt and is now quietly lying on my bed, snoring softly.
There isn’t much room on the bed, not with Knight II stretched out, Chaos slumped over his paws, Dax curled up at the food end with Mosha and Sitabah squeezed between the pillows and wall, but it is cozy.
Little room but plenty of heat, much to my pleasure, and with this I conclude today’s recount and sign off for the day.
Mosha and Lhabana were making a racket there, so with a certain sense of foreboding I switched on the light, and needed a full three seconds to realize what was going on. Trin Trin had attempted to scale the fence, and then somehow managed to get stuck with her collar on the top of it. This left her to dangle down the height of the fence with her back paws just barely skimming the ground.
I rushed towards her, muttering something about her being an idiot for attempting such a feat, while I tried to wiggle my way towards what appeared to be an already exhausted body that was partially hidden behind one of the Eucalyptus trees. With somewhat frantic tugging, and lifting Trin Trin who was hardly even moving as she stared at me, I finally, with quite some effort, managed to untangle her collar from the wires and set her down on all fours.
She staggered a bit, looked a little dazed and then started to wag her tale in a rather excited fashion. All was well, but I was shaky while I lay in bed for hours trying to fall asleep.
But, on to today:
I wake to a bright and shiny day, with a clear, blue, sky overhead when I let the dogs out and go over the night’s dream.
It was on a ranch, I recall, horses aplenty, and a warm august day when I return from my ride and head to the large stables, painted in a fresh red. A couple of teens are chattering excitedly behind while they sit atop some bay quarter horses, their voices mixing in with the sounds of cattle grazing steadily in a paddock nearby. I feel exhilarated from the ride, sitting in the saddle comfortably as I pat the black and white pinto beneath me on his neck and croon that he did well.
From the ranch house a woman appears, standing on the wrap-around porch as she waves at us the moment we pass, promising a hearty meal for when we’re done taking care our horses. She’s familiar to me somehow, blond and blue-eyed and partial owner of the large spread on which I currently reside.
Dismounting in front of the stables, a handsome man comes from within, smiling his welcome as he helps the youngsters to the ground and instructs them to follow me inside where we can unsaddle and feed the eager mounts before we call it a day.
I go through the motions of taking the saddle down with little effort, chatting with the teens that are obviously inexperienced with horses, if their halting movements are anything to go by.
They’re a cheerful lot though, and in little time we are done and head back out to wash up and join the man and woman inside the ranch house that is painted in a pale yellow and white.
It is a lovely place, I muse distractedly, rubbing my dusty palms against the Jeans that encase my legs, and climb the steps leading onto the porch wearing gorgeous leather boots.
The man and woman, obviously our hosts, usher us towards kitchen where a table filled with food awaits, along with several cowboys of old, who beckon us to hurry because they are starving.
I am about to sit down when suddenly the dream fades, making me sigh regretfully as I sit up in my bed and make a desperate grab for the monster, before she can bounce to the floor and start her daily tug of war with my quilt.
The morning rituals pass without incident and with enough speed to allow me to arrive at house right on time. Exercise day is here again, and I feel revived enough to go through the routine without feeling like a stork, the way I did the last time. The motions go smoothly and I make good time covering them all.
A hot shower follows, as usual, before I set out to hang the day’s laundry while locking Knight II up in the pantry, lest he drags the basket to the dirty floor again.
Not much later, after eating a quick breakfast, I eagerly settle down at the table to get my messages of the day over with and start on the vampire story once more.
It takes me a little while to get back in swing and as the day progresses the number pages steadily increase until dusk falls and it is time to visit Clue at the Vet’s.
Once there, big brother and I are informed that the latest test results show that Clue doesn’t have encephalitis, much to my relief–but I’m also chagrined for having been scared with such a serious disease in the first place. With the main veterinarian finally there, they seem to have located the real problem at long last.
Added to the bacterial infection, which they had already discovered, there is a slight bump on his side and when they examined it, taking a biopsy even, they found that the bump is filled with puss that most likely leads straight to Clue’s spine–in the exact spot where we said he was hurting in the first place.
According to the vet, it is pressing against his spinal column causing the partial paralysis to his back legs. Now Clue will be operated upon tomorrow, while they see what they can do to remove the abscess and thus, the problem.
If all goes well he can come home afterward or the next day, which Clue will most certainly appreciate since today, for the first time since we brought him to the hospital, he is actually howling at the end of our visit and he is back in his cage.
Though I hate leaving him behind, again, I am much relieved that the problem will be dealt with at last.
Once at home, and the younger sibs already having fed themselves with a curry soup, I decide for a portion of French fries along with a salad to serve as tonight dinner, before resuming with the latest book project.
Since this particular tale will be aiming for the paranormal audience, a love scene is written in quite some detail. And while big brother and I discuss the options of when, how and for how long, hysterical laughter fills the house, since everyone –for some reason they’re all listening in on the ongoing discusson– has their own opinion about this matter.
Will they go all the way such a short time after meeting each other? Where will that first special kiss be shared? Which position are they in when they do the deed? All valid questions that seem to demand the most ludicrous responses from males and females alike, as suggestions are tossed back and forth between us all.
By the time I finally get it all down on a whopping four pages of double-meaning dialogues, roughhousing in a dark alley and some seriously excited protagonists, I’m so weak with laughter that is all I can do to read the pages out loud for all to hear.
Seriously, real life does not do a paranormal vampire romance novel justice.
Having spent the majority of the day immersed in engorged manhoods, throbbing female parts and God knows what else, I finally decide to call it a day and shake my head while I shut the computer down. I’m amazed that the poor machine isn’t steaming. Hah.
Sex. It is a strange thing, really. If done right– the way I always try to describe “it” can be a wonderful way to deepen the insight into the main protagonists of a story while still fitting somehow. Yet if it is done wrong, it is just downright tardy.
It is one of the things that seem to be a major problem in today’s commercial fiction. Those who started out with the explicit sex/love scenes did so in a tasteful manner, fitting such scenes into an intricate storyline that allowed the reader to decide whether to just skip these parts, or fully enjoy them. But as the years past and the popularity rose, some authors appeared to think that if they just put in enough skin, grunting and groping they were home free.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I read a book, I want to read, feel and see an actual bond forming between the hero and heroine. Whether they have sex behind closed doors or right, slap-dab in my face is really a secondary matter to me.
It annoys me to no end to read about some lusty couple, filling a solid two thirds of a story with their sexual prowess and have them proclaim true love at the end, when they have barely exchanged three full sentences between them.
If that’s the way a story goes, than it isn’t what I perceive as love, no matter how blinding their orgasm or how often they proclaim to have never experienced anything of the likes before.
Without some emotional connection, some form of actual bonding, they might as well be using inventive props. Hah.
I do understand that sex is “hot item” these days –pardon the pun– and it is for that reason that I’ll write it down… I mean I’m a writer, and basically they’re just words put in a certain context… but sometimes I do miss the old days where the couple falls in bed kisses– and promptly the next morning is there, and they’re having breakfast with silly smiles on their faces.
I know it’s hokey, but after reading through a pile of “mixing bodily fluids” hokey sounds really good. As a matter of fact I am often inclined to grab a horror just to get in a different mindset after such exploits.
But enough of this little rant: It really all comes down to personal taste anyway.
Where was I? Oh yes, shutting down for the night.
With the dogs leading the way, I climb up to my cabin for some fun and relaxation, as soon as they are fed and I have changed into my comfortable sleeping clothes.
I am careful to keep a close eye on Trin Trin, who shows no particular interest in repeating last night’s stunt and is now quietly lying on my bed, snoring softly.
There isn’t much room on the bed, not with Knight II stretched out, Chaos slumped over his paws, Dax curled up at the food end with Mosha and Sitabah squeezed between the pillows and wall, but it is cozy.
Little room but plenty of heat, much to my pleasure, and with this I conclude today’s recount and sign off for the day.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A new story.
Another sunny day in Spain, much to my relief.
I awake to a brightly shining sun and a cold breeze drifting into my bedroom. For some reason my dream was about the Gilmore girls. This imaginative kind of dreams are a most annoying habit of my brain, since I tend to dream of what I will remember as actual episodes later on. It is cause for plenty of confusion, I'll admit.
Going through the morning rituals and taking my time for a change, I don't get to the house until an hour after my awakening. Laundry needs to be done again, of course, and just as I am about to hang the last quilt, Knight II decides that he wants my attention and drags the newly washed material over the ground, earning it another wash.
Chastising him for his lack of manners, I scowl as I follow him into the house, dodging his enthusiastic pawing until I finally manage to calm him down.
With this particular chore done, and Knight watching me with interest, I have a quick breakfast before I settle behind my computer for the daily session.
I spend a couple of hours answering a variety of messages, until big brother announces that he has to stop editing for a bit, lest he’ll loose his mind. At last he fully understands my past grouching about this particular issue, but I can’t say that I blame him. I feel quite the same most of the time. For a while we discuss what we can do to get our minds off the boring task, while still be constructive rather than just lazy.
An idea for a short Novella about Vampires has been playing on our minds for a while now, and what with editing being set aside for a bit, we decide to start on the general idea we once outlined and make an attempt at the beginning.
As usual, when bored, working on a new project is always helpful to get the juices flowing again, and today is no exception.
It works remarkably well, I’ll admit. With big brother sitting across from me, listing the details that we’ve jotted down in the past, and looking up details on the Net to make the story more credible, I manage a good solid beginning before the time comes for us to go and visit Clue at the hospital.
What with mom behind the wheel, big brother and I toss ideas for the new book back and forth, forming an interesting outline that continues to be added to until the visitors at the hospital that arrived before us have been dealt with and we are allowed to go to the back where Clue waits.
He’s lying peacefully in the cage when we first enter, slowly coming to his feet when he recognizes our scent and hears our voices. He’s more than eager to get out of his confinement when we draw near, hopefully looking up at us as we pet him affectionately and cajole him into some more excited movement while the assistant brings us up to date on the latest developments.
Due to the bacterial infection he’s suffering from the vet suspects that he has encephalitis, but they cannot confirm it until the lab results are delivered sometime during the next week. Clue is going to have to stay at the hospital a bit longer, the assistant informs us, making me feel dreadful for the poor dog who’s already shuffling towards the door in full preparation of going home.
I always feel for our dogs when they have to stay at the hospital, and not solely because they are ill. No. It is because of the miserable and sometimes scared look in their eyes as they watch us leave. Most of our dogs suffer from a severe fear of abandonment, allowing for little understanding on their part when they are left to the gentle care of the hospital staff.
With some more crooning and petting we finally lock him back in his cage, promising that we’ll be back for another visit tomorrow before we depart and head for the coast where the largest town in our area flourishes.
Supplies need to be acquired at the large home improvement store, for the kitchen and the bungalow both. We spend a good hours searching for plumbing tubes, connections, and a sink. Also, a long strip of linoleum for the bungalow and a new gas heater for when our tenant returns from her stay at the recovery home, adding a considerable burden to our limited budget.
Once we get home and have a quick meal of French fries –no one was in the mood for actual cooking today– big brother and I settle behind our computers once more to continue with the tale.
I don’t actually resurface until four hours later, with five brand new pages to add to the beginning I wrote earlier today.
Somehow the day has past me bye without notice, leaving me feeling somewhat brain-numb by the time I shut my computer down and turn to the kitchen to chat a bit with the sibs. They’re more than willing to add their bit to the latest story, offering me an attentive audience as I bring them up to date on the latest project.
Little brother eagerly offers to design a cover for the story, just in case a publisher would be interested in it, and the sisters offer a patient ear to endure a long and tedious narration to all the ideas that are spinning through my head.
Humor, it will be a vital part in this Vampire romance, we’ve decided. Danger and darkness, naturally, with a just a hint of mystery, perhaps, will make it an interesting endeavor for sure. Yes, ideas aplenty. Hah.
I almost forget giving Trin Trin her shot tonight, but with the help of younger sister, it gets done just minutes before the dogs race me up to the cabin and bounce around in demand of their evening meal.
Even though plans had been made for today, we don’t actually manage to do much about the kitchen project. I’ve no worries about that, however. The kitchen will come. There’s no need to hurry through it.
Some more messages need to be answered by the time I get to my room and hook up to the Net, but luckily –as is usually the case in the weekends– there aren’t as many, allowing me some more tweaking time for that which was written during the course of the day.
With only a few actual physical efforts in my name on this particular Saturday, I still find myself to be weary and more than ready to turn in for the night.
I awake to a brightly shining sun and a cold breeze drifting into my bedroom. For some reason my dream was about the Gilmore girls. This imaginative kind of dreams are a most annoying habit of my brain, since I tend to dream of what I will remember as actual episodes later on. It is cause for plenty of confusion, I'll admit.
Going through the morning rituals and taking my time for a change, I don't get to the house until an hour after my awakening. Laundry needs to be done again, of course, and just as I am about to hang the last quilt, Knight II decides that he wants my attention and drags the newly washed material over the ground, earning it another wash.
Chastising him for his lack of manners, I scowl as I follow him into the house, dodging his enthusiastic pawing until I finally manage to calm him down.
With this particular chore done, and Knight watching me with interest, I have a quick breakfast before I settle behind my computer for the daily session.
I spend a couple of hours answering a variety of messages, until big brother announces that he has to stop editing for a bit, lest he’ll loose his mind. At last he fully understands my past grouching about this particular issue, but I can’t say that I blame him. I feel quite the same most of the time. For a while we discuss what we can do to get our minds off the boring task, while still be constructive rather than just lazy.
An idea for a short Novella about Vampires has been playing on our minds for a while now, and what with editing being set aside for a bit, we decide to start on the general idea we once outlined and make an attempt at the beginning.
As usual, when bored, working on a new project is always helpful to get the juices flowing again, and today is no exception.
It works remarkably well, I’ll admit. With big brother sitting across from me, listing the details that we’ve jotted down in the past, and looking up details on the Net to make the story more credible, I manage a good solid beginning before the time comes for us to go and visit Clue at the hospital.
What with mom behind the wheel, big brother and I toss ideas for the new book back and forth, forming an interesting outline that continues to be added to until the visitors at the hospital that arrived before us have been dealt with and we are allowed to go to the back where Clue waits.
He’s lying peacefully in the cage when we first enter, slowly coming to his feet when he recognizes our scent and hears our voices. He’s more than eager to get out of his confinement when we draw near, hopefully looking up at us as we pet him affectionately and cajole him into some more excited movement while the assistant brings us up to date on the latest developments.
Due to the bacterial infection he’s suffering from the vet suspects that he has encephalitis, but they cannot confirm it until the lab results are delivered sometime during the next week. Clue is going to have to stay at the hospital a bit longer, the assistant informs us, making me feel dreadful for the poor dog who’s already shuffling towards the door in full preparation of going home.
I always feel for our dogs when they have to stay at the hospital, and not solely because they are ill. No. It is because of the miserable and sometimes scared look in their eyes as they watch us leave. Most of our dogs suffer from a severe fear of abandonment, allowing for little understanding on their part when they are left to the gentle care of the hospital staff.
With some more crooning and petting we finally lock him back in his cage, promising that we’ll be back for another visit tomorrow before we depart and head for the coast where the largest town in our area flourishes.
Supplies need to be acquired at the large home improvement store, for the kitchen and the bungalow both. We spend a good hours searching for plumbing tubes, connections, and a sink. Also, a long strip of linoleum for the bungalow and a new gas heater for when our tenant returns from her stay at the recovery home, adding a considerable burden to our limited budget.
Once we get home and have a quick meal of French fries –no one was in the mood for actual cooking today– big brother and I settle behind our computers once more to continue with the tale.
I don’t actually resurface until four hours later, with five brand new pages to add to the beginning I wrote earlier today.
Somehow the day has past me bye without notice, leaving me feeling somewhat brain-numb by the time I shut my computer down and turn to the kitchen to chat a bit with the sibs. They’re more than willing to add their bit to the latest story, offering me an attentive audience as I bring them up to date on the latest project.
Little brother eagerly offers to design a cover for the story, just in case a publisher would be interested in it, and the sisters offer a patient ear to endure a long and tedious narration to all the ideas that are spinning through my head.
Humor, it will be a vital part in this Vampire romance, we’ve decided. Danger and darkness, naturally, with a just a hint of mystery, perhaps, will make it an interesting endeavor for sure. Yes, ideas aplenty. Hah.
I almost forget giving Trin Trin her shot tonight, but with the help of younger sister, it gets done just minutes before the dogs race me up to the cabin and bounce around in demand of their evening meal.
Even though plans had been made for today, we don’t actually manage to do much about the kitchen project. I’ve no worries about that, however. The kitchen will come. There’s no need to hurry through it.
Some more messages need to be answered by the time I get to my room and hook up to the Net, but luckily –as is usually the case in the weekends– there aren’t as many, allowing me some more tweaking time for that which was written during the course of the day.
With only a few actual physical efforts in my name on this particular Saturday, I still find myself to be weary and more than ready to turn in for the night.
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