I’ve been rewriting most of the second half of Lazarus, and while that sounds like a lot, it is. I’ve discovered things about characters that didn’t exist before, and now I have deeper appreciation for all the things that happen. I’ve noticed a difference in my writing since asking myself why I use the words “when” or “as” so much. I’ve also changed my approach significantly by adjusting my use of eyes, breath, and something else I can’t remember off the top of my head.
I’ve not done much on the language creation aspect this last week, but I’ve got a board game now? Tacat, and the board is a combo of chess and scrabble in terms of design. Colorful glass mixed with black and white squares, but they’re not in the checkerboard pattern. Randomly placed and no boards are alike. The game is strategy based and Frankie turns out to be really good at it.
To be real honest, I’ve not felt like being much of anything the last few days. I’ve found myself staring into space a lot and playing a game on my phone to keep myself distracted long enough to get to wherever it is I think I need to be.
There’s this image that keeps playing over in my head and I don’t know the significance, but it’s something I’m stuck on. Whenever I hold my nephew, he’ll grab my thumb with his whole little baby hand, and he’ll hold onto it as we move around. I’ll have him on my hip and we’ll be exploring the world around us, and he’s got his emotional support thumb like a little rudder, telling me what he wants to see and where he wants to go. I don’t really think it’s that deep, babies like to hold things. But it keeps singing through my mind and I want to tell him he’ll always have my thumb to hold should he need it.
I’m not at my best. I don’t like the way it feels empty in my entire body. Like I’ve been shucked from my skin and the hollowness is moving around while I stay behind. It’s uncomfortable in a way I’ve not experienced before, and I dislike it intensely. This used to be something I sought after. Something I fought to hold onto, the comfort of brain numbness when the whatever got to be too dark. Now, I want it to go away, and it’s lingering and I feel like a lost little kid.
Apply it to my writing, maybe? I don’t know what I’d write with this. Maybe Frankie’s depression. Reach into the heap of my own sadness and allow it to be shown through her. Give her the words I can’t find for myself.
Sorry this isn’t a pleasant entry. I appreciate you taking the time anyway.
What have I been doing? Well, I’ve been putting the edits into a second content draft. That will probably be revised, parts rewritten soon. But I’m finding out more things about Milton Fogg that are just diabolical, as the children would say these days. I kind of hate him. But in that “he’s so bad he’s good” kind of way. I’d go on, but I don’t want to spoil things. I also am biased, so maybe he’s not that deep of a character. We’ll find out.
I’ve been doing a shiiiiiiiiiiiit ton of work on the language. Found a new phrase the Moarteans use. If they’re startled or uneasy about something, they say “the hair of my stomach is bad” or “hair of my stomach!”
somsuk res xixba-mi
They also, when greeting people formally, will say “Are you well?” if it’s someone they respect, or just, “You are well,” if it’s someone they want to have a quick interaction with. It’s not fully disrespectful, but it is barely polite if you are told you’re well instead of being asked if you are.
These creatures and their social niceties, haha.
There’s a phrase they use that’s an insult that I just love. It’s essentially “lick death” but the literal translation is “use your tongue on death.”
bren ostipa-ti kil moartea.
Sometimes I find myself talking to my brain in Moartean and I look at where I’ve been and where I’ve gotten to and I have this moment of “oh shit.”
Saw a reel from Steve himself, the Blues Clues Steve, and the question was “What are you most proud of?” and my answer is two-fold. First, I stayed and I’ve gotten to see my brother be a dad. His kids are perfect. I know all aunts say that about their nieces and nephews, but if I could show you just how bright my life is because I’ve gotten to see a person grow into who they are, because my brother is the man he is, I would give that to you.
But then take it back because it’s mine, ha.
The second part of that answer to Steve’s question is: I am proud of my words. The ones I toss together in books, but especially the ones I’ve made up. I’m obsessed with words. I love them with so much of my heart sometimes I forget to exist outside of them.
But that’s what nieces and nephews are for. To keep us real. To keep us from getting too far away from ourselves.
I hope you are doing well. I hope your words are friendly, and if they’re not, shape ’em up, yo. They belong to you. You belong to them. It’s a dichotomy of osmosis. Or some shit. I don’t know, wanted to be pretentious at the end here.
I’m grateful to you. For reading my words whenever I drop them here. Like little crumbs of my consciousness. Glimpses into the maze of TV static that is my mind. It’s not always awful in there. I do spend quite a bit of time in it, so I’ve found some nifty things along the way.
Feel the wind today. Let it lift your face to the sky and you smile at it. Give those clouds, the sun, the rain, whatever! Give it a smile and let it warm you even if it’s cold out. You are just as much a gift to it as it is to you.
I’m buried in edit mode, and I’ve been basically rewriting the whole thing. But that’s how edits usually go, right? It’s not the whole thing, I’m not that bad of a writer. But there are definitely spots that need some expansion. I’ve added about three hundred words so far, which sounds like I’ve not made much progress, but the way I’ve rearranged sentences and removed others entirely, it feels good.
I don’t really have much to talk about this round. I’m going to try and get back into reading a bit more now. Had a weekend of books, some gifted, some I spent too much money on. All adventures I look forward to eventually.
I hope you’re doing well. Maybe next time I’ll talk about how I find little pieces of real life to stick into my main character’s life. Scenes along a road. Drifting in limbo of a sort.
I, as you may know, am a fan of the screams. The music kind. I’ve spoken multiple times about my love for Sleep Token, and there are several other bands I enjoy just screamin’ in my earballs every now and then. I had the opportunity to go to a concert with two of my favorite concert buddies over the weekend, and I got to hear some of the best screamies I’ve ever experienced live.
I got to see Bad Omens live at Louder Than Life last year, something I won’t be repeating (the festival part), and that was kind of my first exposure to the band. To be completely real and rude, I didn’t like their song “Death of Peace of Mind” when I first heard it on a random Spotify Sunday. And then I heard Noah sing everything live and I understood exactly why he is so beloved. The man has range and I am here for it. Not only that, but the drummer for Bad Omens is insanely talented. II from Sleep Token gets a lot of accolades–well deserved, of course–but buddy boy Nick is also amazing. The whole band looks like they’re having fun, and that is always something I will love.
The show started with President. I’d heard two songs by them before we went to this show and I was less than impressed. Not a problem, really, I don’t need to love everything. But live? Holy balls, they were somethin’ real nice. I felt the lead singer was trying too much to be cinematic at times with his poses in the lighting, but as one of my friends pointed out, there’s only so much one can do on a stage sometimes. Which is fair. I don’t hold that against their performance because overall, I really liked what I heard. My watch buzzed at me to calm down a few times, because the thumps got me palpitating, haha.
Not the tall man (context below), but someone having a really good time and I liked the visual.
Beartooth is another band I’ve vaguely listened to now and then. I wanted to kind of prepare myself for the show to know some of their songs before we went to see them, but I drifted back to Sleep Token more than I didn’t. This portion of the show became a little uncomfortable for me because of my aversion to crowds. I know, you don’t like crowds, so why go to concerts? Because I like music and I try to do uncomfortable things to show myself I can. Well, at one point during this portion, a very tall man stood in front of me and my friends (he was 7 foot 1 inch, as he claimed) and blocked pretty much everything. He said he was trying to get into a mosh pit, which, fine, okay. I was already hyped up from being in a crowd of a bunch of people.
One moment I was standing with my friends, the next I was shoved really hard away from them. My flight mode kicked in and my whole brain went silent except for “DANGER DANGER DANGER” and I needed to get away. Bless my friends for trying to help me, but I had to leave the spot we were. I pushed my way through the crowd to the side and kind of moved back to the end of the main clump of people. My watch was definitely buzzing.
But! All is not lost, because I was able to see and hear much better from that vantage point.
As I said, I’ve not experienced much of Beartooth’s music, but I am definitely going to add them to some playlists. If I may be cheesy for a moment, I think one of my favorite parts of live shows is getting to hear the roar of a crowd. Except it’s not really a roar. It’s more like TV static from when TVs would go off-station. Just a quick, loud burst of a buzz before it quiets. It’s one of those feelings I can’t quite describe accurately, I think, because it’s like when I’m in the woods. I feel so big and so small at the same time. I’m part of a bigger thing, in a room full of people I’ll never see again (excepting my friends, of course), and we’re all there.
You can see where I moved to be away from the bunch of people for the rest of Beartooth, haha
There was a part of me that felt a little like I’m a loser because I couldn’t handle being in a crush of people. That I’d “abandoned” my friends to go be by myself because my brain doesn’t work right. But I didn’t leave the concert entirely. I moved to where I wouldn’t feel trapped, and I was able to still be part of it. The music still made my watch tell me my heart was too fast. I still ignored that. I’m pretty sure I looked pissed off because I just have one of those faces. My eyes closed against the flashing lights several times, but that added a new layer to the music for me. Sound has always been more important to me than visual, anyway. Between Beartooth and Bad Omens, I went with one of my friends to stand in a merch line. Which is an entirely new experience for me as well. I got shirts that are too big for me, but I have things to remind me I did something uncomfortable, didn’t die, and I enjoyed the music.
Bad Omens is ridiculously good live. When I heard them at Louder Than Life last year, I was blown away by the talent and class of their performance, and it was just as good, if not better at our Detroit concert. Noah said at one point how he was nervous, and he always gets nervous, but for some reason that night he was extra nervous. To which the crowd cheered support. And then he got right back to singing like he wasn’t actually nervous.
Because I am the person I am, that moment made me a little sad. I had the (entirely) original thought that it must get lonely sometimes for big-name musicians or creative people who perform. Like all celebrity worship tends to be about the way the person presents themselves. We are fascinated by who they are, and we learn all their “stats” like we’re going to be their best friends, forgetting sometimes that they exist off stage and they aren’t famous to the people who know them best. They’re just friends. They’re family, they’re people.
Like I said, not an original thought, but it must be so surreal to have tens of thousands of people full of adoration for you, and they don’t really get to know who you are. Not like your parents know you. Not like your best friend does. The ones who sit on the couch with you and play video games, or you bring presents to their kid’s birthday parties. You’re just you, and you don’t need to be the stage persona.
All of that to say, I am really grateful I pushed myself out of my comfortable place to be part of the audience at this concert. It was fun. It was a break from the reality of the world falling to pieces around us. I stood in the cold for about an hour and some change. I passed bracelets I’d made to strangers. Had small conversations with the nice guy behind me and my friends in line waiting to get in. We were cute, we were frozen, but we were happy.
Salutations and saturations, friends. It’s still cold as balls. I’m slowly editing Lazarus, and that’s about all there is to it. I haven’t really done much in the way of writing yet this year, and while it’s a little weird that I haven’t, I’m oddly okay with it.
I have two big projects I want to get done, publish Lazarus, and then get a first draft of a hard sci-fi story I got inspired to do a little while ago. I have a lot of plans for future projects. Short stories and so on.
It’s February. I just realized how very little I blogged in January. I wasn’t really doing anything. Just working and … probably watching too many episodes of X-Files (Walter Skinner can get it, yo, god damn.) But now I’m on a different shift at work, so my mornings have been freed up quite significantly. I’ll find a balance, but I think I’m going to enjoy very much the time before work to be productive.
I’d always have such ambition to do stuff after work, but I’d get home and want to do nothing. Work all day to go home and do more work? No, thanks. But with the before work hours of free time, I’ve done so many things. I feel unstoppable. Which is probably just the manic part of my depression getting all demonic and cackling as we burn out. But I’m going to view it as a good thing for now.
I chopped up five pounds of onions this morning to put in the freezer for when I want to make a batch of soup. I did the same with some celery and some carrots. I’ve been meal prepping all the things, and it has been incredibly helpful as someone who doesn’t like spending money on fast food stuff. I’m cooking so much more for myself and it is a gosh dang delight. I made red lentil curry that gave me the biggest joy I’ve had in a while when it comes to food.
That’s not writing, but life aids the story. I’m reading the second book from my Bingo Board. I don’t know if I’ve talked about that yet. Last year, I did a bingo board of things I wanted to do in 2025. I did about half of them, which was neato. Didn’t get a full bingo because I set it up strategically so I wouldn’t get one unless I did the fitness things. Clearly, a strategy that didn’t work. So, this year, I went for books. I picked thirty books I want to read and I’m marking them with stars once I finish. I know bingo boards only have 25 spots, but the extra five are “bonus bingo.” Books I have in case there’s one I decide I really don’t want to read. There’s one I’m toying with not finishing, and it’s one I’ve tried to read several times. But that’s me, never wanting to give up on someone or something.
The first one was the previous post on this site, The Sun Also Rises. My goal is to do a book photoshoot after I finish one and then do a book post on here. We’ll see how well I do! I look forward to it all, really. Some of the books are ones I’ve had for a long, long time. I do still want to read them, which is why they exist on my shelves and not in the donate piles.
I think that’s about all the news from this side of the trees. I hope your books are comfy and your words are easy to find. I’ll talk to you soon, probably. I’ll always find something to yap about!
This is my first experience with Hemingway, unless I read one of his short stories in college. I have to say, while I’m not enamored, I felt something about this book. Hemingway is either non-descriptive, or too specifically descriptive. He’s dialogue heavy. His characters are allegedly boring, and yet there’s something of the melancholic hopeful throughout this. It’s very easy, to me, to see Hemingway’s mental state in the pages.
From page 42: It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.
From page 152: Enjoying living was learning to get your money’s worth and knowing when you had it. You could get your money’s worth. The world was a good place to buy in…. Perhaps it wasn’t true, though. Perhaps as you went along, you did learn something. I did not care what it was all about. All I wanted was to know how to live in it.
There are several small moments like that through the whole book. Snippets of a glimpse into someone trying to live the life he thinks he’s supposed to, but not seeing the point of much of it.
I’ve noticed with the classic authors, male in particular, they have a peculiar way of approaching love in their stories. Hemingway’s character Brett (Lady Brett Ashley) is known for her “flighty” ways between men of the story. She has had affairs with just about all of the main circle. He never explicitly says this is a problem, but for the time this book was written, I’m not sure if he was trying to make her out to be as lost as the rest of them, or if he was trying to make a comment on women in general.
Brett is quick to fall in love, and there’s a part of me that wonders if maybe that’s more her way of trying to find a connection that makes her feel “right.” She’s very much a flash in the pan type character, where her whimsy takes flight about as frequently as it lands, and I think she’s a strong character in many ways.
This is the kind of book that I’d write a whole paper over. Not just a review. There are several layers to it, where we can go into why Hemingway was so focused on the bull-fights in the second half of the book, and what he was going for with the descriptions of the fiesta. The motivations of characters like Robert Cohn, who is a very weepy man in love with Brett and despondent he can’t be with her. Or Bill, who hides his pain in his humor. Mike, who drinks to excess because he can’t face his fiancee is unfaithful, but tries to put on a good show for the others about it.
And then there’s Jake. The journalist who’s just trying to find his place in the world, as with all the others. It’s a thought provoking book in many ways, and I think it was a good Hemingway to read. There are several of his technical elements that made me pause, especially where it seems he has descriptions that appear redundant, but maybe that was the way in his time.
Overall, I would say this was a good book to start my Book Bingo Board with, and I give this 7/10 stars.
Snowflakes float in whirling dances from a gray sky. Dusting the leaves carpeting the back yard. Silence broken by the electric kettle bubbling in the corner of the counter. Boiling water for a cup of tea that I’ll probably let go cold before I remember I made it.
The question sits on my spine. Gentle and heavy all at once. Where did you go?
I stare out the window at my big tree. I call him Charlie Boy. The thought hits me, that he isn’t mine. I wasn’t here when he was first planted. But I’m here now. I worry about him when the winds are too heavy in the summer. Or just the other day when it buffeted my car on the drive home from work. I worried Charlie Boy might not make it. Because the elder things of the universe I inhabit are precious and lift me with life.
I hold out my hand to the person I was four years ago. I ask her to forgive me for getting lost. She wants to know about it. Where I disappeared to. How I found my way back. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m still a bit aimless.
Are human beings the only sentient things that yearn? Because sometimes I get so tangled in a web of yearning that I forget to breathe. I yearn to dance like the snowflakes. I want to feel the way the wind blows through my branches, like Charlie Boy.
I am finding pieces I set down along the way. Pieces I deemed not necessary for the misery percolating in my pancreas. How can I be sad if I am smiling all the time? How can I be tragic if I am full of kindness?
I want to see where I go, so I’ll keep walking forward. Hand firmly clasped in my past self’s fingers. She got me here, I won’t let her fall behind. I’m grateful to her. For carrying us this far. But it’s time she got some rest.
Cool news! I finished my November Writing Thing literally a few moments ago. My final word count (out of 15k) was 15,041. So, solid success. I think it could be edited into something rather decent and kind to the characters, but for now! I’ve finished with writing for the year.
Yes, that’s right. I’m not going to write anything else the rest of the year. I’m pinky promising myself because I need to take a break. And it’s only a month. I can do a month, right?
I’m going to post stuff in December, don’t worry. I’m not abandoning you yet. I’m compiling a list of my favorite books this year and I’ll do a post similar to how I ended last year, with a “this is what I liked the most!” I’d originally thought the list wouldn’t be that long because I thought I didn’t read that many, but joke’s on me, I am almost in the 70s. Again, most of those are romance novels because my brain needs to shut off a lot, but I think I’ve hit my quota of those for the year and the rest of the reading I do will be stuff from my actual REAL LIFE TBR. Shelf books. Stuff I picked up because I thought it was cute.
So yeah. I accomplished the thing. I hope you’re doing well and I hope your words find you when you least expect them, but not while on the toilet. That’s a bit awkward.
I received the author copies of Daisy I ordered, and I opened the box a little too enthusiastically. Holding copies of my books in my hands is such a strange feeling. Strange because I think it might be pride, and I’ve never really allowed myself to feel that before. I did just find a typo in it, but ya know what? I don’t give a fuck. This book I put together entirely by myself, and I’m not perfect.
When I was first working on Fulcrum, I didn’t have a printer that functioned, so I asked my mother if I could use hers. She agreed, and I printed out around 70 pages of the first “real” draft of Fulcrum I felt was actually going somewhere. I was holding it in my hands, staring down at the words, and I kind of said to myself, “I wrote this.” Then, I smiled and I looked up at her and I said a little louder, “I wrote this!”
“And I printed it!”
Instant deflation. I couldn’t have one thing for myself. One of the few times I allowed myself to feel pride, and she ripped it away from me.
Not anymore, though. I’m trying to give myself the gift of being proud of myself for the things I accomplish, and typos or not, I am proud of Daisy. I know I wrote about how it was a struggle to get this one done, and I’m not trying to say it wasn’t, that the end product is overwriting (hah, get it?) the struggle to get here. But I think I figured out why it was such a challenge for me to finish this one.
Ellie’s story is deeply personal to me. Author inserts and all, setting that aside, I understood her character in a way I don’t understand the others I love dearly. I’ll never be a chosen one, bound by destiny to save the world like Frankie, but I have been an abused child. I still have this lingering feeling of “don’t tell people, they don’t need to know. Don’t tell them so they know what she’s really like. Let them love her as she wants to be seen.”
I still love my mom. I love her painfully. It’s painful because I see mothers behaving and being the way I wish mine had. I accept her as she is, I accept that we will never have what I need from her. But no one can ever say I don’t love her.
Maybe it’s because this is exactly a year after the last big holiday I saw her that I’m feeling really sentimental, and seeing a finished book about a character I actually was is unleashing grief I refuse to feel. Or maybe it’s the insomnia that’s got me by the balls, leaving me overly sensitive to big feelings because of sleep deprivation. I don’t know.
But what I do know is how very proud of myself I am for telling Ellie’s story, and giving her a place to exist in the world. I don’t ever promote my shit, much to the befuddlement of others, but I’m of the mind that my words will find those they’re meant to. Ellie is probably the truest character to my heart, and I feel kind of like a parent watching her kid go to school on the first day of kindergarten. Out into the world to become herself. Be what she wants to be.
I’m rambling. I’m tired. It’s a holiday, and I am grateful for you. Thank you for reading my wombles. Thank you for being part of the world at the same time as me, because you make it just as neato as I do.
I’ve released Daisy into the wild. It’s listed on my publications page if you wanna see the final cover and stuff. I’m very much a minimalist when it comes to cover design, and this one is definitely minimal. There’s no summary on the back, and the front is just a flower and the words “a novel” centered on it. The title and my name are on the spine, so it’s not like… a complete mystery. But yeah. Daisy is done.
My November Writing Thing is currently at …. some number of words. I’m 293 away from my goal for this week. I’m contemplating letting myself miss goal since I was working on getting Daisy finished up. I can make it up easily, too. I’m a little less than halfway through to my final word count goal, and I don’t know where I’m trying to go with it entirely. But that’s the beauty of storytelling. It gets figured out along the way.
I’ve decided after I finish writing this piece (currently titled Simon Says), I’m going to gently encourage myself to take a break from writing. I don’t know how well that will go because I must always be giving the world words, but as I’ve finished up my Daisy work, I’ve come to realize I devote a lot of physical energy to a book and I don’t really ever tell myself to slow down.
I have a folder of short story ideas that I’m looking forward to getting into for next year, and then of course there’s the third book of the Maker series, Lazarus Rising. That’s going to be a fun time. I mean that. I kind of went through the first draft a bit, about halfway through for some random edits, and I genuinely enjoy being in that story. It’s a home I created for myself, I think. If I could live in Lazarus, my goodness. It’s one of those situations I wish I could link up my brain to a visualizer and show you what it looks like in each of the cities so you could see it the way I do.
But therein lies the other joy of storytelling. I get to show you with my words.
I had something else to talk about, but I’m currently working on typing something up for a friend, and my wrists are a little sore–OH! Instead of writing the rest of the year, I’m going to be reading. I have two books I want to finish before the end of the year, and then whatever else I happen to come across on my shelves will be a delight. I don’t remember what my current total read is for the moment, but I’ll do a “books of the year” post either at the end of December or the beginning of January.
So, this isn’t a short update, but I got a little sentimental, I suppose. I was thinking about how I made a promise to myself to utilize this website more and I think I’ve done so. It’s been nice to put my thoughts somewhere I know someone might see them. I appreciate the readers I have, and I appreciate the consistency in which y’all see the innards of me noggin.
And with that, I sign off for now. It’s not the end of the posts for this year, but it might be the end of the posts for November. We’ll find out! I hope you’re well. I hope your words taste good, and I hope you remember it’s never too late to tell a story.
salisbury.fake 