Results Not Guaranteed

First up, Amanda has a new book for pre-order, release is on 18 August. Also, Jean Rabe has graced us with her presence this morning and discussed the advantages of going indie when your story “doesn’t fit” within the preconceived boxes publishers think are what they can market. Go read, and comment. If y’all play nice, she may come back, which would be cool.

This week. Seriously, youse guys, this week. It seems like bad news follows bad news, and everybody is in pain. Friends and family are losing parts of themselves all over (not literally). And I’m stuck over here, not really able to do much but listen, which everybody says is important, but never feels like enough. Fortunately, the Wee Horde are doing well, and it looks like Mrs. Dave may well be home for the rest of the year. Which is better’n the alternatives, all things considered.

On the personal front, I got a mess of work done in the garage over the weekend. It’s … it’s seriously the most amazing thing, to make strides in taming the mess of The Stuff. There’s floor, actual floor, in the garage, now. I mean, there was always floor, but now there’s floor to spare. I am thrilled. And, and, I can walk without stepping over things. Unless the rower is down.

Basically, foundationally, fundamentally, I’m not getting any fiction written. I’m getting interrupted at pretty much every endeavor every five minutes or so. The only way Mrs. Dave and I got anything done the other day (she worked on class stuff, I hit the garage like a spinny wind thingy) was to park the children in front of the screen and let them run it. I regret nothing.

I don’t know, folks. This writing thing is rough, sometimes. I appreciate all the support of my parenting. I really do. And yet, writers write. And I’m not. Maybe I’m just in a genuine hiaitus. As I said, everything is weird, right now, and there’s a lot of things which are less than awesome. Keep at it. I promise I will. I don’t guarantee results.

6 comments

  1. Writers write, but Life happens too. I’m about to have productivity slow to a crawl because of Day Job, which has grown complicated to the Nth degree thanks to the Wu-Flu (and all the hysteria surrounding said virus.) When you’re having to plan your schedule to include “what if the government pulls a Darth Vader*,” it’s a mess and a half. Next spring? It well may stop, because of all the extracurricular stuff packed into the spring.

    And who knows? We may get the Second Coming, the SMOD, the Yellowstone Volcano, flying cars, or whatever. Or I might win the Dragon for Urban Fantasy. (The one award where writing at pulp speed isn’t your friend, because your fans have to pick ONE title to nominate and vote for.)

    *”I have altered our bargain. Pray I do not alter it further.” [with appropriate sound effects]

    1. We already have swarms of flying ants on the radar in England….

      I’m not even trying to guess what 2020 or the government will throw at us next. I have a suspicion Vader might be preferable.

      Normally when I’ve got an idea in my teeth I can clear 1.2 K words a day easy. But I’ve just had too many successive shocks in a row, with a few more things I know I’m going to have to handle even this week. ATM I’m counting it a decent day if I can just hit Pratchett Limit (400 written words).

    2. The Feds are making a push at flying cars again.

      Radar picking up insects honestly sounds a little old news. I’ve heard of such before, and it makes sense. Radars can pick up clouds somehow, so those produce some reflection, despite the targets being a bunch of very tiny droplets.

      I have a muse telling me that I can finish roughing out a certain backburnered project by assuming that Americans are evolving into a race of serial killers who wear creepy masks. So my story sense, and maybe my sense of reality, is quite broken now.

  2. I’ve been having trouble focusing and I don’t even have anything besides the heat, and the world in general, to blame.

  3. My writing is slow. I don’t have kids or excuses, it’s just slow sometimes. Other times I can’t type fast enough. I don’t care, I just scrape away one shaving at a time and eventually a story comes out.

    With small kids/babies around it is very tough to even blog. You can’t hold a thought in your head for five minutes when there’s a kid needing something every five minutes. And they do. I know how it is. I recall I couldn’t even read, because I’d be at a good part, a kid would cry and then I’d get mad. Can’t be mad around the kid. Doesn’t work.

    I used to make plastic airplane models, for the single reason that you can put it down and pick it up again later with no progress lost. Anger doesn’t get triggered, life is nice and smooth.

    It is hard enough to look after babies when you are a man without piling a bunch of expectations on top. Take it easy, kids are only little once. The story will still be there waiting when you’re ready.

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