But more importantly, quiet. And coffee. Especially coffee, but mostly just an hour without children clamoring for attention. Good news on that front! Wee-er Dave will be rocking mornings at the local Montessori next month when Wee-Dave starts preschool. I’ll get them up, fed, and dressed (cold, dead, and lifeless hands, non-Oxford comma heretics!) and to their respective
babysitterslearning establishments, and then I’ll have a blessed three hours(ish) to write. Every day.
I’m so excited I can barely sit still.
I don’t know if life is dropping on anybody else like the proverbial measure of squarish building things, but it is me. Mom and Pop Dave had a great visit. Caer Dave is sparkling (ish), Dave wrote (a bunch: short story and several space opera chapters), much goodness was accomplished, and Wee and Wee-er Dave had ALL. THE. FUN.
Which is part of the problem. They are now having less fun, and taking this out on each other, which really means they’re taking it out on me. But I also received a call (half an hour after Mom and Pop Dave drove orft) asking if I was actually planning on bringing the car in to get the collision damage fixed. YES! Yes, I am. Called the insurance to clear up a final question, call the rental place to confirm pick-up, get the littles set, and loaded, and start the car. Start. The. Car.
The car isn’t starting.
It’s Tuesday once again, and that means you’re all subjected to my
rambling words of wisdom. But first! Clan Dave is doing fine (it’s fine, it’s all fine, no problems at all AT ALL). Mom Dave and Pop Dave are visiting, and have been occupying Wee Dave and Wee-er Dave. Also cleaning Castle Dave, which is doing wonders for Dave’s peace (and piece) of mind. I’ve even gotten to bugger off and loaf about write at the local caffeination establishments. I finished a short story, and about four chapters of a space opera project.
I really don’t know what to do with myself. It’s like almost all of my fondest dreams are coming true. I’m really clinging to the hope that both of the littles will be able to rock the morning pre-school gig come September. I’d get to write every day. I could set up a publishing schedule without laughing bitter tears. The world might end, or at least mine.
I somehow forgot this. Guys, (and ladies, *channels Maui*) I don’t have anything for you, Mrs. Dave has been overseas for a week, and I’m getting ready for grandparents. Are there any particular topics you want my input on? Failing that, how would you world-build a cyberpunk setting to actually work, starting today?
We’ve gotten a lot closer to the classic cyberpunk man-machine neural interfaces, prosthetics are far closer than they were in the 80s to something that actually looks and works like Robocop, there has even been some success in implanting memories. The point of this one is the tech base, and some of the social interactions, rather than the socio-political setup. (Though if you dig that, I’m cool with it.)
I’m not a huge fan of dystopia, so I’d be missing that particular piece, as much as possible. (If it even *is* possible: what do you think? Does cyberpunk require dystopia?) I was just a wee lad, myself, when the new wave was predicting doom, gloom, street sammies, and megacorps, and my sense of the world was pretty much primary colors. For those of you who lived that period with a more nuanced view, how did it feel compared to the turmoil today?
I know how I’m planning to ruin the world, but I’m curious how y’all would set it up.
Or, Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone, Again
It was gorgeous in the PNW when we took Mrs. Dave to the airport to wend her way elsewhere. Baker was out, the Olympics crowded the far horizon, and Rainier dominated the sky as we sped southward. Nary a cloud in the sky. I could wish I’d gotten more sleep, but such isn’t our pattern, and I’m learning to deal with that. Even the littles seemed cheerful, which lasted right up until we left Mrs. Dave at the curb.
Mrs. Dave is fine, though still pretty wiped from all the travel. On the other hand, we haven’t seen the sun since we got home. Coincidence? I can barely rub two sentences together today, so this is likely to be pretty scattered. My apologies.
Since my last missive, I’ve traveled a few thousand miles, consumed many excellent drinks (gin Old Fashioned! Mind blown! Who knew? Thank you, Nate.) Received invitations to a couple anthologies, and moved a step closer toward a collaboration. I’m currently typing at you from many thousands of foots in the air (feel my thought beams from high up in the sky!) I’ve also stayed up far too late, not eaten nearly enough (probably) and slept not nearly enough. (Can you tell?) I spent a prolonged weekend making, renewing, and strengthening friendships.
I’ve been humbled and honored by my friends throughout, and I really kinda want to go back and do it all again. I’m not sure I could, though, even had I the opportunity. I may need about a month to recover. It’s bad enough my fingers are mixing up letters as I type. Thank Ghu for editing. Many thanks to Brandy, the rest of the LC concom, Johnny Minion and the rest of the con staff, to Vonn, Crystal, and Ginger, and everybody else who made what could have been a slapdash affair into every bit the LibertyCon we’ve come to know and love. You are all amazing, and I’ll miss you until we get to party again.
I have a confession to make: I don’t know what’s going on in the world. Not just the world of publishing (not many actually do, to be honest), but the wider world. Mrs. Dave returned to us this past weekend, so life has been jumbled. She’ll be home for a (measly) couple weeks, and then depart again. Uncle Sam says go, and she does.
What that means, however, is routines are borked. Habits are skittering around. Sleep is … elusive. Not because I’m sharing a bed, again – pervs – but because Mrs. Dave has to be awake well before I’ve been getting up while she was on the other side of the globe. And she’s still adjusting to the many-time-zones of difference between There and Here. So I’m a little foggy. And it’s been affecting my lifting, which also makes me grouchy.