“The other day” I was talking to a person, and when they were complaining about End Of The World for ebooks, I said, “Eh, it can’t be that bad, and we’ll survive it fine. Don’t you remember the KDPapocalyse and the huge shakeup from KU1 to KU2, and the Kobo-pornopocalypse? This, too, will pass.”
They made noises of pure confusion, and I realized… Indie is over 10 years old, and Peter and I have been there since pretty much the beginning. (Don’t ask me about working the Christmas rush inside Amazon when the world suddenly decided it wanted kindles, and e-readers went from a weird niche geek beta-test market to The Hot Christmas Gift. Because you are on the other side of a screen, and can’t hand me brandy enough for that story…) The person I was speaking to hadn’t been indie for 3 years, yet. They didn’t know The History Of Our Tribe.
Is not the title of what I’m doing here. That’s the chapter title, as I hope will become clear. I’m … well, we have two more weeks until Mommy gets home, so unless I manage to get my feet under me, it’ll be about three to four weeks until I have anything like a groove back. So to speak. In an effort to bring about just such a shift in my personal condition, I’m pursuing two steps. The first, is more (and more consistent) physical exercise. The other is pursuit of more frequent flow state.
If one is trying to keep folk happy, or get on with someone – or a group, the last thing you should say is: “I told you so.” Trust me on this, I’ve been married a long time. If you want to stay that way, avoid saying: “I told you so.”
ESPECIALLY if you told them so.
As some of you enter into your third day of NaNoWriMo, and others enter into your third day of thinking about whether you could catch up, or wishing you could do NaNo this year, I’ve just finished my month-of-writing. Here’s how my month of Inktober Prompts turned out!
The Goal: Using InkTober’s 2019 prompt list, write every day. Read more
Some lines by Gary Snyder that I can’t find on a quick skim of my poetry bookshelves, so this may not be quite accurate:
“When creeks are full / poems flow / when creeks are dry/ we heap stones.”
There are times when the book in progress is like a trout leaping and flashing through a spray of cold water in a peaty burn, something so very much alive that I’m typing as fast as I can just to keep up with the scenes and dialogue flashing through my mind, and that’s glorious.
And there are other times when I feel as though the trout has disappeared, and to find it again I’m going to have to dam that Highland burn, one stone at a time. Read more
There’s an old saying: “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” Of course, this presumes that you have refrigeration handy, and you’re eating it alone, where my husband’s stories of shot elephants seem to involve villagers turning up with great cast iron pots and firewood before dust from the creature hitting the ground settles. (Bush telegraph. Is faster than magic.)
They also involve the hilarities of villagers inside the elephant carving out meat above them up to the ribs, and more on top carving meat down to the ribs, and the screaming and cursing when an assegai or machete pokes out between and finds a human foot…
But realities aside, back to metaphors. Read more
When I got up this morning to write, I tripped over the dog. This is a common occurrence at our house. She likes to be near us, we like to sleep in the dark, and, well, she’s blacker than the shadows. Which is actually how I avoid her most of the time, she’s a sixty-pound jellybean shaped black hole in the night (we do have a small nightlight as a concession to tripping hazards). After I mumbled an apology to the poor pupper for having stumbled over her and disturbed her sleep (she doesn’t have a blog to write, so she sleeps in) I started thinking about depression, the other black dog. Read more