Sometimes, the nap wins.
Ah, but I'll have a ficlet up for free fiction Friday. A little bit of a jilted-lover story, along with my love for the upcoming gardening and planting season.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Sunday, March 20, 2016
relaxing and editing
I've got a nice cup of chamomile tea, with lemon and honey, and have found a lovely new station on Pandora to listen to while I edit. But I think I'm going to call it a night. I came across a section where my POV voices are all whacked up. Apparently I was jumping around in heads like I was writing on a trampoline. I don't have the stamina tonight to weed it all out, so I'll leave it for another time.
the power of was
Editing is difficult! I love "was", but as a writer, I'm supposed to find other ways to say things without using "was". Sometimes it is just very, very difficult!
My editing is done for the morning, though, and I'm off to get things done for the day.
My editing is done for the morning, though, and I'm off to get things done for the day.
Friday, March 18, 2016
Free Fiction: Vegetable Medicine (part II)
The soft, repetitive crunch crunch crunch woke Freddie from his sleep. He listened for a minute, letting the dream he'd surfaced from dissolve away, and regretted that in a moment he would need to leave the comfortable position he held in the warm bed. Freddie stretched out a foot but made contact with nothing but cool sheets on the other side.
Rodney was not in the bed.
Freddie pushed back the covers. He reached out and clicked on the bedside lamp and then quietly got to his feet. The small light filled the room with a shadowy glow and revealed for certain that it did not contain Rodney. The glowing red numbers on the clock gave away the time: 2:45 am.
Freddie pulled his bathrobe on and slipped out into the hallway. He inched his way toward the kitchen and the closer he got, the louder the crunching became. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
The kitchen came into view and Freddie leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to eat the entire bag?"
Rodney jumped about a foot into the air, bag in hand, and in alarm, his arms gave a jerking motion. Potato chips flew everywhere. Rodney put a hand to his sternum. "Warn a man, would you?!" He looked at the mess on the floor. "Now I've wasted half a bag." He picked up a chip from the floor and looked it over. "Three second rule." He put it in his mouth and crunched it.
"Rodney!" Freddie waded into the room and squatted down, scooping the spilled chips into a pile. "Where did you even get that?"
"I bought it at the store, of course."
"But you promised you would stop eating all the junk food!" Freddie deposited handfuls of the chips into the trash. "If your cholesterol doesn't go down the next time you go to the doctor's, she's gonna put you on meds!"
Rodney gave Freddie a look. He put the chip bag on the counter and put his hands on Freddie's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Fred, really. I know you want me to be healthy and all that, but it's hard. I like junk food. I like potato chips. No, wait, make that I love potato chips." He shook his head. "I was craving them like you would not believe. I walked past the convenience stores and they all called out my name. Rodney. Yoo-hoo, Rodney. We know you want us. We could be all yours. We're so delicious! You know we are. Rodnnnneeyyy."
Freddie smiled in spite of being angry and disappointed, and not a little worried and exasperated. He laughed at Rodney's impression of the potato chips calling out. "I know. I know. Maybe I push too hard."
"Nah. You just want me to be healthy."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to sneak around eating junk food in the middle of the night. Hiding food from me."
Rodney pulled Freddie into a hug. "Me either. Maybe I can eat some junk food. Less of it, though. Not like I did before, but I don’t want to give it up entirely."
Freddie thought about that. "I suppose so. If you eat some vegetables at dinner, it'd help counterbalance the bad stuff."
"Always looking for an angle."
Freddie pushed out of the hug. "It's called compromise."
Rodney sighed and then turned around to roll down the top of the chip bag and pin it closed with a kitchen clamp. "There. How's that? I only ate half the bag, and I'll go back to bed."
"It's a start." Freddie grabbed Rodney's hand, ignoring the fact it was slick and salty with potato chip residue, and tugged him back to the bedroom.
Rodney was not in the bed.
Freddie pushed back the covers. He reached out and clicked on the bedside lamp and then quietly got to his feet. The small light filled the room with a shadowy glow and revealed for certain that it did not contain Rodney. The glowing red numbers on the clock gave away the time: 2:45 am.
Freddie pulled his bathrobe on and slipped out into the hallway. He inched his way toward the kitchen and the closer he got, the louder the crunching became. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
The kitchen came into view and Freddie leaned against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to eat the entire bag?"
Rodney jumped about a foot into the air, bag in hand, and in alarm, his arms gave a jerking motion. Potato chips flew everywhere. Rodney put a hand to his sternum. "Warn a man, would you?!" He looked at the mess on the floor. "Now I've wasted half a bag." He picked up a chip from the floor and looked it over. "Three second rule." He put it in his mouth and crunched it.
"Rodney!" Freddie waded into the room and squatted down, scooping the spilled chips into a pile. "Where did you even get that?"
"I bought it at the store, of course."
"But you promised you would stop eating all the junk food!" Freddie deposited handfuls of the chips into the trash. "If your cholesterol doesn't go down the next time you go to the doctor's, she's gonna put you on meds!"
Rodney gave Freddie a look. He put the chip bag on the counter and put his hands on Freddie's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Fred, really. I know you want me to be healthy and all that, but it's hard. I like junk food. I like potato chips. No, wait, make that I love potato chips." He shook his head. "I was craving them like you would not believe. I walked past the convenience stores and they all called out my name. Rodney. Yoo-hoo, Rodney. We know you want us. We could be all yours. We're so delicious! You know we are. Rodnnnneeyyy."
Freddie smiled in spite of being angry and disappointed, and not a little worried and exasperated. He laughed at Rodney's impression of the potato chips calling out. "I know. I know. Maybe I push too hard."
"Nah. You just want me to be healthy."
"I don't want you to feel like you have to sneak around eating junk food in the middle of the night. Hiding food from me."
Rodney pulled Freddie into a hug. "Me either. Maybe I can eat some junk food. Less of it, though. Not like I did before, but I don’t want to give it up entirely."
Freddie thought about that. "I suppose so. If you eat some vegetables at dinner, it'd help counterbalance the bad stuff."
"Always looking for an angle."
Freddie pushed out of the hug. "It's called compromise."
Rodney sighed and then turned around to roll down the top of the chip bag and pin it closed with a kitchen clamp. "There. How's that? I only ate half the bag, and I'll go back to bed."
"It's a start." Freddie grabbed Rodney's hand, ignoring the fact it was slick and salty with potato chip residue, and tugged him back to the bedroom.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
taking longer in the crafting
I will have a ficlet up for Free Fiction Friday! Sometimes I am jotting it down just hours before the deadline, but this week I knew where I wanted to -- back to the vegetable discussions of Rodney and Freddie, whom I am just starting to get to know -- so I've spent this evening working on the ficlet. Come around on Friday to give it a read!
And I'm also keeping busy with two other projects -- one is an edit of a much older story that could use a good spit and polish, and the other is a story I'm just in the middle of. I usually have a good sense of how long stories are going to be, but not this one. It feels like it could be somewhat long, if I want to go in such a direction, or I could keep it more simple and short, and I'm learning patience with myself for the writing process. Some stories just take longer in the crafting.
And I'm also keeping busy with two other projects -- one is an edit of a much older story that could use a good spit and polish, and the other is a story I'm just in the middle of. I usually have a good sense of how long stories are going to be, but not this one. It feels like it could be somewhat long, if I want to go in such a direction, or I could keep it more simple and short, and I'm learning patience with myself for the writing process. Some stories just take longer in the crafting.
Monday, March 14, 2016
urban fantasy, seriously, a super cool sub-genre
I'm learning new stuff all the time!
http://www.thecreativepenn.com/2013/04/03/urban-fantasy/
I had no idea about this sub-genre of fantasy. I guess I'd always assumed it was part of the 'magical realism' set of attributes. Not a full on sub-genre! But this is awesome!
And one of the stories I'm currently working on is flavored a little like this, which makes me super happy because I've never really done a lot of sci-fi/fantasy writing and to find I *am* writing some fantasy makes me a happy girl. :)
http://www.thecreativepenn.com/2013/04/03/urban-fantasy/
I had no idea about this sub-genre of fantasy. I guess I'd always assumed it was part of the 'magical realism' set of attributes. Not a full on sub-genre! But this is awesome!
And one of the stories I'm currently working on is flavored a little like this, which makes me super happy because I've never really done a lot of sci-fi/fantasy writing and to find I *am* writing some fantasy makes me a happy girl. :)
Saturday, March 12, 2016
unexpected writing!
1600 words to the good for the day! I had planned writing time, but usually I drag my heels...but today seemed golden. So happy! I'm working on a longer story, and it seems the more I write, the better this gets.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Free Fiction: Vegetable Medicine
“How about carrots?” Freddie pulled up a clump of bright orange carrot with frothy greens on top.
Rodney made a face. “I don’t like carrots.”
“Okay.” Freddie hummed as he looked over the produce. “Beets?”
“Oh, disgusting. No.” Rodney waved a hand.
“I know you don’t like some vegetables too much, but we need to find something you’ll eat,” Freddie said. “The doctor said your cholesterol is sneaking up there, and she wants you to try to bring it down by eating better.”
Rodney sighed.
“And it is much better for you to do it this way than to take all those drugs, with side effects. Once you go on those drugs, it’s really hard to get off them.”
“I know. I know.”
“Now, what about broccoli?” Freddie pointed to the pile of lush little tree-like stalks.
“I like potatoes.”
“That’s good, but man does not live by potatoes alone.” Freddie paused. “What about sweet potatoes?”
“Not the same.”
“And I like cheese.”
“Completely opposite of what you’re supposed to be eating. Cheese is the enemy.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m done then. Get sick. Take drugs. Be stubborn. Come find me when you’re finished saying no to everything here that isn’t from the dirt in Idaho.” Freddie pushed the shopping cart forward, head held high and very stiff, and didn’t look back at Rodney as he went.
Rodney rubbed his eyes, and looked over the expanse of the produce area. He really didn’t like vegetables. Really. Really. Really.
He pulled the paper from his pocket with the options the doctor had given him. Fresh veggies were definitely on the list. But so were beans and oatmeal. He didn’t mind those, at least, not too much. Beans went into burritos. Oatmeal was okay, too. He could add in brown sugar or honey or maple syrup, and then it tasted fine.
Rodney looked over the produce again. Freddie wouldn’t be happy with just beans and oatmeal. He also wouldn’t be happy if Rodney’s cholesterol went higher, and his health deteriorated, and eventually Rodney died slightly earlier than he should have, leaving Freddie alone for his last few decades. Or worse, had a stroke and couldn’t care for himself. Rodney didn’t like either possibility. Not that he could see into a crystal ball, and certainly there were other dangers out there, but he knew this was important to Freddie.
Rodney reached out and nabbed a stalk of celery. With a little peanut butter, it wouldn’t be too awful. Then, he went to find Freddie.
Rodney made a face. “I don’t like carrots.”
“Okay.” Freddie hummed as he looked over the produce. “Beets?”
“Oh, disgusting. No.” Rodney waved a hand.
“I know you don’t like some vegetables too much, but we need to find something you’ll eat,” Freddie said. “The doctor said your cholesterol is sneaking up there, and she wants you to try to bring it down by eating better.”
Rodney sighed.
“And it is much better for you to do it this way than to take all those drugs, with side effects. Once you go on those drugs, it’s really hard to get off them.”
“I know. I know.”
“Now, what about broccoli?” Freddie pointed to the pile of lush little tree-like stalks.
“I like potatoes.”
“That’s good, but man does not live by potatoes alone.” Freddie paused. “What about sweet potatoes?”
“Not the same.”
“And I like cheese.”
“Completely opposite of what you’re supposed to be eating. Cheese is the enemy.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m done then. Get sick. Take drugs. Be stubborn. Come find me when you’re finished saying no to everything here that isn’t from the dirt in Idaho.” Freddie pushed the shopping cart forward, head held high and very stiff, and didn’t look back at Rodney as he went.
Rodney rubbed his eyes, and looked over the expanse of the produce area. He really didn’t like vegetables. Really. Really. Really.
He pulled the paper from his pocket with the options the doctor had given him. Fresh veggies were definitely on the list. But so were beans and oatmeal. He didn’t mind those, at least, not too much. Beans went into burritos. Oatmeal was okay, too. He could add in brown sugar or honey or maple syrup, and then it tasted fine.
Rodney looked over the produce again. Freddie wouldn’t be happy with just beans and oatmeal. He also wouldn’t be happy if Rodney’s cholesterol went higher, and his health deteriorated, and eventually Rodney died slightly earlier than he should have, leaving Freddie alone for his last few decades. Or worse, had a stroke and couldn’t care for himself. Rodney didn’t like either possibility. Not that he could see into a crystal ball, and certainly there were other dangers out there, but he knew this was important to Freddie.
Rodney reached out and nabbed a stalk of celery. With a little peanut butter, it wouldn’t be too awful. Then, he went to find Freddie.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Free fiction: Pain in the Back
Oscar tried to stretch out his back, but the lower muscles remained tired and angry from hunching over his desk all day. "Schematics," he muttered. "This is all because of those damn drawings and their little tiny squiggly lines. Once every five years I have to do something like this. How do people do this kind of stuff every day?"
'They're very unlucky." Phillip made a tsking noise, empathetic and understanding. "What do you want? Hot shower? Heating pad? Anti-inflammatory?"
Phillip ran his hands lightly across Oscar's back, not quite massaging but giving a substantial level of touch. It was soothing and Oscar's stress level dropped, even if his back remained sore.
"All of the above," said Oscar. "And a beer."
Phillip reached up to flutter his fingers across Oscar's neck. "Done. But first, let's go for a ten minute walk."
Oscar groaned.
"Seriously," Phillip said. "What you need more than anything, is to make those muscles active. Warm them up. Let's go." Oscar groaned again, but Phillip shook his head. "You know I'm right."
"I know." Oscar followed Phillip out the door.
His back protested the extra movement, reminding him he'd spent hours leaning over a desk, squinting to see small writing. But after a minute of moving, the tension released a little. He still felt tight and achy, and wanted to do nothing but curl up on the couch with a drink, but the exercise felt good. By the time they circled the neighborhood and returned home, Oscar's back felt very much improved.
"Thank you," Oscar said as he closed the door behind them. "You were right."
Phillip reached up to touch Oscar's shoulder. He moved his hand and gently pinched the corded muscle at the base of his neck, and then ran his hand down the length of Oscar's arm. The hint of kneading of Oscar's muscles felt like a promise of heavenly delights. "Go run yourself a bath. I'll bring you a beer. And if you don't complain too much, I'll give you a massage to work out the knots."
"You're an angel," Oscar said.
"I need you in working order," Philip said. "And if I hear one more word about sketches or etchings—"
"Schematics."
"—or anything like that, I'll come down there and burn them myself."
Oscar pulled Phillip into a hug and kissed him. "You're a devil. And I love it."
'They're very unlucky." Phillip made a tsking noise, empathetic and understanding. "What do you want? Hot shower? Heating pad? Anti-inflammatory?"
Phillip ran his hands lightly across Oscar's back, not quite massaging but giving a substantial level of touch. It was soothing and Oscar's stress level dropped, even if his back remained sore.
"All of the above," said Oscar. "And a beer."
Phillip reached up to flutter his fingers across Oscar's neck. "Done. But first, let's go for a ten minute walk."
Oscar groaned.
"Seriously," Phillip said. "What you need more than anything, is to make those muscles active. Warm them up. Let's go." Oscar groaned again, but Phillip shook his head. "You know I'm right."
"I know." Oscar followed Phillip out the door.
His back protested the extra movement, reminding him he'd spent hours leaning over a desk, squinting to see small writing. But after a minute of moving, the tension released a little. He still felt tight and achy, and wanted to do nothing but curl up on the couch with a drink, but the exercise felt good. By the time they circled the neighborhood and returned home, Oscar's back felt very much improved.
"Thank you," Oscar said as he closed the door behind them. "You were right."
Phillip reached up to touch Oscar's shoulder. He moved his hand and gently pinched the corded muscle at the base of his neck, and then ran his hand down the length of Oscar's arm. The hint of kneading of Oscar's muscles felt like a promise of heavenly delights. "Go run yourself a bath. I'll bring you a beer. And if you don't complain too much, I'll give you a massage to work out the knots."
"You're an angel," Oscar said.
"I need you in working order," Philip said. "And if I hear one more word about sketches or etchings—"
"Schematics."
"—or anything like that, I'll come down there and burn them myself."
Oscar pulled Phillip into a hug and kissed him. "You're a devil. And I love it."
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
getting back on track
I got laid low for two weeks, but I am working on a free fic for this coming Friday. Back to Oscar and Phillip. I like being able to write small, domestic ficlets about them. Our lives are filled with all these wonderful things that can be so small -- nothing crazy dramatic, just the tiny moments of us being kind to those we love, even if it is just a few words of sympathy or a gentle touch. So, that's what I'm aiming for this week.
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