The Wrimo Report

Hey y'all, since I can't justify submitting this to the actual NaNoWriMo site, so I thought I'd put up my wrimo report  here for the edification of....  well....  ok, who am I kidding, it's for me.  I had to put it in perspective so that I can  get on with my life, and with my story.

maybe after this I'll put up the next chapter, first draft anyhow, it'll likely get completely cut and re-written before I feel it's good enough for anyone else to read.

So, the WriMo report.

I have a crazy relative, she's my mom.  Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like she rants and should be locked up.  After all, doing so would deprive so many of us of a much needed and loved crazy person in our lives.  But, see, the thing here is that she has always been not normal as defined by society.  I blame her for the voices.  The voices made me do it!  I realize that that sounds like a lame excuse, but those same voices that took root in my mind early on in formative years are still there.  And no amount of social programming appears to be able to drive them into submission.

And so, come late October life is stressing, children are teething (after both toddlers wrapping up the most recent influenza bout), and the voices in my head are starting to sound saner than I am feeling.

Time to round up the good old boys and hit the bars, ... , umm, nope, they've all grown up, moved away, and had kids of their own, that ain't gonna work.
How about ...  Nope, that's out as well,
Then from the next office a little voice starts arguing with itself,
"you don't have time!"
"But I want to...  please?"
"No, we agreed to be sensible, besides you already have three on the go and your publishers want the first two in by the end of November!"
"I don't care, I"ll just do it behind my back, see if I care.  And besides, I can't stop me anyhow."

Realizing that I had followed that entire conversation without once losing track of what was happening, I began to worry, really worry.  However, being less conservative than I should sometimes, I poked my head around the corner to ask if everything was alright.
The answer came back, as sane as you please, "Yup, just trying to talk myself into/out of NaNoWriMo this year."
"Oh, fair enough.  I'll leave you to it then."

NaNoWriMo?  Time to get Google online, ....,  Ahhhh, there it is....  ohhhhh ...  a place for those voices to burst out of my head, and if I do it right, they'll hit the page and it'll all be ok.

The rest is history as they say, late nights, early mornings, kids were sick throughout, family life was even more demanding than usual, and of course it didn't help that my wife and I were having troubles at the beginning of the month.
But ... with 3 days remaining, I hit 50,000 and didn't notice.  At about noon on the final day I uploaded the whole manuscript and verified at just over 51 thousand, with about 25k left to wrap up the book.

So yeah, it was crazy, it was demanding and draining, and nobody else understands why in creation I would undertake such a pointless task, but to me there was purpose, and the voices that refuse to behave..?  Well, at least they're mollified with being able to be heard, and from that they've agreed not to try to twist me into a lunatic.  So I guess it's a wash.

Goodnight,

Andre.

Poetry? Yeah, nope. Sorry, not poetic. I tried.

I was going to try a shot at poetry this morning, a sonnet to my beautiful wife?  a limerick to my 12 year old son who keeps getting up each morning, with only a minimal amount of procrastination, I don't really know.  but poetry is just not in my purview today.  Sorry.

I don't look like a poet, I don't have the angst to be a good poet, it's supposed to be 5-10 degrees all week, sunny and raining in turns, it's January for crying out loud.  In Canada!  a week of positive temperatures?  that's nuts, where is the world going?

I'm going to blast through a quick short on this later on today and post it next. later on this afternoon.

I've gotta get to work in order to justify the time for it tho.  Until then, stay cool.  *grin*

Andre.

One Small Step Forward

Hiya all.

I did it.  I signed up for the free account at Fictionwise and started to take advantage of the giftcertificate that I was awarded.  That's kinda cool.  the down side is that this is yet one more site on this blasted nefarious internet that I have to remember the password to.

Anyhow, it's like one thirty in the morning, and I have to get to sleep here soon.  I'll just leave it at that.

Hugs to all.

Andre.

A momentary lapse into the future.

Hi there, as I was driving, listening to the radio, a song came on about a snowman made of dirty snow, and the treasure he was.

That got me started on the what-if tangent trail.

Treasure, precious metals, titanium, precious metals used... titanium,
Animated figurines, high technology,

What if Frosty the Snowman was actually animated by chains of nano-bots.  They could have been part of the structure of the hat that was found, thus brining him to life when the hat was put on his head?

I'd like to pursue this as a short story sometime, maybe aim for something slightly futuristic, incorporate nature of humanity stuff, sociological assessments, etc.

Right now it's one in the morning, I'm tired as heck, and I have to get up tomorrow.

So until then, I'm off to bed.

Andre.

A Prayer

This is not my prayer, I did not come up with it.  Somebody came up with this one so long ago that it eludes my brief search.
Regardless, it's recital this morning is prudent.

Prayer to St. Michael

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

or a shorter personal version.
O'Lord lift me up, support me in my hour of need,
St. Michael please protect me from the snares of the evil in this sinful world.
Amen.

To Dare to Dream

To live is to feel, to feel is to bleed.
Dreams bypass life, give lie to feelings.
Help to escape, a means to cope.
But dreams aren't life.  Life is not a dream.
Can I dream my life away?
Or failing that, live as though it were a dream?
I used to dream of sails
Of honour, of chivalry, heraldry, travails
Then I dreamed of love, life and love.
Ah, to love, to have one's heart realized, fulfilled.
To dream thus, the reason for love we often bond
But to speak to love, to yearn for love's close touch,
Her soft embrace, her gentle smiles, her gleeful play.

Then it's gone.  Love had been a lie, merely a waking dream.
To dream it was, it is not but could be again.  To hope and to dream.
Should we risk it, my soul and I?  The pain is great, the danger present,
but the reward?  Oh 'tis said 'tis grand, a many splendor'd thing.
But to my mind that brings an image
glittering facets, like knives flying through the air, catching the light,
streaking through sunbeams, aiming for my heart.

Oh!  Piercing, pain.  to love is to open to hurt, we need trust in love.
but love trusted, unreturned, unthinking, can hurt, so very much pain.
How to manage, the chaos, the hurt, the recriminations?
How to manage the day, tears burn, breath chokes, could this be the end,
Love was a dream, was it also a lie, or can we save it?
Like the bullet riddled man on the surgeon's table, maybe.

We can try.  I must try.  For this is the last one.
To fail is to remain alone.  No more trying.
The hurt is fleeting, the damage less so.
I cannot, I dare not venture forth again with heart in hand.
Too much pain in chance, too much hurt in somebody who says one thing, does another.
Who claims one thing, and demands another.

Crap, life is hard.
But I guess it's better than the alternative,
Or is it?

Andre

The Void

Welcome back to the Void.

I Arose today, to see the smiling face of my little boy, we played in the blanket for a few minutes.
That was the last time I smiled.
Since then it's been miserable.
I can't eat, I gag on most everything, including water.
I am hoping that a day of work (probably the only one this week that won't be shattered all to hell with her phone calls) might help me.
I feel (metaphorically) like my balls have been cut off and then lightly prepared in some sauce and batter, only to be sneered at by some snobby rich girl.
I feel completely emasculated, I don't feel like a man anymore.  I feel like a kitchen appliance, and that is not good for my soul.
I feel sad.  I want to cry, but I can't cry.
I feel sick but cannot afford to be sick.
I feel tired, but cannot take the time to sleep.
I feel alone but there is nobody close enough to me to care that I feel thus.

I just finished reading a book, "the five languages of love: Men's edition"
guess what I got from it.  I am going to have to buck up and do all the work, if I want anything to change, I am likely to spend hours and years just giving and giving for her benefit, but the chance of her reciprocating is slim, if it exists at all.
I just want to quit now.
I am tired.
This is the third time I have gone around this circle.  I give, they take.  It's not good enough, they demand more.  I give more, I run out of anything to give.  I have nothing left, nobody cares anymore.  I am at rock bottom again.
Suicide starts to look like a good idea again.
Can anybody see why I am starting to get frustrated here, why I am ready to give up?

I guess I'll try to get something done here, have to justify getting paid, especially since I spent most of last week off sick.

God I hate my life.

Andre.