A New Life???

Sis just rolled out for her home. That leaves me as the sole ‘custodian’ of Da for the interim until such time as he finds his new digs in SC and moves there. He’s looking at being close, but not so close as to ‘be in our backpockets’, his words exactly. I need to get down there and locate some type of temp job or part-time thing until I can get the ball rolling on my “gigs”, among other aspects. And of course, I can’t do that until such time as he wants to go down and physically SEE the properties. Heck, he may get down there and hate it, deciding to stay put and all of my plans will have been for naught. Then its back to square one, regroup and start again.

Won’t be the first time, but I would really really like it to be the last. Gettin’ older and this move around every decade or so wears thin. And to be honest, I have moments where what I would prefer is all the way back in the A.Z. I miss my desert, dry air, and skies lit by all the stars you could never imagine.

*sigh*

If you read my book, “Wings” you may have gathered I spent quite a bit of time in sandy areas that weren’t attached to oceans, and you would have been correct. I tend to stick to things I know intimately, just apply them alternatively to the subject as needed. The deserts I described were straight-out of my memories, even if I did have to research maps for specifics that I had not associated with. And Google maps was a wonderful tool for getting ‘boots on the ground’ views of those areas. I didn’t have to be there to feel the heat or the dryness; that’s embedded in me now. And why lie, those images also gave me a touch of homesickness. Looking at places through a computer screen is no substitute for being there, breathing the air, smelling the creosote bush, or the sandalwood smell of the desert after a good rain. (American Southwest desert is nothing like ME desert. Smells are all different, and even the sand is different. The sand in Kuwait, wasn’t sand, so much as abrasive dust as fine as talcum powder, and the smell both dry and damp was much closer to what you’ll smell around a natural gas well.)

(Full disclaimer: I have no clue where Edward Abby’s grave is, I only know my description is ‘close enough’ by what little has been disclosed about his death and burial.)

I joke sometimes about just finding me a little shack near the water (ocean, not inland lakes) walking the beach collecting sand-dollars to sell to the tourists for my day to day needs, and writing writing writing. Lord knows the ideas in my head are enough that I can start several different storylines in one day, and do it again tomorrow. My biggest issue being that I am a Pantser. I need to start working on getting those multiple stories grouped up, fleshed in a start/middle/climax/end routine and get them to start working for me, instead of me working for them as a simple dictation machine. And that’s how I feel about it sometimes. That I am not a ‘writer’ per se, but a conduit to some other world-lines/dimensions/realities and only ‘allowed’ glimpses, never the whole of it.

Discipline. I know the word. I know the deed. Just have to apply it. And with the outside influences right now, much harder than usual. No excuses, make the time and JUST DO IT. So, I have started setting the clock for 4am and dedicate the first two hours of my day to distraction free (kittehs in Komas time) and work on outlines for these stories. The way I write, they may not survive intact, but at least there is a structure to work with, not this ‘and then’ which is how Wings grew out of a series of shorts.

So, the next few days/weeks/months, assuming the world can hold its shit together and we aren’t in an active shooting war with the FRAUD, I ‘condition’ myself to a new series of routines and know that I will get only so much time a day where distractions are minimized and I can focus on intent; MY INTENT. Routine will carry you further towards success than inspiration.

But its time to go back to my other duties. At least Da is getting back into his routines again. Bees, Ducks, and what not. He’s returned to his ‘normal’ quite fast, and that he seems to have more energy shows that the stint is doing what its supposed-ta: that his recent past ‘being lazy’ was actually exhaustion from his heart working so hard to move that blood stuff through his tubes. I’m stickin’ close, but I don’t think I need to be in his backpocket constantly. No more day trips kayaking unless there is definitely someone in calling distance for the duration.

more later