GoT v WD

Hot off the press - there's a game in progress out in the back yard of the house next door. It involves two littlies, and as an ear witness, I can testify that it began thus:

"Look, a dragon!"

"No, a zombie!"

"Dragon!"

"Zombie!"

From a such simple beginnings, it went no further. It continued, and still unfolds with that simple script, though running around in circles and squealing has been added to the routine:

"Dragon!"

"Zombie!"

I await the outcome of this titanic battle with bated breath.

 

There Went That Sunday

After a morning of reading, I've just spent almost 4 hours finishing up a story for the funny anthology and sending it. I keep trying to get into this antho (this is my second sub for this round). I've almost made it a couple of times, but never quite. It's a bone I won't let go of, unfortunately. A challenge I want to conquer, I suppose you could also call it. Possibly a waste of a Sunday, you might also insinuate, or a delusion I won't get real about (Funny! Hah!) The upshot of this writing frenzy is that I haven't done a single domestic thing around the house, and must now get a move on to fit in a few mundane practicalities before the sun goes down.

Still, I had fun :) Even if the funny folk at the funny antho don't think it's funny...

And in a feel-good addendum, exactly just as I hit send, an email came in about a horror story that might be published if I'm amendable to minor edits - but it's still just a great big MIGHT. Anyway, I'm grinning because the first of the three comments from an editor reads: An elegant and technically precise story; excellent core concept and well maintained rhythm throughout.

Nice. I love a little praise on a Sunday. Or anytime :) See, I put in another smiley face. It's that kind of a day. I'm a bit high on writing, me thinks.

Now, where's my vacuum cleaner? I know it should be in the house somewhere...

***18.40 update. There, housework time wasn't a complete bust. Whilst ironing, I came up with a vague idea for a dieselpunk story, the name of the main character, and a first line that pleases me immensely. Now for the rest of it. I'll play with it tomorrow on the train. It's going to be a nasty one...

Thunder and Lightning, Very Very Exciting

Today I've been catching up on sleep, and slowly, so very slowly, unpacking and washing stuff after a weekend away trail riding along the always stunning Howqua River.

It was an adventuresome couple of days with fantastic horses and experienced riders. The weather was mostly grey and cloudy, but not too hot for strenuous mountain work, or too cold, although it got seriously chilly at times when we left the valleys and were exposed to the full brunt those infamous alpine winds. Best of all, it didn't rain during the days. There was, however, much drama on the Saturday night when a late storm blew in. My sister and I were happily ensconced in our respective tents and snoozing away the tiredness of the day when lightning cracked, thunder rolled, and an almighty wind blew up. The ground actually shook a few times. This was no normal storm. This was a STORM!!!!

For a while there, with my little canvas world wildly flapping around me and giant raindrops pummelling down, I was worried my tent might not be up for it (I had visions of it blowing over, and myself running around in an undignified manner in the middle of the night with my soggy belongings looking for a place to rest my weary head), but after all our trips to the mountains together, I should have had had more faith - my trusty tent stood strong and stayed dry, the storm passed quickly, and I snuggled up in my sleeping bag and swag and slept soundly til morning. Apparently, my sister and I discovered the next day, the residents of the nearby (too crowded for my tastes) bunkhouse had been thanking their lucky stars that they weren't in tents, totally unaware that we were as snug as bugs in those proverbial rugs.

All in all, we had a great time. It was just what I needed to clear out my head and re-energise my body. Horses and mountains are good for that kind of thing.

And yes, we're already lining up another ride :)

Moving in a Direction that isn't Backwards

After a week of hot weather, fire horror stories, commuting problems, a major Arvo Job drama, hospital crap, a general queasiness pervading my days, and bulldozers razing a lovely, old garden to create a blitzed landscape up behind my house and across the boundaries of the two properties on either side of me, which has, by the by, completely changed the micro-climate of my backyard, I had a surprisingly lovely Sunday.

There was peace, there was quiet, there were cool breezes wafting through the house, there was much reading done (The Man Who Loved China by Simon Winchester), and after a couple of hours of sustained effort, there was a brand new story all finished on my hard drive just waiting for a polish in a week or two. And I submitted a story as well. I haven't done any submitting for quite a while, so I hope I've now reset my habits.

So there, I think I can get through next week now.

Because No Pain is a Huge Gain

So this was a week of heat, rejections, reluctantly leaving the cool environs of the Arvo Job to trudge the hot city streets in the middle of the day because of hospital crap, and, of course, the actual hospital crap. Now, the heat has passed, the rejections I've filed away in my head to deal with another day, and the hospital crap (I even had to go into the city yesterday! On a Saturday! What a waste of precious weekend time!) has paid off because I stayed drug free today, and tonight, for the first time in a couple of months, cross fingers, I'll be off to bed without taking any pain killers. The downside is that, aside from a few must-do chores, I slept away most of today. But now I feel good. And did I mention that there's no pain! Major win.

So let me tell you this very simple truth, which those with chronic conditions will already know, but which you will not be aware of if you're fortunate enough to be as bouncing fit as I was up until two years ago: any day without pain is a good day. Most people don't appreciate that fact until it's too late. Take my advice, and take a moment to enjoy your body if it's humming along nicely. Savour the feeling. Revel in it. Really.

Anyway, hopefully after two more trips this week, I'll be good to get active and productive writerlywise again. And I'll appreciate it, believe you me. I will savour it. I will revel in it. J

Eggstraordinary Surprise

I've just come in from a morning of being in the backyard and out and about and enjoying the fabulous weather to do some writing, and I found this gift from the chook on the spare couch-bed in my study, still warm. Not wearing my glasses, I thought it was something less savoury at first. Colour me surprised when I realised what it was  - I didn't think she had in in her. And it's a biggie from such a small chicken.

She's been coming and going for over two years now, and just when I think I've got her figured...

After my last post about her back in August 21, sure enough, she went completely vagabondy on me and I barely saw her for over 2 months. She became, yet again,  FIFO Chook, off having adventures, and returning every now and then to check we were still here, fill up on food, and grumble about the state of the world. I didn't worry about her this time, just muttered harsh words about her ingratitude and opportunistic nature. Then three weeks ago, she turned up and I knew immediately she was back for another round of domesticity. It's a real Jekyll and Hyde thing. That night, she popped back onto her usual roost just outside the kitchen, and has spent her days since sneaking into the house whenever possible, either hanging here in the writing room with me or sunning herself in the lounge room with the cats.

And now an egg. I'll no longer be able to accuse her of freeloading if this continues. I'll have to name her Productive Chook. I just wish she'd use the nesting boxes I've set up for her in different places. But no, that would be too common, too normal. Ah well, we'll see. This might be a one off performance.

I'd better watch where I step/sit for the next while until I've got this new state of affairs figured out.

Now, to my writing keyboard. No, November writing report first.

A Brilliant Timey-Wimey Was Had By All.

Bendigo Cinemas seriously underestimated the amount of interest there would be for the nerdy old Dr Who 50th Anniversary Special. First they cautiously scheduled a mere 2 showings, which sold out quickly, then added a third (to which we hastily bought tickets), but by Sunday they had squeezed in 2 more sessions earlier in the day and another after our evening one, so they went from 2 sessions to 6. People arrived early to get good seats and long queues formed, but everyone was cheerful and in high spirits, so there was a lot of street fun going on prior to the movie.

It was a great evening. The theatre attendants were wearing cool fezzes, there were Tom Baker scarves everywhere, young lads with bow-ties and slicked hair did their best Eleventh Doctor impersonations, giggling teenage girls dressed up as Amy Pond skipped about together in groups, and sonic screwdrivers were wielded with impunity. All age groups were represented. Inside, the atmosphere was good-natured, and once the movie got going, and it became apparent there were going to be plenty of in jokes to reward the faithful, and everyone realised it was going to be FUN, the audience bonded and it became a true Event.

You just don't get many of those.

Daleks are Forever

Because, let's face it, Doctors come and go, but a humble cafeteria saltshaker, when mixed with a little imagination and a healthy dose of chutzpah, can be whatever you want it to be, and the final product a thing of beauty (apologies to John Keats) that the people then embrace and make their own.

 

 

 

Because I Love a Little-Old-Lady-Turns-the-Tables-on-a-Lout Story.

And it's Friday. Almost Saturday. This is about a cat-loving, retired competitive ax-thrower and a burglar who should have done a background check on his intended victim.

http://losangeles.cbslocal.com/2013/11/04/ax-wielding-woman-chases-thief-away-in-hemet/

Never underestimate little old ladies.

Oops, it is Saturday now. Yay!

A Most Satisfactory Sunday

After some token housework and zealously obliterating another papery stack (into the recycle bin it mostly went) to clear more space in my study, I spent a few happy hours sorting through my published SF short stories, picking three for a reprint anthology, checking the manuscripts and subbing them. Ah, the trio of  memory lanes I traversed in the process. I remembered the sweat and time and tears and effort I put into each of them, recalled the sadness of their initial rejections, and relived the joy I felt when I finally sold them. Okay, perhaps I'm being a little melodramatic, but you get the gist of it :)

Then I submitted another SF story for a publication that has cut back on its reading periods and is now only accepting submissions for the first week of each quarter. You have to be quick, you have to be organised these days - I'd jotted a note in my diary to make sure I caught this window, and held certain story for a month so it could have a shot at this market. Most publications are inundated with stories, and often hang up their 'closed to submissions' shingles for months on end, and even the ones with regular reading periods often beg off for six months or so while they catch up.

Anyway, I also wrote a bit, so I feel I've accomplished useful writerly things this fine Sunday. All in all, 'twas a good day - peaceful, productive, and full of potential.

Son of Punjab, Where Are You?

After starting yesterday with a Sunday morning rejection ( I really like this one but...) I headed off to the Melbourne Festival for a day of music, exhibitions, eating and fun, finishing off with an effervescent show constructed around the Australian-born Bollywood siren known as Fearless Nadia and her movie Diamond Queen.

Born Mary Ann Evans in Perth, she was a huge hit in India during the 1930s and 40s - her most famous film was Hunterwali -  and this show sought to pay tribute to her amazing feats of screen dare-devilry (she did all her own stunts) and sense of fun and adventure. It was a hoot. Not only did you have Nadia swinging her fists and leaping about all over the place, but there was also the in house fighting squad from of Wadia Movietone doing all sorts of crazy and comedic action stunts, and some of her regular, faithful, animal characters like the very smart, he'd-give-Silver-a-run-for-his-money wonder horse Punjab ka Beta (Son of Punjab, scion of Punjab, another of Nadia's faithful sidekick equines) and a baby Austin called Rolls Royce ki Beti (Daughter of Rolls Royce), a vehicle with much personality and a very independent mind. Alas, we didn't get to see much of Moti the wonder dog in this cut of the film.

On top of the movie hi jinks, there were live performances in keeping with what was happening on the screen inserted in between - Indian dancing, vaudeville acts, and feats of high-wire, musical daring. All of this and energetic, Indian-Western music that had people jigging in their seats played by master musicians who all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

It was a fun evening that I've carried with me all through today at my less glittery and swashbuckling Arvo Job, doing a little Indian dancing here and there whilst daydreaming about Son of Punjab galloping into the office to rescue me. I saw myself swinging into the saddle, raising a defiant fist as Son of Punjab reared, and then we'd be off, the two of us, racing towards some distant adventure full of villains and stout-hearted, supportive friends.

Back From The High Country

Yawn.

My sister, her friend W and I spent the weekend horse riding with others through the High Country . That means a lot of uphill work. If you've never stood in stirrups while the horse beneath you tackles a steep, never-ending incline and groaned because your calves are burning with pain, then, of course, you have no idea what that simple phrase means. Still, I feel surprisingly good today, but ever so tiiiiiired.

I very carefully paced myself by taking Friday off to sleep in and pack (it's cold up there in the Victorian Alps this time of year, so much warm and waterproof gear was required even though the predicted snow and rain did not eventuate, and we had quite glorious weather), travel across the state and stay at my sister's so we were ready to head off early to get to the Mansfield area in time for our 9.30 start. Today I stayed home to recharge my drained batteries, but all in all, I'm exceedingly pleased with myself for getting through the two days without any dramas or fuss. This is the ride I was supposed to have gone on over eighteen months ago, but the first of my three operations got in the way, and since then ongoing slicing and dicing and medical crap has kept me off the mountains, so it's been well over two years since I last rode amongst those peaks. There's been many a time, mostly when I've been flat on my back with tubes coming out of me and had machines that go beep by my bedside, when I've worried that I might not ever get to enjoy slogging up muddy slopes and sliding down hillsides on horseback again :) But I did it! And I'm most grateful that it happened.

Anyway, much fun was had, challenges were overcome, the silence of a starry night far from civilization was enjoyed, stunning scenery seen from horseback on the high trails was oohed and aahed over, our horses were compared and much talked about, breakneck gallops up long tracks were done with exhilaration, and details were rehashed with much enthusiasm on the drive home yesterday.

Now I'm eager for another dose of this goodness.

The Mist: The Ride

My sister and I went horse riding in Daylesford today, and I managed to stay in the saddle for both the morning and afternoon rides, which isn't bad given it's been 5 months since my last equine outing, and even before that, my track record was reluctantly sporadic due the past 18 months worth of hospital crap. It wasn't a hard all-dayer. Both times, it was just the two of us so we could set the pace according to what I was up for, which was not a lot compared with my derring-do of yore, but any attempt to move faster than a trot was also seriously thwarted by the weather.

The morning was wet and hazy enough - the rolling hills remained obscured by fog for the whole ride - but my sister and I crossed fingers that it would clear up by the afternoon.

Alas, it was not to be, not by a long shot.

When we headed out again after lunch, the mist was thicker and more saturated, and it grew increasingly more so until we were moving through a drizzly, surreal, Stephen King-created, vapour-shrouded landscape of limited vision, stands of spooky, leafless trees vaguely outlined by the white stuff, sky and air and land and lakes merging with each other into dreamlike scenes, and an intense silence broken only by the sounds of horse hooves clopping, wet things dripping, and the plaintive bleats of newborn lambs coming from the unseen fields beyond. It was the kind of thick mist from which tentacles suddenly reach out to pull poor, helpless riders from their horses and drag them back into the murky miasma.

And it was cold, bone chillingly cold - we were mightily glad for our drizzle-repelling drizzabones, with many layers of clothing and downy vests underneath - and the ground was wet and far too soggy for speedy riding unless one desired to take a chance on spending the next few months with various limbs in plaster casts.

But we had a good time, took it easy, made jokes, and enjoyed the unreal atmosphere and strange visual and aural effects created by the uncanny weather. Afterwards - and this is a very important part of the Winter horse riding experience - my sister and I warmed our boots and bums in front of a roaring log fire, drank cups of hot tea, ate steaming leak and potato soup with toast followed by berry strudel, and all was wonderful and well with the world.
  
*satisfied sigh*

But for sure I'll be sore tomorrow...

Who Cats

This is an ongoing problem for me: I slip a Dr Who disc into the Blu-ray and pop put to the kitchen to pick up a waiting tray of tea and toast (or unhealthy goodies), but when I get back, there are multiple cat-shaped silhouettes lurking in the half-dark blocking my view. This only happens with Dr Who.

Lured by the wildly swirling time tunnel through which the TARDIS hurtles, the hypnotised moggies sit right up close to the screen staring at the psychedelic movements. Occasionally, they raise paws to bat a particularly enticing vortex. I need to shoo them away quick smart and with rough words or they just keep coming back for more. I thought it was amusing when it first happened, but I soon discovered that they can actually sit there for an entire episode blandly staring at The Doctor and his doings, or walking backwards and forwards in front of the screen, waiting, waiting, waiting until the amusing, feline-friendly visuals return at the very end, at which point they get excited again. I've almost broken the habit, but, as these photos from last night prove, Jenny still hasn't quite got the message.

And yes, posting about my cats means I didn't, alas, make it to Continuum today. There was simply not enough oomph left in my already well squeezed-out toothpaste tube of energy to get me down to Melbourne and then through more than a couple of hours of keeping up with lots of bustling, challenging people before I would have had to head home again, which, given the door price for a single day, would have been bad economics. Plus, for added energy-drainingness, the trains are partially out this weekend, the last leg of the journey replaced by buses. So I stayed home instead and rewrote a story that I'll submit tomorrow, which made me feel good and pleased and happy, although it probably wasn't as career-furthering as a spot of strategic networking (unless it sells to the intended market!), or as fun as all the wining and dining happenings at Continuum that folk are blogging about.

Ah well, we do what we can do as best we can.

Note From Editor: Aliens Spotted in Dallas

Even though the official release day for Aliens: Recent Encounters is 17 June 2013,  editor Alex Dally MacFarlane reports here on her blog that she saw, and actually fondled, copies of the anthology  in a Barnes & Nobles in Dallas. She even provides a cool shelf photo.
  
Sooooo, things are hotting up. It's sooooo exciting. I sooooo still can't believe I somehow squeezed into that amazing TOC!

There's also an interview with Alex about the anthology and her own writing over at SF Signal.

Now to get some writing done in between loads of washing. Here in Australia, this is the Queen's Birthday long weekend, so I'm eager to get the domestic stuff out of the way so I can catch up with my muses, a few movies, some rest, and hopefully a day of socialising with the good folk down at Continuum tomorrow.

Laughing at Locales and Lola

There wasn't a single movie on at the local theatre that interested me this weekend, so we headed up the highway for a nostalgic visit to ye olde Sovereign Hill. The last time I was there, I was about eight or nine years old, and I suffered a great great disappointment that has haunted me ever since. It was time to seal and heal that old childhood wound. We're talking bucket list stuff. More about my trauma later.

 But first we had to get through Daylesford, cutting straight through the middle, which meant I yet again had to giggle when we went down the main drag (my sister and I go around when we head for horse riding). I'm sorry, but it's almost a programmed reaction ever since I read this 2009 article by David Sedaris in The New Yorker in which he threw this evocative paragraph at his readers:

Our destination that afternoon was a place called Daylesford, which looked, when we arrived, more like a movie set than like an actual working town. The buildings on the main street were two stories tall, and made of wood, like buildings in the Old West, but brightly painted. Here was the shop selling handmade soaps shaped like petit fours. Here was the fudgery, the jammery, your source for moisturizer. If Dodge City had been founded and maintained by homosexuals, this is what it might have looked like.

Then it was on to Ballarat and a highly entertaining and interactive afternoon of watching blacksmiths, coach builders, candle makers, tinsmiths, bakers etc strutting their stuff the old fashioned way, redcoats marching, caped policemen keeping law and order, people panning for gold (we swished a few pans of grit, but no fortunes were made, so my castle with a moat and a writing turret located on a isolated hill must wait a while longer), and of course saw lots of mining machinery. We also went down a couple of mines to get a vague sense of the hard conditions the miners endured, and hearing a whistling tune from one of the side drives while our guide exhorted us to stay together and not wander off of course triggered a story about someone (a kid, I suspect, a good kid) who does wander off, following the ghostly tune of a dead miner...  See, writers are always on the job. When above ground, we constantly jumped out of the way of horse-drawn carriages.

I especially enjoyed the re-enactment of Lola Montez whipping Henry Seekamp, the editor of The Ballarat Times, in the main street after he'd published a bad review of her infamous act and condemned the salacious Spider Dance that had miners throwing gold nuggets up onto the stage while she performed.

I've always loved reading about Lola's exploits. Now there was a woman who lived life to the full and didn't give a fig about what folk thought of her. If time travel ever eventuates, I'd sign up just to go back and catch her Spider Dance at our local theatre (she stopped off here and collected a small fortune before continuing on to Ballarat). It'd be fun to see what the fuss was all about. Probably not much by today's standards.

Then it was time to close the circle on my unresolved childhood issue. You see, way back when I was a kiddie and the whole family went to Sovereign Hill, I wanted with all of my youthful heart one of the horseshoes you can get at the blacksmith's with your name stamped into the metal. I was denied this prize (my dad pitched some completely unreasonable argument about if I got one, my siblings would also have to have one each, and the cost would add up to too much for, it was implied, such useless rubbish) and never quite recovered, especially when a few friends turned up at primary school proudly showing off, well, you guessed it, horseshoes from Sovereign Hill with their names on them. How I coveted those metal crescents. My envy was only surpassed by my great sorrow at not having one. 

But today, for the princely sum of $8.00, I finally put an end to my longing and got my horseshoe. It's over my writing desk now, proof that it's never too late for wishes to come true, and that sometimes dreams are surprisingly cheap to achieve. 

Supanova, Sci-Fi and Supasoup

It's been a busy weekend. I'll admit up front that no writing whatsoever got done. Yesterday it was off to Supanova for the day. The crowds were huge, as usual, and the stalls overflowing with every geekish thing your heart could possibly desire (Dalek keyring/plush toy/t-shirt/alarm clock anyone?  Darth Vader keyring/plush toy/t-shirt/alarm clock anyone? Enterprise pizza cutter? A knitted Jayne hat? Or perhaps a blow-up Baloonicorn for the lounge room?) With The Hoff as a guest star, there was plenty of KITT action (little and big boys never seem to tire of standing around staring at glossy, black cars with blinky lights), and with Alec Baldwin*** on the premises there were Serenity lovers a' plenty. Throw Barbara Eden into the mix, you're practically guaranteed lots of pink-clad Jeannies running around, crossing their arms and blinking.

It was very crowded, but fun. The place was chock full of monsters, super heroes, steampunk aviators, manga characters, and medieval warriors buckled into big, furry coats. And most scarily, Weeping Angels walked amongst us (don't blink!).

 Outdoors, the Australian Quidditch Association put on a game for our viewing pleasure, and afterwards, they had a recruitment drive for new players. It looked like they were having a ball, and for a few seconds, I considered signing up, but unfortunately for them, I'm seriously leaning towards joining the local roller derby team to realise my Whip It fantasy, so I'll have to give Quidditch a miss for now ;)

Today it was time for some more sci-fi with a quick pop into town for the movie Oblivion, and then lots of running around here at home getting ready for my upcoming medical crap. What a time waster. It's all the bother of preparing for holidays (find and wash presentable jammies and socks, organise cleaning, bills, house minding etc) but without the prospect of lazing about on the golden sands of a tropical island to compensate for the hassle. Ah well. I'm doing a lot of cooking so as to make life easier on my return. My freezer is now full of a particularly potent super-soup which is guaranteed to hasten my healing and make me feel warm and glowy. It's just like chicken soup, but with lentils.

***D'oh. Amendment. Serious cred malfunction. Too much recent viewing of 30 Rock + late night blogging + not checking = wrong Baldwin. Adam Baldwin, of course. My embarrassed apologies. At least I got the other brother who also starts with an 'A'.

Walking the Local Arty Walk

 

So I didn't get to Sydney for various reasons and it turned out to be for the best, maybe (it looks like they had fun though), but since the Castlemaine State Festival in full swing, there were plenty of other things to investigate in the region this weekend. Yesterday, after seeing the pharmaceutical thriller Side Effects, in an entirely appropriate homage to Steven Soderbergh's intent to give up movie making to concentrate on his painting and other interests, we stopped off at Maldon to spend a few hours shopping and doing the Maldon Art Walk. We looked at paintings, sketches and sculptures in shop windows, popped in and out of open studios, and even, in an amazing piece of good timing, caught up with a friend who is displaying her work in the cutest alleyway converted stable ever, as you do if you possibly can (Maldon Mews Studio and Gallery).


Today, there was my invite to a poetry and photograph opening to fulfill, free, fun theatre (picture, left) and lots of food in the park, and wandering around, there were so many open studios it would seem that every fifth residence in town is inhabited by talented artsy folk of all types.

There's a lot going on, and I must try and get to a few of the shows over the next week ten days.  Being a huge fan of Italo Calvino's Baron in the Trees, I'm especially intrigued by the arboreal twilight theatre performance The Republic of Trees. How will they pull it off, I wonder. Well, there's only one way to find out.

The Chook Who Keeps Me Guessing





GUS AND THE SUNNING CHOOK

It's well past 18.30 and evening will soon be upon us, but the Occasional Chook shows no signs of leaving. This does not seem to one of her usual Virginia Chook swing bys for a bit of peace and quiet away from the flock. She was already waiting outside the kitchen when I opened up the house at 9 this morning, and has been with us ever since, very coolly acting just like she did in the old days before her ungrateful defection to the chicken coop two houses up.



JENNY AND THE STARING CHOOK

She's spent the day being overly chummy with the cats and wanting to snuggle up to them as they tried to catch some rays in peace and quiet (both these pictures were snapped today. Yes, I know I need to tidy up those leaves), hanging out with me while I was working in the backyard, popping in for a chat while I was ironing, pottering around like she owned the place, taking dirt baths and endlessly sunning herself on the patio. She's very calm, very settled, and very much not moving on.

Oh well, who can say what the Chook is planning now? I just checked - yep, she's still here, right outside the kitchen door nibbling on my potted lemon thyme. When I asked her if it wasn't time she headed back to her homies in the coop, she gave me friendly cluck and snagged another leaf. Hmm...

***UPDATE. Sure enough, she is once more ensconced upon her old perch in the bush by the shed outside my kitchen. What has happened? A serious fallout with her erstwhile homies? Complaints about the food? Ah well, let's see how long it lasts. This footloose and deviously fancy free chicken may just using me as a stopgap while she ruthlessly scopes out another coop.

Timing is Everything

Honestly, I should try checking dates and looking in a diary every now and then before I make profound statements, what with my brain still sporadically cheesing out on me - the Spec Fic Festival isn't next weekend, but the weekend after. I only just worked that out because I was looking at train schedules and whatnot, and finally glanced at the actual festival program again. Duh! Give the girl a gold star for finally getting there. All I can say in my defense is that these days I tend to take life in one week blocks and am keeping things as simple as possible.

And yeah, wouldn't you just know it, the story that I would have liked to send off to a themed issue of a certain publication came back as rejected on Friday, the very next day after the deadline for the themed issue had passed. I soooo knew it! I could feel it in my bones. I would have bet money on it, actually. Whoever is scribbling the script of my life is, on occasions like this, such a predictable hack. A better, more imaginative cosmic writer charting the course of my writerly adventures, that's what I need. That, or more editorial control.

Mind you, I quite like it when the hack slips in the unlikely and unexpected triumphs against the odds...