Entanglement, Matrix, Magic, What?

I arrived home tonight after quite a nice day Arvo Jobwise, productive reading and writingwise too, and as I pottered around shutting up the house feeling content and at peace with the universe, I casually thought about how nice it was to come home to a calm, quiet evening, and how thankfully it had been absolutely ages since the last late night doof, doof battle with the "kids" who periodically swing by and use the place next door to do stuff they probably can't do elsewhere (we seem to have to go through these episodes every 6 months or so, although once I did get a blissful eighteen months off, and the tussle of wills usually lasts about a week and can involve the police) when, about ten minutes after my return...

You guessed it.

They're baaaaack.

I really must stop making these things happen.

*** It all worked out. They kept it pretty low and it didn't last long. I'm just a bit Pavlovian when it comes to doof, doof . The first beat, and my body prepares for battle :)

The Soothing Sounds of Sunday Plus Some Honking.

It's been a bit of a noisy Sunday so far, but not bad noisy (like the infamous doof, doof battles of yore). The local Rotary truck show is on this weekend, so the township is full of painted rigs and dressed-up utes, and after my much treasured Sunday morning sleep in, while I was having my lazy Sunday morning read with the cats piled on my lap, the annual Sunday morning truck convey went past. Horns were enthusiastically honked and blasted, and many great vehicles rumbled by and shook the earth. But it was soon enough over, and the show does raise a lot of money for good causes.

Later, next door launched into a lunch time barbecue with friends, kids and dogs, and there was much rambunctious scrambling for sausages and shouts about their deliciousness, calls for mummy or daddy to fix this or that, exuberant splashing about in the inflatable pool and the hosing down of dogs accompanied by squeals of joy and barks of approval - the normal, family business, background sounds you'd expect on a hot Australian Sunday, boisterous, but not at all bothersome. I've been writing well through most of it, only occasionally pulled from my concentration by the naughty chuckle of a child about to do something that is definitely a no-no or kiddie squabbles about who gets the wield the watery power of the mighty garden hose.

In between the trucks and the barbie, the Chook (henceforth referred to as the Occasional Chook, unless she moves back in, of course) came to visit, and volubly made her presence known as per usual. She's still here many hours later, prevented from returning to her new digs by the barbecue. Although constantly grumbling, she's making the best of it and is presently sunning herself on the patio with the cats. Things are settling down next door now, so she'll probably scoot off soon, once the dog numbers go down.

As for me, I'll send off a few emails, and then I'll be getting back to the loveliest of all Sunday sounds (although the clip clop of horse hooves is a very close second), namely that of my keyboard finishing up a new story. It's big. It's SF. It's spacey. It has aliens. But no humans. I'm a bit excited by it :)

Art versus Art

Apparently, part of my new noise problem, as told to me with an air of 'whats wrong with you' last night when I went next door at 23.45 and suggested that it was a tad unreasonable to be doof doofing at that time and that they might like to show some consideration and turn down the racket, is that 'the kids are training'.
Mystery solved. Young musicians with amps and double bass guitars burning with a bright desire to be superstars practicing late into the night have turned the house next door into their semi-regular studio. I suspect they've been booted out of their own homes, guitars in hand, and have been offered a creative asylum to nurture their talents and so now they're my problem. Neat. And so in future days, when during interviews they talk about this stage of their career, I'll have a part in their tale as the nameless nutty neighbour who *laugh, laugh* was always knocking on the door and complaining. No-one will realise that the poor sod of a neighbour in question was also trying to get in some 'training' and be creative.

Anyway, the Arts smackdown in on. Youthful, Self-Centered Musicians versus Crusty Old Writer. They've got the numbers and the bass. I write a mean email.

Woof versus Doof

Hmm, personally I'd far prefer Steve Cameron's woof woof to my doof doof, but I have a feeling the cats would disagree.

Facing the final curtain

Well, the end of my AJWWB, at least.

*sniff*

And after a spate of pesky, sunny days full of doing other stuff, I've got a nice, gloomy, rainy day at home to squeeze in a few more words (doof doof permitting) and brace myself for my upcoming return to the Real World.

Grist for the mill

So how about a story that's a cross between Edgar Allan Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart (doof doof) and Avram Davidson's Crazy Old Lady but with a samurai sword instead of a grenade? Well, maybe I'll drop the samurai sword, but otherwise it could work...

Now Let Us Sleep (I weep just remembering the ending) and Or All the Seas with Oysters (apparently one the foremost ripped-off-by-writing-students SF stories) are still my all-time favourite Avram Davidson stories natch, but I must admit, Crazy Old Lady is one of those stories that I'm appreciating more and more as time passes.

Anyway, it's all quiet again, and has been for a few hours. I've reduced my 9k story to 5960 words - I think I'll go cut another 60 words and then call it a night.

You can't stop the doof doof

It's actually been pretty quiet here over the past 2 weeks, which was wonderfully unexpected, and this morning was lovely, but right now, I'm well into my third hour of unneighbourly doof doof and can no longer work with it. So I'm admitting defeat, shutting up shop and heading off for a walk. Drats! I wanted to finish a revision - I'm cutting story from an indulgent 9000 words down to a lean and mean and more to the point 6000 words (I only have 392 more words to go) - so the story could sit a while before I submit it on Sunday.

Hopefully the doof doof will be over by the time I get back.

Ah well, "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley."

They're baaaack

Oh yeah, my old pals the Doofhead neighbours are back from whatever bogan planet they've been visiting for the last 7-8 months. Each night this week, they've indulged in their favourite pastime, the it's-all-quiet-when-she-gets-home-to-lure-her-into-a-false-sense-of-security-then-twenty-minutes-later-we-hit-her-with-the-choppy-low-frequency-woofy-bass game. It's not as bad as last time, but building up, I think.

So, fun days ahead :(

In better news, my Spirit story (as in Mars rover) suddenly came together on the train today. It'll only be a littlie, but hopefully a goody.

Here we go again?

I might have to dig out and dust off the Doof Doof Diary. *sigh*

Me thinks the kiddies next door are testing the waters once more with their mighty sub-woofers. Great. Just in time for my AJWWB.

Plan Busters

A whole Sunday without commitments stretched before me, so I had BIG writerly plans for today, and it all started out well enough, but unfortunately the kiddies next door decided this afternoon to share their love of all things rappy and bassy with the rest of the world. They're not playing as loudly or deeply as they used to, and they have been far more considerate since the Great Doof Doof War of 2010, so it was in with the earplugs and out with the ironing board while downloading more books onto my iPod to listen to at the Arvo Job, then washing the kitchen floor. One might as well get something done.

I think *tentatively removes ear plugs* that they've stopped now, so I shall return to my keyboard. I'd like to look over a couple of rejected stories and submit them ere the sun sets.

Invasion Alert

I think my neighbours have been replaced by pod people.

Quiet pod people.

Not all alien invasions are bad...

All good

In case anyone was wondering how the doof-doof saga ended, well, it has done just that - ended. I'm savouring the quiet right now (Tuesday was traditionally a night of loud revelry), and I'm once more getting enough sleep to be functional at the Arvo Job and get some writing done. It was a tad tense there for a few months battle-of-willswise, and I did have to pull my bitch boots out of storage, but all is well now, thank goodness.

Silent Sunday

Today was quiet too. So perhaps ... maybe... dare I tentatively hope that my trials by doof-doof are over?

Seizing the [quiet] day, I got some writing done, and submitted 3 short stories and a poem. While looking around for new markets, I came across this advice in the submission guidelines for Theaker’s Quartely’:

Note also that if your story is published in TQF (or any other non-paying or low-paying magazine, for that matter) that will probably preclude it being sold at full price to any professional market later on. If you are making a career of writing, sometimes it's best to keep your work in the drawer. Even if it isn't in fashion right now, there may be a market for it ten years down the line.

A few of my stories are accumulating a serious number of rejections, and I’m running out of places to send them. They’re good stories (or so the rejecting editors have told me) all of which have been held for final consideration a number of times, some by pro publications, but they just can’t seem to find homes. I suppose this is what happens when you build up a large stable of stories. So perhaps I need to just relax and stash them away in a drawer, wait until the right opportunities come along and whip 'em out then.

Oktoberfest

And the doof-doof goes on and on and on and on. Obviously officially complaining really helped.

I was hoping to get in a good weekend of writing to finish a few stories with impending deadlines, but it ain't looking good.

Noisy times

I officially complained about the doof-doof neighbours last week (and in the process solved the mystery of why things suddenly changed for the noisier) and I'd say the message has been passed on because now, as happens when dealing with people with an inflated sense of entitlement, things are even worse.

For the past two nights, in a new twist to the adventure, within half an hour of my getting home from the Arvo Job, the doof-doof starts. Usually week days are quiet this time of night. I interpret this development as their way of saying, 'we control the horizontal, we control the vertical, we control the quality of your home life'. Typical bully behaviour. Still, there's a fine line between macho posturing and intimidation, and they're getting awfully close to crossing it. The important thing is to not succumb to victimthink, as in being pathetically grateful for what peace and quiet I can get in between and then putting up with such harassment.

So the great doof-doof adventure continues :-(

Still, there might be a story in it for me *starts to plot a vengeful fantasy*.

Merrymaking (not)

So it’s off to the YOSF&F workshop tomorrow, which means, of course, that the neighbours have decided as per usual to indulge their love of all things doof-doofy and bassy and whooping tonight. This is getting extremely tedious, not to mention tiring. I’ve taken various forms of action, but methinks, no, meknows that I’ll end up moving again soon simply because I can’t plan a life and work and writing around this kind of ongoing racket.

Ooops, their "music" just got louder. And deeper.

Sunday Poem

Once I wanted to ban the bomb
And create a world of peace and love.
Now I want to ban bogan bass
And up feral fundaments sub-woofers shove.

Friggindoofdooffriday

Tomorrow I'm off to the first of five Saturdays that make up the Year of SF and Fantasy workshop at VWC. After a week of morning writing, commuting and arvojobbing, one isn't the freshest daisy in the vase, but hey, I thought, I'll get to bed "early" and drink lots of coffee tomorrow and I'll be right.

Alas, I came home to party music from the neighbour on the one side, and my old friend the waves of low-frequency doof doof hitting me from the other side. This is the first time this has happened - I can usually rely on the nights being as quiet as a country town is supposed to be. Why oh why did it have to be tonight? It'll be impossible to sleep if this keeps up, which will make it hard to get up and catch the early train, and I'll be bleary eyed and brain dead by the time I stagger into the workshop. First impressions? Hmmmm. Ideas? I'll be lucky if I can remember my own name.

*sigh*