Well ok, its not so much the writing thats hard but managing to focus, to keep working on the same novel and not get distracted by the many other projects in the works. To that end I've been focusing on one novel in particular, "Rhysling's Rue". Despite the delay between chapters it seems to be going fairly well. I'm discovering things about the story that I'm writing, things I hadn't really suspected when the concept occurred to me... things and people that I think make it a better story overall.
So I have apparently been attacked by my unruly muse yet again. Mind you i'm not exactly complaining but when I finished the last installment of "Gaia's Children" I had to sit there and wonder just how long it would take for the final chapter of "Murder in the Holy City" to drop off the front page so i wouldn't be bumping myself.
Being a rather impatient sort, I gave all of about 30 seconds thought to that before I decided I didn't really actually care if I bumped myself off(Unless of course some moderator was willing to bend a rule just a teensy little bit).
Lately it seems when I read over what I've written that I can understand why the vote and comment totals are so dismal.
I realize my motivation should not be to gain the approbation of others but to simply express myself and I do try to maintain that mindset.
Apparently a very small subset do find my drivel worthwhile so I will continue to post when the muse strikes... But honestly right now, I just think it isn't worth writing stuff no one wants to read.
To those who did read, thank you and I'm sorry I seem to be incapable of finishing a story.
I have to apologize for the original ending I posted To "Shooting The Rapids: An Adventure. It was rushed and the last 1k words or so had some fairly eggregious typos as well as not quite striking the tone I wanted. I've gone over it a bit though I won't make any claims to proper grammar or spelling... or even some aspects of the timelines of stellar evolution.
On Thursday, February 4th, 2016, my childhood hero died.
Edgar Dean Mitchell was a hotshot test pilot, so good they actually altered the cockpits of aircraft to have him fly them because he was too large to fit otherwise.
He was the 6th man to walk on our moon.
He was the best of us.
Any family would be proud to claim him and I can.
I met him once. I was 12 and he was however old... It was a family reunion at an Episcopal campground on a lake, somewhere around Joplin.
I was in awe, so tongue-tied I could barely speak.
Yesterday I had my court date for name change. The whole process to this date had been a bit time consuming but not difficult. Basically I had to supply a SLED(Criminal) background check, fingerprints and all and a DSS background check to ensure that I wasn't a child abuser or neglect-er.
The policewoman that took my prints was super nice, we wound up having a conversation which starts as those conversations seem to...
"Wow, I wouldn't have had any idea until I looked at the paperwork!"
So the last week has been a little slice of hell...Mixed with a little slice of affirmation(leavened with some idiocy). Anyway, step 1 of getting hubby healthy has been accomplished. Full mouth extraction(Which his cardiologist insisted on prior to surgery to repair a congenital Atrio-Septal Defect). He tried to chicken out and I had to gently bully him into going.
The surgery itself went just fine, although he almost didn't survive check-in. Not from any medical issue aside from my intense desire to strangle him...
I haven't written anything for a while, I've been dead busy with a new job, transitioning and having a great life. As the title of this blog suggests, I should have known it was all too good to be as perfect and wonderful as it seemed.
I always bike and I'm so involved with dodging traffic and not running into things and people that I don't think about myself or how I look or anything. Its like the world isn't relevant. So yesterday, because I had a flat, I walked and I totally had this major freakin moment of self realization/actualization/recognition.
I also realized that the tan on my legs makes me look like I'm wearing a twelve year old's stay-ups.
I went and got a fresh tire and innertube yesterday and just now I went to install them, preparatory to going grocery shopping. The tyre wasn't a problem. The tube, however, had some sort of newfangled valve that I've never seen the likes of and that my tyre pump won't fit.
Oh, and I can totally tell you that using american tools on a bike with metric fittings is a recipe for scraped-up hands and lots of rather inventive cursing....
Anyway, I'm bruised and scraped and I still don't have a bloody working bike.
It was Saturday night, the evening after the airshow(so I thought).
I was a tad pissed, but not too much. I had been unable to even see the airshow from my house, unlike the normal deal where the stunts were mainly focused on one of the airbases’ runways which happened to be not more than a mile or so from my house.
Anyway, when our sort-of kid called and said he was taking the boat out to the harbor to watch the next day’s airshow, I was excited. I had to argue it out with hubby, but I was determined to go, and I was determined not to go as a boy.
I wanted to give yawl the 1989 video, the one that gave me hope for a better world back then, but I think this one is more appropriate. Sadder, wiser, but still hopeful.
There are lots of things to say about Afghanistan's plains, but I think Metallica has done something really important here and I wanted to share the video with yawl.
I might write a story to go with this, but honestly, I think anything I might add would be a pitiful effort beside the story they tell. This is something worthy of Kipling.
A few months ago I remember responding to someone who asked would people be willing to post a photo. Nothing Salacious, just a sort of "Hey, this is me!"
Well, at the time, I didn't have any photos of myself, but I did state my willingness to post one, so here it is. Now whoever asked has to look at my face every time I comment on something. Serves ya right!
That was when my sis visited at the end of Novemeber '09. Great visit, horrible picture. Now let the making fun commence!
Well, I get up today, ready to go run errands and while I'm throwing a braid in and getting ready for a little bicycling odyssey my mom calls. I was unsure whether to answer. After a moment's hesitation I answered.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. She says "Well, we got your letter."
I just mailed this letter to my parents. I figure it's my birthday, why not?
I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just get right to it. Mom, Dad, I am a transsexual. I am transitioning from male to female now and should have done so 25 years ago at least. I debated bothering with telling you, I know that I am dead to you per your religion and have been for 23 years. You disapprove of me for simply being gay, so I’m pretty sure you’ll think this is worse. I actually wish I were just gay, it would have made things so much easier.
I'm trying to be very spare with the storytelling, sketchy even, and allowing, even demanding the music to supply the emotional content. I'm not entirely happy with the results and anyone who has an idea how I could address my artistic shortcomings re this endeavour is welcome to say their piece.
Checks can be made out & sent to:
Joyce Melton
1001 Third St.
Space 80
Calimesa, CA 92320
USA
Note: $6000 is the operating, maintenance and upgrade budget. Amounts received in excess of the $6000 will be applied to long term debt accrued over the last 19 years.
