Am I the only one who’s getting an influx of spam from Outlook e-mail accounts? About half of them are getting through the spam filter, and if I had to estimate, there have been sixty or seventy in the last couple of days. I don’t want to turn off the option to let people who aren’t WordPress users comment on my posts, but this is getting ridiculous. And they’ve started swearing–and threatening to touch me, too! Here’s the last message I sent to spam:
F*ckin’ amazing issues here. I am very happy to peer your article. Thanks so much and i am looking ahead to touch you. Will you kindly drop me a mail?
That was on one of my Second Seat posts. What the bloody hell?
I want to start this post by freely admitting that before I opened the tab to start writing it, I moved away from my copy of Fifty Shades Darker. Being that this is mostly a family-friendly blog, I didn’t want to be forced to cheat on the off-chance that I would actually come across a sentence that didn’t contain, “Oh my.”
Moving into a much more comfortable spot (in more ways than one), I looked around and found that my copy of On Fire was the closest thing to hand. I opened it to a random spot, which happened to be Alisha Costanzo’s story, “The Mark of the Phoenix.” I wish I could tell you what it’s about, but I haven’t had time to read it yet. It’s a lovely book, though; one of my own stories is in it. 😀
But I digress. The sixth, seventh, and eighth words at the top of page 266 are “the conversation carried.” There’s a comma in there in the original text, but it makes more sense to try to talk about the words without the comma to confuse things. My first thought was of sitting in a movie theatre, near someone who won’t shut up all the way through the movie. They have the ads on now to tell people to shut off their phones, but I’m guessing no one has come up with an effective ad to tell people to zip their lips. You’d think it would be common sense, but it’s more than some people seem to possess. It’s why I loved the drive-in … or one of the reasons. If you’d known me as a teenager, you’d likely know that I steamed up my share of car windows at the drive-in. …because I had them rolled up to keep the mosquitoes out, of course. Get your mind out of the gutter! And yeah, having a mosquito buzzing in your ear while you’re trying to watch a movie is about as bad as rude people talking in your ear. So where was I? Oh yeah. Mosquitoes don’t have conversations. Or do they? Maybe they do …
Conversations carry so much farther nowadays than they did back when drive-ins were a thing. Back when one had to either spend too much money on a phone call or wait weeks for the reply to a letter via snail mail. Does anyone actually write letters anymore? I’d like to. I wish I had the motivation. It would be cool to do as a promotional device for fans of, say, an author. Hmmm …
I don’t remember if it was in response to a comment or just his general opinion, but I once wrote a letter to the husband of a friend, explaining why I had tattoos. This was years ago now, so I also can’t recall what, exactly, was in the letter, but apparently the writing of it made an indelible impression on me.
I can, however, tell you what made me get my tattoos. My first was a rose on my ankle, which reminded me of my father. Roses were his favourite flower. The dragon on my chest is close to an image I was obsessed with as a young teen. I drew it everywhere. My butterfly on the back of my neck was for the emergence of my life as a mother. I’ve had two more since I wrote the letter, but those three are the ones I have the most connection with. The memories that required me to have an indelible mark placed upon me, so that I’d never forget.
Strangely, I find my tattoos comforting. They are a guarantee that as long as I can still see, I’ll know that I had a life worth writing the story of on my skin.
I strive to do everything economically. Balance my budget, manage my time effectively, eat things with not too many calories, and plan my movements around the house. You know, stuff like piling things at the bottom of the stairs to take all at once or the next time I go up, rather than make a special trip. But then the Fitbit came into my life and screwed everything up. Or at least the economy of movement bit.
Now I take extra trips from the fridge to the table in an effort to get more steps in. I know I should just bite the bullet and go for a walk, but the bullet is an ice cube at the moment and it’s just too much bloody trouble to get all dressed only to turn around and run back to the safety of the warmth of my house after going 10 feet up the street because my nose broke off when I went to wipe it.
Can you tell I write fiction?
Fiction with run-on sentences? (I don’t! I edit my fiction, damnit! I’m not allowed to edit this. Stop judging me!!!)
Where was I?
Oh yes, economy of movement. It’s all about multi-tasking. Those of us who are good at that have learned to plan our movements ahead of time so as not to waste energy doing things that are unnecessary. I used to walk around the track at the fitness centre all the time. That really makes no sense, as I’m using energy and never going anywhere. So I used the time plotting stories in my head, listening to music that would inspire me. I miss going to the track, but I’ve been too busy to go. I must start going there again. Because let’s face it, I ain’t getting many steps in between the fridge and the table unless I’m eating my own weight in snacks to keep myself doing something worthwhile.
I’ve never been boisterous. Such activity exhausts me, even watching it. Which doesn’t mean I’m not often on-the-go, but you won’t find me jumping around.
I purposely chose the calmest dog in the litter. This is him being boisterous beside me.
Lack of boisterousness, it seems to me, is taking on a new face in the world. I imagine at one point it meant walking slowly for miles to get to school (uphill both ways, of course), or steadily working on whatever needed to get done. In present times there is no need, often, to leave our homes to get the things we want. More people than in decades are working and learning at home–I was going to say more than in history, but it’s like somehow we’re going back to the same scenario when people were home-taught by their parents and worked the land. Only now we’re stationary, working and learning at home from long distances. Human interaction, like the old days when farmers rarely saw anyone outside their families, is slowly reverting to minimal, but for different reasons and by different means.
Wow. That took a rather un-boisterous philosophical turn, didn’t it? Something to think about.
I have to say that the first thing to come to mind when I decided on the prompt word “resolution” was the talk around the Christmas dinner table of our friends’ new 4K television. I had no idea what “4K” meant until someone explained to me that it was the screen’s resolution. It’s apparently (the picture, that is) more real-looking than real life. Enough to make you wonder what, exactly, it would take to really make our eyes work to their fullest. Maybe there’s more than just corrective lenses.
Then there’s the resolution on the screen of my new laptop. Yes, I had to buy one. The old one keeps crashing on me, which means it’s unreliable. Also the internal battery is almost dead and I keep getting a message to say the display driver has stopped working. As I can’t work without a computer, I had no choice. … that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Windows 10 is going to take some getting used to, as well as the new mouse pad that I can’t seem to fix to stop opening things I just want to scroll past. I may have to contact tech support for that one, as it’s really annoying when I want to stay in the chapter I’m working on in Word. Grrr.
Speaking of chapters, I’m getting my second book in the The Great Dagmaru series ready for beta readers. I hope to publish it in February!
Which brings me to my new year’s resolutions. First, get book two and maybe even book three published. I’d like to make the time to take more courses this year, as I only have five years to get them all done for my editing certificate. Money’s an issue, as is time, but it’s a bit of a conundrum as I can make more money if I have the certificate. Kinda like not being able to get a job without the experience, and not being able to get the experience without a job. I’ve always found that to be extremely frustrating. Where was I? Oh yeah, resolutions.
I got a Fitbit for Christmas, so I’m going to try to use it as motivation to get moving a bit more. Since I started editing full time, my weight has gone up and my fitness level is in the basement. I have to change that for the good of my well-being.
I think it’s been three years now since I made the resolution (added to my wish-list?) the goal of spending one weekend alone in my house. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure this will be the year! I’d also like to go on some sort of vacation this year, but I can’t see it happening at this point. Again, money (or lack thereof).
I’m really loving this new laptop screen. Suggestions for Netflix movies are welcome.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a style that one could cramp. As a teenager, I went by the general style of “get away with anything I can,” yet nothing in particular sticks out much. I didn’t smoke or do drugs, and by the time I started drinking, my mother had stopped. So the water in the booze to keep the level up went unnoticed. I think it might have ended up being so watered down that even I didn’t bother with it.
My style now amounts to being alone as much as possible so I can work. Oooh, I’m such a party animal in my old age. 😛 In fact nothing cramps my style any more as much as actual cramps do. And believe me, my walk has style for the first few minutes in the morning.
Now, just don’t get between me and my coffee. Or I’ll cramp your style.
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The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
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I spend so much time reading, editing, and (occasionally) writing fiction these days, I sometimes find myself narrating my movements around my house. Usually only in my head … usually. So I have to ask myself, why bother with ink? I do suppose it helps convey my narration to other people … but seriously, do you need to know I need to buy more toilet paper? My narration is incredibly interesting, as you can see.
Speaking of ink, I’ve recently discovered the joy of gel pens. Particularly Papermate InkJoy gel pens. They’re fantastic to write with. They make me want to write … well, pretty much anything. Shopping lists, permission slips to send my son off on field trips, notes about other people’s books … Hey! I should write a book of my own! Yeah, I should get on that.
I’m sitting here looking at my inky black cat. Why in heaven do we think of black when the word “inky” comes along? Ink comes in so many different colours now. We’re not living in an age where we have to use a feather to write with. And a pot of ink … can you imagine? Having to do that? Our computer screens would be a mess!!
Hear ye, hear ye! I’ve got absolutely nothing to say. Nothing that doesn’t sound like a broken record, at least:
I’m tire … I’m tire … I’m tire … I’ screeech
I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to find an onomatopoeic word that describes a needle scratching across a record. (It took me far too long to get that word right. You know the one I’m talking about.)
Anyway, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m exhausted. Yet again. I think I may be close to burning out. I seriously need a vacation. One that will allow me to just hibernate with a book … not a book that I have to work on. Another thirteen-hour day today … I forgot to eat dinner. I probably shouldn’t do that before I go to sleep.
I think I might just treat myself to an hour of Outlander (the show, not the book – I’ve already read the series three times) before I go to sleep tonight. And a cup of tea. Yeah.
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