Bad Moon Rising!

Due to the extreme bad luck I started experiencing once the full moon began to rise last night, this week's installment of Winter's Child is post-poned until tomorrow.

I honestly believe that the full moon was cursed. I was having such a great day. Then it all went to Hell in a handbasket at breakneck speed. It's like I was being punished for having such a good week (up until then). It may even be worthy of a blog post. In fact, if I'm not able to get the installment done for tomorrow, I might just share my bad luck story instead. LOL

Novem Poetry Form

The Novem is another fun form, invented by Robin Skelton, a prolific writer and poet who was instrumental in creating the Creative Writing Department at the University of Victoria (British Columbia, Canada).

The number three is important to the Novem. It consists of three verses of three lines each, and each line has only three words. However, each line has four syllables - 2 one-syllable words, and 1 two-syllable word. Here’s the catch – the placement of the two-syllable word keeps moving. In the first line it appears at the end, in the second it’s in the middle, and in the last line it appears first. Also, you’re going to want to try to have one consonant sound repeating four times in each verse.

But here’s the good news, there is no restriction on subject matter, and there is no rhyme scheme. Getting the syllables in the right place can be a little tricky, but the more you do them, the easier they get. Which is why you’re getting two examples.


The wind rises
leaves rustle but
never let go

days grow colder
their colour starts
changing, they turn

I think autumn
is coming soon
winter comes too.


I see dragons
in sunlit glades
flying in arcs

I see faeries
and waltzing elves
mingling by glens

I see dreamworlds
of mythic gods
before I sleep.

Journaling Journey

Our pasts define us, yet memory is untrustworthy. By keeping a journal, I can capture those memories when they’re still reasonably fresh. Journaling helps me keep a narrative of my life. It keeps me honest with myself.
— John Dumas

Your journal will stand as a chronicle of your growth, your hopes, your fears, your dreams, your ambitions, your sorrows, your serendipities.
— Kathleen Adams

The true purpose of journaling is to celebrate your life. No matter how small or mundane or redundant, each drawing and little essay you write to commemorate an event or an object or a place makes it all the more special.
— Danny Gregory

When I last updated my journal, I realized I had only a few pages left before I’d need to start a new one. This left me in a quandary – do I go online and find a replacement journal, or do I use one of the many blank journals I have sitting on the bookcase behind me.

While this may seem like a no-brainer to most people, here’s the thing. I have a particular “type” when it comes to a personal journal. In my stack there is only one that fits the bill and I really hate to use it because it’s so beautiful. It has a dragon’s head embossed on the cover – too nice to be wasted for such a mundane purpose, right? On the other hand, that’s what it was given to me for. I guess I’m going to suck it up and use it anyway, and worry about the next journal when this one is full.

I’ve been keeping a journal for as long as I can remember. Not all of them were saved, and some of them were pretty sketchy, having more white space than not, but I think it’s safe to say I’ve kept one all of my adult life. One of my sisters is an avid journal-writer – she writes in hers pretty much every day. The other sister . . . not so much. She did when she was younger, but like many of us, found it too time consuming to keep up with.

Journals contain ten categories of life patterns: longing; fear, mastery; (intentional) silences; key influences; hidden lessons; secret gifts; challenges; unfinished business; untapped potential. Each category corresponds to a way we engage or hold back in life.
— Alexandra Johnson

You can call it a journal, a log, a diary, a chronicle, or notebook – whatever you want to call it, the idea is to create a written record of your thoughts, feelings, insights, and memories. More people than ever are keeping a journal these days. Here are a few reasons to start one:

To de-stress.
Sometimes the best therapy is to get things off your chest. A journal is the perfect place to do this. You can write about your thoughts and feeling, relieving your stress and anxiety as you do so. This only works if your honest with yourself though. But keep in mind there’s no judgement in a journal, no one’s going to see it. It’s an outlet for your emotional well-being.

Boost your creativity.
Writing in a journal can stimulate your imagination and creativity. It’s also a great place to capture ideas for future use. You can give free reign to your imagination. Here is a safe place where you can give birth to new ideas without having to censor yourself. Insights and solutions to a problem can result simply by writing about them.

Improve your memory.
Writing things down can act as a reminder of the meaningful things going on around you. You can reflect on past experiences, remembering details that might have been forgotten. This is the place to keep track of important events, people, and places that you don’t want to forget.

Improve your mental health.
A journal allows you to reflect on your thoughts and emotions. It can be an effective way to deal with symptoms of depression and anxiety. When you write about your feelings, it can help you process them, finding ways to cope with them. And it’s a healthy way to release all those pent-up emotions inside you to get them out of your system.

Motivation and satisfaction.
Writing down your goals can help keep you motivated. You can track your progress, gaining a sense of satisfaction when a goal is completed. Even completing a journal entry can give you that sense of accomplishment. You can reflect on daily activities and see how far you’ve come.

Help you to communicate better.
When you write about your experiences and emotions, it can help you better understand yourself, helping you to communicate better with others. It’s also a good way to show appreciation for the people in your life, expressing your gratitude towards them.

Leads to greater productivity.
Writing in a journal can allow you to prioritize tasks and make a plan for your day/week, which in turn can lead to greater productivity. One thing productive people seem to have in common is a system of organization that works for them. Having a written plan in your journal will help structure your time so that you can accomplish all of the tasks you set yourself.

Make a legacy.
Think of your journal as your gift for future generations, an insight into your life. It could become a valuable source of information for your descendants. It can show them what the world was like during your lifetime – your hopes and fears, your dreams, and your struggles and accomplishments. It could some day be a priceless legacy.

Join me here next week when I delve into some of the different kinds of journals you could keep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
The word for last week is . . . backslide.

While I’m doing all right on establishing my morning routine, I’m still getting distracted easily. I do well when I’m in my office in the mornings, but I still tend to linger in the living room (where I eat my lunch) and then it’s kind of a downward slide from there.

My blog posts were done, and up on time, but I had a couple of late nights to get them done. I was good on my journalling, and started a letter to one of my sisters, but not really any other writing.

This is very disappointing. I look back in my day planner and while I have several things jotted down for each day, none of it is very time consuming. I need to start having lunch at the dining room table so I’ll be more inclined to go back to my office afterwards.

The weather is still very much fall-like. Cool enough in the mornings that you need a jacket when you go out, but it warms up rather quickly when the sun is shining, which it’s been doing most days.

Things don’t seem to be as much of a struggle (mentally), I just seem to have backslid into my old habits of procrastination and time-wasting. I can’t help thinking of the song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra that goes: “I wasted my time until time wasted me.” But the only one who can do something about that is me.

NEW WORDS:
2448+639+291+803=4,181
DOWN: 478 – words

I kinda knew the word count would be down from the week before, but that’s because my posts were all shorter. I know, that’s a pretty obvious conclusion, but seriously. Most weeks the different posts will vary both up and down by a few words, but last week the posts all turned out a little shorter. I just said what I had to say in fewer words. It happens.

I took forever trying to figure out what I wanted to write about for last Sunday’s post. The post-COVID thing was sparked by a conversation I had during the stitch-in at the library, where we talked about all the changes that have been going on since then, and not always for the better. I spent way too much time on the internet checking out how it’s affected other writers, but not enough to really get into depth on my topic.

Monday was a picture post, which is usually short on words. Then I took forever to decide on a form for Wednesday’s poetry post – the well for them is starting to run dry. Yes, more forms are invented every day, but I like to be able to talk a bit about their origins and information is not all that forthcoming.

Friday’s post was pared down quite a bit. While the creature’s point of view is important, I don’t want it taking over the story, so I only included the important parts. Guess I’d better start figuring out what I’m going to do for Fiction Fridays when this story is done.

Goals For Next Week:
Try to get the blog posts done a little earlier; find some other writing to work on.

EDITING:
??? Hours

To be honest, I didn’t spend all that much time thinking about Elemental Spirit. Didn’t I say I work better with hard copy pages?

I did pull my notes out for the Illezie, the historic records (that I was planning on starting each chapter with), and the prophecy, but they got buried under a pile of other printouts and I kind of forgot about them. Out of sight, out of mind. *sigh*

And I’m going to have to start marking down the start/stop times for editing because even the super old unsupported version of TraxTime is no longer available. At least not through any sites I have access to. So, old fashioned it is.

Meanwhile, there’s this other book I started writing several years ago that has been on my mind. It’s actually the first in a series of three. I don’t remember if I actually finished it or not, nor how bad of shape it’s in, but I’m having to be firm with myself to ignore the impulse to open it up. I will never get Elemental Spirit finished if I allow myself to be side tracked.

Goal For Next Week:
Ignore my other WIPs that are clamoring for editing and stay focused on Elemental Spirit. Eyes on the prize!

POETRY:
I had a hard time picking a poetry form last week. One was a little too complicated for the time I had, and a couple more were invented forms that I couldn’t find any extra information about.

The Landay was a simple enough form, but there was a LOT of information available about it. And then I got side-tracked by the article Poetry Magazine had written on the subject, which gave the whole form more depth than is apparent at first glance.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my poetry lately. I feel like all I do any more are the forms, and I’m running out of new ones to share. I don’t know what this means for my poetry for the future, but it’s something I’m ruminating on.

And it serves me right. I did NOT write myself a note for my desk, reminding me to at least start printing out my poems to update my big book o’ poems, so I didn’t. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

Goal For Next Week:
Find a new form to share; work on the extra forms. Print poems to update big book o’ poems.

CRAFTING:
I am seriously starting to wonder what I do with all my time! Not only did I not work on my zentangle sampler, I didn’t even figure out what I’m putting in the next square. I’m going to have to step up my game if I want to have it done and turned into a tote bag for November.

The only work I did on the kit was during the stitch-in at the library, but I did get a lot of the satin stitching done, which is my least favorite stitch. Once it’s finished I think I should turn my attention to that non-existent list of Christmas crafts.

I decided against trying to squeeze in the time to sew a skirt or two at this time. Maybe I’ll do it when I’m a little more organized with my other stuff. It’s not the sewing that’s putting me off, it’s having to cut out the pieces for it. Having to set up the table in the office/library so the cats don’t bother me is a bit of a pain.

Goal For Next Week:
Work on my zentangle; work on the kit I started.

WHAT I’M READING:
I’m about halfway though Trashlands by Alison Stine. Slow and steady wins the race I guess. But I want to finish it this week because I have other books waiting to be read. :-D

As a punishment for spending too much time reading on my Kindle, I’ve been trying to limit myself to only reading while on the exercise bike. So last week I read Wild Nights With a Lone Wolf, by Elisabeth Staab, and I’m about halfway through A Midlife Shifter’s Dream, by Ruby Raine.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep up the non-binging of books.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I think that new leaf I turned over is starting to take root, but it needs fertilizer or something.

While I seem to be doing better at starting my day out right, it does tend to fall apart by mid-day. And nothing seems to have changed during my evenings – if I’m not scrambling to get a blog post done, then I’m playing games on the laptop.

Next week is going to be super busy for me. I have an appointment with my mental health counsellor on Monday, a meeting with the stitchery guild on Tuesday morning, followed by an appointment with a new dietician, and Wednesday there’s a gathering with the poetry group. Then Thursday morning I’ll be loading my bags into the car and heading for Kingston for Writersfest. Oh, and if there’s time, Monday there might be a trip to Costco.

This means there will be no dilly-dallying and time wasting!

I would really like to have the installment of Winter’s Child ready to go before I leave, but I need to distill the creature’s part and figure out where her little speeches are going to fit in.

The editing didn’t go all that well last week, and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to go much better this week. But I do plan to take my notes with me, and the rest is on the computer. Going by previous years, once I’m at Writersfest my evenings will be free, and as I recall, the television options are pretty limited. I do have access to streaming services on my laptop, but I really don’t like using it for that.

As for poetry . . . well, as I said I have a poetry gathering on Wednesday, so I probably need to do some poemwork for that, as well my regular poetry post. I’m hoping I can find a form that’s quick and easy. Maybe something that doesn’t rhyme. LOL

I think there’s going to be a presentation by someone who does beadwork at the stitchery guild meeting. It should be really interesting, and maybe it’ll revive my interest in doing beadwork myself. If not, I should seriously think about re-homing some of my supplies.

I’m in a quandary about the kit I’ve been working on. Should I set it aside and focus on my sampler, or should I finish it first? I’ll probably take it with me to the meeting, in case there’s time to do some stitching after the presentation – it’s just easier to work on. But after that I feel like I should focus on my zentangle. Maybe instead of trying to work free-hand, like I did with the first square, draw a few guidelines on the next square like I did the previous one.

I did well with my exercise last week, and I plan on taking my hand weights with me to Kingston. My hotel sits right on a fabulous walking trail, so, weather permitting, I’ll be getting a lot of walking in instead of riding the stationary bike.

So much to do this week, and very limited time in which to do it. But I’ve always said I work better under pressure, so who knows, maybe I’ll get everything I want to do done. Wouldn’t that be surprising? I might even get to relax and enjoy my writing conference.

Stranger things have happened.

Winter’s Child – Part 15

I am the last. Indisputably the last of my Clan, most probably the last of my kind. We’ve been here since the world was born. We watched the lower life forms evolve and die; we survived through cataclysm and ice age. In the end, all it took was the coming of you humans to bring our race to its knees.

My race has no name, we needed none. We just are. Were. Call us the First Ones, if you must label us, for we were here first; long before your ancestors crawled out of the primordial ooze.

I am older than you can imagine. I can remember when my race was pure, long before the ice age taught us about death and dying. We were a race of artisans, musicians, scientists–peaceful and peace loving. Our days and nights were filled with music and dancing and laughter.

We had reached our peak and begun a slow, inevitable slide into ennui when the ice age began and the lesser beasts began dying out. Our scientists thought, at first, that the cold was a temporary thing, as with the changing of the seasons, but then calculations proved we could not outlast the cold should it come to either building well stocked shelters against it or even hibernation. Relocating was pointless as well.

Many died before we found a way to adapt to the cold. It was a great transformation, and when it was done we were changed. No longer were we creatures of the light and warmth, instead we embraced the cold, thrived in it.

Our metabolism adapted to our needs–we had no need for your layers of clothing; warm or cold it was all the same to us. The earth underwent many changes and we grew and adapted to each change. Countless species evolved and grew extinct. We thought you humans would be more of the same. To our great sorry, you were not.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

She stood in the shadows of the trees, watching him. At least he thought it was a she, it was hard to tell. She was tall and thin and white and looked like a picture from the story book Joey got for his birthday.

When she realized he saw her, she made as if to leave, but Joey called out, “Wait. Don’t go.”

She stopped, but looked like she was ready to run any second.

Someone else might have mistaken her for Jack Frost, or maybe one of the frost fairies from the old movie Fantasia, the one his mother made him watch, but Joey knew who and what she was. This was one of Winter's children. There was no doubt in his mind.

He knew he should be afraid, Grandpa's stories had been clear on that, but she didn’t seem scary at all. In fact, she seemed kind of scared herself. She was kind of pretty really. She was wearing a short dress out of a shimmery white material, and her feet were bare. Her hair was short and spikey, like Jodi, his second favorite babysitter.

They stared at one another for a few minutes, then Joey said, “It’s okay. I know what you are. You’re one of Winter’s children, aren’t you?” He smiled and slowly she smiled back.

“Do you live around here?” He knew she probably didn’t, but he was trying to be polite. Mom was always telling him to mind his manners.

She cocked her head but didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t understand what he was saying. There was a new kid in his kindergarten class who came from Japan and he didn’t always understand what people were saying because he didn’t speak English very good.

“My name’s Joey, what’s yours?” Maybe if he kept talking she’d understand.

Again, she didn’t answer, but she kept smiling. The more he talked, the more she seemed to relax.

“I think I’m lost,” Joey admitted. “Do you know how to get to my house?”

Still not speaking, she beckoned him to follow. Joey hesitated only a moment, then stepped forward to take her hand.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here:
Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,  Part 12 Part 13, Part 14,

Landay Verse Form

The Landay is a traditional form from Afghanistan. The name means short, poisonous snake in Pashto.

It is an uneven couplet, having nine syllables in the first line and thirteen syllables in the second. There can be as many independent couplets as you wish, but the final one should end with a “ma” or “na” sound.

While the Landay can rhyme, usually it does not. It’s meant to be a sharp, witty poem, generally dealing with such topics as war, grief, separation, and love, and often criticized traditions and gender roles. They were originally meant to be sung, usually by women.

You can find a fascinating article about the Landay and its importance to Afghani women in Poetry Magazine

Okay, I tried to write my Landay using the traditional subjects, but I failed miserably. But my example does follow the nine/thirteen format.


Contrast

A cold wind sweeps inland, waves crashing,
while those with no where else to go shiver in the dark.

The detritus that is left behind —
broken dreams and hard living, scattering like sea shells.

No permanence for the likes of you
move along, move along, don’t let those roots sink too deep.

The rain comes, but our roof does not leak,
it is cold and dark, but we are safe and warm inside.

We are untouched by what lies outside
and turn a blind eye to the tents on federal land.

We take our privilege for granted
saying prayers each night to avoid accruing karma.

Fallout

The frightening assaults of pandemic terror have vastly increased our vulnerability. At the outset, hope and humor were able to alleviate the sabotage of our living together, until bit by bit, the raging roars and the thundering crashes of the death toll called the shots. The ground zero of our mental structure must inevitably make us remold another thinking pattern.
― Erik Pevernagie

The world needs huge positive energy to fight against the negative forces. Go to the center of your inner begin and generate that positive energy for the welfare of the humanity.
― Amit Ray

It is the poets, artists, and musicians that will carry us through the pandemic attacks into a new reality. They are the ones who tell us how to navigate, breathe, feel, think, enjoy, and fully live our lives. (“Because the world had corona”)
― Erik Pevernagie

There were three of us manning the display booth at the fair yesterday morning, and we were talking about how much we hated technology and how much we resented it being forced upon us. I believe what prompted this was how the city of Toronto is changing their parking meters to ones that you have to use your phone to access.

Anyway, this segued into a discussion about the pandemic, and about how the world has changed – how so much was taken away from us that we’ll never get back. So then I started thinking about how the pandemic changed things, especially when it came to writing and writers.

The first issue we had to deal with was the isolation. I know many writers who are in the habit of using coffee shops for their office. Even when you’re not being social at a café, you’re surrounded by voices, the sounds of people interacting, and the energy of others. Suddenly, this was taken away. They were, in effect, cut off from the world.

Worries and fears became a form of procrastination. Doubts formed. Real world events made fiction seem rather pointless. When the world around us has changed so drastically, who can muster the energy to worry about the lives of fictional people? If you weren’t careful, things could start seeming pointless.

For some, however, the pandemic with its lockdown didn’t really change anything. Writing is already a solitary endeavor. When real life becomes too overwhelming, we can take out our imaginary friends to play with. And the lack of being able to travel left more time to focus on the writing.

The pandemic was an event of historical, epic proportions. History will remind us of the challenges we faced and the losses we suffered. But it also taught us perseverance. We did not give up but triumphed over adversity.

It allowed us to be more in touch with nature as we stayed away from social gatherings. People planted gardens and went out for walks. Some learned to stay in touch using technology, like Zoom.

While some took advantage of their lockdown time and accomplished great things, or at least made good use of their time, others . . . did not. I have to admit, I did not handle the pandemic well. I found it a little overwhelming and, like many others, I tended to withdraw into myself rather than deal with it.

Like it or not, there’s no putting the genie back in the bottle. The pandemic changed the world in ways we’re still discovering. Things will never be the same.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

THE WEEK IN REVIEW
The word for last week is . . . hopeful.

While I still have not got that new leaf turned over, neither have I stomped it right into the ground. The week started out fairly slow, but then seemed to gain momentum as it progressed.

Remember how I used to start out my weeks strong and then they’d peter right out? Well, I seem to be doing the opposite now. But it wasn’t entirely my fault. Yes, I did take Monday off and spent the day reading, but I regretted it the following day when I had my dental appointment and really didn’t feel like doing anything while I recovered.

I rallied on Wednesday and put in a very satisfactory day’s work. Ditto for Thursday. Friday was okay, but it’s usually a short day for writing anyway. It might have been a better week if I hadn’t blown off Monday, but all in all it wasn’t a bad week at all.

Thankfully, the weather has turned more fall-like. The days are still sunny, but not so hot. And the nights are cool enough to sleep comfortably. Yep, it’s my favorite time of the year!

NEW WORDS:
2600+734+405+920=4,659
UP: 207 – words

I have to confess, other than Friday’s serial installment, I was late with every one of my blog posts last week. Not late as in getting them up late, they all showed up on time, but late as in late getting them written. And that includes Monday’s post.

Why was Friday different? Because as I said, my week got better as it went along, and I spent more time in my office. I even watered my plants so their dying wouldn’t distract me. LOL

I’ve been using the original short story I wrote as a kind of outline for Winter’s Child, and I have to say it makes a big difference. I can’t believe how smoothly this serial story is going (*knock on wood*). I’m starting to think there might be something to this plotting business after all. ;-)

I’m still spending too much time just farting around on the computer, and I didn’t really need to spend an entire day reading, but then again, maybe I did. I don’t need to be productive all of the time. I deserve a little downtime once in awhile, don’t I?

Goals For Next Week:
Try to get the blog posts done a little earlier; find some other writing to work on.

EDITING:
Last week – 32 pages
Total pages – 149 pages

Once again I did a little bit of editing at a time, fitting it between other stuff, and it paid off. The first run through is done. After this I’ll have to switch to keeping track of my time instead of my pages. Not quite sure how I’ll do this – there used to be a really cool application called TraxTime, But it hasn’t been supported for 10 or more years, and I haven’t been able to find anything like it. I might have to do it the old-fashioned way and use my watch, recording my start and stop times and doing the math.

The good news is, Elemental Spirit isn’t is as bad of shape as I thought. The bad news is, there’s still a lot of work to be done. Especially in the first half. I need to figure out the prophecy and what’s going on with the Illezie. The good news is that the second half just needs to be fleshed out with more detail. And yeah, character lists with details will definitely help to make my characters more three-dimensional.

Goal For Next Week:
Pick a notebook for character sketches and ideas. Figure out how I’m going to time myself.

POETRY:
I picked a somewhat longer form to do for last week, however, I blew off Monday and was forced to find a shorter form to do Tuesday. It’s funny how distracting pain can be. And how muddled your thinking becomes when you take something for it.

But while I was looking through my list of unused forms, I pulled out a few to be working on when I get the chance, just so I’ll have a few done ahead of time. You never know when there might be a poetry emergency. And I’ve left the files for these forms right on my desk top so I can’t miss them. br>
I made no progress on updating my big book o’ poems. Maybe I’ll write myself a note and stick it to my desk. Something like: Don’t forget to start printing out poems! Think it’ll work? It probably couldn’t hurt.

Goal For Next Week:
Find a new form to share; work on the extra forms. Print poems to update big book o’ poems.

CRAFTING:
I finished my second square on my zentangle sampler, and I have the box ready for the third. I haven’t quite settled on the stitches for that one, but it will be several different ones, not just a single stitch like the last square. Maybe something with angles instead of curves.

Tuesday was a regular meeting with the stitchery guild. There was a large turn-out, which was nice to see, although I kind of like the smaller group that meets at the library just as much. It was mentioned that we were once again putting out a display at the fair in the next town, and volunteers were needed to help set up, tear down, and man the table during fair hours. A sheet was passed around, and it was kind of sad to see how few people were willing to spend a couple of hours doing their part.

I went and helped set up, and volunteered to man the table for a couple of hours both Saturday and today. And I’ll be going over later today and to help tear down again. And yes, I was actually able to get some stitching done during my shifts.

I like wearing skirts. That’s my favourite part about the summer – sundresses and skirts. And just because the weather is cooling off I see no reason to give up my skirts. Somewhere in my fabric stash I have two pieces of a very fine corduroy that had been purchased with skirts in mind. I just have to find them.

Goal For Next Week:
Work on my zentangle; pick a pattern and material to make a new skirt (or two).

WHAT I’M READING:
Still making progress on Trashlands by Alison Stine, although my reading slowed down a bit last week.

I finished Bearly a Chance, by Krystal Shannon, Dragon’s Captive, by Cassie Alexander, and Tiger's Gambit, by Minette Moreau. Now I’m between books again.

However, I updated my Goodreads (finally!) and I am 6 books past my goal for the year. My goal was to read 50 books for the year, and I’ve read 56.

Goal For Next Week:
Try and even out the reading between the tree books and the Kindle.

THE WEEK AHEAD:

I’m taking one more shot at turning over a new leaf, because you can only turn over a leaf so many times before it becomes mulch. But if that happens, I’ll just come up with a new plan.

This week I have a coffee date on Monday, a stitch-in at the library on Tuesday, and Thursday I play chauffeur to the hubby who needs a ride to and from the hospital for his five-year post cancer colonoscopy. And there might be a trip to Costco squeezed in there at some point, but that’s only a possibility.

Winter’s Child may not end up as long as I would have liked, but I still really like the way it’s turning out. I’ll have to see if there’s another one of my failed short stories I could try this with. Who knows, I could end up with a volume of short stories, as opposed to my volumes of flash stories.

The editing went well last week, and as much as I hate to leave the hard copy behind, it’s time to start making changes to the electronic version. But first, there’s still handwritten parts to be done. Like the Akash prophecy, the hierarchy and role of the Illezie, and the character sketches. I’m starting to feel like I’ve only got the tip of the editing iceberg under my belt. Time to dive deep this week.

I’ve been putting off updating my big book o’ poems the same way I was doing with the editing. Time to suck it up and just do it, maybe break it down into manageable parts. I can go through the poems first and make sure they all have a date on them, then print them out. I might get it done this week, chances are good it’ll take more than a week. But I gotta start somewhere.

Now that I’m making progress on my zentangle again, I need to figure out just how big a tote bag I want to make. Do I want to have six squares on the side, or nine? Nine would bean I have to cut another piece of material to make the other side, and then sew it together, I couldn’t just fold it in half. Although the benefit there is that I could make a reinforced bottom for it. And do I want to do zentangle on both sides, or do I want to do an applique on the other side?

I did nothing towards a Christmas craft list last week, and I’m pretty sure I won’t get it done either. Nor did I check out that new crafting kit I’ve got. Maybe I need to make a separate list of craft related things I want to do this week.

Part of my turning over a new leaf is supposed to be getting regular exercise, and I have to admit I’ve been very slack in that department the last few weeks, and I’m beginning to feel it. It’s strange though, I’m getting up at pretty much the same time as I was, so I’ve got lots of time to get my workout in, I just . . . don’t.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe because it’s so extra dark in the mornings now. If that’s the case, I need to get over it, because it’s not going to be getting bright again until next spring. Time for some tough love, I guess. No reading on the Kindle unless I’m on the bike. *sigh*

I should print out this section of the wordage report and post it on my desk. Just to remind myself of my goals for the week.

Think it’ll help?

Winter’s Child – Part 14

The snow wasn’t as deep in the woods as it had been in the back yard, but Joey wouldn’t have cared if it was. He was on a mission, a secret mission for his grandpa. He could pretend to be one of those monster hunters, like grandpa liked to watch on television.

He pushed through the brush and ducked under low hanging branches, the fresh air tasted cold on his tongue. Things would be different, he was sure they would be. Back when grandpa had been living with them there were lots of times when he was supposed to be sleeping that he heard his parents fighting about grandpa and grandpa’s stories.

They didn’t believe him, but Joey knew the stories were true. Grandpa said so. And the fighting didn’t stop after his grandpa left, either. They started arguing about something called “misplaced guilt” and that being taken off the mountain was what killed grandpa.

Joey knew, deep down, that all he had to do to make things right was to find one of Winter’s children. Then his mom and dad would know that grandpa’s stories weren’t fibs and they’d stop fighting. Everything would be okay again, and grandpa could come home from that place he had to go to. Heaven, they called it.

After wandering deeper into the woods for an hour or more, Joey started to get tired. The clouds of steam puffing from his mouth intrigued him and he sat down with a quiet plop in the snow to rest for a while and watch himself breathe.

Even when he went on rambles with grandpa he’d never been so far into the woods before. It was real quiet out here. And even though he thought he knew where the path grandpa had talked about was, things looked really different with snow all over them. Not for a minute did he think he was lost though.

He rested until the puffs of air from his mouth got smaller, ignoring the melting snow seeping through his snow pants. At last, curiosity satiated, he climbed to his feet to continue on his way. A snap from ahead sounded loudly in the silence. He looked up and froze.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

James and Maggie took their time coming home from the luncheon. Between their busy work schedules and the stress of first looking after Joseph, then dealing with his estate, they hadn’t been able to engage socially in a long time.

“I think we should try to do this more often,” James said as they drove towards home.

“What, go to a faculty luncheon?”

“Very funny. No, I mean go out to lunch or dinner. Be among other adults once in a while.”

“Like a date?” Maggie suggested.

James took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “Exactly. A date. Maybe we could even swing dinner and a movie once in a while.”

“Or the theatre?” Maggie asked wistfully.

“Let’s not get carried away,” James said, chuckling when she mock-punched him in the arm. “I think that was very sweet of you to buy that new video game for him because we left him behind to do grown up things.”

“Yes, but I'm sure it’ll mean more to him that you turned down a game of pool and a chance to play poker tomorrow so you could stay home and play in the snow with him.”

“I’m sure we’ll build a veritable army of snowmen.”

“He does love his snowmen,” Maggie said with a sigh.

They made it home and James left the car idling in case Christine needed a ride home. A white-faced Christine met them at the door.

Fear clutched at James’s throat. “Christine? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I—I—can’t find Joey.”

Maggie pushed by her and into the house. Unmindful of the snow she was tracking in, she swept through the house, calling Joey’s name.

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” James barked.

Tears filled Christine’s eyes. “He wanted me to go build snowmen with him, but I told him not until it stopped snowing. I thought he was in his room playing, but I just checked and he’s not there. I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house. I’m so sorry, Mr. Preston. I don’t know where he is.”

“James?” Maggie called from the back door. “You need to see this.”

James hurried to the back door, Christine trailing after him. Maggie pointed wordlessly to the empty peg where Joey’s snowsuit usually hung. The bench by the door had been dragged over to just under it.

James flung open the back door and took in the scene at a glance. Trampled snow everywhere. Snow balls for a snowman arranged side by side. And a trail of small footprints leading into the woods.

“Joey!” James called. “Joey, where are you buddy? Time to come home now. Joey!”

But there was no answer.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here:
Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13,