Under Wrap

At Bowling Green State University in NW Ohio for eldest daughter’s last swim meet of the season.  Wrote the first half of this a couple of days ago.  Shifting about on my butt-pad on the bleachers in the natatorium, I’d a few hours to see the rest.  And well into, if not all of Ep30, as well.  There’s one more idea I plan to unveil, then I hope to get everyone that belongs there back to Portland.

Two days ago, while typing the first bit of this episode, my wife was catching up to Ep 28.  It was late in the evening, and getting dark outside, both of us on the couch.  After awhile, she sighed.  I looked up and right to see where she was; ah, she’d just finished.  She turned to me with an odd look on her face.

“About how many words is this?”

“I think Part Three is about 16,000…”

“No.  I mean the whole thing, up until this.”  She gestured at what she’d been reading on her screen.

“Ummm.  I’d guess maybe 36-38 thousand words?”

“Thirty eight thousands words, and just now we have a kiss with feeling behind it.  Just WTF kind of ‘romance story’ is this?!”

“Uhhh…?  A really slowly paced  one?”

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“And if I Recover…”

Title from a song from the band, Chvrches.  They’re pretty good.  Look ’em up.

Finally wrapping things up from this battle.  There’s still much to be discovered:  past and present.  And:  here and somewhere else.  I pray I can see more through these shadows to write more.  For those of you that swing that way, pray for me.

No one leaves comment!  Is it broken?  I shall try from my wife’s laptop, Togame, and see.

Below the fold?  I see dead people.

[edited; because I’m sober, now]

Continue reading ““And if I Recover…””

Weak.

A week since writing anything.  I’d like to blame someone besides that SOB who’s picture keeps showing up on my driver’s license. Once more, my Machine Civilization love triangle is in a war zone.  WTF am I thinking?  If anyone knows, please let me know.

I’ve been a mix of both busy and lazy.  I think that I’ve a possible work-around:  on those days when I don’t have to make dinner for my family, I start drinking coffee at work at the end of the day.  That way, I come home with the energy to write.  Toss back some gin or rye while I let the dogs out, then I’ve the mental looseness to write.

Also, I was afraid that I couldn’t see how the battle was going to play out.  End, yes.  Play out?  No.  So:  baby steps; break the problem down into manageable parts.  So, here’s the part from Gil’s perspective.  If I can talk my wife into getting pizza tomorrow night, I can get part 3 typed. Continue reading “Weak.”

Honestly…

… I don’t think they’re going to attack.  I could be wrong:  it might be a huge loss of face for their chieftain to suddenly call this off, but there are ways.  Knowing you’re about to break the tip of your spear is a great reason to call off a battle.  Just how barbaric are they?  I’ve no idea.  But I suspect something else.  We’ll see.

This episode was a pleasure to write!  I hope I can keep it up for a bit until I can find a stop-point to Part III, allowing me to work on my kid’s book.  I refuse to rush either.

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Turning away from Port

Which is to say, this morning, my wife is no longer a cyborg:  she had her port removed from her upper right chest.  That was the mechanism through which she received her chemo back in January.  While there is still a shade of doubt about her status, it was deemed healthy enough that her port be removed today.  Unlike last time, 15 years ago, this was done under surgical conditions.  Only took about 20 min, but the recovery was an hour, then me bringing her home an hour after that.  Originally, I’d planned to return to work for half a day, but she was hurt and would be alone.

Screw work.  She slept and I checked on her every 20 min.  By 1400, she was stable enough for me to go get D&D (daughters and dogs) from the in-laws.  By 1600, she was up and about on her own, but still a bit addled.  I made Mapu Tofu for an early dinner, and afterwards retired to write what’s below.  I think I might edit it, tomorrow.

Oh:  belated thanks for all the ‘following’ and ‘likes’.  I guess someday I’m going to have to turn this into a real book?  Meh.  Time be time, mon.

Continue reading “Turning away from Port”