Stats

I'm endlessly fascinated by my blog stats. Not really surprising, since I'm kind of self involved and all, but I really can't get enough of looking at my stats page.

Over the life of this blog (which is what, six months? I think I started in May? June? I don't know. Not very long) I've gotten three hundred and something pageviews. Not very many--not really surprising, I am hardly an Internet Giant. But, the international composition of those pageviews is really interesting (to me. Sorry, everyone else)

See!
United States 290--no real surprise. Hey there Americans!
Brazil 12--Hi Brazil! I don't know any of you! Wow!
Canada 6--I may know some of you.
Denmark 6--Pretty sure I don't know anyone here. Hello!
United Kingdom 6
Russia 3--huh. Hi Russia!
China  2--I really don't know anyone from China
Germany 2--Guten Tag, Deutschland! Wie geht's?
India  2--This is new today. Hello, India!
Norway  2--I do know some Norwegians. I don't know if they read this blog.

For some reason, the last bit of that sentence didn't show up when I first posted this. So if you are reading this late, congratulations! You get the extra special full sentence edition!

The other stat that I like? The one that shows the Google searches that lead them to me. Mostly it's either my name or the blog title, but "see jane fly" and "Tyler Colvin video" also apparently lead to me.
My life is so interesting, yo.

Is it really only Tuesday?

Last night I went out with some friends, to catch the final dress of Hair at the University (free final dresses open to the public are one of my favorite things, since I am too poor to go to theater otherwise). It was an entertaining show, and a good time, right up until I got into my car to go home. At that point, my car decided it was time to stop being a car and start being a lifeless box on wheels.

No power. Ok, the battery was dead, I called AAA and asked for a jump and they sent a tow truck. After a lot of trouble, which the truck guy attributed to his cables being faulty, the car started and I went home.

I pulled into my parking spot, turned off the car, and it promptly went dead again. No dome light, nothing. Attempts to start it again were useless. I even had to lock it manually, since the automatic locks were out.

So this morning I called for another tow truck, and got towed to a shop, where I was told they wouldn't have time to look at it until tomorrow. So I hiked back home, wishing it had happened either earlier or later in the week--we were going to go shopping today, so are pretty low on food things. Also, Theo has a bad cold, so I am trying to get him healthy and not get sick.

So far, this is not my favorite week.

Focus

Why can't I focus? I have always been bad at it, but lately...it's just depressing. I have tons of homework to do, and I have to look for jobs, and write my stupid novel and try to make the previous stupid novel less stupid, AND the house is a mess even though I just cleaned it, WTF.

But no, I do homework for five minutes, then spend half an hour poking at the internet, and trying to find the kitten, who has come back twice since the first day I saw her, and eating some pie, and staring out the window, and OH HEY, THEO IS HOME...

I am not even able to focus on blogging about how I can't focus. Why? Why does this happen? Where is that kitten? What is wrong with me?

Also Theo just grabbed my fingers and made me type this: Jam is tasty.Yum jam!

This will not end well.

Kitten

When Theo opened the door to leave for school this morning, a kitten walked in to the apartment.

She ( I didn't check, but I am just going to go with it) wasn't a tiny baby, but she was still pretty far from grown. I don't know why she was on our porch (we live on the second floor), but she seemed quite pleased to come in. She checked out the apartment, sniffing around and crawling onto shelves and under furniture. She seemed particularly enamored of the office closet.

We aren't allowed to have animals where we live, and I was kind of afraid she would pee on something, so after about ten minutes I took her outside, even though she was adorable and purry and had a fluffy tail. I set her on the porch and tried to do some schoolwork.

Two hours later, I went to water my outdoor plants, and the kitten came back into the house. I figured that if she had been hanging out this long I might as well let her stay a bit longer, and I gave her a bowl of water. She hung around a while longer, doing some more exploring and sitting on my shoulder. The visit was cut a little short when she started making little kitten-puking noises, and I once again evicted her to the porch.

I left a little while later to run some errands. The kitten was sitting on the porch, and she followed me down the stairs and out to the street. I don't know where she went after that--I hope she has a home. She seemed pretty well fed and friendly, but I am fairly tempted to get some cat food to have on hand in case she comes back.

Old Stories #2- Current story!

So. When last we met, I had just finished my four-day web institute for my grad program. Basically, I sat in a room for four days and had way, way too much information shoved into my brain. The last couple of weeks have mostly been settling in to doing classwork, and continuing to look for work. Boring boring.

So! Today I bring you the first page of a current short story WIP. I don't usually write short stories anymore, I don't usually write science fiction, and I almost never write about adults. This story is all three, and has been massively tricky to write!

Working title for this is "Ghost", but that is subject to change.

*
When Andy Rollins started spouting to anyone who would listen that he was seeing ghosts, it got him more than a few funny looks.Folks on  Rainmaker VII  don't much hold with superstition. It didn't help that Andy was the chief compactor on  hydrogen deck. The thought that he was crackin' up didn't go down too good.

I work in compression--two decks below hydro, where we do the actual assembly--fusing the H with oxygen to fill the vats with water. Vital work, but the noise and heat is enough to make anyone crazy. Been more than a few times I've heard things when I get off shift--getting out of comp leaves your ears ringing like nothin' else. Really, it's a wonder it was Andy and not me who went nuts.

He come down to compression deck two shifts after I'd first heard about him seeing things, to warn me that the latest H delivery had been short by nearly a million tons. Not news I wanted to hear--we were already behind on production, and it was planting season down on Homeworld. Had to rain in 8 days, and we were already behind, since the main compressor was down. Component issue was the last thing I needed.

"Goddamn, Andy," I said, screaming to be heard over the whomp-whomp of the compressors. "What am I supposed to do?"

He shrugged, looking unhappy. Andy always hated to disappoint anyone. His family had come from Base3, about two months out from Homeworld, and he had been supposed to get a good job and a spot for them on the surface. Closest he ever got was Rainmaker VII, hovering in the upper troposphere. Not that we could see the planet from here. Weather ships don't get windows. I don't think he ever got over the guilt from his mother dying on a Base.

"There's nothing I can do, Lisle." Andy said. "it was the ghosts."

*

Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuun. 

Web insitute.

Four days of learning. Learned. Library learning. Informations? Many words. Much learnings. Searching good. Many informations. COFFEE TIME!!! More coffee. Sugars. Eat the sugars for brain learnings.

Sleep now.

Running

I hate running. I hate it with the burning fire of a thousand suns. I once promised myself that, after surviving the hell that was high school gym class, I would never again run unless something large and clawed was chasing me.

Unfortunately, I hate being out of shape just a little bit more than I hate running.

I spent a lot of years being very, very out of shape. At the end of my sixth grade year I got really sick, and was homebound for six weeks. My asthma, formerly a fairly minor case that was only really triggered with smoke or heavy exercise, got really bad. I was on steroids for my lungs and I gained a significant amount of weight. Moving at all was very difficult. Being in middle school just made the problem worse--it's not a good time to be overweight, particularly if you also stand out for being tall and kind of nerdy.

It took a long time for me to get comfortable in my skin. I lost most of the weight, though it took years and I am by no means thin now. What I am, is capable. I am in good shape, I can climb a mountain or bike for miles or lift  heavy things that need to be lifted. I have come a long way from having to rest between flights of stairs.

When I moved at the start of this summer, the two things, other than my family, that I knew I would miss the most were having a regular, reliable mechanic who I knew, and having a gym membership. Because without a gym with assorted exciting fitness classes, staying in shape gets a lot harder, and without a job--I am still looking--I couldn't justify the price. I would have to do the unthinkable. Go running.

Run. Regularly. Even though it still makes me want to die or throw up. I am in good overall shape, but running, I think,  is sort of a specialized skill that my muscles still protest. I have actually improved a lot this summer. The percentage of my route that I walk has gone down, and I have gotten faster. But it still sucks, and I still hate it, and I am writing this blog post in part to delay having to put my shoes on and hit the street.

But I guess my time is up, and I have to go. Tomorrow is my first real day of school--I have four days of 8-5 in person classes before the online lessons start, and that doesn't leave me with lots of time to exercise. So I really have no excuse to not go today.

Damn it. I hate running.

Old Stories #1- Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods

I'm lazy and bad at coming up with new content. So from time to time, I think I am going to post a random page or two of some of my old stories. I think the oldest ones I have are from high school, I have several from college creative writing classes, and I have some from the last year or so.  They won't be in order, and probably won't make much sense, but I can feel good about myself for updating, so I think that makes it a win.

This first excerpt is from the first story I did in my intro creative writing class in college. This scene is from the first third of the story.


Morgan and Fiona in the Deep Dark Woods. 

The morning promised another of the hot bright days that seemed to be the rule that June. There had been a thunderstorm the night before, and the air was oppressively humid.  Morgan was eating breakfast when Fiona, sweat dripping down her freckled nose, burst into the kitchen and struck a dramatic pose. “There has been a rain of frogs,” she proclaimed, “and I need you to help me get rid of them. Are those pancakes?”

Morgan got her a plate, knowing that she would not tell him anything until she got fed. He suspected that she spent most of her free time coming up with outlandish statements to spring on him at breakfast. Fiona’s family were cold cereal people.

When she had carefully licked the last drops of syrup from her plate she sat back and folded her hands in front of her, waiting for Morgan’s attention. “Last night,” she began, “during the storm, I heard a sort of plopping on the roof. Not rain, more like splatting. I got out of bed and looked outside, but it was dark—“

“As night often is”

She glared, “and all I could see was that there were larger things mixed in with the rain. So this morning I got up early and went outside and right off I noticed guts! Guts everywhere!”

“That’s disgusting, Fi.”

“Well, once I got past the guts I saw that there were absolutely thousands of frogs lying about. Most of them were dead—splattered on the ground, their guts everywhere—“

“Still gross.”

“--but there were still a bunch of them hopping around. And so you have to help me save them, because it’s going to be very hot today, and I think they’ll dry out and die. So we have to move them to the creek.”

Morgan looked at Fiona—she certainly seemed serious at least. But her imagination was a touch overactive, and if she wasn’t sufficiently entertained she would start to entertain herself.

“Morgan! We have to go now, before they all dry out!”

Morgan was fairly sure that he would have noticed a rain of frogs, but he supposed it could have been a very localized storm. “Fine,” he said, “let me get my shoes.”

Wedding

The biggest drama at my wedding was the issue of The Suit.
My husband and I both got our wedding clothes on Etsy, we posted alchemy requests and found people to custom make us outfits. Mine went perfectly, and I had a great dress a month before I needed it.

His process was more complicated. Suits are harder to make than dresses, and it took longer to find a tailor who was willing to custom make a three piece suit for an affordable amount. The one he eventually found lives in France. She had a great portfolio, and was willing to do the whole thing, shipping included, for $300.
We knew the timing would be pretty tight. The deal was finalized five weeks before the wedding, and the tailor promised to get the suit in the mail a week before, with the fastest transatlantic shipping available.

It's easy to make that sort of call five weeks out, but a week before the wedding we were starting to get nervous. The suit was finished and in the mail 8 days before the wedding. Unfortunately, it looked like it wouldn't be fast enough. We got married in my hometown, which is three hours away from where we live now. We had to be there two days before the Friday wedding, and it was pretty obvious on Monday when the suit was still stuck in French customs that we weren't going to get it before we had to go.

After a bit of quietly freaking out, we called his uncle, who lives in the same town we do and was coming to the wedding. We learned that the uncle was planning to drive down Friday morning. He agreed to check our mailbox for the next two days and see if the package was there.

All of this was complicated by the fact that our mail is delivered on a very erratic schedule. Sometimes it is there before noon, sometimes we don't get it until six or six-thirty. There's no way to tell when it might get there. The suit required a signature for pickup, so in order to get the package our mail would have to get there in time for the uncle to check it, get the pickup slip, and go to the post office.

Thursday afternoon we got a call--the slip had been delivered, but when the uncle had gone to the post office to pick up the package he was told that the carrier was still out. The post office branch closed at six, and with the erratic mail pattern, there was no guarantee that the carrier would be back in time. Since the wedding was at 11 AM, if the package wasn't delivered in time that night there would be no way to get it to us. We looked at local rental places, just in case.

The carrier got back to the post office at 5:55. The uncle got the suit. He would be getting to us at 10. The wedding, as I said, was at 11. It was tight.

The wedding was in my grandmother's back yard. I called her and asked if she could have an iron ready so the Boy could press the suit before he wore it.  We crossed both fingers and toes that his uncle wouldn't have car trouble.  There was also the question of whether the suit would fit. It was made to order, but he had never tried it on, and that close to the ceremony there wouldn't be time to get a rental.

I didn't actually see the suit arrive. When I got to the house just after ten though, the Boy was standing in the living room, ironing his pants. They even fit.

The Sandbox Saga, Part 4

So, returning to a story that I have been neglecting. When last we saw our heroes--the Princess of the Downstairs Bathroom (now deposed) and her Bodyguardin' Friend, immortal due to a freak military accident, and slaves of a tribe of feral children due to really terrible luck--they had just been introduced to another slave in the desert, the former queen of a nearby country who had been captured by the feral children several years previously.

The Feral Children were many things--excellent fighters, wielders of enormous power gathered through the ritual sacrifice of giant ants, and remarkably good architects. However, they were still children. Lizzie, the leader was somewhere between eight and ten. She was the oldest by a year or so. Most of the others were a bit younger, and the two plastic babies were...babies. Afternoon naps were common in the halls of Summercastle, and even those who felt they were too old for naps often dozed off over their books of ancient ant-lore.


The Queen--like all the non-feral players, she didn't get a name--did not look like much of a ruler. Like the girls, her head was shaved and she was dressed in sand-stained rags. She was also batshit insane, due to living in a hole for years while subject to the whims of feral children. Still, the Queen was cunning, and had managed to build up a bit of power through covert sacrifices--the ant-gods didn't care who did the sacrificing, after all. She thought that within another month or so she would be able to break the bindings that the children had placed around their part of the desert.

The great thing about being an eight year old in a sandbox is that the stories you make  up for yourself don't have to follow story rules. The story I am telling here is such a small part of all that went on, with none of the side plots or random adventures, or any of the hours and hours of tedious plant gathering and mashing that was for some reason fascinating to me at the time.

The Queen's plan didn't quite work out. The Princess and her Friend agreed to the escape attempt, but it was delayed by storms and the problem of supplies. Treetown was at least a month away from the desert, and the grassland that separated them was an empty waste, with no food and very little water. The Queen probably would never have offered to take the girls with her, except that the grassland was populated by strange and savage beasts, and three people would have a greater chance of survival than one. It would just take time to gather supplies.

The one thing that no one saw coming was the Princess deciding to stay behind.

In the months it took to gather power and stash supplies, the Princess was working in the halls of Summercastle. The Princess had been raised to care deeply about her people. She was always expected to go out and meet her subjects, work in their villages, monitor conditions in the country, and ensure that her people had the best lives possible. When the war started and the Princess lost her power she also lost much of her identity. Her Friend knew it and had done the best she could to help, but it hadn't done much good.

The Feral Children changed all that. The Princess found peace in caring for them, and Lizzy realize early on that she had the capacity for real loyalty. It didn't take long before the Princess was moved out of the slave barracks and into her own room in the castle, where she worked as Lizzie's personal adviser, as a sort of big sister. By the time her Friend and the Queen were ready to run, the Princess informed them that she would be staying behind.