Author Archives: André J. Powell

Growing Girls

03 Tuesday Apr 2012

Posted by in Observation, Scions of the Moon, Writing

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I continue to read Kress and I am happy to report it is making a difference as I consider my characters from various vantage points of motivation, emotion and inner conflict. The Scion girls are changing and beginning to take on more rounded shapes. They are trying on new clothes to see if they fit, are good enough for alterations or should be discarded. This is pleasing to me as the more “real” and curvy they become, the easier it is to write about them walking, talking and interacting with each other and the environment.

The more this process continues, the more convinced I am that a major, if not radical, rewrite of the entire storyline is a good idea. Though I will keep many of the major landmarks, I can tell the plot is drifting away from my intended Propp-esque outline. I still want it to be recognizable by those familiar with his work, but I am beginning to wonder if his ideas were not hemming in my own. Indeed, this may have been a problem all along and not just in relation to Propp and my plot. I had intended to write up these characters based on three online friends. I think I may have been overly concerned with whether or not the Scion girls were recognizable to my three friends. Thus, instead of letting them develop, ripen and mature into who or what my muse wanted them to be, I was subconsciously holding them back to keep them purposely familiar.

Presently I’m in chapter four and working on a “Emotional Mini-Bio” for each of them. It is one of those things more experienced writers do without prompting. I however, need to follow this more formal approach it seems and put these characters at least through their paces. As hinted above, it is helping. In the meantime, in another dark corner of my mind, additional plot ideas and adjustments have been simmering, changes and edits based on my discoveries.

It is my hope to digest Kress’ suggestions and use them more intuitively with my next set of characters of which there are not a few hammering at the gates, as it were, clamoring for admission and due process. Sorry folks, one set of zombies at a time.

Time…sigh.

My world is indeed crowded, both the world of my imagination and the physical world. School is on the downhill slope. Both my charges and I are looking forward to May 31st with great anticipation. Presently Prom preparations, senior-itis and Benchmarks/STAR/Exit exams are primary concerns. On the home front an approaching set of solo piping competitions at the end of the month are forefront in my mind and the limited time I have after school is devoted to practice and trying to get a “…good going pipe” ready for the contests (I’ll keep my piping comments to a minimum and expand on them in my piping blog). My Lady’s third stop smoking attempt in the last ten years continues apace and I’m happy to say, so far so good. I am bursting with pride and admiration for her whole hearted decision and determined follow through. She is, and always will be, my inspiration. It does, however make for some tense moments and cranky days, but I could careless as long as she is happy.

My own attempts at life changing also continues as my diet adjusts for the better and…other things…begin to find their place. Time however, and as ever, is at a premium: writing in the morning; school during the day; piping in the afternoon; family—when our schedules coincide—in the evening; catch up on the weekends. Spring break starts Friday. I look forward to more family time, as well as time to both write and pipe…it would be nice to do some woodworking too and go for a bike ride or two.

Mountaineering the ‘Craftians’

29 Thursday Mar 2012

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Rocky terrain. Uphill going. Steeply inclined. Freezing. Snow drifts. A writer climbs the mountains.

Though I’d been writing in one form or another since I could; though I teach fiction and academic writing; though I have been an avid reader of contemporary and classic lit, I knew I had a lot to learn when it came to writing fiction. Just as many erroneously assume if one can speak a language, one can teach it, so too with writing fiction. Simply because one has the creative urge to write does not assume they can write interesting and create well composed fiction. It’s a craft—talent and natural ability notwithstanding—that must be learned, honed and challenged with “…careful practice during a severe course of training…” Isolated writers ploughing along, accumulating huge word counts in the wee hours of the morning or dark silences of the night easy forget how difficult it can be to do what they do well when overshadowed and wowed by such mountainous output.

On a NaNo forum I asked about what books the writers there had found helpful in developing craft. It was really surprising to me how many relied exclusively on learning by “…reading other writer’s fiction…” I agree and acknowledge that this as a wonderful source, one I utilize myself. I can’t help but wonder however, if that isn’t enough. Books and classes on writing my seem extemporaneous, but I am coming to appreciate more and more how much I don’t know as I read where other writers have sojourned before me and the elevated view they discovered there that I was unaware of—things that would have been obtuse or downright illusive were I to rely exclusively on gleaning from another writer’s fiction alone. Maybe it is just me, my learning modality, how I work best and my self-image that’s at play here, but…wow…this shit is hard to do right.

As I read my work I see more clearly how it’s such a pile of words and has very little to do with craft, but is more of a semi-creative vomit. For many that’s as far as it goes. Behold my mountain!

As I continue to read Kress’s book on character, emotion and point of view, in the back of my mind I am climbing with the girls from Scions. As I subject them to the exercises suggested at the end of each chapter—not all the exercises just those that seem applicable—it is becoming more and more evident that they lack something and that this ‘something’ is what is keeping me from composing about them as freely as I did the characters from The Kevodran.

I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a growing suspicion it has to do with conflict. It’s not that there is no conflict, mind you, they’ve got plenty to deal with, but it may not be the right kind of conflict between the right characters, it may be too ‘outward,’ inter-conflict between themselves and others rather than intra-conflict within their relationship with each other. Even though I’ve given the girls divergent backgrounds, and skill sets, they still have too much in common having been raised together in a monastery for the past half dozen years. This commonality is for me, part of the “Screen of Reality” through which the girls perceive and react to the world around them and each other. I have a feeling the mesh is too fine, too uniform, too similar and, as a result, the girls are not reacting as individuals but as parrots of each other. I suspect these girls need private agendas. I suspect I may have to end up ‘breaking up’ their friendship in order to make them more interesting and appealing to a reader, as well as to my imagination. I may need to include the deeper underlying challenge of getting over themselves, setting aside petty behavior and learning to work together so that they might complete the overriding challenge in an interesting fashion.

This could mean a major rewrite, a climb back down the mountain, a resupply and a brand new attempt along a different route. While this may not necessarily negate the 60,000 words thus written, as it is arguable they were necessary to formulating a better plan, and though I would use material from them, a new beginning, a uniquely different beginning is in order.

Sigh.

Nothing is sure yet. I still have more than half the book to go. These are simply my thoughts at present. Now, back to my pitons and ropes.

What a “Week”

23 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by in Class Room, Rant

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I don’t ever want this blog to turn into a personal journal, but I have to put down some more personal thoughts and rant-mindlessly as I head into the weekend.

What a crazy week!

It started of rather auspiciously with an attack on the writing front from me on my Scion characters. Using an exercise from Kress I began to describe my three main characters from the perspective and biases of their counterparts. That is Hen describing Rain, Rain describing Ink and Ink describing Hen. Though I have not yet made it through all of the trio, I did learn some things about them, their weaknesses, needs and fears. As stated before, I hope this will prove a turning point in my own attitude toward my story—if that’s the direction I choose to jump.

As school, however, things began to turn rather “convoluted,” for lack of a better term. On Monday, in the midst of 1st period Senior English, British Literature, the phone interrupted Macbeth’s three witches cooking up their cauldron full of “…toil and trouble…” It was Mr. L. wanting to know if I would rather my seniors came to him 3rd period or could I just send them over to his class room?

“What?”

“You know, for your department meeting?”

Department meeting? I thought numbly as ice water of memory failure completely stole my voice. Was that today? As soon as the period ended, sure enough, Mrs. S. came in to mind my second period class. What the hell! Must my kids keep getting short shrift with these interruptions?  I threw a hasty outline of my lesson on the board, sent my TA out to tape a crude sign on the door directing 3rd period’s denizens to Mr. L’s room and then took off for my meeting with Admin.

At the meeting I was told that next year due to budget cuts they were cutting a section of seniors and I would be teaching all of them.

“How many juniors are presently enrolled?” I asked.

“XXX” came the reply.

“But…that’s XX more than seniors this year” I pointed out. “And you’re cutting a section? You realize that means all four of my senior sections will have more than 35 students in them? Adding the two sections of sophomore’s I teach that’ll be more than 180 students. Just how am I supposed to maintain that many students, their essays, assignments and research projects, not to mention Senior Portfolio requirements, still cover the same amount of material and number of standards? I can’t physically get through that much paperwork…”

Blah-blah-blah…the conversation deteriorates from there. I knew I was going to end up making the best of it, but such illogic is hard to swallow. You, gentle reader, need not hear the rest of the exchange as Governor Brown’s tax proposal, squeezing blood from a turnip, and the quality of education was discussed. Suffice to know, I was disgusted. Shit, they should have just let me know via email what I was teaching the next year and I could have stayed with my classes and got something useful done.

And I had so much to do. I reviewed it all in my head as I returned to my class an hour and a half later. It was Monday. I had only one full day after today with my charges…Tuesday. I hoped to make the best of it. It was not to be. 20 minutes into my lesson for Sophomore Honors the phone rings again.

“Mr. P. would you escort your students to the cafeteria? The hearing van is here for their annual hearing check.”

Mental blink.

“Can you give me ten minutes?”

“Okay, but don’t wait too long; the line will only grow longer.”

“Cheers” click. The line was long and I lost another part of my day FOR-FRACKING-EVER!

Next came Wednesday Early Release, a district mandated waste of time for collaboration between teachers, staff and department meetings, and an opportunity for students to miss school. Why we couldn’t have had our big Monday meeting during this time is a cosmic mystery that will never be solved. Did I mention loosing a quarter of my seniors to Occupational Olympics? No? Well, Frackin’-A, I did.

Thursday was an Minimum Day as it was Parent-Teacher Conferences. This would consist of two sessions 13:00 to 15:00 and 18:00 to 20:00. Between sessions as Student Council advisor I would be responsible, along with my co-advisors, to prepare and sell tri-tip sandwiches between 16:00 and 18:00.  After tri-tip clean up, the hour commute home, debrief with my wife and pep-talk (she’s trying to quit smoking and I am at her command) and my “daily,” it was 23:00—a long day consider I started it at 04:00.

Today is also an Early Release day and after five hours of sleep I have to amit I need it. Once upon a time P/T Conferences lasted two days with teachers available for two hours in the afternoon of each day. After a few complaints by parents who were at work during the regularly scheduled visiting hours of 13:00 to 15:00…duh! Who thinks this shit up and couldn’t think that was coming?!…it was decided to combine both sessions, but keep the two day early release schedule as teachers like me had been nearly driven crazy by a 12 hour work day plus drive time. I dunno, it doesn’t make much sense to me either; what I do know is that my kids are missing more school even though it seems they are asked to do more. On Thursday I had 1st, 2nd, 4th and 7th. Today I’ll have 1st again (how and where all my other classes get an extra hour is as mysterious to me as the Easter Island heads), 3rd, 6th, and 8th.

WTF!? Are we in the business of teaching or not? Cut the interruptions and given me uninterrupted classes. Stop overloading my classroom—Jez, I only have 33 desks in my room! Remove from the educational equation all the politics and politicians who decide everything “for the people” but have never taught so much as the a-b-c’s. It takes X amount of time to educate X amount of children and consequently X amount of money. If that isn’t in the cards then let’s forego the whole bloody soap opera and put our young people to work in the fields, factories and on the road beds or our nation and at least give them a work ethic. Better odds at life than we’re giving them now!

This afternoon, I’m off to see The Hunger Games. I’m sure there’s some irony in there somewhere. I’m just too tired to see it at the moment.

At A Crossroads

20 Tuesday Mar 2012

Posted by in Observation, Reading, Scions of the Moon, The Kevodran, Writing

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Every now and then I have to remind myself that even though I greatly desire to be published, I really write because I must. I would write no matter what–in my journal, here or my other blogs or one of my manuscripts; I am, in that sense, a writer. Reminding myself of that takes the edge off the paralyzing anxiousness. The dynamic tension, on the other hand, that’s something I don’t want to put to sleep. The dividing line between the two states is razor’s thin and allowing myself to reach the edge is perilous indeed. Case in point, dynamic tension has been nodding off for some time now.

I have ‘chilled’ on my manuscripts, in despair trying to distance myself from the dilemma of which to throw myself at, like taking a nap before re-attacking a knotty problem. I need to give myself over to one of them however. I need dynamic tension to replace anxiousness. I sense I am at a crossroads and about to make a wholehearted choice. Regardless, I need to stop thinking about it and act.

Scions of the Moon as ever baulked at my entreaties and only released her secrets in reluctant flexing spasms like a choking car. There is something wrong, something in the way. I think it has to do with POV. I have three main characters and just can’t get my mind around how to handle their point-of-views. They are close (same gender and age); they come from similar experiences (abandoned in one form or another…without family); have been raised under nearly identical circumstances (monastery); encountered the same problem (the kidnap of their friend and no one to believe them); and have to face the same fear (leaving the monastery… to go ‘out-there’ for the sake of their friend).

While in the monastery, it didn’t see too much of a problem, but now they stand before the wall ready to climb over it and I’m holding them back because I don’t feel confident enough to portray their experience convincingly–or interestingly–enough.

I have my magic system developed enough that I’m comfortable with sending them over and writing about any arcane encounters they may have, but I think I will do one more thing before I definitively decide to pursue their adventure. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering if I should create a fourth character from which to tell the tale and have the presently three mains act as helpers and guides rather than stars of the show. Or maybe tell the tale from the perspective of the kidnapped friend or some other character who would be privy to the story but as a storyteller not directly part of the action. The former sounds more right than the latter. Sigh…maybe I need to grow and develop a little more as a writer before tackling multiple POVs.

Anyway, as a final meditation, I’m going to read Nancy Kress’s Characters, Emotion and Viewpoint in an effort to gain some perspective on and insights into multiple view points. As with all such books, writing ideas float up from the back of my mind as I read. I’ll keep track of them with notes and upon finishing–it’s only a little more than 200 pages–I’ll commit to a road. Should I choose The Kevodran road rather than the Scion track, the time spent with the “Wise Guide” will not be wasted as I’m sure there will be nuggets of wisdom therein panned that I can apply to Efrahm, Selt and Orrja’s story as well.

Am I simply avoiding commitment and, by extension, responsibility? I don’t know. It’s possible, but any plan is better than sitting on my hands enviously reading about another 16-year old prodigy producing copious amounts of YA re-run dubiousness (not bitter at all there are we?). Good, bad or indifferent, I need to forge ahead with my own dubiousness, and if for no one else then at least for me.

I Dreamed I Fell Asleep in the Highlands

19 Monday Mar 2012

Posted by in Storytelling, Writing

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The rain had ceased in the early afternoon and though the clouds had threatened more, occasionally releasing a few drops here and there, a wind had risen and the grey cover had broken up into a patchwork of crimson and gold lit by the setting sun. Cold, deeper than before had descended as the sun sank below the horizon and the wind died. The world was soaked and as I approached the door of the stone house, I glanced up at the thatching hanging over the eves wondering when it would be time to re-thatch. The “blackhouse” had been transformed long ago into a larger dwelling, with rooms and fireplaces. The animals had their own byre and had not been housed since my grandfather’s time. I ran a fond eye over the old stones, the ever present moss beginning to make its presence known from anchored strongholds in the wetter cracks. A few more days of sunlight like this evening and it’d be time for cleaning, I thought as I pushed open the door and let the dogs in.

Peat still smoldered in the grate. It’s pungent presence, shoring up heat like a blanket, had kept the worst of the chill at bay but only just. The dogs went straight for the hearth rugs nonetheless and I had to nudge them aside as I stirred the ashes and added another turf or two. I rubbed my eyes and looked ruefully at the smoldering chunks. I should have been in earlier to bank the fire. Now it would be pure luck that kept the stuff alight through the night. Ach, I’d be waking up plenty of times, thinking on how I rarely slept the night through. I was not so stoic about the pot hanging above the soft heat. The water would be lukewarm at best. I shrugged and glanced over my shoulder at the door to the short hall that lead to the bedrooms thinking on the cold back there. I had taken to sleeping in the main room next to the fire.

Well, though I was mildly hungry, I decided my middle could do with an evening without. I rose and hung my coat on a peg next to the door along with my bonnet. I returned to the hearth and settled into the rocking chair to remove my damp boots. It felt good to let my toes breath and stretch my arches. I tucked them under dogs and settled back into the chair intending to sit for short time and allow the illusion of heat to build as the turfs took to burning.

I must have dozed for sometime, for when I awoke the fire was burning steadily and the room was warmer. I groggily considered making myself a cuppa, but then discarded the thought. I was just too tired. The dogs looked settled for the night. If they needed to go out, they would wake me. I rose and turned to the bed I’d moved in from the nether rooms and undressed, pulling on a woolen night shirt and a stocking cap then slipped between the cold blankets. I shivered for a time, but the down soon warmed about me and with a tuck here and a fold there, I built a little nest about me from which naught but my eye peaked. I chuckled to myself as I remembered doing just the same when I was a lad. From my comfortable ‘cave,’ I watched the turfs glow beyond the silhouetted outlines of the curled dogs.

Though I was tired, sleep was not so easily found. My mind was at work, thinking of the day and what needed to be done tomorrow. My girls were gone, married to good men—one in the next glen, but the other had moved far to the south. I missed them both and for a time wandered again behind them as wee lassies, they explored the hillsides and played in the mossy burn. How swiftly time had passed. I felt my throat grow thick and my eyes burn. No, I thought, we’ll have none of that now and I turned my mind back to the issue of taming sleep, but it wasn’t until Malcolm up the glen began the piobaireachd, that sleep was finally brought to bay.

Though it was cold, I must admit I reveled in it and always had. It was a point of pride with me that when the world went about in trews, I still sported the  breacan-an-feile…the belted plaid. Thus, the window next to the door, though lost in the shadows of the room, I knew as cracked open a bit, its shutters unlatched. “To keep the vapors at bay,” my mother used to say. Through this came the delicate and far off strains of Malcolm’s stand. If I turned my head just so, I could just hear them. Sharp they were, but I knew it would be only moments before, warmed by his breath, they flattened and he, screwing up the drone tops, would soon be standing in a coat of sound that no cold could penetrate. He began the lovely strands of “I Got a Kiss of the King’s Hand,” the chanter digging deep and rising, like the rise and fall of the sea. I listened willing my fingers to cease their sympathetic twitching of the tune. It was as perfect as it could be under my circumstances: a fire burning, hounds within beck and call, an early bed with warm blankets, and now sweet music softly drifting on the air filling my mind with sleep.

I never did awaken that night. The last tune I heard begun was “Cumha Mairi Nic-Leoid.” I vaguely recall the dogs joining me, curling up in the down behind the crook in my knees and along my side as I dreamed of kings and cattle, warriors and lassies, shinty goals and fishing for salmon whilst whistling Sadhbh Ni Bhruinneallaigh under my breath.

Argggg!

18 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in Disgusted

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Of all the things I hate…hate…loath…not being able to make a post look like I want it to rates pretty high. For example, if I want to write dialogue in this post, I cannot indent my paragraphs. I have to settle for block paragraphs, which to my teacher/writer sensibilities is anathema. This is not a frackin’ business document. I also very much dislike having my paragraphs automatically double spaced when hitting enter. I loath not being able to change the size, color or style of my font with a simple key stroke. How hard is it to have a blog function similarly to a word-processor document? I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that my Wordpad is more robust than this mockery. Block dialogue looks simply amateur and colloquial.

I transferred over my posts from Blogger, but the fonts are all over the place, colors are off, indenting is gone, format looks like shit. Trying to edit them to get them to look the way I want them to is not working out. There are too many things this style-sheet or WTF-ever seems unable to do, so I’m being forced to reformat in Word and Notepad, delete the post and re-publish it. What a pain in the ass.

Though I know I’ll be happier later on, I am not looking forward to the learning curve required to digest CSS and put it into practice. All that time…

Hold Music

…18 hours later it’s as done as it’s gonna get for now. I am going to get a book on CSS in addition to wading through all the Maddog tutorials for a second time. I only want a few changes, which seem to me simple, but it’s still going to take digesting a lot. So be it.

Once again, welcome to the new digs.

RESET: The Salamander’s Quill 2.0

18 Sunday Mar 2012

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Okay…I bought the domain name, opted for under-the-radar personals, trash-canned the ads and signed up for custom design. It’s going to take me some time to get things straightened out. I don’t particularly like the theme I had to go with, some of the options and their limits pisses me off, but until I can get a handle on CSS, I’ll deal with it. I hope you’ll be patient with me.

Ravven,  hun, comment away you red headed, creative writing, gaming goddess artist. Sorry ’bout the Blogger BS. I knew this day was coming for a long time now and should have just bit the proverbial bullet and started the process. What is even more insane is that I knew better: I have three other WordPress blogs for my other subjects and interests and, wait for it…here’s the head-shaker…the early posts for TSQ were orginally written for a WordPress site! I don’t know what possessed me to go to Blogger in the first place! The look? The easier clickity to change font colors, etc.? I was too lazy to figure it out on WordPress? I dunno, maybe– Hey wait a minute…my kids…yeah…one of ’em’s got a Blogger site…I can blame them.

It’s her fault.

Perfect.

Aside

That’s Just About Enough of That Shit

18 Sunday Mar 2012

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That’s it…I’m done with Blogger. Over the next few weeks [NOPE: hours…the next 18 hours], I will be steadily deleting the content from this site and transferring it over [not to mention reformatting until my eyes were crossed].

To my hordes of adoring fans, all three…two…one of you–crikey!, you’d think your own flesh and blood could show some loyalty and support–thanks for checkin’ up on me [at the Blogger site, but dont’ go back there because I’m not].

Adventure Day

09 Friday Mar 2012

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I made it to bed last night at about 21:30. Marirose woke me about an hour later to let me know she’d arrived home safe from band pracitce—it’s a marriage rule in our house. I rose once to shut the bedroom door. After that I didn’t fully wake up again throughout the night. This does not mean I slept soundly or fully, but not getting up at least once a night to let the dogs out is unusual. I tried to eat as early as I could so my stomach wasn’t working overtime come lights-out. I had some odd dreams about crawdad/shrimp-headed creatures who were normally vegetarians and friendly to humans but every once in a while wanted to crack open our skulls and eat our brains because they were originally descendants of Cthulhu and the Old Ones. I was trying to help them control their…baser…urges through counseling when the alarm went off.

I did put on come soothing bed-time music, very very low. “Soothing music”…LOL…to me anyway: piobaireachd. Having grown up with the classical music of the piob, I can fall asleep mid-sentence with those sweet tunes playing. It’s sort of a joke with my piping peers. They have a pool on when I’m going to fall asleep while playing. Odds are high I’m not going to make it through the Urlar doubling without nodding off. Craig is supposed to catch my pipes on the way down: forget me. Don’t get me wrong, I adore the music. To me it’s never boring. It’s just so…so…relaxing; I can’t help falling asleep. Though I realize this may sound outrageous, paramount to falling asleep next to a jack-hammer in full bore, growing up with the stuff does strange things to a kid.

It’s a minimum day today and the kids get out at 12:15. Sweet! Gabie and I are committed to locking our classroom doors as soon as the bell rings and heading for the theatre for John Carter of Mars. I am really stoked as after watching the 10 minute sneak peek on Youtube day before yesterday, I think it’s going to be a fun watch. E.R. Burrough’s story is very simple and is definitely a product of his time, the audience he was trying to reach, the pulp medium he was writing for and the stereotypes he presented. After watching the sneak peek, however, I’m hopeful that this may be one of those very rare occasions when the film is better than the book. Blasphemy, I know, but it happens. Anyone who has read Cooper in all his inaccurate, prejudicial, and inconsistent glory is usually unanimous that Daniel Day Lewis’s Hawkeye in the Last of the Mohicans film enjoys a much better story than the Natty Bumpo of Cooper’s pages. I think if Edgar were alive today, he’d remark on how his stories were only committed to the page because he had no other medium to present them in all their imaginative potential. It’s just my opinion, of course, but the way the film changed the story a bit to accommodate stronger character development and shore up a few weaker plot walls looked and played real good. Here’s crossed fingers hoping I don’t want my money back.

I’ll get back home early enough to maybe take a nap before dinner with sweet Marirose. I’ll need as at about 22:00, I’m scheduled to drive Lexie to the airport to catch a 01:30 S.F.flight back East. I’ll drop her off at about pre-midnight, hang out for a bit, fuel up on coffee and drive home. Hopefully I’ll be pulling into the driveway back home at just about the same time as she’s taxiing down the runway.

It’s gonna be a full day.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Where?

08 Thursday Mar 2012

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My God! What a fight to stay awake and write even a few lines. I am getting to bed at a descent hour and sleeping fairly well, though I’m sure what I call fairly well would not be called so by “normal” people. Every sentence or two I doze off. I don’t get it. Could the evenings struggling with my pipes be to blame? I did got to bed and hour later than usual as I wanted to hang out with the wife after she got home from work. Was it letting the dogs out at 02:45? Or is it something more sinister? What ever, it’s pissing me off and I’m tired of it…LOL…get it? Tired? and I’m not writing like I should.

If I’m crashed out at 21:00 and sleep to 04:00, how do I get more sleep and restful sleep at that? Sleep longer? Sleep longer = no writing. No bagpiping? Might as well say, “no eating.” Yesterday I wasn’t this tired. Shit…I had breakfast today before I wrote; yesterday afterward–though truth be told I didn’t get a whole lot done then either. That, however, was because of Ravven’s killer music machine (thanks a lot, Red!). Seriously though, it’s 05:45, I’m about to step on to the daily conveyer belt and won’t get a break until 16:00 and all I can think about it a nap. Dare I say it? My day needs to be longer than 24 hours…that and I need to lose weight.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.