Frustration

Shattered mind

I hate Christmas … and I love it at the same time. It is my most productive time of year; finishing things by year end is a real driver for me. I often get more work from publishers than I know what to do with, as they are cleaning off their desks, too, and that usually means it ends up on mine. “Could you have this done by Jan. 2, please? Thanks.”

Not this year. That means it’s “me” time this Christmas. Unfortunately, I’m on so much medication for the next few weeks, that nothing is coming out. I’m spending the time finishing up some old things – processes that don’t require much thought, like the anthology – but that with my readers at the moment, so I can’t work on that.

The worst thing about Christmas-time is that when I do post something, it doesn’t get read. Who (other than myself) is going to sit in front of their computer on (or around) Christmas reviewing people’s bad poetry and stories (especially stories, in my case)?

Anyway, I needed to vent. Back to doing mindless things …

Happy holidays (whichever you celebrate)!

~A

Fidgit

athena blue

I’ve been bad, very bad, and not naughty, as I was prone to being, long ago, well, a couple of years, when I was a writer (one perhaps never stops being a writer, even when one stops writing), but not writing is bad, and if I had any inspiration, that would have awoken me from my doldrums, in the humdrum, bass drum rimshot existence of relocating to a non-foreign, foreign country, to my old country from the old country, forcing myself to look back – look back like I don’t allow myself to do when I’m writing one of my streams, wading through my dreams, hoping to find something to stir the deep inner recesses of my obsessions, today writing a thirty sentence story in only a single verbal gush so rabid that at some point you may lose the will to live in your search for a full-stop or a period as we Americans call it, although I hesitate even to allow you a comma or a dash while you dive head first into the mush that I call my consciousness but you might rather think of as unconsciousness or perhaps you are already heading to lalalandwherenospaceslive and where my brain has become a slippery goo that – well, yes, you might not call it a brain – some would agree with you, but not the organization who has calculated my IQ, which is microscopic, in its inversion, while my self is in revision, or perhaps reversion to my old sensual ways – yes, you thought I might never get there – but if you are delving into my consciousness, you are likely to slip into my sub-conscious (if you aren’t unconscious already) where that stuff lives, where my soul breathes fire and water simultaneously in the simulacrum of similarity of the sensual to the sexual that lives only an atom’s width from the surface of my identity, my being, and my soul, which is probably not all that far from my being or my beginning, or my benign personality, which on a good day has trouble stringing a lucid sentence together.

Bathing in the Hot Tub of my Mind

AM head

Oh no! Two in one day. That’s bad. 

I’ve decided to serialize my ongoing Blogovella, Bathing in the Hot Tub of my Mind over at Eirica Johnstone’s Obsession, to give that site some current interest. The series starts with Sex and Becket. The current edition is Iconography, which is posted on The Cult of Anne, but I’ll post them all in order at EJO, hopefully one per week.

Enjoy.

It’s that time of year …

silent prayer by kaurflicks

Christmas has always been a time when I am most productive as a writer – more poetry, more prose. I like try to finish things before the rat-race starts over in January. This year, aside from my anthology, I would like to make significant progress on one of my novels. I should really finish the first draft of The Cult of Hahn, but I just don’t feel into it at the moment. I need to re-read the 300 pages I’ve already written, so I can fill some gaps.

I actually feel much more inspired by 18 chapters of Out of the Frying Pan. It stands at 22,000 words, and I should get that up to about 100K to be viable on the Sci-Fi market. That’s too much to finish in what is left of December, so that leaves me the quandary of what to work on. If I worked on Hahn full time for the next 3 weeks, I could probably finish it, but that probably won’t happen.

If you want to read some samples, 6 chapters of The Cult of Hahn are posted on my WritersCafe.org page and half of a chapter of Out of the Frying Pan is posted at Chrons in the Writers’ Workshop section. It’s not a very big sampling, but it does introduce the main character. You will have to become a member at each site to read my work.

What do you think?

The Veil of Sheera and other Tales

woodnymph

I just finished editing the 18 short stories that will make up The Veil of Sheera and other Tales. If you are one of my regular readers, I’m looking for one person to beta it. I’ve had comments on the individual stories, but not on the collection as a whole. Let me know if you are interested in a comment below.

I’m also looking for cover art. (I can’t use the pic above, sadly.) If you are interest in contributing a photo or drawing, preferably of Sheera in a chair under her veil (You can read the story on The Cult of Anne), send me some ideas.

Cross-posted from The Cult of Anne