Tues. Nov. 8, 2022: Dumfungled

(image courtesy of Mohamed Hassan via pixabay.com)

Tuesday, November 8, 2022

Full Moon (and Lunar Eclipse)

Neptune, Chiron, Jupiter, Uranus, Mars Retrograde

Sunny and Windy

Election Day

Will this be our last election? We’ll know in a few days. Let’s hope not.

Pull up your favorite beverage and we’ll sit down for our regular longish Tuesday natter.  

Today’s post is titled thanks to Melissa Amateis, who shared “Dumfungled” with me yesterday. According to Melissa, SCOTS MAGAZINE, and Susie Dent, it means “mentally and physically worn out” and “used up, in a near state of imbecility” to which I can relate right now. According to the Urban Dictionary, it can also mean “being unproductive, hitching a ride on the back of an assumption” which fits the current situation in so many aspects. But I choose the first definition as the title for this post.

See, Melissa? I kept my promise to you!

If you didn’t see the post over on the GDR site yesterday, you can hop over now.

I got a lot done on Friday: 2223 words on THE TREES WHISPERED DEATH for Nano, an episode and a bit for LEGERDEMAIN, caught up on some email, turned around two scripts. I was tired by the end of it, and read for pleasure, rather than doing the other reading I should have done.

The paper I ordered from Staples arrived; but it was the wrong kind. Regular paper, not 3-hole punch. I’m not going to fuss. I’ll keep it, invest in a new 3-hole puncher (I can’t find the one I own; it might be in storage) and punch the holes myself. I draft on 3-hole punch paper, so I get it in by the case. Usually.

I spent far too much time on Twitter, upset at the way Yegads Muskrat is intentionally destroying it. Lilith St. Crow calls him “Melon Husk” which is another good handle for him, What a disgusting human he is. Destroying something people value because he can afford to do it.

Stayed up way too late reading Ann Aguirre’s EXTRA WITCHY, which was a lot of fun.

Saturday morning, I slept later than expected, because the cats tried to roust me early, I refused, and fell asleep again. Got in 2412 words for THE TREES WHISPERED DEATH. I’m having a lot of fun writing Rita’s youngest son, Doug.

Once the words were out of the way, I went to Big Y and did a big grocery shop, restocking a bunch of staples that we used up, and getting the fresh stuff we’ll need for the week. Came home, put it all away, and off we went, gallivanting, because it was a beautiful, sunny day, with temperatures in the 60s and 70s.

We drove up through Bennington and over into NY through Hoosick Falls (which is an interesting little town) and to Hoosick, and our favorite Treasure Hut, which we hadn’t visited all summer. We didn’t find any of the furniture pieces for which I’m looking, but I found an Inkberry Pfaltzgraff platter that matches some of my other dishes, a tiered silver serving tray (Irwin ware), vintage glass poinsettia ornaments, a cute ceramic piece of two kids getting ready to skate, and yes, another brass trivet. You know me and trivets. I think I have 20 now?

On the way back, we stopped at a favorite thrift store in Bennington. We found 2 dinner plates that match the soup bowls we bought last year, a lovely blue and green bowl, another little figure of a kid walking dogs for Christmas, and a gorgeous tapestry runner for spring.

Picked up a pizza on the way home and had a late lunch. Washed what needed washing, and put the rest away, after doing some research on maker’s marks.

Hung out and read a bit. Turned the clocks back before we went to bed.

Tessa tried to get me up at 5, insisting it was breakfast. I thought my phone hadn’t fallen back yet, so it was really four, and rolled over, not getting up until 6. Tessa didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. She tried going to my mom for comfort. By accident, my mom called her “Charlotte” and Tessa, insulted, stomped off and wouldn’t have anything to do with either one of us all day.

It was raining and kind of yuck, so instead of being out and about again, we stayed home. I wrote the next chapter of THE TREES WHISPERED DEATH, at 2938. A character repositioned himself in the story earlier than I expected from the outline, but it worked, and I can cut some info dump out of the first chapter, because it’s actually integrated here. But it took damn long to write those words.

I’m fighting the book’s natural rhythm to make word count. It wants to grow at around 1000-1200 words a day. But I need to push it to make the Nano wordcount, to meet my expectations for myself for participating. So I’m forcing it at an unnatural rhythm, which will bite me in the ass during revisions. The chapters are also very uneven, which is a problem, Because structurally, it does matter in the genre.

I spent too much time mourning Twitter in the afternoon instead of reading or doing something worthwhile. I also wasted too much time struggling to set up an account on Mastodon. The first two servers I tried wouldn’t send me the confirmation email, no matter how many times I requested. I finally got an invite from a screenwriter on Twitter who set up his own server, and that went through. Once I was in, setting up is pretty easy. Finding people is harder, because of the different servers, but it’s possible. I was also invited to a screenwriters’ Discord group, and, much as I dislike Discord, I like the person who set it up, so I’ll give it a go.

But if you want to find me on Mastodon, I’m at @devonellington@bbq.snoot.com.

Roasted a chicken for dinner, so the whole house smelled wonderful. Made stock from the carcass.

Went to bed ridiculously early.

I had some sort of bad dream, from which Charlotte woke me up around 3. It fled as soon as I woke up, but the adrenaline spike was nasty. Tessa was all like, “well, since you’re awake” but I ignored her and fell back to sleep.

I dreamed about going to listen to jazz at a place with wonderful food and interesting people. No COVID in the Dreamscape, and I have quite a good social life there, so it will have to do until I can actually socialize when I’m awake, if the pandemic is ever under control.

I was all set to sign up for an in-person yoga class the Sunday after Thanksgiving and realized everyone there would have been unsafe all weekend and shedding virus, so I think I’ll pass.

Up at a reasonable time on Monday. Wrote 2337 words on THE TREES WHISPERED DEATH. It was a fun chapter with good dynamics and finally, FINALLY, I’ve dropped the first body. I usually drop it much earlier. And I had to change a relationship from cousin to brother-in-law to make the logic work. But it was fun, and I’m feeling more hopeful.

Posted on the blogs and made the SM rounds – which took two damn hours. But I need to establish myself on the platforms and interact and build different communities. Some I’ll phase out. Others I’ll continue to build. Different platforms work for different things. As someone who makes a living in the arts, I don’t have the LUXURY of not MAKING the time to find out which platforms do what best, and I don’t have the LUXURY to whine that’s too hard and I don’t have time. I’ll lose my livelihood if I don’t do it. Getting my work out to the widest possible audience is part of my job. I don’t get to whine (okay, maybe I’ll whine a little bit, but you know my rule: pity parties can’t last longer than 15 minutes). Most importantly, I don’t have the option of not learning and changing and growing as the industry does.

Tribel is about branding and marketing, so even though I’ve met the largest amount of creepy dudes sending me inappropriate messages there thus far, I might have to stay. Cohost talks about being “cozy” but so far, it seems like a platform for hobbyists rather than professionals. There’s no reason a platform can’t support both, but if Cohost gets squiffy about me linking to projects that pay the bills, they are not the right platform for me.

We’ll see.

It’s exhausting.

Necessary, but exhausting.

Twitter dystopia was a hellscape, and I spent very little time there. Yegads Muskrat is openly telling people to vote Republican. Bite me, asshole.

It was a glorious, sunny day, so I walked to the post office to mail some bills.

Only turned around one script in the afternoon. Had trouble concentrating.

Took Jeremy Rock Smith’s virtual cooking class. He’s doing a soup class for the next few weeks, and I love it. He has such joy in both the cooking and the teaching that it makes every day better.

I also learned where I can improve my technique on several things, so my upcoming soups will be even better.

Went to bed early, because I was so exhausted. Between the full moon, the eclipse, the retrogrades, the election, and Twitter’s destruction, it’s a lot.

In the Dreamscape, I taught a class, did a reading/book signing at an adorable library, and baked a ham. It was a busy night. There are no Republicans in my Dreamscape (along with no COVID), so it’s a nice place to spend time.

Tessa woke me up at 4. I refused to get out of bed until nearly 5, but then went to start my day. I went onto DystopTwitter, which was a mistake. In addition to the destruction, there are people boasting about not voting. Of course, that makes it easy to unfollow/block them. Some of them are people I’ve interacted with for a long time, and didn’t know they were that stupid. But when people show you who they are, believe them. I’ve always lost respect for people who choose not to vote; in the past few elections, that’s turned into genuine loathing.

I’m too old and tired to argue with people. The great thing about social media is that it’s easy to cut off contact.

I tried to sit down and write, wondered why I was struggling, and then realized I was still in my pajamas. Changed into writing clothes, and there were the words, waiting for me.

Wrote Chapter 8, coming in at 2118 words. Lots of dialogue, so a typical chapter length, but fewer words. It looks like I’ll break 20K tomorrow instead of on Thursday; if that’s the case, I will feel like I’m really on track.

I have to do the rounds to promote the episode of Legerdemain that drops today. And, you know, do some work on Legerdemain itself. By the end of next week, I need to put up the episodes through the end of the year, and then, hopefully, by mid-December, I can get all of the second arc up and scheduled. I’d like to get another chapter of ANGEL HUNT adapted today, too, before I have to switch over to script coverage.

No post on Ko-fi today. With Election Day chaos, it makes no sense. I’ll do a tarot post next weekend, and I’m working on a weird little flash fiction piece for Thanksgiving week.

Fingers crossed things get better after today, not worse. I want to be hopeful, but I’m afraid to be.

Take care my friends. VOTE.

Tues. Nov. 3, 2020: Die For Your Employer Day 167 — Election Day in the US

image courtesy of Thor Deichmann via pixaby.com

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

Waning Moon

Neptune, Uranus, Mars Retrograde

Mercury goes DIRECT in the middle of the day – when it can really  screw things up

Election Day

Hell of a weekend, and we’re moving into an even fiercer hell.

Friday, I got out the contracted article. It shouldn’t have been as much of a struggle as it was; I know the topic inside out. But trying to keep the balance between personal experience without it bordering onto ego and useful tools for other writers was a challenge. Hopefully, I achieved it.

As I was prepping the email, I got an email from the editor’s personal account – she’s leaving the magazine to be part of another site.

So much for being a regular contributor on playwrighting for her!

I sent the article anyway to the her email at the magazine, then congratulated her on the private email and wished her well. She reassured me that she still wanted the article, and wanted to continue working with me. We’ll see. I’m not counting on anything.

Some fun calls for submissions landed on my desk – but most of them were for November 1. Two days to write a good piece, polish, and submit? With everything else going on?

One of them was only 350 words, and the parameters sparked an idea, so I sat down and worked and reworked a few drafts and sent it off. It felt good to shake off the stuck for something off the cuff.

If it’s accepted, fantastic. Another new-to-me market. If not, I will expand it a bit with some fun details and submit as a flash fiction to other paying markets.

I’m having issues with my landlord. I don’t feel he is being honest with me about something, and I’m not having it. But it adds layers of unnecessary stress and interaction and interruption that I don’t need right now. I think his greed has gotten the better of him.

Six more months, and we’re out of here, even if, at the moment, we have no idea where we’ll land.

Saturday, Samhain/Halloween was cold and sunny. It was housework day with the usual changing the beds/doing laundry, et al. Saturday is my favorite night to go to bed now, because I love snuggling in the fresh flannel sheets.

Instead of doing one big ritual late at night, I did a morning ritual, and then I did my tarot reading for the coming year in the afternoon, and I did the big ritual at night. And, of course, in Tending the Dead, it was the Night of Ancestors.

In the afternoon, I did more decorating outside, especially with the lights, and set up the table, with more decorations, battery-operated candle jars, and the Treat Bags. It looked good when I was done (photos are posted over on Instagram, where I am @devonellingtonwork).

We didn’t have a lot of kids, but the flatbed truck of the little kids came through just before 8 and cleaned out the first batch of Treat Bags. It’s such a great idea – let the kids ride street to street, and then they can get out at the houses they want.

My neighbors on one side set out a Trick or Treat station in their driveway, which was fun, too. But we were the only ones on our street who did anything.

I made colcannon for dinner, which was great.

I took down the lights and the table a little after 9 PM, when it was very quiet, and there was a good chance no one else was coming around. Even though it was cold, the next day was supposed to be stormy, and I wanted to get things in.

Sunday was Day of the Dead. More ritual, and the Tending the Dead ritual for people I know who have died. That ended up being especially poignant, because author Rachel Caine, who was so supportive of me earlier this year when I was sick and scared, died of cancer. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was still sad. Saturday, she was no longer speaking; Sunday, she woke up long enough to smile and then go back to sleep, so we knew it was only hours. By early evening, we got word she was gone. It’s such a huge loss, on so many levels. But the last months and weeks were awful for her, and I’m glad she’s no longer in pain.

During the day, I’d made an early morning Target run. Scored toilet paper, but they were out of paper towels. Also grabbed a bread box. I’d wanted bamboo, but they only had steel. It looks kind of cool. We’re having issues keeping bread healthy, so a bread box seems like a better choice. Although I think that means we can’t buy sliced bread anymore. There will be a learning curve.

I remember when we lived in Chicago, when I was really little, we had a wooden bread box. I don’t know what happened to it when we moved to New York.

Monday, I went to my client’s, and worked there on my own for a few hours. Lots of Mercury Retrograde tech issues, but I got things done. It was difficult to concentrate, because of all the election insanity, but I got through it.

Had to take my mom to the doctor this afternoon for a wellness check. It went well, and the doctor is very pleased with her.

Through all this, my landlord was bugging me about the furnace inspection and the demands from the installation guy. Sorry, I don’t work for the installation guy. He is not the boss, and I don’t care what he says. He’s been a misogynistic dick throughout the entire process. Every interaction smells more of something hinky, and I will not be a party to it. If they’re going to be dishonest to try to scam more money from whatever system they’re trying to scam, they’re not going to use me to do it.

Governor Baker has put more orders in place, supposedly to fight the virus. Insisting on masking – but will there be enforcement? I don’t see any. But instead of closing things back down, which would be, you know, SANE, even more can be open, but they have to close by 9:30 at night. And now we’re on curfew from 10 PM to 5 AM, as though we were naughty high schoolers.

This is not going to stop the virus. Rolling back the re-opening and shutting things down again, and then ENFORCING MASKING MANDATES will do so.

I am so tired of all the dickheads.

Not only are they dickheads, but they’re greedy, selfish, and stupid.

Which is the whole point of today, Election Day, certainly the most important election in my lifetime.

We need to remove the dickheads and put some decent people back into office.

I am so stressed about today and the upcoming weeks that I turned on the coffee maker without putting the pot into it first. I need coffee to make my coffee. So I got to start the morning with a giant mess, which just represents how I feel today.

Last night, The Tending the Dead ritual was for children. Part of that was naming the children we know died in ICE custody. Tonight’s ritual is for animals we’ve loved and lost.

Knowledge Unicorns should be interesting this afternoon. I’m sure the kids are stressed themselves and picking up their parents’ stress.

Today is about trying not to worry too much (at least not until 9 o’clock tonight), get some work done, and fight more with my landlord.

I also have a review to write, and maybe get another book assigned. This one was over 600 pages, and needed at least 200 cut.

We’ve put in a lot of work over the past few years. I’ve marched whenever I could, been in daily contact with my representatives, written, and written hundreds of postcards. Many of the people I like and respect have done the same.

Let’s hope it bears fruit tonight. Blue fruit.