Cleaning House Since I Can’t Open The Door

Minor, house-cleaning sort of post.

The next two weeks should be interesting ones and I mean interesting in the Chinese proverb sense. It involves a lot of waiting, something I am not historically good at unless I can successfully distract myself with activities or tasks that do not allow me to dwell on the things I am waiting on. Here, in random order, are my current distractions.

New Shiny WIP!

Getting into a groove, albeit slowly. I’ve picked up a few books from the library on fairy tales for research and I’ve pulled together a tentative soundtrack. The plan now is to listen to this constantly while I am writing and ruminating, as music helps to settle my mind and drops me in the narrative landscape of the novel. Eventually, it becomes Pavlovian. (The research may also help me with a short story I’d set aside when it was clear it wasn’t gelling. We’ll see.)

Of course, this isn’t supposed to be a distraction. It’s supposed to be the main event but instead it’s sort of hair-pulling at the moment. Damn novel is being very coy.

Vacation Writing!

You may now, if so inclined, read my shameful (but not-so-secretly beloved) vacation writing project. For thirty days (and a skoosh) I wrote Sherlock Squared, a novella-length fan-fiction cross-over that takes Doctor Who, Sherlock (BBC) and Sherlock Holmes (Guy Ritchie) properties and fuses them together like a mad Monsanto gene-splicer had his way with them. You can find more information about it under the new Side Quests sub-page, where stuff of a similar sort may or may not appear in future.


This isn’t a distraction, but an obstacle. In the ‘YOU’VE GOTTA BE EFFING KIDDING ME’ category.

So, this happened. On March 2nd. Overnight.

And this, too. Yes, those are snowbanks you can hide a car behind.

We were so close. The roads were bone-bare. At the beginning of March! And whenever the sun came out, everything started to drip-drip-drip, little rivers building up into currents that ran along and then under the edge of the snow banks. And you could smell it in the air, even in February, that smell of spring. No, not just the smell of dog shit melting, though that’s there too, but the nice sort of smells, the ones that perk you up, make you take a deeper breath. It smells like sleep is ending, things are stirring, yourself included.

Then all this happened and then the temperature plummeted. Boo. They didn’t even plow the streets until 7:30 pm on Saturday, so I couldn’t even go into work. One year, for my birthday, I would like spring. Just spring. Is that too much for a northern girl to ask? Probably.

Back to my distractions. And my polar fleece.

And waiting.

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