Sunny and Pretty Damn Hot

Although it's been sunny and warm the past few days, the ground is still muddy and the street gutters still have standing water in places. I mention that because I was outside and noticed it, and as proof that I did not spend the whole day indoors doing computery and writing stuff.

It's warm enough to wear shorts. The front door is open, directly in front of the thermostat, which is set for sixty degrees. The heater attached to that thermostat is doing nothing, which is much better than more of its death rattles.

I have it on good authority that one of those Southern states (Mississippi? Alabama? Is there a difference?) has a recorded announcement today if you call their government office, one that tells you the office is closed to celebrate the birthdays of Dr. King and Robt. E. Lee, though I may have the order reversed. I consider that shameless, but I sigh and understand the valuable contribution brought to the world by lawyers who never see beyond the letter of the law.

In more computery news, I did a search on Google for "Big Train Show" and was pleased to see my novel shows up on page three! It's last mention is on page twenty-one. The statistical reports from my new website aren't as familiar as the old ones, but it seems I still get some hits. The hits aren't that important, but it's encouraging to know people looking for actual information are being directed to this lame thing.

I used to get quite a kick out of my second novel. In it my main character suffered a grievous injury and had no bandages with which to staunch his bloodflow. His neighbor Vicky did, though, and covered it with sanitary napkins. That got me some curious visitors, whom I picture being somewhat depressed to see the link went to several pages of text. Since later in the book one girl requested an injection of meth in her butt, that generated more visitors, ones I'd suspect have different fetishes.

Things are now much more mundane.


Instead of doing much writing (but I *am* doing some!), I've been playing around with web pages, hoping to update the writing section of half-dozen. I may never be known for my fiction, but I can help others by sharing what I've paid good money to learn.

And rarely practice.

See. The heat of creating drives all else from my head. Or not. I stop creating at awkward moments to catch myself looking for a word or to discard adverbs. Then, I remember what I've read or been taught about how to write dialogue or how to avoid redundancies, and I stare at the page and think.

Staring at the page and thinking has never yet, to the best of my knowledge, gotten me any writing done at all. I need to be seated at my computer (or whatever) and actually be engaged in the process of writing for my unconscious, creative side to emerge. When I'm writing ideas come up, and when I'm waiting for inspiration the most noticeable occurance is my nails and hair get a wee bit longer.