This thing has gotten to everyoone

This past Monday, spoke to shopkeepers, co-workers, friends, acquaintances, even exes, and detected that the pandemic has turned things into a longer-standing "fuckaroo", to quote Stephen King's Dreamcatcher (stellar beginning, in that novel BTW).  

This thing has ground them down, whether they are weathering bitter divorce, loneliness, anxiety, grief, depression, panic or isolation, and ossifying sadness, defeatist views, even  an inability to compromise after being solitary for so long.

But light is coming through the cracks. Vaccinations, if you are lucky enough, are happening. Socializing is slowly expanding, but exhausting (we are not used to it). Pace yourself.

Treat yourself as you would others, but better. Try to be there for your peeps. If you can, reach out. Send a word-kind, encouraging, loving or event titillating, or give hope.

This thing has gotten to everyone. I might go into more detail later, with whys and wherefores, but the philosophy remains the same. Hold on tight, all.

For my part, I will be camping with my inner circle this weekend. I will be trying to moderate my tendencies even while all the opportunities for two of the three P's (my bad habits) but will have no restraints save those I apply. It is a well-deserved break, but all the planning and interpersonal interactions with friends leading up to it can get pretty little stressed until we land on the site. I am trying to keep this all in perspective. There are much greater problems than planning a camping trip with friends.

Wednesday's bright notes in Covid

I have been dealing with the highs and lows of stress and anxiety in the house through a variety of means, some better than others.

My healthier coping mechanisms include consistent stretching and push-up and sit-ups, as well as walks, and a regular viewing of films of interest and reading of promising comic books.

Still, it seems that despite my best efforts to overindulge in habits that I will not go into detail about here, I find continued success, which seems to surprise no one but me.

After I complained bitterly about my recent egregious short-fiction rejections in a post (that I have since pulled), there have been significant developments. Chief among them is my publisher having a quick video-chat with me yesterday, on Canada Day, to deliver good news. Turns out that a short-fiction collection, which I am currently proofreading for him, earned a rave, advance review in an influential publication in the writing business. My publisher wanted to thank me for helping with this collection and was emphatic that I get working on his edits to my short-story collection, Fear Itself, due out this fall.

In addition, the day previous, I managed, despite feeling desultory about my day’s results, to accomplish a number of things. I rescheduled an upcoming appointment with my psychologist. Cancelled a weird extra vaccination booking that I was texted about (I suspect that someone put down my cell number by mistake, as I already have a second vaccination booked, and a week sooner). Even managed to organize our son's guitar lessons so that he has the summer off.

Spent some solid time on Track-Changes revisions to my second horror novel. I am going through a scene-by-scene clean-up of the manuscript, putting any remaining notes, etc. in a chart, and smoothing out all the rough spots and accepting all consequences to my revisions throughout the story.

Also, spent some time considering the edits to my short story in my short-fiction collection about a phantasm in London, England, listening to my editor and publisher’s input. So, much to ponder! More or less, the ghostly figure in the story needs to pay some sort of price for returning and talking with the protagonist. I agree with that, and I agree that the ghostly figure is a little too perfect, which is no surprise, since they are modelled on my mentor from high school. What the story needs is a little pizzazz, and I trust it to reveal the answer to me in whatever way it wishes.

As well, I also spent some time proofing a short-fiction collection, the very one being praised in advance. I had already edited various drafts of the included novelette, for which the author is quite grateful. At the time of this posting, this review is not public knowledge and will only become so next week, hence my vagueness.

Being busy, social isolation, daily inundation

Came to a realization—I am busier than I thought. And I was already busy, with projects left, right and centre, and getting through Covid. I am working some great behind-the-scenes stuff for Lethe Press, attending to my short-fiction collection Fear Itself, bringing in new editing clients and, of course, guiding horror novel number two into the shape it wants to be. So on that note, I decided I will not be around on social media much, and more in a waiting-in-the-wings approach than terribly active, so I can do my thing.

At this stage in the pandemic, social isolation has taken a noticeable toll on my inner circle, with  neither emails or tweets or phone calls for weeks. For my part, I am great with initial emails, and the rare phone call, but then I may take week after week to reply.

So as we all wait for our second vaccination date, assuming we were lucky enough to already have the first vaccination, we have maladjusted to lockdown measures in Ottawa and simply retreated a little more each passing day, week, month. During the onset of the pandemic, it seemed there was almost a pause in the workday pace, and we could almost catch our breath as anxiety threatened to drown us. Now, we are inundated and workdays are full, in addition to taking care of ourselves, our houses, our loved ones, and continually navigating the now-inscrutable codes of Covid-19.

I’m feeing a lack of focus right now, hence my musings on the current vibe of the pandemic.

Jabbed

Had an Astrazeneca shot, first of two. Lost an entire day being KO'd or TKO'd due to flu-like symptoms - fever, headache, upset stomach, achiness, dizziness, fatigue, headache. At around three p.m., just crawled out of bed for more than a few minutes for the first time today.

Still- better that the alternative. See you on the other side of this sonuvabitch.

An Unexpected Guest

After a day of spinning my tires, with little  focus amounting to almost nothing, resignedly running the hub; I stepped out this eve to catch a glimpse of the pink supermoon (obfuscated by clouds last night). My familiar and I immediately spotted a visitor clambering treeward from the deck. Wonder what ithey thought of my red-and-black plumage (lumberjack coat) and my short-haired, grey-and-white mouser? Certainly enough to not budge after they reached a goodly height. The stand-off could have been interminable. So, in the kindest assertive tone I could muster, I offered, through action and words, that we would go back inside, so long as the visitor cleared out before we came out again.

Reflections on son turning thirteen

And today, my son is thirteen years old. Now that he is a teenager, he can start a Facebook account, although I have always been somewhat elusuve and circumspect about mentioning him on social media until relatively recently. This momentous age throws a lot of my life into perspective. I have been told  repeatedly that I have a good memory and can vividly recall, for better or for worse, much of being twelve, myself.

So now  I look at myself and wonder what my struggling twelve-year-old self would think of who I have become. I grew up in the 1980's in a small city that aped a small town in its attitudes and atmosphere. I first used a typewriter and then a slew of computers before the rise of the Internet and personal computers and gadgets. He is growing up  during Covid in a big city and is a digital native who can cide video games, to cite a few notable contrasts. 

Am I who I want to be? Am I there enough for my son? Am I reigning in my temper, having worked at it for a while now? How do I keep my foibles from imprinting on him? What do I feel the need to change about myself?  How do I guide without (always) nagging, teach by example without preaching?

No easy answers to any such questions, and more, of course. I know that much. The answer lies in the doing and learning for the most part, and rolling with any inevitable mistakes as best I can. He is a great, kind-hearted, creative, empathetic kid. Must have done something right so far.

Urban Myth Debunked about 1962 King King vs. Godzilla

There was an urban myth circulating for years about the original 1962 King King vs. Godzilla that posited it had two distinct endings. In the Japanese theatrical release, Big Green was supposed to win, while in the U.S. release, the King was apparently the victor. Myth's been debunked since.

Alas, I believed the urban myth until all too recently.

Why must Covid bring disillusionment about even this, my fragile truth about a rubber-suit monster movie?

Saw the Japanese version at a Sunday matinee in my hometown at the Port Theatre. For the record, Kong won. Bystanders claimed that his tussle with Godzilla was like fighting someone with a flame thrower.

A syfy.com article about the urban myth is here.