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.

A Writing Dare

Okay—so I am harried, in a good way. Chuffed, really. 

In addition to having a paying editing gig, a historical fiction novel, as of last week, my publisher asked me to look at cover options for an upcoming anthology.  I opined.  In the end, he chose the same cover I chose.

And hot on the heels of that exchange, he dared me to write 1,000-word horror fiction for a particular market, particular as in I-dare-you-to-write-this-and-I-may-publish-it-if-I-like-it.  He would need it by mid-April.

Thinking on it, but not for long ....

Looking at a Novelette, got a Paying Editing Gig

In between  getting my literary rocks off drafting my "Full Moon Addiction/Rehab" work-in-progress, I received important business news. 

My publisher checked in yesterday. 

Had I started looking at his novelette, which he sent the other week?

I hadn't.

But, being a self-respecting writer, I didn't tell him that, of course. 

First, I perused the first two chapters over my lunch break. He sent nine, which I had already stored in a file. Then I could honestly reply soon after that, yes, I was looking at it. What format did he prefer? He had emailed a mix of Word and Rich Text Format files. And how deep or into-the-weeds should I get with my comments and edits?

This news seemed to ... please him? 

Yes—it must have. He immediately offered me a bona fide, paying, editing gig on a historical fiction novel.

I had hoped, from how well things went editing the anthology of queer fairy tales starring hirsute and hefty gay men, that he might send me some work down the line. But this soon? Fantastic.

This marks my first official editing gig on a novel, so there is  that.