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Ugh I’m awake at 3:30 am with an upset tummy, kind of, and it’s just, ugh. oh well.

I had a busy day yesterday, finished painting the barn interior. There’s a space we use adjacent to the slaughter area, where we package chickens— the hallway between the kill room and the evisceration room, and the space in front of that hallway— and the inspector said last year, if we’re in that space, the surfaces have to be coated. So we didn’t get to it over the winter, and did our first run of the year without fixing it, but B-i-L was super nervous that if the inspector comes and we haven’t done the necessary work, he’ll fail the entire operation’s inspection. And it’s so minor— we’ve done the major construction work that has to be done, and it’s just literally painting the walls and ceiling, so—

I realized right away this was a job I could do, not skilled or complicated, and most importantly, not involving sun exposure. I’ve only had mild hives this year so far, but they were from spending two hours in the shade in clothing that nearly covered me entirely, so. I know I can’t do field work at all. So I took over.

And yesterday I managed to paint the wall behind the ice machine and biggest chest freezer. We didn’t move either thing very much, and it involved me enlisting Sister to wriggle in and with her longer arms, reach a bit I wouldn’t have been able to— she accomplished this by wedging her pelvis between the ice machine and the freezer, standing on one leg, and hooking the other leg over the top of the freezer, and reaching as far as she could with one hand while bracing the other against the wall.

I had to do the same after she was done, she’s just both narrower and longer than I am so her range was greater for one crucial bit. Then I had to lie on top of the chest freezer and hang my head and entire upper body down into the space between it and the wall. Fortunately, I had foreseen this, and hadn’t painted the bit we’d have to mash ourselves against.

It worked, and the thing’s done. I haven’t managed the ceiling, but I did stand on the chest freezer and paint all the edge pieces I could reach.

It’s the kind of thing you don’t notice, but, honestly it was disgusting before; that used to be a cow barn, and the walls were this weird kind of whitewash-over-newspaper, caked in 70 years of filth. You could try washing them, but it would only sort of soak in. (I washed the ceiling in there over the winter. Believe me, those walls weren’t cleanable.) So, now they’re coated in the really good primer.

I think I have to go back over them with high-gloss bright-white paint, though, to make them washable going forward. Which is the goal. At least the doors and the one narrow bit, maybe not behind the freezers, where neither light nor dirt will ever penetrate…

I also washed the panes of glass in the one window, which was Something, let me tell you. I had to evict a lot of spiders. I did so soft-heartedly, carrying as many outdoors as I could, or into other parts of the barn where we don’t care if they live there.

* * *

In other news, I’ve done almost no work on anything personal, nor have I looked much at the Internet, except to get exceedingly upset about politics, as usual. I’m so upset, and it doesn’t help that I’m writing this at like, three forty-five because I was awake almost an hour ago lying in bed worrying about it. Ugh.

BUT. I think I did manage to finish the Yavin 4Some. So, y’all, brace yourselves, for some non-continuity, excessively pornographic, unredeeming smut, because who doesn’t love that. I don’t not love that. Why has this been the story that gets worked on? LOL because it’s the only one that’s on my hard drive not Google Docs. Should I relocate other things to my hard drive? Sure I should but that’s asking a lot of my organizational abilities.
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I was kind of a lazy piece of shit today but honestly it was glorious. It was 92 today, and brutally bakingly sunny. I spent a solid ten minutes out in the sun, felt a prickling in my skin, and beat feat to the shade, telling Farmbaby that she could keep harvesting wild strawberries on the hill but I was going to be just at the foot of the hill. (I put sunscreen on both her and me, but I still have that inexplicable sun allergy. If I stay in the shade, I’m okay, but it’s not always possible. Ugh.) She understood and was chill, and after another fifteen minutes, joined me. “It’s hot,” she said. 

She then proceeded to effusively thank the Vegetable Manager for telling her that there were strawberries on that hill. (He’d discovered them, and told us we should go look; I’d noticed the leaves but figured they wouldn’t bear fruit, and also wasn’t that confident I’d ID’d them correctly.)

She had a fever of 102 last night, and it kept recurring in little spikes throughout the day. She was so cheerful, and chipper, and would play, with us cautioning her not to overdo it, but then she would demand “snuggles” (and always from her mother), and crash sort of hard for a bit. She never had any temper tantrums or shed any actual tears. She seems to rather suddenly be almost entirely over the years-long phase of having screaming weeping tantrums about things. Not totally, but often. 

She was so clingly. But Sister knew that was inevitable, and did not make any serious attempts to get into any tasks. Did some flower harvesting and light weeding, and I did the intermediate herding of Child when she was well enough to allow those things, and then Sister just sat in the shade and let 100 degrees of child cook her organs. Farmbaby took a nap of over an hour pressed against her mother’s chest, in a chair in the shade with the cat melted on the grass next to her.

Meanwhile, Brother-in-Law spent the entire day setting up the swingset his father had sent, unsolicited and without much warning, as a gift. It was lovely, but somewhat unexpected. Farmbaby was an angel; she asked a half-dozen times how much longer it would take, but when firmly and repeatedly told, a long time, she willingly let herself be distracted, for hours on end. 

I did cook dinner. (Sauteed kohlrabi greens and kale with scallions and a little broccoli raab, with a coconut milk and peanut butter sauce, over rice. Bonus: sauteed in a pan that had been used to cook homemade bacon, so it was coated in lard and bacon crumbs.) 

That’s about all I accomplished today. I fucked around on the Internet, but basically read-only. Not productive, but sometimes the brain needs to lie fallow. I didn’t think of much, but I think it was important rest time. We’ll see. 

I am overjoyed, by the way, at having power to the yurt, because 90 degrees with an electric fan in a yurt is actually pleasant. No fan, and you won’t sleep, but a fan means that crucial extra bit of air circulation that takes it from bearable to comfortable.

I’ve taken down the blanket fort and dropped the sidewalls and put up my lace “curtains”. It’s really nice in here now. 
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oh no! i told myself now that i’m back in my own house i can catch up on naps and laziness and be a piece of shit but my nap was all spoiled by I Should Be Doing Something anxiety feelings and even an anxiety dream about something complicated involving transporting things from one place to another. 

Phooey, I’m going to have to be productive instead. 
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Yesterday we cleaned out the second floor of the granary– the building just across the driveway from the house used to be a granary and carriage house, and now the larger part is used as the farmstand, and the smaller room to the left is still called the granary– it’s where we make wreaths and where the freezers for household use are. (The barn is full of chest freezers to hold the chickens for sale, but the stuff for cooking with is in the granary upright freezers.) There’s also a fridge for self-serve eggs during the summer months. Oh I need to make a new sign for that, note to self. (The old one was on a roof slate and is cracked.)

The whole building is two stories, and the upper storey is entirely lined with built-in grain bins probably original to the structure. The building was probably constructed around the same time as the house, circa 1825– it might even be older. The foundation is raw field stone, set dry, and it is actually in the bed of the creek, with the foundation keeping it up. There’s a two-seat privy that just hangs out over the creek– just, holes in seats, and you’re supposed to do your business straight into the creek, ew– and is the oldest surviving lavatory facilities on premises. It’s totally unrenovated, and is still in the farmstand, but is used as a storage closet. 

The second storey had gotten cluttered up with junk and used for storage. I’d really like to put the dried flowers workshop up there, though, and i have some ambitious plans for preserved flowers and potpourri. So yesterday we hauled out what was up there– and most of it was lumber. 

We transferred it out the second-storey door of the granary, and carried it across the bridge to put up into the big barn’s loft. The big barn, built 1943, has a huge hayloft that’s mostly got yurt parts and pigeon shit in it, so it could easily store lumber.

Doing this was intensively laborious and dusty, but we got it done, FarmSister and I, with a lot of help from the veggie manager, who had finished his seeding for the day and happened by and pitched in because he’s nice. 

We revealed that the granary’s second floor is in gorgeous condition. The windows have mostly fallen in, over the decades, but the roof is original slate and has survived, and so the floor is flawless– wide planks, better condition than those in the house. It’s just gorgeous. 

We’re going to make a lounge for the interns on one side, since the intern cabin has no electricity– we’ll run power up from the first floor of the granary, and there are a couple comfy chairs, we’ll rig up a desk and a desk chair, and maybe even get them a TV or something, some floor lamps– and then the other ¾ of the space can be a workshop. We gotta fix the windows, but that’ll be easy enough. 

I don’t want to pull out the grain bins, which are built-in, but it’s hard to utilize the space with them as-is. I think we can remove them without really damaging anything, and then we can adapt and reuse the space. They’re just built-in low walls. The corners are all reinforced with old metal license plates– there’s a pair from 1941, particularly– because of mice chewing. And that’s the downside– I can’t have racks to dry flowers if they’re anything the mice will eat. Petals, mice won’t bother, but anything with a seed head, they’ll eat. And I’m sure if I preserve anything in glycerine they’ll get into it. 

Anyway, I’m so sore I think I might be dying, because my normal daily activity is something like 3,000 steps according to my smartwatch, and I’ve been over 10,000 every day this week, and yesterday carried a lot of lumber on my shoulders, which is not a typical activity for me at all.

But, onward. (That’s me telling myself to get up. Just now I was playing with Farmbaby, and am sort of proud I managed to talk her out of playing tag all over the house, and instead convinced her to show me her yoga poses. Man I needed some yoga.)
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Ha I managed to overcome the writer’s block and finish… the one sex scene that’s part of a larger chapter with another sex scene in it so I can’t even post anything to show for my progress. HA HA oh well, at least I can rest secure in the knowledge that I finally wrote The Healing Threesome Of Conclusion for the Epic. (I just have to wrap up the plot and also Kes and Leia. Ha. Anyone remember that I was working on that? I do!) 

Sigh. Meanwhile, though, time to pack up and drive across the state again, and I’m excited for the destination but as usual, not for the journey.
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so i drove the entire way to work this morning in an absent-minded state of tooth-gritted, resigned anxiety, like I’d just been in a fight and was chewing it over and dealing with moving on in my life and all.

And it was only after like, fifteen minutes of it, that I was like… wait… I… basically haven’t spoken to anyone today… I pet my cat and said some fairly sweet nothings to my dude, I wrote a goofy post about butter, I– why am I thinking I was in an argument? I don’t think I’ve so much as disagreed with anyone in days????

And I realized eventually that I had scrolled past and read half of a post where two people were debating back and forth over something in semi-hostile tones.

Jesus Christ, I didn’t even read the whole thing and I don’t even think either one of them were mutuals or anyone I’ve ever spoken to. It was literally random strangers on the Internet having a mild but snippy disagreement over some turn of phrase. 

There is not very much of my brain working and I deeply resent that the only part of my brain that seems to be working well is the one that latches onto icky things. 

ugh.

This is why I’m not on Facebook.

This could also explain why despite the fact that many perfectly lovely people have said perfectly lovely things I am convinced that nobody reads my shit and nobody cares. I’ve mostly been pretty good I think about not whining too much because I do realize how shitty it must be, if you read my shit and left a nice comment and I didn’t answer and then went and whined about how nobody loves me. But that’s how my brain is currently working: you do something nice, I don’t notice it because it conflicts with my deeply-held belief that everything is bad. (You know, that cognitive bias whatever thing that makes people do incredibly stupid things like rely on the ACA for their continued existence and enthusiastically vote for the guy who promised to eliminate it?) 

That’s not to say that the moment of pleasure I experience when reading such a comment etc. isn’t real, it’s just that it goes very pale pretty much instantly in my memory, and then the brainweasels yell at me that I made the whole thing up, that sort of thing. Look, my brain is wholesale devoting itself to making me feel shitty about arguments I didn’t even read, let alone get involved in (and it was an issue I don’t have an opinion on either way, I should add! I only read the little bit I did because it was something I didn’t know was a thing!)– is it any wonder that I’m not hitting all the marks on the ol’ social graces? 

So I suppose I should conclude by expressing gratitude for anyone who has bothered to interact with me in any kind of positive or even neutral kind of way lately, because it’s really appreciated even if I don’t actually, you know, wind up with enough appreciation going spare for it to be in any way perceptible. 

miscellany

Sep. 8th, 2016 02:16 am
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So the grinding noise was indeed my rear brakes, which are now replaced, free of charge, covered under warranty, just in time. Go me!

I was feeling sort of low because I Finally Updated The Epic and got a few comments and then… crickets… and like… some of the regulars hadn’t been by, the ones who leave long great comments on every chapter, you know the ones, and i was feeling real sad, like, I blew my update schedule and now no one will ever love me kind of shit, you know the type… and then I got a comment notification and went and looked and there’s a giant yellow banner that AO3 emails aren’t going out, so. That’s a little cheering. I’m not letting myself go look to see if there are comments there, I’d rather leave it as a kind of Schrodinger’s Sad Sack kind of situation. I am so pathetically Dependent on Validation, you know? but I don’t get a lot of it in my daily life, I’m just putting that out there. Most things I try to do, I fail at, so. Maybe it’s not reasonable but it’s a little bit understandable that I’m kind of Thirsty about this sort of thing. 

God it is so fucking hard to just fucking believe in yourself, you know? Ugh. I seriously cried about being a goddamn retail clerk who can’t add, today. Like, ugly sobbing. it’s really good nobody was around. 

[deleted thousand-word aside about buying incense at the indian grocery store??? what??? i need to chill.]

I’m on such a tear tonight. I need to chill. It’s definitely A Time of Month or something, for reals. Ugh. 
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This week’s chapter update is getting a lot of really great comments and I am rolling around in them in delight and have been lifted from my terrible mood by them, so– thank you to everyone who is reading and I love everyone in this bar.

Gratifying

Apr. 12th, 2016 10:51 am
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So after a l-o-n-g drive across the state and a wearying crush of rush hour traffic just outside of Albany (I do not know why I-87N is always such a parking lot) during which my arms went numb, I was so tired, I finally made it to the farm. I pulled into a parking spot and admired the new chicken coop, then trudged through the rain to the house. As I reached the driveway, I could see movement inside the kitchen, and then through the soft din of rain and the rush of the creek, I could hear a very high-pitched sound: a set of very small vocal chords sh-r-i-e-k-i-n-g my name in a state of GREAT excitement. 

Somebody, who is two, was very glad I had arrived. Which is always very gratifying. 
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I started to prepare to post another chapter of Home Out In The Wind way early, as a pick-me-up for how terribly my Friday went, but in the proofreading I wound up adding on over 1k words to the chapter and another good big chunk on the next one. Which is even better, and reminds me again how very different a thoroughly-edited work I’ve had time to contemplate is from a post-as-you-write it work that no one has seen but me. 

wittering about writing process behind the cut: (ha I had to wait for xkit to fail to install again before I could fix the horizontal rule and make it properly a cut, sorry for anyone who had to scroll past it in the meantime)

Sometimes it’s readers’ notes that prompt these changes, and the initial round of edits all were, but this most recent one is mostly me noticing that in the first draft, I was super into Poe and less into Finn. Which is often the case when I’m writing long things with multiple POVs– there’s one that’s a treat to write and wallow in, and the other that I use just to frame the first one really because the first one is my *~darling sweetheart~*, and on the second pass I’m realizing that (duh) it’s all more interesting if Finn genuinely has his own motivations. And indeed, his own motivations are the parts in the posted chapters that people are reacting to most! Clearly, whether you read this pairing out of Oscar Isaac thirst or not (they’re related conditions, c’mon), it’s a more rewarding story if Finn has inward monologue that’s not just about Poe. 

And I knew that when I wrote it, but a lot of times the first draft is just this race to get it down and make it form a structure before you forget where you were going, before you get bogged down in details. And there was one scene in particular that I was absolutely racing toward the switch over to Poe’s POV, in fact I’d already written his POV, I knew what I wanted to happen (and it was going to be so juicy) and I just had to get Finn to a position where he could start the Poe POV scene and that meant establishing why he’d be there, and I literally stuck in a sentence and marked the scene done in my head, and it was no kind of resolution and he was inappropriately upset about the very minor thing I’d given him to be upset about. 
And it wasn’t until the last-minute proofreading of the scene that I hit that sentence (which betas had reacted to! not particularly negatively, but people had, and I thought, yes that’s a fine scene ending, sure) and realized that it was a placeholder and I’d surely meant to put a lot more here once I had a better handle on the character. 

That’s the other thing; I wrote this entire epic, for the first 50k words or so, in three documents, one from each character’s POV; I instantly realized that Rey’s POV did not start until well after the first two, and she became the draft of the second story. (The second story was literally called “Rey” for a really long time. The Finn POV was called “Finn”. And the Poe POV? Well, indicatively, it was called “SWTFA”. I had not yet realized, or maybe I had, that I was so overwhelmingly interested in Poe above all.

And that’s fine, you can focus around one character. Some of it, as a ficcer, is who I think I can sort of own. I am totally unwilling to touch Rey’s backstory; I know for a certainty it will be revealed in the movies and any story I tell will be outmoded by those revelations. Likewise, I shy away from Kylo Ren and his redemption or not; they’ll absolutely handle that. (I’m going to have to at least mention the character, I get that, and in fact he will appear and will play an important and possibly more ambiguous than originally conceptualized role.)

 Poe, I realize, will be getting a tie-in comic and already has a background and all, but those are comics. That means they won’t be doing it in the movies. Comics, you can kind of brush aside a little. Very few people will read it, and if they do, they won’t absorb it the same way. Comics are awesome and I incorporate them where I can. Movies, though. Movies obliterate your work. 

Finn may or may not get a backstory. I’m not so sure about him. 

But anyway. Poe was clearly the most appealing for me, and I feel best about filling him in, and that’s fine.

But Finn has POV scenes, and that’s a decision I made. He therefore needs to be a rounded character. And for some reason making him do that is something I have had to mull over a lot before I could do. 

I’m just glad I have the chance to do that. 

Anyway, chapter update will probably be Wednesday as originally scheduled; I have to shake it really hard to make the new bit settle properly. I got another 2k into the next chapter too, it was kind of rewarding. All of it is Finn. 
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In that case, do you know about Eleanor Arnason’s story called Mammoths of the Great Plains? It’s pro SF, not fanfic, but AU to RL.

I do not! I will look it up! 

I wrote about 95k of an original novel that involved magic and time-travel and mammoth hunters, Bronze Age Ireland death rituals, and a literal fuck-or-die scenario that I still find hot on my rereads, but what I loved most about the book was writing about mammoth-bone huts. I am such a weirdo nerd.

misc:

Mar. 9th, 2016 02:35 am
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My DJing deskmate wasn’t in today so I was DJing for myself, and so I decided to work my way through the entirety of Townes Van Zandt’s back catalogue because, I’m not sure why, it seemed like a good idea I guess, but this involved looking him up and reading his life story to figure out what order the albums go in, and Jesus Christ I don’t know how I managed not to read about his life before now but oh my God I am going to die alcoholic in a ditch just from reading about it oh my God. Um like massive TRIGGER WARNINGS for his ENTIRE LIFE: alcohol abuse, terrible medical abuse, awful fucking tragedy.

[Fun fact: he was given “insulin shock” therapy for bipolar disorder at age 18 and lost most of his long-term memories. Fucking what.][Also he died of many complications but among them a fractured hip he refused medical treatment for for eight days.][Also the normally not-very-poetic Wikipedia takes the time to describe his ex-wife Jeanene performing CPR on him “screaming his name between breaths” as he died, thanks for that image!]

So uh. I had to share that, I actually couldn’t not share that. 

More cheerfully, a happy customer brought in cookies, and i am at The Time Of The Month where anything with chocolate in it goes from being mildly interesting to ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY so, here’s a GPOY: 

It was kind of terrible and kind of awesome. I… will admit to no regrets.

I made a lot of progress on the novel today since nobody was supervising me. that’s not to say i did no work, i did plenty, i just didn’t have to waste quite so much time looking busy. funny how that works. 

I have booked tomorrow off, since I’m supposed to be part-time, and I am promising to spend it cleaning my house more. If my house were clean enough, I could have people come over sometimes, and that would be nice. 

i really want to promise myself I’ll make something with my hands, though, because I get so anxious when I haven’t, and I have all these projects I’m dying to work on. So, maybe I’ll really make something. It would be so great. I would be so happy. I want to. 

I also want to finish the fucking novel though and I’m so close. I’m trying. It’s more difficult the closer you are to the end. I feel like. I don’t know. I rarely finish things so it’s hard to say. I’ve finished stuff before, though, and i know. I know! Stay strong, self.

I’m going to reblog a stupid ask meme, please ask me stupid things because it is motivational procrastination. 
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snapshots of my work day: 

Sometimes you need synthetic whale noises.

It takes a special kind of human to whistle along to Kraftwerk.

(those two incidents are related.)

Also a prolonged debate on the merits of tacos as a currency. Pros: they’re awesome. Cons: literally everything. When President Trump brings about the apocalypse, my not-terrible coworker (well, he’s mostly not-terrible, but he whistles along to Kraftwerk) hypothesizes that tacos will be the only currency. 

Terrible Coworker sat behind us occasionally giving us disbelieving glances but mostly watching Gilmore Girls on her laptop, which she does every shift for at least 45 minutes.

Things I googled today:

when does boy’s voice break at puberty

(apparently 11-15? concurrently, I texted my boyfriend and asked him if it was as awful and awkward as it sounded. He said he really didn’t remember, everything was kind of terrible then. I pointed out that I’d had one of my internal organs begin a regular process of turning itself gorily inside-out at that point in my life, and he conceded that maybe i won.) 

can you mix different milliamp-hour-rated nickel metal hydride rechargeables in a single appliance

(apparently, yes, but you probably shouldn’t)

fundido meaning in english

(melted)

election of 1828

(awful)

Welcome to my twisted mind, I suppose. I seem to have decided that Tumblr is such garbage I’m just going to post to it like it’s Livejournal. Only with tags. Which I’m terrible at. 
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Oh gosh. I hope so. I still am not one hundred percent sure what the story I’m trying to tell actually *is*. That’s usually the last thing I figure out, though. :)
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I am staying the course and finishing the fic before I post anything. I am letting beta-readers take their time. I am going to methodically go back and make edits. 

I am going to have a fucking title before I post it, and it’s not going to be unwieldy and long. I will have a theme. I will be organized. 

This is hard. 

(I will stop looking at other authors and seeing how popular their stories are and thinking that means my stories don’t need to get told. Listen, you, a lot of people read your shit and like it so shut your face.)
(I absolutely won’t throw this over for the modern AU that popped into my head today while I was doing something else. Poe is a jaded detective with a secret passion for a cause, Finn a former child soldier who got himself out, and Rey was raised by a cult and has inexplicable powers…)

I will chill the fuck out and finish something for fucking once. This only seems dry because you’re writing it. Get to the point and you can come back and cut the things that don’t serve it. You just have to find the point first. 

Chewie sighed, and bent over Poe. “You look kinda rough,” he said.

“I feel kinda rough,” Poe answered.

“C’mere,” Chewie said, and picked him up. Poe managed to move a hand enough to wrap it around Chewbacca’s arm as the world spun wildly. “You’re a lot heavier than the last time I did this.”

“I don’t remember you ever doing this before,” Poe said. Squeezing his eyes shut didn’t help but he did it anyway.

“Not surprising,” Chewie said, “you were probably about eight. It was that time you broke your leg?”

“Oh yeah,” Poe said. He’d forgotten that. “Fuckin’, Ben, got stuck up a tree and I fell out trying to get him down.” He tried to pry his fingers out of Chewie’s arm but instinct wanted him to hang on tight.

“You should have just come and gotten us,” Chewbacca said. “I just reached up and got him.”

“In hindsight,” Poe said, “that would have been a better idea, but do recall, I was eight.”

Chewie grunted with the effort, but lifted him up into a bunk set into the wall over a semicircular lounge with a holo-table in the middle. “I haven’t shed in this bed,” he said, “you’ll probably be comfortable here.”

Poe took a moment to peel his fingers out of Chewie’s fur. “Thanks, man,” he said.
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I was out too late last night and it was sort of a weird group, it was my dude and all his coworkers in from out of town, and I was the only non-employee and the only woman, and it struck me sort of weirdly at one point that only the first thing was odd. You know? I’ve been in a lot of situations in my life where I was the only woman and it’s usually weird, and at one point it struck me as weird that it wasn’t weird, last night. But I’m so sleepy I can’t really unpack that. 

I’ve written 17k beyond the 50k I sent for beta on the star wars thing. But I’ve written myself into a corner. The characters are doing things for plot and not because they make sense. This whole time I’ve been bribing myself with a payoff of a fun happy resolution I don’t know how to write and can’t envision. I don’t know if I can get there from here. it is always very hard.

I bribed myself through the end of the day with the promise of ice cream for dinner, which I did get, with dude. And then came home and had dinner for dessert. It worked well and it made me feel purposeful and happy. I always feel bad when I can’t make myself make any decisions about food. So making decisions made me feel like I was doing The Right Thing, even if it was a silly decision. I didn’t second-guess it or change my mind at all, so that was Good. 

I am still very tired but I think I may manage to bang some more plot into shape. i’m trying to make myself finish the second bit and give beta readers time before I come back to the first bit. The hard thing is keeping my conviction that any story really matters enough to tell, which I know is clearly a brainweasel kind of situation. But. I see rec lists and I’m never on them, I see other authors describe their process and it seems like it makes so much more sense than mine. It’s hard for me sometimes to think like anything I could ever do is important. I’m not fishing for reassurance so much as writing it down so I can see what it is that I’m refusing to think about straight-on. That’s what it is, and it’s kind of dumb, so there it is. 

Also I have another fucking beautiful @artgroves sketch to post with a snippet and the original snippet isn’t particularly usable and for some reason I can’t bang out a new one that works, and I’m sort of uncomfortably gnawing on that and feeling bad. The other one has a lot of notes now and that’s a source of glee (and a moment of hilarity last night, as one of dude’s coworkers had encountered it in the wild and recognized that it was my work, and was like poe dameron, eh? and i was like yo i got needs okay, fictional ones). 

So, maybe, someone help me with a writing prompt for Poe with a guitar, because I might just need to write a new chunk for it! I don’t know. Every other snippet I have relies too heavily on in-story context. 
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ugh i don’t want eight inches of snow i want four feet or nothing.

like, either i don’t have to shovel, or i don’t have to go in to work, that’s how i want this.

but i don’t live in the south towns so what always happens is that i get just enough that i have to fucking shovel it and everyone else is fucking late or doesn’t show up.

ughhh i know it’s basically the first snowfall but it’s january, i’m allowed to be sick of winter even if i’ve only scraped my car twice.
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As an aside. If you ever want to attract fruit flies and mosquitoes I cannot imagine any better lure than a six-gallon vat of sugar that farts carbon dioxide.

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dragonlady7

July 2017

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