The insane mind of a lunatic writer….

(Note: I reblogging this from my other blog : http://writingiandad.wordpress.com/)

Why? You ask.

I have no freakin’ idea. I respond….

I took the weekend off to be with family. Didn’t do a spank of writing the whole time, my thoughts were too chaotic. It wasn’t until this morning (woke up at dawn) that I suddenly remembered two things…1. I’d forgotten an entry for Friday Fictioneers ; and 2. I was still at odds as to where to take the next scene.

The psych ramifications of having Charles flee in the face of danger really rankled me. Charles (Cutter as fans know him) has never fled anything. He was a strong soldier, a solid emotional block for others, and an all-around proper gentleman with a penchant for good ale. So, why was I suddenly sitting there (well, still laying in bed watching the digital clock change led’s) so lost. Then, of course, there was my MFC who wants to kill Charles so bad she gets an orgasm from just the thought. Wicked, I know, but what do you expect of an x-generation bred and genetically spliced/diced/melted to be the ultimate murdering machine? If I have Charles running to the hills, then what in sam’s hell am I going to do with an assassin on the hunt.

By the time the alarm clock buzzed its annoying as hell piazzo, I was wide awake and had mentally written Charles’ arrival at Tamai’s paradiscal abode. (Inspiration via the Friday Fictioneers photog for Friday). By the time I’d driven Hubs to work, pitched him out to the curb, and screamed out of the lot (at all of three mph.) and got to my coffee place to write, I’d devised a little deviance for our little assassin. A plot that would indeed draw Charles back to the school… after all, it is spring, and what does spring bring ~ rain. Can we say ‘rain fever’ epidemic? Well, it’s one option. However, it could be something entirely new and previously unheard of, like a whole herd of x-gens, w-gens (also a murderous lot, but too vulnerable to injury.)

I’m going to have to do a lot of writing to catch up with my thoughts… better get the pen running…

Prayers for all affected by today’s tornadoes…

Our prayers are lifted for those who live and work in Newcastle and Moore, OK. News 9 reports that two elementary schools have been hit along with businesses and numerous homes. Lord Jesus, please help those who need to be rescued; strengthen the hurt, the first responders, the rescuers and all those trapped. We lift all these in your precious name Father, and know that you are the Comforter and Provider. ~ Shared from Dallas IUMC

Box84 Ministries is traveling south towards Texas. The group just phoned home to say that all is well, and all are SAFE! Pray for their continued hedge of protection as they deliver much needed supplies to those hit by the recent tornadoes.

PTSD in my jungle…

Well, to be honest, my jungle has been rather pleasant of late. I attribute this a lot to the distancing I’ve been doing with certain individuals whose very nature makes the hair on my neck stand on end. Also, I reluctantly pulled away from my current church. No hard feelings, just too too many triggers to be able to attend there anymore.

The worst of the issues was sound…The sound was so loud and physically painful. If your face isn’t steel, your chest not a glob of shattered bone healed and now coated with arthritis, and sound doesn’t trigger seizures, then you seriously just cannot understand. From the first keyed note on the keyboard, strum of the bass, beat on the drum, it was a forced effort not to cry out in pain. My chest hurting so bad that it felt like I had crushed it all over again. My pain tolerance is pretty high these days, so high that the least little bit of additional pain beyond what I live with everyday is excruciating. One can only tolerate such pain just so long before one crumples under it’s pressure. They made some changes to the sound, plucked the amp up, turned some speaks around…it was worse, far worse. Then it became a matter of resonance through my chest and steel face implants. The resonance freqs did something – not sure what- but I had the first seizure I’d had in over 7 years. I thought it a fluke, but the next sunday was a ditto performance. Needless to say, had to do the unthinkable and leave a church we’d begun to think of as home.

Another side issues were the constant discussions of weaponry: CCW licenses, and finding an individual (not a law enforcement or soldier) carrying concealed in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. This just wasn’t going to be happening in my world. Somehow, I don’t think God ever intended for us to come into his house armed… sorry if you disagree, but that’s what I believe. Not even speaking of the singers words being unintelligible and the screen prompts not matching.

The other side issue was politics…again, you may not agree, but I don’t think church should be a place to bash people because of their political leanings (whatever those leanings are). I keep my politics to myself, by the way.

The other side was the practice of denomination bashing. I don’t do so in my life, and I really would prefer not to hear such garbage being preached and taught on Sunday. What kind of witness to God’s UNCONDITIONAL love are you showing when you bash and belittle other walks of faith? Just saying.

All except the last, for me, are somewhat of a trigger. I was coming home every week all nervous, high-strung, trigger temper, and anxious. This isn’t good, and not what I expect from church. The constant triggers were taking their toll on my abilities to think clearly, act responsibly, and care for my family. IT was simply too too much.

I left that church at the beginning of May. Since then, I’ve been attending one of the “often bashed” churches. The music, though contemporary with drums and bass, is at a reasonable volume that doesn’t make you grit your teeth. The words to the songs are clearly on the screens. The order of worship is clearly defined. The sermons are from the word, and practical without being overly political, religious (in a negative sense), or weapons oriented. The lack of “The sky is falling and we’re doomed to die” mentality is non-existent. In short, worship has returned to the peaceful, cheerful, and enjoyable experience that I grew up loving. Also, no seizures this month, no serious chest pains, the tension is gone, and the smile has (as my husband noted yesterday) returned.

Doc would be proud, would that he were still alive, to have seen me willingly hauling out the walker and using it Saturday to go to a convention with my husband. The walker gave me the space I needed to feel safe, and the security I needed to assure I wasn’t knocked over. For the moment, it seems my ptsd is once again being managed. Now, just dealing with the stress of a terminally ill parentinlaw, looking for new, more affordable housing, and taking each day one step at a time.

LOOOONG weekend…. Thrilled it’s Monday! Yep, that’s right, Thrilled!

Thursday night was tense as we sat in surgery waiting, praying for the docs working on Dad to put a feed tube into his stomach. They did get it in, but it was very tense and a lot of “We’re not sure…” language coming from them. Friday was a repeat as we waited to see if he could tolerate the feed tube nutrition. He did. Soooo, Friday afternoon, they transported him to the nursing home by ambulance while we drove mom home to shower, change clothes, eat, and go to meet Dad at the nursing home. Dad was being a crotchety bitch… as expected. He bit one of the nurses, threw things at Mom, and tried to tear out the feed tube. He was put in restraints which only pissed him off more. The whole issue that started the bitch-fit: Dad wanted a nap. The ride across state to the nursing home had worn him out. Sigh… sometimes! We left him to rest, came back Saturday. Dad discovered he has control over the call button (he did until I took it away). He called the nurses over ten times in as many minutes. I took his call button away and told him if he wanted the nurse to tell us and we’d get her if it was needed. With a huff, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He was still asleep ten hours later when we left. Yes, I did pin his call button back to his gown before we left. Heaven be with the nurses now!

Leaping into the unknown genre!

I’ve taken up the guanlet of challenge to write a horror story. Watch out Stephen King! Guess there’s always a first to be explored. Haven’t written anything so opposite of my normal self in years…in a weird way, its liberating… in another, it’s terrifying both by what’s being written and by even attempting such a jump out of my writing comfort zone.

The past month or two I’ve been at a virtual stand still with my writing – well, to be honest, with more than just my writing. I’ve been just completely lost…no ideas, no inspirations, not even a whiff of characterization. Then a fellow author – whom shall remain anonymous – dared me to write something so totally out of my comfort zone that it would ‘drive me bonkers’ (Their words, not mine). Thus, Swiftly Swings came into motion. I went back to the old universe/characters/environment that I’ve used to write 31 other novels in. I thought that after the 31st one, it would be time to put them to bed (or bury them deep). Evidently not.

As you know, I wrote a trilogy about Cutter (Doctor Charles Montgomery) and his experiences as a prisoner during the ethnic cleansing wars of the Aki and Bhrilan empires. It was a bloody story, drawn from history and spot on the gruesomeness of WWII. The trilogy dealt with Charles’ left over ptsd issues and led him to a romance that ended rather fatally. Ressurrected by the Enclave’s cloning technology, Charles is now living his second life.

That’s where Swiftly Swings comes into play. Charles was accquited by the War Crimes Tribunal for his part in the great “cleansing” of the Aki/Bhrilan/Chrilan peoples (remember there were several wars). Some would say he got off scot free, but the trilogy showed that there are worse fates than execution for your crimes. Worse still to live with the aftermath of guilt, shame, and a whole plethora of other emotions. Now, Charles meets one who desires to be his executioneer. One who wants to end his suffering, but not before destroying him spirit, soul, and eventually body.

As to the challenge…I’m writing from the perspective of the assassin as well as that of Charles’ torment. Should be interesting, don’t you think? All I know is that it’s already playing games with my mind. It’s hard to write such brutality when you have such a soft heart.

Shameless plug for my new WIP…

I’ve added a tab to the top of my page with a link to my newest work in progress. It digresses a good deal from my normal “clean” writing… I dare say that it might even get contreversial if I’m not careful… but, I’m done with careful. I’m done with trying to write clean and pretty when what I really want to write right now is down, dirty, and evil. Feeling a bit Stephen King -ish at the moment. Off to a slow start with the prelude and Chapter one roughouts, but they’re up to read. Hope you enjoy… In case you can’t find the tab, here’s the link:

http://writingiandad.wordpress.com/

Homecoming…

Looking up, and up, and up, a gulp struggled to get through my extended throat. I lowered my head and gulped again. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. I couldn’t believe how hot it was, how dry. Thinking of how dry it was, I took out my canteen and took another sip of the precious water.

‘No time like the present.’ I mumbled, lifting my heavy skirts, adjusting the canvas pack on my back, and tapping the walking stick on the trail in front of me. I figured if I tapped hard enough, then any snakes would venture away before I had a chance to see them and break the silence with a blood-curdling scream. I was here, after all. I’d been walking for years it seemed, just to find this hidden relic of the past.

I paused to catch my breath and looked up again. The cliff was so intimidating. I didn’t see how on earth I was ever going to make it up there. But I would! I hadn’t walked all the way from Ohio just to give up now, not when I was so close. My heart pounded painfully in my chest and my breathing was more like a continual gasp for air. No, I wouldn’t let either keep me from my goal. Not today.

Slowly, and with more stops than I cared to think about, I made my way up the narrow trail. Stamp, stamp, with my walking stick between each step. Puff, gasp, with aching lungs between moans of genuine pain that criss-crossed my chest and ran up my throat and down my arm until I thought I would surely pass out. I wasn’t going to give up, not today, not now, and most definitely not when I was so close. Then, I was there.

I smiled. I marveled at the view. I let my praises fill the silence with joy for God’s creation. It was beautiful… almost heavenly. I wanted to stay here until I drew my last living breath. And so, I did.

The Ancestor’s welcomed me home.

Friday Fictioners – Bottles of Hope

Around her, the bottles stood, mostly empty now. The days of wine and song were gone. The world had changed. She was alone now, the last of her species to survive the latest round up. She’d been too old to be of any service, the soldiers had said as they left her standing naked in the street. Letting her mind play out last night, when the tavern had been overfilled, overly loud, and over-the-top cheerful considering that they all knew it was their last night on earth. She’d spent the morning cleaning and righting each and every bottle, as if by doing so, she could keep the hope alive.

108w

Meeting Life head-on…

Life has been in a serious tangle for the last several months, over a year to be exact. First, my Mom died…then, just when I started to be able to function with some normalcy, we learn that my fatherinlaw has stage 3, non-hodgkins lymphoma. Back to the whirlwind of commuting across statelines, endless sessions with doctors, heart wrenching emails from home in between. Then, he gets an infection…not just any infection, but one that is rare, tropical, and worse than an insurgent. Its a non-responsive virus/fungal/bacterial infection that is just eating him alive from the inside out. Yesterday, they were to insert a feed tube, and move him this weekend to a long-term care facility. Sadly, I don’t think that he will be with us much longer. I wish I could feel something, anything, but I just don’t. I’m not angry, sad, numb, or anything. There’s no love lost between me and him, and as crass as it may sound, I think things would be better when he goes. He’s been a thorn in the relationship between my Hubs and I since we were dating. His idea of showing love is to break you down to the lowest point, and then bash you down even further because you don’t meet his expectations of what is perfect. So be it. I just can’t wait until this over.

Nuclear freak out!

If one seriously wants to scare oneself about current events, just take a look see to the British Docu-drama “Threads” circa 1984. As with all British movies, it has a depth that toys with the mind while at the same time making a serious social statement. I think this movie is, at the this time, very appropos for a fresh viewing and reminder of just how devastating and insane a Nuclear confrontation can be.

You can watch the full movie for free on youtube. Watch it! I dare ya. Meantime, Remain Calm and Carry On…