Not Dead, Just Hibernating

I'm running a little behind. And the photographs are in exactly the wrong order; sorry about that. They are mostly self-explanatory, at least.
From bottom:
1) Mandarinli ('Mandy') in the Weihnachtsbaum
2) Mandy in the tree, attacking a chocolate mouse
3) Peppercorn, trying to blend in, failing to blend in
4) Offspring, making annual Snow Goon
5) View from office window
6) Peppercorn, fishing.

Now! This is a writing blog, right?
So.
I have stopped submitting anything temporarily. I am a strange sort of mental lummox, and can't seem to remember that the important thing is the writing bit and not the getting published bit, so I am not submitting before summer, just writing. Writing writing writing. At the moment I am only writing crap, but at least I am writing. I can't seem to remember how, can't seem to open that vein at the moment, and can't tell if I'm trying too hard or not trying hard enough. This leads to desperately boring activities such as writing a list of the items on my desk. I don't dare write about any of the characters in any of my half finished stories, because they are all against me anyway and won't cooperate.
My mind even goes blank when faced with EE's engaging cartoonery. Of course, it's always possible that Evil has installed a mind-suck virus to dupe the minions he lures onto that page- I wouldn't put it past him, but I'm blaming the whole thing on

WINTER

which I hate.
The mere fact that setting all my manuscripts on fire would produce heat is an almost unbearable temptation.

Just a Bit of Fun

Maybe I'm the last one to see this and you've all read it already, but I thought it was worth linking to this rejection letter.

Be sure to scroll down and read the breathtaking scenes the blogger posts to illustrate just what a loss this was to Harlequin.

(Joel Stickley, eat your heart out!)

Cranky

Let's just suppose I'm in despair.  Does Clarion do a mid-life crises special?  Should I just get a tattoo, like some people?  I could just change the blog title to "Will Whine for Free."

Really, I don't know what I'm complaining about, exactly.  Nothing's really wrong, I still have a better life than, say, 90% of the planet, socio-economically speaking, and yet there is something lacking.  I have blogged about the lack of real-life writer buddies a lot (I'm too lazy to look for the links, though) and try as I might, I still can't come up with any solution that doesn't involve leaving this country.  Don't get me wrong, Bloglodytes- I love you guys.  But there's just nothing like someone who lives 10 minutes away threatening to come and bludgeon you with a 400g block of Switzerland's Finest if you dangle one more sodding preposition or switch pov twice on the same page.  Then there's the warm fuzzy feeling of being able to offer such supportive bludgeoning services in return.  I'm not asking for solutions to this problem- it's pretty insoluble unless Kelly Link or Neil Gaiman moves in down the road (Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) but I just need to whine.  We now return to our regularly scheduled sommer.

Which includes:
1) Wishing my cat would come home :(
2) Teaching Prima all the math and English her pos teachers have failed to teach her over the last few years so she can have a good start in the new school.
3) Trying to keep Middlekid and Thirdling from killing each other- now that Middlekid is going to the upper school, puberty/sibling rivalry seems to be in overdrive.
4) Trying NOT to declare Switzerland to be the most boring country on the planet.  Yes, the Alps are gorgeous, now GET OVER IT, already, and realise that Heidi makes lousy company!
5) Going to visit this guy, who should be cloned and seeded all over Switzerland, because he makes great company.

Sorry to be so grumpy in such fine weather, Bloglodytes.  Must be the donut deficiency talking...

Time to Dry Up a Bit

I don't have much to say. I would like to complain about the weather, but I find that topic very depressing, plus the picture speaks for itself, I think.

So, in an effort to dry things off, I would like to remind all interested parties that YOU HAVE ONE WEEK TO FIND YOUR TOWEL! Yes, in honour of the late Douglas Adams, May 25th is once again Towel Day. We're with you, Douglas.

Quiz

Ok. I'm sure you're all sick of hearing about my formless rejections, I'm sick of telling you all how close I've come, it's all quite depressing, and we can't drink tequila all the time, can we? So for a complete change of pace here is a picture I took on Saturday.

Where was I? Any guesses?

Round Yellow Omens

Personally, I think I've been paying this blog far too much attention lately for my own good; I should be writing *more* stuff that editors will praise but reject anyway. But for those of you (none of *my* faithfull bloglodytes, I'm sure!) that are looking for distraction, I can't help Connecting this video with this story in my head. View, read, and be enlightened. Did I say enlightened? I meant abreviated. No! Ummmmm.... Anaesthetised! No.

Wait.

Exultant? That sounds good. So click on the links.

Today's Excuse

Dear Notebook,

The cat is on me. She has settled herself on my collarbone and to make sure she doesn't slide off, I need to lean back.
It is impossible to write in this position.



This is sad, so sad. I know we all have our good days and our bad days, but things are downright stinky lately. Whether I struggle with the same old stories, trying to make them subripe, or sit down to write something new, nothing jives at the moment.
And my feet are cold. If this keeps up much longer, I'm going to start writing limericks. Hmpf.

A writer once sat quite alone
ignoring the door and the phone
she drank so much tea
she needed to pee
when she came back to the book it was done!

bloody book fairies. they're almost as unreliable as the dish fairies...

I Keep Putting Words on the Page...

...but lately, they refuse to speak to me. I am not alarmed yet, though. I don't believe in writers' block. I think it's just the distraction- birthdays (check out the bat cake!) and the new cat (who tries to sit on my desk when I write, but since it's sloped, slides off into my lap. Either she's a slow learner, or she likes it :) or the wind-up to the annual mid-winter rush. Or ennui. How do you tell writers' block from ennui? Stab yourself in the thigh with a fork. If you feel compelled to write about it, it was ennui.

Anyway, here are cats, cakes, and the last of the leaves. Time to enjoy the grey, northern hemisphereites.

Satisfying Kit's Curiosity

My fellow bloglodyte, Kit Courteney, has asked me to unveil five obsessions that I have. Five. Only five. I will now draw lots:

1) Donuts. I fantasise about them more than is normal, I'm sure. I don't even need to eat them (though I enjoy that, too). I just love them there on the shelf when there are at least 30 different kinds, and they are all fresh, it makes me happy. Even if I'm not eatting any of them.

2) Patterns. I hate it if something is almost a pattern. But not quite. Things either need to be totally random, or exact. Nothing in between. This tells you more than you ever wanted to know about my housekeeping, believe me.

3) Grammar. I love it. Verb systems make me go all soppy and wet (no kids reading this, I hope?) I'm not pedantic, and I won't shoot you for using "incorrect" grammar (at least not when anyone is watching) but I want people to know what they are using and why. I have no problem with y'all. Its use is rule governed! People who don't know an adjective from an adverb and DON'T CARE are criminal, though.

4) Stationary. Don't ask. And don't look in my closet. And don't ask me if you can borrow one of my pens, because the answer is NO. I will buy you one, I will GIVE you one, but you can't borrow one. Because then I have to worry about whether or not you will give it back. And if you don't, it will leave a little hole which doesn't close up, which brings us to number five...

5) People who borrow things and don't give them back. Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!! Just.... Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!


As for tea, that doesn't count as an obsession. No one calls you obsessed if you breathe constantly. Why should they call you obsessed if you drink tea? Same thing...

still empty.

I think boredom is probably just about the most dangerous thing in the universe. And I'm soooooooooooooooooo bored. I get fantasies about pulling up the floorboards just for the heck of it. And my brain says pick a direction, any direction.

I didn't go the the memorial service. I went to the Kunstmuseum instead. We saw Ego Documents. Do egos die if you don't take care of them, I wonder?