I find myself in a state of semi-fuckedupeddness. The laptop is finally dead, Odin rest its weary soul, and I am now $`,300 short in my Vegas Vacation fund. The newest arrival into my household is yet another Compaq Presario laptop (may it serve me better than its predecessor) a nice little wide-screened deal I got for a massive discount because it was the store’s display unit. I’ve spent most of my morning going through the hard drive, removing other people’s downloads and spy ware (seriously, why download MP3s in Circuit City--it’s not like you can use them.) This should also explain why I dropped off the face of the planet around Friday night. New computer killed out then and, after spending a weekend camping in the mountains of Virginia (where I happen to live, so big freaking deal), I had to come home and find a way to replace the old laptop. So now there is this monstrosity, and I do mean monstrosity. I haven’t seen a laptop of this width since they came into vogue in the early 90s. The screen is bright enough to catch some serious rays from, despite my best efforts to dim it. And all my data is still on the old computer, which refuses to acknowledge my existence.
This is, ladies and gentlemen, my fatal flaw. I am She Who Forgets to Back Up Her Data. I have most of my 15 gigs of amassed stuff accounted for. Problem is, I have this nasty little habit of forgetting to back up my novels more than once or twice a year. Everything I have written since January still sits on the old hard drive, which refuses to go past the sign-in screen. I have tried to slave the old computer onto this one and thus acquire my data, but no luck thus far. I am planning to turn the matter over to some hacker friends of mine who should, hopefully, fix the issue in no time. Barring that, I suppose salvaging this data is worth paying for a call to good old Microsoft Tech Support.
I also kind of forgot to back up the 500-odd fonts I have accumulated over the years. This, for some reason, is irking me worse than the loss of data. I have amassed these fonts from the web, other people, odd cds I no longer have and so many other sources that I lost track years ago. These were the fancy, beautiful fonts I was using for titles and letterheads of my books, scripts that will be impossible to track down again now that they are lost. I hold out hope of salvaging the old hard drive long enough to back up a copy, and to update my literary works.
On the remarkably bright side, though, this new, pretty version of Microsoft Works (not Word, thank you God) is compatible with my older version, which dates back to the glory days of Windows 95, and which all of my novels have been written on. The files I salvaged opened upon command, and promptly went ballistic. Another of the downsides, I am learning, is the need to re-program your spellchecker to recognize words like Aleczicandre and Amon as real things and not some gross user input error. The poor auto-correct doesn’t even know where to start.
I am also discovering as I type this entry, the first thing of any length I’ve done on the new computer, that some of the keys are in the most inconceivable of places. The Windows key is hidden in the top-right corner, where the Home, End, and Page keys are also crammed. I am going to be doing a lot of accidental backspacing before I get the hang of the new layout. The Control and Function keys are also completely reversed from what I’m used to. I think I shall have a nervous breakdown along with my poor spellchecker before things are said and done. I am learning, also, that this keyboard is just a fraction of an inch wider than my previous one, which is also aiding to the already impending nervous breakdown of my new spell-checker. The mouse is in precisely the right spot to scroll to other points of the document at random, input the cursor, and start my typing amid something already completed. This is definitely going to take some getting ased to, though I think I just found a fantastically magical button that disables the mouse altogether. Odin be praised. This thing also makes some delightfully cool noises. It purrs like a velociraptor while dialing up to my ISP. Creepy, as I have this paranoia about velociraptors coming to kill me while I sleep, but cool nonetheless.s
So, aside from being out 500+ irretrievable fonts, my copy of Photoshop, three or four dozen “acquired” MP3s, all the templates for my web page and about 100-odd pages of randomly written material including a few half-finished chapters I was hoping to turn into fully-finished chapters before week’s end, the new setup is going smoothly so far. This computer, who needs a name (the old one was Alec, go figure) is proving to be much faster and efficient than its predecessor, stupid user input problems aside.
On a closing note, I leave myself with the following words of advice: next time, back it up.
Filed under:
(7) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
The beast is conquered. The demon has been slain. I rejoice on a field of victory amid much wine and dancing and revelry.
Odin be praised.
Filed under:
(4) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Mood: 
Anticipatory
Now Playing: So-Called Chaos by Alanis Morrisette
Swear Words Spoken Today: 0
I have fallen victim to the ever-popular song meme. Below are lines from five songs. I want titles and artists. No googling, as that takes all the fun out of it. First person to answer correctly gets a prize of some form.
1. "I want to be naked, running thorugh the streets"
2. "Anybody knows you can conjure anything by the dark of the moon"
3. "She took me to the river where she cast her spell"
4. "Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load"
5. "Well I've got a mind full of wicked designs"
Leave your answers as a comment.
And, as part of back-to-back Meme madness, here's a completed book meme that I stole from Xaos who stole it from the Angry Alchemist, who stole it from someone else.
1. Take five books off your bookshelf.
Obsidian Butterly by Laurell K. Hamilton
The Third Option by Vince Flynn
Sharpe's Escape by Bernard Cornwell
The Confusion by Neal Stephenson
Song of Susannah by Stephen King
2. Book #1 -- First sentence.
I was covered in blood, but it wasn't mine, so it was okay.
3. Book #2 -- Last sentence on page fifty.
What are you still doing here?
4. Book #3 -- Second sentence on page one hundred.
God damn it, he thought, but he would make Lavisser pay.
5. Book #4 -- Next to the last sentence on page one hundred fifty.
He did not fight so much anymore, as his style was one that relied upon speed and acute vision.
6. Book #5 -- Final sentence of the book.
King's family, which had gathered in part to celebrate Father's Day, is in seclusion tonight.
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
I was covered in blood, but it wasn't mine, so it was okay. He did not fight so much anymore, as his style was one that relied upon speed and acute vision. God damn it, he thought, but he would make Lavisser pay. King's family, which had gathered in part to celebrate Father's Day, is in seclusion tonight..... What are you still doing here?
Filed under:
(1) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
I called the pound today,, spoke with a grouchy and generally disgruntled sounding older man. I asked about the hours of operation for tomorrow, and was told they are only open from the hours of 12-4 because, for the rest of the day, they would be “working with the animals.” I am assuming this means injecting them with chemicals that cause them to stop breathing and their hearts to stop beating.
I asked this same disgruntled man, very nicely and very specifically if there was a yellow dog that had been brought in on Monday, one who had a white streak on her face, a white underbelly and two white back paws. I mentioned she was probably a whiner. His answer was to tell me gruffly that they were open from noon until 4pm and to come by then. He slammed the phone down on me.
I am not optimistic at this point that Oli will find her way back to me, but I am getting up early in the morning to drive up to the pound so that I will be there just as they open. Hopefully, she will still be waiting for me.
Filed under:
(5) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Born to a world where nobody cared
Hungry for anything, nobody shared
Hit by a nobody driving four wheels
Who drove on and left him
Nobody feels
Nobody’s worry, nobody’s goad
Nobody’s pain by the side of the road
Nobody bled, nobody cried
Nobody’s pet
Nobody died.
And I need some serious input.; Is an animal I've known for two days worth potentially destroying my family over?; You've read the story, and I'm not exactly the best person to pass judgment.; All thoughts are appreciated.
Filed under:
(9) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
It’s been too long since I’ve become utterly entrapped by an artist, since I have found anything of merit, or anything that sounds even remotely unlike pre-manufactured music for mass-consumption. I don’t listen to music on the recommendation of anyone, except maybe Tara, who manages to nail my peculiar and eccentric tastes more often than not. I’ve consumed a dangerous cocktail it seems, a new band whose lyrics and rhythm have entrapped me, taken as a chaser to concluding the reading of a book I have anticipated for too long and found myself severely disappointed by. The band is Shinedown. The novel is Song of Susannah, the latest volume of Stephen King’s Dark Towers series. I had feared, from the conclusion of the series’ previous volume, that King would irreversibly and immeasurably fuck up what could have easily taken its rightful place as one of the greatest literary epics of modern times. Yet, at the end of this volume, I am left with a bitter taste in my mouth, knowing that things have been irreparable blown to hell by a man who has used the opus meant to tie all his worlds together as, instead, a forum for him to declare himself a god.
Reading the book, especially the delightfully egocentric and equally useless writer’s coda at the end, has raised some interesting questions though, interesting enough to divert me from my keyboard and my attempts to further the Chapter From Hell long enough to ponder a few things. There is an assumption, among people who do not read, that writers tell a story. About three years into the decade-long odyssey that has become the Centre Chronicles, I came to a different conclusion. For years, I’ve found myself on the verge of questioning my sanity, wondering if I’m merely an independently-functioning vessel to convey the thoughts and actions and desires of characters of my invention. I rest easier, listening to an acquired copy of a CD I thought I would not like, still digesting the bitter ending to a book I wanted desperately to love, knowing that I am not insane. King said it brilliantly in the closing pages of an otherwise disappointing novel, in reference to the relationship between himself and the character who has been with him for the better part of thirty years:
“Sometimes it seems to me that none of this stuff is mine, that I’m nothing but Roland of Gilead’s fucking secretary.”
That’s me dealing with Alec. And, I have come to realize that for too long, I’ve been trying to take a controlling hand in his fate, to write the destiny of someone who is willing to fight to his death against my decisions. And I think that, too, has been part of the problem with why this book stalled so suddenly and abruptly and completely. I’ve spent the better part of the past year convincing myself that Alec was fighting me. The truth was, I was fighting him.
I am turning myself over fully and completely to the story, wherever it may take me, however much I may not agree with its outcome or pathways to a resolution. And I’m listening to a bootlegged CD by a band I’m not particularly fond of. Why? Because Alec was listening to, and decided he loved them. Because what he’s hearing is the soundtrack to his life, and because he wants to get on with that life instead of sitting idly in the passenger seat while some 23-year old girl who doesn’t know shit about shit tried to control his destiny.
This post is my official declaration of defeat. I am relinquishing control of the driver’s seat.
The words are flowing, almost too quickly for me to keep up. I am still at a standstill on #22, the Chapter from Hell. But I’ve been sitting in front of this screen, without food or drink for more hours than I can coherently remember. And I have 31 absolutely flawless pages to show for my effort.
Filed under:
(1) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Mood: 
Need coffee.
Now Playing: Let it Out by Shinedown
Now Reading: Between novels at the moment.
Swear Words Spoken: 5
The theme for this week is "Mood Music" so taking the first letters of the word "Mood" tell us something. Not necessarily about yourself...but something..be as creative as you like. Get that brain a mamboing!!
M - Moving out of my house, part-time, at least, and in with the fabulous Tara.
O - Odin. I am beginning to think of offering much praise and sacrifice to the old Norse dieties, Odin in particular. He has been looking out for me, to my exceptionally blessed gain.
O - Oh, how I hate all the letter O’s that find their way into these Music Mambo/Mind Hump letter games. O is a very limited letter, and I always seen to fill these things out when I am incredibly tired or otherwise off my game. Enough with the O’s already!
D - Dog. A yellow one moved into our garage yesterday. I want to keep it. Gramps says he’s calling the pound. This dog has lived a hard life. I plan on devoting an entire entry to it once I know whether or not I will win the battle of wills.
Are you warmed up? Ok...here goes.
1. What are some of the songs or albums that you play when you're angry?
“Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit, because it’s one of those ultimate pissed off without direction songs. There’s always a bit of Live and The Tea Party thrown in, AC/DC and DMX.
2. What songs or songs always manage to cheer you up when you are sad?
“The Motown Song” by Rod Stewart is one of those songs that always brightens my mood. Same with anything from the “Chicago” motion-picture soundtrack (special attention to “All that Jazz” and “Cell Block Tango.” “God is a DJ” by Pink is another fallback, as well as her song “18 Wheeler.” Finally, I add “Draggin’ the Line,” by REM, because it’s so damned mellow that you have to be in a good mood by the end of it.
3. Do you have any songs that you associate with a special time of your life? If so, what was the song, and tell us about the event that it makes more special?
“Life is a Highway” always reminds me of every incredible vacation I’ve ever had. Lightning Crashes by Life will always remind me of the inception of my novel, one of the defining moments in my life. That was the song that was playing when I finally found the courage to get the ideas out of my head and onto paper. “Bright Lights,” by Matchbox Twenty will always make me think of time spent in New York.
4. In the mood for love? What songs make you feel all warm and fuzzy? Sexy songs: “Heaven Sinner” by Nikka Costa, “I Wanna Make You Mine,” be Heather Nova, “I Wouldn’t Be a Man,” by Billy Dean (yes, dammit, country music). “He Is,” by Heather Headley is the ultimate sensual song, followed closely by “Thanks to You,” by Emmylou Harris.
5. What song best describes the mood that you're in right now? “The Rising,” by Bruce Springsteen.
Filed under:
(1) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Mood: 
Ready to kick butt.
Now Playing: Knees of My Bees by Alanis Morrisette
Now Reading: Song of Susannah by Stephen King. The series is ruined.
Swear Words Spoken: Way too many to count (gaming night, and the DM got drunk, as well as the sorceress, the dwarf and the bard--who happens to be yours truly)
The Chapter From Hell has reached 11 pages. Here's one of them.
Out of Nowhere: Chapter Twenty-Two
“You know,” a woman’s voice said from somewhere behind me, “for a bona fide hero, you look damned miserable.”
I turned, the familiarity of the voice more than the words themselves snapping me to attention. I’d at least managed to delude myself into hallucination. No other way to explain the sight of the person walking towards me. The pleated skirt I’d first seen her wearing had been replaced by khaki capris. The halter-top was black, accented by lines of beadwork in oriental patterns. The honey colored hair was pulled back into a twist held in place by a pair of chopsticks. She stood a mere handful of feet away from me with her hands on her hips, trying like hell to keep her face blank, trying like hell not to burst out in smiles and laughter at the sight of the suddenly stupefied me.
“I’m not an illusion,” Carly greeted me, “and you’re not dead, so let’s cut straight to the chase and go to the—“
“Carly?” I asked, because it wasn’t possible for her to be standing in the parking lot of some half-rate strip club an ocean away from her hometown.
“Would you rather me be the crazy dominatrix?” she demanded, quirking a brow in challenge. I’d damn well better not be wanting Maya. I wasn’t. I hadn’t been. I couldn’t have fathomed that somehow Kevin would conspire behind my back to bring a woman he didn’t know halfway around the world for the purpose of lightening my mood. It wasn’t possible that she could be standing across from me, beaming, looking ready to close the distance between us and jump into my arms.
She must have read my mind, for she jumped up, an in-place bounce on platform shoes, and bounded over to me in a few energetic strides. Before I realized what she was doing, her hands were planted firmly on my shoulders and the full of her weight was bearing down on me. I caught her around the waist as she locked her legs around me. Her lips pressed against mine in a kiss, one hand entwining in my hair. The move was so utterly unexpected that, by the time I was post the shock enough to enjoy myself, she was unwrapping her legs from around me and standing on her own. She was enjoying shocking me.
“I saw you on the news.” Carly continued, ruffling my hair as she spun me around. Arm looped through mine, she began steering me towards the door I had stormed out of not so long ago. “You and some guy dressed like a priest were laughing like idiots because a building didn’t blow up.”
“That would be me.” Kevin’s voice came from somewhere close behind us.
The girl I’d thought I’d never see again fell into contemplation as turned to regard him over her shoulder. “It was!” She agreed suddenly. “You’re the guy that called me, too, right?”
“Kevin O’Malley, ma’am,” he agreed, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “Your servant.”
“You called her?” Me. Of course.
Carly, not Kevin, responded to my incredulousness with a rather sound thwack to the back of my head. “Try to sound a little less happy to see me, how ‘bout it?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, finding the words harder to get out then they probably should have been. A moment of thought as to why made me realize I was grinning to the maximum of my abilities. She turned her attention back to me with a curious, slightly challenging quirk of her brow, a silent demand for me to prove it. Though she tried, her expression could not remain set in its seriousness. My borderline laughter was apparently infectious, for she bit back a smile by chewing on her glossed lower lip.
“I’m not allowed to give you a hard time anymore?” she teased. I was still so caught off guard by the sight of her that I didn’t realize we reached the bar’s entrance until I nearly smacked into it. With a laugh aimed at my obvious fascination, she got the door, holding it open for both Kevin and myself. The place as was empty as I remembered it being. The only real difference was that, this time, there was a trio of people at a table by the catwalk who had been waiting for us. Joachim saw Carly and waved vigorously, gesturing for her to hurry the hell up and get over there so he could grill her. She waved back and, taking my by the sleeve, propelled me with her to the table.
“What are you doing here?” I finally managed to ask. I wasn’t stammering as badly as I’d reckoned I would once I finally found the ability to think and speak at the same time. Talking was rather difficult, the way it always was when confronted with a staggeringly unexpected member of the opposite sex. I was overwhelmed by her presence, overwhelmed with the need to say something witty and charming and intelligent and relevant and all those other things I wasn’t used to being. I couldn’t think of a damned thing, save for the words that had just left my mouth.
“I called her,” Joachim answered, making me aware that we’d reached the table. The unwelcome interruption drew my annoyance. I was still trying to convince myself that Carly was here, that she was going to be staying for the rest of the immediate future. Joachim didn’t notice or, more likely, failed to care. “Well, initially, anyway. After that, Kev kind of took over. I said hey, Charles, remember me, the crazy guy’s friend? What would you think of meeting us all in London to say happy birthday to an old friend She said hey, why not and—“
“I don’t think he’s interested in hearing it from you,” Carly interrupted, observant as ever. “Nothing personal, I’m sure.” She turned back to me, but not before taking a pair of shots off the table and extending one to me. “But, yeah, what he said. I jumped at the chance.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help but ask. I sounded stupid.
“Alec, you saved my life,” she reminded. Then she stopped, or made herself stop, eyes cast downward as she considered whether or not to say anything else. Whatever it was, she wanted to go on. What stopped her, I would probably never know. She raised her eyes to meet mine and said, quietly and sincerely, “of course I did.”
Filed under:
Embrace the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Mood: 
Injured
Now Writing: Out of Nowhere, Chapter 22
Swear Words Spoken: About 30 (Customers are possessed by Satan)
I am the queen of nonsensical injuries. So far this week, I have managed to pull at least 2 muscles in my back and wind up with a leg covered in bruises, all without even the slightest hint of an explanation. The closest I can come was Tuesday when I was hanging fabric up in my cubicle to hid the nausea-inducing mauve pseudo-high-traffic carpeting that doubles for the walls of our mildly padded cells. I didn't even have to strain to do that, except to weasel my way into one corner and, by then, the damage had already been done. This happens from time to time, something breaks and I don't know why. All I know is breathing hurts, as does anything that requires any form or pretense of movement. They say you learn something new every day. I have learned that you have no idea how many seemingly independent muscles feed into the side of your middle back until one of them decides to smite you. My grandmother keeps offering t dope my up with Loratabs, which I am refusing on what little moral high ground, I have left. I've seen too many people use them as gateway drugs to far more dangerous things. I can handle the pain, just as long as I kick back in my chair, arch my spine to an unnatural curve, throw my head back and learn to handle the ensuing head rush without passing out.
I have also learned to be careful what you wish for. I have been doing an inordinate amount of whining, crying and generally groveling for a vacation away from this health-hazard of an office (complete with repeated flooding, multiple roof collapses and now, yes, black mold). A few months ago, I started planning a September jaunt down to Vegas to be iniquitous with Zombie, and that is coming together nicely. I have everything taken care of, including traveling partner in the form of a guy who’s funny, charming and easy on the eyes. I’ve also been thinking of driving down to South Carolina to see Pandora, which I just arranged time off for. However, I have just been informed that my grandfather is thinking of taking me and the crazy lady up to New Jersey for a few days in July, which means I can hop a commuter train and crash in Manhattan while they do the family thing. I can’t wait to go museum-hopping and check out all the districts I have somehow never wandered down to during all my previous trips. And then there’s the wonder known as the Broadway musical….. For a trip that is now only a loose idea, I am making entirely too many plans. I’ve acquired a few days off next week, as well as a 5-day weekend in October. I officially have more vacations than I can shake a very long stick at, and absolutely no way to finance them all.
In the lucky break dept, Tara’s offering to let me freeload with her for a while. She’s back to living alone and missing the company. I am highly considering taking her up on it on a part-time basis. I have entirely too much junk to make a permanent move, but a few days a week sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a while. We work similar schedules at the office, and could get in the habit of running around and maybe even picking up our workout schedule again. I can’t believe I’m saying this, as it’s one of those little phrases that I’ve always thought myself too lethargic to ever say, but I miss jogging. My shoulders and what little progress I made on my abs has disappeared into nothingness. If I’m planning to do this much traveling to interesting locales, I need to get toned up so I can wear something other than jeans and a tee shirt.
I am also back to wanting to become the Cat Lady. I have one already, Mirage the chatterbox, and a step-cat who lives with Tara’s dad. Mike and Andi, my RPG partners are considering giving up one of their cats, an adorable undersized black and white bobtail aptly named Trouble. Trouble adores me, and regularly curls up on my lap to nap during gaming, something I am assured she does not do to other people. I adore Trouble, and there is a possibility that she will need a new home soon, due to another cat in the household occasionally terrorizing her. If they are thinking of giving Trouble up, I am thinking of adopting her, which may prove difficult, as I am not allowed to bring another cat into my household. I am currently devising elaborate smuggling and hiding plans.
Filed under:
(1) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary
Off to bedNow Playing: Downfall by Matchbox Twenty
Now Reading: Song of Susannah by Stephen King
Swear Words Spoken: More than 20 (had to work the phones at work and interact with the idiots firsthand)
Whatever happened to the young man’s heart
Swallowed by the pain as he slowly fell apart
And I’m staring down the barrel of a .45
S wimming through the ashes of another life.
--Shinedown
Yep, that’s Vel in a nutshell. Figured since this is another of those writing rants, I’d post it for the people who have read the book and get the significance.
I am officially past the halfway point in the necessary evil that has become the chapter from hell. I’ve waded through the inner emotional turmoil and the drunken self-loathing. I’ve got all the necessary little paragraphs required to join the larger sections hammered out. I have a rather pathetic nine pages to show for it, but when converted to almost 6,000 words, I feel halfway satisfied. I figured this entire chapter would top out around 5 or less. From here, the chapter is downhill. Things to cover include one (1) emotional reunion that gets a little screwy due to the fact that my narrator specializes in neither logic, emotion or sanity; two (2) a very quick, very panicked cellular phone conversation that serves to put the rest of the book on its downward spiral into hell (otherwise known as the climax) and (3) all parties involved getting their half-drunken asses out of the bar and on their way back to the posts they abandoned.
Filed under:
(1) Embraced the madness. // Insanity Isn't Temporary