In Which All Is Not Lost (#ROW80)

Except, perhaps, me.

Not in the literal sense, just in the sense the La Brea Tar Pits of Midpointery is garnering all my attention. Not slogging yet, but 'tis threatening to. I'm aiming the pointy stick, preparing for a decent runup so I can catapault myself over the floundered T Rex of previous, failed attempts. Marked is coming together nicely, if I do say so myself (which I do, and just did). I have made it stronger, faster, better than before . . . I have the techonology Scrivener.

Goals! Stat!

Bonus points: describing New Orleans in summer as being like the inside of a dog's mouth--hot, humid, swampy, and--well, yanno. The smell. I can't take credit, unfortunately, but I totally ganked it from one of the lurvly gents who run the B&B hubbs and I used to stay at pre-Katrina. He won't mind, and I've been dying to use it.

Wii-Mii: FINALLY. After weeks of (mostly) disciplined fitness routines and enduring the passive-aggressive tendencies of my Wii (not to mention the laughable inconsistencies) I can now happily report a loss of 4.2 pounds. Inna week (I'd restarted my goals in honor of ROW80). Thass right, folks. ONE WEEK. Other than feeling guilty for cheating on my Wii-Fit twice a week with sexy Zumba, I feel great. Makes me wish Wii fitness games would combine workout credits so the Fit can stop eyeing me accusingly every time I walk by. It's not you, Wii-Fit, it's me. Really.

The poundage, by the way, is calculated in BMI. My weight number hasn't fluctuated much, but since I'm gaining muscle and losing inches, that 4.2 shedding is pure, unwanted fat. Yowza.

And now, to counteract any Midweek Slump you may be experiencing, I give you . . .



In Which We Focus On The Long Grass (#ROW80)

Or, "Hey--Where'd That Tiger Go?"

Alot of us (well. okay, all of us) are writers, so I'm guessing a lot of us have menageries of wild beasties at home, even if that term includes children and/or significant others. Me, I don't have rug rats, nose miners, or ankle biters, and the Tech Monkey (aka Darling Spouse) is relatively civilized, so I have cats instead.

Here's the really great thing I've learned from cats. Those furry little dudes can focus. I mean, really narrow in on potential prey and just stare the hell outta anything that moves out our windows, regardless of feasibility. Seriously, I've seen them go eye to eye with dogs large and small, squirrels, birds--not the cute wee ones that go "tweet" but the larger, more malevolent varieties that tend to be predators themselves--, alligators, the occasional dinosaur, etc.

Max and Cleo, known in the Supervillain world as Thing One and Thing Two, collectively as the Ninja Katz, are synchronized team focussers, often from multiple windows. One of those windows is the little bookshelf ledge on the long bit of my desk, which started out as a bookshelf ledge and long bit of desk but now serves as hunter's perch and recreational lounge for Ninja Katz. There are no books on said shelf, for obvious reasons. If something catches their attention--and it can be anything, including the small, localized tornado that blew through here back in April (yes, they actually stared down a tornado)--they go very still, cant forward, and watch whatever it is until it very probably squeaks in fright and wets itself. Or, in the case of fellow predators, strolls away nonchalantly as though it hasn't just lost a staring contest against smaller opponents.

I guess the moral of the story is, doubt (the sleeping, cuter version of Fear) is always going to be prowling the long grass, whether you've been published or not. The trick is to stare it down and stay focused. It may have bigger teeth and claws than we do, but the long and short of it is that Fear is just a bully. And we have all the guns.

It's all in the attitude.

In the spirit of staying focused, I'm going to hand my Divine Muse one of those big, noisy guns with the trumpet on the end and really dig deep into Marked over the next couple of weeks, setting aside Big Dang Projeckt temporarily, not because I don't love it (cuz I so so do) until I get a rough draft in the bank. Also, I have Brighid's Cross stuff planned, including a guest post/giveaway. Plus, I may have figured out how to manage a scavenger hunt. Lots to do, lots to do.


In Which We Go "Ribbit" (#ROW80)

Or, it ain't easy being feeling green.

OMG, y'all. SUCH a bump on the proverbial log this week. Seriously. I hang my head in mortal shame. Oh, dread and dire Interwebz. How you sucked me into your vile vortex of non-productivity. All under the guise of Doing Something. And yet, I have only myself to blame.  Snarl.

Which is not to say I didn't get ANYTHING done. As it happens, I was swept into prepartions for the launch of Brighid's Cross. (Three weeks! ARGH!!) I've requested reviews. Played email tag with a couple of reviewers. Done one or two interviews. Established a Goodreads author Q&A group, and started a couple of contests. Inspired by the Serious Shenanigans of our ROW80 Twitter celebration, I decided to throw a Halloween Launch Party on October 31 (all day) at hashtag #keepers (yes, you are all invited. Did you have to ask?). Considered an internet scavenger hunt, but wasn't sure how to pull it off. Oh, and then I fell over.

That was Saturday.

Sunday, I decided, was going to be a Designated Writing Day to make up for lost time. The universe preceded to mock me with lack of sleep and feeling generally awful, with nary a Tylenol, fragment of tea, or pint of Ben & Jerry's in the house. I had no motivation to drag my aching back and sagging butt into the Chair of Doom before my computer. I didn't even have the energy to turn it on. Sigh.

But. BUT. All was not lost! For I said to myself, "Self! How did we ever manage to write before computers? Or when said precious is spewing virus material all over its (namely my) hard drive? How did Shakespeare do it?" So intead I sagged and dragged my writerly posterior to hubby's recliner in the living room instead, armed with notebook and pen. And, verily, the floodgates opened. I storyboarded all my planned scenes and got the significant images, action and dialogue down on paper en prose. It worked so well I've decided I'm going to continue to do this until the last week in October, when I'll have the time to enter it all into Scrivener. This will also limit the time I'm actuall on my computer during the week, being distracted by the Pretty Shinies. Hubby is wondering when he'll get his recliner back. Probably never, at this rate.

I also learned, to my detriment, that my beloved Wii is a mite passive agressive. For a Japanese product, it sure has mastered the art of Maternal Irish Guilt. Mama Monkey would be smug. I'm seriously thinking about changing the name of my (obese) Mii, so I can pretend it's talking to someone else.

Yeah, that didn't work with Mama Monkey, either. Such are the perils of only-child-hood.

Happy goaling this week!