Sometimes clichés are true. That writers are hermits who don’t get enough sun.
Cause apparently I have a Vitamin D deficiency (pause: please don’t worry, everything is being taken care of and I am fine). My doctor said, “We don’t want you getting rickets.” Ah, yes, rickets. I could get rickets like a poor child sent away from London to the US, living in New York to escape the Blitz, now having to be sent to the countryside so that they don’t get rickets and they can see the cows and the long, rolling green hills.
I guess a 19th Century doctor might prescribe me going to the sea for my “health.” If I could, I’d prescribe that for myself.
We’re nearing an entire year since the US went into lockdown. That fateful day, March, Friday the 13th (like really? REALLY??). I honestly am not sure how I feel about this. But let’s not talk about number of cases, vaccines, and yada, yada, yada. Let’s talk about where we all were.
I was getting ready for a performance on March 14 (yep. for real). That was cancelled. Had a performance in May. Also cancelled. Everything was cancelled. Gosh that lockdown was the ickyist time of my life.
You know the irony of it all? About a week before, my mom and I went up the lake, sitting out on the rocks in the evening, the air only a little chilly, seagulls bobbing on the waves. I had a bit of cabin fever (expected at that time of year) and I bit of adult fever (expected at this time of my life). Sitting there with the waves coming in beside us, I had a desire to see things and do things like a young man wanting to set out to sea and join the navy but ends up getting kidnapped by pirates (not a bad thought). So I started to make travel plans.
Joke’s on me.
So, for some reason, Microsoft Word doesn’t think “cupful” is a word. Save me.
There is an egregious amount of words that Word doesn’t think are real, which is mind boggling to me when you can find them in the Webster Dictionary. Not to mention that Word’s grammar check is so often wrong, or just misses things altogether. Which is why I’ve turned it off. I don’t want no squiggly blue or green lines telling me what to do.
The internet goes out, and a tiny pixelated T-Rex appears on Google Chrome, reminding us of ages past when there was no internet and we rode on the backs of Long-Necks to migrate south for the winter. (Yes, yes I said Long-Neck. No, I will not retract it for the sake of accuracy.)
I don’t remember the internet ever going out as a kid (not that I spent a whole lot of time on the internet). Most of my time on the computer was playing around on Microsoft Paint (possible drawing up some battle plans), writing, or playing Zoombinis. (Pause, I need to scream: THEY RECREATED IT AND YOU CAN GET IT AS AN APP?????????? But wait….I think you can only get it on an ipad or a Mac….But wait again, I can get it on Google Play *waggle eyebrows*)
That’s what I love about You’ve Got Mail (besides so many other things about that movie). It makes me think of those days, makes me, “want to buy school supplies.” When I was a kid, I never finished a story (well, when I was a lot younger I did. Like…when I really couldn’t spell. Though some might argue I still can’t spell). I think at one point I had some twenty WIPs altogether. As soon as I thought of a new story, I wrote it down, and often I never got farther than a paragraph. And I was obsessed with coming up with titles, like Untold or the Nameless Knight. I often wrote stories only because I thought of a “cool” title (that’s a new one, write a story based on a title). I was obsessed with making stories, and honestly that’s all I really thought about.
Not much has changed
Except, I do actually finish things now. Since high school I’ve written….quite a few drafts. I think like….8 or 7 separate different novels, and plus all the rewrites. No wonder my brain always feels like mashed potatoes.
I’ve been editing (my other fantasy novel) and came across the best burn I think I’ve ever written:
“You’re not allowed to bring guns into the market,” he said. “There are fragile things here.”