. . .I hate it when the mailman gives us a miss. Even when the mail is just catalogs, at least we’ve gotten something. Not finding any mail in the box leaves me wrong-footed on the day, somehow.
So, a rambling kind of post while the backbrain gets on the case. I need, let’s see. . .six? seven? scenes, a climax, a denouement, and a wrap up. Is that so hard? Oh, and a cast of characters. If the backbrain isn’t forking over, yet, on the Actual Writing Front, I can edit the working lexicon down to a reasonable list. Thirty-five hundred words is probably a little long in the dramatis personae business. Do you guys like your Players List in the front of the book or the back?
I’d like to thank everyone who has helped in the various fundraising efforts we’re presently undertaking, whether by subscribing to our Patreon account, supporting Splinter Universe, or directly supporting us, through PayPal, and by check. You guys are amazingly kind and we are humbled by your generosity. . . .Please note that I speak here for myself and for Steve. The cats aren’t really on top of the whole Where Crunchies Come From thing; they leave that sort of thing to Staff.
Weather-wise, we’re into our second day of rain, here in Central Maine, and the snow is, for all useful purposes, gone. As far as my eye can see, there is mud, and last year’s brown grasses, and bare, grey trees. We look to have lost three buffer evergreens over the winter. Some of the maples are pushing out buds; can’t really tell about the birches, or the ash. Well. A few weeks will tell. Meanwhile, the daffodils are making a valiant effort to rise tall and get the trumpets out. I fear me this will be one of those seasons when they give their all, but fall short of a win. Hopefully, they’ll prove me wrong.
Given that the snow is now gone, we can see, among the dead grass, the Trash of Winter, which means that, if it ever stops raining, we’ll be able to go outside and stamp around the property, picking up soda/beer cans, shreds of blue tarp, old paper bags, the occasional whiskey bottle, and who knows what else. The process by which trash gets under ten feet of snow is a mystery to me. A friend suggests that it’s put there by snowmen, who are pissed off by humans sticking carrots in the middle of their faces.
Makes as much sense as anything else.
One of the results of having been stupidly ill for ‘way too long back around the winter holidays, was that I lost 10 pounds. Now that it’s been a number of months since I regained my health, and I haven’t regained the weight, I’ve gotten ambitious. I like being. . .less close to 200 pounds, and would like to widen the distance by another 10 pounds, if possible. I can’t say I much care for the method by which I shed the first 10, though, and, as someone who was very thin for most of her adult life (insert Ironic Theme here), I don’t actually know how to go about dieting. I would go to the gym and exercise and walk in order to keep flexible and strong, but as far as I’ve ever been told exercise isn’t really an effective way to lose weight. For now, I’m just making a conscious effort to Eat Less Food (which is tough, because, having also been, ah. . .cash challenged. . .for most of my adult life, “wasting” food is a big no-no). Now that Winter is Out and Mud is In, I’ll be able to get walking again, which will be a relief all around, and I guess if all I do is not backslide those 10 pounds, then I’m that much to the good.
And now? Time to get back to the backbrain.
See you on the flipside.