Archive for February, 2015

And Adulthood, Come To Think

February 13, 2015

Pain and/or disappointment, coupled with the inability to cope with it, may well be the worst part of early childhood.

Just Wanted To Let You Know

February 12, 2015

For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure that what I did to my wrist was not because I started working again.

Regardless, I’ve been taking it easy on the typing the past few days, and it looks like I’ll be continuing to do that through the rest of the week.

That Means I Really, REALLY Understand It At This Point

February 11, 2015

My son, being a child of the computer age, has a very clear concept of the touchscreen.

My son, being a child, has a less clear concept of “that screen is not a touchscreen, so that means don’t touch it!”

This is as understandable to me as it is frustrating.

Of Course, Sleep Deprivation Works On Just About Everyone, So It’s Probably More Like An Innate Talent

February 10, 2015

Sometimes I wonder if children are born masters of psychological torture, or if they just take advantage of their ample opportunity to study their parents’ weaknesses and quickly develop the skill . . .

And If He Keeps Waking Me Up At O’Dark-Thirty, *I’ll* Be The Author, Not Him

February 9, 2015

Words can not adequately convey just how proud my son was to see his entry on Candles & Curses finally post on Friday.  When he saw it he instantly started talking about how he wanted to do another one, though his enthusiasm cooled somewhat when I told him that next time I wanted him to do a few “real words,” and not just “random letters.”  (Right now he thinks “random letters” are the absolute pinnacle of literary humor, you see.)

We’ll see how that goes though since I don’t feel that strongly about it . . . yet, so fair warning, there may be another “random letters” entry in the future.

And Now A Special Guest Entry From My Son

February 6, 2015

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******

(He was so proud of himself that he was typing his own Candles & Curses entry, I couldn’t not post this, but like a lot of new writers, he decided to go for speed over clarity or formatting.)

Back In The Saddle (Part Four)

February 5, 2015

Seeing as the only other things that would have gotten me out of bed that Monday fall into the category of emergencies, and not just any emergency either (“The house is on fire?  Wake me when it reaches the hallway . . .”), what I’m saying is that my decision to write had very little to do with virtue or a work ethic.  I did it because, given the chance once more, I had to do it.

That’s a little scary to me sometimes . . . but I’ve learned to live with it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a story to work on . . .

Back In The Saddle (Part Three)

February 4, 2015

The reasonable answer was, of course, “none,” so I went back to bed, end of story.

Hah.

What I really did was throw my recent successes in scaling back my coffee intake out the window, and set about shaping my day around a completely optional and self-imposed task that really could have been done just as easily the next day . . . easier in fact.  So why did I do it?

Because it had been too long since I had last written something.

Back In The Saddle (Part Two)

February 3, 2015

The pressure of not writing has been getting to me for a while now, and since things had finally shifted on the family matters front, I had scheduled myself to return to it Monday before last . . . but then the household got sick and I had to delay a week.

On Sunday night I had no idea what I wanted to write, but I knew that I was looking forward to figuring that out on Monday, so I made a mental note to remember to make time for a long-delayed personal phone call  once I was done working, and went to bed as early as I could.

Then my son woke me up what felt like a half-a-dozen times in the middle of the night.  (After a certain point you stop counting.)  By the time daylight came, I felt like an elephant had stepped on me.

What’s one more day’s delay in the grand scheme of things? I asked myself.

Back In The Saddle (Part One)

February 2, 2015

Twice during the month of January I was asked, “Are you still writing?”

On the surface this would seem like a fair question since a few months back family matters took precedent over just about everything in my life, including writing.  I knew this was temporary, but I never specifically said that, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that the question was starting to look reasonable.

But there’s nothing reasonable about what I do.