(no subject)
So, a few words before bed here
I've been struggling with a bout of depression lately. And not a boohoo life sucks kind of depression, but more of a creative depression. When my creativity is out of whack, I feel it in all aspects of my life. I tend to be a little short, and grumpy with everyone and lackluster.
It's a real part of my being.
And as part of my resolve to keep my creative oomph (for now, until I lapse again, and I will, but I always come back, I go in phases and I've learned to milk them for all they're worth) I will attempt to post to this journal every day. It won't happen, but I can try damn hard.
Tonight, for the first time in months, I wrote 2300+ new words to the Katrina epic. I've crossed the 100 page/60000 word milestone. I can officially call Memoirs a novel in progress. I am so proud. I think I'd hit 60000 awhile ago, but just barely.
I even finally went back and fixed a few things, made some edits and am getting past my demons that caused me to stagnate on this piece for the last 9 months or so. I struggle, and some of you may relate, to death or loss of characters. It's hard because we as writers have a different perspective on what we create than what any reader would. Even when the characters thrive, we have a different appreciation for them.
And, thanks in large part to Leslie, and her posting her success in finishing Vincent (a saga that has taken years and tears) and sending out that first query letter, has been a huge inspiration for me. I just needed a small push, and that was it. I can do it. I can finish this damn story, maybe not this year, but I can do it. If not for getting published, but for me. And for Katrina. She deserves her ending.
And now, I've done what I never wanted to do, and what has prevented me from moving forward. When I fight the natural order of things, everything goes wrong. And that's what I did. And that's why I've been out of whack. And now, I've just let everything breakdown. I've let it go. And it's flowing again. And I owe a large part to Leslie. Thanks.
And thanks to Elaine for letting me borrow River, it was a great help to read something in the style that I was working for a refreshing look that what I was doing wasn't completely insane. It can be done.
And thanks of course, to my characters, for giving me the time to work through my demons so I can help them conquer theirs.
And if you wish to, an excerpt from tonight's writings, unedited. Sorry, it's not lj cut, I'm not that savvy.
"August 22
So I’ve officially moved out of Tamantha’s house and into a hotel in downtown Chicago. We have two days down, and four days left here. The question of the day, journal, seems to be if you had four days left to live, what would you do with that time?
Would you run away? Would you be wild, and crazy and carefree and live with no regrets? Would you make amends for what you’ve done, and down in what has been? Would you reflect and lay in the sun for hours, drinking in the essence of what it means to be alive just by examining a simple dandelion?
I highly suspect that people who seek to greatly change their last days have secretly disliked large portions of their life and instead should seek to change their existence now, rather than when time is running out.
I rarely put this much time and thought into any of my bums, but I’ve found myself wondering what gift to give him. In my short time here, for as despicable a creature as he is, and the deplorable things he’s done, Deacon Harris really isn’t that bad of a guy. I almost - ALMOST will miss him. Or maybe it’s his rugged good looks and the fact that I just need to fucking go ahead and get laid.
Hey, now that’s not a bad idea. Room service for chocolate now, sex later. That should clear my head and hormones. I can’t be fuzzy headed for D-day. That would simply spell disaster. Why do you think they call it D-day, after all?
Speaking of calling, I spoke with my brother earlier today. I forgot that the last he heard from me was when I was abducted by the local familigia. He sounded somewhat relieved to hear from me, but mostly pissed off. He wanted to know when I’d be home. Said he’d been by my place and found out that old Mrs. Siev had been in the hospital, but didn’t know the details. That’s a shame about Mrs. Siev, but I had to ask. “Is anyone taking care of Tobey?”
“Who the hell is Tobey?” my brother sounded annoyed.
“My cat that I gave to Mrs. Siev.” I forgot he didn’t hang around often enough to know about my one night stands.
“Yeah, I don’t know and I don’t care, when the hell are you coming home?” he usually doesn’t get that bitchy unless something’s up. So I asked.
“What’s up your ass?”
“What the hell’s up yours? What kind of trouble are you into that you haven’t been home for a month! And why won’t you return any of my phone calls and what the hell was that all about last time I heard from you? It sounded like people you shouldn’t be hangin’ around. You know what shit I can get into if they think you have ANYTHING to do with those people, Katerina!”
Ahh, he was worried about his job. His boss must be giving him hell. It took a lot for him to overcome our family’s associations with the mafia back home. There was a lot of distrust and talk of dirty cops. And it didn’t help matters that I had a sealed juvie record. But somehow, someway, Tony managed to get in good with the finest our city has to offer. He’s even a Lieutenant now, did I mention that? Not too shabby. But speaking of dirty cops…
If memory serves, the local familigia and the Nameless had the word that the hit request was for a cop. Maybe Tony could find something out. “Hey, you got a way to search for someone?”
“I’m a cop, Katé, that’s my job.” He sounded smug, but no, it was just pride. Which is the same thing, except when it’s Tony. He’s proud to be a boy in blue. But he’s not an ass about it. Most of the time.
“I need a favor, make my life easier and stop the heat coming down on your ass maybe.”
He was quiet for a handful of seconds, “gimme.”
I told him the name, “Carl Mansini. Not sure if that’s birth or alias, but that’s all I’ve got.”
His voice got real quiet then, quiet and almost threatening. “No it’s not. How did you get that name, Katerina?”
I hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was talking about. “Come again? I thought you didn’t want to know the details.”
“That’s a fucking COP, Kat!” he was whispering fiercely into the receiver on his end. I suspected he was in a public place and didn’t want people wondering what all of the hullabaloo was about. “One that I have tried my fucking hardest not to let you hear about! Who the fuck told you? What do you want with him?”
“I just want some general information, geez, Tony. Relax. What’s the big fucking deal? I know he’s a cop, but other than a name, I know nothing. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
A long minute passed in absolute silence except for the distinct sound of controlled breathing. It sounded like Tony was trying not to punch a hole in the nearest brick wall. Tony was a saint most of the time, but he has been known, on occasion, to punch out lockers and soda machines. Pent up rage that he needs to find away to release before he hurts somebody. If he hurts himself, that’s his problem, but he shouldn’t be loosed on society with his issues. But hey, not my call.
“That’s the son of the bitch who signed off on dad’s suicide.”
“I have to go…”
“Katerina, do not do anything stupid. You can’t touch him, he’s a fucking c-“ I hung up then. I didn’t need to hear anymore.
Now it all my sense. Why la familigia was all fired up, why they wanted me, why the Nameless couldn’t do it. Why it would make us all even. And it would.
I can’t prove it, not yet, but Carl Mansini is the man who murdered my father. And covered it up. And blamed la famigilia for everything. The sonuvabitch destroyed my family. And as God is my witness and power, I will destroy his. "
I've been struggling with a bout of depression lately. And not a boohoo life sucks kind of depression, but more of a creative depression. When my creativity is out of whack, I feel it in all aspects of my life. I tend to be a little short, and grumpy with everyone and lackluster.
It's a real part of my being.
And as part of my resolve to keep my creative oomph (for now, until I lapse again, and I will, but I always come back, I go in phases and I've learned to milk them for all they're worth) I will attempt to post to this journal every day. It won't happen, but I can try damn hard.
Tonight, for the first time in months, I wrote 2300+ new words to the Katrina epic. I've crossed the 100 page/60000 word milestone. I can officially call Memoirs a novel in progress. I am so proud. I think I'd hit 60000 awhile ago, but just barely.
I even finally went back and fixed a few things, made some edits and am getting past my demons that caused me to stagnate on this piece for the last 9 months or so. I struggle, and some of you may relate, to death or loss of characters. It's hard because we as writers have a different perspective on what we create than what any reader would. Even when the characters thrive, we have a different appreciation for them.
And, thanks in large part to Leslie, and her posting her success in finishing Vincent (a saga that has taken years and tears) and sending out that first query letter, has been a huge inspiration for me. I just needed a small push, and that was it. I can do it. I can finish this damn story, maybe not this year, but I can do it. If not for getting published, but for me. And for Katrina. She deserves her ending.
And now, I've done what I never wanted to do, and what has prevented me from moving forward. When I fight the natural order of things, everything goes wrong. And that's what I did. And that's why I've been out of whack. And now, I've just let everything breakdown. I've let it go. And it's flowing again. And I owe a large part to Leslie. Thanks.
And thanks to Elaine for letting me borrow River, it was a great help to read something in the style that I was working for a refreshing look that what I was doing wasn't completely insane. It can be done.
And thanks of course, to my characters, for giving me the time to work through my demons so I can help them conquer theirs.
And if you wish to, an excerpt from tonight's writings, unedited. Sorry, it's not lj cut, I'm not that savvy.
"August 22
So I’ve officially moved out of Tamantha’s house and into a hotel in downtown Chicago. We have two days down, and four days left here. The question of the day, journal, seems to be if you had four days left to live, what would you do with that time?
Would you run away? Would you be wild, and crazy and carefree and live with no regrets? Would you make amends for what you’ve done, and down in what has been? Would you reflect and lay in the sun for hours, drinking in the essence of what it means to be alive just by examining a simple dandelion?
I highly suspect that people who seek to greatly change their last days have secretly disliked large portions of their life and instead should seek to change their existence now, rather than when time is running out.
I rarely put this much time and thought into any of my bums, but I’ve found myself wondering what gift to give him. In my short time here, for as despicable a creature as he is, and the deplorable things he’s done, Deacon Harris really isn’t that bad of a guy. I almost - ALMOST will miss him. Or maybe it’s his rugged good looks and the fact that I just need to fucking go ahead and get laid.
Hey, now that’s not a bad idea. Room service for chocolate now, sex later. That should clear my head and hormones. I can’t be fuzzy headed for D-day. That would simply spell disaster. Why do you think they call it D-day, after all?
Speaking of calling, I spoke with my brother earlier today. I forgot that the last he heard from me was when I was abducted by the local familigia. He sounded somewhat relieved to hear from me, but mostly pissed off. He wanted to know when I’d be home. Said he’d been by my place and found out that old Mrs. Siev had been in the hospital, but didn’t know the details. That’s a shame about Mrs. Siev, but I had to ask. “Is anyone taking care of Tobey?”
“Who the hell is Tobey?” my brother sounded annoyed.
“My cat that I gave to Mrs. Siev.” I forgot he didn’t hang around often enough to know about my one night stands.
“Yeah, I don’t know and I don’t care, when the hell are you coming home?” he usually doesn’t get that bitchy unless something’s up. So I asked.
“What’s up your ass?”
“What the hell’s up yours? What kind of trouble are you into that you haven’t been home for a month! And why won’t you return any of my phone calls and what the hell was that all about last time I heard from you? It sounded like people you shouldn’t be hangin’ around. You know what shit I can get into if they think you have ANYTHING to do with those people, Katerina!”
Ahh, he was worried about his job. His boss must be giving him hell. It took a lot for him to overcome our family’s associations with the mafia back home. There was a lot of distrust and talk of dirty cops. And it didn’t help matters that I had a sealed juvie record. But somehow, someway, Tony managed to get in good with the finest our city has to offer. He’s even a Lieutenant now, did I mention that? Not too shabby. But speaking of dirty cops…
If memory serves, the local familigia and the Nameless had the word that the hit request was for a cop. Maybe Tony could find something out. “Hey, you got a way to search for someone?”
“I’m a cop, Katé, that’s my job.” He sounded smug, but no, it was just pride. Which is the same thing, except when it’s Tony. He’s proud to be a boy in blue. But he’s not an ass about it. Most of the time.
“I need a favor, make my life easier and stop the heat coming down on your ass maybe.”
He was quiet for a handful of seconds, “gimme.”
I told him the name, “Carl Mansini. Not sure if that’s birth or alias, but that’s all I’ve got.”
His voice got real quiet then, quiet and almost threatening. “No it’s not. How did you get that name, Katerina?”
I hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was talking about. “Come again? I thought you didn’t want to know the details.”
“That’s a fucking COP, Kat!” he was whispering fiercely into the receiver on his end. I suspected he was in a public place and didn’t want people wondering what all of the hullabaloo was about. “One that I have tried my fucking hardest not to let you hear about! Who the fuck told you? What do you want with him?”
“I just want some general information, geez, Tony. Relax. What’s the big fucking deal? I know he’s a cop, but other than a name, I know nothing. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
A long minute passed in absolute silence except for the distinct sound of controlled breathing. It sounded like Tony was trying not to punch a hole in the nearest brick wall. Tony was a saint most of the time, but he has been known, on occasion, to punch out lockers and soda machines. Pent up rage that he needs to find away to release before he hurts somebody. If he hurts himself, that’s his problem, but he shouldn’t be loosed on society with his issues. But hey, not my call.
“That’s the son of the bitch who signed off on dad’s suicide.”
“I have to go…”
“Katerina, do not do anything stupid. You can’t touch him, he’s a fucking c-“ I hung up then. I didn’t need to hear anymore.
Now it all my sense. Why la familigia was all fired up, why they wanted me, why the Nameless couldn’t do it. Why it would make us all even. And it would.
I can’t prove it, not yet, but Carl Mansini is the man who murdered my father. And covered it up. And blamed la famigilia for everything. The sonuvabitch destroyed my family. And as God is my witness and power, I will destroy his. "