Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond (birdhousefrog) wrote,
Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond

Sitting In My Chair

Yes, I'm supposed to be writing and generating words this month...proto stories, if nothing else. Scads of them. I've finished the nonfiction work, with no more on the horizon and tax season a couple of months away still. It's been a good year for money, a bad year for generating fiction. Hence, my focus this month.

So why am I blogging, you ask? Good question.

Lots of very thought-provoking posts out there today, most notably one at julieandrews about gender that links to an article about women, writing and ambition. I had tried to grab that article when it showed up in my BU digest this morning, courtesy of mi amiga mount_oregano, a writer I'm proud to call "friend" for 12 years, assuming she'll let me make that claim. But it's the questions and comments on gender and writing posed by Julie that sparked some writing thoughts this morning. So go read them.

And now, for my own thought-provoking contributions...

It must be creative writing time, because I'm having lucid dreams left and right. I meant to post on the 31st, but didn't get the time with all the excitement of being a Silver Mist Fairy around here. Not to mention being the Miller's Daughter in Rumpelstiltskin BEFORE she spins straw into gold for the fairy tale parade at school. A very tall order and I was given only a few hours' notice to pull the look together with her. So I pinned all these scaps of cloth to an old sundress so she could dress in rags, so to speak. And then spent an hour explaining what a miller is. Because as a writer and an actress, I think context is essential. That and a small bag of white flour.

So the dream on the 31st, which is fading, had one highlight that stays with me. mindseas getting up close to me, face to face, showing me her forehead and asking me if her brain was still frizzled. Knowing her, it might well be. I remember her forehead as smooth and clear-skinned, beautiful in its way.

Then there was the dream where I yelled at my sister for never answering any emails I send her.

This morning, there was the dream that the chickens were never put to bed last night (which happened a few days back). They were out and loose outside the run. A crowd was trying to herd a dozen scraggly and damaged chickens back into the run and not having much luck at it, running here and there. Traffic had apparently stopped as people got out to help (which is interesting as we don't live on a road). And not only were my chickens being attacked by several fox, they were also being attacked by escaped mountain lions and cheetahs. I watched a mountain lion gulp one down whole. One of the less damaged ones, too. And there was a problem that there were only a dozen, because that meant a third of the chickens were missing, presumably eaten or killed. The ones that were left looked much like that famous chicken that had its head cut off and lived. (It's my dream.)

Meanwhile, on the home front, The Dude has had to work extra hours lately, as if he didn't do that already. And we spent Saturday just chilling, not doing anything. Like forgetting that E had an art class, which she forgot as well. And on Sunday he went to the office for half the day, something that isn't supposed to happen because we live so far away from his work that it's an hour's drive each way. But all beside my point. (You can tell I'm in draft mode in my writing because this post is all over the place and I'm not editing the feed from my brain.) I sent him off on Sunday with a meteorology question and he emailed me the answer, which I've posted on my filing cabinet for reference.

And I'm not sharing it until I put it in print somewhere.

Because, as he himself said, it's not been done before and it's a very cool thing on many levels. So I'm going to do it. Just not sure in which story yet or how many times, because it's versatile. Everyone knows about it, pretty much, but no one writes it into their stories. Living in a more rural setting, I've become more sensitized to weather phenomena.

Like seeing one of two sun dogs the other afternoon. (One was hidden by trees, both were on the top of the mountain range. And yes, there would have been two of them.)

Like I haven't stopped to blog how in the fall, just after the sun goes down on a super-clear day after a front when there aren't any clouds, the sky is yellow and yellow-green. Enough to hurt my eyes looking at it. And I'm driving and watching the black branches against that sky and I'm in love with the fading light.

Whatever. Random, shot-gun post.
Frog Out
Tags: family, house, not writing, stories, weather, writing
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