May 12th, 2006

bear by san

semi-weekly congresscritter annoyance note

via feyandstrange, who says it better than me:

You don't want me to be trapped in my house forever, do you? And I'm not talking about stairs; I'm talking about not being able to have the wheelchair my doctor says I need because Medicare says I don't need one.

See, Medicare says you only need canes, walkers, wheelchairs and powerchairs inside your own home. If you can stagger the three steps to your own bathroom, you don't need any kind of help. (gee, those of us with small houses are even more screwed - if it was twenty steps, I might qualify).

Never mind being able to leave the house to say, get a job and go back to work. Or go to doctors' appointments for necessary care. (They don't pay for cabs, either.) Or, you know, have a life - which is medically proven to be better for you.

They sentence criminals to in-home incarceration. I don't think I deserve that. And neither do millions of other Americans....

"Do me, and millions of other gimps, a favor. Write to your Congresscritters."
bear by san

I guess that I miss you; I guess I forgive you; I'm glad that you stood in my way

Public Service Announcement:

Dear world,

You can send me all the email you want. However, Mr. Spock estimates the chances of most of it, especially if the answer requires thought or action on my part, getting answered before Undertow is done in draft, as something like point oh one six in eleventy bajillion.

In the meantime, however, he has a date with a Horta.

Thank you for your kind attention.



ursulav: In a post about undead pork products, writes what may be my single favorite phrase in the English language ever:

bear by san

my fly-boy say to your fly-boy, gonna set your fly on fiyah.

I've started making my tea with loose leaves without a filter, because I have realized that it saves on tea *and* tastes better. I've been using a tea condom in a warmed pot for years, but just sucking it up and letting the little buggers float around in there makes all the difference in the world.

And I need one of mekkavandexter's characters to come read my leaves. Because my cup currently has a map of England, Scotland, and Wales inside it.

Maybe it's a vote of confidence for The Stratford Man.

Progress notes for 12 May 2006:


New Words: 506
Total Words: (actual wordcount / manuscript) 36118 / 40250
Pages: 161
Deadline: August 1
Words per day to meet deadline: 789
Reason for stopping: In addition to the paltry five hundred words, I also slogged through the existing MS making sure it had some vague first draft semblance of continuity. I'm bloody tired, and I'm not sure what the next scene is.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
36,118 / 100,000

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
161 / 400

This book is all plot. ALL PLOT! It would be more fun with some angst or smut or something. (Who am I, and what have I done with the real Bear?)

OTOH, right on schedule, about a third of the way in, the book handed me its climax today. Which is reassuring, because now I know how it ends.

Nobody tell my muse he's getting predictable, k? He does the same damned thing every damned book.

First he gives me some neat stuff that feels kind of thin and random and disconnected, until I figure out a hundred pages in what I did wrong. And then I have to go back and fix it all and grovel through bits and try to avoid editing artifacts.

And then I have like a third of a book.

And then he tells me how it ends. Just in time for me to hit the 35K wall and write the Dreaded Middle. Slog, slog, slog.

It would be nice to wander through life in a blaze of divine inspiration. But my muse believes in perspiration.

Stimulants: peach tea 
Exercise:  gym! with ashacat!
Mail: nomail
Today's words Word don't know:  theramin, rushy
Words I'm surprised Word do know: weal
Mean Things: Caetei yelled at Gourami.
Tyop du jour:  n/a
Darling du jour: n/a
Books in progress: Wendy Moore, The Knife Man;
Interesting tidbit of the day: via jaylake, backwards light. my head hurts.  
Other writing-related work: n/a
The glamorous life of the writer: Got grumped at by my downstairs neighbor for the slats falling out of my bed in the middle of the night last week. Dude! Like I did it on purpose! 

In other news, all of my rings now fit on the next largest finger. So, I may not be dropping any jeans sizes, but I am spot reducing my fingers!