notebook / @tww

Status.

Anti-depressant helping immensely during waking hours but last night turned sleeping hours into waking hours (as is, apparently one of the side effects). An evening blood sugar spike (stress from a yelping Kirby? He ran into a hose which, of course, required howling at the world so as to notify it of his suffering before continuing on his KirbyDerby across the yard) either part of or cause of. Still operating, however, on the notion that this is just my body getting used to its new normal, its biggest change since I came out of hospital with brand-spanking-new T1D: having my waking hours free of that screaming, criticizing, mindlooping busybody internal-other all the time is more than worth the (hopefully) short-term discomfort and inconvenience. That said, will continue to monitor and see what happens. (In spite of only four hours of sleep, I’m feeling fine.)

As for The Work: figuring shit out continues, but it’s in the right place – goal being, always, to pare it down to the smallest possible task and focus on that. Too big-picture at present, but that’s where it needs to be to reach that smaller and smaller, bit by bit. Reading, day’s run, lunch, then SOCIALIZED RECLUSE pod editing for Wednesday’s (intended) release. On with the day.

Covid Is Pulling the Plug on Beloved Japanese Arcades, via WIRED.

Lucia Mantione: murdered Sicilian girl finally given funeral after 66 years, via The Guardian.

A French woman stole $5.8 million worth of diamonds and replaced them with pebbles in an elaborate heist, via The Washington Post.

New Investigational Helmet Device Shrinks Glioblastoma, via Medscape.

Robot arranges 100,000 dominoes into a Super Mario Bros. mural in one day, via The Verge.

In the midst of a morning spent facing something I haven’t faced in a very long while, that something being all writing projects (unless it’s the day of the interview or of the posting, I don’t work on podcast stuff in the morning and the T1D essay is one of those things that I can only work on, for now, in very small doses) intended for the remainder of my two-week novella-break being in a state of completion, I switched to comics work in an attempt to reanimate a long-gestating idea (and put myself in the proper headspace for this current batch of TSR interviews) and I can, in the space of this breathless, one-sentence ramble (unintentional, mostly) report that (I think) I’ve found my way back to said proper head-and-scriptspace to engage in  – this current period of deciphering and reconciling past iterations (going back to at least 2013) notwithstanding – something resembling a good-faith pursuit of a solid narrative core. Maybe.

(But at least I know what the rest of the novella-break will look like.)

Vacuuming.

Watching:

Reading:

Rethinking the purpose of these daily experiments (again) and I’ve found that, since restarting them in this different space (Parenthetical Recluse was created to be the home of the daily postings but has since morphed into so much more; Micro was meant to be the in-betweens but is now the home of all scraps, thoughtlets, dogpictures, and ephemeral ramblings) that my brain was, as the day drug on, too full of things I was saving for the next of these postings when the point of their creation was to render my brain empty for eventual refuelling and refilling.

Solution: continue doing them at the same time, but treat as the opening bell, the opening salvo of the day, the prelude – or perhaps the entr’acte – to which subsequent postings – dog pics, EarBliss, etc. – will add to and, like Voltron, constitute the totality of the day’s (over)thinking or lack thereof.

Had I followed this solution, I would have posted, yesterday afternoon that: I’m in the process of making the first edit pass of the next Socialized Recluse episode with Ferrite and the PodTrack P4 and it is brilliant. That the P4 separates the phone and the Mic1 into separate tracks is a revelation. Apple Pencil proving useful, though I still have to make it as instinctive an asset as the mouse and the finger and all that.

In other news, from this morning’s workblock: the second short story is done – release date to newsletter subs TBD, though within the next week or so – and I’ve FINALLY moved on to that T1D essay (before returning on 09 August to the novella): never underestimate the power of being told by an author whose work you’ve long admired that they’d love to read said essay to spur you into finding the fire to mine the depths of yourself and rip open that wound for the benefit of release.

Farewell, July.

Kirby training has come undone and the second story has become something that I hadn’t forseen it becoming, that marvelous WTF birthed from somewhere and that made it all make sense or as close as I get. One of these is grand the other not.

Perhaps yesterday afternoon’s chat with Nick Sousanis (planning on the interview going live on Wednesday, 04 August; earlier episodes live here) helped get me there or maybe it was all there to begin with and I just needed the time and the space to see it. Either way, unless I commit an act of creative self-sabotage – not unlikely – and/or am unable to figure out a proper, facile presentation, it will be released to newsletter subscribers on or before I cross the 40th rubicon (07 August).

Click training abounds; the day awaits.

Grey skies, certainly, but only outside – and, though I know that this sensation (or lack thereof) is one brought on in pill form, this is how I’ve hoped to feel: neither elated nor numb, just here, doing my thing. Able to concentrate, to focus, truly, for the first time in years.

But I also know that, thanks to insurance, this is could – and probably will – change. Perhaps irrevocably but perhaps not, perhaps for the better, perhaps otherwise.

But I’m prepared for it. No choice, really.

Writing this Informality, then, as a way to remind myself that I am capable of getting here, to this space where I don’t feel guilt for doing what I love and where, even though I have no clue where this story is going and have only an opening line ahead of a self-inflicted deadline less than two weeks away, I am, nonetheless, enjoying myself for the first time in years: I have no imagined fictions and caricatures of past and future perturbations screaming at me with every word I think, with every word I type – or, if they are there, they’re nonetheless quieted to the point that I can simply be and do. My blood sugar is normal for the first time in over a year and my nerves over the afternoon’s interview are settled: I’m ready to listen, I’m ready to learn.

Writing this to myself as a record of when I reached a point where I was ok with being myself, a record what it, this wonderful quiet, felt like. I’ve gotten to this space once now, breaking through the illusions of my mind’s perceived notions; I can do it again – I can make it the regular, default baseline rather than a joyous exception.

Totally off the subject, but I started replaying CRIMSON SKIES (thanks GamePass) last night and that game is still fun – and beautiful – as hell. A remaster/remake would be most welcome.

Listening: OCEAN SONGS (REMASTERED), by Dirty Three.

The waterfall is continuing – on a surface level and seemingly – to not leak. A frog made it its swimming hole this morning, an event which I will take to be a postive review most likely apropos of nothing while, in non-amphibious news, the wait continues for pre-authorization of the pre-whatever for prescriptional mood-enhancement; my loathing of the American medical / insurance processes and workflows continues unabated.

Working on notes and research this morning for tomorrow’s SOCIALIZED RECLUSE interview with UNFLATTENING creator Nick Sousanis. Shaping up to be an intriguing and in-depth conversation; then again, with a mind like Nick’s on the other end of the phone, anything but an intriguing and in-depth conversation would be proof that I’m a terrible interviewer and conversationalist. Fingers, toes, and any and all other appendages capable of being crossed are and will remain crossed that the P4 delivers a usable recording. In testing, so far, so good – but I won’t feel good about it until the recording is in the iPad. And even then.

I am back writing in this space because I like writing in this space. In-lawn, more waiting, and general lifestuff await.

When you ask yourself, “What the fuck is this becoming?” while working on a story, odds are that you’re on the right track… (This is what I’m telling myself.)

Spent much of yesterday repairing and rebuilding the koi pond waterfall. Turned it back on this morning and, so far, no leaks. 🤞

Kirby is running back and forth across the kitchen, squeaking his favorite toy, which can mean only one thing: I’ve subjected him to the indignity of having to wait an additional 30 seconds for breakfast.

Never mind Saturday’s post: after a few days, decided that I prefer, at least for a bit, the daily churn of these. That said, THE GROUND LOOP remains either retired or on hiatus, but I’ll make a final decision by 11 August. For the time being, slammed with a short story deadline (seven years for the last one, two weeks for this one) and SOCIALIZED RECLUSE preparations (research and prep for five episodes, including an interview this week). Will post these at end of morning worktime, as usual. On with the day, see you tomorrow.

Morning pupper-tummy rubs.

This month’s MacroParentheticals dispatch, featuring title and cover reveals - and a stab at a release schedule for the next year - will be on its way to subscribers shortly. You can sign up here, if so inclined.

Revisiting the first arc of Brubaker and Phillips’s CRIMINAL (“Coward”): it’s just as good as I remember it being when it was first released. Still one of my favorites.

Backyard, 24jul2021

Watching:

The town is alive with sirens, terrible country music, and honking horns all proceeding SLOWLY down the main street, led by some guy with a pot on his head. Come one, come all, to the annual local celebration of who the fuck knows. “Goat poop bingo” is involved. Send help.