Recovery Time

Yesterday was hell.

Such incredible, stupid, unmanageable hell.

It was so very hellish that when my flatmate called to find out what was going on, I promptly burst into tears.

It's a work matter, not a writing one (Oh, how I long for the day when writing is my work!) , so I'm not going to go into detail here. Needless to say, it was a terrible, terrible, terrible day.

Obviously, no writing was done. No writing will be done today, either. Or tomorrow. I'm giving myself the rest of the week off writing. Luckily for me, I have a project that will keep me occupied, and while it isn't writing, it is related to my writing future. So I won't feel like I'm totally slacking off.

Right, I'm off to catch up and get to work. Hopefully today will be much better.

Animadversion

Serious consideration or observ[ation].

- Nathaniel Bailey's Etymological English Dictionary, 1749

A taking notice of a fault with some degree of anger, severity, or dispatch.

- Daniel Fenning's Royal English Dictionary, 1775

An observation made upon a book after duly examining into the merits of it.

- Thomas Dyche's New General English Dictionary, 1740

Reproof; severe censure.

- John Walker's Critical Pronouncing Dictionary, 1835

Strange Dreams, Strange Feeling

That strange feeling that something amazing is going to happen is still with me today. I can't understand it, but hey, I like it!

On a less happy, but no less strange note, my spate of really odd dreams continues. This time, two friends (T.H. and K.C.), a famous music personality (none other than Lady GaGa. No, seriously), a character from a T.V. show (Prince Charming from the show Once Upon a Time), a whole bunch of strangers and I were all involved in a Hunger Games style competition that started out with each of us camping. In the same spot.

K.C., T.H. and myself ended up (somehow) all in a run-down fun house. We had split up earlier on, and all ended up there. I was searching around the house, torch and all, when I came across a mouse. Somehow, I knew that mouse was actually K.C. who, it turns out, was a Harry Potter style animagus in this dream. Because we're friends, I simply smiled at the mouse frozen by fear (or possibly my torch's light) on the windowsill and said, 'Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.' Then I left the room.

I don't know why K.C. turned himself into a mouse. The man's got kick-arse Kung Fu skills. I digress.

I hear some noises and go investigate and Lady GaGa, in full monster outfit, is attacking T.H., who isn't doing so well. So I kill Lady GaGa. Yep. Twisted dream.

(I'd just like to point out here, as an aside, I don't hate Lady GaGa. In fact, I quite like her music - it's catchy and fun to dance to. I also adore her costumes as works of art. I'd never wear them, but whatever. To each their own. For the record, Lady GaGa, I'm really sorry I killed you in my dream. To be fair, you were trying to kill one of my friends.)

There was an awkward moment when T.H. and I faced each other, then we just nodded, and went our separate ways.

T.H. died later, but I didn't have time to feel sad about it because I was in the middle of helping Prince Charming battle a dragon (I know where this came from. In last night's episode of Once Upon a Time, Prince Charming battled a dragon). To be honest, it was less a dragon than a weird human-dragon hybrid.

The pair of us manage to get the dragon-man thing weakened, but really angry. We, in identical armour, I might add, stand side by side in preparation for the final charge, when some guy, also in identical armour, throws a knife straight into the dragon-man's throat, killing him.

I turn around and though I don't recognise the guy, I know he's not on our side.

And that's when I woke up.

There you go. Analyse that!

With my imagination in full, freakish bloom, I will now go and write. Until tomorrow, then!

Necrologist

One who gives an account of deaths.

- Noah Webster's American Dictionary of the English Language, 1828

The Inexplicable Feeling

Good morning!

I am in fine spirits this morning. It's weird. I shall tell you why it's weird.

Yesterday I got a bit of a shock. Those of you who saw my rant of Facebook already know about it. The cause of the rant went something like this:

Part of my job is to make sure that the office never runs out of coffee (God forbid!), sugar, milk, cream, paper towels... you know, things every kitchenette requires. So, yesterday afternoon, around about 3:30, I put a sign up on my computer screen to tell everyone that I had headed out to shop for office supplies.

When I returned with two barrels of coffee (it was on sale) and dish-washing liquid, I noted that someone had, very childishly, crossed out the words 'office supplies' and scribbled in 'Christmas.'

Really? Really?! What's next? An 'I do personal errands on company time' note stuck to my back?

Not only was the defacing of that sign incredibly infantile (no-one above the age of ten ought to find that amusing), but it was actually quite vicious. You see, though I laughed at first, I realised that the person who did that obviously has a very low opinion of me, and likely wanted others to as well.

For the record, if anyone from work happens to stumble across this post, I do not use company time to do personal errands. I save that for lunch time or the weekend or after work if I have time. I usually don't, but that's entirely beside the point.

If the purpose was to get me in trouble with management, then you're a tool, sign defacer. I think it highly unlikely that either of them are foolish enough to fall for that. I'm quite certain that they see right through it. Yes, management has been informed.

I was furious yesterday afternoon.

What pea-brained, infantile moron does that sort of thing?

I probably wouldn't have been as furious as I was were it not for the fact that, at the moment, I am the target of some pretty intense bullying at work. I generally don't let it phase me, but there are days when I just feel like kicking some teeth in.

Anyway, this morning I woke feeling amazing. It was snowing outside when I woke, and everything was so pretty and white. I had slept so well. I had, and currently have, this feeling that everything is going to be incredible.

I have that inexplicable feeling that life is right on track, that I'm doing the right thing, that all my dreams will come true if I can keep it up.

Weird.

I get like this every so often... less often than I'd like. It's a bit like my extremely down moments. I get those more frequently, but whatever.

I might be slightly manic.

In any case, today is a wonderful day. Things are afoot that will bring me what I need when I need it.

Deciding that today was a great day to spread the love (even to the bullies), I borrowed my flatmate's Santa hat and am rockin' the Christmas spirit at work. I have plans to decorate... oh, it's going to be wonderful!

No one is allowed to be grumpy today!

On that note, have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you Monday!

Wedge-Floating

Concentrated, strong. There is an old saying that camp cooks test coffee by dropping an iron wedge into the pot. If the edge floats, the coffee is too strong. Ozarks.

- Vance Randolph's Down in the Holler, 1953

Happy Birthday to Me...

...not!

The more birthdays I have, the less I find I enjoy them. All they are is a reminder of another year gone with little to show for it.

Alright, fine, I've written a lot of books. However, despite three years of trying, I haven't been able to traditionally publish any of them. I might just have exhausted the supply of agents and acquisition editors in North America for The Great Man series.

No one wants my stuff.

That raises the issue of quality. If none of the professionals want my books, then it's because they aren't good enough. If they're not good enough for them, I probably shouldn't self-publish them or I'll give myself a reputation for publishing rubbish.

I don't want that reputation.

Yet, I really want this story to be out there. More than anything, I want it to be widely read and loved.

But if it's crap, it's not going to be.

And so I'm sitting on it, wondering what the hell to do with it all.

I was also, according to the plan I made quite late in life, supposed to have completed a Masters degree and be knee deep in my doctorate by now.

What the hell happened to that? Oh yeah, funding. Who ever thought of money anyway? What bastards!

This is what birthdays make me think of - a whole lotta treading water and hopes that get dashed. A whole lotta 'it's just not good enough.' Too many years chasing the impossible.

UGH!

I never used to dislike birthdays. They used to be fun and full of parties and I never once thought of all the things I'd hope to do by now and haven't managed to. What's with that?

Am I the only one who reflects on everything that I was supposed to have done by now?

Anyway, sorry to bring you all down on a Monday (like you needed my help). I just realised that I forgot to post Saturday's Forgotten English so, lucky you, you get two for one today.

Tailor's Mense

A small portion left by way of good manners. In some parts of the North it is the custom for the village tailor to work at his customer's house, and to partake of the hospitality of the family board. On these occasions the best fare is invariably provided; at least such was the case when I was a boy; and the tailor to shew that he has had enough, generally leaves a little on his plate, which is called tailor's mense . . . [From] mense, decency, propriety of conduct, good manners, kindness, hospitality.

- John Brockett's Glossary of North Country Words, 1825

Egg-Wife-Trot

An easy jog - such as farmers' wives carry their eggs to the market.

- William Carr's Dialect of Craven, 1828

Not in the Mood

I had a really, really, really shitty day yesterday. I don't want to be here right now. I want to be home, in bed, buried beneath my blankets and enjoying cuddles from a very affectionate kitten.

I want my back to be fixed so I can go to training and work out my frustrations.

What I don't want to be doing is sitting in the office, facing an entire day of working with the people who made me so miserable yesterday.

And I really, really, really want to go to training and just punch and kick stuff for three hours.

But I can't.

Ugh!

There is some good news. At least I made my NaNoWriMo target for the day. Thank the gods for writing! It has saved my sanity more times than I can count!

Speaking of, I should get going on today's target. Have a good Thursday everyone!

Tears of the Tankard

The drippings of liquor on a man's waistcoat.

- Francis Grose's Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, 1796

Me Being Moody

I'm in a mood. To anyone who knows me at all, they know that when I say 'I'm in a mood,' what I mean is, I'm in a bad mood.

I'm in a bad mood for a number of reasons. Firstly, this weekend was completely wasted. I remained in bed all weekend, in excruciating agony, thanks in whole to my back. It decided to seize up, apparently.

And it was such a beautiful weekend as well.

My little brother is back in Australia, and should be here. That makes me irate as well.

The thing is, when I get in this mood, I have a terrible tendency to turn everything inward. That is to say, I reflect more on my failings in life.

It isn't helped that my birthday is coming up soon.

I always get depressed around my birthday. The thought pattern goes something like this:

I'm going to be turning (insert age) soon. What have I achieved? No, really. What? I'm in a low-paying, boring job. I don't have a significant other. No house. Not even a car. Sure, I've written a few books. Sure, friends like reading them.

But acquisition editors don't.

Sure I have a published book.

But it's self-published.

And isn't selling.

In short, I'm failing. I'm failing at writing. I'm failing at life.

Don't go all aggro on me. I'm just telling you how my brain works when I'm in a bad mood and or when my birthday approaches.

It takes a great deal to drag me out of these moods. I have to forcibly remind myself that I'm not a failure. I mean, how many other people can boast that they've written nine books before the age of 30? I'm making my bills, and have some for fun left over. I've got great credit. I've got amazing friends, do incredible things and am generally extraordinarily lucky.

I just don't feel like it today.

Le sigh.

Well, I have 3 000 words to write today. I'd best get on that. Have a good Monday... if you can.

Phlogiston

An exploded chymical name for an imaginary substance, thought to be a constituent part of all inflammable bodies.

- William Grimshaw's Ladies' Lexicon and Parlour Companion, 1846

The existence of phlogiston was denied by Lavoisier in 1775, and though stoutly maintained by Priestley, belief in it was generally abandoned by 1800.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1909

Feuilleton

In French newspapers, or other in which the French custom is followed, a portion of one or more pages marked off at the bottom from the rest of the page and appropriated to light literature, criticism, etc. Adopted from French, from feuillet, a diminutive of feuille, leaf. Feuilletonism, aptitude for writing feuilletons; feuilletonist, a writer of feuilletons.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1897

Furious!

ARGH!

Yesterday was supposed to be such a happy day. My little brother was supposed to touch down in Montreal yesterday. Today was to be his first morning in Canada.

And then he had his travel wallet stolen. In Korea (we think). With no passport, and no money, he was stranded.

Threatened with deportation back to Australia, he called the Canadian Embassy in Seoul. They proved to be absolutely, 100% USELESS! In order for him to get emergency documents - a necessity to get back on the plane and on his way here - he'd have to go to the embassy in person. Well, in Seoul, you aren't allowed to leave the aeroport without a passport, so there was no way to get to the embassy.

And so he was deported back to Australia.

Now he has to get the money together to replace all the said documents AND pay for a new flight.

I'm furious with the Canadian Embassy in Seoul right now. Serving citizens? My arse! Why do I pay for you out of my taxes? You can't even get my brother home!

Bastards.

In any case, I'm upset. I was SO looking forward to seeing him soon. Now, there' s no telling when he'll get here.

Ugh!

Riding the Stang

A punishment among the vulgar; inflicted upon fornicators, adulterers, severe husbands, [etc.] ... Offenders ... are mounted astraddle a long pole, or stang, supported upon the shoulders of their companions.

- John Brockett's Glossary of North Country Words, 1825

Stang, a strong piece of wood on which the carcasses of beasts are suspended by the sinews of the hind legs.

- William Carr's Dialect of Craven, 1828

I wonder if I can do that to an entire embassy...

Jangle

Gossiping, idle talking; to jangle one's time away.

- Thomas Darlington's Folk-Speech of South Cheshire, 1887

To quarrel, argue angrily. Hence, janglesome, quarrelsome, noisy, boisterous. Northern England, Scotland.

- Joseph Wrigth's English Dialect Dictionary, 189-1905

I might just jangle with the Canadian Embassy in Seoul...

GRRRRRRRR!

And I'm done. I should start writing for today's NaNoWriMo target, I suppose.

ARGH! GRR!

I hate technology!

The necessary edits to The Dying God have been made and for the past couple of days, after finishing my 3 000 words, I've been trying to convert the document at the correct page size (6 x 9 inches) with the correct dpi (300), and getting absolutely nowhere. At the same time, a friend of mine, who SO needs to be given extravagant gifts for his time and effort has been doing the same, with precisely the same result.

No dice.

It's frustrating as hell!

I'll just keep trying, I suppose. In the meantime, I'll keep at Ethan Cadfael: The Battle Prince. I'm on schedule as of today. We'll see if it is so at the end of today. I'm annoyed enough to leave writing behind and fight the .pdf converter all day.

But I won't. But I want to. No, I mustn't...

In the mean time, for your linguistic pleasure:

Purfled

Short-winded, especially in the consequence of being too lusty.

- John Jamieson's Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, 1808

Full to excess, overloaded; swollen, inflated, turgid.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1908

Also in the form purfillit.

- Joseph Wright's English Dialect Dictionary, 1898-1905

Mondayitis

I never thought such an affliction existed, having never really experienced it before. This might be a one-off instance of hating Mondays specifically, so I'm still not convinced that it does exist.

In any case, I hate today.

I'm still furious at my bank, and will be having a chat to them today. If I get nowhere, I'll be switching banks. This is just ridiculous.

I'm not impressed with myself. I got up later than usual, and didn't have much time to prepare lunch, let alone do all the other stuff I promised myself I'd do this morning. GRRR.

The computer has frozen three times since firing it up at 9:00 this morning. GRRRRRRRRRRR!

Just... nothing is going right today.

On the brighter side, my week long break from writing is now officially over and, although I feel like doing nothing but watching more Qi, I will begin writing Ethan Cadfael (The Battle Prince) today. W00t!

I'm going to try for my usual 3 000 words a day, but I'm not going to kill myself over it. This project, after all, is supposed to be just for fun. I plan on self-publishing it, as I don't feel too many people would read it and the target audience is far too narrow to interest any publisher in any case.

Right, there's very little to report, so I'm just going to give you your Forgotten English and get on with it.

Jettatore

A person who brings bad luck. From Italian jettatore.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1901

Reason I am a Dork #45

I often listen to epic music. I have an album from Two Steps from Hell on my iPod that I happened to be listening to on my way to work this morning. Then this song played:

Incidentally, this is the album cover. Also, buy this album. It's frikkin' amazing!

And that rewrite I've been dreading playing in full force in my mind. I can't really describe it here, because it's a HUGE spoiler (my flatmate knows, though). Sufficed to say, this is Edward's theme, not least of all because of the title, and it made me cry.

That's right. I randomly burst into tears on the footpath as I walked to work. Thank heavens for slightly oversized sunglasses!

Yup, I'm a dork!

In other news on the same series, remember when I felt so disheartened by the last rejection I received? Well, I had asked a friend of mine, who is published, to give my manuscript a read and tell me what she thought. Yesterday evening on facebook, she posted this on her wall:

I'm just popping on here to say that I'm reading a fabulous fantasy novel right now. S.M. Carrière,

you are awesome!! :O) OK, back to reading!

Which made me smile. Of course, the manuscript isn't perfect, and she has some suggestions, but all the same, I was thrilled. Now I don't feel so badly about it and I no longer think I suck as a writer.

...Until the next rejection, that is.

So, I'm a mixed bag of emotions at the moment. Today, I think, I'll be diving into that rewrite. In any case, I'm up to the day of battle that it happens. Best get it out the way, really.

I should get to it, I suppose. Have a great Tuesday all!

Deodand

A thing devoted to God... to atone for the violent death of a man by misadventure; from Deo dandum [Latin, "that which is given to God"].

- Nathan Bailey's Universal Etymological English Dictionary, 1742

If a man falls from a boat or ship in fresh water and is drowned, it hath been said that the vessel and cargo are, in strictness of law, a deodand.

- William Blackstone's Commentaries on the Laws of England, 1769

If a man, being upon a cart carrying faggots, ... fall downe by the moving of one of the horses of the cart, and die of it, both that and all the other horses in the cart, and the cart itselfe, are forfeit. And these are called deodands.

- Sir Henry Finch's Law; or, A Discourse Thereof in Four Books, 1613.

My spell checker had a field day with that last one.

Vast Improvement

Life seems to have improved overnight.

J.M-B. and I went to Equestrian Archery last night, and I wasn't nearly as frustrated. Plus, I got to ride back to the stables the long way - and it was a beautiful ride through grasses that came up to my waist (mounted) and birds that suddenly took flight from right beside me.

Ahhhh.... bliss!

My own improvement and the fact that Nash was very well behaved helped improve my mood. Then, to cap off the night, I finally met our trainer's new horse, Marius. Marius is a quarter horse/ paint mix. He has the sweetest face you can imagine, and appears to be always smiling.

He's also incredibly friendly, and affectionate and just so dang adorable! I fell in love right away.

What a sweetheart.

I haven't any pictures or video of the lesson up yet, but they will be forthcoming.

Right, I have a book to finish, so I'll leave you alone now... except to say that, by a magnificent stroke of someone else double booking, I'm going to see The Lion King at the N.A.C. tonight. Squee!

Suppedaneous

Being under the feet; from Latin pes, the foot.

- Rev. John Boag's Imperial Lexicon of the English Language, c. 1850

Applied to a mountain lying at the foot of another.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1919.

The Dark Crystal

Babbs

The foul luce, or slimy matter a razor scrapes off the face in shaving.

- John Mactaggart's Scottish Gallovidian Encyclopedia, 1824

Due to yesterday's awesome guest post, I neglected to provide you with the Forgotten English of the day. So I decided to be nice and give it to you first thing this morning.

Now the post isn't really about The Dark Crystal. It's actually about my mood today. As I was walking to work this morning, I found that I am slowly making peace with what was, arguably, the most devastating rejection yet... for some reason.

No sooner did the words 'making peace' pop into my head, than did the image and sound of the Skekis Chamberlain from The Dark Crystal whining plaintively after the escaping Gelflings, "Please? Please make peace?"

Hence the title. Just so you know I really didn't pick it at random, and there was a thought process behind it.

If I was picking titles at random that had nothing to do with post content, I'd have titled today's post Peeps in Jeeps.

Ahem, anyway...

I am slowly recovering from my random breakdown on Monday. It's funny how long it takes me to really get back on my feet. Hm.

With my writing, I've managed to make my 3 000 words every day this week. I'm now approaching the last 20 000 or so words of the novel. If I stay on track, I out to be finished before the end of the month.

Then I'm going to be working on a much lighter project to take me away from all the dark and death and depression I'm dealing with writing Puppet Master. I genuinely think that the horrors of Medrim are affecting my mood - which would go a long way to explain why it's taking me so bloody long to get over the latest "no."

This project has, for the past two days, made me pause and giggle. It's a light (well, as light as I am capable of producing), just-for-fun book I'm going to write, so I think that I'll self-publish it.

I'm not going to say more on it, except to note that fellow Ottawans would probably enjoy it that much more than the rest.

Well, today's my day off, which means I get to goof off as much as I want and not feel guilty. So, here's your Forgotten English. I'm off to... not sure yet; but it'll be fun whatever it is.

Hot Spong

A sudden powerful heat.

- Rev. Robert Forby's Vocabulary of East Anglia, 1830

A sudden power of heat from the sun emerging from a cloud; East[ern England].

- James Halliwell's Dictionary of Archaic and Provincial Words, 1855

Just One of Those Days

It's only early on a Thursday morning, but I'm already in a foul mood. I blame Galahad, who insisted on walking around the house, meowing like mad, and scratching at my suitcase and my closet door alternatively. At 4:00 in the morning.

He usually does this if his food or water bowl is empty, or if the litter needs to be cleaned. I emptied the litter last night, so it wasn't that. I went and check his food and water stocks. Both good.

Nope, he just wanted to be a little [expletive retracted].

The result is this:

Not only am I sore as all heck from training on Tuesday night, my stomach still a little upset from over-training Tuesday night, but I'm also exhausted and cranky. And I have training again tonight.

Nice.

I'm done complaining! No, seriously. All done. Feeling a bit better now that I have that off my chest!

In writing news, I'm not doing too badly. I made my 3 000 words just after lunch yesterday (thank-you, early start time). Much of what I wrote didn't help my upset tummy.

Does any other writer reread their stuff and think that there must be something wrong with them? I mean, what I wrote turned my stomach a little when I read it. How could I have written it? More pressing is how twisted must my imagination be to come up with that stuff?

Gross!

I'm not giving anything away except to say, the Captain of the Guard is an evil, evil person and poor, poor Xander.

Le sigh.

Right, I have to go kill some characters now. That will make me feel better. Have a great Thursday.

Newdicle

Something new; just as a miracle is something wonderful. A fanciful and licentious fabrication, perhaps never used at all seriously.

- Robert Forby's Vocabulary of East Anglia, 1830

Mild Panic Attack

Don't stress out. I'm alright. It was just a mild panic attack.

It happened yesterday, when the enormity of everything sort of just hit all at once... and then I stubbed my toe rather badly. It was the sharp pain of the door edge on my big toe that triggered the attack. Yes, my toe hurt. But it was all the other stuff flying around my head that caused a mild case of hyperventilation and then lots and lots of tears.

In short, I'm a bit overwhelmed.

There is so much I don't know about this business of being published, most especially the marketing part, and the more I find out, the more I realise I don't know. Then I read articles about reader backlash against authors on forum threads and the like, and I wonder if I'll ever actually get read at all. I mean, if your audience hates you, what are you supposed to do?

Will I be one of the hundreds, probably thousands, slaving away in obscurity for the rest of my life?

What's so important to me about being published anyway? I've thought long and hard about this, and am yet to come up with a satisfactory answer. The best I've managed is "because." What the hell kind of reason is that?

I love to write fiction. I want to make a living writing fiction.

It seems, however, the odds, and rejection letters, are stacked against me.

Still, I have absolutely no choice but to soldier on. "Because" isn't a very compelling reason for anything, yet that "because" is so damned powerful, it keeps pushing me on.

So today, I'm going to do more research on marketing. I despise self-marketing. Have I mentioned that?

Wish me luck!

And today's Forgotten English is:

Turn the Peats

A north country phrase equivalent to "change the subject." The allusion is to the square blocks of dried peat which are used for fuel and which, when they become red-hot underneath, are turned to allow the burning side to give out its warmth and glow.

- Basil Hargrave's Origins and Meanings of Popular Phrases, 1925

A Gentle Kick in the Pants

I was almost ready to quit yesterday. I was so down, and upset, and discouraged, I was ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Another rejection. Another person who thought my story/my abilities simply weren't good enough. Surely if so many people thought that, then this must be true:

I mustn't be able to write. My stories mustn't be much good at all.

I was, admittedly, not in the best frame of mind for rational thought, but the logic is nevertheless quite sound.

Then along came Gerard de Marigny, a friend and fellow author I met online at LinkedIn.com. Apparently, I roused at him in a conversation. I have absolutely no recollection of that at all... but I don't doubt it. I have a tendency to voice my opinion rather definitely (not cruelly, just decidedly... definite).

He reviewed my anthology The Dying God & Other Stories for me... and I cried a little. It was such a lovely review. You can read it HERE.

It was also a just-in-the-nick-of-time rescue from my melancholic defeat.

Sometimes, I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Let's hope it's not just a cruel prank and I don't end up frustrated, disappointed and bitter...

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Here's today's Forgotten English (I must say, it looks awfully Welsh to me):

Bryn Mawryn

A woman who has been connected with Bryn Mawr College as an undergraduate.

- Howard Savage's Slang from Bryn Mawr College, 1922

Bryn Mawr looks like a Welsh name. I should know - in my story The Taming of Man I (from The Dying God & Other Stories), I have a character Cysgod Mawr. It is a Welsh name, meaning Great Shadow (as in large). Mawr means large/great. Do you think the founder of the college was a Welshman?

Have You Ever Felt...

Warning: I'm in a bad mood, and it will likely be reflected in today's post.

Yesterday afternoon, I received a rejection from what was, essentially, my last chance for a particular manuscript. It's official. I'm retiring that particular novel until further notice. This isn't an easy decision. I'm not doing this spur of the moment. This was a decision I came to before I sent off that last query.

I'm not happy about it, and I'm considering my options, but I'm not in the best frame of mind right now and I should probably withhold any decision-making until I cheer up a bit.

Have you ever felt utterly worthless?

You see, I don't have a lot of skills to my advantage. I'm pretty average actually. Average height, slightly higher than average weight, average intelligence, average physical ability (though less than average upper-body strength), average looks - not ugly, but not especially pretty either... just so incredibly average.

The only thing that set me apart was my imagination, and the ability to express it (albeit with typos and spelling errors) in writing. It was the one pride I carried with me throughout my life thus far.

Turns out, I'm pretty average at that too. My writing isn't good enough to sell.

As most of you know, I have no beef with self-publishing. I have an anthology of stories out there right now that I've self-published. I think the stigma around self-publishing is ebbing away. Let's face it, there are some absolute gems out there that traditional publishers had passed by (there's a lot of rubbish as well, but luckily, most books can be previewed).

That said, I just don't have the clout to market my self-published stuff very well. Anyone who has tried will know exactly what I'm talking about. It's high school all over again out there - one giant popularity contest.

I was never popular. In fact, I was so unpopular that I missed out on my debutante celebration because not a single guy would be caught dead taking me to the dance. Trust me. I asked everyone. One guy even said that he wasn't going, only to announce the next week that he had just acquired a date for the dance.

(For those of you unfamiliar with the debutante tradition, at 16 years old or so, a girl "comes of age" wears white and goes to a dance (it's a bit weird actually. It looks like a mass wedding...). It's ladies choice, which means the girl must do everything normally handled by the guy, including asking someone out. It's not like a Formal (in North America, you call a Formal a Prom), where you can go with a bunch of friends and screw the date. You must be accompanied to a Debutante Ball).

That's how popular I was in high school.

Nothing's changed.

When it comes to marketing, I cannot, for the life of me, be disingenuous. I can't do it. On twitter, I won't follow someone in the hopes that they'll follow me back. I follow people I'm genuinely interested in. I would hope that the people following me are genuinely interested in what I have to say, rather than just there because they're trying to appear like they have more friends than they actually do.

The same is true of blogs. I read the blogs of people I care enough to spend my precious time reading about. I follow friend's blogs, the blogs of members of my family, and the blogs of authors I very much admire (such as Neil Gaiman and George R.R. Marin). I don't have the time to read the blog posts of everyone in the whole world. I like to read and interact with the bloggers I follow. There are only so many hours in a day, and I can't do the same for everyone in the world. To even try would be a great injustice to everyone involved.

I would hope that the people who follow my blog do so because they enjoy reading it, not because they're begging for reciprocal attention.

Facebook and Goodreads are a little different. I'll friend just about anyone there (it's so easy to ignore people).

If I retweet/facebook/blog a link about a book, it's because I genuinely thought the book was worth something. I would hope that others would do the same for mine.

I'm also horribly shy around people I don't know. I close up and close off. I suppose people mistake this for snobbery, but it's not. I'm just terrible at being around new people. I can't speak in front of crowds without flushing furiously and desperately fighting back tears. The tears get stuck in my throat making it hard to speak. Just the thought makes me nauseous. Large crowds have me so tense I can barely breathe, even if I'm not speaking before them.

In short, marketing is not my forte. Being out and about, meeting and greeting... I can't do it; not well, in any case.

No one's going to read the books I self-publish because no one even knows I exist... well, other than friends and family, that is. And that's not going change any time soon. If I am to become a well-known author, I need help. When you self-publish, you do it all on your own.

And that is where I fall down.

In any case, why would I self-publish something that the industry has turned down? Clearly it's not good enough. I know that there are arguments about what will sell vs. what is actually good, but if an agent or a publisher gets really excited about a story, they'll take a chance. It's been done before, with much success.

In any case, I'll continue to self-publish my short-story collections, and anthologies of poetry, when I get around to consolidating them. My novels, however, I will write and save and perhaps one day, someone will think I do actually have a talent worth investing in.

Sorry to bring everyone down. I'm just feeling very disappointed right now, and more than a little upset. I'll get over it, of course, and press on as always. I just need some time to be upset, I think.

Well, now that I've thoroughly depressed everyone else, here's your Forgotten English word of the day:

Dunny

Hard of hearing. Dunch is deaf in Gloucestershire and Somersetshire dialects; whence is derived the word dunce.

- G. Lewis' Glossary of Provincial Words Used in Herefordshire, 1839

Dunt, to confuse with noise; to deafen. From 15th-century dunt, a dull blow.

- Edward Gepp's Essex Dialect Dictionary, 1923

Funny, 'dunny' in Australia means toilet. I wonder if it's a reference to the toilet's other nick-name 'thunder-box.'

A Blah Kind of Day

It's that kind of day already, and it's only 9:00 in the morning. I only just got to work.

I woke up atrociously late this morning, despite kind of half-waking when J.M-B. got up and got ready for work. I didn't have time to pack my training gear, which means no Kung Fu and Kick-boxing for me tonight. GRRR! I forgot to pack my iPod and, worse still, my book, so I had nothing to do during the bus ride in. It's dull and raining for the fourth day in a row; and I'm tired as hell.

What the deuce?!

It's going to be one of those days, I just know it.

All I can do is grumble, so I'm going to leave it here. If you have nothing good to say, and all that...

Overmirth

Insult.

- Herber Coleridge's Dictionary of the Oldest Words in the English Language, 1863

To make merry over; [1300].

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1914

Oooh... Shiny! and Other Silliness

As the title may have implied, I'm having a little difficulty focusing. Yesterday I got so distracted by a completely dorky idea (which, if it comes to pass, you will see for yourself), that I only managed to write 1 500 odd words for Puppet Master. I'm a little mad at myself. I shouldn't have gotten so distracted.

But all that leather armour and stuff was just so cool.

Yup, I'm a dork.

I wish I could afford it...

Last night I went with friends to see Thor. I was thoroughly entertained. It was supposed to be my reward for the first 3 000 words of Puppet Master. Instead, it turned out to be a night out just 'cause. For those of you who haven't yet seen Thor, go see it.

Don't expect much of it when you do, or your likely to get disappointed.

There are some cartoon-ish moments that simply made me laugh because they were so silly. Some of the scenes at the end with Thor flying Superman-style (but with a hammer) were silly. Some of the scenes at the beginning were pretty silly - one character's continual laughter for example.

On character was definitely a cross between Gimli (of the Lord of the Rings universe) and Obelix (of the Asterix and Obleix universe), and struck me as rather silly.

What I loved about this film, however, was that it took all the silliness in stride and sometimes referenced to it directly for extremely humorous comic effect. One of my favourite scenes in that film would have to be (SPOILER ALERT) the arrival of Thor's friends and their very epic walk up the streets of a small New Mexican town - in epic costume - much to the confusion of everyone around them.

A lookout for S.H.I.E.L.D asked his partner, "Is there a renaissance fair or something?" When they called it in, they said (something to the effect of), "Uh, we've got Jackie Chan, Xena Warrior Princess and Robin Hood..."

It gave me an idea for more epic silly. One day, I'm just going to get friends together and walk down a random city street with a purposeful stride - dressed in epic costume. It'll be like a flash mob, only with less dancing and or singing...

And now I'm done being silly. I have to get writing. If I'm to make today's target count, I have to write 4 500 words. I'm not sure I can. I'm still a bit distracted by all that shiny, expensive armour...

Oh, I am such a dork.

Fifishness

The term... had its origin from a considerable number of the principal families in the county of Fife having at least a bee in the bonnet.

- John Jamieson's Supplement to the Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language, 1825

Right, back to work for me. Have a lovely Tuesday all!

Need Sleep!

Good morning world! I'm so exhausted right now, I just want to curl up in a nice warm bed with a lovely cuppa tea and listen to some relaxing music and then drifting off to sleep.

It was a later night than usual last night and, no, it wasn't because of the Royal Wedding. I didn't stay up to watch that. To be perfectly honest, I'm not really bothered about the whole affair. It's not that I don't like the Royal Family, it's really that I don't bother thinking about them a whole lot. I'm apathetic.

In any case, the reason I'm so darn tired today is that I went to bed later than usual. Had friends over for tea and a chat, and it was pretty late by the time I crawled into bed. Then, the cats decided to yowl beginning at 5:30 or so this morning. It's their way of getting attention for no reason whatsoever. They had food, they had water, they just wanted to tick me off, I'm sure!

I tend not to write very efficiently when tired, so I doubt I'll make my daily 3 000. I probably won't need to in any case, as I think the rest of the book has been pretty much written. I'll need to fill in some places, and rewrite in others, but I think I'm pretty much done.

Unfortunately, I won't be finished this week. I'll be able to close Overlord and leave it alone for a few months early next week, I think.

Oivey, but this rewriting is a long business! Oh well, there's nothing for it. Must plod on.

I'd better get started, actually. Here's today's Forgotten English:

Calenture

A distemper peculiar to sailors in hot climates wherein they imagine the sea to be green fields, and the throw themselves into it if not restrained.

- Samuel Johnsons' Dictionary of the English Language, 1755

A species of furious delirium to which sailors are subject in the torrid zone; a kind of phrenitis, the attack of which comes on suddenly after a broiling day.

- Robley Dunglison's Dictionarly of Medical Science, 1844

From French calenture, heat; from Latin caleo, to be hot.

- John Ridpath's Home Reference Library, 1898.

Bruised Knuckles

Last night during training, my good friend K.C., whose Kung Fu is really very good, came up with some drills that required body pads ... no gloves. These drills were straight out of the forms we learnt and couldn't really be executed with boxing gloves on. I didn't have MMA gloves (those fingerless ones), and after getting K.C.'s fingers caught in my wraps, I removed them.

That meant hitting the body shield without any protection whatsoever. It felt AWESOME!

The side-effect is, of course, that I now have bruised knuckles on my right hand. The bruise is faint, and will probably vanish without becoming all that visible. I can see it, though. It amuses me.

But this is supposed to be a blog about my writing, which, incidentally has been going very well. I wrote another 4 000 yesterday. It means that I only have to write 1 000 today to be up to speed. That, however, might be something of a struggle for two reasons:

a) I exhausted my imagination yesterday, and I might need a little break to rest up and charge it again, and

b) I've hit a small depression. No, not the atmospheric type. Those who follow this blog know that every so often I get into a low or two for a little while. Sometimes these personal lows fuel my writing. Other times, they kill it dead. I have a feeling it's the latter this time around.

Of course, we'll have to see. I often say that I don't have it in me to write, and then end up writing a whole whack of stuff. Incidentally, a character I was fond of died yesterday, so that's what may be making me feel all sad.

Le sigh.

Well, you don't need to hear me complain about feeling down. So instead, I give you today's Forgotten English:

Chuffy:

Haughty, proud, puffed up; fat and fleshy. In some parts, clownish.

- M. Courtney, Glossary of Words in Use in Cornwall, 1880

Fussy, proud, conceited.

- Sidney Addy's Glossary of Words Used in Sheffield, 1888

Churlish, rude, surly, morose.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1893.

I use a variation of this - chuffed - meaning proud or pleased (with myself). For example, 'I got a good review and am now quite chuffed.' I got the expression from my maternal Grandmother, whose family (I think) were Cornish. Incidentally a chough (pronounced 'chuff')

is a bird similar to a crow that lives in the UK. Well, the red-billed chough does anyway. It has associations with a Welsh folk hero - Bendigeidfran (the blessed crow), who was, according to the folklore, a King. I wonder if the association between the crow/chough and the meaning of chuff have anything to do with one another.

Never mind me, just musing aloud.

Righty-o. I should probably open my story so I can stare blankly at the page in an effort to try and write. 1 000 words shouldn't be that hard, right?