Imprimatur

Today was not easy. I went with Mom to the pulmonologist and he decreed her eligible for the oxygen machine... That we already had delivered. 9_9 And because Mom had the doctor's appointment, she didn't take her shingles meds in the morning, leaving her in pain. I dunno which would have been worse: nausea and dizziness from the meds (I would have driven the car) or the pain? But hey, she made the call, for better or worse.

We have a follow-up with him in two weeks.

But getting home was a nightmare. I could see tears in her eyes from the pain. It was just unreal... By the time I got her home, medicated, and laying down, I was in tears myself. It took the rest of the day for me to just calm down and try and get some work done. It really is the shingles messing with her. When Mom takes the medication, she's... Is "fine" really the word to use for slightly less excruciating nerve pain?

On the plus side, I got a positive response to my query! I'm making the changes the editor asked for and will resubmit the short story to her by Friday.

Tomorrow is not only my daughter's birthday, but also the Summer Solstice. :) I'm not sure if I'll be able to do anything fancy but I did leave out an apple as an offering today. Better to strike while the iron is hot, right? I did spot a statue that would be perfect for an outside altar (till I can afford the one I really want) but I will be totally honest, I do NOT have my head together to plan much beyond "Edit story. Child needs birthday cake." So you'll have to forgive the lack of interaction from me. If you can, I'm sure the gods will.

I do feel my duty as a daughter could have been done better. I really froze. I need to be slightly less of a complete spaz and get my shit together. >_< Mom needs my help and since I never would have made it this car without her, she deserves my best.

I sent in the query for the lesbian thriller anthology today. Even though you're supposed to query with the idea first before beginning work on the story, I personally felt better having it nearly complete beforehand. Even if the idea is a bust with the editor, I still have a story I can use elsewhere. I have a few final edits to make but I'm holding off to hear from the editor.

I've been getting back to work on GH and having a complete ball with it. It's SO much fun working on it again, I can't even tell you. XD Of course getting another 5 star review on Dreamhunter doesn't hurt, either. ;)

I also have become enamored with this video:


As a fan of Gaga and Judas Priest, I had a complete fangirlgasm. It's really well done. 0.0

Won't some generous fan make a fanvid or fanfic of my characters one day? A girl can dream... ;)

No good news from the doctors. :( Sadly, it's just a matter of "when" not "if" but I always knew that. Her cancer is terminal, inoperable, and comes with a whole host of complications.

Ma could live the next two years or be gone by the end of summer. There's just no way to tell. In the meantime, me and my husband are taking on the tasks she uses to do, like driving the kid around and laundry and such.

It just blows my mind that this is the second time I will watch a parent succumb to lung cancer. And neither my Mother nor my Grandmother smoked a day in their lives.

Most of the time, I think I should be spending my time writing rather than reading about writing. Wouldn't my time be better spent honing my craft than reading the words of someone who's already done it? In this case it's a good thing I ignored my own advice because I would have been denied the mental TNT that is Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury.

I plan to buy a copy of my own to deface with a highlighter, but wow... I was alternately cowed and inspired. While I don't care much for word association, what I took away from this book is:

1: I am not alone in my fierce need to write. It's write or die a miserable, uncreative death choking on the words which should have been put to paper.

and 2: I will never, EVER be anywhere as good as Bradbury; who wrote most of these inspiring essays before I was even born. 0.0

After giving it a great deal of thought, I've decided that in all honesty, I shouldn't try to be like Bradbury. I shouldn't try to be like anyone and in doing so, I would have missed the entire point of Bradbury's book.

Bradbury went into great detail about how, when he was young, his "friends" would try and talk him out of his favorite comics and I can recall getting the same treatment. Especially since I was a girl. "Girls are not supposed to read X-Men." "Comics are for boys. Here, take this Barbie instead."

You know what I did with those Barbies? I played X-Men with them. Endless visits to the Hellfire Club got repetitive (what else was I supposed to do with all those gowns!?) and Cyclops was now a Black woman (not many "Ken" dolls) but I didn't care. I LOVED it. I loved comics, I loved fantasy, I thought the Crypt Keeper was a genius, and that the Twilight Zone was a temple in which Rod Sterling should be worshiped. As a teenager, Lady Death and Evil Ernie taught me that you can do any damn thing you want when you write and draw and to tell those girls who called you a lesbian for drawing women in superhero uniforms to fucking suck it. Yes, that really happened. The lesbian part, not the actual telling them to suck it. I just looked at them like they were morons and went on with my life.

What does all that senseless rambling mean? I don't need to try and be like Bradbury. I already am by virtue of being myself and having no fear. You can't write if you have fear. Am I scared that someone will come up to me and say my book sucked so hard, they wanted to pour bleach in their eyes? Sure. But in that moment when you put pen to paper and you are at the mercy of characters, pouring your soul out on to the page, you are making magic. Let it take you.