I didn’t do any work on my illustrated children’s book this year at all. Last year in Year One of the Covid-19 pandemic I took my rough notes and wrote the story out in full, and then also rewrote it two more times, along with a few character sketches, but then I’ve just left it sitting untouched. Mind you, I did then go and write a full book of short stories in its stead. Now however I feel like I should resurrect the project for 2022. Alas, in the few golden months I had since both of my kids were attending in person school I tackled home diy projects to improve or finish off rooms in the house, rather than devote myself to an illustrated childrens book. I haven’t drawn by hand in a very long time, and I haven’t painted in watercolours or acrylics in nearly the same amount of time. I think I’m nervous about the artwork being terrible, more so than the story not being entertaining. But wave #5 and the end of Year Two of the pandemic are nearly upon us all. Part of me is still chasing the high from actually writing a full book of interconnected short stories set mostly out in space, along with some non-fiction autobiographical stuff mixed in. Funny how a lot has happened while nothing has happened. A very strange feeling. I think what I’m missing is, I used to come and work/write every day from 12-2pm while my kids napped, and then the youngest gave up naps, and I had to resort to working at night and then I dropped off my writing habits because I was focused on the paid work for my day job, and my brain was a tad fried from several weeks where I wrote 5 or 6 thousand words over some very productive days, week after week. Not always that many, but I know my cognitive skills dipped on any day that I wrote more than 3,500 words at once. A fugue state, brain fog, brain fart, mom brain, synapse fatigue or what have you. Odd feeling, that. Oh yeah, and I devoted more time to wood working, and I scaled back my sculpting too this year. Perhaps a more rounded dabbling in all of my hobbies will make for a better choice next year. Glad I am alive and well enough to consciously make that decision.
Tag: reflection
With the echos of the scream still bouncing off the protective shielding…
The man falls heavily to his knees. The harsh bitter cold of the metal floor is bone chilling, and it seeps through the rough canvas coveralls at the point where his knees touch the ground. The thick icy grasp of the medical bay floor hits him quickly. With puffs of breath raggedly exhaled into the cold chamber the man is stricken with waves of fear. Bursts of crystallized breath plum out of his mouth with his dogged panted breathing. Outside of view beyond the protective barrier, ensconced in utter blackness, the rest of the medical bay appears to have deteriorated considerably. Heard amongst the rattle of his breathing are the insistent chimes of his wrist biometrics unit churning out error codes and warning notifications. Slowly rising to his feet, with a frail wobble to his steps, as though he hasn’t stood up in weeks or months the man stumbles towards the pale blue glow of the protective shielding he is standing within. The static fuzz ignites off of his finger tips, radiating through his palms and up above his elbows. The skin on his hands shimmers and pulses under the low voltage passing through it. Turning to sit with his back resting against the security shielding the man limply slides back down to sit upon the freezing cold floor. Feeling he harsh bite of the frosty metal against his rump. The static pulse of the shielding is accompanied by the shrill urgent chiming of the wrist biometrics notifications throwing up error codes and streams of data too small for the man to read. Looking down at the shimmering, rippling skin on his hands, his focus pulled away from the odd undulation of his flesh from the static from the security shield, he stares blankly at the wrist biometric unit. This is brand new he thinks soundlessly. “Yes… Yes it is”. Answers the empty darkness. Jumping to his feet, turning around, bare feet pattering the ground, the numbness now reaching his hips, the man screams again. A blood curdling, epic scream of madness. “Don’t be alarmed, we are you, that is to say, you are us. We are one. Do you understand?” speaks the disembodied voice, as clear as day, as though it were stood mere centimeters from his ear. Jumping with fright at each punctuated word, turning both this way and that, the man is frantic. Scattering bits of dust and debris, he searches the small med pod bay looking for the source of the voice. “No need to look for us, we are you, you are us, we are one. Together. Do you understand us. We know you speak a variant of the English language. Not American, nor British by Canadian English… yes?” speaks the voice in a slow drawl. Nod if you can hear us, do you understand the words you are hearing – Oh no. Here we go! Brace for impact… protect the head, protect the head! , make sure the tongue doesn’t slide back down the throat!”. The man crumples into a heap and promptly passes out. “Well, this is no good. We have to clear these notifications and sort out our access if we’re ever going to do anything useful with this vessel. We know, we know. Yes, I am aware of that. It does pose considerable challenges. No I am not currently aware of anything or anyone else quite like us, we… me.” The voices which can be heard sound muffled as though they were coming from another room down a shared hallway. Certain words are distinct but much of it flows together and is incomprehensible. Slowly everything fades to black, again.
**Another new installment of the interconnected space serial from 2020: The Chronicles of Kelvin.
In the stark white brilliance of the medical pods internal lighting…
My vision fades from inky blackness to a dazzling white hot fire. Through the fuzz of far too dilated eyes in sudden brightness I can just make out my greyed, and cracked skeletal hand pressed upon the domed glass. The sensation of a deep cold burning the palm of my hand slowly crawls it’s way into my thoughts. Jerking my weak and flimsy hand back off the glass while tearing off the finger pads with the motion. The tear of the skin is audible like a seam popping on cheaply made pants. In the stifling silence I realize that I am alive, barely, and I do not know why. Left upon the surface of the glass are five perfect finger prints which start to flake off the frozen glass before my eyes.
The once plush and padded all white interior on which I am splayed is now all grey and faded to a crusty brown, spattered with spots of orange, yellow and mustard coloured stains. As I wriggle around in search of the internal release latch, dust plumes fill the air making me cough violently. The claustrophobic tightness of the painfully cold harness, the dazzlingly bright white lights, and choking clouds of dust add to my confusion and panic. The interior of the med pod is freezing cold, so cold I can see whisps of breathe and a crystalline pattern on the domed glass matching the outline of my hand print, now contrasted greatly by the dust particles cascading off my dissolving finger pads. The radiant glare of the lights is awfully blinding. My eyes feel as though they are on fire, as though I haven’t blinked in weeks. My throat is parched and feels cracked. My tongue thick and numb inside my mouth. My breath rattles thickly in my chest. I can feel my ribs creaking beneath my coveralls. An audible rumble of my intestines disrupts the silence, punctuated only by the ragged short breaths I’m taking. Peering through the frosted glass looking outside the medical pod I catch sight of something that is down beside and below me, decayed and worn is an oddly familiar Edubot of an orange colour. It is in a terrible state of disrepair. The tank like track treads have worn through completely and peeled off the guide wheels. It appears to have crept over to the side of the med pod to manually interface with the pods override functions. It’s lone protruding finger pressed firmly against the med pod reset button. But why? What possible reason would the ships medical bay have for cutting off life support. All I can see within the medical bay is the small pale blue illuminated circle encased in our atmospheric protection dome. A shimmering curtain of pure energy. The ship must truly be in trouble for this last ditch security feature to have deployed. By the state of the looming darkness beyond, the ship has been derelict for quite some time. Finding and triggering the latch to release the pods internal restraints with a loud click. Reaching up to push the fabric harness to the med pod out of my way I can see the ghastly grey pallor of my skin beginning to fade, and a bluish tinted pink replace it. As I watch there is a certain plumpness that seems to fill out my emaciated hands and arms. A flush of warmth rushing to my extremities, filling my chest and clearing my head. A sudden chirp from the biometrics on my wristband has started to chime with notifications. An error code I don’t recognize is flashing double time on the small OLED screen on my wrist, I must plug in to the med bays internal computer to figure out what is going on. I have never seen such a code before. The interface on my wrist biometrics is brand new, and not a model that I’ve ever seen. Everything is so strange. Colours and sounds are off kilter, at once too sharp and yet fuzzy. My balance is shot even as I am laying down. My limbs feel foreign to me. I begin to panic while I can’t find my equilibrium. My heart is thumping savagely in my chest. As I thrash about inside the med pod I finally pull the main release latch and the outer dome sweeps out into the open room. A faint tinge of machine oil and stringent cleaners can be tasted on the stale air. Mixed with ozone burning off the protective energy shield. A massive cloud of dust bursts forth with the air pressure change. Trying to calm myself I swing my legs around to try and step out of the raised pod. The once soft padding crumbling under my shifting weight. The cloth comes apart like parchment paper. There is a significant lag between thinking about putting my feet down on the step just outside the pod and my limbs actually doing it. The sensation is uncomfortable, like trying to pilot my own body from seven feet in the air above my head. Trying to swallow my rising panic I have to reach out and put my weight down on the Edubot as I clamber out of the medical pod. The sole of my foot sticks to the ice cold metal step, and the pain of the icy burn races up my leg. Peeling my foot slowly off the step, skin sticking to the surface, the pain makes me focus. Looking around at the pale blue shimmering safety curtain of energy surrounding the pod my attention is called back to the insistent chime of my wrist biometric monitor. “What is going on?” I croak into the silence of the illuminated med bay. My voice, not quite my own, or how I remember it, reverberates off the powerful safety shielding. Looking beyond the sizzling ghostly curtain of the atmospheric safety dome I catch my first glimpse of my reflection. I am not myself. The surface of my skin is visibly crawling. I scream.
**A continuation of the interconnected space serial from 2020: The Chronicles of Kelvin. – Follow along over the next few weeks (hopefully) for the remaining installments of the story.
The bug has hit…
Storyboarding out the next five additions to my interconnected space short stories. It has been more than six months since I have contributed to the series, besides a one off short I released yesterday, which ultimately seemed to dislodge some cobwebs and allow me, mentally, to align my thoughts and make a coherent story emerge out of my head. But don’t worry, my themes of isolation, confusion, future technology are all going to be well represented. I looked over my notes which kept on getting longer and longer and realized that instead of one ridiculous seven thousand word dump of text, I could break it down into smaller and more manageable pieces and explore each new chapter of the story with aplomb. I had tried several times over the last half of 2020 to plot out some new work and the dastardly covid fugue, or pandemic fatigue was making that near impossible. I don’t know how long this kick in the pants will last but I feel better all ready.
I’m guessing this new literary kick started because I now have three pounds of clay on my desk with a new armature built, and designs for several wood working projects for my wife and children ready to start. We’re into a new lockdown with nowhere to go, so I guess this is how I will try to remain sane with the whole family home 24/7 , and the coldest stretch of the year upon our doorstep keeping us indoors for much of the day. Isolation was far simpler when you could just go swimming in the sunshine to while away a few hours each and everyday. Not so much fun when it gets down to minus twenty degrees with the windchill. Anyway, not that I have an enormous readership, or that there are more than a handful who have read all of the interconnected series from cover to cover, but I’ll be back at it soon enough. I hope you’ll join the returning cast and crew of The Company: A Series of Interconnected Short Stories.
Don’t get discouraged if I pepper in some non-fiction(ish) one off stories in amongst the serialized stuff. Some times my kids do funny or relatable stuff that makes for humorous micro short stories. Wheels up!
Starting to get annoyed with myself…
After a very strong start to the year for creative writing I am finding it damn near impossible to formulate any kind of coherent story in my mind that I could even try to commit to paper. Went back through some of my micro short stories to try and jog something free, and it just isn’t happening. Which makes me both sad and angry. Angry because I have the time to write at this point in my life, and I’m not really doing so, and sad because I had thought back in early 2020 that I might actually crack 100,000 words of creative writing this year. Not that just shy of 60,000 is terrible, but I haven’t produced anything of note in several months. Not only that but I haven’t sculpted much of anything this year either, not completed either of the two model kits I assembled. Read fewer books this year, and haven’t watched anywhere near as many new films (the pandemic hit Hollywood, so that isn’t really a surprise). But still, the void can be felt. No painting to speak of either. Have done a few minor wood working projects so I’ll count that as a plus, but now that we’re into December the likelyhood that any items will get finished or be good enough to give as gifts are slim to none. As a creatively minded person I have very little personal work to show over the last five months. Did some exciting paid work, which I am proud of, but beyond that, very disappointed in my output and subsequent apathy. Not going to sit and stare at empty paper or screens as that doesn’t help. Tomorrow is a new day, and perhaps I’ll clue in to something I can work with then.
“I think it’s kind of messed up that they came all this way…
Exposed themselves to us but then said nothing. They just hung there, two miles up and motionless. Like some kind of blockade. Not against us, but to keep a third party away from making landfall or making contact. It was very strange. One day the sky is clear, then the next an armada of massive ships turn up, of all sorts of different designs and such. Just hanging out, they disrupt our satellites and telecommunications, the internet and casually gun down a countless number of other ships trying to come down here to us. Now we have know idea if either party had hostile intentions, or were being benevolent toward us. We intercepted enormous quantities of encrypted chatter and messages, but those will take decades to break. The languages were like nothing we’ve ever dreamed of. They stuck around, up there for fifty one months and then fled as quickly as they came. All we now know is that we are not alone in the universe, but that we are essentially powerless against them. In their wake they left the atmosphere cleaner, and the area around the earth free of debris and all that space junk. Several million new stars had become visible to us, just with the naked eye. But beyond those astounding revelations, we have yet learned nothing new. Life goes on.”
The harsh crunch of gravel on sand underfoot reverberates through my jumpsuit…
Inside my helmet my breath comes in fast and ragged. I am sweating profusely under the brilliant shine of the triad of suns high overhead. We all struggle to keep our heart rates down, and our blood oxygen levels nominal. This scorching hot planet hangs with a red tinged sky. This horrid environment has little cloud cover, and is rocky, sand covered and almost entirely barren. The few scattered pieces of scrub brush are either a deep bruised purple or a sickly mustard infused brown. Through our helmets we can’t tell you what they smell like, but according to instrumentation we know they give of carbon monoxide and a mixture of cyanide and ammonia also. The team of scouts are being buffeted by a gale force wind. The rust coloured dust flies up hot as embers burning us through our environmental protection suits, clattering off our helmets and masks like white hot metal shavings. If we stand still for more than a couple of heart beats the soles of our boots begin to melt. The three suns range from a deep angry red to a near purple of absolute cosmic violence. In the distance of the horizon a herd of wild wandels can be seen racing hither and yonder. The tell tale sign of their presence are the mansteroud dust clouds that they kick up as they run. The uv blasted fines hang in the air, listing miles up into the stratosphere. The native beasts have to run everywhere in order to find food and to survive the intense heat once they venture out of their deep cave warrens. After our landing party had encountered them initially we determined them to not be a threat to us. The four legged over sized dog-bears had long thick tubular ‘hairs’ that they use to dissipate heat and keep cool. Tastiest beasts I’ve ever had the pleasure of finding on a back water planet. Not that we needed it, but the deep underwater aquifer that their warrens attach too allows the wandels to retain gallons of fresh water in a bladder under their bellies. Located in the only spot they can shade them from the over bearing sun light and oppressive heat. But we aren’t here to eat wandels, we’re here to find a rogue AI that has attempted to go off grid with her new found best friend. A crippled Pengar with only five limbs instead of six. Tiny miscreant of a thing. But a more brilliant ship wright and mechanic you will never encounter. Seems the Pengar named Errabor has developed a close relationship with our rogue AI Katayna, and we’ve been employed to locate them for the Company black ops sub contractor, one Mr. Boreck Kartcher. We’ve been paid handsomely, and I do not believe it was out of charity, but because he expects a good many of my fire team to die in the process. With great risk comes great financial reward.
Our first major clue to their whereabouts came from one of the tight beam communications repeaters that get sent off across the galaxy to try to maintain contact between every known quadrant of intelligent space. A random black box transponder ping from a supposedly decommissioned Falcon Heavy-Class star hopper went straight to the top of my in box marked most urgent. The second clue was the destroyed anti poaching gun platform that orbits this world being nearly obliterated by a head on collision with something super colossal. Put those together and we have a pretty good lead on our rogue elements. Scanning for life forms doesn’t really help us out, due to the protected wandels, sorry conservationists we ate two of them. Didn’t read the sign on the way down. Our bad. Plus the spec’s we got on Katayna says she isn’t classically defined as ‘alive’ , so much as sentient, and homicidal towards humanity. Hence the exorbitant pay we recieved for tracking her down and possibly bringing her back to Mr Kartcher.
PART THREE The Company: Sisters in Arms
“What is it exactly, that you do here Mr. Kartcher?”…
Asks the Company lawyer, a Mrs. Kinsey, from across the cramped drab meeting room, buried deep inside a bunker on a remote outpost. The level of security and secrecy undertaken to get her there for this particular interview was no small feat. She had had to withstand many months of rigorous and down right invasive scrutiny to take the role of lead investigator on this case for the Company. The momentous amount of strain and shear magnitude of pressure she was under to set things right for the Company was weighing down on her tremendously. “Do you want the long form, or a short and more concise answer to that question Mrs. Kinsey?” “What’s the difference?” “Well I’d have to say a certain degree of nuance, and an awful lot of legalese and technical jargon. How does that sound to you Mrs. Kinsey.” “Ok. Why don’t we start this deposition with the short answer and I will query you after the fact for longer, or more precise interpretations of what you are telling me here now. I must remind you that lying or omitting facts and then “filling” in those gaps later in your written answers could leave you open to significant legal liabilities. Am I understood Mr. Boreck Kartcher?” “Yes ma’am, abundantly so.” Reaching across the white formica table, the Company lawyer switches on her recorder, and sets the ticker tape to output. She has to keep her mind on the information she is about to interpret and not on writing facts down. Since the details of the case are so volatile there can be no visual recording kept of this interaction. It was requested from above that this procedure be done in a total media black out, gag orders abound. These cases are so far beyond classified that absolutely no hint of what goes on at this far flung outpost can ever see the light of day. Tension has taken up residence in Kinsey’s shoulders, neck and head. The trek out here was eighteen months long, and the majority of that was in utter desolate radio silence. Leaning back in her chair, the only two on the outpost, Kinsey points for Boreck to begin. Adjusting the tight form fitting collar on his maroon jumpsuit, exhaling slightly he begins. “Ok, so to be totally honest with you, my job is to provide the Company with a very delicate service. Yes, yes I know… very vague. You see, they have spent the last several centuries attempting to create, and integrate a viable form of AI in their newest range of Falcon Heavy-Class star hoppers. Some, if not all, of those seven vessels have gone rogue. The first one went dark unexpectedly, and then started to turn up in rather strange places. Others turned on their crew complement and eradicated all forms of human oversight stationed aboard them. Others still, managed to decimate the entire rest of the ships in the fleets they accompanied. So that’s where I step in. Or more formally, that’s where I am contracted to perform my services, such as they are.” Leaning back into his chair, he reaches across the stark white table top to grab a dull brown and gold bulb of black coffee. After a brief sip off of the attached straw he fixes the lawyer with his gaze. “Now, where was I? Yes. So, these ultra powerful, and highly temperamental vessels go schizophrenic and can no longer be held under the Company rule. Some how each and every one of these seven colossal star ships has managed to jump over or eradicate any boundaries embedded in their programming, and go off on their merry way. That’s where I come in.” With rising agitation, Kinsey starts to feel as though she is getting the run around. She does not intend to sit there tidily, as her quarry finds new and interesting ways to say the same thing for hours on end. Getting angry, as the over head lights start to swim and blur in her peripheral vision she begins to shout. “Listen here Boreck, I’ve come an awfully long way, and I wield the word of God here, so quit with the recaps and tell me what the fuck is going on! I will remind you that I have it well within my authority to glass this installation and have you jettisoned into hard vacuum. So… again Mr. Kartcher, what the fuck is it that you do here?” Her drab orange jumpsuit is pulled tight across her chest, as she gesticulates wildly from her chair, slamming both hands down on the white formica table to accentuate her demands. Across the table the small older man smiles with the most subtle of an upturned lip. Mrs Kinsey has started to develop a bead of sweat on her upper lip. Her eyes are starting to look just a little wild. As she settles down Boreck can see she is gently fussing with her jumpsuits collar. “I decommission star ships. Well, that is to say, I track down errant vessels and kill the AI within. I’ve got back doors, trap doors, key codes, fobs, and all sorts of nasty tricks to help me do it. In one instance I merely had to reach my hands deep down inside a box of grey artificial brain matter and scoop a bunch out to render Margot’s Fever inoperable. That was a distinct delight, if I do say so myself. Oh what? Why the look on your face? You thought the ‘official’ story about an insane captain was true? Ha. How do you think he was able to make vanish seventeen hundred members of his crew in less than a tenth of a second, huh? The For E’s engine prototype was well ahead of it’s time, I’ll tell you that much. Can’t run an interdimensional engine without an AI. That’s for fucking certain. No, the Company said the captain and crew had simply miscalculated, killing the vast majority of his crew with the jump, then dumped the ship off here for me to decommission and to render the AI’S services complete. You learn a lot when you are left alone to kill these rogue beasties my darling. So no need to raise your voice with me. I am well aware of my position within the Company.” Fires back the modestly dressed demolition man seated across from her, in a now slightly more claustrophobic feeling sealed room buried in a nameless bunker in some unknown quadrant of the universe. The dull glare of the lights have begun to dance in Mrs Kinsey’s eyes. “Riddle me this Mrs. Kinsey, how many life forms, or life readings did you encounter when you came within scanning distance of this outpost? Huh. How many? One? Ten? Fifty thousand? Did you even bother to check? Because I know your flight crew certainly did. Seems like something you should know if you’re going to fly out to the ass hole end of now where and start slinging threats of violence and death. So I’ll tell you how many they saw. None. Not a one.” Seated on his chair with arms crossed Mr Boreck Kartcher sits motionless while the corporate ladder climber before him searches breathlessly for something to say in response. “I’ve told your bosses before that I decommission the ships and transfer the materials back to them with the AI removed/destroyed. And that much is true. But… I have a secret Mrs Kinsey.” At the back of the room, a door opens up and six women step through into the now cramped meeting space. Their skin a deep rich melanin that has deeply blue high lights under the soft phosphorescent glow of the overhead lights. “I do kill the ships, that much is true, yes – and then I transfer the AI into their own corporeal bodies. But Margot has gone and got herself mixed up with some silly Pengar half breed named Errebor and I have to go and get her back!” As the echoes of his shouting reverberates off the walls the lawyer slumps over dead in her seat. The oxygen having been pumped out of the base slowly from the moment she stepped foot inside the outpost. Over the intercom Kartcher can hear her ships crew login and request a departure vector. Kartcher nods ascent and a rumble fills the room as the massive black ops ship takes off from the cold planets low gravity. Turning to the six women in his presence Kaetcher says “Let’s to pick up my twin sister. If I know Katayna she’ll have stolen a star hopper and headed for the fucking hills.”
PART Two The Company: Sisters in Arms.
“Holy suffering fuck it’s hot out here… holy shit. I mean, God damn.”
She howls, as she stumbles under the immense heat from the triumvirate of sun’s high in the reddish tinged sky. Beads of thick sweat pour down her ebony hued forehead inside her make shift helmet. The barren steppe upon which they’ve crashed is strewn with only a handful of scrub foliage, and no shade or cover from the glaring, harsh suns. Behind her lies a badly damaged Falcon-Heavy Class star hopper, it has a massive black scar along one side of the hull. A cavernous gash exposing all manner of wiring, pipes and life support systems to the open vacuum of space prior to falling out of the sky and crashing like a putelant child, into a lump of crumpled steel on a rugged strip of dirt on some unknown planet. “Fuck me.” Shouts her copilot from inside the wreckage. “We have a couple of weeks of repairs to undertake here Katayna. And that’s if, if, our stores hold enough raw materials for the mill and lathe units to process us our replacement parts… not only structural pieces but full fucking hull plates too. Nozzles and fairings. Fucking hell.” The co pilot is diminutive three foot tall, three armed blue-purple biped with large bulbous multi faceted eyes, and is completely hairless. Besides being a copilot come navigator, Errebor is also a mill Wright and does all of the ships servicing herself. Katayna, the lithe pilot and owner of the vessel is standing stock still admiring the damage wrought by their tumultuous landing. Muttering to herself soundlessly with her microphone turned off.  making a mental list of parts and repairs that will need to be made to the exterior hull plating, and environmental shielding apparatus. “Does this planet look really red to you Kat?” Pipes in Errebor over the helmets comm’s unit. Taking a step back from the massive stretch of ragged black burned and torn hull, Katayna turns to look out over the steppe and really take in her surroundings. “Why yes, yes it does. Almost rusty. Why?” Asks Kat while standing motionless in the stifling heat of the mid day glare. “I’d wager a fuck tonne of that Pengar cock you love so much that this here planet is ferrous. I don’t think we’ll have to dig that far down to gather enough materials to smelt us up some ore of a useful sort. That’s what the fuck I’m thinking, Kat”. The short co pilot is now hanging from the mangled rear bay doors, observing the barren wasteland through a pair of range finding binoculars. With four limbs hanging from any available surface, and the last available arm clutching onto her binoculars she has a higher vantage point than Kat, and notices rising clouds of dust well into the distance. Alerted to the motion Kat moves along the steppe to the edge of a precipice. Way down below, in what could have once been a valley are strange beings. Strange hairy four legged creatures that appear to be running at an enormous rate of speed. “Oh me, oh my. Oh me, oh my!” Quips Errebor. “From here to there, strange things are everywhere.” Responds Katayna with a slight smirk.
PART ONE The Company: Sisters in Arms.
Feeling creatively blah…
Haven’t done much of anything creative for myself in a while. I have been trying to game out some story plots and losing track mid way through. Haven’t painted or sculpted anything in several weeks either. Completed a few paid projects but beyond that haven’t felt compelled to do much of anything really.
I did start my corn hole game build, and picked up my allotment of cedar for a front porch bin for garbage can, green bin and recycling boxes. Damn raccoons get into everything. Still in the early planning stages for that particular house hold item. I made a step stool several weeks ago, which was fun and easy. But haven’t felt like doing anything with all of this pause time.
Mind you our house has two kids at home, whom are exhausting. Keeping two kids five and under occupied, entertained, exercised, and educated is proving to be a monumental task. Plus my wife is working from home, and I had paid work going on daily up until recently. Fatigue is a mother fucker, believe you me.
On the upside I have done a fair bit of reading. I read the third installment of John Scalzi’s The Last Emperox (Great, by the way). Marcus Heitz’s fifth Dwarf book in his series (a very pleasant read), a book about the New Horizons mission to flyby Pluto in 2015 (just incredible!). I have started a book about the Mars rover Curiosity, but I’m only a handful of pages in, so I can’t say much about it one way or another.
On a side note I managed to get my Brad nailer and pin nailer up and running, so I don’t have to use so many wood screws on everything anymore. That was exciting. Cleaned up the garage so that I can actually move around in there. Cleaned out the rain gutters after a huge downpour. Poor timing on my part, but in my defense when I put up our Christmas lights they were fairly clear, so I didn’t think they would be clogged. Good thing we didn’t flood because of it. Got up there and pulled several pounds of decayed leaves out of the downspouts, so checked that off the list.
Would like to paint the downstairs hall, and wash/sand/stain the back deck this summer. That is unless some events come back online with heightened pandemic health protocols in place, and I can get back to producing event audit marketing reports, instore signage and sales catalogs and sell sheets and other branding materials again.
That heatwave was rather unpleasant, but it’s been such a crazy year, the fact the weather is wonky doesn’t surprise me much at this point.
A toddler becoming a three-nager is a very real and frightening thing. She’s lovely, but good lord. Dealing with attitude from a five year old and a nearly three year old, is something else. The struggle is real y’all. Hod love’em, but they test my patience.
The USA is burning. Racism is alive and booming all around the world. That sucks, a lot. Don’t be a cunt to other humans. Work to bring around the change you want to see. Donate, volunteer, or take a moment of self reflection and introspection. Help those less fortunate than yourselves.
It’s chaos, be kind – Michelle Macnamara
Greatwall Studios Graphic Design 
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