The Journal of Michael Merriam

I didn't get many words. 106 of them to be exact. I got something better. I've got a plot.

And I know how the current scene ends.

Into this Land



( Snippet The First: Rough And Full Of First Draft. You Are Warned! )

Oh, the glamour of the writing life! Today I scrubbed the bathroom porcelain to within an inch of my life! Tomorrow I shall caulk the tub! Look at my rock and roll lifestyle and tremble!

I also wrote 1061 words.

The Reverend Selena has been acting more and more like herself the last couple of days. Today she was Miss Explorer Kitty! Later she plopped herself between me and my laptop. Right now Herself is sleeping under the futon, which I am lying in front of as I work tonight. Things seem to be getting back to normal. I am hopeful.

UPS finally brought our Christmas presents. The box looked like hell warmed over and served with cheap red wine, but everything inside as fine, except for the smell of fermented apples. It only took them 18 days to deliver my package. What great service!

Dudes, I think I've used up my monthly quota of exclamation points in this one post.

Phantom Streetcar Novel



Novel-in-90 Challenge



( Snippet Six: The Last Rough Snippet You're Gonna Get! )

Jill wrinkled her nose and laughed. "In that case, you should go take a shower before we continue this conversation because you, my dear, stink."

"I've been dead; what can you expect?"

"Death does not preclude proper hygiene," Jill said with a straight face.


( Rough, Rough Snippet #5: In Which Mae Takes A Shower. )

7-day sale of my historical flash fiction piece, "Silent Night," based on the Christmas Truce of 1914, to Harûah. This is the oldest piece of fiction I still had unsold, written in 1997. I've been searching for a home for this little guy for a long time.

1800+ words.

On "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" they use to do what Ron Moore called "torture Chief O'Brien" episodes. The last few chapters have been primarly "torture Jill." Poor thing.

Now that Mae and Jill are together again, things are gathering speed. I'm very near the 2/3rds point. The barn door isn't exactly in sight yet, but it's just around the bend.

( Rough, Rough Snippet #4: Mae and Jill Go Home. )

How Much Is That Word Meter In The Window...

1502 words, so I hit my daily goal. That's good enough for today.

( Rough, Rough Snippet the Third: Mae descends. )

Watch Me Pull A Word Meter Out Of My Hat!

Slightly over a thousand words. I feel like the story is starting to bog down. I need to send in a man with a gun. Or blow something up. Explosions are always good.

( Snippet Two: In Which Mae And Jill Get A Little Lost. )

The One! The Only! The Word Meter!

Would you like a rough, rough snippet?

No?

Too Bad!

( In Which Mae And Jill Begin To Sort Things Out. )

1150 words today. It was a struggle again, but I got them, and it feels like the words are ready to start coming easier.

And now, for your viewing pleasure: A Word Meter.



In Peace,
Michael

I spent the day today getting ready for Minicon 39 , even though we don’t actually leave until Friday for the Hotel. Today was mostly concerned with cleaning the house stem to stern, because I hate to come home after an exhausting trip and face a cluttered house. I also started pulling out things to pack for the trip and putting them in a staging area. Yeah, yeah, I know, we don't leave until Friday, and it's only Tuesday for crying out loud, but tomorrow will be mostly a waste, as I have an eye exam tomorrow, which will leave me dilated and light sensitive for most of the day. Thursday I need to do the laundry so we can pack clothing that night, as well as start gathering up garb and other incidentals to take. I also plan to spend the morning in the shopping district near my house, picking up last minute stuff. It all takes time.

I managed to squeeze some practice time with both the acoustic and the bass guitar. I haven't played with them in almost two weeks, so today I did simple finger exercises and ran through the scales a few times. I didn't sound too bad, but the acoustic still has a faint buzz on the low E-string. I probably should take it to Trestman's for adjustment of the truss, but that takes both time and money. Maybe I'll be able to work that in sometime in May or June.

I also managed to wedge in a little writing time today. I didn't really produce a ton of words, but I did some editorial work on both 'Callooh Calley', which now goes back to careswen for a final check, and 'Move Along Home', which is still in the incomplete first draft stage. See excerpt of today's work from 'Move Along Home' below:

"Estonko, Jack." Will said in his native Creek, asking Jack how he was doing.

"The hell..." Jack sat up straight.

Will Saskey laughed a deep, full laugh Jack was comfortably familiar with. Will laughed at any situation, no matter how serious.

"Jack, you know that's not what you're suppose to say." Will continued, still laughing, "You know the ritual greeting, I say Estonko and you say..."

"You're dead," Jack interrupted.

Will's brow furled in mock concentration, "Did the ritual change while I was gone?"

"I'm talking to a dead man." Jack muttered to himself.

"Yeah, so?" Will replied, his brown eyes dancing with mirth.

"This isn't right." Jack reached for the call button to the nurse's desk.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Will said, suddenly serious. "What do you plan to tell the nurse when she shows up? Sorry to bother you, but I'm being annoyed by my dead friend, and I wondered if you could ask him to leave?" Will snorted and chuckled. "You could kiss going home in the morning bye-bye."

Jack slowly withdrew his hand from the button. He looked at Will, who seemed content to wait for Jack to come to some kind of decision.

"So am I dead?" Jack asked.

Will's smile returned, "Why would you think you're dead? I mean beside the fact that you're in a hospital after an accident, talking to your friend who died fifteen years ago?" Will paused for effect before continuing the conversation "You're not dead Jack, and before you ask, you're not hallucinating either."

"Then what am I?"

"A little lost," Will gently said.

End excerpt
It isn't perfect, but it makes me a happy camper!