knaveofstaves: A picture of an interpretation of the Knight of Wands Tarot card featuring the Egyptian God Thoth (Default)
Draft One of "The Effluvian Heresy" is done.

Go tell that shit on the mountain!


I'm now some intense revisions away from never having to see that squiggly red line under "effluvian" again. I KNOW it's not a word you stupid word processor! I don't add it to the dictionary because I don't want you to recognize it in case I one day misspell "effluvium" while typing! Sheesh!

I really should turn those lines off. They only help me a little bit and annoy me a lot.

Boy howdy did finishing it ever turn out to be a literary bum rush. The "progressus interruptus" if you will (I can't blame you if you won't), or possibly the kowtowing to old habits if you want to get really technical, that hit last week with the holidays and the getting sick and the beginning the process of getting over being sick led to a marked decline in production for that week, and I finally got sick of it. Decided to finish the whole thing in one last charge of defiance at the old emotional regime. I was going to do it last night, but work got in the way. So today I wrote just under five thousand words. In the last few hours or so I was typing almost as fast as I could think. It was awesome.

I had my whole celebration planned out in advance: order bad Chinese food, get some beer (*sip sip*) stream Hanna from Blockbuster on demand. I actually had to order the Chinese food then finish the draft while I waited for it because the place closes at ten, and I was down to the wire. Has been very good night so far.

On the whole, I'd say I enjoyed Hanna. It suffers a bit from being a super-soldier story, which have become way too cliched for my taste. As a new take on an old theme, it worked. Then again, other than the super-soldier thing, this is the sort of story I'll whore my inner fanboy out to any day of the week. Also, like everybody was in it. Like everybody.

Work is proving to be exactly what I was looking for when I took the job. It's easy as hell, close by, and completely incapable of engaging the parts of my emotional landscape that occasional rouse themselves enough to ... care. There's some stress related stuff stemming from the fact that I sell tobacco and alcohol and am now apparently old and "wise" enough to be spooked by the classes they make you take so you know exactly what's going to happen if you sell to someone underage. I wasn't spooked the first time around, but I was also much younger and slightly stupider. Those stresses are fading a bit with the advent of routine, so things are going as well as I'd hoped they would. Last night, my brain was sufficiently not stimulated that I started struggling with the math involved in calculating the number of outcomes in the Pick 3 since we have a lot of people come in and play it. Math ain't my strong suit, yo, but I can reverse engineer it given enough time and stubborn determination. Well, I suppose that's not reverse engineering so much as forward engineering. Who cares if somebody else figured it out first? I submit to you that if someone were to, without prior knowledge of the formula's discovery or even its existence, derive the Pythagorean Theorem, that would be just as significant a discovery as Pythagoras' himself. I mean, it wouldn't be as historically significant, but "pish posh" I say. Pish Posh. Them Pick 3 numbers got real stuck in mah brain cuz I don' know much about those innergals. Is it integrals? It's not. I just looked it up. Whatever it is, I'm not very good at it, so I was doodling on a strip of receipt paper for like thirty minutes trying to remember if order mattering meant multiplying the number of possibilities by itself number-of-choices times or whatever. I figured some of it out and then managed to get bored enough with the problem to drop it. Good way to pass half an hour though. Pretty soon, I might start bringing a book to the overnight shifts. I have that much down time, and it would be nice to get some more reading time in.

Fantasy football's over, and I won my league's championship. The phrase you're looking for is "cha-CHING!" Take that, rent check! I actually had one of my few lifetime sports moments the Monday after Christmas because my opponent in the 'ship had four people playing in that game including Drew Brees. I had a Saints running back by the name of Sproles in that one as well, and he'd been good for me all season. He actually managed to hold the other four off (the rest of my team had started on previous days so the game was like watching my opponent's team trying to catch up to my points total) until the last bit of the game when Brees was trying to complete one touchdown pass to break the Marino record. As the score sat at that point, if the pass was to anyone but Sproles, I would have lost the game. So of course the announcer I'm listening to on internet radio is drawing it out, "And he's done it! Drew Brees has surpassed the Dan Marino single season passing yardage record with a touchdown pass to ... ... ...



Darren Sproles!" I was up out of my chair, yelling in triumph. It was pretty cool. Would have been cooler if it wasn't, y'know, football but whatever. The money sure helps.

Kid brother finally decided to come out to me, finally. Mostly, he did this by wearing a Queers & Allies t-shirt, which cheesed me off enough to reopen the discussion, albeit obliquely. The conversation went like this:

Me: So are you an ally or ...
Him: No. I'm a queer.
Me: THANK you!

Apparently he's been out for two years. Is in fact, out to our mother, who is significantly less awesome than me *glower*. He says he thought it was funny how I had to consciously use gender neutral terminology when asking him about his social life vis a vis dating and wanted to see how long I'd keep doing it.



knaveofstaves: A picture of an interpretation of the Knight of Wands Tarot card featuring the Egyptian God Thoth (Default)

May 2016

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