Author Archives: wyndes

Reading binge

08 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Grace, Writing

≈ 4 Comments

At 8:42 AM, it was 53 degrees inside Serenity. I’m very pleased about this, but I sort of wish I had fingerless gloves, because my hands were so cold that I was finding typing un-fun. Still are, in fact, even though it’s almost two hours later and probably ten degrees warmer.

In the first week of March, I read twenty books. I’m not sure I’ve had a more extreme reading binge since childhood, when I basically did nothing but read all summer long. But the library had the first sixteen books by Ngaio Marsh, and then I moved onto their supply of Lisa Gardner, with minor diversions along the way for the new Patricia Briggs, an old Nora Roberts, a rather boring Elizabeth Moon, and a single Tamora Pierce. It is probably a good thing that the library doesn’t have the second 16 books by Ngaio Marsh or I would still be reading. Also probably a good thing that I have to wait my turn for the rest of the Lisa Gardner books: I think she’s got 30 books available, some of which I had previously read, some of which I have on hold now, and the rest of which I read this past week.

Yesterday I finally remembered that I’m supposed to be writing, not reading, and opened up my file for Grace. Well, it had actually been open all week, but every time I looked at it, I winced and turned back to the Libby app instead.

But I think my reading binge was good for me. When I was re-reading Grace in order to get back into writing Grace, I was unexpectedly willing to forgive myself for a lot of my perceived writerly sins, because all of the books that I was reading contained plenty of writerly sins themselves. There’s no such thing as perfect. It isn’t even about being “good enough,” whatever that is. All that really matters is how the reader answers one question: “do you want to keep reading?” And I’m pretty sure that even if Grace never quite makes sense, never has a typical plot, never makes anyone’s heart race, at least a few readers are still going to answer “yes”, because the world is a good place to be and the characters are fun to hang out with.

And now I am going to go hang out with them.

PS All those links are Amazon affiliate links, so if you start your Amazon shopping there, I’ll receive a small percentage of the purchase price of the first item you buy. It won’t make me rich, but come tax time, it will help me justify the contents of my blog as a business expense.

The first day…

05 Monday Mar 2018

Posted by in Depression, Grief, Personal

≈ 6 Comments

I’ve been joking with two different friends about every day being New Year’s Day. It’s not just that all my resolutions have gone nowhere — did I even make any resolutions? — it’s that 2018 is slipping away while I feel increasingly stuck, grinding my gears deeper and deeper into the mud.

The mud is obviously metaphoric, but I’m not even sure what it is. Depression? Maybe. Grief, sure. Lack of productivity leading to self-loathing leading to inertia leading to the dirty dishes piling up in the sink and a blue hair tie sitting in the middle of the floor day after day after day. Why don’t I just pick up the damn blue hair tie? I don’t know. It seems like too much work? It’s an interesting dash of color in the gray? It reminds me that I should brush my hair? Not that I do, I just think, “hmm, maybe I should brush my hair” and then I start browsing the internet again.

Today I picked up the blue hair tie. And I washed the dishes and put them away. And it’s a Monday and I’m going back to blogging on Monday and Thursday, regardless if I think I have anything to say, because it was good for me to have that structure in my life.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life, cliche as that statement is, and if it was the last day… well, I would want to know that I’d used it wisely. Which means not browsing the internet for hours, not reading books that I don’t care about, not playing mindless internet games, but yes, taking good walks with Zelda, yes, eating healthy food, and yes, writing some of my own words. And yes, making sure that my tiny house is comfortable and cozy and clean.

Time to get started.

sunrise through the trees at Lake Catherine, Arkansas

Sunrise through the trees, from March of 2017. It’s a metaphor, I suppose.

Best of February 2018

02 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in Bartleby, Best of

≈ 2 Comments

Foggy water scene

My friend A asked me last week whether I’d had a dry day yet. I looked at her, a little puzzled, and she said, “Tears?” Ah. The answer was “No.” Losing a dog is unlike any loss I’ve ever had. I think I do fine when I’m with other people — I have no trouble making conversation, going places, interacting — but when I’m alone in the van… it’s just very quiet without Bartleby.

Which makes writing a “best of” post a little problematic. I want to remember all the good things during the month: conversations with friends, nice driveways, a fantastic summer roll dinner with C & co., writing with J & A, visiting R in Sarasota and eating dinner outside with Z sleeping under the table, lovely Valentine’s Day yellow roses that made me smile…

But the honest truth is that I spent a lot of February 2018 feeling overwhelmed with sad. The best part about it is that it’s over.

Making plans

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Bartleby, Campground, Randomness

≈ 8 Comments

I was feeling gloriously happy this morning — the medical escalator came to a screeching halt yesterday, and I was ever so ready to get off and get moving! — and then I got an email from my doctor’s office with a new appointment for March 13th. Three weeks away! sigh But I am not going to fuss about it. It is what it is. I did consider calling and canceling — I’m not sure why that appointment needs to be in person, except for the general medical need to follow-up face-to-face when firm cautions are involved — but I’m not going to worry about it.

I’ve realized a couple things about my next couple of months, anyway. The first is that without B, I don’t have such an imperative need to get out of Florida. He was miserable when it was too hot. Even without the congestive heart failure, he was a pudgy little guy with a thick coat of black fur, and the heat was hard on him. Even in 70 degree weather, he’d be panting. Zelda — white dog, thinner coat, skinny and energetic — doesn’t mind the heat nearly as much. And one of the big issues about the heat was that I needed to be able to leave B in the van while I walked Zelda, so I always needed to be able to have the AC running. That’s no longer a problem. I wish it was. I’d much rather be worrying about B and trying to make him comfortable than living without him. But again, it is what it is.

The second thing isn’t a realization as much as it is a hard look at my timeline: I need to be back in Florida in the middle of May for R’s graduation. That gives me two months. And I don’t want to spend them driving. Long driving days are exhausting and time-consuming. There are places I wanted to go — I’d rather be spending spring in the northeast than the south — but I don’t want to be rushing around, spending hours on the road and worrying about getting to my destinations on a schedule that doesn’t give me enough time to enjoy them (and to write a book along the way!)

So my current plan, such as it is, is to relax and enjoy the south. I’ll have a few more weeks in Florida and then I’ll do some exploring in Georgia and maybe South Carolina, maybe even back to Arkansas, and then I’ll swing back into Florida for the first part of May. And then May 20th or so, I will head north, taking my time about it.

And after a stressful couple of weeks, I am relaxing and enjoying my day today. I’m in Lake Griffin State Park, which is a place I’ve stayed before, but I like it more every time I’m here, I think. It’s a small park, close enough to a busy road that you never stop hearing road noise, but I don’t mind that. This morning I took Zelda on a walk down a path that we’ve never gone on before, because of warnings about mud. I could hear the traffic, but being surrounded by nature, breathing fresh air, seeing greenery and giant palmettos and pretty yellow flowers scattered across dead brown leaves on the ground felt magical. Like I’d discovered a primeval swamp in the backyard of a strip mall. And then we reached a place on the trail where the mud was thick and black and goopy and Zelda decided she wanted no part of it. She dragged me back the way we came. Now I’m sitting in the van, windows open, listening to traffic but also birds and breezes in the leaves and a far distant barking dog, and watching a yellow butterfly. It’s a beautiful day for writing many words. Here’s hoping lots of them are on Grace!

A crescent moon through trees

Last night’s sliver of moon

I would rather not

17 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in Bartleby, Personal

≈ 6 Comments

About eighteen or nineteen years ago, the director of Rory’s preschool caught me on the day they distributed school pictures, and as I opened the envelope, said, sort of apologetically, a little anxiously, “I hope you don’t mind his picture, it’s sort of… well, it’s not really… we usually try… but…”

And I interrupted her with my mouth dropping open, clutching the photos to my chest, and saying, “Oh, it’s so him! I love it!” He looked both disheveled and mildly exasperated, with his hand against his head, like he was just about to roll his eyes and tell the photographer what he thought about the whole business.

Oh, I bet I have the picture on my computer. Yep, it was this one:

It was so him. And the director knew it, too, so she gave me a big smile and we admired it together and discussed what a fantastic photo it was and also probably a little of what a fantastic kid he was, because that was one of our favorite topics of discussion. Well, one of my favorite topics of discussion, and she was usually willing to join in.

I was reminded of this story today, because I picked up B’s ashes, and… well, some background first.

When B showed up in my backyard, I called him Mystery Dog. For a while, it looked like that would become his name but it never felt quite right. My nephew suggested Bartlebee, after a character in a book he was reading, which in turn reminded me of a Melville short story, “Bartleby the Scrivener.”

I didn’t remember the story all that well, but I knew the character came and stayed. And that he had a line, his response to all requests, which I thought was, “I would rather not.” (It’s actually “I would prefer not to” but I’ve had it wrong all along.) Mystery Dog promptly became Bartleby. It fit so well. When B was dying, the vet asked about his name and I told her that story. And, of course, she also heard everything else I said to him as he was going. So I hope she knew how much I would love this:

photo of box of ashes with engraved plate that says "I would rather not"

“I would rather not”

When I saw it, I burst into tears. But they weren’t bad tears, and I will treasure it. Not the ashes, which I will scatter somewhere appropriate, because carrying ashes around indefinitely feels unhealthily obsessive to me, but definitely the box and always the reminder.

Life without B… well, I’m getting used to it. Slowly. It’s strange to discover how much he dictated our schedule and routine. More than once, I’ve forgotten to feed Z her dinner until quite late, because she doesn’t remind me. B usually spent the half hour from 5 to 5:30 staring at me intently, trying to psychically convey how nice it would be if I got up and got him his dinner right away. He was a very precise timekeeper in general. At 11, it was time to be outside. At 3:30, time for a chicken strip. And he needed to be lifted on and off the bed, so was often my motivation for getting up and moving. Without him… well, my life is easier, I suppose, but so much emptier. He was a very big presence for such a little dog.

In other news, I’m still hanging out in Florida. I’m caught in what a friend described as a medical escalator, where one thing leads to another thing leads to another thing. At this point, I am very much hoping that the last step on the escalator will be a doctor’s appointment in early March. Google actually managed to reassure me today, when I finally gave in to the impulse to do some research, so that was nice. Doesn’t usually work that way!

And I am definitely counting my blessings. Yesterday I sat in a waiting room with my dad for an almost absurdly long time — I think he probably wound up in there for about four hours. And the television was playing infomercials! Hell. Except a young couple in the waiting room had time pressures. And also, they were young, which, in context, probably meant they were not there for routine care. And, of course, when a doctor is running hours behind schedule for a minor procedure, it’s probably because someone else’s minor procedure has turned major. All in all, it reminded me of how very lucky I am, to be reasonably healthy, to have such a flexible life, to have people who love me taking care of me.

Bartleby

06 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Bartleby, Grief

≈ 10 Comments

I hate the euphemisms — put down, put to sleep, even euthanize. The reality was, I would have stayed forever with his warm head cuddled against my shoulder, stroking his soft fur, whispering love into his goofy ears. But he was slowly suffocating, fighting the fluid that was filling his lungs and heart, and I couldn’t bring myself to be so cruel. So I let him go. Helped him go.

When the vet was injecting him with the sedative, I was stroking him and telling him what a good dog he was and then I stopped myself and I told him the truth. “Actually, B,” I said, “You peed in places you shouldn’t, and sometimes you snapped and snarled at people, and you were very stubborn about refusing to learn any commands, even the easy ones. So I’m not sure I can say you were a good dog exactly. But you were very good at loving me.” I think that’s probably the only skill a good dog really needs.

Today is the sixth anniversary of my friend Michelle’s death. As his gasping breaths finally slowed down, I told him to find Michelle and take her to a beach. I would like to think that they are there right now, and that B’s knees don’t hurt and he doesn’t get tired after three minutes of running and he isn’t scared to play with toys and sticks. And if he wants to go swimming, that she has a warm towel waiting for him.

I will miss him so. I already do.

The beginning of a roll in the sand…

A too familiar parking lot

05 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by in Bartleby

≈ 6 Comments

I called the vet at 7:07 AM this morning and much to my surprise, someone answered. Remarkably cheerfully, too, considering how early it was. He gave me — well, not quite an appointment. But the information that the vet would be in at 9.

By 9:05, maybe even a little earlier, they had Bartleby in the back on oxygen and an IV. Oxygen is remarkably expensive considering how readily available you’d think it would be. By 9:15, they’d upped the time that they thought he’d need to be on it from an hour (billed in 15-minute increments) to an open-ended “let’s see how it goes,” also adding a slew of other charges to his bill. I don’t even care.

I really thought I was going to be all grown-up and responsible about the economics of having a dying dog and an uncertain income, but nope. If they said, “It’s going to cost $1000 and give him another month of good life,” I’d hand them my credit card without another word. Emphasis on the good life, though. Another month where he struggles to breathe and turns away from his food will break my heart on an hourly basis.

And, of course, they really can’t know what that $1000 would buy and neither can I. But two days ago, B was still wagging his tail and kissing my face, and last night, he was willing to gobble down some chicken even if his regular food didn’t interest him, so today, it’s oxygen and x-rays and medication and whatever $$s it takes to give me a chance of some more snuggles and tail wags.

The other day I looked up the difference between worry and fear. It sounds like something I should know, right? It sounds like the difference ought to be obvious. But I wasn’t sure it was. Because I’m not worried — I already know the outcome, how can I worry about something that is inevitable? — but I am afraid. Afraid that I will make the wrong choices, that he will suffer more than he should or live less than he should. The internet let me know that fear is involuntary, but worry is a choice. So I am choosing not to worry, to trust that I will make the right decisions, that I will know what to do when the time comes. But I am still afraid.

And very, very sad.

In 90% of my pictures of B, he is sleeping adorably. This morning, they all just looked a little too… peaceful.

Best of January 2018

31 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Best of

≈ 4 Comments

January of 2018 included three campgrounds — one local, one state, and one Thousand Trails — and four driveways/streets.

I love staying in people’s driveways because it’s so nice to visit with them, but it is seriously terrible for my workflow. No driveway day ever includes good writing. And now I’m thinking back over all of the driveway days of the past year and I’ve found one exception: my friend J’s driveway. But that’s probably because I’m not actually writing in her driveway, I’m writing in her comfortable living room, in her perfect writing chairs, and she’s writing with me and then occasionally bringing me snacks and beverages. Writer paradise!

I’m currently in my friend L’s kitchen, sitting at her kitchen counter, obviously writing. L’s driveway ought to be a good driveway for writing, but we talk too much. I love the talking — we spent a good long while this morning on post-apocalypse books and movies, pandemics vs disasters, the death penalty, human nature, the ability to kill and the consequences of killing — but in terms of actual words on the page, I’ve been here for most of two days and not made a word of progress on Grace. Actually, worse than that, I deleted a bunch last night. So no points for writing at L’s house, although I suspect if I were ever to stay here for an extended period, I’d get onto a schedule and get loads done, because she’s an encouraging fellow writer.

Traveling, in general, is disruptive to writing. My fantasies of living on the road and producing novels like clockwork are just never going to pan out. I made great resolutions in the beginning of the year, of course. But I’ve already broken them, because my brain is always too busy with thoughts of where I’ll be spending the night and how I’m meeting basic life needs. (Is a shower a basic life need? It feels like one to me, but that’s probably evidence of what a privileged life I still lead. But I definitely find feeling dirty to be an incredible distraction, and a major obstacle to being able to live in my imagination.)

Despite the lack of good writing progress, it was a productive month. I didn’t earn much money, but I spent tons of it — on dental work, on vet bills, on van maintenance. In other words, it was not a terribly memorable month. My adventures were mostly mundane, the sights I saw the same daily things that life offers all of us.

This morning’s super moon — a once in a lifetime experience! — looked pretty much like the moon to me. If I hadn’t known that I was having a once in a lifetime experience, I would have thought that there was a weird shadow from the nearby palm tree or some dirt on the window, and either way, the moon dropped below the horizon before there was actually much to see. Which doesn’t mean that I didn’t appreciate it, but last week, I built a campfire and I admired the moon in the trees above my campfire just as much as I did this morning’s moon.

Still, even in a mostly mundane month, I had some beautiful moments.

The moon at sunrise over Sarasota bay. Not once-in-a-lifetime — I hope not once-in-a-lifetime! — but beautiful.

Sunrise in Lake Griffith State Park. No moon, but a lovely stillness.

Trimble Park

26 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by in Campground, Photography

≈ 6 Comments

I had a perfectly lovely day yesterday. It feels like there ought to be an ingredient list for lovely days: take 70 degree weather, add sunshine and a light breeze, mix in some good food, a sprinkle of pleasant surroundings, and voila, you’ve got a lovely day. But I don’t think it generally works like that. The right ingredients don’t mean a thing if you’re in the wrong mood. And if you’re in the right mood, the ingredients can be all wrong and the day can still be perfectly lovely.

Plus, some of the ingredients change. Most of the time, I truly appreciate having music be a part of my day, but yesterday, I never bothered to turn any on, because the silence felt so peaceful and pleasant. Well, and not very silent. There are a ton of birds in Trimble Park, the campground I’m staying in, and it’s never silent. Peaceful and pleasant and lovely, though, definitely.

Today, alas, was not nearly so lovely. Mostly because I spent a good chunk of the day dealing with health insurance stuff. I think I will not use my blog to vent about that, because it’s not anything I’m going to want to re-read a decade from now — I suppose someday I might feel nostalgic for my current health insurance, but I sincerely hope that doesn’t come to pass. But it was enough to… well, not ruin my day. But take it down from “perfectly lovely” to more of the “count your blessings” level.

Fortunately, one of my blessings is that I am surrounded by beauty. Florida has its flaws — the mosquitoes seem to be thriving and quite happy right now — but it sure can deliver on the sunsets.

sunset at Trimble Park

Radio Silence

21 Sunday Jan 2018

Posted by in Books, Personal, Reviews, Vanlife

≈ 8 Comments

This is the longest I’ve gone without posting to my blog in at least two years. I’m hitting the point where staying silent is easier than breaking my silence, which is sort of silly. I have no real reason for not posting, I just decided to give myself a break. And continuing my break is easier than connecting my phone and looking at the pictures I’ve taken or thinking about what I had to share.

Realistically, too, it’s been sort of a boring couple of weeks. Not uneventful, but the events have been things like taking Serenity in for service and discovering that she had a leak in the transmission; taking the dogs to the vet and finding out that yes, B is dying, and yes, said death is getting closer every day; taking myself to the dentist and getting a cap replaced. (Was it a cap or a crown, I wonder? I don’t actually know the difference.)

Not exactly the most scintillating or joyful of events, none of them, although the first was fixed under warranty, the second was not a surprise, and the third is actually kind of a relief. The cap (or crown) was loose on a front tooth and I was getting tired of feeling like a six-year-old, poking it with my tongue and wondering when it would fall out.

On the other hand, I also had a lovely dinner with my brother, dad and stepmom in Sarasota; went to the Ringling Museum for the first time; enjoyed dinner and writing time with some of my local writing friends; cooked sous vide honey mustard chicken and quinoa for some other friends; and worked on my writing, my taxes, and some book translations.

Life, in other words, has been happening. Some good, some bad, some fun, some sad. And that was an entirely unintentional Dr. Seuss imitation. I haven’t started writing with long streams of semi-colons mixed with sentence fragments in my fiction, just in case you’re worried about this trend!

Actually, probably the most interesting thing that has been going on — at least to me — is that I’m re-working how I use the space in the van. Shortly after New Year’s, I got myself a queen-size memory foam mattress topper. I’d hit the point where I felt like I had to do something about how horribly I was sleeping, and the something was not going to be using sleeping pills. I’ve spent the days since experimenting with how to most conveniently fit it into my limited space and the answer is, it doesn’t conveniently fit into my limited space. Period.

On the other hand, I’ve actually slept several hours in a row since it entered my life and so it is staying in my life. But my “office” and my “bed” — aka the positions in which I sat when I was writing/not writing — just don’t work the same way. You’d think that it wouldn’t be a big deal to just sit in a different way/place, but in fact, figuring out how to get comfortable writing with an unwieldy memory foam mattress topper taking up a ton of room has been difficult. Figuring out how to snuggle down into reading comfort has been much easier.

As a result, in the past ten days, I’ve read:

The Dark Days Club (A Lady Helen Novel) – Slow going and not one where I have any interest in reading the sequels, even though the story felt like set-up for the series more than it did a stand-alone.

The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are – Interesting reading, although I suspect it would have been far more useful for me about ten years ago. Still, I do still struggle with perfectionism, so I’ll probably be trying to follow some of her advice.

Shatter Me – Not for me, but it had a great cover.

Ink and Bone (The Great Library) – Pulled me in, didn’t let me go. The moment I finished, I went looking for the sequels. I’m on the library waitlist for both of them. I thought at first it was going to be a Harry Potter knock-off, but a) I have no real objection to that, as long as it’s done well, and b) I was totally wrong, with the exception of the characters meeting in a school-type setting. Totally wrong. If you like fantasy, this one is engrossing, interesting, suspenseful, and maybe a little on the dark side, in a late Harry Potter kind of way.

Steel’s Edge (The Edge, Book 4) Also read Fate’s Edge, which means I have now officially read everything Ilona Andrews has published. These two aren’t my favorites (I like the Innkeeper series best, I think) but I enjoyed them while reading. And the fact that I’ve read all of the authors’ books — four or five series, at least twenty books — says something.

Neogenesis (Liaden Universe®) – The classic example, for me, of a series that I keep reading because I know the characters too well to stop. If you haven’t read the first 20-some books in the series, you definitely don’t want to start here. If you have read the first 20-some books, you’re probably wondering why nothing much ever seems to happen in these books anymore, even in the one where huge ongoing plot threads get tied up. Or at least I was.

Wild Horses – Modern Dick Francis but also classic Dick Francis. I’m not sure how I missed reading it when it first came out, but I enjoyed it.

I feel like I’m missing something in this list, but if I can’t remember it, it probably isn’t worth recommending. Not that I’m recommending all of these! But if you need something to read, Ink and Bone (The Great Library) is worth a try. If you’re not caught by the end of the first chapter, in which a truly grievous crime is committed, I’ll be surprised. Well, not if you’re not a fantasy reader. But if you liked Harry Potter or The Hunger Games, Ink and Bones is worth adding to your TBR pile.

And now I think I’ll get back to my TBW pile (To Be Written). It gets longer all the time, but I am definitely writing! In between reading, anyway.