So what did you do this year, Nicky?
I found a re-issue publisher for my roaring 20s stuff.
I finished Master Anton.
I re-edited Glad Hands
I wrote 6 short stories
I kept up with my patreon. Ish. I missed a couple months on new stories.
Unseen stories published this year:
Wishing away (flower fairies)
A gift of scars (8 thrones)
A fools Taj Mahal (horror)
Neighbors (horror)
Fannish Activity (erotica)
Under the Skirts of Sherwood (Robin hood)
Rock the Casbah (Edward and Charlie)
Growth in a Desolate Season (fantasy)
The Construct Job (fanfic)
Step Into the Circle: Winter (children's)
I also recapped 11 Smallville episodes
I continued going to the gym.
I started a daily spiritual practice.
I was called by the Morrigan.
I went through rehab and can now drive a truck without my 2012 error hanging over me
I read 36 books. Stone Butch Blues and The Art of Manliness were two of the most important. World War Z was brilliant. And Moonlight Sonata amazed me on every level.
I saw 51 movies, 15 of them new. I saw a lot I hadn't seen in decades. The Black Hole and The Dark half sort of hold up. The Seventh Seal still works. Excalibur is a mess. Mamma Mia is one of the most pagan things I've ever seen on screen.
I made a lot of things.
I learned about tie-dye and using a planner.
I learned a lot about Disney.
I worked a lot.
I failed to get a job as a truck driver. Three times.
Monday, December 24, 2018
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Planning for the week ahead
To Do:
Finish lovey, deliver
Finish scarf, mail
Make cocoon
Make hat
Mail huge box
Mon:
work
Aldi mystery shop
Tues
Work
Wed
Work
Sonic shop
Thurs,
work
field trip
panda garden
Fri:
Work
Michaels 8-midnite
Saturday:
Yule
Finish lovey, deliver
Finish scarf, mail
Make cocoon
Make hat
Mail huge box
Mon:
work
Aldi mystery shop
Tues
Work
Wed
Work
Sonic shop
Thurs,
work
field trip
panda garden
Fri:
Work
Michaels 8-midnite
Saturday:
Yule
Sunday, December 2, 2018
December already and my wishlist
So here it is, December second.
I made no posts during November. Not even about being subjected to torture for a week. A high, inescapable continuous sound is classified by the UN as torture. My bus was in the shop and the replacement had a constant low-air alarm. I've been working 7 day weeks, and will until January.
I'm behind on everything, including crafting. I have hard deadlines and am working on a lovey, a c2c afghan and a scarf. After the c2c is done, a cocoon shawl and a hat round out that order.
The gamers call it grinding. It's when you do small, tedious tasks over and over to advance a skill.
It's the embodiment of the Eight of Pentacles.
And I'm grinding.
Money is the worst it's been in a while.
The Disney Trip is a dream that sustains me. It gave me a place to escape the Torturebus. It gives me hope I can do things I want to and make things better. And it is, on the face of it, ridiculous. There are so many other things I could use $3000 to do. So so many places it would make a difference.
On Livejournal, we used to wishlists on this group. We would list some things: physical, virtual or otherwise, that we really wanted. Other members of the group would fill the desires they could.
My wishlist:
A trucking company that is willing to retrain me and put me on a dedicated.
More patrons for Patreon
A job for my younger son, who has minimal skills
New shoes. Mine are starting to wear.
Space heaters with low electrical draw and high output. It's going to be a cold winter and our bedroom one is defunct
There is literally nothing wrong with my life that 250,000 wouldn't fix. (That's the amount that will pay ALL our debt: house, cars, medical and student loans. Our consumer debt is about $100.)
But all told, I am thankful for what I have.
My house is still standing, even if 60% of it doesn't work
My oldest is self supporting
My older son survived the Army (barely, medical discharge after being hit by a crane) and is starting school next semester.
My younger son is in school for IT and doing well.
My youngest daughter is an honor student.
I have a job I love and pays all right (not great, but all right)
I have my husbands. Both of them.
My father is still with us, still well and leading an active senior life.
My sisters are doing solidly.
My cats love me.
I made no posts during November. Not even about being subjected to torture for a week. A high, inescapable continuous sound is classified by the UN as torture. My bus was in the shop and the replacement had a constant low-air alarm. I've been working 7 day weeks, and will until January.
I'm behind on everything, including crafting. I have hard deadlines and am working on a lovey, a c2c afghan and a scarf. After the c2c is done, a cocoon shawl and a hat round out that order.
The gamers call it grinding. It's when you do small, tedious tasks over and over to advance a skill.
It's the embodiment of the Eight of Pentacles.
And I'm grinding.
Money is the worst it's been in a while.
The Disney Trip is a dream that sustains me. It gave me a place to escape the Torturebus. It gives me hope I can do things I want to and make things better. And it is, on the face of it, ridiculous. There are so many other things I could use $3000 to do. So so many places it would make a difference.
On Livejournal, we used to wishlists on this group. We would list some things: physical, virtual or otherwise, that we really wanted. Other members of the group would fill the desires they could.
My wishlist:
A trucking company that is willing to retrain me and put me on a dedicated.
More patrons for Patreon
A job for my younger son, who has minimal skills
New shoes. Mine are starting to wear.
Space heaters with low electrical draw and high output. It's going to be a cold winter and our bedroom one is defunct
There is literally nothing wrong with my life that 250,000 wouldn't fix. (That's the amount that will pay ALL our debt: house, cars, medical and student loans. Our consumer debt is about $100.)
But all told, I am thankful for what I have.
My house is still standing, even if 60% of it doesn't work
My oldest is self supporting
My older son survived the Army (barely, medical discharge after being hit by a crane) and is starting school next semester.
My younger son is in school for IT and doing well.
My youngest daughter is an honor student.
I have a job I love and pays all right (not great, but all right)
I have my husbands. Both of them.
My father is still with us, still well and leading an active senior life.
My sisters are doing solidly.
My cats love me.
Monday, October 8, 2018
Backlist ideas
When one makes a substantial life change, there is always the question of how much of the old life to drag along.
I have a substantial body of work. And I needed to decide what to do with the novels
Eight Thrones Saga
Anthony--forthcoming
Nikolai Revenant--out
Glad Hands—forthcoming (rewritten)
Master Anton—needs rewrites
NikoChan—needs rewriting from the ground up
Roaring 20s paranormal:
Curse of the Pharaoh’s Manicurists--contracted
Terror of the Frozen North--contracted
Mystery of the Monkey God--writing
Memphis Paranormal:
Spellbound Desire—needs rewriting
Wild Hunt--out
Others
Alive on the Inside--trunk
Barbarossa’s Bitch—reissue, new title, rewrites. Post-apocalyptic gay bikers in Kansas.
Hard Reboot—hard rewrite. het cyberpunk.
Heart of a Forest--trunk
Heart’s Bounty--re-issue, needs some small edits. Space bounty hunters
Power in the Blood—reissue, minor rewrites, Vampire apocalypse in Memphis
Privateer’s Treasure--trunk
Shell Shocked--trunk
The Sweet Science of Bruising—find publisher. het (with bi leanings) steampunk.
I have a substantial body of work. And I needed to decide what to do with the novels
Eight Thrones Saga
Anthony--forthcoming
Nikolai Revenant--out
Glad Hands—forthcoming (rewritten)
Master Anton—needs rewrites
NikoChan—needs rewriting from the ground up
Roaring 20s paranormal:
Curse of the Pharaoh’s Manicurists--contracted
Terror of the Frozen North--contracted
Mystery of the Monkey God--writing
Memphis Paranormal:
Spellbound Desire—needs rewriting
Wild Hunt--out
Others
Alive on the Inside--trunk
Barbarossa’s Bitch—reissue, new title, rewrites. Post-apocalyptic gay bikers in Kansas.
Hard Reboot—hard rewrite. het cyberpunk.
Heart of a Forest--trunk
Heart’s Bounty--re-issue, needs some small edits. Space bounty hunters
Power in the Blood—reissue, minor rewrites, Vampire apocalypse in Memphis
Privateer’s Treasure--trunk
Shell Shocked--trunk
The Sweet Science of Bruising—find publisher. het (with bi leanings) steampunk.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Planning for a busy week
Monday:
Work
Dr. Appt
Tues:
Work
Lunch at Panda Garden
Gabriel's FAFSA
Wed
Work
Thurs:
Work
Five guys at Houston Levee for lunch
Fri
Work
Five Guys at Ridgeway Rd
Sat:
work 10-4
Dinner and Jesus Christ Superstar with Gabriel
Work
Dr. Appt
Tues:
Work
Lunch at Panda Garden
Gabriel's FAFSA
Wed
Work
Thurs:
Work
Five guys at Houston Levee for lunch
Fri
Work
Five Guys at Ridgeway Rd
Sat:
work 10-4
Dinner and Jesus Christ Superstar with Gabriel
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Whats for Supper
Sunday:Italian marinated chicken in angel hair pasta
Monday: Spam teriyaki
Tuesday: BBQ pork
Wednesday: Chicken Alfredo
Thursday: Chili frito pie
Friday: Stuffing with pork chops.
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Planning for the week ahead
Monday:
devotions
breakfast-miniwheats
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Call dr for refill
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
BBQ pork chops and fries
crochet
read
Tuesday:
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
frozen pizza
Evening with Gabriel
Wednesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobooks on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
lemon pepper pork with stuffing and green beans
read
crochet
Thursday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
dinner italian chicken with angelhair pasta
Friday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
smothered porkchops with mushroom rice
read
Crochet
Saturday
Michaels 9-130
Goals for the week:
Physical
Gym every day
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Read a book
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
See Gabriel Tuesday
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes and the Morrigan.
Read one article about my deities
Meditate twice
Writing:
Work on the Faerie Court story
Work on Mystery of the Monkey God
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
Start on piece about the covered baby carriers
Start on piece about cruise ship morgues
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Solicit 5 people for Patreon
Cleaning:
Do dishes every night
Scrub toilets every morning
Crafting:
Update Etsy Shop
Finish the afghan
continue on 3 baby afghans
devotions
breakfast-miniwheats
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Call dr for refill
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
BBQ pork chops and fries
crochet
read
Tuesday:
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
frozen pizza
Evening with Gabriel
Wednesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobooks on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
lemon pepper pork with stuffing and green beans
read
crochet
Thursday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
dinner italian chicken with angelhair pasta
Friday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:45
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
smothered porkchops with mushroom rice
read
Crochet
Saturday
Michaels 9-130
Goals for the week:
Physical
Gym every day
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Read a book
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
See Gabriel Tuesday
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes and the Morrigan.
Read one article about my deities
Meditate twice
Writing:
Work on the Faerie Court story
Work on Mystery of the Monkey God
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
Start on piece about the covered baby carriers
Start on piece about cruise ship morgues
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Solicit 5 people for Patreon
Cleaning:
Do dishes every night
Scrub toilets every morning
Crafting:
Update Etsy Shop
Finish the afghan
continue on 3 baby afghans
[Money] Thoughts and dreams and plan
There are many things I want to do. They all require money.
Things are getting better now that we're all being paid again. But we're still playing catch-up.
I've applied to be a trainer, to take the course and train new school bus drivers. That will increase my income a bit, if I get it.
I need to save up roughly $20,000 in the next 2 years to accomplish everything I want to.
1) Richard's teeth. He needs all of them out, under general, and dentures. This is at least $10K. ASAP
2) The DC trip for our 30th wedding anniversary. We've never taken an actual vacation, just us going somewhere and seeing things. We can probably manage for $1500, but $2000 to be safe. Most of what we're seeing and doing is free. This is gas, food and hotel for 8 nights, metro fare, Monuments by Moonlight tour and maybe Williamsburg. (Deadline Aug 2019)
3) The Disney trip: This is $8100 now, not counting getting there. I don't plan to pay for more than half of it. (myself, Oli and Gabriel if need be), plus gas (1604 miles, or 82 gallons, we're taking the Nitro for Oli's chair) and maybe 2 motel nights during the trip. So $4500 travel, plus pocket money, figure $5000. (Deadline Aug 2020)
4) Billings trip. Mudd wants to see his family in Billings. That's a least 75 gallons of gas, 9 motel nights, and food for a week or so. Again, about $1500. Preferably June 2019.
$19,000 is a fair chunk of money. Especially when my annual income is about $24000 and most of it goes to running the household.
My plan:
All my Michaels paychecks go into savings (not much, about $150/mo)
All my Etsy sales
All my mystery shopping money
Any royalties
All my Patreon (about $30/month)
My timeline:
We need about $4000 by this summer.
8 months is $500/month.
if I stash the Michaels, it goes to $350
With Patreon, $320.
I have to actively make $10/day to get to my summer goal.
That doesn't sound unreasonable.
So, when you buy stuff I make, or sponsor me on patreon, it's going to get Mudd's teeth fixed. It's going to give us a celebration of 30 years together.
It's going to let my father (age 74) take what will probably be his only vacation with the grandkids.
Things are getting better now that we're all being paid again. But we're still playing catch-up.
I've applied to be a trainer, to take the course and train new school bus drivers. That will increase my income a bit, if I get it.
I need to save up roughly $20,000 in the next 2 years to accomplish everything I want to.
1) Richard's teeth. He needs all of them out, under general, and dentures. This is at least $10K. ASAP
2) The DC trip for our 30th wedding anniversary. We've never taken an actual vacation, just us going somewhere and seeing things. We can probably manage for $1500, but $2000 to be safe. Most of what we're seeing and doing is free. This is gas, food and hotel for 8 nights, metro fare, Monuments by Moonlight tour and maybe Williamsburg. (Deadline Aug 2019)
3) The Disney trip: This is $8100 now, not counting getting there. I don't plan to pay for more than half of it. (myself, Oli and Gabriel if need be), plus gas (1604 miles, or 82 gallons, we're taking the Nitro for Oli's chair) and maybe 2 motel nights during the trip. So $4500 travel, plus pocket money, figure $5000. (Deadline Aug 2020)
4) Billings trip. Mudd wants to see his family in Billings. That's a least 75 gallons of gas, 9 motel nights, and food for a week or so. Again, about $1500. Preferably June 2019.
$19,000 is a fair chunk of money. Especially when my annual income is about $24000 and most of it goes to running the household.
My plan:
All my Michaels paychecks go into savings (not much, about $150/mo)
All my Etsy sales
All my mystery shopping money
Any royalties
All my Patreon (about $30/month)
My timeline:
We need about $4000 by this summer.
8 months is $500/month.
if I stash the Michaels, it goes to $350
With Patreon, $320.
I have to actively make $10/day to get to my summer goal.
That doesn't sound unreasonable.
So, when you buy stuff I make, or sponsor me on patreon, it's going to get Mudd's teeth fixed. It's going to give us a celebration of 30 years together.
It's going to let my father (age 74) take what will probably be his only vacation with the grandkids.
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
[Pagan] Encountering the Morrigan
I've talked about the Morrigan before. On May 17, 2018, she Called me.
"Come home. You've played with the Greeks long enough, come home, Son of Nial."
Except, as I read more, perhaps she doesn't need me as the Son of Nial. Perhaps she needs me as the Daughter of Nial. The Morrigan is one of the Crone goddesses, the one who aids those in transition between life and death and life again.
She has always been a part of my life, although i didn't know it, the Great Queen and the guardian of witches. Autumn is her time. Red and violet are her colors (as well as black). Her elements are fire, which i love and water which I am.
I have been reading and learning and will continue to learn more.
The Queen of Ghosts and Shadows has summoned me. But not, I think, as a warrior. As a spell-slinger and bard, as a psychopomp.
I have not yet begun writing her poetry, but this spoke to me.
Song to the Morrigan
Queen of Phantoms,
Blood soaked earth
and rushing river ford
are your domain
Your gifts are madness,
death, and battle-frenzy
You appear, dancing
from sword point
to shield rim,
I sing to you with
a crow's voice, shrieking
I sing to you with
strength and anger
Queen of Nightmares
The joining of rivers
and deep delving caves
are your domain
Your gifts are prophecy,
destruction, or victory
You appear, washing
the clothes of the doomed,
red with gore,
I sing to you with
a voice of blood, crimson
I sing to you with
pain and sorrow
Great Queen
The boiling whirlpool
and fertile field
are your domain
Your gifts are sovereignty,
success, and victory
You appear, offering
your blessing to those
willing to pay the price
I sing to you with
a wolf's voice, howling
I sing to you with
passion and purpose
Copyright Morgan Daimler, 2013
"Come home. You've played with the Greeks long enough, come home, Son of Nial."
Except, as I read more, perhaps she doesn't need me as the Son of Nial. Perhaps she needs me as the Daughter of Nial. The Morrigan is one of the Crone goddesses, the one who aids those in transition between life and death and life again.
She has always been a part of my life, although i didn't know it, the Great Queen and the guardian of witches. Autumn is her time. Red and violet are her colors (as well as black). Her elements are fire, which i love and water which I am.
I have been reading and learning and will continue to learn more.
The Queen of Ghosts and Shadows has summoned me. But not, I think, as a warrior. As a spell-slinger and bard, as a psychopomp.
I have not yet begun writing her poetry, but this spoke to me.
Song to the Morrigan
Queen of Phantoms,
Blood soaked earth
and rushing river ford
are your domain
Your gifts are madness,
death, and battle-frenzy
You appear, dancing
from sword point
to shield rim,
I sing to you with
a crow's voice, shrieking
I sing to you with
strength and anger
Queen of Nightmares
The joining of rivers
and deep delving caves
are your domain
Your gifts are prophecy,
destruction, or victory
You appear, washing
the clothes of the doomed,
red with gore,
I sing to you with
a voice of blood, crimson
I sing to you with
pain and sorrow
Great Queen
The boiling whirlpool
and fertile field
are your domain
Your gifts are sovereignty,
success, and victory
You appear, offering
your blessing to those
willing to pay the price
I sing to you with
a wolf's voice, howling
I sing to you with
passion and purpose
Copyright Morgan Daimler, 2013
Monday, September 3, 2018
Planning for the week ahead
Tuesday:
gym 9:45
Conoco
Wednesday
gym 9:45
Work 1-5
Listen to 1984 on way home
Phillips 66
dinner burritos
Thursday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to 1984 on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to 1984 on way home
dinner: frozen pizza
Friday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to 1984 on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Aldi's
Listen to 1984 on way home
spaghetti
Goals for the week:
Physical
Gym twice
take my meds
Mental:
Finish The Adversary
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spiritual:
Writing:
Work on the Faerie Court story
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Cleaning:
Make bed
Take out trash
Clean around my chair
Crafting:
Finish the afghan
continue on 3 baby afghans
Sunday, August 26, 2018
Vacation Planning: Washington DC
It's silly to do this when we are incredibly broke, and I have a dozen other things on my mind.
That's exactly why I need to do it.
Driving time is about 14 hours, for the 850 miles, with the time change and without breaks. It may be a 2 day trip.
Hotel costs. The Comfort Inn in Springfield offers a breakfast buffet and a shuttle to the Metro at about $85/night. Not terrible.
The Must-Dos
The Metro into town takes about half an hour. We may need to look into passes for the system, since it's about $5 each way. Parking is very limited in the city.
Smithsonian: Free. Allow a day for each
Air and Space Museum because we are huge science and space nuts.
The Natural History Museum.
The National Zoo
The Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument and Mall.
The Library of Congress tour
Monuments by Moonlight is the one tour I've wanted to take for years, ever since I found out about it while researching a book that never got written. It's $43, but sounds ridiculously romantic.It's 2 1/2 hours long.
An Anniversary dinner. I kind of favor Zaytinya, (one of DC's 10 best romantic restaurants) The lamb bahar looks good, so do the sea scallops.
Side trips, pending interest:
The National Gallery of Art. Not Mudd's thing but I like a good art gallery
Mount Vernon: $20/person, at least 3 hours.
Monticello: $30/person
I've wanted to go to Colonial Williamsburg since I was a kid. It's about $41/person. And I still want to visit.
So I'm thinking about a week.
Leave on Saturday, stay the night around Knoxville, arrive Sunday.
Monday: the landmarks and tours. the big dinner
Tuesday-Thursday: Smithsonian, combine art gallery and zoo day
Friday we take one of the side trips (I'm bucking for Williamsburg, more expensive but an all day thing)
Saturday head home
Sunday arrive home.
It sounds like fun. Now to arrange the money.
That's exactly why I need to do it.
Driving time is about 14 hours, for the 850 miles, with the time change and without breaks. It may be a 2 day trip.
Hotel costs. The Comfort Inn in Springfield offers a breakfast buffet and a shuttle to the Metro at about $85/night. Not terrible.
The Must-Dos
The Metro into town takes about half an hour. We may need to look into passes for the system, since it's about $5 each way. Parking is very limited in the city.
Smithsonian: Free. Allow a day for each
Air and Space Museum because we are huge science and space nuts.
The Natural History Museum.
The National Zoo
The Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument and Mall.
The Library of Congress tour
Monuments by Moonlight is the one tour I've wanted to take for years, ever since I found out about it while researching a book that never got written. It's $43, but sounds ridiculously romantic.It's 2 1/2 hours long.
An Anniversary dinner. I kind of favor Zaytinya, (one of DC's 10 best romantic restaurants) The lamb bahar looks good, so do the sea scallops.
Side trips, pending interest:
The National Gallery of Art. Not Mudd's thing but I like a good art gallery
Mount Vernon: $20/person, at least 3 hours.
Monticello: $30/person
I've wanted to go to Colonial Williamsburg since I was a kid. It's about $41/person. And I still want to visit.
So I'm thinking about a week.
Leave on Saturday, stay the night around Knoxville, arrive Sunday.
Monday: the landmarks and tours. the big dinner
Tuesday-Thursday: Smithsonian, combine art gallery and zoo day
Friday we take one of the side trips (I'm bucking for Williamsburg, more expensive but an all day thing)
Saturday head home
Sunday arrive home.
It sounds like fun. Now to arrange the money.
Planning for the Week Ahead
Sunday:
Vacuum A/C see if I can get it working
Laundry
food inventory
grocery shop
dinner: BBQ pork
do dishes after dinner
make cocoa krispy treats
Fold clothes
lay out clothes for tomorrow
make lunch
Monday:
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
Work, 5:30 AM
Gym
write
Work 1 PM
Listen to audiobook on way home
Dinner: burgers
Tuesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Dinner on the run
6:30-9:30 Michaels
Wednesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
dinner Alice Springs Chicken pasta
Thursday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: pork stuffing
Friday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Volunteer at FurMeet
Saturday
Volunteer FurMeet
Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan
Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Work on other stories
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Cleaning:
Make bed
Take out trash
Clean around my chair
Crafting:
Finish the afghan
get going on baby afghans
Vacuum A/C see if I can get it working
Laundry
dinner: BBQ pork
do dishes after dinner
make cocoa krispy treats
Fold clothes
lay out clothes for tomorrow
make lunch
Monday:
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
Work, 5:30 AM
Gym
write
Work 1 PM
Listen to audiobook on way home
Dinner: burgers
Tuesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Dinner on the run
6:30-9:30 Michaels
Wednesday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to audiobook on way home
dinner Alice Springs Chicken pasta
Thursday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: pork stuffing
Friday
devotions
breakfast
Listen to audiobook on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Volunteer at FurMeet
Saturday
Volunteer FurMeet
Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan
Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Work on other stories
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Cleaning:
Make bed
Take out trash
Clean around my chair
Crafting:
Finish the afghan
get going on baby afghans
Sunday, August 19, 2018
Planning for the Week Ahead
Sunday:
Laundry
food inventory
watermelon
grocery shop
breakfast casserole
dinner
do dishes after dinner
make rice pudding
Fold clothes
Assemble gym bag
lay out clothes for tomorrow
make lunch
Monday:
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
Work, 5:30 AM
WT at 10 AM, Three Little pigs
Work 1 PM
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
Dinner:Chicken alfredo soup
Tuesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
Dinner, Jambalaya
Wednesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner spaghetti
Thursday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: spam sandwiches
Friday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way home
Dinner: burritos
Saturday
Michaels 1-930
Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Finish Guns Germs and Steel
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan
Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
And I forgot this week was the H/L fest
https://skysolofest.tumblr.com/post/176974286966/skysolo-fest-schedule-announcement-welcome-to
DAY ONE: Modern/Tropes
DAY TWO: Fix It
DAY THREE: Canon Compliant
DAY FOUR: Scene Stealer (AUs from filmographies!)
DAY FIVE: Role Reversal
DAY SIX: Free Space
DAY SEVEN: Appreciation Day
Promotional:
Schedule 10 tweets about patreon
Read an article on SEO
Cleaning:
Clear small bedroom
Make bed
Put up AC unit
Take out trash
take out soda boxes
Crafting:
Finish the afghan
food inventory
make lunch
Monday:
devotions
Dinner:
Tuesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
Dinner, Jambalaya
Wednesday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner spaghetti
Thursday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Guns Germs and Steel on way home
dinner: spam sandwiches
Friday
Shower
devotions
breakfast
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way to work
work 5:30-9:30
gym 9:45
write 11:30
Lunch 12:30
Work 1-5
Listen to Thuvia Maid of Mars on way home
Dinner: burritos
Saturday
Michaels 1-930
Goals for the week:
Physical
Get back in the gym habit
track my food
take my meds
Sleep with CPAP (SpaceMom wants me to!)
Mental:
Finish Guns Germs and Steel
Finish The Adversary
Watch 1 movie
Social:
do the Memory reblog every day
Spend time with Mudd, every day
Spiritual:
Daily devotional practice to Hera and Hermes.
Read 3 things about the Morrigan
Writing:
Finish "The Construct Job"
Start the piece about the unreal school buses
And I forgot this week was the H/L fest
https://skysolofest.tumblr.com/post/176974286966/skysolo-fest-schedule-announcement-welcome-to
DAY ONE: Modern/Tropes
DAY TWO: Fix It
DAY THREE: Canon Compliant
DAY FOUR: Scene Stealer (AUs from filmographies!)
DAY FIVE: Role Reversal
DAY SIX: Free Space
DAY SEVEN: Appreciation Day
Promotional:
Read an article on SEO
Cleaning:
Clear small bedroom
Make bed
Put up AC unit
Take out trash
take out soda boxes
Crafting:
Finish the afghan
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
At a crossroad
I'm in a quandary and need to write it out.
Why it appeals: Mudd got a year off with a broken back. Jon got a year off and hid in his room. When do I get MY year off?
Option 3:
I call a number I have and say my bylath sent me.
Why it appeals: Trucking again. All Fed-ex line haul. Maybe even dedicated.
Option 1:
I give up. I take to my bed as my great great grandmother did, and no longer worry about whether the family is a going concern.
Why it appeals: Mudd got a year off with a broken back. Jon got a year off and hid in his room. When do I get MY year off?
Pros: takes the pressure of making a living off me.
Cons: My back will be hurting before supper time. And I'll die of malnutrition if I leave it to the guys to cook. And Mudd will pester me for input on every decision anyway, no matter how many times I tell him to leave me alone.
Option 2:
Option 2:
I crawl back to the school bus and Michaels
Why it appeals: A known schedule. A steady paycheck. The gym. Writing time.
Why it appeals: A known schedule. A steady paycheck. The gym. Writing time.
Pros: Set schedule, predictable pay. Benefits. A job I know I can do. Comfortable
Cons: 6-7 day workweek. Brutal hours, 4:30 AM to 6:30 PM. Pay is enough to get by, not enough to thrive. Admitting I'm a fraud. One more failure in the list.
Option 3:
I call a number I have and say my bylath sent me.
Why it appeals: Trucking again. All Fed-ex line haul. Maybe even dedicated.
Pros: Line haul is drop and hook. One customer. Known destinations. Home several nights a week. New Equipment. growing company. Decent pay but not top money.
Cons: 42c/mile. No benefits (company is too small) Starting from square one.
Option 4:
I continue training with the place I've been and get on with them.
Why it appeals: Truck driving.
Pros: Trucker pay. 50c/mile. benefits. All drop and hook or live load. Possibility of some steady Williams Sonoma work. Paperwork is all done.
Cons: OTR. All my OTR memories are trauma memories. Terrifying Not much home time. I'm failing egregiously at the backing up part. Hitting docks is not my best skill. Company fines you every time you turn around. Possible money laundering/Russian Mob company. Chicago every three months.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Vacation Planning
I told Mudd I wanted to go to Disney for our 30th anniversary. The trip I have in mind is about $5000. That's hotel, parks and food. The flight is extra (about $250 for 2 of us). Which, for that kind of money, we could go to Maui, and take a cruise of Canada and New England. (Hmmm).
He's hesitant because Disney was never his thing and he's never been.
He likes the idea of a Washington DC trip. I like it too. That's the next trip plan. (I also want to do the full immersion Star Wars thing at Disney, but I think that's me and Gabriel for our 5th in 2020) Also Wizarding world of Harry Potter and Universal Studios as part of a Florida Vacation.
So today, I sat and planned it all. I stopped fantasizing and put it all on paper. I'd take advice from seasoned Disney travelers.
BTW: how do I get him to wear the mouse ears and the Anniversary button?
***
We'd fly in on Sunday and check in to the All Star Movie (hoping for the Fantasia side) or All Star Music (Broadway) resort.
Maybe get a steak at the World Premiere food court.
Then either over to Animal Kingdom resort for nighttime animal viewing or a Pirates and pals dessert and fireworks cruise (extra charge)
***
Monday we'd start with Hollywood Studios.
Get FastPasses for Star Tours (Star Wars galactic tour simulator), the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror (safety inspected by Mr. Cadwallader) and ToyStory Mania (which sounded delightful). Catch the first Indiana Jones Stunt show, which is usually less crowded, grab a funnel cake for breakfast, and watch the younglings who have just been through the Jedi training Academy do their show.
Take in MuppetVision 3D and Voyage of the Little Mermaid (sitting down, in the AC), and anything else we want to see. Lunch at the ABC Commissary where the BBQ rib platter sounds good or Fairfax Fare for chicken and spareribs. If we get noshy later in the day, I hear the carrot cake cookies at Writers' Stop (whoopie pies really) are terrific.
Dinner is at Hollywood and Vine which is not only a basic buffet (meat, pasta, vegetables), but also gives us preferred seating for the Fantasmic show later. Sorcerer'sApprentice!Mickey does a mixed media laser and music show.
This would be a laid back, take it slow day, with only a few (8) things on the To Do list.
***
Tuesday, we do Epcot
Get FastPasses for Soarin' (virtual hang gliding tour), Space Mission Orange or Green (Spaceflight simulator, orange pulls some Gs), and Spaceship Earth (dark ride history of communication). (all in FutureWorld)
Start in Norway, with some School Bread from the Kringla Bakery, and hop the Frozen Ever After ride while we're there and then visit the Stave Church for the Gods of the Vikings exhibit. Pause in Mexico for a view in El Espejo de los Muertos (the mirror of the Dead), where you can become a skeleton from Coco. And then on the Test track and design and drive our own race car (if the lines aren't long)
Catch our FastPasses, and maybe Living with The Land (greenhouses and hydroponics), Journey through the Imagination and the Spectaculab science show.
Then, after a showing of O Canada, we walk on to the UK and have fish and chips at Yorkshire County. Then onward to Impressions of France and a snack from Halles bakery (the ham and cheese croissant or potato leek soup look good), Morocco and Japan. The American Experience may be worth seeing. Then Italy and Germany, and the Reflections of China.
Dinner will be decided by palate: the Biergarten has a buffet, the Moroccan pavilion has an amazing looking kebab dinner, or the Rose and Crown is always good.
We'll find a comfortable place and catch the IllumiNations fireworks show.
***
Wednesday is the bum around the resort and recover day.
Beignets at Port Orleans, and riding the monorail to check out the hotels if we want.
Soup of the Moment at the Mara in Animal Kingdom Lodge and watch the animals
Swimming
Whatever afternoon activities look like fun. (check the schedule at the front desk)
Basically, a day to rest up before plunging into Thursday.
Dinner is Quick Service, either the Contempo Cafe (mmm, Italian beef sandwiches) or Captain Cook's
And maybe a Disney Movie under the stars or the Chip and Dale singalong at Fort Wilderness.
****
Thursday, we hit the Magic Kingdom (query MK survive impact)
This takes more planning since there is a LOT I want to see and do.
We have FastPasses for the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Jungle Cruise
We start with the before-opening 0800 seating at the Crystal Palace Breakfast Buffet
(I want the Breakfast Lasagna: Waffles, pancakes and poundcake with pastry cream, drenched in custard and baked like French toast, sprinkled with fruit) Stuff ourselves silly on omelets, bacon, sausage, ham, potatoes, pastries and Mickey Waffles.
Since we're in before everyone else, we can make our way to the back of the park to Fantasyland, and catch Peter Pan's flight, the Seven Dwarves mine train (optional), and the Mad Tea Party before the lines explode. Mickey's PhilharMagic Concert finishes the visit.
Then, we head to Tomorrowland for the Monsters Inc Laugh Floor show (which I hear is hilarious on a bad day and side-splitting on a good one) and a bit of shopping at Merchant of Venus. The People Mover is also an option in this area.
Across the roundabout to Liberty Square for the Haunted Mansion, the Liberty Square Riverboat and the Hall of Presidents (optional). Despite the enormous breakfast, we're probably getting peckish.
Adventureland is where we have two more fastpasses, and I want to watch the Pirate Academy show as I have a Dole Whip. The Enchanted Tiki Room show is an option.
Frontierland doesn't hold too much interest, although I want to ride the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Tom Sawyer Island is always a place to sit in the shade a bit. Dinner at Pecos Bill's for TexMex before we catch the Walt Disney Railroad back to Main Street USA. Or we can get something at Columbia Harbour House and catch the train in Fantasy Land.
There, we can catch Mickey's Royal Friendship Faire, Sorcerers of the Magic Kingdom or the Barbershop Quartet before the firework show (optional)
***
Friday is our last park day. This is for Animal Kingdom
We get fastpasses for Avatar: Flight of Passage, Kilimanjaro Safari and Dinosaur.Breakfast starts unconventionally at Eight Spoons Cafe with pulled pork mac and cheese. And while we're there, we can do the Discovery Island trails.
In Dinoland USA, we catch Dinosaur, a dark ride trip to the past, and anything else that looks interesting. This area is mostly geared to the younger set. Maybe a ride on the Primeval Whirl. It is a roller coaster and neither of us is much for that.
Pandora is across the way and we have a fastpass for Flight of Passage, which simulates riding a flying banshee creature. This sounded amazing. The Nav'i River journey is supposed to be gorgeous.
Lunch at the Satu'li canteen sounds very adventurous with a grilled beef and chicken bowl that is seasoned with garlic and served over noodles or rice.
In Africa, we have a fastpass for the Kilimanjaro Safari, and the Festival of the Lion King show looks gorgeous. The Gorilla Falls exploration trail and wildlife express train look worthwhile.
In Asia, the Yak and Yeti Chicken Egg Rolls are not to be missed, and the Anandapu Chicken Fried Rice will hold us until a late dinner at Tusker House. The self-guided walking tour Maharajah Jungle Trek looks good, as does the bird show, Flights of Wonder. Kali River Rapids will get us soaked but is an option. The Expedition Everest coaster looks too exciting.
Our last dinner is at Tusker House Buffet, with the pass for the Rivers of Light show. Peri peri salmon, roast chicken and pork, curry and tandoori and a variety of side dishes. But chocolate chip cookies and brownies in among things like passion fruit spice cake and muffins with nutella.
On Saturday, we pack up, wipe out any remaining food credits (1-2 snack credits) for breakfast: Beignets and Dole whip for breakfast! (I kid) And fly home.
Facebook posts on the subject
https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678/posts/312050326006802
https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678/posts/329980497547118
Monday, August 6, 2018
The Sweet Science of Bruising
If you enjoy this, you can get the rest as a serial at my Patreon, only $1/mo
https://patreon.com/NickRowan
The Sweet Science of Bruising
or
An Erotic Steampunk Melodrama in Three Acts
Nick Rowan
Act One
Chapter One
Lillian swallowed hard and closed the door of her house soundlessly behind her. She made her way across the backyard, heart thudding, and froze when the dog down the block barked once.
Silliness, pure silliness. She wasn't a skulking runaway to startle at every shadow. She was off on an adventure, a dangerous one, but still an adventure. Besides, she decided as she set her hand on the gate and let herself out of the yard, a man wouldn't sneak. He'd be quiet but he'd walk as if he had every right to be out and about.
And tonight, she was a man. She had cut off a good foot of her long black hair and burned it in the stove. The pants and shirt she wore, bought cheaply from a passing trader, made her feel immodest and half-dressed, as if she was going about in her underthings. The band that compressed her breasts chafed her ribs and the serape that concealed the rest of her shape made the night almost too warm. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of the band and itched abominably. The money pouch felt too heavy and she wondered if she should have brought less than five dollars.
But her driver, Elliot, had said the entry bribe was three dollars, a hefty price. The fight was illegal, bare-knuckle boxing being a violent affair, so they had to pay off the proper officials to even hold it. She had given Elliot his own three dollar entry fee, and another dollar to place a wager for her on whomever he thought likeliest to win.
No women were allowed at the illegal boxing matches. Most didn't venture abroad after dark. It was unseemly and dangerous. Abilene had been a cow town for many years, and even appointing Wild Bill Hickok as the Marshal hadn't totally salvaged it from the drovers and attendant low-lives. The streets were safer now, but decent folks stayed in. Unlike cities back east with street lamps and electric lights, the prairie nights were dark.
She stepped carefully, the fat orange moon lighting her way. It would be easy enough to step in a prairie dog hole and break her leg. That would be a fine way to be found in the morning, A lantern would have been a wise idea, but it also would have given her away.
In her long life of odd behavior, this would certainly set tongues wagging if word got out. It was no secret in Abilene, that the late Artemus Shaw had wanted a son and that he had raised his daughter to be as eccentric as he had been. He was a man ahead of his time, and because of him, her house was the most modern in town, with gaslights, indoor plumbing, including hot water, and even a telephone.
She'd heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. In Lillian's world, that proverbial feline was nine times dead, despite reviving, and she was working on the rest of the cat colony. And tonight, she would have a world of her curiosity satisfied.
Then perhaps she could invent for a while before being spurred into something new. Her insatiable curiosity drove her to read and invent and tinker. It broke up her sleep, waking her with half-formed ideas until she had taken to keeping a pencil by the bed. Let her maid, Flossie, complain of the scribbled-on sheets, she had no intention of losing ideas by waking completely or falling back into dreams.
She had improved both the kitchen water pump and the stove. She had rerouted the gaslights to something a bit less dangerous than an open flame on a tube of gas. But her prize was the soother.
Lillian was not married at the age of twenty-eight and never intended to be. Nor could she take a lover. She had begun inventing these shortly after her parents died, basing it on the drawings in an anatomy book, and did a small underground business among the ladies of Abilene. But her inventions lacked a certain verisimilitude. Gossip had it the men boxed naked. Ever the perfectionist, Lillian had taken matters into her own hands.
She made her way out of the little town and to the place where a caravan was parked, with a much larger drayage wagon near it. It was a long walk and the moccasins she had bought had thin places in the soles that didn't match her feet. She kept walking, carrying herself as tall as she could.
Tonight, she was a man, she reminded herself. She had pinned her braids tightly to the top of her head, hoping very much that the darkness and excitement would keep most men from looking too closely at her.
Men didn't really see women anyway, she'd found. For the most part, they saw dresses and bonnets, tipped their hats and went about their business. They recognized buggies or wagons or horses before they recognized a woman in a new dress or bonnet. She'd learned that years ago. At fourteen, she had worn her mother's favorite striped day dress outside on errands, and every man she passed had called her Ruth, her mother's name. Only the bank clerk had recognized her face. She planned to use this knowledge to her advantage.
A large black tent had been put up, and two big men stood at the door. Lillian held onto her bribe and marched up, like the young man she was pretending to be. She named herself Ben, after the recent president, and was prepared to say it if asked.
Ben wouldn't be afraid, even though the men were bigger than he was. He walked right in, slipped the bribe into the hand of the guard and took a place not far from the double ring of stakes and ropes that marked the fighting area.
The tent filled quickly, with white men from town, Chinese and black men from the railroad camp, rough looking men who had holed up at the abandoned fort, and Cheyenne from the local tribe. Each kept to their own group. Lillian felt small and a little scared as the men pushed in around her. They surrounded her, leaving her with no way out of the tent. She almost couldn't move. She didn't dare elbow for more space, politeness too ingrained even a decade after her mother's passing.
The interior was painted with scenes from Greek mythology, with spacers of the various Greek goddesses. They stood arrayed around the edge: regal Hera, stern and forbidding with her peacock's neck curling lewdly up her leg; martial Athena, in amazonian armor that left one breast bare; athletic Artemis, bare to the waist as she lifted her bow, the crescent moon on her brow; wanton Aphrodite, naked on her seashell. Between each, nude men competed in races, at throwing javelins, hurling discus and wrestling. The art surprised her, and set a much different tone than she had expected of such a disreputable event.
She was very near the ropes, just outside the outer rope barrier. Horse and sweat, coal and tar, tobacco and alcohol filled her nose. She couldn't sneeze, that would be disastrous. She had a squeak of a sneeze that could be mistaken for nothing other than a woman.
Someone passed her a lit cigar and she passed it to the man beside her, Mr. Jordan from the bank, she realized. He barely noticed her with his eyes fixed on the ring, but took the cigar and puffed it as he waited. A flask came her way and she rubbed the mouth with her sleeve. She meant to take a small sip, just enough to give her some courage but, by trying not to touch the opening, she wound up pouring a healthy slug into her mouth. The cheap whiskey burned all the way down, but she managed not to sputter. She passed that on to Mr. Jordan as well. He made a disgusted face and passed it to the next man.
The men kept pressing. She saw many faces she knew, but kept her own hat pulled as low as she could and trusted her shorter stature to keep her from being recognized. Just when Lillian thought she would have to sneeze or shove or do something untoward, a bell sounded.
An older man in a vest and shirtsleeves, wearing a bowler hat over his mutton-chop whiskers, came out and stood in the middle of the ring. He looked over the crowd and nodded before vanishing. Lillian thought he looked at her a little too long. Then another man, a little younger, in a frock-coat and top hat with a sinister thin mustache came out and held up his hands. The crowd quieted. Lillian tried not to giggle. He looked like a melodrama villain, like the one she had seen last year when the traveling actors passed through. She doubted he would be tying anyone to a keg of gunpowder though.
He held up his hands and the men quieted. “Gentlemen, welcome to this evening's entertainment.” His voice was sharp and accented like something back east. There was a nasal sound to it and an edge as he launched into the announcement. “Tonight for your pleasure and edification, Turlough McGuire, the Belfast Assassin, will perform pugilistic feats never before seen by human beings. His opponent, your own Mr. George McKenzie, must last one full half of an hour or knock him out to win.” The man beckoned to someone backstage. When no one emerged, he continued. “Big George McKenzie, from Great Bend, able to lift a yearling calf from the ground or wrestle a steer barehanded, tonight will take on the undefeated Belfast Assassin in a match to the humiliation.”
Lillian watched avidly. George McKenzie was a roustabout and drifter, forever in trouble in the town. The big blond man would work for a month, or two months, on a ranch, and then come into town, drink and gamble away his earnings, get into a fight, spend a week in the jail and start it all over. It was said no woman was safe when he was around and that he stole chickens when no one was watching the hen house.
George came out, wearing nothing whatsoever. Lillian managed to keep her mouth from hanging open. Her own near-nakedness in the men's clothing was uncomfortable and odd. His was just shocking. She reminded herself this was why she had come tonight. He was a tall man, with sturdy muscles from much hard work, but a soft area around his middle. A dusting of chest hair thickened on his belly to a deep golden triangle.
She stared at her first sight of a man's penis. It hung, soft-looking, like a tube the size of a couple fingers, between his legs. Darker shapes moved behind it. She studied it, comparing it with her own devices at home, invented for the prevention of nervous hysteria. Her designs needed some serious revisions. She hoped to market the single most realistic, most effective device ever made for gentle ladies.
The men around the ring applauded. She wondered why he was naked.
“As we stand within this temple of sport, gentlemen, you will see on the walls, depictions of the Olympics, in which the competitors were always naked, displaying themselves in full view of their gods. And also to keep any women from slipping in on the sly.” An appropriate laugh met this. There could be no doubt that everyone in the ring was very male.
“Our man, Turlough, has fought fifty different men inside these ropes. And he has taken down every one of them. He puts them on the ground, and, like the Spartans of old, he fucks them into the dirt. Because that is his prize!”
Big George McKenzie looked a little worried at that statement, although he had to have known the stakes when he had signed on for the fight. Lillian watched curiously to see what the visitor would look like, too startled to even be horrified at the crude words.
“Straight from the Auld Sod, born in a bog and weaned on poteen, sent to America for killing a man with one blow of his mighty fist, Turlough, the Belfast Assassin!”
Another man, leaner, more scarred, but just as naked as George, came out from the curtains, followed by the man with the mutton-chops. He looked around the tent and his eyes settled on her. His scarred face crinkled and she saw a flash of white in amid the small, closely trimmed beard he wore. He was smiling, smiling at her. No, that was ridiculous, nobody knew she was a woman. She met his gaze and gave him a defiant sneer. When his attention turned, she stole a look down and saw the rather smaller cock between his legs was starting to grow. As she watched, it got noticeably longer and rather thicker.
He smiled, letting it turn vicious, his mustache and beard making it seem broader, and his badly scarred face—his cheeks shaved to show it better—wrinkling in odd ways. It went to a complete grimace, his crooked, sharp-looking teeth bared at the crowd in defiance, as if daring them to comment on his nakedness, on his tastes. He coupled it with a growl. A couple of the men stepped back from the ropes. Lillian kept looking, memorizing the relative size and shape. He gave her a wink and stepped to greet his opponent.
The men shook hands and went to their corners. The crowd got very quiet and the growing tension in the tent made Lillian's neck hair stand up. The fight was about to start. She wondered what was going to happen. Would one of them be hurt? Would Turlough really... She couldn't even think the word. The wait was interminable and her adventurous research was almost more excitement than she could bear. The man with the mutton chops hit a bell with a hammer and the fight was on.
Big George came out of his corner, almost rushing like a bull, ready to overwhelm his opponent with speed and weight. Turlough sidestepped him and Lillian heard a meaty thump as he punched George in the belly.
George gasped for air and landed one glancing blow on the side of Turlough's face, barely enough to turn the skin red. Turlough stayed in close and planted three more fists into George's belly in quick succession.
Lillian stood shocked at the violence and speed. All she had heard and read led her to believe boxing was a slow sport, in which the fighters circled a great deal more than they punched, for fear of breaking their hands. She thought about it. The blows were reasonable, going where Turlough would not hurt his hands, but where he would do damage to George.
The big local man landed in the dirt, wheezing.
“Get up, ya spawn of an English whore,” Turlough bellowed at him, aiming a kick at his shins. “Or go face down, just as your whore-mother undoubtedly caught you.”
George struggled back to his feet and Lillian could see he was looking at the way Turlough's cock had gotten harder with each punch and insult. The thing stood proud and dark now, looking like a weapon in itself. Thick and long, it was no wonder George didn't want it near him. Lillian wondered for a moment how they could possibly consummate the prize and then decided to simply watch and learn.
The fight didn't last much longer. Big George, winded from Turlough's early blows, stood and wobbled to the growing vocal disgust of the crowd. He got his defense up, but Turlough went through it easily, landing a hard haymaker to George's jaw. George spun around and went down on his face in the dirt. The men around Lillian jeered and shouted crudities into the ring. She felt her face flaming under the brim of the hat at their language.
“Aww, little boy never saw a man get fucked, did he?” asked the man who had passed her the bottle earlier.
“Maybe the pretty boy wants a taste of that mighty prick himself,” jeered Mr. Jordan.
Lillian's face flamed again, but she reminded herself that Ben would say nothing. He would stand. She stiffened her spine and watched as Turlough made a show of shoving George's legs apart and spitting on his rear. Once, twice and three times. The pure contempt on his face made Lillian shudder. George fought, squirming and kicking, not wanting to take what was coming.
Turlough grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the ground. “Welching on the deal, you great lummox. You lost and now you won't pay out your side of the bet?”
Then he drove his cock into George with a war-cry. George screamed. Turlough was nothing resembling gentle with him, and George yelled clear through, pounding on the dirt. He swung an arm back at Turlough, who caught it and shoved it up into the middle of his back.
Lillian decided that if this was what people did with each other bed, she wanted no part of it. She would stay with her devices. Much less chance of harm or pregnancy with things she controlled.
“Hold still, ya gob-shite.” Turlough seized the back of George's neck and held him still. He slammed his hips against the man's buttocks, making George howl. “A better fuck than your English mother,” Turlough announced.
He pulled away from George, and stood up. He walked the perimeter of the ring, his cock still hard and red, smeared with a bit of blood. He held his fists, also smeared with George McKenzie's blood, cocked and ready.
“Anyone dare to come in and face me?” he dared the crowd, looking into their faces and offering. He struck a pose in a few feet down from Lillian. “Come on, you lily-livered, pox-rotted bastards. Anyone who can stand in here for half an hour gets five hundred dollars, cash money.”
No one volunteered to duck under the ropes. Lillian felt an odd urge to do so rising in her. She squelched it with firm logic. Of course the deal was a fake. An outfit like this wouldn't carry that much money with them. Too, Big George couldn't fight this man. And she knew nothing of fighting at all. Still, thoughts of ducking in, punching him very scientifically—belly, groin, temple and ear, just as she had once seen in a drawing of vulnerable points in a book—and knocking him down amused her for a moment.
“But you're a bunch of water-hearted weaklings, not fit to try drinking with a real Irishman, never you mind fighting with one.” He called out the bigger men in the crowd. But when he reached Lillian, he paused and dropped the fists. “Here's a little boy come to see the fights. I wouldn't be asking you into the ring, lad, oh no. But I've a fine bunk in the wagon that needs filling.”
The men around her laughed and Mr. Jordan's hand shoved in the small of her back, slamming her into the ropes. She bit down on the gasp and made no sound. Instead, she looked up at The Belfast Assassin with as much fury as she could put in her eyes and her jaw set firm.
She elbowed back against Mr. Jordan, giving herself some breathing room, shook off and stood back. She gave Turlough a little incline of her head.
“He's brave enough. Come back when you've grown, son, and we'll give it a try.” Turlough swung a very slow, playful punch at her jaw and Lillian met it. He didn't hurt her, his hand barely grazed her chin. “Brave lad,” Turlough repeated and moved along, calling out the bigger men to come and fight him for real money.
His cock still hadn't gone down and he thrust his hips obscenely at William Tucker, who owned the livery stable. “Still got a few good blows left in me,” Turlough yelled, to the crowd's applause.
Finally, the mutton-chopped man caught Turlough's arm and tugged him out of the tent. Big George lay on the floor of the ring, moving gingerly, as if every part of his body hurt and had gone weak.
The announcer came back out. “Thank you gentlemen for coming to this evening's entertainment. We hope to see you tomorrow night.”
The men slipped out of the tent in ones and twos. Lillian waited until she could move freely and then stalked out into the night. She headed back for town alone, keeping well away from the few groups of men headed that direction. She grumbled at herself for not thinking to bring a lantern along. She took it carefully, wary of hunting snakes. Not even her best walking boots would protect her from snakebite, and if she made it the doctor's door, she would likely lose the leg at best. She walked slowly, not wanting to break her ankle in a prairie dog hole or cut herself on a sharp rock.
Her own dooryard looked better than anything she'd ever seen. Her heart pumped too fast and her breath caught at the memory of the match.
Lillian let herself in and hurried up the steps. Flossie would be in first thing tomorrow. Everything had to be in order by then. She hid the clothing in a dark closet corner whose cobwebs said Flossie often overlooked it. She washed her hands and face, taking care not to get too much dirt on the towel. Then she brushed out her hair.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, lit only by the streaming silver moonlight. Her black hair hung against her breasts, which curved pale as alabaster, pale as she had always wished they were. She cupped them with a gentle squeeze that sent sparks through her.
The men had been flat there, and she wondered what the boxer's chest would feel like under her hand. She liked the weight of her breasts in her hands. She liked the feel of her skin when she stroked it. She wondered if a man would be so nice to touch.
Turlough had been badly scarred. She wanted to touch the scars and wondered if he would let her. She imagined how the ridges would feel under her fingers. She squeezed her breasts again, tapping the stiffening nipples, pushing them in. She imagined the big, blood-smeared hand that had tapped her jaw doing this, the rough fingers pressing her nipples in until she felt all damp and swollen in her secret parts.
Lillian knew the words men called those parts, but all of them sounded so crude. She had held a hand-mirror between her legs more than once, looking to see what there was, in order to get her inventions right and properly placed. The look of it, pink and soft, wasn't awful, but she preferred to imagine it as a red velvet settee instead. It felt sweetly velvet-like under her fingers. And she imagined it would quite comfortable to any male occupant she allowed.
She preferred the devices. They could move and aid her fingers. She had heard hushed whispers among the ladies in the sewing circles and at tea about how some young man or another had ruined his health abusing himself for mere idle pleasure. On the other hand, the handsome young doctor who had just moved to town did an excellent trade in the prevention of nervous hysteria.
Women out here on the prairie were sterner stuff than their citified sisters back east. But some of the wealthier ones, the ones who didn't work all day and half the night, fancied themselves as delicate as any city flower. The banker's wife, Jessamyn, had fainting fits. Lillian suspected her corset was simply laced too tightly. And Margaret, whose husband owned the saloon, was given to pacing along the balcony of the house at all hours of the night with insomnia. Lillian unlocked the lowest drawer of her dresser, the one Flossie was not allowed into.
There would be no insomnia for her, no fainting or loss of appetite. She wasn't sure she believed in hysteria, but she did like her device.
Lillian climbed into the bed with her toy. She wound it up. She'd use the more elaborate one that was powered by the gaslights later. Gaslight was slowly catching on here, and the supply was chancy. Clockwork was much more reliable.
She wound the device and let it vibrate in her hand for a second before she laid it between her legs. It slid right in with a gentle push, since she was already wet from thinking about Turlough.
She imagined the big man above her, thrusting into her as he had pounded into Big George. Maybe he would be more gentle with a lady. Lillian shoved the vibrator in hard and fast. She didn't want to bleed but she didn't want him to be gentle either. She wanted him to fuck her.
She came as she thought the word and her eyes flew open. She tapped the hot little button at the front that usually sent her right off and spasmed again, her channel clutching at the vibrator. It kept buzzing and she gave another thrust of it and screamed.
Lillian lay panting amid the covers. She had never managed three so quickly. She hadn't even had to wind the vibrator twice. Twice was usually the limit on the first winding. Sometimes she had trouble even making one.
She tucked the toy under her pillow and nestled down under the feather bed. Turlough's scarred face giving her a smile and calling her brave was the last thing she saw behind her eyes before sleep took her.
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The Sweet Science of Bruising
or
An Erotic Steampunk Melodrama in Three Acts
Nick Rowan
Act One
Chapter One
Lillian swallowed hard and closed the door of her house soundlessly behind her. She made her way across the backyard, heart thudding, and froze when the dog down the block barked once.
Silliness, pure silliness. She wasn't a skulking runaway to startle at every shadow. She was off on an adventure, a dangerous one, but still an adventure. Besides, she decided as she set her hand on the gate and let herself out of the yard, a man wouldn't sneak. He'd be quiet but he'd walk as if he had every right to be out and about.
And tonight, she was a man. She had cut off a good foot of her long black hair and burned it in the stove. The pants and shirt she wore, bought cheaply from a passing trader, made her feel immodest and half-dressed, as if she was going about in her underthings. The band that compressed her breasts chafed her ribs and the serape that concealed the rest of her shape made the night almost too warm. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of the band and itched abominably. The money pouch felt too heavy and she wondered if she should have brought less than five dollars.
But her driver, Elliot, had said the entry bribe was three dollars, a hefty price. The fight was illegal, bare-knuckle boxing being a violent affair, so they had to pay off the proper officials to even hold it. She had given Elliot his own three dollar entry fee, and another dollar to place a wager for her on whomever he thought likeliest to win.
No women were allowed at the illegal boxing matches. Most didn't venture abroad after dark. It was unseemly and dangerous. Abilene had been a cow town for many years, and even appointing Wild Bill Hickok as the Marshal hadn't totally salvaged it from the drovers and attendant low-lives. The streets were safer now, but decent folks stayed in. Unlike cities back east with street lamps and electric lights, the prairie nights were dark.
She stepped carefully, the fat orange moon lighting her way. It would be easy enough to step in a prairie dog hole and break her leg. That would be a fine way to be found in the morning, A lantern would have been a wise idea, but it also would have given her away.
In her long life of odd behavior, this would certainly set tongues wagging if word got out. It was no secret in Abilene, that the late Artemus Shaw had wanted a son and that he had raised his daughter to be as eccentric as he had been. He was a man ahead of his time, and because of him, her house was the most modern in town, with gaslights, indoor plumbing, including hot water, and even a telephone.
She'd heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. In Lillian's world, that proverbial feline was nine times dead, despite reviving, and she was working on the rest of the cat colony. And tonight, she would have a world of her curiosity satisfied.
Then perhaps she could invent for a while before being spurred into something new. Her insatiable curiosity drove her to read and invent and tinker. It broke up her sleep, waking her with half-formed ideas until she had taken to keeping a pencil by the bed. Let her maid, Flossie, complain of the scribbled-on sheets, she had no intention of losing ideas by waking completely or falling back into dreams.
She had improved both the kitchen water pump and the stove. She had rerouted the gaslights to something a bit less dangerous than an open flame on a tube of gas. But her prize was the soother.
Lillian was not married at the age of twenty-eight and never intended to be. Nor could she take a lover. She had begun inventing these shortly after her parents died, basing it on the drawings in an anatomy book, and did a small underground business among the ladies of Abilene. But her inventions lacked a certain verisimilitude. Gossip had it the men boxed naked. Ever the perfectionist, Lillian had taken matters into her own hands.
She made her way out of the little town and to the place where a caravan was parked, with a much larger drayage wagon near it. It was a long walk and the moccasins she had bought had thin places in the soles that didn't match her feet. She kept walking, carrying herself as tall as she could.
Tonight, she was a man, she reminded herself. She had pinned her braids tightly to the top of her head, hoping very much that the darkness and excitement would keep most men from looking too closely at her.
Men didn't really see women anyway, she'd found. For the most part, they saw dresses and bonnets, tipped their hats and went about their business. They recognized buggies or wagons or horses before they recognized a woman in a new dress or bonnet. She'd learned that years ago. At fourteen, she had worn her mother's favorite striped day dress outside on errands, and every man she passed had called her Ruth, her mother's name. Only the bank clerk had recognized her face. She planned to use this knowledge to her advantage.
A large black tent had been put up, and two big men stood at the door. Lillian held onto her bribe and marched up, like the young man she was pretending to be. She named herself Ben, after the recent president, and was prepared to say it if asked.
Ben wouldn't be afraid, even though the men were bigger than he was. He walked right in, slipped the bribe into the hand of the guard and took a place not far from the double ring of stakes and ropes that marked the fighting area.
The tent filled quickly, with white men from town, Chinese and black men from the railroad camp, rough looking men who had holed up at the abandoned fort, and Cheyenne from the local tribe. Each kept to their own group. Lillian felt small and a little scared as the men pushed in around her. They surrounded her, leaving her with no way out of the tent. She almost couldn't move. She didn't dare elbow for more space, politeness too ingrained even a decade after her mother's passing.
The interior was painted with scenes from Greek mythology, with spacers of the various Greek goddesses. They stood arrayed around the edge: regal Hera, stern and forbidding with her peacock's neck curling lewdly up her leg; martial Athena, in amazonian armor that left one breast bare; athletic Artemis, bare to the waist as she lifted her bow, the crescent moon on her brow; wanton Aphrodite, naked on her seashell. Between each, nude men competed in races, at throwing javelins, hurling discus and wrestling. The art surprised her, and set a much different tone than she had expected of such a disreputable event.
She was very near the ropes, just outside the outer rope barrier. Horse and sweat, coal and tar, tobacco and alcohol filled her nose. She couldn't sneeze, that would be disastrous. She had a squeak of a sneeze that could be mistaken for nothing other than a woman.
Someone passed her a lit cigar and she passed it to the man beside her, Mr. Jordan from the bank, she realized. He barely noticed her with his eyes fixed on the ring, but took the cigar and puffed it as he waited. A flask came her way and she rubbed the mouth with her sleeve. She meant to take a small sip, just enough to give her some courage but, by trying not to touch the opening, she wound up pouring a healthy slug into her mouth. The cheap whiskey burned all the way down, but she managed not to sputter. She passed that on to Mr. Jordan as well. He made a disgusted face and passed it to the next man.
The men kept pressing. She saw many faces she knew, but kept her own hat pulled as low as she could and trusted her shorter stature to keep her from being recognized. Just when Lillian thought she would have to sneeze or shove or do something untoward, a bell sounded.
An older man in a vest and shirtsleeves, wearing a bowler hat over his mutton-chop whiskers, came out and stood in the middle of the ring. He looked over the crowd and nodded before vanishing. Lillian thought he looked at her a little too long. Then another man, a little younger, in a frock-coat and top hat with a sinister thin mustache came out and held up his hands. The crowd quieted. Lillian tried not to giggle. He looked like a melodrama villain, like the one she had seen last year when the traveling actors passed through. She doubted he would be tying anyone to a keg of gunpowder though.
He held up his hands and the men quieted. “Gentlemen, welcome to this evening's entertainment.” His voice was sharp and accented like something back east. There was a nasal sound to it and an edge as he launched into the announcement. “Tonight for your pleasure and edification, Turlough McGuire, the Belfast Assassin, will perform pugilistic feats never before seen by human beings. His opponent, your own Mr. George McKenzie, must last one full half of an hour or knock him out to win.” The man beckoned to someone backstage. When no one emerged, he continued. “Big George McKenzie, from Great Bend, able to lift a yearling calf from the ground or wrestle a steer barehanded, tonight will take on the undefeated Belfast Assassin in a match to the humiliation.”
Lillian watched avidly. George McKenzie was a roustabout and drifter, forever in trouble in the town. The big blond man would work for a month, or two months, on a ranch, and then come into town, drink and gamble away his earnings, get into a fight, spend a week in the jail and start it all over. It was said no woman was safe when he was around and that he stole chickens when no one was watching the hen house.
George came out, wearing nothing whatsoever. Lillian managed to keep her mouth from hanging open. Her own near-nakedness in the men's clothing was uncomfortable and odd. His was just shocking. She reminded herself this was why she had come tonight. He was a tall man, with sturdy muscles from much hard work, but a soft area around his middle. A dusting of chest hair thickened on his belly to a deep golden triangle.
She stared at her first sight of a man's penis. It hung, soft-looking, like a tube the size of a couple fingers, between his legs. Darker shapes moved behind it. She studied it, comparing it with her own devices at home, invented for the prevention of nervous hysteria. Her designs needed some serious revisions. She hoped to market the single most realistic, most effective device ever made for gentle ladies.
The men around the ring applauded. She wondered why he was naked.
“As we stand within this temple of sport, gentlemen, you will see on the walls, depictions of the Olympics, in which the competitors were always naked, displaying themselves in full view of their gods. And also to keep any women from slipping in on the sly.” An appropriate laugh met this. There could be no doubt that everyone in the ring was very male.
“Our man, Turlough, has fought fifty different men inside these ropes. And he has taken down every one of them. He puts them on the ground, and, like the Spartans of old, he fucks them into the dirt. Because that is his prize!”
Big George McKenzie looked a little worried at that statement, although he had to have known the stakes when he had signed on for the fight. Lillian watched curiously to see what the visitor would look like, too startled to even be horrified at the crude words.
“Straight from the Auld Sod, born in a bog and weaned on poteen, sent to America for killing a man with one blow of his mighty fist, Turlough, the Belfast Assassin!”
Another man, leaner, more scarred, but just as naked as George, came out from the curtains, followed by the man with the mutton-chops. He looked around the tent and his eyes settled on her. His scarred face crinkled and she saw a flash of white in amid the small, closely trimmed beard he wore. He was smiling, smiling at her. No, that was ridiculous, nobody knew she was a woman. She met his gaze and gave him a defiant sneer. When his attention turned, she stole a look down and saw the rather smaller cock between his legs was starting to grow. As she watched, it got noticeably longer and rather thicker.
He smiled, letting it turn vicious, his mustache and beard making it seem broader, and his badly scarred face—his cheeks shaved to show it better—wrinkling in odd ways. It went to a complete grimace, his crooked, sharp-looking teeth bared at the crowd in defiance, as if daring them to comment on his nakedness, on his tastes. He coupled it with a growl. A couple of the men stepped back from the ropes. Lillian kept looking, memorizing the relative size and shape. He gave her a wink and stepped to greet his opponent.
The men shook hands and went to their corners. The crowd got very quiet and the growing tension in the tent made Lillian's neck hair stand up. The fight was about to start. She wondered what was going to happen. Would one of them be hurt? Would Turlough really... She couldn't even think the word. The wait was interminable and her adventurous research was almost more excitement than she could bear. The man with the mutton chops hit a bell with a hammer and the fight was on.
Big George came out of his corner, almost rushing like a bull, ready to overwhelm his opponent with speed and weight. Turlough sidestepped him and Lillian heard a meaty thump as he punched George in the belly.
George gasped for air and landed one glancing blow on the side of Turlough's face, barely enough to turn the skin red. Turlough stayed in close and planted three more fists into George's belly in quick succession.
Lillian stood shocked at the violence and speed. All she had heard and read led her to believe boxing was a slow sport, in which the fighters circled a great deal more than they punched, for fear of breaking their hands. She thought about it. The blows were reasonable, going where Turlough would not hurt his hands, but where he would do damage to George.
The big local man landed in the dirt, wheezing.
“Get up, ya spawn of an English whore,” Turlough bellowed at him, aiming a kick at his shins. “Or go face down, just as your whore-mother undoubtedly caught you.”
George struggled back to his feet and Lillian could see he was looking at the way Turlough's cock had gotten harder with each punch and insult. The thing stood proud and dark now, looking like a weapon in itself. Thick and long, it was no wonder George didn't want it near him. Lillian wondered for a moment how they could possibly consummate the prize and then decided to simply watch and learn.
The fight didn't last much longer. Big George, winded from Turlough's early blows, stood and wobbled to the growing vocal disgust of the crowd. He got his defense up, but Turlough went through it easily, landing a hard haymaker to George's jaw. George spun around and went down on his face in the dirt. The men around Lillian jeered and shouted crudities into the ring. She felt her face flaming under the brim of the hat at their language.
“Aww, little boy never saw a man get fucked, did he?” asked the man who had passed her the bottle earlier.
“Maybe the pretty boy wants a taste of that mighty prick himself,” jeered Mr. Jordan.
Lillian's face flamed again, but she reminded herself that Ben would say nothing. He would stand. She stiffened her spine and watched as Turlough made a show of shoving George's legs apart and spitting on his rear. Once, twice and three times. The pure contempt on his face made Lillian shudder. George fought, squirming and kicking, not wanting to take what was coming.
Turlough grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the ground. “Welching on the deal, you great lummox. You lost and now you won't pay out your side of the bet?”
Then he drove his cock into George with a war-cry. George screamed. Turlough was nothing resembling gentle with him, and George yelled clear through, pounding on the dirt. He swung an arm back at Turlough, who caught it and shoved it up into the middle of his back.
Lillian decided that if this was what people did with each other bed, she wanted no part of it. She would stay with her devices. Much less chance of harm or pregnancy with things she controlled.
“Hold still, ya gob-shite.” Turlough seized the back of George's neck and held him still. He slammed his hips against the man's buttocks, making George howl. “A better fuck than your English mother,” Turlough announced.
He pulled away from George, and stood up. He walked the perimeter of the ring, his cock still hard and red, smeared with a bit of blood. He held his fists, also smeared with George McKenzie's blood, cocked and ready.
“Anyone dare to come in and face me?” he dared the crowd, looking into their faces and offering. He struck a pose in a few feet down from Lillian. “Come on, you lily-livered, pox-rotted bastards. Anyone who can stand in here for half an hour gets five hundred dollars, cash money.”
No one volunteered to duck under the ropes. Lillian felt an odd urge to do so rising in her. She squelched it with firm logic. Of course the deal was a fake. An outfit like this wouldn't carry that much money with them. Too, Big George couldn't fight this man. And she knew nothing of fighting at all. Still, thoughts of ducking in, punching him very scientifically—belly, groin, temple and ear, just as she had once seen in a drawing of vulnerable points in a book—and knocking him down amused her for a moment.
“But you're a bunch of water-hearted weaklings, not fit to try drinking with a real Irishman, never you mind fighting with one.” He called out the bigger men in the crowd. But when he reached Lillian, he paused and dropped the fists. “Here's a little boy come to see the fights. I wouldn't be asking you into the ring, lad, oh no. But I've a fine bunk in the wagon that needs filling.”
The men around her laughed and Mr. Jordan's hand shoved in the small of her back, slamming her into the ropes. She bit down on the gasp and made no sound. Instead, she looked up at The Belfast Assassin with as much fury as she could put in her eyes and her jaw set firm.
She elbowed back against Mr. Jordan, giving herself some breathing room, shook off and stood back. She gave Turlough a little incline of her head.
“He's brave enough. Come back when you've grown, son, and we'll give it a try.” Turlough swung a very slow, playful punch at her jaw and Lillian met it. He didn't hurt her, his hand barely grazed her chin. “Brave lad,” Turlough repeated and moved along, calling out the bigger men to come and fight him for real money.
His cock still hadn't gone down and he thrust his hips obscenely at William Tucker, who owned the livery stable. “Still got a few good blows left in me,” Turlough yelled, to the crowd's applause.
Finally, the mutton-chopped man caught Turlough's arm and tugged him out of the tent. Big George lay on the floor of the ring, moving gingerly, as if every part of his body hurt and had gone weak.
The announcer came back out. “Thank you gentlemen for coming to this evening's entertainment. We hope to see you tomorrow night.”
The men slipped out of the tent in ones and twos. Lillian waited until she could move freely and then stalked out into the night. She headed back for town alone, keeping well away from the few groups of men headed that direction. She grumbled at herself for not thinking to bring a lantern along. She took it carefully, wary of hunting snakes. Not even her best walking boots would protect her from snakebite, and if she made it the doctor's door, she would likely lose the leg at best. She walked slowly, not wanting to break her ankle in a prairie dog hole or cut herself on a sharp rock.
Her own dooryard looked better than anything she'd ever seen. Her heart pumped too fast and her breath caught at the memory of the match.
Lillian let herself in and hurried up the steps. Flossie would be in first thing tomorrow. Everything had to be in order by then. She hid the clothing in a dark closet corner whose cobwebs said Flossie often overlooked it. She washed her hands and face, taking care not to get too much dirt on the towel. Then she brushed out her hair.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, lit only by the streaming silver moonlight. Her black hair hung against her breasts, which curved pale as alabaster, pale as she had always wished they were. She cupped them with a gentle squeeze that sent sparks through her.
The men had been flat there, and she wondered what the boxer's chest would feel like under her hand. She liked the weight of her breasts in her hands. She liked the feel of her skin when she stroked it. She wondered if a man would be so nice to touch.
Turlough had been badly scarred. She wanted to touch the scars and wondered if he would let her. She imagined how the ridges would feel under her fingers. She squeezed her breasts again, tapping the stiffening nipples, pushing them in. She imagined the big, blood-smeared hand that had tapped her jaw doing this, the rough fingers pressing her nipples in until she felt all damp and swollen in her secret parts.
Lillian knew the words men called those parts, but all of them sounded so crude. She had held a hand-mirror between her legs more than once, looking to see what there was, in order to get her inventions right and properly placed. The look of it, pink and soft, wasn't awful, but she preferred to imagine it as a red velvet settee instead. It felt sweetly velvet-like under her fingers. And she imagined it would quite comfortable to any male occupant she allowed.
She preferred the devices. They could move and aid her fingers. She had heard hushed whispers among the ladies in the sewing circles and at tea about how some young man or another had ruined his health abusing himself for mere idle pleasure. On the other hand, the handsome young doctor who had just moved to town did an excellent trade in the prevention of nervous hysteria.
Women out here on the prairie were sterner stuff than their citified sisters back east. But some of the wealthier ones, the ones who didn't work all day and half the night, fancied themselves as delicate as any city flower. The banker's wife, Jessamyn, had fainting fits. Lillian suspected her corset was simply laced too tightly. And Margaret, whose husband owned the saloon, was given to pacing along the balcony of the house at all hours of the night with insomnia. Lillian unlocked the lowest drawer of her dresser, the one Flossie was not allowed into.
There would be no insomnia for her, no fainting or loss of appetite. She wasn't sure she believed in hysteria, but she did like her device.
Lillian climbed into the bed with her toy. She wound it up. She'd use the more elaborate one that was powered by the gaslights later. Gaslight was slowly catching on here, and the supply was chancy. Clockwork was much more reliable.
She wound the device and let it vibrate in her hand for a second before she laid it between her legs. It slid right in with a gentle push, since she was already wet from thinking about Turlough.
She imagined the big man above her, thrusting into her as he had pounded into Big George. Maybe he would be more gentle with a lady. Lillian shoved the vibrator in hard and fast. She didn't want to bleed but she didn't want him to be gentle either. She wanted him to fuck her.
She came as she thought the word and her eyes flew open. She tapped the hot little button at the front that usually sent her right off and spasmed again, her channel clutching at the vibrator. It kept buzzing and she gave another thrust of it and screamed.
Lillian lay panting amid the covers. She had never managed three so quickly. She hadn't even had to wind the vibrator twice. Twice was usually the limit on the first winding. Sometimes she had trouble even making one.
She tucked the toy under her pillow and nestled down under the feather bed. Turlough's scarred face giving her a smile and calling her brave was the last thing she saw behind her eyes before sleep took her.
Remember, subscribe to the rest at Patreon
https://patreon.com/NickRowan
Sunday, August 5, 2018
Overheard in my life
1) I was working behind the register yesterday and waited on a pair of nuns, Benedictine in full white habit.
They got their things and went on toward the doors. The girl behind them tried putting her stuff on the counter, dropped some of it and let out with, "oh shit." And then looked after the departing nuns and corrected herself. I just laughed and said "It always slips out at the wrongest possible time."
2) Oli and I had gone school shopping. As we left WalMart, I stopped and stared. "Why is the Redbox blue?" I looked at Oli. "Did you land us in the wrong timeline again?" (the poor guy trying to rent a redbox movie was holding in laughter so hard his shoulders shook)
They got their things and went on toward the doors. The girl behind them tried putting her stuff on the counter, dropped some of it and let out with, "oh shit." And then looked after the departing nuns and corrected herself. I just laughed and said "It always slips out at the wrongest possible time."
2) Oli and I had gone school shopping. As we left WalMart, I stopped and stared. "Why is the Redbox blue?" I looked at Oli. "Did you land us in the wrong timeline again?" (the poor guy trying to rent a redbox movie was holding in laughter so hard his shoulders shook)
[Writing] On naming characers
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
We writers face this conundrum with our books. Do we go simple and lose our characters' individuality in John and Mary? Do we go fancy and end up afloat in a sea of Lucians and Adriens?
When I write real world settings, I figure out what year my characters were born. Then I check the most popular baby names that year. And usually use something from the top 50. Hence guys in a contemporary will be Chris or Mike. Guys in a near future (2050 or so) might be Liam and Ethan. Guys in a dieselpunk would be George and Frank and Henry. Women's names are more volatile, changing every year. Men's are fairly steady. Mudd likes to joke that in Renaissance England every Tom, Dick and Harry was named John. Richard, Thomas, Henry and John accounted for over 50% of male names at that time.
If you're going for diversity, keep an eye on when the group started reclaiming traditional names. Many tried blending in for the first couple generations. In Kornbluth's "The Mind Worm,"a Hispanic girl tells her mother to not use her name, Dolores, but call her Dolly instead. Mama is incensed.
In the 1970s, Roots and the Black Panthers sparked the Back to Africa Movement. My own great-grandfather was a Ernest, not a Liam or Sean or Brian.
When creating SF names, too many authors go for a lack of vowels and random punctuation. Think about your worlds. Think about their languages. Don't just make alphabet soup.
Don't go for the cutesy name. Nobody took Videodrome seriously because the bad guy was named Brian O'blivion. Sounds like a Bond villain. Ian Fleming is about the only person who can get away with names like Odd Job and Bambi&Thumper or Any of the others.
OTOH, sometimes a shoutout to a classic is fun, like Dr. Saperstein in In the Mouth of Madness. Saperstein was Rosemary's satanic obstetrician in Rosemary's Baby, and here he's a sadistic psychologist who plays easy listening at his imprisoned charges.
And keep an eye on naming trends with sibling groups. Alphabetical can work, if you don't make it a plot point like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers but if you go with a group name theme, be careful. Julian May named the Remillard boys Matthieu, Marc, Luc and Jon. (the four evangelists) I did this as well. Rafael, Donato, Michelino and Leo run the Men's Club in the Eight Thrones series.
In short, not everyone is going to be a Bob or a Mike. (however if they're 50ish in a contemporary, they are ALL Mike or Chris or Matt) You need some fun names here and there. But you're not Charles Dickens, so be sensible. Gabriel or Ishmael or Adlai work fine. You don't need to go with Sharpat or Shitrai or even Ebenezer.
(Fun fact, all six of those are Biblical names)
Monday, July 30, 2018
[Trans] The Mushy Middle
My daughter still needs her mom. She has several dads. But a mom, she says, I only get one of those and I need her. I point out her big sister is a better feminine role model. She is unhappy with that idea.
My future grandkids deserve a badass, butch, diesel-driving, motorcycle-riding, tattooed grandma who knits and bakes, teaches them anything they want to know and stands like the mountain between them and trouble. The idea of not being a grandma to any grandkids causes me actual pain.
My husband needs his spouse. He needs me as I always have been, the biggest, baddest, most macho person in the room, but with boobs. In 32 years of sleeping together, the weight of his arm has slightly dislocated two of my ribs. Because we've slept in the same position since 1986. He needs me to not make him feel gay. He's president of PFLAG, but is not gay himself.
I need to not traumatize my family any more than I already have and do.
So, the mushy middle.
Bisexuality is the mushy middle of sexual orientation.
We're too straight to be gay, too gay to be straight. We can't give up one entirely. I like kissing girls. I like kissing boys. I like sex with men, women and every physical configuration in-between.
Gays think we're sell-outs, hiding behind our straight partner and staying closeted. I've done that.
Straights think we're gay and faking the attraction to them.
Gender-fluid/queer is the mushy middle of gender performance.
It's fine for a woman to wear all men's clothing (My bra and jeans are the only articles, because men's jeans don't fit my body) She's upwardly aspirational in her dressing.
But when you say "I'm really not identifying as either right now, somewhere twixt will and will not," people don't get it. I'm not sure I get it.
I continue being Nick online, in my Real Life and for writing. In the working world, I retain my old name and keep presenting female but not feminine. The boobs kinda say "hey, chick!" no matter what else I do. (I need a binder for public appearances)
Part of me wants desperately to be a tattooed, motor-cycle riding, diesel-driving, badass grandma. Part of me is still "I'm Han fucking Solo and what're you gonna do about it?" These parts are not mutually exclusive.
My future grandkids deserve a badass, butch, diesel-driving, motorcycle-riding, tattooed grandma who knits and bakes, teaches them anything they want to know and stands like the mountain between them and trouble. The idea of not being a grandma to any grandkids causes me actual pain.
My husband needs his spouse. He needs me as I always have been, the biggest, baddest, most macho person in the room, but with boobs. In 32 years of sleeping together, the weight of his arm has slightly dislocated two of my ribs. Because we've slept in the same position since 1986. He needs me to not make him feel gay. He's president of PFLAG, but is not gay himself.
I need to not traumatize my family any more than I already have and do.
So, the mushy middle.
Bisexuality is the mushy middle of sexual orientation.
We're too straight to be gay, too gay to be straight. We can't give up one entirely. I like kissing girls. I like kissing boys. I like sex with men, women and every physical configuration in-between.
Gays think we're sell-outs, hiding behind our straight partner and staying closeted. I've done that.
Straights think we're gay and faking the attraction to them.
Gender-fluid/queer is the mushy middle of gender performance.
It's fine for a woman to wear all men's clothing (My bra and jeans are the only articles, because men's jeans don't fit my body) She's upwardly aspirational in her dressing.
But when you say "I'm really not identifying as either right now, somewhere twixt will and will not," people don't get it. I'm not sure I get it.
I continue being Nick online, in my Real Life and for writing. In the working world, I retain my old name and keep presenting female but not feminine. The boobs kinda say "hey, chick!" no matter what else I do. (I need a binder for public appearances)
Part of me wants desperately to be a tattooed, motor-cycle riding, diesel-driving, badass grandma. Part of me is still "I'm Han fucking Solo and what're you gonna do about it?" These parts are not mutually exclusive.
The trick is to find a way to show the whole world who I am.
ALL of these should be doable
August around the bend
The year is tending to harvest. I got the first tomato out of my garden. As always, it went to Olivia, who adores fresh tomatoes. The heat wiped out a lot of my garden.
The days are getting shorter. It's just starting to be noticeable.
And for the next four months (oh dear bird) we're having a serialized novel at my Patreon. At the $1 level. The first chapter is free. Comments are welcome.
The usual shorts and new material will come as well, as will the crafts. I think it's a bar of homemade soap this month. The Roman Good Luck Amulets (aka Flying Fucks) may need molds as my sculpting is subpar.
On the family front, Olivia starts her senior year of HS and Jon is talking about going back to college.
My job situation is in flux. Mercury retrograde means people aren't communicating with me. BUT, I finished the SAP and have my certificate.
The days are getting shorter. It's just starting to be noticeable.
And for the next four months (oh dear bird) we're having a serialized novel at my Patreon. At the $1 level. The first chapter is free. Comments are welcome.
The usual shorts and new material will come as well, as will the crafts. I think it's a bar of homemade soap this month. The Roman Good Luck Amulets (aka Flying Fucks) may need molds as my sculpting is subpar.
On the family front, Olivia starts her senior year of HS and Jon is talking about going back to college.
My job situation is in flux. Mercury retrograde means people aren't communicating with me. BUT, I finished the SAP and have my certificate.
Friday, July 27, 2018
[Trans] Smell like a man
Some men don't think hygiene is masculine. Me, I run with a Playboy/Old Hollywood masculine performance, where how you clean up and how you smell is an important part of being a man.
Start with a thorough shower: hair washed, pits washed, crotch and rear washed and all the rest afterward. I suggest Dial. It's a good, basic clean scent. Irish Spring is nice if you feel fancier. Suave is fine. I like Ocean Mist and Everlasting Sunshine myself.
Many men are afraid of cologne. Some of them think it's too femme. Some used to overdo it and are leery now, and some, like Mudd, just never got in the habit. That's fine. As long as you're clean, the cologne is extra. But it can be the extra touch that makes the outfit, or the moment or the date. People remember scents back in the reptile brain. It's why I suggest it for transmen.
I have several scents I very much love. Some come from the department store. Some come from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.
Some of these are classics, aka Dad cologne, and suitable for us older gentlemen.
Old Spice is a classic for a reason. My grandfathers both wore it. My dad wears it sometimes. It seems old-fashioned and simple. It's anything but. The scent contain: orange, lemon, spice, clary sage, aldehyde, cinnamon, carnation, geranium, jasmine, heliotrope, pimiento berry, vanilla, musk, cedar, frankincense, benzoin, tonka, ambergris
Aramis was my generation's Axe. Apply lightly. Bergamot, clary sage, myrtle, clove, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver and tree moss.
English Leather is another classic. This is the one you swiped from your dad when you had a big date. It's bergamot, lavender, lemon, orange, rosemary, honey, iris, rose, ceder musk, tonka bean, leather and vetiver.
Dark Obsession is the modern one that makes me feel very sexy. Brazilian green mandarin, guarana, absinthe, French clary sage, fir balsam, white vetiver, Madagascar vanilla, labdanum and suede
Black Phoenix does pure scent oil, They have a wide variety. My favorites:
Highwayman. This is bottled sex, if you can stand smelling like burned weeds for about 5 minutes while the top notes evaporate and settle. It goes to a smokey leather floral. Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather.
Wulric the Wolfman. I like this as an everyday sort of scent. It's chocolaty and herbal, which is weird but kinda hot: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus (rockrose).
Old Scratch. This is for the occasions when I must dress well, not formally, and own the room. A lavender fougere with tonka, amber, rosewood and a whiff of diabolical patchouli.
The Bow and Crown of Conquest. If I had an office job, this would be my go-to scent for wearing with a suit: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.
There is a lot of ingredient overlap in what I like. I suggest, if you like scents, experimenting around with some imp ears from Black Phoenix (BPAL) and learning what each note smells like. Some are easier than others.
Everything smells different on different skin chemistry, but good notes to start with are leather, musk, vetiver, vanilla, and sandalwood.
Go out, look good and smell nice.
Start with a thorough shower: hair washed, pits washed, crotch and rear washed and all the rest afterward. I suggest Dial. It's a good, basic clean scent. Irish Spring is nice if you feel fancier. Suave is fine. I like Ocean Mist and Everlasting Sunshine myself.
Many men are afraid of cologne. Some of them think it's too femme. Some used to overdo it and are leery now, and some, like Mudd, just never got in the habit. That's fine. As long as you're clean, the cologne is extra. But it can be the extra touch that makes the outfit, or the moment or the date. People remember scents back in the reptile brain. It's why I suggest it for transmen.
I have several scents I very much love. Some come from the department store. Some come from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.
Some of these are classics, aka Dad cologne, and suitable for us older gentlemen.
Old Spice is a classic for a reason. My grandfathers both wore it. My dad wears it sometimes. It seems old-fashioned and simple. It's anything but. The scent contain: orange, lemon, spice, clary sage, aldehyde, cinnamon, carnation, geranium, jasmine, heliotrope, pimiento berry, vanilla, musk, cedar, frankincense, benzoin, tonka, ambergris
Aramis was my generation's Axe. Apply lightly. Bergamot, clary sage, myrtle, clove, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver and tree moss.
English Leather is another classic. This is the one you swiped from your dad when you had a big date. It's bergamot, lavender, lemon, orange, rosemary, honey, iris, rose, ceder musk, tonka bean, leather and vetiver.
Dark Obsession is the modern one that makes me feel very sexy. Brazilian green mandarin, guarana, absinthe, French clary sage, fir balsam, white vetiver, Madagascar vanilla, labdanum and suede
Black Phoenix does pure scent oil, They have a wide variety. My favorites:
Highwayman. This is bottled sex, if you can stand smelling like burned weeds for about 5 minutes while the top notes evaporate and settle. It goes to a smokey leather floral. Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather.
Wulric the Wolfman. I like this as an everyday sort of scent. It's chocolaty and herbal, which is weird but kinda hot: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus (rockrose).
Old Scratch. This is for the occasions when I must dress well, not formally, and own the room. A lavender fougere with tonka, amber, rosewood and a whiff of diabolical patchouli.
The Bow and Crown of Conquest. If I had an office job, this would be my go-to scent for wearing with a suit: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.
There is a lot of ingredient overlap in what I like. I suggest, if you like scents, experimenting around with some imp ears from Black Phoenix (BPAL) and learning what each note smells like. Some are easier than others.
Everything smells different on different skin chemistry, but good notes to start with are leather, musk, vetiver, vanilla, and sandalwood.
Go out, look good and smell nice.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
Getting help for a problem I don't have
All right, so here's the scoop.
I have a truck line interested (filling out I9 paperwork tomorrow) but I have to have a Substance Abuse Program Certificate before I can be hired.
But Nicky, I hear you saying, YOU? A substance abuser?
No, I'm not and that is where the problem begins to thicken.
In October of 2012, I drove auto parts for Schneider. I had a sleeper cab and a 28' pup trailer with lift gate. I unloaded parts ranging from windshield wipers to engine blocks, often without mechanical assistance. I drove from West Memphis AR to Kennet MO (flat land) and then up into the mountains to Hardy AR.
My work day started at 1 AM. I was required by law to sleep 4 hours a night with my CPAP. I never got much more than that though, because of the hours. I was sleep-deprived enough I had regular hallucinations in the early morning hours. My most common was a 2-story house made of an apple.
Like this but with an upstairs.
On October 22, I was particularly sleep deprived. My girl Cat, who has ADHD and take Adderall for it, was riding along. When I began yelling at the apple for appearing five miles too early, she began to worry. When I hit the rumble strip for the third time in two minutes, she offered me an adderall, since caffeine wasn't adequate.
I took it. Knowing I was doing wrong but knowing there were mountains coming and knowing rolling down the side of one was NOT on my agenda. (Also that long, steep, narrow bridge at Black Rock loomed large)
I managed to finish my run, but I got called for a random drug test that day. (I have my suspicions it was NOT random and one of the drivers I delivered to said something)
On Oct 26 I was fired for amphetamine use, since it was NOT my prescription.
Since then, I have not driven a truck. Every truck line I called said "go through a substance abuse program." I didn't need one. I wasn't going to do it.
We've been struggling a lot.
And I finally got over myself enough to go and do the SAP program. $450 to get me a job that pays $800/week. I think that's fair.
So two three-day weeks, and I am good to drive again. The problem is when you say you're there for SAP, but you don't have a problem, that's ALL KINDS of red flags to your shrink.
I don't care. I'll work the program and get the job.
I have a truck line interested (filling out I9 paperwork tomorrow) but I have to have a Substance Abuse Program Certificate before I can be hired.
But Nicky, I hear you saying, YOU? A substance abuser?
No, I'm not and that is where the problem begins to thicken.
In October of 2012, I drove auto parts for Schneider. I had a sleeper cab and a 28' pup trailer with lift gate. I unloaded parts ranging from windshield wipers to engine blocks, often without mechanical assistance. I drove from West Memphis AR to Kennet MO (flat land) and then up into the mountains to Hardy AR.
My work day started at 1 AM. I was required by law to sleep 4 hours a night with my CPAP. I never got much more than that though, because of the hours. I was sleep-deprived enough I had regular hallucinations in the early morning hours. My most common was a 2-story house made of an apple.
Like this but with an upstairs.
On October 22, I was particularly sleep deprived. My girl Cat, who has ADHD and take Adderall for it, was riding along. When I began yelling at the apple for appearing five miles too early, she began to worry. When I hit the rumble strip for the third time in two minutes, she offered me an adderall, since caffeine wasn't adequate.
I took it. Knowing I was doing wrong but knowing there were mountains coming and knowing rolling down the side of one was NOT on my agenda. (Also that long, steep, narrow bridge at Black Rock loomed large)
I managed to finish my run, but I got called for a random drug test that day. (I have my suspicions it was NOT random and one of the drivers I delivered to said something)
On Oct 26 I was fired for amphetamine use, since it was NOT my prescription.
Since then, I have not driven a truck. Every truck line I called said "go through a substance abuse program." I didn't need one. I wasn't going to do it.
We've been struggling a lot.
And I finally got over myself enough to go and do the SAP program. $450 to get me a job that pays $800/week. I think that's fair.
So two three-day weeks, and I am good to drive again. The problem is when you say you're there for SAP, but you don't have a problem, that's ALL KINDS of red flags to your shrink.
I don't care. I'll work the program and get the job.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
[Pagan] [Family] [Trans] Adventures of ALL sorts
Three AM phone calls suck. Pretty universally.
I hadn't had one since December of 14, when my sister called to let me know Mom had finally let go.
I got one yesterday from a stranded child.
My oldest, Obi-Wan Chrisobi, was visiting folks this summer. He went to KC and saw my dad, went to Chicago and saw a friend, and went to Columbus and spent a couple days with Mudd and his father. (Mudd is in Ohio, taking care of his dad while Sandy is in Montana.)
And late Tuesday evening, he started for Memphis to see his sibs before he went home. He didn't quite make Elizabethtown KY when the transmission on his Chevy Spark gave out. So, at 3 AM, I got up (after 2 hrs of sleep), made U-haul reservations in Nashville, loaded Jon in the car and went. Jonner drove part of the way to Nashville, his first night highway driving.
Why Nashville? Because I didn't know exactly where in Kentucky he was stranded, with no town nearby. It made sense. Until he got a tow in Elizabethtown. Had I been thinking, I would have canceled the Nashville U-haul and gotten one in E-town. I wasn't. And I know Nashville a little, and E-town not at all.
So we got the trailer, and rattled and clanked and jounced 150 miles more.
The boys loaded the car and we got some food at WalMart and headed back home.
It was a long 350 miles.
But we got to Memphis about 7, and dropped the Spark at the Chevy dealership. We went home and I returned the U-haul today.
***
In other news, I may be due for an Eldering. I did not want a croning because I was not yet in menopause. Now I appear to be.
In June of 1980, my period made its first appearance. Thus began a monthly descent into hell.
I spent most of the 90s pregnant or nursing, and my cycle was suppressed.
This June, I spotted for two days.
This month, the full moon is past and the new has come and gone. I always cycle between them.
Nothing.
***
Have also been thinking about the transition. Right now, I'm still hanging out in genderqueer space, and feeling fine about it. Part of me wants desperately to be a tattooed, motor-cycle riding, diesel-driving, badass grandma. Part of me is still "I'm Han fucking Solo and what are you gonna do about it?" These parts are not mutually exclusive.
So for now, I stay in the mushy middle of genderqueer and bisexuality.
***
Also, if you got a LinkedIn request from my deadname, I'm sorry. i hit the wrong button. i have not been hacked.
I hadn't had one since December of 14, when my sister called to let me know Mom had finally let go.
I got one yesterday from a stranded child.
My oldest, Obi-Wan Chrisobi, was visiting folks this summer. He went to KC and saw my dad, went to Chicago and saw a friend, and went to Columbus and spent a couple days with Mudd and his father. (Mudd is in Ohio, taking care of his dad while Sandy is in Montana.)
And late Tuesday evening, he started for Memphis to see his sibs before he went home. He didn't quite make Elizabethtown KY when the transmission on his Chevy Spark gave out. So, at 3 AM, I got up (after 2 hrs of sleep), made U-haul reservations in Nashville, loaded Jon in the car and went. Jonner drove part of the way to Nashville, his first night highway driving.
Why Nashville? Because I didn't know exactly where in Kentucky he was stranded, with no town nearby. It made sense. Until he got a tow in Elizabethtown. Had I been thinking, I would have canceled the Nashville U-haul and gotten one in E-town. I wasn't. And I know Nashville a little, and E-town not at all.
So we got the trailer, and rattled and clanked and jounced 150 miles more.
The boys loaded the car and we got some food at WalMart and headed back home.
It was a long 350 miles.
But we got to Memphis about 7, and dropped the Spark at the Chevy dealership. We went home and I returned the U-haul today.
***
In other news, I may be due for an Eldering. I did not want a croning because I was not yet in menopause. Now I appear to be.
In June of 1980, my period made its first appearance. Thus began a monthly descent into hell.
I spent most of the 90s pregnant or nursing, and my cycle was suppressed.
This June, I spotted for two days.
This month, the full moon is past and the new has come and gone. I always cycle between them.
Nothing.
***
Have also been thinking about the transition. Right now, I'm still hanging out in genderqueer space, and feeling fine about it. Part of me wants desperately to be a tattooed, motor-cycle riding, diesel-driving, badass grandma. Part of me is still "I'm Han fucking Solo and what are you gonna do about it?" These parts are not mutually exclusive.
So for now, I stay in the mushy middle of genderqueer and bisexuality.
***
Also, if you got a LinkedIn request from my deadname, I'm sorry. i hit the wrong button. i have not been hacked.
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
What do you get on my Patreon?
As of today, $5, the cost of a lunch at KFC, gets you
Fruits of Thine--het, paranormal. A secretary has an encounter on a corporate retreat
Illusions of Safety--Urban fantasy, DJ'verse. DJ takes in a MPD street kid to help solve a crime
Nikolai Revenant (novel)--8 Thrones. gay, SF Killer turned file clerk gets trained to help run the world.
Firstfruits--horror. A grieving woman gets some help.
Looking down the Road--paranormal. A trucker witch foresees trouble.
Show your faces--horror. Librarians in the zombie apocalypse
Raising the Dead--gay, contemporary, BDSM. A couple takes to kink to help one cope with professional problems.
Not like other girls--het, horror. Be careful who you pick up at campus halloween parties.
Into Dark Waters, Riding the Nightmare--gay short story collections
Between Despair and Ecstasy--gay, paranormal. A servant is assigned to take care of a very old vampire hunter.
Ain't no easy run--gay, paranormal. A trucker hauling souls to hell goes off-route.
Power in the Blood (novel)--bisexual, Urban fantasy. Vampire apocalypse comes to Memphis
That’s How we roll, Illusions of Safety, Wild Hunt (novel), S is for Succubus--These are all DJ'verse urban fantasy.
Gay Xmas werewolves--what it says. 5 shorts. Includes them vanquishing Cthulhu cultists
Collared Hearts/Frozen Hearts--gay contemporary BDSM, Artist and gallery owner play with power and enjoy the holiday.
8 Days Ablaze--het, cyberpunk. Adina gets a special Hanukkah present.
A Visit from Nikolai--8 Thrones. Nick goes home for the holidays
By the Fire with Care--DJ'verse. DJ and Jinx spend the holiday with a houseful of witches. What could go wrong?
Swimming the Net--gay, cyberpunk. Two captives run the net but find each other.
Wishing Away--gay and straight, fantasy. Twin flower fairies are sent to find aid in defeating a warlord and his sorcerous sister.
Showdown at Yellowstone River--queer Western. Matt Court runs afoul of powerful men and must face down a gunslinger.
A Gift of Scars--8 Thrones, David has a present for Valerio
Barbarossa’s Bitch (novel)--gay, SF. Post-apocalyptic gay biker gangs in Kansas.
A Fool’s Taj Mahal--het, horror. Loneliness after a breakup.
Paying Forfeits--gay, contemporary, kinky. A couple spices up their love-life first with boardgames for forfeits and then with a third.
Fannish Activity--gay, contemporary, HARD BDSM. A guy has the fantasy of his life at a kink con.
Heart of a Forest (novel)--trans Robin Hood. Maid Marion is King Richard's illegitimate son, but doesn't know she's a boy.
Under the Skirts of Sherwood--Robin Hood goes in disguise to Nottingham castle and endures danger to spirit Marion away.
Cherry tart--het, steampunk. On the ship to Io, disgraced Chastity Millwood falls for handsome ship's outrider Ulysses.
Neighbors--horror. The nosy old ladies learn more than they want to know about the new neighbor.
For Love of Etarin--gay SF. Spacer Ruvane steals a pretty dancing boy from his lizard owner and they have adventures.
34 things to read! Some of them anthologies.
plus chances at handcrafts.
Fruits of Thine--het, paranormal. A secretary has an encounter on a corporate retreat
Illusions of Safety--Urban fantasy, DJ'verse. DJ takes in a MPD street kid to help solve a crime
Nikolai Revenant (novel)--8 Thrones. gay, SF Killer turned file clerk gets trained to help run the world.
Firstfruits--horror. A grieving woman gets some help.
Looking down the Road--paranormal. A trucker witch foresees trouble.
Show your faces--horror. Librarians in the zombie apocalypse
Raising the Dead--gay, contemporary, BDSM. A couple takes to kink to help one cope with professional problems.
Not like other girls--het, horror. Be careful who you pick up at campus halloween parties.
Into Dark Waters, Riding the Nightmare--gay short story collections
Between Despair and Ecstasy--gay, paranormal. A servant is assigned to take care of a very old vampire hunter.
Ain't no easy run--gay, paranormal. A trucker hauling souls to hell goes off-route.
Power in the Blood (novel)--bisexual, Urban fantasy. Vampire apocalypse comes to Memphis
That’s How we roll, Illusions of Safety, Wild Hunt (novel), S is for Succubus--These are all DJ'verse urban fantasy.
Gay Xmas werewolves--what it says. 5 shorts. Includes them vanquishing Cthulhu cultists
Collared Hearts/Frozen Hearts--gay contemporary BDSM, Artist and gallery owner play with power and enjoy the holiday.
8 Days Ablaze--het, cyberpunk. Adina gets a special Hanukkah present.
A Visit from Nikolai--8 Thrones. Nick goes home for the holidays
By the Fire with Care--DJ'verse. DJ and Jinx spend the holiday with a houseful of witches. What could go wrong?
Swimming the Net--gay, cyberpunk. Two captives run the net but find each other.
Wishing Away--gay and straight, fantasy. Twin flower fairies are sent to find aid in defeating a warlord and his sorcerous sister.
Showdown at Yellowstone River--queer Western. Matt Court runs afoul of powerful men and must face down a gunslinger.
A Gift of Scars--8 Thrones, David has a present for Valerio
Barbarossa’s Bitch (novel)--gay, SF. Post-apocalyptic gay biker gangs in Kansas.
A Fool’s Taj Mahal--het, horror. Loneliness after a breakup.
Paying Forfeits--gay, contemporary, kinky. A couple spices up their love-life first with boardgames for forfeits and then with a third.
Fannish Activity--gay, contemporary, HARD BDSM. A guy has the fantasy of his life at a kink con.
Heart of a Forest (novel)--trans Robin Hood. Maid Marion is King Richard's illegitimate son, but doesn't know she's a boy.
Under the Skirts of Sherwood--Robin Hood goes in disguise to Nottingham castle and endures danger to spirit Marion away.
Cherry tart--het, steampunk. On the ship to Io, disgraced Chastity Millwood falls for handsome ship's outrider Ulysses.
Neighbors--horror. The nosy old ladies learn more than they want to know about the new neighbor.
For Love of Etarin--gay SF. Spacer Ruvane steals a pretty dancing boy from his lizard owner and they have adventures.
34 things to read! Some of them anthologies.
plus chances at handcrafts.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
planning for the week ahead
After a lovely solstice spent swimming in the lake at Village Creek state park, I have to lay plans for the rest of the days.
Monday:
Bus,
Michaels, 5-930
Tuesday
Bus
Wednesday
Bus
Writing time
Thursday
Bus
Michaels 5-930
Friday
Writing. We hope to finish the Glad Hands edits.
Sat
Michaels 9-3
And June is a wrap.
Monday:
Bus,
Michaels, 5-930
Tuesday
Bus
Wednesday
Bus
Writing time
Thursday
Bus
Michaels 5-930
Friday
Writing. We hope to finish the Glad Hands edits.
Sat
Michaels 9-3
And June is a wrap.
Monday, June 11, 2018
The Need is Great
Not ours, we're fine. Not terrific--summer break is hard on bus drivers--but we're okay. (If you want to help, there's always my Patreon, soon with craft videos)
But there are a lot of people I know who could use any help that can be spared.
Cat Grant, M/M author, is in dire and immediate need. She has back taxes to pay in order to keep her car. Without a car, she cannot work. Anything helps. https://www.gofundme.com/5f66gp4
She's also available as a freelance editor.
https://reedsy.com/cat-grant
Brian Keene, horror author, had an accident while clearing brush and is in a burn unit. He has no health insurance. There is a GoFundMe to help with the medical bills, which are expected to top $$200,000 https://www.gofundme.com/brian-keene-burn-fund
Billy Martin, who wrote vampires in the 90s as Poppy Z. Brite, is trying to get his mother's house livable so he and his husband have a place to live. His mother let the place go during her final illness and both of them are disabled, so they require contracted assistance on the project.
https://www.gofundme.com/6893v-help-us-make-this-house-a-home
Elizabeth Donald is making a major life change and going to grad school this fall, with an eye to teaching journalism. However, she still has a household to support.
She has a Patreon, a photography site with gift shop and will be working as a freelance editor as well.
It's tough times, friends and neighbors. Support what and who you love.
But there are a lot of people I know who could use any help that can be spared.
Cat Grant, M/M author, is in dire and immediate need. She has back taxes to pay in order to keep her car. Without a car, she cannot work. Anything helps. https://www.gofundme.com/5f66gp4
She's also available as a freelance editor.
https://reedsy.com/cat-grant
Brian Keene, horror author, had an accident while clearing brush and is in a burn unit. He has no health insurance. There is a GoFundMe to help with the medical bills, which are expected to top $$200,000 https://www.gofundme.com/brian-keene-burn-fund
Billy Martin, who wrote vampires in the 90s as Poppy Z. Brite, is trying to get his mother's house livable so he and his husband have a place to live. His mother let the place go during her final illness and both of them are disabled, so they require contracted assistance on the project.
https://www.gofundme.com/6893v-help-us-make-this-house-a-home
Elizabeth Donald is making a major life change and going to grad school this fall, with an eye to teaching journalism. However, she still has a household to support.
She has a Patreon, a photography site with gift shop and will be working as a freelance editor as well.
It's tough times, friends and neighbors. Support what and who you love.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Sunday, June 3, 2018
Planning for the week ahead
Today:
Finish video and snood.
dinner
water garden
put away laundry
Set up gym bag
Smallville recap portion
Monday:
Work
Mail snood
Work on Afghan
Finish story
Read Glad Hands
Tuesday:
Work
do analysis, schedule post
Plant Beans
Work on afghan
Wednesday:
Work
Finish GH
Thursday
Work
Edit GH with Gabriel
Mudd in Helena, PFLAG
Friday
Off!
Mudd in Helena
This week's reading:
Glad Hands (for editing)
The Many Colored Land
Guns, Germs and Steel (audio during commute)
This week's crafting:
black lace afghan
Finish video and snood.
dinner
water garden
put away laundry
Set up gym bag
Smallville recap portion
Monday:
Work
Mail snood
Work on Afghan
Finish story
Read Glad Hands
Tuesday:
Work
do analysis, schedule post
Plant Beans
Work on afghan
Wednesday:
Work
Finish GH
Thursday
Work
Edit GH with Gabriel
Mudd in Helena, PFLAG
Friday
Off!
Mudd in Helena
This week's reading:
Glad Hands (for editing)
The Many Colored Land
Guns, Germs and Steel (audio during commute)
This week's crafting:
black lace afghan
Sunday, May 20, 2018
Planning for the week ahead
Today:
Laundry
Dishes
Clean kitchen (the produce that's off)
Shepherd's pie
Water garden (rained)
plant corn
SV watch, for analysis (partial)
Monday
Work
workout
write up SV analysis, schedule
Write on book/story
Work
Crochet
Burritos
Water garden
Tues
Work
workout
write
work
knit ear flaps and make pompom
ham scalloped potatoes
Water garden
Wed
Work
workout
write
work
crochet
frozen pizza
water garden
Thursday
work
workout
Home!
whatever I can figure for dinner
crochet
Friday
I'm off!
Up early.
Clean
write 2000 words.
nap
Saturday:
Michaels 9AM-130PM
Water garden (rained)
SV watch, for analysis (partial)
Monday
Work
workout
write up SV analysis, schedule
Write on book/story
Work
Crochet
Burritos
Water garden
Tues
Work
workout
write
work
knit ear flaps and make pompom
ham scalloped potatoes
Water garden
Wed
Work
workout
write
work
crochet
frozen pizza
water garden
Thursday
work
workout
Home!
whatever I can figure for dinner
crochet
Friday
I'm off!
Up early.
Clean
write 2000 words.
nap
Saturday:
Michaels 9AM-130PM
Thursday, May 17, 2018
Pagan: A Religious experience
I am a Hellenic pagan. My patrons are Hera and Hermes.
This has been a given in my life for several years now.
Last year, a year and a day ago to be precise, I dedicated myself to my gods.
Today, the Morrigan called me.
And I don't mean called, I mean Called.
There are a lot of crows by where I work.
Today, one sat on the street lamp right in front of my bus and talked to me until I answered. We went back and forth, amusing my fellow drivers.
Finally, I said "Tell your lady, I hear the message."
The crow cocked its head and then flew off.
I saw about five more and then had a vision of the Morrigan
She stood astride a stream, storm clouds behind her, tall and dark haired, black feather-cloak fluttering in the breeze over blue glass armor (thank you Julian May for set-designing my religious experiences?). She looked at me and said "Come home."
That was all, but something in my head said "You've been dallying with the Greeks too long. Come home, Niall's son."
I'm...not sure what to make of it. It's time to do my homework on the Battle Lady. She has work for me.
This has been a given in my life for several years now.
Last year, a year and a day ago to be precise, I dedicated myself to my gods.
Today, the Morrigan called me.
And I don't mean called, I mean Called.
There are a lot of crows by where I work.
Today, one sat on the street lamp right in front of my bus and talked to me until I answered. We went back and forth, amusing my fellow drivers.
Finally, I said "Tell your lady, I hear the message."
The crow cocked its head and then flew off.
I saw about five more and then had a vision of the Morrigan
She stood astride a stream, storm clouds behind her, tall and dark haired, black feather-cloak fluttering in the breeze over blue glass armor (thank you Julian May for set-designing my religious experiences?). She looked at me and said "Come home."
That was all, but something in my head said "You've been dallying with the Greeks too long. Come home, Niall's son."
I'm...not sure what to make of it. It's time to do my homework on the Battle Lady. She has work for me.
Monday, April 23, 2018
Encountering problems in loved material
Sometimes, growing up is just no fun at all.
I have been re-engaging with two book series I loved in my teens. (yes, we had writing then, smartmouth. We had left pictograms behind around the time I hit double digits) And both are bothering me a lot.
I've listed to the audiobooks for Edgar Rice Burroughs' Mars series. It's been about three years since I last visited the red planet. And I am reading Julian May's Milieu and Pliocene series in order, which I have never done. I've read them all repeatedly, but never in order.
Let's start with Burroughs. I have fought my way from frozen south pole to frozen north pole beside Captain John Carter of Virginia scores of times. But this time... I am disappointed. I didn't remember Dejah Thoris being so much of an object. Kidnapped here, carried off there, desired by everyone but with almost no agency of her own. I don't think she says ANYTHING in Warlord of Mars, except her husband's name.
Carter is obsessed with his wife, with getting her back. It colors every page and feels more stalkery and possessive than loving. Everyone else is obsessed with her too.
Burroughs can write interesting female characters. Sola, the only green martian who has known love in a thousand generations. Thuvia, who can command the martian lions. Jealous, spoiled Phaidor, who redeems herself. Valla Dia, who finds herself trapped in the body of an elderly queen instead of her own beautiful shape, and Xaxa, the wicked queen who is willing to buy youth and beauty to continue ruling her people with an iron hand. Dejah Thoris is not interesting after the first book. I liked the movie version better.
The racism, as would be expected for books a hundred years old, is nearly painful. Anti-Native American sentiment. The blacks stereotyped as warriors and brutal ones. The cannibalism, I can almost write off as both black and white martians do it, feeding on the lower orders of human as humans feed on animals. The yellow men of the north pole, with their fierce black beards, are steeped in decadence and orientalism, including fiendish tortures. Although they are not the only race to practice it, the torture somehow becomes part of the general orientalism.
I am unsure I want to continue.
Julian May did her work in the 80s and 90s. Coming back to it thirty years later... and yeah, it has a lot of problems. I'm four books into the nine. Eleazer Wheelock for one.
The whole idea of Ethnic Planets seems really awkward. I thought it sounded cool before. Hey, go emigrate to the Irish planet of Hibernia, raise sheep, spin, weave and dye, play the bodhran and sing the old songs, eating soda bread and coddle and swilling Guinness. I could do that.
but these days, that feels very isolationist and a little racist.
Too the planets are so...white.
The Africans have to petition for more planets. their primary psychic groups were wiped out, and the Milieu wants colonists who are psychic. Ditto the Chinese. (and if the celtic genes are such hot stuff psychically, why do the Irish only have one planet)
This is by no means complete, since there are 784 human planets. But, in addition to the cosmop worlds, the planet wiki lists:
Canadian
French (4)
American (5), one an Alaskan planet
Russian (2)
Japanese (3)
African (2)
Scottish (2)
Laplander
German
Irish
British (2)
New Zealand
Brazilian
India
Albanian (yet Lithuanians didn't have enough "ethnic dynamism.")
Polynesian
It's going to continue to be interesting and a little difficult.
I still want my Dalriada Wind Surfer Racing Team tshirt though...
I have been re-engaging with two book series I loved in my teens. (yes, we had writing then, smartmouth. We had left pictograms behind around the time I hit double digits) And both are bothering me a lot.
I've listed to the audiobooks for Edgar Rice Burroughs' Mars series. It's been about three years since I last visited the red planet. And I am reading Julian May's Milieu and Pliocene series in order, which I have never done. I've read them all repeatedly, but never in order.
Let's start with Burroughs. I have fought my way from frozen south pole to frozen north pole beside Captain John Carter of Virginia scores of times. But this time... I am disappointed. I didn't remember Dejah Thoris being so much of an object. Kidnapped here, carried off there, desired by everyone but with almost no agency of her own. I don't think she says ANYTHING in Warlord of Mars, except her husband's name.
Carter is obsessed with his wife, with getting her back. It colors every page and feels more stalkery and possessive than loving. Everyone else is obsessed with her too.
Burroughs can write interesting female characters. Sola, the only green martian who has known love in a thousand generations. Thuvia, who can command the martian lions. Jealous, spoiled Phaidor, who redeems herself. Valla Dia, who finds herself trapped in the body of an elderly queen instead of her own beautiful shape, and Xaxa, the wicked queen who is willing to buy youth and beauty to continue ruling her people with an iron hand. Dejah Thoris is not interesting after the first book. I liked the movie version better.
The racism, as would be expected for books a hundred years old, is nearly painful. Anti-Native American sentiment. The blacks stereotyped as warriors and brutal ones. The cannibalism, I can almost write off as both black and white martians do it, feeding on the lower orders of human as humans feed on animals. The yellow men of the north pole, with their fierce black beards, are steeped in decadence and orientalism, including fiendish tortures. Although they are not the only race to practice it, the torture somehow becomes part of the general orientalism.
I am unsure I want to continue.
Julian May did her work in the 80s and 90s. Coming back to it thirty years later... and yeah, it has a lot of problems. I'm four books into the nine. Eleazer Wheelock for one.
The song used to be a Dartmouth staple and is no longer sung because it is racist as are the dining hall murals (shown in the video)
Yet, May has Dartmouth alums singing it into the mid 21st century, seeming unnoticing.
Yet, May has Dartmouth alums singing it into the mid 21st century, seeming unnoticing.
The whole idea of Ethnic Planets seems really awkward. I thought it sounded cool before. Hey, go emigrate to the Irish planet of Hibernia, raise sheep, spin, weave and dye, play the bodhran and sing the old songs, eating soda bread and coddle and swilling Guinness. I could do that.
but these days, that feels very isolationist and a little racist.
Too the planets are so...white.
The Africans have to petition for more planets. their primary psychic groups were wiped out, and the Milieu wants colonists who are psychic. Ditto the Chinese. (and if the celtic genes are such hot stuff psychically, why do the Irish only have one planet)
This is by no means complete, since there are 784 human planets. But, in addition to the cosmop worlds, the planet wiki lists:
Canadian
French (4)
American (5), one an Alaskan planet
Russian (2)
Japanese (3)
African (2)
Scottish (2)
Laplander
German
Irish
British (2)
New Zealand
Brazilian
India
Albanian (yet Lithuanians didn't have enough "ethnic dynamism.")
Polynesian
It's going to continue to be interesting and a little difficult.
I still want my Dalriada Wind Surfer Racing Team tshirt though...
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Where to find me
This is a semi-regular post, since I am on a number of social media platforms
Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/109095070780997668594
(I only have 9 followers. You are guaranteed NOT to get lost in the crowd)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/NickRowan
$1 gets you a story every month and possibly some nice knitting or crochet item.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NickRowan16
Mostly reposts from other sites, but some original content. I frequently harass politicians here.
Tumblr: http://nicholasrowan.tumblr.com/
Fan activity, photodumps and fun
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/valarltd/
My filing cabinet: food, paganism, crafting, novel casting
And of course
Blogger: https://nicholasrowansp.blogspot.com/
Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/109095070780997668594
(I only have 9 followers. You are guaranteed NOT to get lost in the crowd)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nick.rowan.9678
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/NickRowan
$1 gets you a story every month and possibly some nice knitting or crochet item.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/NickRowan16
Mostly reposts from other sites, but some original content. I frequently harass politicians here.
Tumblr: http://nicholasrowan.tumblr.com/
Fan activity, photodumps and fun
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/valarltd/
My filing cabinet: food, paganism, crafting, novel casting
And of course
Blogger: https://nicholasrowansp.blogspot.com/
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