Well, it was a weekend, I suppose. That’s all that can be said for it.
In publishing news, Amazon continues its gutting of Goodreads. I left that platform a long while ago, though I retained my username to avoid impersonations; the writing on the wall was very clear. If you want a good alternative that doesn’t victimize readers or authors as part of Bezos’s profiteering, I’d suggest Candl.
2020 is wending to a close. I thought I was doing relatively well–a nervous breakdown that led to a portal fantasy, mostly hitting my deadlines (being late on the one for The Bloody Throne, but only by a month or so) and keeping the kids housed and the dogs fed and vice versa. But…
It’s hard to sleep, and hard to get out of bed. You’d think the insomnia would propel me forth like a jack in the box, and a few years ago before the mild antidepressants to deal with the anxiety it probably would have. I used to spend a lot of nights wandering the house, touching bookshelves and listening to Mahler’s Fourth or Back’s Goldberg Variations. Sometimes I wrote during insomniac nights, though I’d always need to clean up the text the next morning after coffee and it seemed a little more trouble than it was worth.
I tapered off all meds last year (I think? Time is increasingly elastic; I just know it was before 2020) and was somewhat amazed I haven’t gone back on them. They were intended to be a breather while I rewired my brain and anxiety circuits, and I remain grateful for the respite. It was, as far as I can tell, a complete success. But the cumulative shocks are beginning to tell, I think; I am hanging on by teeth and fingernails.
Anyway, I was going to watch Paranormal Activity last night, but I got sucked into Fellowship of the Ring instead. I vividly remember watching it in the theatre with my sisters and the Princess, and at the end heaving a giant relief and murmuring, “At least it didn’t suck,” in chorus with said sisters. I think it’s the Lucas Effect–Jackson still had collaborators who could rein him in during LOTR; with the Hobbit trilogy the collaborators lost that power and there was a significant change in quality.1
Still, if I’m going to be yelling about Tolkien the way I do, I suppose I can’t knock Jackson for playing in the legendarium in his own specific way.2 It does kind of suck I don’t have the multimillion dollar budget to fund my own fanfic, but ah well. I shall persevere, once I decide whether I want to write just straight Gondolin fanfic or Team MonsterFucker Goes to Gondolin as an epic.
Choices, choices. Porqué no los dos, right?3
Anyway, the dogs need walking and I just realized I put my jumper on backwards this morning. Monday is off to a roaring start, but at least the sleep deprivation means everything is funny instead of terrible. The Princess and I are narrating Boxnoggin’s morning every time he dances at the top of the stairs–he wants a cat, and the Mad Tortie is taunting him through the gate. She absolutely loves tormenting him, since Miss B has reached the advanced age where she isn’t even attempting to herd the Tortie anymore.
Narrating your pet’s day in weird voices is one of the many joys of cohabitating with furry quadrupeds. Between Miss B’s constant grousing and Boxnoggin’s dopey happy-go-lucky, it’s a barrel of fun. Sleep deprivation adds an edge of zaniness to the whole thing.
At least if we’re laughing we’re not screaming. And that’s about the best I can expect on a Monday, methinks. Go have some fun and amusement if you can, my beloveds. We’re on the last lap, in the final stretch, and even if next year is worse we can at least say with pride that we endured this one.
…that isn’t quite the ringing statement it sounded like in my head, is it. Nevertheless, we’ve persisted.
Over and out.