What is called overcast in other places is called here, only a few miles from the beach, the marine layer. I love how it feels. I didn't know it was in my bones until I moved away. Maybe I'll find the desert is in my bones, too, though I have my doubts.

Got those damn ravens talking to my protag again. They make a thousand words go by like that.

No WiFi when I arrived at the coffee joint. For me, anyway. Everyone else there had net access. So I grumbled and put my head down and got to work. And then everyone else's access went away, too, and the tension in the room quickly became thick enough to spread on a bagel. I fled to the back-up coffee joint.

I outlined the last section of the book, and I'm not comfortable with it. It seems a little too much mayhem, a little too Big Hollywood Climax, where the characters struggle to be heard over the THX roar of CGI explosions. I've stuck with this book because I like what happens when the characters interact with each other, and I don't want to lose them to mayhem and chaos.


And there's still a whole lot left to write to get to the end, and a lot of stuff to fix in earlier chapters so it all makes sense.

***

Hm.

The blog has been almost all writing and kung fu for quite a while now, with the odd occurrence of an out-of-town trip or visit from friends or rare mention of the for-pay work. Which means there's other stuff I'm not blogging about (somewhat true) and that my days could use some more variation (very true). On the other hand, there's some chaos and mayhem coming down the pike in the foreseeable future (not bad stuff, just chaotic and mayhem-y [and, no, nobody's pregnant]), so it might behoove me to appreciate the current state of calm.

***

It is a meme. It is the five questions meme. Here's how it works:


1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your journal with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So, I think I'll put an upper limit of, say, six people, on account of I'm a bit busy with stuff.

Anyhoo, Tim grilled me, and here are my answers:

1. Why squid? I mean, you live in a freakin' desert, dude.

It was an ocean once, a long time ago, and the ghosts of sea creatures still swim overhead in the night.

Also ... giant squid! Their eyes are the size of dinner plates! Their beaks can snap steel cables! They grapple with the mighty sperm whale! Giant squid!

2. Rush breaks up. Then they reform... but without Geddy Lee. They get somebody else to sing. Hell, I don't know. That guy who used to sing in Extreme, and then in Van Halen. You know, that guy. They're having a show. They promise to play some "new material." Do you buy tickets and go see them play?

Are you kidding me with this question? Rush without Geddy Lee is analogous to a car without wheels. It's not just Geddy's vocals. It's his song-writing, his arrangements, his on-stage dorkiness, and most profoundly, his bass playing. I remember the first time I listened to the Moving Pictures album, in my friend Todd's Toyota Tercel, in the parking lot of Vet's Park back home in Culver City. The sound of Geddy's Fender Jazz, his riffs and melodies ... it changed my life. I love Alex Lifeson's guitar and Neil Peart's drums, but without Geddy Lee? Inconceivable.


3. Is it the heat, or is it the humidity?

It's the mutagenic gamma rays. Seriously, I hate the heat, but I'm no longer profoundly shocked by it. And 102 degrees with 3% humidity really isn't all that uncomfortable.

4. You're given one wish by the world's lamest genie, but it's not so
much a wish as a choice: You can save a guy you never liked that much from drowning, or you can eradicate all leaf blowers from the world, forever. Which do you choose?

I save the guy I never liked, but I lord it over him for the rest of his miserable life.

5. Another lame genie (they travel in packs): You can become a
bestselling author, but only if you give up beer and chicken wings
forever. Or you can kick the genie in the nuts, without fear of
supernatural repercussions. Which do you choose?

I think the crux of your question is a choice between success and recognition, or the small, daily pleasures of life. I choose the small, daily pleasures, for there are more small moments in life than large moments, and I seek happiness by trying to make as many of those small moments pleasurable as possible. What good would a bestseller do me if I had no beer and wings -- and the friendships implied by beer and wings -- to celebrate it?