Ruminations From a Cluttered Mind

Tonight I laid seige to my household, swept through like a whirling dervish, cleaning, reordering, commanding, demanding, bemoaning. It was brutal. No one was safe from the onslaught, not even the cats (Get OUT of that popcorn, Gizmo, you know it makes you throw up!). I found a wet diaper in among toy debris in the family room, and husband had the lapse in good judgement to call my upset with the find "nit-picking." An indignant tirade involving a barrage of words flying at no less than 85 words per minute ensued.
 
In spite of this, everyone ended up comfortably tucked in their beds, husband included, by 9:15. Now I am chomping on microwave popcorn and contemplating a cream soda. I got the laundry up and running. I am not about to tackle bills at this point, nor am I interested in delving into the miserable business of lesson planning. We're up to the first quarter end, and I usually give that 2 weeks to complete anyway. Anyway, it's close to 10:00, and I've had a hectic day from beginning to end and I'm out of interest in applying myself any further toward anything particularly productive. At this point, I have given myself express permission to indulge in recreational computer tinkering, a bit of a snack, and bed--just as soon as husband gets up to go to work.

My fanfiction writer I admire is wrapping up her terrific story, and that's been so much fun to follow. She posts one chapter a day. You can tell it's a special piece because it has 45 reviews and 15 follows. Nice. Now that I've given myself some space from my own project, I'm thinking of going back and rewriting each chapter according to the finer points of the plot I worked out before I try to complete the story. I still think I can finish it, but I need to get the earlier stuff improved first.

I finished chapter 11 tonight. It's all of 2700 or so words, and I think...think...it reads okay, but I need sleep and a fresh perspective to tell for sure. I thought about posting a section of it here, but it's so full of spoilers I don't think I'd better. The best part of the chapter is the dialogue, which I think is pretty fun. The part I'm a bit insecure about is whether it's fully performing its duty in moving the plot forward. I suppose, at worst, it's fluff. Everyone likes a little fluff, right?

Speaking of insecurities (Alright, I'll admit I'm being tongue-in-cheek here. I don't mean it), I was visiting fanfiction.net yesterday and saw that not only is one of my favorite SMK writers in the midst of posting a multi-chapter piece, but now one of my top three, dang-I-wish-I-was-that-good writers is also posting a multi-chapter story. I am not ashamed to admit, my first reaction upon seeing her there was an audible squeal.

In case there's anyone who visits me and has a yen for some Scarecrow and Mrs. King fic, here are my top three favs:

Amilyn (also has written a Probe drabble, good woman)

Mary (my number 1 favorite, especially a piece called 'True Companions.' Unfortunately, she hasn't posted anything new in quite a few years)

Resourceful (writes beautifully descriptive pieces with strong characterizations that pull you right into the scene, up close and personal)

I also give honorable mention to inner thoughts, who weaves lovely tales that emphasize the domestic life of the Stetsons, and her dialogue is spot-on and fluffy fun to read.

I hate to stop there, because there are others I also have enjoyed very much, so I'll bow out with the caveat that this is by no means an exhaustive list of amateur writers who bring me joy.

It will absolutely be a miracle if I get this story finished. I completed chapter 10 tonight, a week later than I was aiming for. With the help of schedule demands, raging hormones, and the usual assortment of internal doubts, my progress is slow going. The latest inner demon: the idea I'm working off of is sooooo unoriginal. It is borderline cliche.

Appropriately, the latest issue of my favorite writer's trade journal features an article on the inner demons that derail our writing efforts. I'm sure I'll recognize many of my project companions when I read it.

Off the project subject, I am so unbelievably tired. I take a shower and then I take a rest. Every day I'm off work, I'm having a nice little nap sometime before lunch. How my older children haven't guessed there's a sibling in the works, I don't know. Apparently, Mom collapsing on the sofa midday for several days running isn't particularly noteworthy. Maybe they're just accustomed to this sort of behavior, given that their father works nights.

Somebody is visiting my Probe story (stories) on Wattpad, I noticed. Maybe when I get this SMK piece finished and posted, I'll try and finish out that Probe story I left hanging. That would give me some satisfaction.

Yes, yes yes! After writing and scrapping chapter 7 twice, the third time's a charm. I don't even care that it took me a seven hour block to write it tonight. It is done, and I'm pretty satisfied with it. And bonus, chapter 8 is already done. Hurray! Bring on chapter 9. I may finish this project yet. I'm so tickled, I think I'll post a little snippet, just as a teaser.


Amanda tucked the Russian gun into her belt and pulled herself up to stand. “I have backup on the way. I think both of you need to come on in and explain all of this to my superior. Let’s move out into the hall, okay? Slowly.” Amanda had herded the two outside the apartment, and was closing the door behind her when Markin stopped in the middle of the hall and looked at her imploringly.

“Please, don’t take me in. I am being shipped back to Russia in just two days, and you will never have to see me again. Just let Carolyn tell me how to contact her brother.”

“Sergei,” Carolyn exclaimed, frowning with disquiet.

“I need you to come with me, Mr. Markin,” Amanda insisted. “My superior needs to speak to you. I can’t make any deals.”

Markin’s eyes flashed. “Oh no, Mrs. Stetson?” he said in clipped tones. “What if I have information about Lee Stetson? I can guess it is not a coincidence, your names. My superior has been ordered to terminate him, Mrs. Stetson. What if I can tell you when and where he will be taken? Then will you release me?”

Nothing in operative training school teaches a student what she will do in the situation where the life of a loved one rests in her hands, and requires only a small bit of selling out to secure it. Amanda felt the color drain from her face, and her brow furrowed deeply. It was too much to ask, to lay aside one’s feelings for the better good of National Security, and yet she was sworn to do just that. Beads of sweat formed on her lip and brow as she stood frozen, contemplating two equally agonizing and unacceptable choices laid before her. She remembered a time, years ago, when Lee had been in just this place. Under pain of treason, he disobeyed a direct command to rescue her from certain death due to an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. He had done that barely knowing her. She had not yet become his partner, his spouse, his everything.

“I will,” she said.

We're back! We got an intensive, prolonged appreciation of a large portion of the state of Iowa over the past 60 hours. It's funny how just about every day for the past 6 weeks has been hot and dry, and the day of the family reunion was cool and stormy. Did I pack with that kind of anomaly in mind? Of course not! I did, however, pack exactly the correct amount of diapers for the trip, and when we arrived home tonight, we realized that we are still out of milk and diapers. Funny how they didn't replenish themselves while we were away. Fortunately, I had just enough diapers to go around for the night...until the 3 year old decided to poop himself between application of the bedtime diaper and actual bedtime. So...husband made a fun run out to Wal Mart for emergency diapers, and what the heck, might as well pick up the milk and some dish soap while you're at it, dear.

It's definitely more fun being the mom on these long car trips than being one of the kids, especially with today's technology. When things got a little slow, I whipped out the ol' laptop and watched a couple episodes of Scarecrow and Mrs. King with my ear buds in place. Absolute bliss! Only got a wee bit car sick.

I worked on my latest fanfic a bit during the trip...at night, of course, when everyone else went to bed. I accomplished...very little. Unfortunately, I'm stuck again. This time, it's because I can't find the right direction to go. The first couple of attempts don't quite satisfy, and the chances are good if I'm not riveted, my audience won't be either. It's like knitting. When you see there's a mistake in the work, you really have no choice but to unravel what you've done to that point and start over. So there we are. I'll give it another go tonight and see if I can invent a fun resolution to this stalemate.

And finally...just want to put a "thank you" out there to my friends in cyberspace for the well wishes. It's great to have a connection with people you share common interests with, even if you don't share a common geographical locale. My life is richer for knowing you. Good night!

The ball is rolling on my latest project, and I'm just taking a moment to remember my little blog over here. As much as I enjoy losing myself in a writing project, it does have its drawbacks. I have a tendency to isolate myself, for one. At the moment, however, I have a house empty of everyone except one sleeping toddler, so I can indulge a little. I'd be writing right now, but I hit a tough spot and I haven't come up with a good way of tackling it yet. So while I think on that, I'll attend to my dreamwidth account and share a little piece of the current story which I am particularly proud of. My goal is to complete chapter 4 by the end of the day. I know how the chapter ends, so it's just a matter of steering it that way. This snippet is from chapter 3.


Francine gave Billy’s door a tentative knock before opening it a crack. Inside, Billy was on the phone, pacing the room, and he was most unhappy.

“No, don’t take my message. I’ll wait…Is that right? Then you tell Culpepper I’ll see him in person in ten minutes…No? Then remind him I was assured this was a status green drop, and my agent was assured this was a status green drop. Do you think I sent him over because he’s expendable?! I don’t know what the hell happened, but I want some answers, now!” He turned toward the door and saw Francine with Amanda behind her and motioned them in. Francine gently pushed the door shut and Billy held the phone out to her. “Take this,” he said in a low voice, but his eyes were on Amanda.

It seemed as though time stood still, and Amanda’s breath caught in her throat at the look on Billy’s face. She had seen the look before. He was their capable section chief, whom she had known for four years. Even in the midst of incredible pressure and the ugliest of internal adversity he maintained such a steady hand over The Agency’s environment, but the deep creases around his brow and mouth and the beads of sweat on his face always betrayed his feelings. Something terrible was happening. Amanda felt herself sinking numbly onto the nearest chair.

“Amanda,” he said kindly.

She gave a slight nod of the head and held his gaze without flinching. Softly, she answered, “Is he dead?”

Billy dropped heavily into a chair across from her, leaning forward, hands on his knees, deciding his answer. He grimaced. “I really don’t know, Amanda. I hope not. All I know at this time is he’s missing.” He paused to watch Amanda’s reaction. Her face betrayed nothing of her feelings, and she made no reply. He continued. “I sent him on a drop, a very safe drop. It should have been ten seconds, in and out.”

“A status green,” Amanda said, recalling Billy’s phone conversation.

“Right,” he confirmed. He rubbed his eyes and stood up again, automatically resuming his pacing. He stopped briefly and turned his attention to Francine as she lowered the phone back onto its cradle. “Did we get anywhere?”

Francine shook her head and lowered her eyes uncomfortably. “They’re just as surprised as we are, and they don’t seem to know much more.”

“Dammit,” he spat, discharging more frustration by launching back into more vigorous pacing.

Amanda followed him with her eyes. “Sir,” she said when he reached his desk and turned for another lap down the length of the room. “What happened?”

Billy paused in his pacing and released a long, weary breath. “There was a bomb, C-4 plastique. It blew out the front of the building he was in. Emergency workers have put out the fire. They’re searching the debris, and so far they’re coming up empty. Maybe he got clear.” He stopped. His words sounded hollow even to himself, and he didn’t miss the corresponding wince from Francine. In a lower voice, he continued, “But his car is still in the public parking lot over there. And he hasn’t called in a status report. That’s everything I know, Amanda. I’m sorry.”

For a while, she pondered this information in silence. The muffled din from the bullpen was all that disrupted the stillness. Francine looked questioningly toward Billy, but his attention was on Amanda, gazing thoughtfully at her hands in her lap. He waited until she lifted her eyes to meet his and rose to her feet. She addressed Billy evenly. “All right, what do you want me to do?”

Billy regarded her sternly. “That depends. I need to know how you’re going to play this. Will you be Scarecrow’s partner, or Lee’s wife? It’s your call.”

“Scarecrow’s partner,” she said firmly.

True to my word, I spent a good deal of time writing yesterday, and today I spent a lot more. I'm a good 2000 words into this story, and I believe I have mapped out sufficient suspense and angst to keep it riveting. At least, that's the aim.

I just love how these projects get me researching stuff online. Today I virtually visited the Department of State. I printed off an organizational chart, perused photos, printed maps, and took some notes. Better still, I managed to put much of this information to practical use in the story itself. It sure would be nice if I lived near D.C. so I could check out the State Department buildings personally. Nothing you can get off Google compares to actually being there. Oh well, I do the best I can.

I'm a little torn right now because I'm on a roll and really want to finish the chapter I'm working on (it ends with an evil cliffhanger), but it is already almost 1 a.m. and I do have to work tomorrow. That usually goes better with sufficient sleep. And food, definitely food. Oh, what the heck. I'm finishing the chapter. So, so sorry, tomorrow-self. o_0

Almost as an afterthought, she realized it was the clap of the car door that had pierced her sleep. All through the night, it was the sound she had dreaded, and expected. Drawing a tremulous breath, she pressed a hand to her mouth. For a moment, a surge of anger flashed unbidden through the sorrow and heated thoughts accosted her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be this person, this suburban icon beloved by everyone in the neighborhood except her own husband. This thirty-year-old abandoned housewife.

She could still hear the rumble of his low voice from just hours ago. “You once told me you’d follow me to the ends of the earth,” he said gently. He was always so gentle, even when he was twisting the knife.

“Oh, Joe,” she had countered impatiently, “I said that when we had nothing to lose but a lease on an ugly old apartment in a lousy neighborhood. We have children now, for Pete’s sake. How can we come live with you in Africa? There are no English-speaking schools, no medical care. We’d all need passports and-what?-nine different vaccines? Sweetheart, you are getting hardship pay to go to this place! How can you think this is a good environment to raise your family?”

He didn’t argue anymore after that. He just stared at her, smiling sadly, unmoved. Later, he didn’t come up to bed. He said he needed to wrap up some work first. But he never came up.

She brushed her hair from her face in a vain attempt to clear her head of these ruminations. After a time, she sank back down onto the bed, pulling the covers up to her ears. In another hour, she would rouse herself, put on the brave face again, and get the boys started on another busy morning. They knew Daddy was leaving on another trip when he tucked them in bed last night. Nothing would be amiss to them, and she would preserve that illusion to the end. But for now, she rolled onto her side and turned her face to the pillow. For now, blissfully unnoticed, the tears could fall in perfect candor.