Blog Post No. 521
It’s not officially winter, but it sure feels like it in my area. I know some places have already had some pretty heavy snowfall, but we just got our first light dusting last week. I was in the kitchen making something to eat and listening to music before heading off to the day job, occasionally looking out the window to watch the falling flurries and I had a strong sense of déjà vu. I thought back on a fond memory about the snow which led to others. Sometimes the snow and cold are a nuisance, but they don’t always have to be.
This blog is/has never been intended as a source for real information. I’ve never intended it to by any more than a place for me to keep writing regularly and maybe be a place of interest for people who like my books. (And a place for my parents to keep up on my life). I’ve hinted at how I write and I suppose that could be seen as helpful to some folks. Every writer has their own way of doing things (different schools of thought so to speak) but there’s lots of overlap.
Alright, picture this: It’s early, like, the sun isn’t up yet early. The day is promising to be a hot one, but the chill from the night before is still in the air. I’m standing in front of my house, a small suitcase and a bag of books on the ground beside me and a Monster energy drink in hand (with a few more tucked into my suitcase). I’m anxious. Toronto is a four-hour drive (through some of the most boring landscape ever spewed from the Earth) and the event, a reading at a bar for a genre publisher, will not pay near enough to cover the costs of the trip. I can’t even say I’m looking forward to the event itself. I’ve always been an introverted person and the idea of standing before a group of strangers and reading aloud is not an appealing one. So, yeah, I’m anxious. And then I see the red pick-up truck turn the corner of my street and that anxiety begins to dissipate like the nighttime chill. A moment later, Ben is parked in my driveway, my bags are loaded and I’m climbing into his truck. Some sort of joke has already been cracked, as has my Monster, and with a last glance at my house, we’re off. And now I’m no longer anxious, but exited (and not just because Ben is a good-looking guy either!). I’m excited for the hours I get to spend with my friend with nothing but conversation to fill the time. 
I have no idea where the memory for this post came from. The break in the heat and a nice couple of days probably helped, but really, it’s a pretty specific memory. Maybe it was a dream or just a stray particle bumped the right neuron. Either way. I was in grade school. Maybe grade seven. The house I lived in at the time backed onto St. Clair when there was mostly empty fields and not the rapid construction going on now. From my bedroom, I had a great view of our back yard, the fence, the wide field, a row of trees, and bits of old Huron Line through the gaps in the tree line. I was bad for doing homework (sorry mom and dad) and didn’t spend a lot of time at my desk working, but I would spend a lot of time goofing off. I’d listen to tapes on my little stereo and do all kinds of random things at that desk, overlooking the fields. 
Since I don’t have much in the way of writing news and I doubt many people would be interested in a weekly word count update on the Invasion Novel (85 000 at the writing of this post) I’ve come up with something else to write about. Look up at the title (assuming you either ignored it or forgot what it sad like I always do). That’s right, I’m going to somehow (I haven’t worked out the details even thought I’m writing it right now) do posts about some of the stories that have stuck with me over the years. Some of them are from books, or television, or movies, and some may be from real life. That’s not to say they are all excellent, but there was something about them that took up residence in my subconscious and come back to me when something triggers the memory. I figured talking about how I first experienced those stories, guessing at what about them impacted me, and how the memories come back would be something interesting I could play around with while there isn’t much news to share. 
I work up on Sunday morning and knew something wasn’t right. My weekend had been the culmination of two solid weeks of work (no time off for good behaviour, or writing). Lots of terrible thing happened that had no choice but to be dealt with. Friday night was seven hours of crap that stuck to me through Saturday morning for my back-to-back shifts. While I managed to get a solid chunk of text written Friday morning, nothing was getting done on Saturday. As soon as I got home from my thankfully easier shift (minus having to mop the floors as the cleaners failed to do for the umpteenth time) I took a much needed nap and prepped all my stuff for Sundays RetroRama. No time for love Doctor Jones. I did my best to get to bed early Saturday night, knowing what was in store for me. 
Last week, I was on a bit of a tear with my novel. I was catching up after a couple of less than stellar months. It was a good feeling. I was getting things together for the long haul. Now, after a busy week of work (and really busy weekend) and too many tasks left for too long. To top it all off, I have the dreaded layout to finish. A huge jumble of micro tasks assembled into one element that, when one task is finished, it screws up something else, leading to a never ending stream of necessary fixes and adjustments. Like I said last week, it’s a doozy. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let it interfere with my writing, and I was partially successful. The writing related tasks didn’t disrupt my flow, but work, more basement construction, and a last minute invite to help out in a music video did. 
Ben Van Dongen 