Dead Battery and Zombies

So yes, yours truly slumped off to work, only to find I LEFT THE KEY ON in the car and…dead battery, anyone. Anyone?

Have to wait a bit to get a jump. Thoroughly bummed about what a dumbass I can be and…didn’t I promise the next post about be about my third book?

I sure did!

AFTERMATH: BOISE, IDAHO

What is it about? About novel length. I’ll show myself out. Thank you, thank you, try the chicken! Tip your waiters.

Ahem.

Here we go—

Aftermath: Boise, Idaho.

Native Idahoan Hannah Gray kills herself, as the zombies scratch at the door of the apartment she’s holed up in. However, she wakes up in an office, in Boise, Idaho. Hannah has no idea what she’s doing here or what she’s supposed to be doing in this workplace full of women doing busy work. To her horror and confusion, the boss seems to be an actual zombie or, in this new reality, called a Fecto. To her further disgust, the Hannah who belongs in this world seems to be having an affair with one of the other Fecto bosses, who goes by the name Harrison Squack. The other Hannah was apparently a double agent in this bizarre new world. A strange society where zombies are in charge of everything versus the humans who have to just grin and bear it. Or else these naughty humans get sent to Salt Lake City for ‘retraining’, wink wink. Or just disappear or get featured on the news as suicides or as going against the nice Fectos who just want a better society for all. There’s, naturally, a rebellion afoot! The local Fectos seem all over that! Hannah plays it cool as possible but she soon sets off a chain of events that leads to some wacky, wild and, ultimately, tragic events.

Doesn’t that sound like something you’d like to read?

Yes! Yes, it does.

When is it available? FuckifIknow.

Soon? It will be soon. It’s in final editing.

Have a better Sunday than me, my fellow babies. Wear your masks!

Take Backs

Up on Bullycreek Road, Westfall, Oregon

Carrot dangles.

Oh we’re going with your bit of writing! We LOVES IT, PRECIOUS. Here’s some promises and possible money paid TO YOU for YOUR WRITING.

Excitement! My writing in a short film. And hey, can use the money, frankly. Cause I’m poor and money is a distant dream most of the time.

And then? Radio silence. Silence. Seven days of waiting for them to get back to me. Waiting.

Still waiting as I go about my soul-crushing, car-destroying temp job. Yeah, I had another bad tire yesterday. Fuck. Knock it off, car gods. Enough. Leave me alone. Go bother someone in a Mercedes or one of those Land Rover tanks.

And then, ah, message from film makers!!! Squee!!!

Wait, what? What now? You’re…going with someone else.

Hey, you’re still a good writer, but we’re totally going with someone else and hey, forgot to mention we were still in the ‘still looking at shit’ stage of our process.

Okay, I’m fine with rejection. Sort of. It stings. Mm. Who really enjoys being told their work is not acceptable or not right for blah dee blurgh or just not a good fit or…?

Are there actually people who love getting such messages or form letters or pat croonings about how they should keep writing? Followed by links to give money to the very thing that just rejected you often times or launch party for all the writers but you that are in whatever.

Are you kidding or high, editors? Don’t do this. I think there are entire wings of the internet dedicated to bashing just this.

What I’m having a problem with here, OTHER THAN THE REJECTION, is that this team made it seem this was a done deal. Not that it was in the initial stages and other works were being considered yet. It felt…dishonest. If that makes sense.

If you’re gonna dangle a carrot, make it a vague carrot, my lovelies.

Just a simple: Hey, we liked your X, are considering it, along with other pieces, for our project. We’ll let you know.

[And then never contact me again, if you go another way. Hey hey!]

To sum up this bitch session—DO NOT DANGLE THE CARROT if you wanna go another way or might go another way or there’s the possibility of going another way.

Just don’t.

It just ruined my entire night. I felt like crap after an already crappy day.

I admit that freely here. That’s life, sure. But…yanking the rug out like that just seemed careless and cruel. Writers already labor often times with little or no reward for their life long efforts.

Just…don’t dangle carrots promising a job or a bit piece that earns you a little cash or might give you a bit of a boost. Don’t dangle that carrot then offer the carrot elsewhere if there’s the possibility that it’s not a done deal. Thanks. That’s all. 

Just don’t. It’s just salt thrown on often open festering wounds.

Damn. I am gloomy this morn.

Oh, so next post I will talk about MY NEW NOVEL.

Aftermath: Boise, Idaho.

Ooooh!!!

Coyote Ranch Roads, Oregon Style

This is just the hay field down the road from me but…look at that!  

 

I took some pictures on my travels today and yesterday.

On the way back to MadeUpTownNameHere, a young coyote trotted onto the highway. I saw it in plenty of time to slow down. The youngster got confused. It zagged. It zigged. No traffic but me. The wild canine finally darted off to safety and an afternoon snack of gopher or mouse. 

I spent most of my time today looking for unmarked roads, hoping it was the right road. Dirt road ranch roads leading out into the sagebrush through actual herds of cattle, at times. As we have range cattle here in Eastern Oregon. Bovines that just wander about and there’s no fences. Well, not really. I think I managed to find both roads I needed to find. I did stop and ask. I had one nice gentleman draw me a map and the very lovely lady told me exactly what I needed to hear about the…I can’t do details. Because. I work for the Census and…hey, squirrel! Or coyote! 

I also had to go back up into the hills, but in the other direction from my morning’s jaunt. It was actually good. I discovered a possible new rock haven! I pulled over, on this tiny narrow rutted, oh so rutted, dirt path and oh my. Obsidian chunks. Squee!!! It’s about the same distance as driving up to the Owyhees. And there ain’t no people up where I was today, outside of Eastpour. [Made up name!] It’s just a rutted crappy road and rocks. A stream. Rocks. 

So, some pics. Have a lovely weekend. Read something good! I’m going to have a cup of wine. A cup of it. Impulse purchase– cheap ass bottle of wine. That last picture is on the backside of my home town. Just sagebrush and sky, ladies and germs. Sagebrush and sky. 

Impressive rock formations in Eastern Oregon

Dead center– a giant hawk. I could not get closer than this with my phone camera

 

It almost looks like a castle. 

Hell’s Front Porch

My B. Buttons. Love em! 

Howdy. Have been busy with…a job.

Yep.

Almost forgot what those were. I am doing, ahem, gulp, Census work. Can’t talk about that, cause privacy and jail and fines but…!

My day starts and I cannot find this address in my home town. I spend way too much time looking for it and though Google maps insists IT’S RIGHT THERE YOU BRAIN-DEAD IDIOT…it’s not there. I…? Help. Help…oh dear. Help.

This next part is super-dramatic!

Faceplant and blown tire!

I caught my foot on the tiny edging around X’s yard, and went full frontal. Whooomp. So embarrassed. I somehow got up, got out of there and my foot feels a bit throbby and, like, I jammed it really hard against a tiny edging or something.

I continue on my way! It’s roughly the surface of the sun temperatures that day. Well over a hundred. Off I go toward my third visit of the day, which is somewhere south of middle of nowhere at all. Not really, but close to it. I’m bopping along, trying to read the mailbox numbers with my bad eyes when WHAAAP WHAAP WHAAP.

Huh? Wha…?

That weird shaking seems from the end of the vehicle! Whaap whaap…that’s not the engine! It’s, wait for it, a tire. I somehow get pulled over, near the river. There’s a river nearby. And hey, my tire looks like it went a few rounds with Wolverine and lost so badly that it…it lost badly. Okay. This is not cause for worry yet. There’s a spare tire and I can change a tire and…

Except I’ve never changed a tire on this vehicle. I figured that out when I was trying to get the jack to work, then wondering how to get the spare tire down and…HOW DO YOU GET ANY OF THIS TO WORK IT’S SO DAMN HOT. And my foot hurt. I can see the tiny town, it’s not far off. I can limp there, get some help I haven’t bothered to try and flag someone down in farm and ranch country to help me.

Skipping ahead past skipping the walk into town on a bad foot on a highway with no pull over lane.

A man and his wife, fresh from church [social distancing be damned?] stop and hey, helped a limpy lady out. He got it changed but the spare was low so his wife went back to their house to fetch their air pump, which runs on batteries. And remember it’s a billion million degrees, and he’s in his nice church clothes and…ugh.

I felt like a total helpless idiot because I could not get that tire changed on my own. I can now change a tire on the GMC if I have to. I know where the spot is to place the jack, how to brace the tire so the car doesn’t roll, how to loosen or tighten the lug nuts. Yeah. I have changed tires on my own, just not on this vehicle. So I felt extra crispy helpless and stooooopid.

But. He did get the tire pumped up enough to get me home—some thirty miles or more. I ended my abortive day and toddled off toward the early end of my ordeal.

The next day went much better! Except my foot seems worse, swollen and now, a bruised toe. But I will drag myself about, oh yes, I will. Stop it, foot! Knock it off! Go to a doctor?? BWHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. In AMERICA?? And hope I have enough in my checking account to cover x-rays and pills and the visit itself and…fuck off, haters.

Go to a doctor. I can’t even.

So yes, I am home today, watering my poor thirsty plants and trying to find some urge to write. I have to get back into the habit of writing.

Well, that’s it for now. Goodbye from Hell’s Front Porch.