Sick. Again,

I'm sick. Again.

I've been getting sick a lot lately. Sinus infections, viral gastrointeritis (stomach flu), migraine headaches (the first one in almost a decade) and now - a massive allergic reaction.

We're not talking the sniffles here. We're taking full-body hives, vomiting, choking, eye-watering, sinus-clogging, skin-burning, life-altering allergies and are requiring heavy hits of antihistamines and prednisone. (Nasty stuff...but it gets the job done.)

I'm not able to take hot showers, get hot and sweaty or even be in place where I'll get hot and sweaty. This is gonna make work interesting, beacuse there's not a day that goes by I'm not drenched in sweat.

I'll make it work, though. I have to.

When you're a kid, being temporarily sick can end up being kind of an adventure. Sure, you feel like crap, but you might just get out of school for a few days and spend the time playing games, reading, watching TV.

Yes, it can still suck and it doesn't always work out like that. It's a crap shoot that depends on parents, doctors and all the stars to align - but there is still the possibility that things can turn out to fun. It didn't often turn out like that for me or my brothers, but when it did, it made being sick worth it.

When you're an adult, it never works out like that. You end up missing work. If you're like me, that means you aren't earning much needed money. And if you're like me, it means you're going to end up behind on your work. You can't meet your obligations and end up leaving people high and dry - and they get rightfully put out at the inconvenience. They may not be upset with you, but they tend to be upset with the situation.

So. Here I am. Sick and messing things up because I'm sick. Not my fault, but frustrating non the less.

I'll admit, I'm frustrated. I went years without getting sick hardly at all. And during those years? I ate and drank whatever I felt like, as long as I wasn't allergic to it. Triple-meat bacon cheeseburger? Anytime I felt like it. Soda? Every day. Massive amounts of it. Ice cream and cake and cookies and - yeah. You get the idea. I was a glutton, feeding my belly and my taste buds whatever fat-laced, grease-soaked concoction sounded good at the time. I did so without a single iota of guilt, let alone a second thought.

Not only did I eat like a fat, happy king, I did so cheaply. Because stuff that's bad for you is cheaper than stuff that's good for you. Universal law, if there ever was one. I had endurance, physical strength and I wasn't even that active. I spent most of my time online. I read, I wrote and I role-played online.

It was a good time in my life.

Then I decided that I wanted to lose weight and change some things about my life. I cut out soda almost completely - now sodas are a treat instead of a staple. I've cut down what I eat and changed what I eat. I've lost some weight and I actually think about my health.

And my health is worse than ever. I'm sure there's lots of arguments that can be made about me reaping what I sowed during those good years. I'm sure there's some comments to be made about me getting older and slowing down. Or I've accidentally omitted some set of nutrients. And I'm sure it would all be correct.

But damn me if it's not frustrating and annoying and a right royal pain in the ass.

There's a lot of things I want to do for my health. Exercise is something I can't do while I'm constantly sick, not if I want to get better. Exercise is already hard enough with the fibro and arthritis, but - after dilligent research and some (painful) experimentation, I have a plan in place. Getting the chance to start said plan? Not yet.

Changing my diet is what I'm in the middle of. It's both harder and easier than I thought it would be. Part of the problem is energy level - I have very little these days. I'm constantly tired and drained, but that has as much to do with the fibro/arthritis combo as anything else. I think once I get my diet stabilized and my exercise started, I can reverse that trend...but for now, being tired means I tend to not have the energy to cook once I get home. Which means I'm tending not to eat as healthy as I plan to - healthier than I used to, for sure.

I'm not giving up though.

As my mother is fond of saying...our family is too stupid to know when we should give up.

Really, self? 16 years?

Odd, how some things change with time - and they seem, at least for me - to often be the things I didn't think would ever change. I'm not talking about things like religion, politics, health or hobbies. I'm not even thinking of interests or gut reactions or primal urges - not even that deep and abiding hatred of mornings you (meaning 'me') developed as a teenager.

Used to be, when April 3 rolled around, it was an important moment. A day of reflection and renewal of purpose. The whole day was spent with my thoughts drifting back to the same subject - a subject tinged with excitement, exasperation, fear and anticipation. A subject that made me hope and dread at the same time.

This year, April 3 was Wrestlemania. (Go ahead. Laugh. I know you want to.)

April 3 is the anniversary of the Katheryn story.

Not that I really expect that to mean much to some of you. Or even most of you. Just because you occasionally get bored enough to read my blog doesn't mean you know what the Katheryn story is, especially if you're a relative newcomer to my blog or my life.

Used to be, I couldn't stop talking about it. That's another change; at one point in my life, I figured I wouldn't ever stop talking about the Katheryn story. I couldn't. It was too integrated into my personal identity - especially my personal identity as a writer. It still is. And yet, I almost never write about. I almost never talk about it.

Why not?

I mean, this past April, while I was watching Triple H and The Undertaker beat on each other, the Katheryn story quietly turned 16.

Sixteen?! Really? Really? I've been writing on the same damn story for sixteen years?

Well, yeah. Kinda. Apparently, I'm stubborn, tenacious and (very likely) obsessive. (Those of you nodding your heads in agreement with the last one? Not cool, y'all. Not cool.) I don't accept defeat and keep trying, no matter how many times I fail!

(Or, if you want to get technical, I haven't failed yet, because I haven't shelved the project and decided I'm done with it. If you want to get technical.)

Or...or, I'm a lame-ass punk writer who can't get up off his fat ass, dig down deep and write the bloody thing already. (I can hear the 'told you sos' through the cybernetic ether. Apparently, I've been told such before. Who knew?)

In truth, the Katheryn story is hardly the same story it was when I started it back in 8th grade. It's gone from being a cheesy fanfic that won a middle school writing contest (how sad is it that I'm still proud of that?) and has turned into it's own universe, complete with a history that starts before the beginning of time, a deep mythos, and a very complex and (I think) amazing world to play in.

In (further) truth, I might have just set out to write a story that I didn't have the tools, skills or experience to tell. I've had to cut my teeth on smaller projects, less ambitious tales and less complicated worlds in order to learn how to write what I want to write. Which is why I can safely say I haven't been working on for 16 years.

True, it's a rare day that goes by that I don't think about the story. (Stop smiling and nodding knowingly. Obsessions are completely normal. Healthy even. Just ask Freud. Just don't ask him while he's anywhere near that picture of his mother.)

None the less! All asides aside, the Katheryn story is a huge part of my life and has never stopped being a huge part of my life. I don't really see it as some kind of 'magnum opus' (at least not since I graduated high school), but I do see writing it as a goal. I also realize that not everyone (as in, almost no one) wants to hear me babble about the Katheryn story all the time. Or most of the time. Or even as much as I used to.

It's rude to be that guy (or, at least, that form of that guy) - and Real Life(TM) has taken over much of my existence. Varying jobs, schools, chores and other things necessary for the smooth(ish) day-to-day operation of my life take up a lot of time. A lot more time than I wish it took. But, there you have it. Life sucks, takes a lot of time to deal with, and no matter how much I whine about it, no one else will do it for me until I have enough money to pay them to do so.

(Now there's a goal...)

But for the 15th and 16th anniversaries to pass unnoticed? Kinda...bothers me a bit. Mostly, I think, because I realize that they depress me. After working for so long, I have so little to show for it?

That...and I know that of that 16 years, I've been a functional, intelligent writer and reasonable facsimile of an adult for less than ten. I think that's the bottom line of this whole post and whole ponderation.

Katheryn may be turning 16, but she's hardly the same girl she was when I started writing her. And though she defined who I was as a writer for a long time, she stopped doing so years ago, because I am no longer the same person - or the same writer - I was when I started writing her.

Her story is not the same story; her world is not the same world - and I am no longer quite as enamored with what I once created. I now know I am better than I was and know I can do far better than I once did.

And that...is a whole helluva lot cooler than any anniversary will ever be. So I'm good with having spent her 16th birthday watching some rather excellent pseudo-violence and eating awesome tacos with my friends.

Hopefully, the next 'anniversary' is just as good as this last one.

Another boring and pointless blog brought to you by jayiin's bored subconscious. And for anyone who really cares, I'm actually writing on the story, using Camp NaNoWriMo as convenient excuse.

Any resemblance this blog may have to mealy-mouthed self-analysis and carefully considered excuse crafting to avoid accepting responsibility for the fact I still haven't finished it is purely coincidental. Because I'm a grown up.

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Writing Errata and Etc

We aren't going to talk about my failure to blog these last few weeks. Really, we aren't. Becuase I'm lame and I know it.

Yes. My blog has been suffering from neglect. Sadly, with this post, I will have posted as much in Jan - Feb 2011 as I did all of 2010.

It's not from lack of ideas or inspiration. Or even from lack of time. For the first time in a long time, I can say that I seem to be on bottom-dead-center where my writing is concerned and I can't honestly say there is anything to blame other than myself.

So. Mea culpa. Now what?

Writing one blog post won't do a damn thing to help me get serious about writing again; neither will blogging in general (even if it is good practice). I'm reading plenty, have plenty of creative input and enough free time that I could be plugging away at half a dozen writing projects.

I can say, however, that I haven't been completely useless on the writing front. There are things going in the orbit of my writing that are (slowly) providing me some impetus to get off my fat ass (or should that be 'sit my fat ass down') and write.

• WizardTales, the fantasy fanfiction site I've been part of/on staff of off-and-on since around 2006 has just re-opened it's doors after about a two-year haitus. This time around (third time's the try, right?) we're simplying things a bit and doing things somewhat different. Mostly behind the scenes. Somehow, I've been handed the Red Hat (site admin, for those who don't know MMM parlance). Things are (of course) moving slow, but they are moving. Fanfiction remains a strong inspiration and motivation for me.

• An old friend contacted me early on this year and made me an offer; thusly, I find myself as a member of UK Authors. I haven't been there very long, and the culture and attitude of the people there is vastly different than any other writing community I've been a part of. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet or how I feel about the welcome I've recieved. They don't seem interested in discussing craft as much as they seem to enjoy irritating each other around the boards. The quality of writing is about the same as I've found on other internet forums - some of it is fantastic and some of it is terrible. They have real support and a thriving community of poets there. In all truth, I'm not much of a poet. I've written a few decent ones, but nothing special. And I seem to have lost the knack of it over the years. The jury is still out on UK Authors, bu being there is making me realize how much I need to write.

• the Katheryn story is nearly 16 years old, and for the first time in almost six of those years, the story is starting to make sense. Writing the (first part of the) prequel for NaNoWriMo in 2009 was a good idea. It shook loose some of the cobwebs and helped me see more of what I really wanted the story to be about. Setting it down for over a year was an even better idea, because now that I have some distance, I've started to untangle the knot of issues at the core of the story and started to make some real progress on how I want to write it.

I think I had an idea too ambitious for my skills and I'm only just now really coming into the level of skill and maturity I need to write the story and do it justice. It's taken awhile, but I think I'm finally getting there.

• Forum-based RP has always been something that gets my creative side moving - the same goes for tabletop RP. I'm hoping to make more time for both in the near future. (And, if I can actually keep some momentum, my next post will be about tabletop RP. Someone please hold me to that.)

Hopefully, some of this does something. Because I can honestly say I am not a bad writing. I might even be good.

Recently, a good friend of mine called me up and left me a very serious voicemail.

She had run across an old story of mine that was loosely based on real events, answering the question "what if" about a real scenario. She'd found and read the story when she googled herself (she was in the acknowledgements, because the names had been changed to protect the guily) and thought: "Oh shit. Was I that kind of asshole to him?"

Truth: she wasn't. But the story made it out that way. Sort of. (The narrator was an emo pussy version of myself. He whined a lot and very much had a fatalistic 'life sucks' attitude.)

The story was good enough she was afraid the events were real and she wasn't remembering what happened right. I wrote that story about a decade ago, so obviously - I don't suck if I can write a story well enough that someone who knows better doubted their own recollection of events.

I need to get off bottom-dead-center and write.

If any of my friends out there want to help with that - nag me about writing. Nag me until I'm mad. Ask me about stuff until I have to start writing just so I can make everyone stop nagging me.

Either that, or just keep throwing things at the back of my head until I start writing and stop sitting around saying "I should write."

Otherwise, I will turn into the loser I'm afraid I could be.