Wednesday, August 6, 2008

"I'm actually forced to write about Michigan because as a native of that state it's the place I know best" (Jim Harrison).

I thought about making today Wine-o Wednesday, but I need to work on the farm tonight and I don’t know that much about wine anyway. So, instead, it’s Whiney Wednesday, even though I’m not feeling particularly whiney.

I just heard from Dad. He made it out to Denver ok, and sounded more relaxed than I’d heard him in awhile. Hopefully I’m not as pissed at him when he gets back as I was when he left. Enough time alone with my characters and I tend to forget my real-life problems anyway. I guess that’s why I played pretend so much as a kid. Nothing like a good game of pretend to escape the shitty-ness. I need to play some major pretend with the second book. Or even a short story. Something. So far I’ve been reading a lot and making a shit-ton of notes. The second book is a little convoluted, and started out as a novella, so there’s some twists and turns to incorporate. I need to make some major notes on shapeshifters, like which kind can do what, before I get too carried away. Usually I can push Taylor and she just pushes back. Since I’m back-peddling, trying to cover my ass on the plot and characters, I guess this is her pushing back.

Nothing like getting in an altercation with your own imagination.

Luckily, my family and friends are usually tolerant, if not accepting of my craziness. Of course, Zip really doesn’t care and Max is too senile to notice.

The white cranes are still on the pond today. Yesterday there were two and today there are three. We have three Canada geese families and some duck families too. Barclay Water Fowl Preserve, that’s us. The cows came running out of the water hole when they saw me coming this morning. They always think they’re going to get moved. Unfortunately, without rain, I got no place to move ‘em to. At eight and a half months pregnant, some of my girls are getting pretty hungry. Just hope they hold those babies in until next week when we move ‘em across the road after we get second cutting off the field. Farming feels like balancing on a knife-edge once in a while, especially in August and March. But after forking loose hay on flatbed wagons the other day, I have a whole new respect for my ancestors who did that all day for days and filled a hip roof barn with the stuff. Back when men were men.