Have no Fear

Keep calm we're all mad I found this in an image search, and I believe it came from a very clever person on tumblr. I have a similar thing as a signature for my email, only it says “Keep Calm and Release the Kraken.” There was a nifty little site that you could make anything up and put your own saying in.

I realized I should really try to put up at least one post a week. Truly, I’m being downright neglectful. And when I came here this evening, I realized I’d never logged out from the last time I was here.

I have been busy writing a short story for the M/M Romance group on Goodreads. It’s roughly 12,800 words, so I did manage to keep it manageable. I’ve finished it, and I should really be editing it right now. I printed out a copy because I was going to be out and about and was going to work on it some then, and this made me think about the difference between editing solely on the computer, which is what I usually do, and actually having a hard copy in front of you. One reason I stopped printing out hard copies was that the manuscripts were so long, sometimes up to 800 pages. That’s a ream and a half of paper and a lot of toner (although my printer is lying to me right now–it keeps saying the toner is low and I just put it in. I’m going to have to take the cartridge out and shake it around some more). I used to buy paper by the case, and having the laser printer does make things faster. It does make me nervous, having lived in two houses built in the 50’s or earlier, where the wiring is a little squiggly, when I turn the printer on and the lights in the house dim for a few seconds. It also sounds like a Cesna getting ready for takeoff, and the clunks it makes are worrisome. I think the third cylinder might be misfiring. Oh, wait. That’s my car. The check engine light came on and sits there and stares at me, demanding to be taken to the garage to be read by the little computerized gizmo. Last time it was the 3rd cylinder misfiring. I don’t know how I remembered that when I can’t remember where I put important paperwork.

But back to the topic of editing. I thought I was doing a good job editing online, and I still think I do, but I think I see things better when they’re printed out, and this is even after reading on my Kindle for months. I’ve transferred the document to my Kindle, actually, and done some editing there through Dropbox. It’s possible when you turn the Kindle on its side so the keys are a little bigger. I’ve written reviews on it before. The story is only 37 pages, so I didn’t feel too badly about printing it out. Possibly the equivalent of our Charlie Brown Christmas tree we had one year. Seriously. We had a road kill tree when I was a teenager one year. It was sort of like a flattish, medium sized frond. My family always did such strange things we were just sort of “OK, this is the tree.” Possibly because when we lived in Costa Rica, there were no evergreens, and my dad built a Christmas tree, sort of fit slot A into slot B, and painted it green. In the shape of Christmas trees you color when you’re in elementary school (see, I didn’t precisely know this, since I was home schooled until 6th grade). Now it all seems very matter of fact that the little swoopy shape of Christmas trees is how they’re supposed to look, but I’ve worked in elementary schools now and seen the pictures on the wall.

Backing away from the subject of trees–actually, one more tree thing. In my last classroom, there was a little first grader who would head immediately into this huge fir that was easily 12′ around. The first time, I started to follow him, then realized that was ridiculous. He is much smaller than me and could just weave around those branches like a squirrel. I’ve had to develop a mom voice over the years, which was hard for me. It worked with varying degrees of success. I said, “[student’s name], you get out of that tree right now!” and he shot out like he’d been catapulted. I was amazed. He always came out when I asked him to. I think he remembered that I’d worked with him for a little while the year before when he was in Kindergarten and he was like a little piece of never ending popcorn–up and down in his seat, literally climbing shelves to get to toys he wanted, at recess throwing himself off the tallest playground toys he could find… He scared me to death (not literally, obviously) as a Kinder, but he was so much better in 1st grade, and all the playground equipment was so much shorter, I just let him drop off of anything but the tallest bars. He would listen when I asked him to be careful. I loved working with him even though he could be so frustrating. We’d be sitting at our desk working and he’d suddenly say, “I just can’t take this anymore!” One day I told him I couldn’t really, either, but we still needed to do the work.

This is a little rambling. I am in a transitioning space. I quit my job because my mental health (hence the above image) was suffering, All this time, while working with individuals with disabilities, moderate to severe, I hadn’t really considered the fact that I do have mental illness and it is considered a disability. That is still sort of sinking in. At work they were treating my symptoms as something they could treat with a “plan of assistance,” which wasn’t possible unless they intended to procure a new brain somewhere, and with my luck, they’d get Abby Normal’s. I was given an unfavorable observation report and the list of the teacher’s complaints, all having to do with my mental conditions, and I just kept thinking, “This is it, I quit.” And I did. That was a Thursday. That night a wrote a very fluffy letter of resignation attempting not to burn any bridges (although truthfully the place I worked for already has steady streams of smoke rising on its own), emailed it to everyone it concerned, and took a hard copy to my supervisor the next day (after my teacher let me leave early–she was surprised I had come in at all. ??). So I’m in the process of going through Vocational Rehabilitation, trying to find and/or get the skills to get a job that is more suited to me, more accommodating to my needs. I still want to work, I just legitimately need something where I’m not around a lot of people and stress, because that’s when the problem starts. I had no problem with the kids, I miss them so much. It was my co-workers, the teacher, and everyone else. They don’t know how to deal with mental illness. They can’t see it, touch it, so for all they know I’m just making it up. It’s a little funny that I was in a job working with students with disabilities, and then I ended up being discriminated against because of my own disability. I’m not going to whine about it. It just makes things different. I’ve been dealing with parts of this for nearly thirty years, it’s just gotten worse as I’ve gotten older (and I thought acting immature would keep it under control). <g> Knowing that I’m eligible for special services (most likely) because of it. It just feels weird. I had a meeting with the Voc Rehab counselor, and some jobs we identified that I could train for were as a proofreader, possibly a low on the rung editor, medical transcription (depending on my typing speed–left hand still a little wonky from elbow injury and those two fingers not working so well–still don’t use pinky to type, but I’ve sort of made up for it–I think I can use it for shift and a. I looked. I can) given that I need to take medical terminology again, or medical billing, and I’ll keep looking to see if I can find more real things, not the “I’ve made $10,000 in a week” sort of stuff. <g>

Anyway, hard copy vs. on a computer. I don’t like entering changes from a paper copy into the computer, which is another reason I like doing the editing directly on the computer. I don’t do the tracking stuff, I just save the previous edit and number the next one sequentially so I have a copy of what it was before the next changes are made. I need to learn the tracking, for Word and Scrivener.

I haven’t written a short story in a while, and I’m pretty happy with this one. I didn’t think I was capable of writing a short story. Frank reminded me that I am supposed to be editing now, not additing. So far all I’ve done is taken things out. That’s good. I hope. Except there are three snakes in it and it sort of wants me want to get a snake. I have issues with the feeding, which will probably be what keeps from from doing it. The species I chose to use was Boa constrictor imperator, and they’re beautiful. Supposed to be pretty friendly if they get the handling they need, which is why they’re popular, and stay fairly small, rarely over 4′ long and about 13 lbs. There’s a part of me that’s always wanted a snake, it was always the feeding thing that got in the way. I had to feed a friend’s snake when he died, while trying to find a new home for him, and that was traumatic on all counts.

Well, gee. I meant to talk more about editing. I did get a copy of The Copyeditor’s Handbook. My dictionary is telling me that Copyeditor’s is spelled wrong. I find that a little funny. The book’s right here. I checked, because I thought that would look really stupid if I made a mistake on the title. Tribbles. The dictionary doesn’t know that one either. Platypus. Ok, it knows platypus, so the world is safe. Of the three, which is the most (or is it more? I’m questioning myself on everything now) important: copyeditors, tribbles, or platypi. Is that the plural? It doesn’t like that. So you can only have one platypus. Some days that’s just the way it goes.

Demotivational Posters

Demotivational Posters

Trouble With Tribbles - Star Trek

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