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You know you enjoy someone's company when you arrive for a visit at around 7:00 AM on Thursday, having slept not at all since noon the previous day, and yet somehow stay awake until about 5:00 in the morning the following Friday. No! No, Gentle Readers, I have not met a woman and fallen in love. In fact, that time was spent with family, my mother in particular (though my younger brother cracked (and, in fact, paid for) the first beer, he was unable to hack it and withdrew shortly after midnight. But mom and I stayed up talking until even Sudbury's northern son was threatening to escape over the horizon. By the time my head hit that tiny couch-pillow I had been awake for just more than 40 hours.
In short, I've been away. Even worse - or better - I spent the better part of five days largely avoiding media, electronic or otherwise. Absolutely no radio, several missed newspapers, and checked my email only to confirm (thank you Steve) that my cat was alive and well (though I sensed a certain bitter resentment upon my return; several DVDs, burned with copies of Get Smart for my father's nostalgic edification were in the garbage next to my desk) and to confirm arrangements to meet (what turned out to be, not surprisingly) the delightful sooguy, after a few too many missed opportunities.
And I confess, I didn't even check my friends' list here, so if I miss drama, ecstasy or even tragedy, forgive me; I've been out of touch.
Part of the explanation for the initial 40-hour marathon was that I took what I thought would be a side-trip to Peterborough, in the mistaken misapprehension that buying a ticket "from Peterborough to Sudbury" meant taking a bus from Peterborough to Sudbury. Little did I know the aforementioned ticket entails a return jaunt to Hogtown, a (scheduled) three-hour stop-over and only then a ride to Sudbury. To make matters worse, I hadn't consulted the weather gods, so I alone was surprised that my bus to "Sudbury" arrived over an hour and a half late.
But never mind - I got in a fair amount of reading and had a very good visit with my niece, prior to finding my way into the genuine Great White North.
Where was I?
While in Sudbury, I did finally meet sooguy in person. He and I are quite different people (but please, don't hold it against me), but I think I can safely say we were both pleased with the meeting, even if his work-schedule and geography prevented him from getting properly polluted. I, on the other hand ... well no, three (or was it two) pints barely dilutes, nevermind pollutes, me. That had to wait until I got back to my mum's, where she and my brother and I pulled another all-nighter.
Beyond the family socializing, and maybe because of my self-imposed streaming media fast, I also managed to get in a couple of interesting books while I was up north, about which I will be posting soon - most likely tomorrow, although I drafted my thoughts yesterday.
The trip did see me ignore my novel for close to a week, but I feel I scored a moral victory upon my return this afternoon, when I walked from the bus terminal at Bay and Dundas, to one of my favourite pubs, just past Queen and Spadina, opened my lap-top and managed about 1,000 words and hour for three hours. (For those paying attention, the count is now at close to 35,000 words; my current belief is that it will come in at around 80,000 and then be pared back to about 50,000. A novella, by some standards, but a novel by others.
With any luck at all, and either way, it will be something good enough to sell or (seriously) self-publish. But since I am deliberately not looking back at what has come before until I've finished it (I know all too well the temptation that can lead to fixing Chapter One for years, and long before Chapter 20 has even been drafted), you're guess is (almost) as good as mine.
Anyway. I'm now 43, but I've seldom felt better. Life goes on, folks; let's live it!
In short, I've been away. Even worse - or better - I spent the better part of five days largely avoiding media, electronic or otherwise. Absolutely no radio, several missed newspapers, and checked my email only to confirm (thank you Steve) that my cat was alive and well (though I sensed a certain bitter resentment upon my return; several DVDs, burned with copies of Get Smart for my father's nostalgic edification were in the garbage next to my desk) and to confirm arrangements to meet (what turned out to be, not surprisingly) the delightful sooguy, after a few too many missed opportunities.
And I confess, I didn't even check my friends' list here, so if I miss drama, ecstasy or even tragedy, forgive me; I've been out of touch.
Part of the explanation for the initial 40-hour marathon was that I took what I thought would be a side-trip to Peterborough, in the mistaken misapprehension that buying a ticket "from Peterborough to Sudbury" meant taking a bus from Peterborough to Sudbury. Little did I know the aforementioned ticket entails a return jaunt to Hogtown, a (scheduled) three-hour stop-over and only then a ride to Sudbury. To make matters worse, I hadn't consulted the weather gods, so I alone was surprised that my bus to "Sudbury" arrived over an hour and a half late.
But never mind - I got in a fair amount of reading and had a very good visit with my niece, prior to finding my way into the genuine Great White North.
Where was I?
While in Sudbury, I did finally meet sooguy in person. He and I are quite different people (but please, don't hold it against me), but I think I can safely say we were both pleased with the meeting, even if his work-schedule and geography prevented him from getting properly polluted. I, on the other hand ... well no, three (or was it two) pints barely dilutes, nevermind pollutes, me. That had to wait until I got back to my mum's, where she and my brother and I pulled another all-nighter.
Beyond the family socializing, and maybe because of my self-imposed streaming media fast, I also managed to get in a couple of interesting books while I was up north, about which I will be posting soon - most likely tomorrow, although I drafted my thoughts yesterday.
The trip did see me ignore my novel for close to a week, but I feel I scored a moral victory upon my return this afternoon, when I walked from the bus terminal at Bay and Dundas, to one of my favourite pubs, just past Queen and Spadina, opened my lap-top and managed about 1,000 words and hour for three hours. (For those paying attention, the count is now at close to 35,000 words; my current belief is that it will come in at around 80,000 and then be pared back to about 50,000. A novella, by some standards, but a novel by others.
With any luck at all, and either way, it will be something good enough to sell or (seriously) self-publish. But since I am deliberately not looking back at what has come before until I've finished it (I know all too well the temptation that can lead to fixing Chapter One for years, and long before Chapter 20 has even been drafted), you're guess is (almost) as good as mine.
Anyway. I'm now 43, but I've seldom felt better. Life goes on, folks; let's live it!