Tag Archives: hobkin

Terrible night leads to a new morning

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Had a really terrible night. Couldn’t sleep and felt ill. Tossed and turned but I couldn’t quiet my mind. fosteronfilm was wonderful, though. He sat beside me, just holding me and stroking my head, trying to get me to relax enough to fall asleep. I love my hubby. Cuddled against him, I managed to doze a couple times, but nothing worth calling restful sleep.

Got out of bed this morning at 8AM and wrote for a couple hours. My wingstubs weren’t happy with me, but it helped to channel some of the mental gunk from last night.

Hobkin crawled up and fell asleep against me as I was writing. He was incredibly cute, making little sleeping roinking noises and twitching his little paws as he chased some dream cricket or pixie or whatever his small fuzzy brain stalks in Morpheus’ realm. With the ambiance of sleeping skunk to sooth me, my brain white-noised enough for me to think I might be able to sleep. So I curled up with him under my chin for an hour or so. As soon as I shut my eyes, my brain started hissing and snarling at me again and I couldn’t shut it up, but I did manage to fall into an exhausted nap for a while, enough of one to actually cycle into REM sleep. Had a dream. I can’t remember anything about it but the phrase “sometimes you win some, and sometimes you lose some.”

I feel better now, although still exhausted. There’s a certain clarity I managed to keep from the dream and that silly, trite little phrase. I can’t explain it, but it’s stabilized my perspective or realigned my sense of emotional balance or something. My subconscious gave me what I needed, apparently, to sort myself out.

I have my husband and I have my skunk. Everything else is gravy. I can choose how much of myself I invest in everything else–writing, working, other people, my aches and pains, my hopes and ambitions–but in the end, I can walk away from the world and its stresses if I need to, and it’s all good, because I have my loved ones to turn to, come what may.

So yeah, I’ve been under a lot of stress, and I’ve been spending a lot of time worrying about things I have limited control over. But as long as I don’t lose sight of the touchstones of my life, I’ll be just fine.


Writing Stuff

Uploaded the folktale to Critters queue. Added a bit in my author’s notes at the end explaining (I hope) that while it’s aimed at a younger audience, I’m not looking for feedback on age appropriateness.

New words: 1000
On a rambling, fragmented thing. More therapy than literary creation, but I might be able to shape it into a story. My mental turmoil and furious typing did manage to trigger quite a few interesting ideas. I only sketched the barest outlines of them in my outpourings, but I think enough to to remember and flesh out later.

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Bashful skunk

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Feeling better. My sinuses are in full-out mutiny, and my wingstubs continue to make writing an exercise in masochism (like it isn’t anyway), but I’m better. Hobkin is sleeping beside me, his little paws twitching as he dreams. Doses of skunk cuteness always helps my general outlook.

Yesterday, the doorbell rang–the mail carrier. But instead of her scampering away before I could open the door, she was still there when I answered. She had a package I needed to sign for. I was worried about Hobkin. He was wide awake and following me around avidly, and I didn’t want to lock him away. But we haven’t experimented a lot with a prolonged open front door around him. So I kept one and a half eyes on him while I signed and took possession of the mail. Hobkin surprised me by being really good. He didn’t try to bolt or seem at all inclined to explore the wide open in front of me. He hovered at my ankles, peering (myopically) around me. He didn’t stomp or tail-up, just clung to my ankles. He was shy! The mail carrier saw him, but I wonder if it even registered with her that he was a skunk and not a cat.

10 min/day
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Yoga. I like yoga. And ballet.


Writing Stuff

New words: 1038
On a new Chinese folktale. Halfway through it. Nothing like instant gratification. Well, nearly instant.

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Sick Skunk

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Hobkin has an upset tummy. His appetite is way down, and he’s feeling sorry for himself, alternating between being stompy and short tempered, to needing cuddles NOW.


Here he is wrapped up in blankies with a decidedly unhappy look about him

Poor little guy. He hasn’t sicked up, but from examining his litter box, all is definitely not well. Been feeding him bread soaked in Pepto Bismol and extra plain yogurt. He’s not dehydrated, which is always my first concern, especially since he doesn’t drink, so we haven’t called the vet. And he’s still eating, just not a lot.

I do have to wonder, considering how close this happened to my feeling under the weather if we’re passing around some flu thing.


Writing Stuff

Finally sent in my guest application to Dragon*Con. So much for my good intentions to get it done bright and early. But hey, at least it’s before the deadline.

Received 7 more crits from Critters. (Including yours, nmsunbear and aimeepoynter. Thank you!!) The tale continues to be fairly well received. There are exceptions, of course, like the guy who started off his critique “I’m not sure if you were going for a kids market with this story.” Makes me wonder how much of it he actually read, since I state quite clearly in my author’s notes that this is intended for younger readers. Oh well. Can’t please everyone.

Words: 1180 on A Harmony of Foxes. Hit a productive patch for a while there. And hey, I’m past the one-quarter mark.

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
12,037 / 45,000
(26.0%)


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On an even keel

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Hobkin woke me up at the ungodly hour of 7AM this morning. How did he wake me up? By hitting me in the face with his tail, and then using my breast as a launching pad to the floor. Ooof. I think that’s going to leave a bruise.

My mood appears to have leveled out to a point where I can ignore it or deal with it, as need be. I’m very fortunate that my depressive episodes tend to be brief, and mostly manageable. I assume it helps that I can recognize the symptoms in myself so quickly and usually head things off before they spiral out of control. ‘Course I haven’t had to deal with truly severe depression, which I doubt my coping mechanisms would be able to handle as well. But that’s what psychotropics are for, right?

I expect to have a couple job interviews this week. I’m in a good situation with both of them, in that if they don’t offer me the position, I’m okay with it. I’m not sure how long I can afford to maintain that sort of cavalier attitude, but for now, it’s a luxury I’m indulging in.


Writing Stuff

Did a Critters critique, my first in longer than I can remember (for your story, britzkrieg). I’m very behind in writing reviews of Strange Horizons for Tangent. For some reason, my enthusiasm for the exercise is down. I don’t know why.

I was admiring the artwork for “The Storyteller’s Wife” (see this post to view it), and I just can’t get over how much the illustrator, Heather Hudson, got the “Hobs” character to look like Hobkin (which, of course, he was inspired by). I’m just tickled. Makes me grin every time I look at it.


Detail of illustration.
And, for comparison, a couple pictures of Hobkin:

Elektra, Skunk Pix

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Got Elektra from Netflix yesterday. It was beautiful. Fantastic cinematography, amazing fight choreography, gorgeous imagery. Now if we’d only turned the volume off. This Eastern-influence thing on Hollywood is great and all, but why the hell are they also incorporating the fragmented, bizarre storytelling? Would it kill them to find a good writer? They can obviously afford top-notch fight directors and trainers! Sheesh. And where the hell was that movie set in? The architecture looked Japanese, except for the population, which was white . . . except for the yakuza assassins, of course. Glargh.

Fun, yes, but really crappy writing. Again.

So this isn’t a total gripe-fest post, fat skunk belly! Yes, Hobkin needs to go on a diet.

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Skunk Therapy

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There’s something incredibly soothing about napping with a skunk. Hobkin’s head is the perfect shape for burrowing. He likes to tuck his muzzle under my chin, and then snuggle it in, so that he’s as wedged as he can be, lodged between me and the pillow. If I should have the temerity to shift position or adjust my pillow, he cuddles closer immediately. And occasionally he gives little chin rubs with his face against mine. He’s got the thickest fur of any animal I’ve ever hugged, and he likes having his little ears rubbed, which are so soft, like velveteen.

‘Course, he’s prone to sticking his nose in my ear, and his breathing sounds like a windy cavern. And he also has a penchant for pressing icy paws against me in winter. But I find that endearing too, in a “dammit, Hobkin!” way. I can’t imagine how I ever got by without a skunky toy to sleep with.


Writing Stuff

54-day personalized reject from Sheila Williams at Asimov’s with invite to submit again. That’s the best reject I’ve received from them. But where to send this story next? Hmm.

Words: 1200 on the WIP, 300 on an outline/overview of a short story idea out of the blue.

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Skunk stew

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Hobkin is getting precariously close to being popped into a stew pot. He woke me up at 7AM this morning (after I’d stayed up until 2AM, writing) by walking over my chest and hitting me in the face with his tail. Then, when I was inclined to roll over, he dug at me with his claws (which are pointy since I just trimmed them) until I opened my eyes, bleary and sleep-fuddled.

Me: “What is it, boy? Is Timmy down the well again?”

Hobkin: “Hi Mom! I’m going to go nap under my hutch now, okay?” *traipses off*

And now I’m wide-awake. Yep, skunk-nose stew, mmmm.


Writing Stuff

Still haven’t formally outlined the novel WIP, and I think I need to do so. I’m writing all over the place in non-chronological sequence, with only slight assurance that I’ll be able to hook up the pieces. ‘Course, that’s the way I wrote my middle-grade fantasy manuscript, so I’m not knocking that strategy, but I had a better idea of where I was going with it. And I still wrote a couple scenes that I didn’t end up using.

Words: 850

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