A bit of what I wrote for this month’s Cafe Writing prompt:

“Race you to the jetty!” I yell and take off without checking to see if Sam is running or not. I don’t much care if I win, I just love the way the sand feels under my bare feet, warm at the surface, then colder beneath, and I love the way the blood surges in my veins as my legs move and my arms pump.

Breathless, the wind and ocean in my ears, face, and hair, I can’t really hear his footfalls, but I can feel his presence a little bit behind me, closer to the surf. Just as in the scene from Atalanta, we reach the jetty together, and sprawl in the sand near the slate blue rocks.

You can read the rest here.

Like celebrities to drug rehabs, ladybugs have been flocking to my house this winter. The first few showed up in December. A light bulb flickered out in the kitchen, and when I looked up I saw several red and black beetles spaced between the high-hats on the kitchen ceiling.

Since our return from Mexico, more have arrived. I found one crawling up my ankle a few nights ago while I was in the living room, saw three inside the arched window in the top of the house, and twice different ladybugs were caught in the vortex of the ceiling fan in our bedroom.

Ladybug lore says that if you find one in your house in winter, you’ll have good luck.

Here’s hoping.

Where are our lives?
If there is no dream
Where is our home?

We don’t know how
There will be a way
Out of the storm
We will find home
— Kate Bush, “Lyra,” The Golden Compass

We went to see The Golden Compass at the UA theater at the end of our street, which theater we never go to because it’s twenty years old, and doesn’t have stadium seating, but since we were away during most of the December movie watching period, and the alternative was to drive to a theater in Dallas, which neither of us was inclined to do since it wasn’t an IMAX movie, we chose this. When we got there, we were pleasantly surprised to find that all shows between 4 and 6 are only $4. So hey, cheap tickets, nearly empty auditorium, and clean bathrooms all added up to a decent experience.

The movie itself was…well…I didn’t hate it, but even though I’ve only read the first book in the series, and even though that was six months ago (it seems) I was a bit disoriented by the shuffling of scenes. As many other readers of the novels are, I’m also disappointed that the last part of the book was chopped off, leaving the movie feeling incomplete.

Editing issues aside, I don’t have a major issue with the composite characters replacing a few of the originals, and I like the casting and the CGI animals, but it drives me crazy when movies that really aren’t childish are packaged as childrens’ films. This could have been better done.

After the film, we made trips to Barnes and Nobel, where I got books two and three and some comforting TrekFic, and Taco Bell, for weekend junk food. We watched last night’s episode of Stargate Atlantis, and now, I’m curled up with dogs and pillows and cold medicine and a comfort book, and Fuzzy’s upstairs playing computer games, and while this isn’t a very exciting evening on the surface, it’s good that we both know where home is.

I gave up on trying to find words or woo my muse, and went to soak in a hot bubble bath, which is apparently just what I needed because while I was reclining against my chenille bath pillow reading about three generations of Swedish mothers and daughters, I realized that I needed to stop whining about inspiration, and just write.

To that end (and with thanks to a LiveJournal friend who mentioned the community) I’ve become a member of Novel in 90, which is a writing community designed for people who have jobs and lives and don’t fit into the NaNoWriMo mold. There are no forums to distract you, you are encouraged to work on multiple projects, and meet other deadlines, while still averaging 750 words/day of your novel in question. The word-count posts (daily and weekly) are the only real accountability – mockery if you don’t meet your goal the only penalty. It’s just enough external motivation for someone like me who doesn’t want to be bothered chatting or attending parties, and writes every day ANYWAY.

I’m not certain it will help. But it’s a new year, and it seemed like a good idea.

Estás perdiendo el tiempo
Pensando, pensando
Por lo que más tú quieras
¿Hasta cuándo? ¿Hasta cuándo?

I have written in the blog, and written for work, but with the exception of a scene I wrote the other night, then tossed, I haven’t written anything for myself since before Christmas. Oh, I participated in Holidailies, and one of my entries, Resting States, even made it to the “Best of…” list, but I feel stale, and in need of a jump-start.

I like that I’m making money from writing, but I feel stale, and tired, and while I know part of that is just post-holiday let-down, and another part is lack of sleep, worry over my dog, and nursing a cold/flu thing, another part is that I can’t connect with my muse. I feel like she’s flirting with me, and answering a coy “Perhaps,” when I ask if she’ll return.

This isn’t a plea for inspiration, so much as a venting of old air.

But if you see my muse, tell her there’s chocolate involved if she returns.

Zorro keeps looking up at me with big liquid eyes that beseech me to make him feel better, and help him breathe, and I can’t do anything but soothe him and stroke him, and tell him he’s a good dog…and shove pills encapsulated in cheese down his throat.

We’re trying to keep him warm, but not hot, and comfortable. To that end, we’ve taken his collar off him, so now he’s naked, and I’m paranoid that he’ll escape, as he is want to do. He isn’t one to run away, but he was a stray, and loves to explore. He knows where home is though…and I know that this is an irrational fear: he isn’t even coming to the kitchen to beg for treats when there are food sounds, and this is a dog who lives for treats.

Miss Cleo is subdued as well, and is being nice to him – not roughhousing or stealing food, or any of her normal little-sister-type behavior. She went to him a moment ago, and licked his ear, and then came to me and put her head on my leg, and sighed.

The meds are – slowly – kicking in. Last night we slept in fifteen and twenty minute snatches, between his coughing fits, but this evening, he’s going for an hour between attacks, and they’re shorter, and less severe, but still wheezy and awful. He just had his evening meds, so hopefully we’ll ALL get some rest tonight, him included.

I had planned to dismantle Christmas today, and reclaim the house, but instead I spent half the day sleeping and the other half trying to, though we did watch the first two episodes of Numb3rs on DVD, since we’d never watched the show live…I quite like it so far.

I’m tired and cranky, and worried, and I feel so helpless. How do parents of human children get through this stuff, when it’s this difficult with a dog?

Just a brief announcement that the January Project has been posted at CafeWriting.com.

Go. Play. Write.

“We are all going on an Expedition,” said Christopher Robin, as he got up and brushed himself. “Thank you, Pooh.”

“Going on an Expotition?” said Pooh eagerly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on one of those. Where are we going to on
this Expotition?”

“Expedition, silly old Bear. It’s got an ‘x’ in it.”

“Oh!” said Pooh. “I know.” But he didn’t really.

“We’re going to discover the North Pole.”

“Oh!” said Pooh again. “What is the North Pole?” he asked.

“It’s just a thing you discover,” said Christopher Robin carelessly, not being quite sure himself.

“Oh! I see,” said Pooh. “Are bears any good at discovering it?”

— A. A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh

The first of a new year seems as good a time as any to restructure, re-evaluate. I’ve a new mission here at MissMeliss: Escribition. While I’ve always said my blog is writing practice, something to keep the juices flowing, it’s also a personal voyage of discovery. Sometimes I’m discovering things about myself. Sometimes I’m discovering things about art, literature, culture, the world. Either way, if you’re reading this you’re invited along for the journey.

Of course, I don’t camp, as such, so on my expedition, picture yourself in an African Safari from the 20’s: white clothes, white tents, staff to keep the coffee hot and the biscuits served, and camp beds rather than nasty sleeping bags on the ground. On my safari, the espresso flows freely, wifi is always available, and style and substance merge into a harmonious marriage.

Do join me.
After all, like the North Pole, life is just a thing you discover.