Day #33 of year 2 of pandemic

[shadowkat]

Heck with the weather, I took a long walk around Greenwood. I left after talking to my Dad, who made a bit more sense than usual. But most of the time, I had no clue what he was saying. They'd talked to my Uncle Richard, who has written two books now - but doesn't know how to get them published. He needs to publish them so he can submit them for book awards, like the Hugos. (I burst out laughing. My parents were equally amused. My uncle wrote both books on a corona typewriter (yes, you can still get them).

Mother: He needs to put it on a floppy disc.
ME: No, floppy discs no longer exist.
Mother: They don't?
Me: No, they've been replaced with CD and DVD, which to be honest are on their way out too...it's all flash drives now.
Mother: So he needs a flashdrive?
Me: He has to have someone put it on a computer, format it properly and send it.

My poor uncle. His friend got a publishing deal for a book entitled The Sins of Bees, with Simon & Schuster. He doesn't understand how she did it. Nor does he think the book has a great title. We all disagreed with him - I'd check out a book entitled "The Sins of Bees" - just to see what it was about.

Getting a book published is a lot harder than writing one. Actually it's close to impossible for various reasons I won't go into here. You don't have to be a good writer to get a book published and to win "genre" awards, or any awards for that matter. You just have to know the right people, and market it the right way. The awards are kind of meaningless - in books, film, television, theater, and music - I know, I know, blasphemy, but you're judging things on purely subjective criteria - plus there's over one million books, films, television shows, and songs created yearly - it's impossible to have heard or seen or read them all. Humanely impossible. Even if that's all you did. So the ones you see - are the ones that are well marketed, promoted, and pushed on by your friends/contacts/etc. It's why its always the same people up for the Hugos - their publishers push them, and they push their books, and voila they are up for an award. But the award has zip to do with the writing or story - it's all about the marketing. Really they should just give it to the person who marketed and promoted it. Most of the judges may not have even read or seen or heard the item.

They are fun though - awards. Mainly because you get to see what other people like. And, it does promote the item. Boosts its curiosity factor and press. Awards are basically just a promotional tactic.

It's why I seldom read books that have won awards any longer. No, I read books based on who rec'd them to me, what they are about, if the story intrigues me, and if I like the writing style in the sample. I don't care if they won the Hugo (I've read a lot of horrible books that won Hugos, to know better) or an Edgar (also read a lot of horrible books that won Edgars - actually more horrible books that won mystery awards than those that have won Hugos. I don't know what that says about the Edgars or the mystery field?), and don't get me started on the RITA's. Of the awards, the Booker Prize is probably the most reliable, and the Pulitizer a close follow up. I ignore the rest of them. In film? The Oscars isn't bad, it's not great, but it's not too bad - still too political and subjective, but a lot of fun.

I admittedly know far too much about the publishing and awards industries. I was better off - when I didn't know much about it. I've read a lot of non-traditionally published books, and fanfic, and sorry to say? A lot of it is better than the published stuff. It's certainly more risky and innovative. Traditionally published books rarely take risks, and tend to be paint-by-number (particularly if they are in the mystery/romance genre, less so in the sci-fi and fantasy genres.)


My uncle is in his 80s. Two years younger than father. Blind in one eye. And a former spy in the US Military Intelligence. He loves to write like the rest of my father's nutty family. We have four non-traditionally published writers. My Uncle P is the most prolific and successful - he's published a ton of YA paranormal novels.

Anyhow, after that - I caved and ate my 3 Musketeers bar, which was calling to me from the kitchen cabinets. The took a much needed walk. It was in the 50s, overcast, and looked like rain - but not doing much of anything. Just gloomy. Plus Russian music was emanating from one of the apartments nearby.
(I stopped by on my return from said walk - and discovered there was an impromptu concert of sorts in the lot next to the Jewish Educational Center.)

Which was close to impossible to get a decent photo of - but I tried.



On the way out the door - I saw an older woman, tiny actually, sitting on the ramp leading out the building. Her cane beside her. She couldn't get up. And the super and his wife were standing on either side of her. I asked what happened - apparently she fell and couldn't get back up on her own, so they called an ambulance, reluctant to help her.

A fire truck showed up.

Me: Why is a fire truck showing up?
Crickets.

The firemen got out of the truck. One wore a normal mask, one wore what looked like a gas mask, and one didn't have a mask on at all. They helped her up, and got out their kits. She seemed fine. And then the EMT ambulance showed up. The old woman didn't want to go to the hospital, but the Super insisted. The firemen told them that they can't admit her or make her go - if she doesn't want to. I could hear her insisting that she was fine, and the Super insisting if she was fine, why couldn't she get up.

So she got in the ambulance and off they went.



Finally got to the cemetery, but did take lots of photos of flowers along the way, which I will most likely insert into posts over the week.



It was peaceful walking around the Cemetery - since it was an overcast and cool day, also in the late evening (around 5pm), there weren't many people wandering about. So for the most part I was alone.




It was good to be alone - it helped clear the head. My conversations with mother about father - are getting harder and harder. My father is now confined to a wheel-chair, and has to have help getting in and out of bed. He has refused physical therapy. My mother, half in tears, informed me that he'd given up and has gone down hill since she broke her hip. Before she broke it - he was walking with a cane and seemingly okay. (This is not entirely true - she had to help him in and out of bed, and to the toilet, etc. And while he tried to help her with stuff, it was impossible. I can't help but think - that breaking her hip was her body's way of telling her to stop? It was taking its toll on her. He'd get up at various points in the night, and try to do things he shouldn't. Also when she did break her hip - he got confused and thought it was his fault.)

This breaks my heart. She wants to fix the problem. She feels responsible for him, and she misses him, and she doesn't know what to do. I keep telling her there isn't anything she can do than what she is currently doing.
I envy people who live near their families. So walking around the cemetery by myself oddly helped, I was able to be alone, with the birds, the air, the trees, the grass and the graves and flowers. The cemetery is beautiful in a way that is almost indescribable. And comforting. My mind lets go. And I find a sense of stillness that I don't often find elsewhere.

While I was walking today, a voice came into my head and said, ' You are where you should be right now, doing what you should be doing, and being who you were meant to be. There is nothing more I want you to do. Keep going down this path and making these choices. It will be okay. I have your back."
I believe in a force greater than myself and that has always given me comfort. It's not religious so much as spiritual. And I don't always have a name for it. My mother calls it god. Some call it goddess. Some - the Universe. Some - themselves (although I can tell you it's not my mind or my ego which isn't that nice and I'd managed to quiet finally), Some the Source. I don't care what others beliefs are. I know what I know - it's what I've always known, as far back as I can remember, and it's who I've always felt and talked to...something that connects us all, the earth, the sky, the ocean, the trees, the flowers, the grass, the birds, all living things. It's in all of them. My church is the sky, the trees, the ground beneath my feet.
It always has been. And when I touch the trees, I feel their heart beat, and their energy embracing me. I've hugged trees in the cemetery. It's comforting.



Let's face it, the world can be a noisy and scary place - making me doubt myself and others daily. Telling me what to do, what to think, how to speak and how to behave.

Last night, I stayed too long on the internet - - and read an article on Narcissitic Writers - mostly internet bloggers, and fretted that I might be a narcissist. The problem with articles on the internet, particularly psychological ones - is it is very easy to relate to aspects of it. A friend once told me that they told first year psych majors not to read the symptoms and diagnose anyone until they'd been fully trained. Because they'd inadvertently diagnose themselves as just about any mental illness out there.

Mother: You aren't a narcissist. Stop it. I happen to know quite a few narcissists, and you aren't one. Trust me.
Me: Okay, now I want to know - who you know that is one?
Mother rattles off a name and we discuss people we've know who have narcissitic tendencies for a bit.
Mother: you beat yourself up too much to be a narcissist.
Me: I was told that if you worry if you are that's a sure sign you aren't.
Also that I was the opposite.
Mother: Well yeah, you don't have the ego, and you don't think you are superior, also your problem is you feel empathy for them.
ME: Yeah, that's true. That may be what confuses me. I can see their point of view - but that's empathy. Also, I was thinking well I have a blog and ..
Mother: You don't have that type of blog. You interact on an interconnective journal service. And you don't keep track of hits, or get paid for it. You're just single and living alone - so a little self-involved.
ME: Okay, I take exception to that - that's a stigma against single folks. I happen to know a lot of people who have families that are self-involved (such as my brother, his wife, and my niece.)
Mother: Okay that may be the wrong word.

I should called her last night. I'd have slept better.


Church stopped praying for my parents - I think they gave up? It had been about four months now - they figure that's long enough. I just hope I can see them in the summer - and that my mother's hip heals.



I did watch The Nevers - which was interesting. For one thing, outside of Whedon's name in the credits, there is no mention of him. The extras don't have him featured at all - just Jane Espenson and the cast.
It is hard to forget that he was involved, however. His paw marks are all over the show - they should be he wrote and directed the first two episodes.

And I see some of the same bits here and there - or fetishes. I don't know if those will go away eventually or not - as they did with Marvel Agents of Shield and the Avengers franchise. I like some, and don't like others. (I'm kind of done - for example - with the Christian religious references. Also the human trafficking I could have done without. Along with all of the X-men references, which I may be more aware of than others, unclear. I agree with some of the critics - it does feel like the X-men in Victorian Times.)

The cast is good. Lots of British character actors wandering about. Pip Torrens plays Lord Manson, Olivia Williams plays the owner of the orphanage, Ben Chaplin - a misogynistic cop, Dennis O'Hare - a crazy scientist, and
Nick Frost - a crime lord. Laura Donnelly is rather good as the lead.
And I like the actor who is playing the lascivious sex club owner, Hugo (the Spike role - or he reminds me of Spike, sexy villain.) There's a lot of villains in this episode. I counted at least five, and only two are working together.

I don't know though - it feels a bit like Dollhouse - jagged in concept, and busy. Will have to see a few more episodes before I can make any clear determination one way or the other.

Okay, I'm off the night.

Leaving you with flowers.