The plight of the researcher, pt. 1

I will never adjust to the dramatic temperature shifts that summer work in an office requires, methinks. It is currently almost 90 degrees out there (I don’t even want to imagine what the humidity levels are; but it’s certainly oppressive. This is the Midwest, after all.). In here, it’s somewhere around 50. I realize we have to preserve the media. The Preservation Specialist trapped in my brain goes, “yay – low humidity and slightly chilled” but my poor goosebump covered legs are proclaiming otherwise.

I finally got around to reserving some pictoral works of Detroit history for some background research in Sebastian’s story. I should be able to pick them up this afternoon and I am quite excited. Unfortunately, finding this information was significantly more difficult than the notes on Polish culture for Dosia’s chapter. I find that a little odd, but I imagine the issue could be settled if I could find the time to get myself to the Bentley during research hours. They seem to have everything I need, but don’t want to share any of it. *grumbles something about archivists*

Sometimes I wish that I was the type of author who could go to wikipedia for this sort of thing. Do a quick google search. Not find the answer. Make something up. But -no-…

Because that, my friends, is the way of the weak and lazy. Mine is the way of more work than strictly necessary.

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It was a dark and stormy night…

Or at least it’s going to start off stormy. A transplanted Ohioan such as myself expects stormy summers rife with buzzing electric air and clingy humidity right — before the thunderclaps rattle their way through the landscape. Which incidentally, is usually around 5 p.m., daily, on weekdays. At least they were when I used to work until 5.

It kinda “thundered” a little last night. I prepped the tea (Green Chai *bliss*) and waited…for… nothing. Oh well.

The writing goes slowly. I despair of finding niches or markets for modern ya fantasy set in rural Ohio or “Gothic horror” (I’m a touch unsure of this label, but it will do for now) traipsing it’s way through various turn of the century settings. But I suppose we must press on. The Burning River (I really need a new title for this nonsense. It doesn’t even take place in Cleveland, though the city of rock is mentioned…twice.) is currently at about 17K word count. Not where I had hoped to be, now in June, but getting there. Much of the tedious expository work has been done and I’m ready to tear my teeth into the meat of it now. The epic — well, at the very least quasi-epic — battle meat of it all.

I’m about half-way through a re-read of Lovecraft Tales. I think I shall blame that rather off-putting last sentence on that. On second thought…that just doubles the creepy.

The more they remain… insane

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Clearly this also applies to my fear of public forums as well (internet social anxiety? does that exist? I must get some of my army of psych-kids on figuring that one out.) . I am going to have to come up with a schedule to keep this endeavor going.

Perhaps we shall begin with a project introduction:

My major project at the (1st – there are 2, go me) library where I work right now is weeding through our VHS tape collection, which is weird to me. I can’t explain it. I suppose it’s the technological obsolescence (great phrase, I try to use it as much as possible) making me feel old. Or maybe it’s the fact that via this project, I learned that Paul McCartney wrote a “Liverpool Oratorio”…which is -interesting- in and of itself.

But, honestly, I am completely incapable of working on only one project at a time. And, of course, writing happens. And writing can never happen one thing a time either. I write the novel, but every so often my mind will wonder just enough to allow the plot virus beast to do this vicious little dance and chase me around the room until I crank out a story to its liking. Then we have a problem. This is a horrible habit that I desperately need to break myself of. Granted, I try to make sure that every one of my writing projects exists in completely divergent worlds — otherwise I’d find the characters running about trying to make friends with one another as they did in Gilded Days (I’ll get to that, don’t you worry your head over it). Still it keeps everything a little slow going. My word count tallies can get a little sporadic to say the least.

My goal for this summer’s is to buckle down on one of my main three. Which of the three, at the moment, is still dangerously up in the air.