Next Wednesday is the boys' last day of school. I'm dreading it a little bit, to be honest. I have no idea what we're going to do most of the day with the end of school. My wild ideas of getting some serious writing done over the last month did not come to fruition. A lot of things just got in the way, not the least of which has been getting used to this medication. It's funny, in a way, that I finally get used to it right when school is ending.
I went out for a walk this morning. In the midst of it I found a twig that looks to be just about perfect for making my own witchy broom. I'm planning on using the stalks from the day lilies for the brush end when the flowers are done. I also found two large goose feathers. I'm pretty sure they're wing feathers. I am going to try my hand at making quill pens with them. I've been reading about it and it looks simple enough to do. Those, however, are often famous last words.
I was worried that my royalties check got stolen. After some investigation and talking to people at Lulu.com (where I've self published and where the check was supposed to come from) apparently it went to my Paypal account. I don't recall changing settings so that payment went to it. At least I now know what happened to it. I may just leave it set up that way for future payments.
I should be hearing back from my beta readers regarding book two of the Umbrel Chronicles. Edits are a bit stalled on book three. I am probably not going to be doing much with the books until next September. I think the kids are going to keep me too busy to do anything, even plot mapping. I am in editing hell right now with the Sanctuary books. I honestly don't know what I'm doing anymore. So, putting that aside for a few months is a good idea right now.
I have been doing my therapy writing and I honestly don't know how I feel about it. Writing to my different personality aspects has been a weird experience. It makes me look at it all and kinda wonder about it. They're so developed and detailed. It's like they're almost an entirely different person (and in a lot of ways they feel like they are). I find myself wondering if this is what the hospital psychiatrist was baffled by. At one point, I had one tell me that they were shocked that given the trauma I have experienced that I'm not schizophrenic or suffering from dissociative identity disorder. I've been trying not to get squicked by the feelings of doing this journal work. It is, however, very uncomfortable.
I've been feeling awkward about my reading right now. I'm taking a break from the Dresden Files and reading The Pearl. It is a complete collection of Victorian erotica that was published as an underground magazine in England. I'm not awkward about the fact I am reading erotica. What is awkward for me is the fact that I have zero response to it. De Sade's writings were ... interesting, to use a massive understatement. I didn't realize how left of center my appetites were until I started reading this. At most, I'm amused by how they phrase things and what they considered 'scandalous'. I thought that reading The Pearl would give me ideas for writing erotica shorts again. It absolutely has not. So, when I finish it, I will be re-reading De Sade. It makes me wonder what related writings I should locate next. Because I don't think the collection of De Sade's writing that I have is complete.