?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

American nomad, 2004

The loft we'd hoped would be The Loft isn't, and today we're looking at an apartment that will hopefully be The New Apartment. Someday, I'll sell a book for enough money that I can finally buy The House, and that will be that, once and for all. No more nomadism. The hardest part of being a reclusive alien writer is that when, inevitably, I am forced to move, the shell of security that I have wound about me, Woolf's room of my own, my safe place, is ripped away. It actually makes me phsyically ill to consider, this transition, the coming days of uncertainty and disorder. I just want a hole. I just want a hole dark enough that no one will be tempted to stick his hand inside.

I am almost well, as is Spooky. That is, we've almost shaken off this illness, whatever it might have been. I'm not sure Dragon*Con was worth losing the last week, time I might have spent finishing "Bradbury Weather." I'm thinking that earlier plans to do local signings for Murder of Angels were a bad idea and will be discarded. One signing could result in another sick week, which is ridiculous. I will still be doing SpookyCon and Fiddler's Green, though I may do them in biohazard suits, especially given that, in both instances, I have to spend time on germy aeroplanes.

It seems unlikely any significant amount of writing will get done until after this move, which is alarming, as there is so much writing to do, and I've left off on "Bradbury Weather" halfway through. But I can't write in confusion. I just can't. I've tried, and it never happens.

I think I'd like to trade this life for my Morrowind life. Nar'eth the Dunmer has a nice little house in Balmora filled almost to overflowing with loot, and since she murdered the pillow lady, no one ever bothers her there. She never has to write a word. She has a snazzy green glass longsword, an Orcish helm, and a Dadric shield she took from a demon. No one messes with her and lives to tell about it. She has enough scrolls and potions to charm her way through Hell and back. She just made Level 16. She never has to worry about Publisher's Weekly or Amazon.com or the next book or the last book or money. If she needs money, she steals it. Nar'eth the Dunmer is blessedly free of morality and guilt and duty. Last night, Spooky and I went out at about ten o'clock for salad and slices at Fellini's. Afterwards, walking back to the car, I looked up at the night sky and was shocked that there were no aurorae, that I could not find Vvardenfell's familar constellations or its two moons. I actually felt an instant of genuine disorientation. Am I playing too much? Or have I merely recognized, with even greater conviction than before, the illusory nature of "reality"?

Comments

( 9 comments — Have your say! )
stardustgirl
Sep. 13th, 2004 06:17 pm (UTC)
Someday, I'll sell a book for enough money that I can finally buy The House, and that will be that, once and for all. No more nomadism. The hardest part of being a reclusive alien writer is that when, inevitably, I am forced to move, the shell of security that I have wound about me, Woolf's room of my own, my safe place, is ripped away.

Even if you succeed in buying your own house, you're still in danger of having your safe place ripped away. I'm living that now. Unless you can find a spot with 100s of acres of land, away from flight paths, away from places that might develop on either side of you (causing you to be "in the way" and therefore a victim of eminent domain when they want to build a road between the two), there is no "safe place".It's all subject to upheaval at the whims of people you don't even know. I'm watching beautiful old brick and wood homes (in good shape mind you. not shabby or run-down) be bulldozed to make way for strip malls and wider highways for the commuters in their plastic cars driving from their vinyl homes to their concrete offices.

Who. me? Bitter?

I re-built the inside of this house to be exactly what I wanted. I have the scars from wayward nails and slips-of-the-tool to prove it.If I'd merely paid someone else to do it, I don't think I'd care. I can't buy the time it took to do all this and don't have the heart to try to do it again because who's to say it wouldn't be taken away again? Oh the house may stand for another century, but my "safe place" isn't here. The woods and cornfields are gone. The quiet is gone thanks to the endless whine of traffic on the state highway, the lazy neighbors who hire services using industrial lawn equipment, and the sirens of the new medical complexes. The stars may have well have left the sky for all I can (not) see of them.

Hopefully your mileage will vary.

greygirlbeast
Sep. 13th, 2004 07:54 pm (UTC)
Rain on my Parade...
Even if you succeed in buying your own house, you're still in danger of having your safe place ripped away. I'm living that now. Unless you can find a spot with 100s of acres of land, away from flight paths, away from places that might develop on either side of you

This is one reason why I've not bought The House yet. When I do, it will be with as much foresight as anyone in this idiotic, overcrowded world can muster, with a buffer that cannot be taken away, and so forth. Which is why it will probably never happen.

It's all subject to upheaval at the whims of people you don't even know. I'm watching beautiful old brick and wood homes (in good shape mind you. not shabby or run-down) be bulldozed to make way for strip malls and wider highways for the commuters in their plastic cars driving from their vinyl homes to their concrete offices.

This planet needs to play tag with an asteroid...
stardustgirl
Sep. 13th, 2004 11:53 pm (UTC)
Re: Rain on my Parade...
**hands Caitlín an umbrella**

Maybe someday a group of us can pool funds and buy our own island. It seems like no matter where I go continent-wise, there's development going on. I see places formerly considered BFE sprouting those telltale stick with the orange ribbons.
floridacayman
Sep. 14th, 2004 03:11 am (UTC)
"since she murdered the pillow lady, no one ever bothers her there"

Nar'eth The Dunmer is now officially my hero. Freakin' pillow lady.

I may restart my Morrowind game. I've developed Nord envy.

Michael
sfmarty
Sep. 14th, 2004 03:45 am (UTC)
Trust me. You do NOT want a house. I have repaired mine, and repaired it and and and. Constant struggle to keep it from falling about my head. I now have a colony of termites to go with the homesteading ants.

Not worth it. I am going to sell my books (about 15,000 of them) and move.
greygirlbeast
Sep. 14th, 2004 04:01 am (UTC)
Constant struggle to keep it from falling about my head. I now have a colony of termites to go with the homesteading ants.

Once upon a time, when I was still a social organism and before a nasty string of bad renting experiences, I was of the same opinion. Now, I just want enough money to buy a frelling house that will last, oh, say thirty years. Just about as long as I'll likely last. It can rot down around me, so long as we rot at roughly the same speed.
setsuled
Sep. 14th, 2004 11:23 am (UTC)
She just made Level 16.

Ah. About the level when cliff racers stop being remotely dangerous and become only a nuisance. But what a nuisance . . .

I actually felt an instant of genuine disorientation. Am I playing too much?

I've been there. It can be much worse--One should never try driving a car after a long Mario Kart binge.
wishlish
Sep. 15th, 2004 05:24 am (UTC)
Actually, try driving after a few hours of Grand Theft Auto 3- when you've been doing jumps...

Video games can be mighty disorienting and infectious. I have a song in my head- jarring music- that comes from, I think, Madden. I want to plug in and try it, but I'm afraid I'm horribly wrong...
setsuled
Sep. 15th, 2004 12:35 pm (UTC)
Actually, try driving after a few hours of Grand Theft Auto 3- when you've been doing jumps...

Well. At least driving a stolen car and smashing it about is a somewhat more dignified delusion than believing your vehicle can fire koopa shells and make the other cars shrink.

I have a song in my head- jarring music- that comes from, I think, Madden.

I hope it's good music. I'm beginning to really treasure good video game soundtracks.
( 9 comments — Have your say! )