February Sweeps - Day 379

Because it's a Sunday, and I went on my usual route for the morning, and had family dinner as is typical, it was much easier to forget what today is than last year or the year before.  And that's nice.

Well, happy Valentine's Day, everybody.

God, I love this.  I'm going to try to put a MIDSOMMER image up every year for V-Day.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 1432

Last V-Day, I at least had the benefit of going to my writers conference AND laying eyes (and ears) on the love of my life (at least a half-life).

But ah well.  Life isn't supposed to be easy and fun.  It's supposed to be hard.  And short.  I think I saw that on a bumper sticker.  Or a political ad.

Of course, I'm much less motivated a year on than I was last year (February 2020 is, and will surely remain, my most productive month of all time), but that dork that went on two runs last year would be impressed to know that I'm still doing it, a year later, and that I had done fifty more song videos, even if I barely release them anymore.*

Push-ups Today: 135
Push-ups In February: 1384

I didn't much want to write tonight, but I had to get SOME words in.  I sat down and recorded the first half of "Waffle Iron Man," and I'm happy to report that it went very, very well.  It's just a short story (about seven thousand words--although it might reach ten by the end of revisions), but it seemed pretty solid, and I didn't have much in the way of edits as I was recording it (mostly just little additions to the dialogue, a callback and a setup, making one of the characters from Georgia so I could do an accent, etc.).

Of course, you get to be the judge, once I get it published.  What do you think of my cover art?

I was out of space on my recorder (honestly, I'm gonna have to sit down and edit for two or three hours tomorrow, just to free up space), but I'd only gotten about three hundred words written.  Around 1:45, I decided to write something up with next month's goal in mind of writing a story where the main character is not a loser, big or small.

So I wrote this:

Test Anxiety
By Rish Outfield

    There were plenty of clouds in the sky, but the sunlight kept getting through, warming the April afternoon a bit at a time as it shone down upon us.  My son and I chose to sit on the grass rather than in the car, eating the pizza and not really saying anything while we did so, just enjoying the day.  Finally, I glanced over at my boy, and saw that there was real worry in his eyes.

     "You okay, Marcus?"

    "Yeah," he lied.

    "Nervous about tomorrow," I said, not asked.  He would've been crazy not to be--if he failed the tests, there would go his future prospects, a lot of his choices, his nutsack, maybe even his freedom.

    "Did you have to Test?" he asked me, and I could tell that he was seriously close to bursting into tears there, a person who would be sixteen in less than twelve hours.  That gave me pause.

    "My generation was right at the tail end before they started it," I said.  "My little brother took it, and he was just seven years younger than me."

    "Sister, you mean," Marcus said.  Then he blinked a few times.  "You mean, you had a brother too?"

    "Yes.  And yes, he's dead.  But not because of the Test.  He died later, in Cleansing One."

    Marcus nodded.  They taught the two Cleansings in school, as a single event, even though there was three years between them.  "So, you never had to take the Test?"

    "No.  But you gotta understand, son, I wouldn't have had to.  See, I was tall and strong, even when I was twelve or thirteen or so.  And super good-looking, some of which I passed on to you."

    "So you would've pre-qualified," Marcus said.

    "Right.  I was athletic, had good genetics, and packed a really impressive unit.  I could've skipped a lot of the Test, had they given it out then."

    "Lucky," he muttered, and I could see the worry appear on his brow once again.    

    "Look, the point is that you're my son, so you inherited a lot from me.  And your mother was no slouch.  You'll do fine."

    "But you had those things on your teeth.  The metal pieces?"

    I remembered.  "Right, braces.  How do you know that?"

    "Pictures, Dad.  Did those hurt?"

    "They were uncomfortable, and looked weird, I know.  That was before they'd invented dental walls, but hey, there's an advantage you had over me."

    "Maybe.  But I'm still nervous."

    "That's understandable.  But you're gonna do fine.  They'll check your blood, look you over, and you'll be cleared for both higher learning and breeding acceptability.  I just know it."

    "I wish I had your confidence," he muttered.

    "Everybody does.  It's just another one of my gifts.  Maybe it's in you someplace as well.  Just hiding."

    "I hope so," Marcus said, his eyes lowered.  Then he sat up straighter, and I saw him make an effort to be positive and optimistic.  It did me proud.  "One more question."

    "What's that?" I asked.

    "You want that last piece of pizza?"  

Words Today: 898
Words In February: 10,369

*It's just so much thankless work.  The fun is in learning (or "learning," in my case) a song and trying to perform it in one take, especially the ones in the summer and fall where I'd do it right as the sun started setting, and if I screwed it up--bam!--I lost the light.