Still in the writing rut. :/
2 submissions = 2 pts.
3654 words written = 0 pts. [hides under keyboard]
12,800 words edited = 2 pts.
TOTAL = 4 pts. which is extremely disappointing
If one of the subbed stories had been 2200 words longer, I’d have gotten another point for the pre-sub clean-up edit — I need to write longer. Of course if I’d written more, I’d have gotten some writing points too, so….
I got an acceptance on one of the stories I subbed in August, though, so that’s cool. It was for Torquere’s Halloween Sip Blitz (short Halloween stories released in a bunch, sort of like an anthology only not all in one book). It’s another Cal-and-Aubrey story, the characters who starred in “Unfinished Business” and were supporting characters in A Hidden Magic. They’re great guys and their character dynamic together is a hoot; I love writing about them.
Earlier in September, my husband and I went on a late-anniversary trip (the rates were better a couple of weeks after the actual anniversary, and I’m not sentimental enough to insist on spending more money for the same trip just because of the date) to San Francisco. I’d planned on blogging about it at the time, or shortly after getting home, like I did last year, but the first four or five days were a total disaster. My, umm, natural cycles hit about ten minutes after we checked into our room, and it was a killer. I haven’t had that bad a time since I was on the depakote, which messed with me something awful — known possible side effect, and I hit the side effect jackpot with that particular prescription. Then just as that was slowing down to the point where I could consider maybe leaving the hotel the next day, my husband (who’d been going out by himself, bringing food back periodically, and generally leaving me alone to cuss and wish for menopause) came back with some wrap sandwiches from this little Mediterranean place. He got me a chicken wrap, and the chicken was a bit dry, but I didn’t think much of it. About five hours later I had a case of raging food poisoning.
That took another couple of days of vacation time.
Once I was a few minutes’ walk from death’s door, we went out and had a some fun. We went to the same dim sum place we went to last year, and the food was just as good. Then we walked up to the Museum of the African Diaspora, which is small but has some cool exhibits. We watched a film about Celia Cruz, the Cuban salsa singer. I’m not really into music much, so I’d never heard of her, but the film was very good, interesting even if it’s not one’s style of music. They had some computerized displays with touch-screen monitors in the walls, about different kinds of foods from Africa, and another set about personal adornment, showing native styles of clothing, jewelry, makeup, hairdos, piercings, pretty much anything, and each style morphed into a style you see today in the modern West, to show descent. I hadn’t thought about that, specifically, matching up modern American styles with traditional African influences, so that was interesting too.
We rode the trolley up to Castro and went to A Different Light. I got a bunch of books, and a couple were even on sale — half off, yay! I like e-books, but I really miss being able to just look and browse. Some of the e-book vendors have done a fair job duplicating the experience (and others need to put a lot more work into it) but there’s nothing like browsing actual books on shelves, you know? I’m not one for buying a lot of gew-gaws or souvenirs on vacation — I don’t hit all the fashion boutiques or the big department stores either — but I’ll usually drop some serious cash in bookstores, so I guess that makes up for it.
After the bookstore, we walked up a few blocks to a little cafe Jim had found online. The food was wonderful — I had a really excellent macaroni and cheese — but the chairs were horrible. They were the kind with the bars coming down from the back, diagonally to attach about a third of the way up either side of the seat. I’m sure that’s a fine style if you’re skinny, but if you’re fat it’s torture, and I’m not even kidding. It’s amazing how many restaurants have chairs like this; for places that sell food, and that make more money if their customers eat more, you’d think they’d want to encourage people to come and eat, and people who eat a lot to come often. Sorry, I was in serious pain well before we were finished, and I’m not going back there no matter how great the food was.
We took a formal tour on our second-to-last day there; the brochure advertised a bus tour of the city, lunch in Sausalito, and then a trip up to Muir Woods where we could walk around for a while. My Great-Aunt Angie took me on what sounded like almost the exact same bus tour (no Sausalito lunch stop) thirty-some years ago, and the woods had been beautiful, so I was enthusiastic about going again. Jim agreed, so we went. Turned out this one was different. On the tour I took with Aunty, we just drove around the city while the guide did his patter, which was interesting and enjoyable, and then we went to the woods. This time there were nine stops on the tour, seven of them in SF, and it seemed sometimes like we were stopping to get out every three blocks or so. Which would’ve been fine except it started early in the morning and it was cool and dewy (as San Francisco is) and the first stop let us out in a neighborhood street a few blocks from the top of Lombard Street, where we were going to walk down. Getting there, I brushed against some shrubs or something hanging out into the narrow sidewalks, and my leather sandal got wet. So, wet leather strap, swells a bit and roughens, then a long walk down a steep hill with the skin at the top of my foot rubbing against the edge of the wet, rough leather strap with every step. By the time we got to the bottom of the hill, I was way past blister — I had an open sore with a couple shreds of skin hanging off, and of course my sandal rubbed on it every time I took a step.
I really wanted to be able to walk around the woods, though, so I skipped about half the remaining stops — just stayed on the bus. It actually wasn’t bad; some of the stops, like Chinatown, were in places I’d been through just a year ago. And as a bonus, once we found a place to park, the driver — who’d been basically silent the whole trip so far — chatted with us and told us a bunch of stuff about Chinatown, which was where he’d grown up. That was pretty cool.
The Palace of Fine Arts is gorgeous, but you mostly go look at it for the outside architecture, and I could see that fine through the bus window. I got out at Grace Cathedral, because it’s beautiful and I haven’t been there since I was in college (I went with a couple of classmates for an art history project), and I looked at the sculpture garden outside the new DeYoung Museum, which was very, umm, modern, and I probably could’ve skipped that too without missing much. Lunch in Sausalito was nice, although we chose a place the tour guide recommended primarily for its speedy service, because you do not want to miss the bus on these tours. Then most of the tour folks caught the ferry back to San Francisco with our original guide, while the dozen or so of us going on to Muir Woods got into a smaller bus with a new guide.
If you’ve never been to Muir Woods, I highly recommend it if you ever get the chance because it’s gorgeous. Quiet and dim, huge redwoods, laurels, a little creek running down the middle of the valley… and we saw deer! I know that’s kind of a boring, everyday thing for some folks who read this, but it was pretty darned cool for us. The paths are fenced — low, wooden railings on either side — and you’re not supposed to go off the paths. The deer come amazingly close to the paths to feed; it seems like they’ve figured out that so long as they don’t get too close to the path, all the two-legged critters that walk up and down it won’t bother them. The first one, a large doe, was about ten yards or so away. The second, a really small deer our pamphlet said was full-grown, just small, was within about three yards of the path, perched on a big, fallen log and reaching up for leaves over its head. You couldn’t quite have bent over the railing and touched it, but it was pretty close to it. That was pretty amazing.
The valley is narrow, and the path runs on either side of the creek, with a series of numbered bridges. Our guide said that up to bridge three, over to the other side and back was about a mile loop. Up to bridge four and back was two miles. Usually I’d have gone for bridge four, cane and all, but with my foot still torn up I thought bridge three was the more prudent walk, and that one worked fine. We didn’t hurry, and we still got back with plenty of time to spare before leaving; we sat on the railing in the middle of bridge one and just hung out in the quiet, listening to the water for a bit.
The bus took us back to Sausalito, where we took the ferry back to SF. The tour started and ended at the Ferry Terminal building, which is like a three minute walk from the front entrance of our hotel, so that was convenient both ways. At that point I just wanted to collapse and sleep, but I’d made arrangements to see a friend that night, so I took off my sandals and just sort of dozed for a bit.
I’ve known Karen since seventh grade homeroom. She took BART from Livermore, where she lives, to the Embarcadero stop which is about thirty seconds’ walk from our hotel. (It was worth delaying the trip a bit to get back into this hotel — great location. ) Karen isn’t a mass transit person, so it was something new for her, but everything went well, both coming over and going home later that evening. I put on my sneakers (lucky I packed two pairs of shoes!) and we went up to the Stinking Rose — the garlic restaurant we went up to last year) taking a cab instead of walking. The prime rib is just as big, and the garlic-cream swiss chard is just as awesome. We had something yummy for dessert, I don’t even remember what, then cabbed back to the hotel. Karen stuck around a bit to talk, then went home; Jim walked her down to the BART station, not only because it was late at night, but to make sure she got on the right train okay, and that all went fine.
The next day, we came home. We got to the airport, checked our baggage, and my pants split. [facepalm] Not the classic up-the-back, luckily, but just the fabric on one side high on the inner thigh. You know, where the fabric gets worn if you’re fat? It was uncomfortable but Jim assured me it didn’t show, so I just ignored it as best I could and we went on. The flight was uneventful, but I lost my pedometer in the cab on the way home from the airport. [headdesk] It’s like Murphy needed a couple of last pokes to remind me he was still on duty after a few good days.
Between this and our last cruise, where I also got sick and sprained my foot, the universe owes us about a dozen completely perfect vacations, seriously, LOL! I’d have had a hard time writing about this in a story and making it sound believable, with one thing piling on top of another, on top of another, on top of another. I don’t think I’ll ever be that good a writer. Here’s to October being better. [crossed fingers]