i look bad

Not another blog post about sleep

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Okay, really it is. After going to bed at 11 last night, I woke at just after 4 am and couldn’t fall back. No, I don’t feel all that well today. In fact, my joints ache, my eyes ache, and my stomach is feeling cautious.

On top of that, being gluten-free is a gigantic pain in the ass. Gi. Gan. Tic. There’s no carb to be kept on hand to eat quickly, when a meal is delayed or no one is home. If you cook rice and stick it in the fridge, each grain gets all hard like little pills. Potatoes just get soggy. And yeah, we have quinoa, but you know what? Quinoa sucks. Don’t tell me what a complete protein it is; I’m an American in the 21st century, I could build a whole new person with the protein I eat in a month.

You know what’s quick and convenient? Bread. You know what tastes like shit? GF bread.

Ah well. I’ve done fasts before, and they always challenge me in ways I don’t expect. I’ve been trying to stay on top of the meals and calories–even with the extra cooking time wasted spent preparing these more labor-intensive foods, but I’m still seriously hungry for most of my day.

Yes, I know about “bodies holding onto fat when they think they’re starving.” My body doesn’t think it’s starving; I fed it two eggs with potatoes, cheese and black olives this morning. It has fuel, just not always when it needs it. There’s a lot of mental self-sabotage involved with food denial, and I just need to be aware of it.

Time for me to send an email to my agent, then get back to work on The Project That Must Not Be Named. I want to get as far as I can before I return home. I’m expecting the galleys for Circle of Enemies to be there, waiting for me.

Also, no, I’m not wearing green (or orange); I’m green on the inside.

Writing tech, tax tech, belly tech

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The new iPad has had unexpected benefits: In landscape orientation, the keyboard is a good size for my son’s hands and he spent much of last night writing a story. The software eased some of his usual anxieties about writing anything–mainly spelling and penmanship–and he completed over a thousand words of an absurd story called “The Tooth Fairy.” It also helps me see what we need to work on in his schooling. I thought he had quotation marks down, but no.

It’s (past) time to do our taxes and this year I got a recommendation from a successful local writer for an accountant she uses. There are three main problems: One is that it looks like I’d be filling out forms for him that are like Turbo Tax forms which he, presumably, will then enter into his own version of tax software. Assuming we’ve been doing our taxes correctly (more on that later) this seems like paying for data entry–is there any real benefit to using a professional? Two is that they don’t quote a specific rate. This is what they say:

Tax return preparation fees are based on a per form fee or an hourly rate schedule; whichever is most appropriate, on a client by client basis. Hourly rates vary depending on the staff member performing the work and the complexity of the work itself. In addition, direct expenses may be charged when applicable.

That’s as specific as it gets. We didn’t earn all that much last year, so I have no idea what they’ll actually charge us, but it’s likely that we can’t afford it. Third is that my wife thinks problems one and two are bullshit and we might as well Turbo Tax again this year.

Me, I’d hoped to uncover some extra deductions and go over quarterly taxes with him. See, I don’t do quarterly taxes, preferring to take the relatively minor penalty (about a hundred bucks) to avoid all that estimating and paying early. That should probably change, though. Does Turbo Tax even do that for me? It’s not like I have a lot of money coming to me this year beyond the on-publication payment for Circle of Enemies–I need to sell another book or two, and I have no idea if that’s even going to happen.

Sigh. It looks like another year of Turbo Taxing, unless someone has better advice

Exactly one week ago I had an egg sandwich for breakfast… and I immediately started sneezing and my nose started running like crazy. When I told my wife, she gave me a finger-wagging and blamed it on wheat gluten.

She’d seen a nutritionist two weeks earlier and came home to tell me we were going to be giving up wheat flour. She’s done it, too. Her body shed ten pounds very quickly and the weird red, rough skin… thing that’s been troubling both our faces for a long while immediately cleared up for her. Now she’s making scary noises about giving up wheat for good.

The sketchy thing is that her nutritionist has told her that the gluten clogs the spaces between the villi in your intestine. Me, I’m doubtful about that, but the results are there even if I’m doubtful about the mechanism.

I couldn’t join in right away, because I’d just gone grocery shopping and I wasn’t about to throw out all that damn bread. Still, the last shop was pretty much wheat-free and it’s time for me to join in. And I will. With luck, my face won’t be red and inflamed, and I’ll drop some of this extra weight. Weighing less will hopefully mean less pain and therefore more exercise. Current goal: live long enough to see my son graduate from college.

Anyway, the iPad is going to be recruited to this effort–I just need to find a good calorie counter/wellness app to download. (Suggestions more than welcome–accuracy and ease of use are my top considerations). The thing about giving up wheat is that I’m hungry all the time. I can eat a big bowl of curried rice, veg, and chicken but it will never be as satisfying at the same amount of pasta. I don’t mind being hungry–I’ve done some pretty severe fasts in my time–but it’s important for my wife to know she’s getting all the calories she needs, even if they’re more complex than they used to be.

So… any thoughts on going gluten-free? Any iPad wellness apps to recommend? What about those writerly tax problems? (No advice on the boy and his story, please; it’s still too new.)

Thanks.

An advantage of being the stay-at-home parent

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My knee has improved to the point that I can sleep through the night with only occasional twinges of pain-that-wakes-me-up. As a result, I’m sleeping like a narcoleptic, crashing at odd hours and inconvenient times.

And, I hate to say, the muscles of my injured left leg look atrophied, even though it’s only been a week and a half. I know it comes quickly, but it always surprises me. Time to start up the rehab exercises–as long as the pain stays bearable. And maybe some walking tomorrow.

Sorry that the blog has become so much about my leg pain. I usually try not to write about it very much, but it’s been a big deal in my life lately and has taken over everything, including my blog.

Well, that’s unfortunate

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And for “unfortunate” read “awful.”

Last night I was having a snowball fight with my son when my knee twinged. I didn’t slip, didn’t fall, didn’t twist anything. I wasn’t turning when it happened. I just stepped and that was it.

Now I can’t bend my knee or move it side to side. I mean, it’s been painful and tender, but never this bad.

So I’m laid up with enough ice to crack the hull of the Titanic and I can’t really see myself doing groceries today.

It’ll give me time for the rest of my copy edit, though.

Hey, writers (and other office/desk people)

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You should read this.

I have set up temporary standing work stations in my home, but I’m going to see about creating a permanent one, with one or two easily put-together stations if I have to work in the bedroom.

But I wonder about my big old desktop. That’s not going to be easy to raise up above my desk.

Because I’m a complete bastard…

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I just emailed this picture to a former co-worker, declaring it’s my new office dress code.

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Facebook users, you may have to click through.

I wish umbrella hats were more acceptable, fashion-wise. They’re extraordinarily practical.

The turkey-and-stuffing sandwich diet: or, how I lost 18 lbs over the Thanksgiving holiday

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Actually, there’s no reason in the world for me to have put “how” in the subject header, because I have no idea how it happened. My random snacks have been largely meat-based–is this a pseudo-Atkins? I’ve just returned to the gym, but only three times a week and not last week because of the holiday and the flight to L.A. for the book trailer. Or maybe it was the three-day (near-)fast of my L.A. trip itself.

Then again, maybe it’s because I quit my day job and my body is flushing out all that artery-clogging sorrow.

More likely, despite being at 280+ for so long, my body was never comfortable there and has seized on what little activity I’m giving it to shed some unwanted me. I should never have let my various pains drive me to a sedentary life; instead of easing the strain on my legs and back, it only made them worse.

I still hurt, of course–that’s never going to stop–but it’s not as bad as it was. Also, I’m less concerned with the actual number on the scale (which is why I only get on it once a month or so) than with how I feel. I feel better. And thank Pikachu for that.

Next project for me: The Cranberry Diet: How to slim down while feasting like a glutton! I look forward to the free-publicity I’ll get from health expert denouncing me as a huckster and moron.

Out comes the bicycle

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Two years ago when I was picking out components for my new bicycle, I had several seats to choose from: The Glide Rider, the Tush Cushion, and the Prostate Bombarder. For the life of me, I can’t remember why I made the choice I did.

But! Now that my job is gone my bus pass is gone, too, so out comes the bike. Yesterday was my first actual pedal ride to the gym (in the dark, ‘natch, because of the time change) and it felt more than a little like punishment. Too bad we’re in a recession or I’d pressure the city to repave those bike paths. Still, it’s good to have worked out (tense choice deliberate), and afterwards I was a couple blocks from my regular Starbucks and library, letting me to a little post-exercise writing. I even met my daily goal and returned home well before my wife had to leave for work.

The downside of all this is that yesterday, for the first time in years–and I wasn’t planning to talk about this, but I’m all about the honesty–I wore sweat pants outside my home.

Yeah, it’s true. Not even a week after I left my job and I’ve already surrendered to fashion lameness. By Christmas I expect to be lazing around the coffee shop all day wearing a green velour track suit with my face half-shaved because I got bored partway through. It’s inevitable.

I’m not online all that much, though. Sorry if I’m not commenting on your posts–I’m falling way behind in my reading.

Things are good. Today or tomorrow I’m hoping to have the boy snap a photo of me in my new home office dress code. I’m sure it would make my former co-workers burn with jealousy.

Heading to the gym

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I’m going to the gym this morning for the first time in over a year. Yeah, it’s going to cut into my writing time and I’ll need to steal time from something else to make up for it. But I’m in terrible shape and constant pain. I can’t keep living this way and I certainly can’t keep up with my writing commitments.

Starting slow with lots of stretching. We’ll see how my pain levels do.

“I’m not an author. I’m a writer.”

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Heh. I finished up the latest section of A Key, An Egg… yesterday morning. It was a really difficult section, too, in which a home invasion completely destroys the protagonist’s house, and dangerously ups the stakes.

Now I get to start the whole book over from page one. After a healthy dose of outlining, of course. Fun!

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Ta-Nahisi Coates said that obesity is the third rail of the blogosphere, and damn if he isn’t right. He links to a rather tame and unimpressive post about the BMI which had to have comments closed because people went nuts.

Because… yeah. As a culture we’re raising awareness about sexual pleasure and, even if we aren’t 100% sane (or ever likely to be) we’re tossing the issues of privacy, preference, et al back and forth.

Not so with the pleasure that comes from eating. People are still weird about their food. Anyone who talks about vegetarianism knows that. People have strange compulsions regarding their food, and they hate to let other people examine them closely.

Coates also says, in the comments, that his legs hurt constantly when he was 295. Damn. I weigh about that and have the same problem…

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Last, I want to take note of this essay by Richard Kadrey about his new Sandman Slim novel.

Let me start by saying these books sound very good. They sound like they would fall right into my reading sweet spot: Fantasy elements in a book inspired by the best crime and detective fiction of the previous century. Wait a minute! Is this my book? ::checks Amazon.com sales ranking:: Nope! His numbers are too good.

My point is, that if I weren’t trying to write something utterly different from my usual stuff, I’d be all over this guy’s books like ugly on an ape. Then I read this:

It all comes down to this: I’m not an artist. I know artists. I have friends who are artists and I’m not one of them. Mickey Spillane said it best, “I’m not an author. I’m a writer. That’s all I am.” Occasionally I wonder if I even write novels. I write long shaggy dog stories. Messy, kind of odd and noisy. I love the graceful sloppiness of early punk and the garage rock you find on Lenny Kaye’s Nuggets record series. I feel like my books and stories are similar to the way Iggy Pop describes The Stooges music, “It’s dumb. But it’s smart dumb.” My books are basically Raw Power with commas.

Hmph! I’m guessing Iggy Pop isn’t a musician, then, because he doesn’t play music.

I’ve gotta spray this grafitti again: If you’re writing fiction, you are an artist. I don’t want to get into a debate about where to draw the line through art/not art. Fiction isn’t an edge case. Fiction is art.

Now, it may be bad art. It may be utterly conventional art. It may be an ass-kissing hand-jobbing desperate-to-please whore in a Mary Sue mask, but it’s still art.

Art isn’t a term of praise. It’s not a label we reserve for those things that “terrify” us but never “seduce” us. It’s not a superlative. If you make something that exists mainly for the purpose of evoking an emotional reponse from people–in other words, if you’ve written a story, you’ve made art.[1]

[1] What say you, Wikipedia? “Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way to affect the senses or emotions. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression, including music, literature, film, sculpture, and paintings.”

That makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I know; I used to be one of them. Also, I used to get as obnoxious about it as: “Yes, I wonder about the nature of our existence, but I don’t get all Tolstoy about it.”

So I understand the urge to try to avoid being an artist. Who wants to be compared to Tolstoy? Who wants their readers to think the books we write are good for them? Does McDonald’s go around telling customers that their burgers are high in fiber?

Hell no. McDonald’s wants to sell their burgers; they only talk about the taste and talk about nutrition as a side issue. Eat this tasty burger! Read this exciting thriller! Don’t worry, I’m not like those high-minded guys your school teachers forced on you. I’m fun!

It doesn’t work, and it damages the art you make.

Call it low art if you want. Or pop art. Hell, call it “art-tertainment.” I don’t care. But don’t try to tell me it’s not art.

And buy that dude’s book, because it sounds awesome.

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Jeez, I’m really ranty these last two weeks, eh?

Let me make up for that with this: you can win a free copy of GAME OF CAGES (plus other awesome books) by entering this Suvudu contest.

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Anyway, I won’t be around to respond to comments for a while. I’m in training today and tomorrow. Pity me!