Folks like to warn young people all the time about their upcoming failing health. Aunt Judy used to say to me over and over “take care of your knees”. Then there’s the knowing smile when you brag in your twenties about how much alcohol you can consume or how little sleep you need, and people older than you say “just wait.”
It’s true, though–I hit thirty and my body just sort of said “Welp, guess we’re shutting down now” and everything started breaking. Like I get why Jesus noped out of here at thirty-three–I’ve made it a couple of years past that, but I’d really rather have not at the rate things are going. And it continues with “Just wait until you’re 40/50/60” and I don’t know how to explain that I am not going to live that long (currently 70% sure I’ll hit forty, and that percentage fluctuates).
On Sunday I went from “Huh, my back is kind of stiff today” to “OH MY GOD THE PAIN I CAN’T EVEN WALK”. I might’ve thought it was a pulled muscle, but I didn’t…do anything?
I get injured in stupid ways. I’m still not sure how I tore my rotator cuff. I once dreamed I was running from someone, fell and hurt my knee, and woke up with swelling and bruises and awful pain. I broke my toe tripping on a cat scratcher. I have actual literal bubble wrap around the lower corner of my bedframe because I am forever cutting my foot on it when I make the bed.
So…pulled muscle I don’t remember pulling? Compressed disc? I have very poor posture and my “office” is the couch, so it’s bound to catch up with me in the golden age of “Oh shit, I’m not in my 20s anymore”.
I’ve been in bed since Sunday evening and I grow more resentful every day that this stupid human meatsuit is so fragile and finicky. For years it was just my brain telling me I don’t belong here; now my body has joined in, and when it’s not attacking itself, it’s just…falling apart, I guess?
I have a huge pile of work for February and March (which is GREAT) but with the current “office” now being bed, I’m mostly just editing and writing. I’ve been able to putter around and do some chores, and–when I’m not tripping over my twenty-two-pound monstrosity of a ginger cat, Jones (aka Jellyroll Jones aka Fat Jones)–I’m doing okay walking. And lying down. Just sitting is difficult, but I think I’ll be much better by Monday.
Before anyone suggests yoga again–yes, I know, I should get back to it, and I’m doing small stretches but right now I’d like to guarantee I can get off the floor if I lie on it.
A curious thing occurred last night.
I won’t go into the particulars behind it–suffice to say, I got a little paranoid that some of the Patreon-exclusive stuff might be leaked.
So I went hunting.
There’s this stupid notion writers are clueless–we are not. In particular, I am not–I’m pretty savvy, I have excellent Google-fu, and if something’s out there, I can find it. And in one of the vast corners of the internet not being indexed, I went looking at a list of my stuff available.
And then saw a name that was…not quite mine, but almost, and a book I’d never heard of.
I dunno, I feel like before you publish a book, you should double check you’re not using a name almost identical to another writer’s (rather unique) name… pic.twitter.com/cjXmV5kPkL— Skyla Dawn Cameron (@skyladawn) February 14, 2019
This turned into a four-person (Dina was sick) investigation. Our conclusion is that it must be a pen name (that they should’ve googled before using), and possibly not a real person at all but one of those “outsourced” books–although, given the slush I read over the years, I cannot outright reject the notion that it was not merely written by a person severely misguided about their abilities.
The person is not using my last name and I’m not particularly worried about brand issues–it’s a totally different genre (I think? it was…weird)–so I remain privately amused.
Something about being laid up in bed gets the wheels in my head turning, though–I think because I’m extra isolated–and I realized, “Wow, this totally seems like the weird start of some women’s thriller book”.
Welp, I accidentally agreed to write a women's meta thriller with Lynchian undertones based on this chick stealing my name. pic.twitter.com/leuWnFGRTT— Skyla Dawn Cameron (@skyladawn) February 14, 2019
Another one on the to-write list.
Speaking of, Livi 5 continues apace. I realized I have to restructure the first act a little, and move a conversation from there to a bit later in the book; I’m currently debating whether I want to do that now, or just continue on as if I’d already changed it after leaving some notes. We’ll see.
I did finish a fun side novella, but it needs a thorough second draft, and I haven’t written the accompanying short stories for the collection, so I’m not sure how/when it’ll release, beyond “sometime this spring?”. When Livi 5’s zero draft is complete, I’ll go back and do another revision pass of Livi 4, and officially set some release dates.
For now, Livi’s in the jungle and have a very rough go of it. Within another ten thousand words, I’m going to have to write a sex scene, which is kind of getting me back for torturing her–gotta torture me in return.