Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork
You know you don’t feel good when it sounds like someone’s walking around upstairs in your house and you shrug and break out into impromptu opera.
“Oh well,” you think. “Maybe the ghost-intruder will like it and is shuffling along, dancing in his white, bloody sheet.”
Delirium, thy name is…zzz…
Cheers!
Well, Arcians, I’m stepping out onto the proverbial literary edge here. I have a fitness goal for October: bicycle every day in the month for a minimum of 30 minutes. That’s right, 31 days x 30 min = around 15.5 hours of my tush on the cush. I’m ready…I think.
Writing goals: write at least one solid chapter of my novel, GOTD. I’ve been really struggling with writing; ever since my laptop went kaput, my motivation and confidence seemed to go along with it. My protagonist has literally been stuck inside his burning house for about four months now and is glaring at me, vehemently, from offstage. I can’t say I blame him. The chapter is like watching a Roomba try to vacuum an octagonal room: we’re going to be here for awhile.
What are your goals for October? Want to join me on the fitness journey? Leave a comment below and we can drag each other over the finish line. I’ll even have Mr. Swinebotttom do an uplifting cheer. It’ll be great fun.
Oh, P.S. This has happened to me, twice (see below image). This tells me I’m doing this cycling thing really great, or really badly. Yes, that’s a broken pedal. And yes, I didn’t think it was possible either. I pedaled the pedal off, if you will. Straight off. Twice. Lock your doors at night; I’m a mad woman. 🚴♀️
Ker-kaw!
Based on true events….
Two weeks ago, my eyeglasses broke. The pin popped out and the tech’s head just shook. “Too bad, you’re out of luck; you’re a blind, little bat now you idle schmuck. And don’t stumble on the welcome mat on the way out, you putz!”
My finger, shortly thereafter, broke in two; would I ever lie to you? Oh well, it’s just a strain, but I do have people sign my little splint just the same.
And then last Tuesday, I recall still yet with dread: I stepped on a rusty nail head! No scratches, no impailments, no ER trips or sky rocket payments. Tetanus shot is up to date and my guardian angel is going on vacation, post haste.
And then yesterday, or was it two days ago hence? I broke my car’s side mirror, to my garage’s horror and my proceeding recompense. Seven years of bad luck is mine from parking a smidgen too close inside.
No worries and have no fear. Because, even if this superstition is true, it’ll be over so very soon. At my current rate, I’ll be free of this bad luck around, well…let’s calculate and see. Why the year six thousand, four hundred and ninety three!
A.R. Clayton 