It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

No really, it was.

Roughly two weeks ago some pretty serious weather swept through my area and managed to wipe out both my wireless router (good-bye hours of recumbent web surfing in bed) and my Wii, (good-bye days of easier life), and also, for a brief moment, pulled a fast one on my nervous system.

The bolt that I blame for the loss of my life of ease came down so closely to my house that I heard the sizzle before the flash, and the thunder came at the precise moment as the lightning. It drove my cats into bed with me, and all the fuzzy members of my family were nestled near my toes at one point.

We'd all just re-situated ourselves and the smaller occupants of the bed were dozing off when another flash hit nearby, and I heard a high-pitched child's voice echoing through my house.

My Self-Addressed Internal Thought Process:
Myself: You didn't hear that.
Me: You did hear it, but it was an outside cat, or maybe a raccoon.
Myself: Doing what? Vocally complaining about the storm?
Me: Sure? Why not?
Myself: I'm skeptical about your reasoning, but I'll go with it for now.

At which another flash took out my electricity and I heard the child speak again, a high-pitched, excited sentence of which I could not discern any words. I sat up and took stock of the bed.

Me: The animals are in bed with you asleep. It's not them.
Myself: That came from inside the house.
Me No shit.
Myself: Uh, OK. So now what?
Me: Well, the electric is out. I'm not happy about that.
Myself: And if it wasn't you'd totally go looking for the ghost waif?
Me: Maybe.
Myself Should I talk to it?
Me: I highly doubt there's anything there. I've lived in this house a long time, why would I just now notice a kid ghost?
Myself: Fair question.

A third lightning flash, and another response from the ghost. This time I'm listening and I distinctly hear the world "Hola!"

Me: Why is my ghost Spanish?
Myself: That doesn't make any sense.
Me: No shit.

And the light bulb lit up, both literally and metaphorically as the lights came back on and I realized that there was so much electricity in the air that a Dora the Explorer toy was being activated by it.

Lesson learned. Even though it's pretty fun to conjecture about creepy stuff there *usually* is a perfectly rational explanation. As a writer,  I need to be sold on ghost and horror stories before I can buy into them. Tell me why, make me believe, don't leave me room to explain it away.

I'm definitely a Mulder at heart, but you've got to get through my Scully exterior to convince me :)

Scott, The Female Cat

And because I'm blogging from the seat of my pants this week, today you get a random story from my life.

Because I have cats people tend to think I want more. So they leave furry gifts on my doorstep in the middle of the night. And while I'm acerbic about people, other mammals have my heart. One such special delivery came in the form of a big, healthy tabby who was of course, female. Which meant that I had to get the female de-femaled before she started taking sex walks.

My niece was two at the time, and I gave her the option of naming the new arrival. At that moment in her life everyone was Scott.

Me: Look at the deer in the field, aren't they pretty?
Her: Dat deer name is Scott.
Me: What about the one behind Scott, what's his name?
Her: Scott.

I tried to explain that our new kitty was a girl, and so Scott wasn't an appropriate name, but my daughter just shook her head and said, "Dat cat Scott." So I took to calling her Scott The Female Cat.

So when I took Scott to the Humane Society to get spayed there was some minor confusion at the desk.

Me: Hi, I'm bringing my cat in to be spayed today.
Receptionist: *filing through papers* And what is your cat's name?
Me: Scott
Receptionist: *blank look* You said to be spayed, right?
Me: Yeah, this is Scott The Female Cat. 
Receptionist: *bright smile* Okay then, pick Scott back up at four.

I go home, do some things, point out more denizens of the animal world that my daughter promptly names Scott, and return at four.

Me: Hi, I'm here to pick up my cat Scott, she was spayed.
Different Receptionist: You mean neutered?
Me: No, Scott's a girl.
Different Receptionist: *looks at papers* Um, no Scott's a boy.
Me: *trying not to sound defensive* Uh, I grew up on a farm, pretty sure Scott's a girl.
Different Receptionist: No really, Scott was a boy all along, his testicles never descended.

Niece: See, dat cat Scott.

Just Say No!

From a young age we're taught this phrase. Don't be afraid to reject drugs. Stand up for yourself. Make it clear you're not interested. Walk away. But it seems that if you continue to apply this lesson to innocuous solicitations as you get older, you risk social alienation.

What am I talking about?

Random Kind Person: How would you like to be on The Something That Really Matters A Lot Committee this year?

Mindy: No.

Someone With No Time Constraints: We'd love to have you in the Collection of Various Sorts of Folks, we meet right after school, so surely you could come, right?

Mindy: No.

Really Cool Book-Type Person: I'm starting an adult book club, would you be interested?

Mindy: No

When you read the above statements, I kinda come off like a bitch, don't I? And while that's a debatable point, what it comes down to is that there are only so many minutes in an hour, hours in a day, days in the week, weeks in the month, and months in the year. I've got time constraints like a sassy nun's got a chastity belt, and adding more shit to the shinola in order to make nice doesn't fit into my worldview.

I started out trying to say it nicely, and be polite, the way my German momma wants me to.

Mindy: Well, that doesn't really work for me. Wednesday nights I have a knitting class. 

Gleeful Response: Oh but that's OK! We can move to Tuesdays or, meet in the mornings even!

Mindy: I'm not sure. I'm awfully busy right now.

Cheery Smile: Oh it's not all that time consuming, half hour meetings at the most!

I've even tried honesty:

Mindy: I don't think I can. See, I'm a writer, and I need that time to write.

Oblivious: You can just bring your paper and pencil with you, and write during the presentations!

So, I let my Irish side have a go and I went with the concise, slightly rude, you-can't-explain-me-away answer that those anti-drug assemblies taught me years ago: No.

While our amazing e-friendships and networking reminds us that we are not alone in our journey towards authorship, the fact remains that the act of writing is a solitary endeavor. We need our time, we need our space, we need to get into the groove and hit our stride to make the words start flowing. 

So don't be afraid that you won't be invited to the next Nice People Gathering or Coalition of Really Useful People. Stick to your guns, write your books.