Sherri Cornelius

Yesterday I went through the printed scenes of my WIP, assessed each one’s viability, and inserted placeholder pages for scenes which were missing. I got about halfway through. By the time I’m finished I hope to have every major plot point mapped in, with plenty of room for fun extras like backstory and worldbuilding. The underworld where my story is set has mushy time, and to convey that uncertain, disjointed time I’m inserting random flashbacks. A lot of those have already been written, but there’s lots of room to be creative there, still. I’m excited.

I mentioned earlier that my editing projects this time are both erotica stories. Now, I’m not a prude by any means, but I am demure. Sex and sexy things are mostly private for me, and while I don’t care if others feel comfortable talking about them, I was interested to see how I would react. It’s funny how un-erotic erotica can be when you’re looking for punctuation errors. I knew I would be fine when I made this note without blushing: “You said where Guy #1′s ____ is, but what about Guy #2′s _____?”

What language to use in my notes is something I’ve wondered about. Do I mirror the language of the story in notes like the one above? It sounds too dirty for a professional. So do I use the correct terminology? Well, that sounds too stiff and uptight (puns intended). So I think it’s cute to use nicknames, like you-know-what and hoo-ha, but that’s not precise enough. I guess I’ll go with correct terminology, since I am a professional, after all, and you can’t go wrong with penis and vulva.

Again I’m at the point where real life is more interesting and busy than my digital one. I’ve neglected Facebook over Twitter, yet I haven’t disconnected the link between the two, so it looks like I’m updating Facebook all the time. I don’t mind except I miss FB comments and look like a douchebag. (I know the word “douchebag” doesn’t usually apply to ladies, but I do love it so!) So I guess I should do a run-down of the low-down. Here’s what I’ve been up to in a numbered list, so in your comments you can merely reference the number of the topic. You’re welcome.

1. I typed so much on my beautiful new/ancient typewriter that my bad finger refused to type anymore. Back to pecking the keyboard with my patented left hand/right index finger technique, and only when absolutely necessary. (yes, this is necessary.)
2. I’m about halfway through Brian D’Amato’s (you say D’Amayto, I say D’Amahto) In the Courts of the Sun, about a modern Maya guy who travels back in time to save us from whatever disaster 12-21-12 has in store. The subject matter is way dense, but it’s something which has always fascinated me, and the language is just light enough to keep me afloat. And I do mean just. Even the lightness is dense at times, if that makes any sense. But overall I like it.
3. Ummm, let’s see…Oh yeah, speaking of dense, I spent two whole days cleaning all the viruses off my mom’s laptop. (It wasn’t her fault, btw.) She hasn’t been able to use it for months, so she said if I could get it working I could use it, because…
4. An editor expressed interest in BVA but wants to see a 15-20 page synopsis, so I had to get crackin’ on that. I started writing by hand, thought of switching to the typewriter, but since I want to get it done a.s.a.p. I’d prefer to put it right into Word.
5. Which reminds me, I have to get that installed on here somehow…
6. I’m back to weaning myself off processed foods and sugar. It’s not so scary the fifth time you do it. I’m convinced that reducing the toxins I take in with my food will help my body process the toxins I take in through the environment. I can control the former, but not the latter. Join me.

That’s not all I have to talk about, but I have to save my finger. I’m going to steal an idea from Ian‘s blog and let you ask me questions for a future post. Anything you want to know, about writing or politics or my personal life? How about if I make it interesting and say that I will anwer any question you throw at me. Dare I promise that? Sure, why not? I’ll answer anything. Might not be he answer you want, though…

I don’t usually go into religion on this blog, mostly because I’m a big ol’ wuss and don’t want to cause problems, but Writtenwyrdd’s post about books banned from school libraries made me think. I hope this comes out semi-coherently.

Wyrdd says about the banned books,

And the main factor appears to be, once again, religious intolerance.  As in, you must believe exactly as I do, and I’ll ensure that by giving you nothing to change your mind.  Which, as anyone who has studied any history at all knows, will not work.  In fact, suppression of ideas tends to have the opposite effect than the one desired!

And I agree. Suppression of ideas makes those ideas even more desirable to rebellious teenagers. If they want to really suppress them, the more  effective method would be to simply feign indifference.

However, you can see why these book banners would worry about education leading people away from church. In a fit of serendipity, this article about why one man walked away from Christianity came across my desktop immediately after I commented on Wyrdd’s post. The main reason he gives for leaving is that Christianity just doesn’t make sense. Actually that the existence of God himself doesn’t make sense. That the only reason people believe in any god is because they were indoctrinated in their particular religion as children. (And looking at it objectively, that’s mostly true, isn’t it?) Religion is humanity’s way of explaining the as-yet unexplained, and as science provides plausible explanations for the things we used to take on faith (as in the battle between creationism and evolution, and don’t get me started on that) a modern person absolutely has to reconcile scientific knowledge with faith if they are to continue to embrace the Bible.

So to come back around to my point, yeah, education can transform the idea of God, and for many it disproves God’s existence. Honestly? I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I believe in God, not as separate entity looking down upon us, but as part of us. Our life essence. Our selves. God does not need us to believe in God. I don’t believe in Hell or being “saved” in the Christian sense, and I’m obviously not the only one. There’s a shift in social consciousness coming about, and banning books which express different ideas is just a way to maintain a way of life that is losing its hold on dominance, just as we do at every major social shift. We’ll settle down into a new way, and when that one goes we’ll likely hold on just as tightly. It’s what we do.

Been thinking a lot about Christmas and what it means to me. I’ve known for a while that most of the Christmas activities I partake in every year are solely for other people, not for me. I’ve never really given myself permission to have a Christmas I enjoy. I’m not even sure what kind of Christmas that would be.

Well, this year, with the emergence of the fragrance sensitivity, the normal activities will necessarily change. Going to my mom’s will be an exercise in torture–purely in the physical sense, of course–if I know why I’m feeling like crap but can’t get away from it. In years past I just felt like crap and stayed because I didn’t know why.

Besides the fragrance, there is the exchange of gifts, a huge stressor for me. I almost feel like I have PTSD about the gifts. Every single year I feel this tremendous pressure to spend money I don’t have in order to follow rules of giving which are not ingrained in me. I dread getting gifts, and I dread giving them, because then I might get some in return. Not to mention that I never feel my gifts are good enough.

Then there is the guilt. Guilt about not having the money; guilt about feeling sick at family gatherings that are supposed to be a happy time; guilt about all the family events I have missed over the year; guilt about celebrating a holiday that is named for a religion I do not follow. Lots of guilt for lots of nebulous other reasons.

I have decided to hit the reset button. This year I will not be attending any family events. I will buy gifts only for my children, and I asked my extended family to forgo any gifts for me. I would love for my extended family to come and hang out at my house with me, if they feel like indulging my need for scentlessness. My husband has surprised the hell out of me by volunteering to do the Christmas shopping, so that’s one more pattern I’ve released.

I realized something in all this reset button-hitting. My ideal Christmas is quiet. Reverent. Small. I guess my idea of Christmas is sort of opposite of the rest of the world’s, in that I feel it’s more of a solitary thing. It’s more about the God-given gifts, and I see how that could extend to family and friends and wanting to do something for them, but I want the desire to give gifts to grow naturally from the spirit, and it hasn’t up to now. I have to find that spirit again, if ever I had it in the first place. I’ve been too distracted, too sick, too guilty at this time of year. I’m changing that now. Reset.

PMS is a huge part of my life. I’ve refrained from speaking of it too much for a couple of reasons. First, I know it makes some people uncomfortable to talk about bodily functions. You’ll notice I also don’t tell fart jokes here, even though I tell plenty in real life. Second, to dwell on it would feel like wallowing in self-pity, which I try not to do.

Over five years ago I had my huge-ass thyroid gland removed because of a few little cancer cells. Once the thyroid is gone, of course, one has to take replacement hormone every day. Forever and ever. Amen. Which means I’m chained to a doctor for regular testing.

It helps to have a doctor who actually listens to me because an imbalance in hormone can be a subtle problem, immeasurable by an outside source. Oh, sure, they have the “normal” range of values in a blood test to go by, but the range is relatively large, and the tweaking is all about how the patient feels. My old doctor wasn’t good with symptoms like shortness of breath, hair falling out, feeling crazy. His best work was done when I was able to point to a lump or a rash or a sprain.

(I hate you, old doctor. Hate your pompous, self-important, making-me-suffer-for-five-years ass. I told you. I told you, mother frakker. GAH!

Better.)

Thank the gods I finally have a doctor who actually listens to me.

I think this kind of “yes, dear,” head-pat doctoring happens to women a LOT. I know how I feel, doc. Just because you can’t find the cause doesn’t mean I’m a hypochondriac. Just because I have monthly hormone fluctuations doesn’t mean it’s all in my head. So I’m in the “normal” range, so what? I feel like crap, doesn’t that count for anything?

(My husband did it to me just last night. I’ve been working on my eating habits, and I mentioned that I was giving myself a little leeway since that time of the month was nigh. I said I always get hungrier, and maybe my body needed a few extra calories to get through. He said, “Sounds like an excuse to me.” I replied, “A reason is not an excuse,” and then I punched him in the face. Just kidding.)

After five years of being made to feel like a hypochondriac, I finally have vindication. My new doc lowered my prescription a lot, and I feel better than I have in years. I don’t feel neurotic (or as Dwight so diplomatically put it, “focused”), my hair and skin are not as dry, my appetite is under control.

And the biggest deal of all hit me yesterday when I “started” with only a hint of PMS. Every month, growing worse as the years go on, my period has been telegraphed two weeks before by anger and craziness; a week before by incredible bloating; and a couple of days before by stomach problems, cramping and such. This month, I figured it must be time, but I didn’t feel crazy at all. My appetite had increased a couple of days ago, I’d gained a single pound, I was sort of tired. I just figured I would be slammed soon enough with the full cocktail of my usual symptoms.

Surprise! That was it. The extent of my PMS, and I’m so relieved and happy and joyous. My love for my new doc burns with the intensity of a thousand suns. Maybe you folks don’t quite understand the root of my joy, but that’s okay. I feel it.