My air conditioner died. During a heat wave. My daughter came to visit, and so with the heat and lack of air conditioning, we built a fort and played board games because why wouldn’t we? It’s what we always did when life threw storms at us when she was growing up. We would build a fort from pillows and blankets, and there we would play games, read books to each other. It was magical. The world would go away, and we would have this safe space isolated from the slings and arrows of life. Back in the days when my daughter had a bedtime, we would often play well past it, playing and reading until we both fell asleep in our little enchanted castle. Things always seemed better in the morning. Both of us were kids living in paradise for a few hours once more. I can’t say the magic returned this weekend, but it was still a lovely little respite from our troubles.
My daughter only stayed the night because she’s all grown up now. She was in town for her father’s third wedding. She does try to go to all of them. She took my dog home with her for the week because it will be some days yet before my air conditioner is repaired – holiday weekend and part that needs to be ordered. I did not want Frankie to get too hot. Pugs do not do well in the heat. At all.
I started working on three different new books. I can’t decide which one to commit to. I have the most invested in another book set in the same world as my last book as I know that world so well now. Then there is this lovely little science fiction/fantasy fusion sort of piece about a genetic engineering experiment going awry, a kind of Jurassic Park with dragons meets I Am Legend with Dark Elves. The other is about an enchanted roadside café for the lost and those in despair. This one is based on a short story I wrote that is hiding somewhere in this blog.
Perhaps, once I get my personal climate back under control I can start to focus again. Right now I feel like I am spiraling toward oblivion. It’s been that way for a while. I have good days, even months, but that is less and less. Now I am horrified that my writing ambitions will come to naught. I am so far from being able to get an agent now that I am starting over again, and I feel like I am running out of time. After all, I am not getting any younger, and I am not one of the immortals from my tales.