TL Boehm - Writer

Written in my heart

Out There

Notes, journals and back story for Ephesus Offense

Entry one - virtual disconnect

Sugared snowflakes sift from woollen clouds, their scant dancing descent forming dismal gray puddles on the concrete walk outside my window. Perhaps it is this cliched Blue Monday fallout that contibutes to my deepening dissatisfaction. The non hormonal shift in emotional timbre that has me blinking back tears and wishing I was anywhere but the sterile confines of small business office USA...Or perhaps it is the grinding gnaw on my cortex, the constant burn reminding me of the abyss between what I am on the outside and what I am within.
Suffice it to say I am once again dangling over the precipice on the gossamer lifeline of a futile dream and the thread thins with every breath of wind, every scrape of stoneclad reality against which my life rubs. Each pendulum swing carries me closer to oblivion.
This weekend I sent my baby, my newborn, my freakish little mutant out to the frenzy of the internet circuits hoping she would throw it into overdrive, only to find her - tires flat and engine missing in some grease slicked side alley of abandoned track - where cyber hasbeens gather over virtual scrap heaps, sending their lamentations off into the digital breeze.
Perhaps the minimal readership of Ephesus Offense is directly attributable to the fact that I said God in it without following that word up with an expletive. Perhaps it is because the only nudity thus far is the transparence of my beating heart shown in graphic display right here on my cyber sleeve...perhaps the readers have been too stunned by my prosey prowess that they are speechless and clutching their desk chairs in shock and awe...or perhaps the truth - though ever so much more mundane - Tam's not that good. And it shows.... 
What ever the disconnect may be - the silence on my page weighs on my psyche, reinforcing the inner turmoil I already bear regarding this odd little gift I believe God has placed in my cortex...that wry sense of humor twinkling in his Omniscient gaze when that prayer shot up from my spirit "PLEASE GIVE ME A NOVEL....and since God answers in abundance - Ephesus Offense is number TWO....Bethany's Crossing being the first - posted at the cafe in part - and so far in the past year - rejected by 20 publishers and one agent.
Now I wrestle with a toddler in my head as I try to raise it into a respectable novel that will be entertaining and marketable - and the child screams and beats her fists against my brain pan in fits of rage at being so constrained. She will be what she is and I know it. Even if it means she is unread....unpublished, and I in giving her voice on the page I am thusly unread and perhaps even villified -certainly already too damn embarrassed to ask Charlie Konsor (mod and head of writers cafe...)  to add a category befitting of my madness "Christian Speculative Fiction" to the glut of offerings already found here at the cyber cafe. I am her parent after all. I asked for her. And now I must bring her to completion because I cannot bring myself to abandon her. No matter what people think of me....
So perhaps I will fire off my lamentations to the void, using the new "Journaling" category and tell you my heart and soul as I write this odd child into bookdom....perhaps the random thoughts behind the rabid writing will be more palatable.
As I look out at the slivered azure sky and the ground dries I know that like desert weather, my mood will change regarding Ephesus Offense. Tonight when I go home I will be drawn into the current spin I'm in - two web footed children porpoising through jade expanses of water have entertained me with their clicks and whistles - and their little girl humor. I think they're human...sort of - and if you stay with me - you'll meet them in the next couple of chapters. But for now....I just want to climb down from the edge, be a normal vapid girl, and set fire to this new thing that thinks it will be a book one day.
for those of you scratching your heads and wondering what Ephesus Offense can read it on Writer's Cafe. It is my new literary child. The prologue and first three chapters went up this weekend. Exactly two people have read it....


aack - phlegm and protagonists

So I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been game puck in the NHL playoffs. Cursing the elected sludge who deemed "daylight savings time" worthy of implementation, I staggered into the throne room to gaze at my formidable countenance in the 'crystal of truth' only to be met with the reflection of someone who must certainly be an extra in the next Dawn of the Dead movie. (mmm. your brains are so spicey...) If the macabre hollows under my bloodshot eyes weren't enough - there, sprouting on my cheek and eyelid are - horror of horrors, is that acne? Good Lord, no. I must be growing a new eyeball. I swear. It, what ever angry red pus filled abomination it may be - I think it blinked at me. And I'm pretty sure it bared its teeth. Hey. I'm 42. I'm not supposed to have quarter sized 'episodes' popping out on my face. Damnit.

So, I did what any responsible, middle management drone would do. I emailed in. Sure, me and the pustules - we could go to work today and accomplish the mundane, between forcibly expelling my lungs through my nostrils and pushing my small intestine through my diaphragm every time I cough...but I am a weanie and I just don't feel like being the adult today. Here I perch, phlegmy and frustrated on the cusp of another chaotic week, stuffed to the gills with obligations every single night - some of which I actually welcomed in my pre mucus delusions last week....and now I am hoping I can just 'get through it.' Today the office will not spontaneously combust without me. And maybe I can stop horking long enough to breathe.

In the meantime - I come to the realization that the next great novel to be will not be birthed in all its sci/fant glory by Mid April. It languishes on my hard drive. Incorrigible and unruly, my main characters exchange banter over tea and do absolutely nothing to assist me in moving the story forward from chapter three to chapter five. Chapter four is a black hole with me spinning along on the event horizon while Donavan and Rel giggle....I could kill one of them off...but novel suicide is not on the calendar...yet.

So here I am, unable to move forward today, I simply sit....hand over mouth and knees locked together in a valiant attempt to protect my poor bladder from the onslaught of another coughing attack, praying for a small break. the completion of something, anything that will give me a moment to sit with my protagonists, to coax them into we can move on...past page twenty seven.

The spouse is on vacation this week as the MIL will be here. Hm. Two anal retentive alpha females in 800 square feet of living space, also occupied by three testerone producing, bipedal males...sigh....and lets add dinner at a nice restaurant, pentacostal worship, and preparation for a weekend womens conference...uh huh. If anyone's looking for me I'll be in the throne room on the seat of power, sucking down Vicks 44D and scribbling lines of dialogue on the shower walls...