Laughing, a Coping Method.

Getting robbed in your sleep is horrifying and violating. It doesn't matter whether someone broke into your apartment and stole your laptop or simply the food from your pantry. This summer, my orchard was robbed.
It was a big deal.

My home is my sanctuary. Those trees are a connection to my late father. That fruit was going to be turned into 'home cooking' and shared with friends and family. Someone took all of that from me.

The worst part is this loss is due to 'someone.' I've lost harvests before due to weather and animals. (Heck, I'd rather it be space aliens than humans.) However, I triple checked for animal signs and then had a neighbor check – it's people.

I'm outraged, hurt, and having trouble sleeping at night. As a practicing Christian, I'm supposed to forgive, turn the other check. However, I'm also very much a human with feelings and an hyperactive flight or fight response.

I've spread the word at the farmer's market and given my neighbors a heads up. Everyone I talk to is just as puzzled as I am. (There's not exactly a black-market for unripe green apples.) As Tolkien would have put it “This is orc mischief,” - destruction for the sake of it or from envy. You don't steal five trees worth of fruit if you are truly starving.

Unsurprising, I have a new fence going up – it will have panels, it will have a locking gate, and electric wire. It's also time to set up my old trail cameras and plan choke points. I'm also keeping a closer eye on my animals and the machine shed.

I have an action plan; however, it doesn't fix my peace of mind. My hyper analysis skills work against me in this situation. (What if they decided to come back? What if stealing fruit isn't enough?) There's a lot to fear.

Fear is the mind-killer. Luckily, I have a weapon.

I step back, and laugh.

I laugh at the ridiculousness of stealing five trees worth of green fruit (Seriously, what can you do with them? Make bad whiskey?)

I laugh at myself for putting a sword in the umbrella bin and sleeping with a walking stick under my bed.

I laugh with my Pappy about my reluctance to buy and possibly fire a gun over apples. ("You ain't going to fire it over apples. You fire it over their heads.")

I laugh at people's expression when I tell them my poodle's new mohawk is to “make him look scarier.”

I laugh, knowing those thieves will probably never think of me again, while I'm devoting all this energy to them.

I laugh because it gives other people permission to laugh with me – to let them know I'm safe and managing.

I laugh because all my off-the-wall creativity (Do centaurs wear horseshoes? What's the tensile strength of a gingerbread cottage. Do moths eat magic carpets?) synergies with a library's worth of survivalist and trap-making lore. Next harvest, we'll be ready.
 (*-`ω´- )人(*-`ω´- )

First Draft Analysis and Other Unpleasant Things.

About a week ago, I finished the rough draft of Tales of Mundus: The Gingerbread Incident. I then realized why it had been such a bear to write. It's the wrong story.

Short stories are very demanding in how you use the reader's attention. You're on a tight format. A big sprawling neighbor picnic is good for exploring the world, but not for building a connection with the main characters. It's definitely the wrong story.

There also the matter of trying to write slice-of-life comedy. The Gingerbread Incident introduces too many topics at once. As a short story, it's a rushed read. There's a difference between rushed narration and quick paced humor.

Basically, it's the wrong plot to be a 'pilot' episode.

Another point against this draft, it that is won't hook an agent. The conflict and plot are solid, but don't stand out.

While I'm not sure if I want to go the traditional publishing route, attracting an agent is a benchmark to me. Getting an agent means there's at least a niche market out there. That means multiple readers who would enjoy the series. (It also means I become a PAID storyteller.)

To add insult to injury, the characters are needling me. They want to show off.

“I'm a dragon,” Celebramar points out, “People see that word and expect a thrilling story. If you don't follow through, they'll flame you.”
“You also didn't establish us as complex characters,” Leon pipes up, “You kind of just attached the camera over my shoulder and filmed the picnic... not that it wasn't interesting. But... you can do better.”

-_-; (My inner world is a very busy place.)

Mental health aside, I've come to an unpleasant conclusion. I need to put this draft into the maturing bin, hunt down my good pen, and start anew.