Well, hmmn... I rarely post here. Nothing special about that. Most blogs are rarely updated, or fall by the wayside with the frequency that makes me look like a daily virtuoso. Life happens, and I've been busy.
I started a new bout of employment in my chosen field after a long stint of unemployment for school and then working a retail job I loathed (and I have no qualms about saying that Burlington Coat Factory is almost as bad as Wal Mart for the way it treats its serfs), have put schooling on hold (it got me the current career path, so thankfully the time spent trying to decide if a transistor was an NPN or PNP didn't go to waste), and have been a combination of busy and stressed out that I really don't care to elaborate one. Suffice it to say that I wish I could share some of the runway sightings I have had, but that would end everything pretty quickly.
I'm now firmly ensconced in aviation work, and have an excellent set of coworkers and bosses. My home company even is progressive (or maybe just writing on the wall) minded enough to offer full benefits to workers in same-sex relationships, the pay is pretty good considering what I do on a daily basis, and the wife and I are eyeing some more changes to our lifestyle in the vein of hoping to improve our foreign language skills.
That's all well and good, and I'll be glad to be able to afford making a concerted effort at paying down debts and living like a human being instead of a cave dwelling servile, but it leaves me asking 'when will Roy get to write more frequently?'
The answer is a resounding "sometime soon." At work, we have a short pre-Christmas push to get ahead of our orders as far as possible. It's a normal thing, but it involves overtime on the week where Misses Skull One and I would be trying to clean house, package gifts, and make final arrangements - and overtime in my job is a harrowing, mind-numbing run of sixty hour weeks as a general minimum. Once that overtime is over, we're on the road to cross a large percentage of the continental U.S. to visit family and friends literally within 36 hours. That's going to lead to a week of driving, visiting, eating, and trying not to drink and smoke myself into oblivion. After that, it's back to work, and maybe if I feel like it I won't take a semester off from finishing an A.S. in what fast becomes a ridiculous degree plan with no real bearing on making sure big tubes of metal can be certified to fly based on whether or not I followed a set of rules.
Speaking of those rules, I may spend some time in some training; that will necessitate a schedule change to accommodate the trainer. A minor annoyance, which may or may not show up in poetry. I find myself drawn lately not to narratives, fiction, or essays, but poetry. I swear it's the weather and the strong pull of the Shinto shrine north of Seattle. Alcohol may help, though.
I really would like to get back to writing more often. I greatly enjoyed the longstanding fiction project that Misses Skull One and an old friend (who we will incidentally be visiting for the first time this Christmas) have allowed me to collaborate on. I managed to get a submission accepted for a charity book of flash fiction which benefits an elementary school on the first attempt to submit something for publication. That's gotta amount for something.
I keep imagining that someday, I'll be writing flight fiction or science fiction, of a kind like H.G. Wells. Did you know he wrote fiction about powered flight before it was a thing? I have since the eighth grade, thanks to a cheap book from Borders my father bought me as a birthday present filler. I never really appreciated that book until way later in life, but I'm grateful for it - I think it subconsciously formed some of my notions on what and how to write that all the other writing and reading I've done didn't.
I've droned on randomly long enough, so as a last random piece, I'll leave a transcription of a poem I wrote Gods know when, sometime in the last two years. It's a common theme in my longer poetry, something about aircraft and warfare. I keep imagining B-29s over the Pacific Ocean when I read it, since rediscovering it earlier today in a forgotten pile of papers.
Clouds race by us
Engines hum in time
As guns roar ahead
Dots in the red sun
Cruising past smoke and fire
A maelstrom follows
Peals of laughter climb
As if sparrows fleeing hawks
The vulture laughs most
Webs of condensation
Cross between puffs of thunder
Shattered glass rains
Wind hides chirps
Buzzing drones flit above
Green turns to flowers