Noise in the Attic

For the past 2 months I have been conducting an experiment in social networking. I broke down and set up an account on facebook (I am not going to share the url here. You can find me easily enough if you want to.). Here is what I have to say about that.

I can easily see why facebook is so popular. It can quickly become addictive. Chatting with friends, playing games, lots of cool apps to share. You can see almost in real time what your friends are up to, if they decide to share that much. You can update your own status and news the same way. It’s easy, and it’s quick. If you like that kind of thing.

I have become less public over the past few years. I find myself more and more valuing my privacy and less willing to share my life publicly with people I don’t really know. When coupled with facebook’s continued attempts to expose their members’ private information to the Internet at large, this leads me to believe that social networking is not really my thing.

This blog actually fits me much better. I can control exactly what I say and what people see. My information is not at the mercy of someone who can make a quick buck selling it to advertisers, I mean spammers. I am not under any real pressure to post very often if I don’t have anything to say.

I have never been a big believer in speaking just to hear my own voice. I talk when I have something to say that I think other people might benefit from hearing. I am also not one to make friends easily. I take that very seriously.

Another advantage to the blog is that I can make posts this long. Facebook posts are severely limited in length. The blog lets me discuss at some length, while facebook status updates or wall posts are only about as long a Twitter posts, which I am so totally NOT going to do.

All things considered, I suspect that my facebook days are numbered. I will stick with what I am most comfortable with, even at the risk of being considered an old fuddy-duddy.

Let’s see…

• Not sleeping
• Thoughts racing
• Smartass sense of humor in high gear

Yeah, I am definitely swinging into hypomanic territory. I hope this lasts as long as the depression usually does. I can get a lot done.

I just have not had anything to really talk about lately. Hence the hiatus.

I have been thinking, though. A lot. Thinking about writing, especially the submitting part. And I have come to some conclusions. Most of those will remain unspoken, at least for now.

One of the conclusions that I have come to is that many of my currently completed stories will never sell. For a variety of reasons. Oh well.

Therefore, I am going to use Noise in the Attic to transmit some of that noise to anyone who happens by the blog. Specifically, I am going to post some of the stories that have proven themselves unsellable here.

These are not the dregs. I am not just dumping damaged goods, here. These are stories that I think are of good quality, but that have been rejected consistently for whatever reason. The really bad ones will never see the light of day. They will just vanish into the abyss and never be seen.

I will start things off with a short one that just never struck an editor on a good day. I hope someone out there enjoys it.

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The following story is copyrighted by Carter Nipper who owns all the rights. Do not duplicate this story in whole or in part without express written permission.

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For Better Or For Worse
by Carter Nipper

“We should renew our vows.”

Oh, shit! Play for time. Gotta think.

“Huh?”

That was brilliant, dumbass! Oughtta buy a few seconds, though.

“We should renew our vows. You know, the whole bit, church, preacher, flowers, invitations, get the whole wedding party back together, do another reception. The whole thing. It’ll be romantic.”

Shit! Not now! Christ!

“When do you plan on doing this?”

“For our twenty-fifth anniversary. It’s coming up, you know.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten one yet.”

“Yeah, you’ve been real sweet, but I think we should do something special for the twenty-fifth.”

“Yeah, we should, but another wedding?”

Careful. Kid gloves.

“We have time. May’s still eight months away. And we can afford it.”

Not anymore, darling! Crap!

“Yeah, I know, but…”

Uh-oh. I’ve seen that look before! Thin ice. Think fast.

“You don’t want to.”

“Well, I do have a small problem…”

“A lot of people do it. It’s romantic. It’s special.”

Oh God, please, please get me out of this. Deep breath. Now or never. It’s a beautiful day to die.

“Look, it’s like this. When we got married, I made you a promise. I promised that I would love and cherish you in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, ‘til death do us part. I meant it when I said it, every word, and I stand by it today. It’s not that I don’t think it wouldn’t be a special time or anything, and, yes, it would be romantic. It’s just that I don’t feel like my vows need to be renewed. They’re not broken, or even cracked, you know? I just think it’d be hypocritical, that’s all. It’s like saying there’s some reason we need to reassure each other of our love. I don’t need that.”

Whew! That was a load. If she digs her way out from under that pile, I’m in real trouble.

“Oh, all right! I knew you’d come up with something. You never want to do anything romantic.”

Thank you, Jesus! I owe you a big one! God…eight months. She’s gonna put me through Hell. Hang on, just hang on. A couple of more months and it’ll be too late. Can’t afford to give in. Those tickets are non-refundable. God, I can’t wait. Blue water, warm breeze, hot sand, moonlight walks on deck. Thongs. Oh, yeah, thongs.

She’ll shit when I tell her how much it cost, but she always wanted to go on a cruise.

Eight more months. Just eight more months…

THE END

I made it through my first week without destroying anything! I feel better about this now.

My schedule has been rough, as I have been having to cover both day and evening shifts. That will ease up once the new Evening Reference Librarian is completely trained. She is making excellent progress, and I anticipate reverting to my normal schedule on Wednesday. That will quite a relief. The caffeine overdoses and lack of sleep are taking a toll on my old body.

I don’t know whether it is the combination of caffeine and adrenaline or what, but I am feeling a lot better mentally. Almost hypomanic. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. This is far better than depression. I just have to keep the impulsiveness under control. That is something I can handle.

Welcome to 2010! May it be a great year for all of us.

Just thought I’d pop in and wish everyone a happy and safe New Year.

New Year’s Day is traditionally a time to reflect on the year just past and the year yet to come. In my case, my thoughts are eaten up with anticipation.

While 2009 was not a particularly bad year, it was also not outstandingly great. Pretty much middle-of-the-road as these things go. 2010, on the other hand, promises to be exciting. I hope it is exciting in a good way.

Monday is my first day. I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Two weeks from today I start my new job. I look forward to great responsibility and even greater opportunities.

I spent 2 days shadowing (and interrogating) the current Librarian, and I feel somewhat less nervous about things. There are still some things that I won’t know about until they come up, I am sure. Those things will work themselves out when the time comes. I just hope the time is not January 2010. I already have too much to do for that month.

The new Evening Reference Librarian starts on January 4, as well. I think we got us a good one. She is certainly enthusiastic about the job, which counts for a lot, in my book. I am making some plans for the Library that will need that kind of energy.

On the old job, I am down to about 4 working days, by the time we get around all the holidays and our third furlough day. I think I’m going to make it. I made good progress on a lot of fronts today, and that makes me hopeful that I can get out of there without leaving very much hanging.

For more good news, check today’s date. Happy Winter Solstice, everyone! Things will get brighter from here on.

I am on furlough today as a result of state budget woes. This is the second of three furlough days this quarter. We will “get” another on December 31.

I am also starting to get a little nervous. I realized over the weekend how close January has gotten. With the day off today and holidays Thursday and Friday (on Friday we celebrate Robert E. Lee’s birthday, if you can believe that. It’s an official holiday in Georgia), all of a sudden I will be in December with a lot of stuff to do to get ready for my transfer and more days off at the end of the month. Maybe nervous energy will carry me through.

I don’t think I have mentioned my impending transfer here. I am going to be the Librarian at another campus closer to home. 10 miles rather than 30. a 15-minute commute as opposed to close to an hour. And I will be the head honcho. A little scary, but I am looking forward to it.

January 4th will be my first day in my new position. I will be getting off to an interesting start as I train both myself and a new Evening Reference Librarian at the same time. I am not used to 14-hour days anymore. I guess I better get used to them, though. That’s part of the price of being a boss.

We will be interviewing applicants for the Evening Reference Librarian position next Friday. I am hoping for at least one good candidate. It’s so hard to tell from applications, cover letters, and resumes. Personality is all-important for people working in close proximity in a small library. Fingers crossed.

I have spent some time today re-writing a short story. I am pleased to discover how much fun I have had doing that. I always get very worried when I am down. The possibility of losing interest in writing completely scares me. It’s something that is an important part of my life, and I really don’t want to lose it.

All-in-all a good day. I need more of these. Here’s hoping…

Anybody who was checking the blog over the last few days would have noticed some pretty weird happenings over here. I had a little trouble with DNS settings and a previous version of things.

But I’m feeling much better now.

I did get some good news last week. I am transferring to the local campus to be the Librarian there. That will save me about 30 minutes commute each way and a ton of gas. I am really looking forward to that.

The depression is still hanging on, but that news helps take a little of the bite out of it. Something else to be hopeful about.

And I’m trying to get up the nerve and energy to try to write something new. You never know. It might turn out to be something other than shit. We’ll see.

I don’t have anything much to say, so here is a little bit of madness to occupy your time. This is a story from long ago that I have both loved and loathed. I hope somebody enjoys it. If it stirs any emotions at all, I will deem it acceptable.

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In the Hands of an Angry God

By Carter Nipper

She stares, wide-eyed, wild-eyed, but never speaks. Her stare follows me, haunts me. Even when I leave the room, she sees, she watches. If she would just speak, if she would even blink, but no. She sits. She stares.

Don’t look! Don’t look! But I can’t help it. Her face is dark and swollen, her mouth hangs open, her tongue sticks out like a purple pickle, and her voice shrieks, telling, accusing, demanding.

She knows me better than anyone else. She should, we’ve been married for seventeen years. She knows what I must do; I know what she needs.

Forgiveness. There is no forgiveness. Jesus doesn’t love me, this I know. Not now. She won’t forgive me. I can’t forgive myself.

My hands feel her skin again, friendly, encouraging me to give her what she needs. I feel the rush of rage, the squeezing, the shaking, the need to make her be quiet, shut up, stop, don’t, the triumph as she squirmed and kicked. The rage, where did it come from? Sudden, overwhelming, a deluge of fire and brimstone. Where did it come from? Where did it go?

I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it–I admit it. When she finally stopped, I looked deep into her eyes and felt a joy unlike any I ever knew before. Even when I realized what I had done, I was glad. But she stares; she shrieks. Jesus doesn’t love me. It hurts; it burns.

Atonement. I must atone. For all have sinned, for I have sinned and fallen short. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Blood and fire. The only way. A sacrifice, a burnt offering, that’s the only way. She knows. Her eyes tell me. She speaks harshly in the ancient tongue and demands blood and fire.

God is angry and must be appeased. Blood for blood, fire to carry my guilt up to God and lay my plea before the Mercy Seat, a sacrifice that will be pleasing unto God. I must atone.

Her voice is a psychic itch, a mental tickle. My fingers twitch and writhe in an agony of unrelievable sympathy. I must get away, run, hide, but her voice distracts me, its constant wail a confusion, leading me astray. I ran into the wall. I sat on the floor, comforting my bleeding nose, and I cried. She stared without sympathy. I must help her; please help me.

There’s blood on my hands. There’s blood in my hands, and it won’t come out. Out, damned spot! It won’t come out to play today. I got a knife and searched for it, but it ran up my arm and hid. I chased it through my wrist, my forearm, my elbow, but it hid. Olly, olly, oxen free! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Please come play with me.

How can there be a sacrifice without blood? Blood and fire make Godly prayers. But the blood won’t come out. It won’t come off. God help me. God won’t help me–I have no blood to give. She demands my blood. She demands fire. She demands, and I have nothing to give.

I can’t hear myself think. Her voice hums and chants and sings and shouts, and I shout against her, with her, through her, but she only gets louder. I feel the blood pounding in my head. So that’s where it is! I’ll sneak up on it. I’ll start right here below my ear. I’ll cut deeply and quickly; it won’t be able to get away. Burn the bridges–my bridges–my bridges over the depths of Hell.

Fire! I need fire. There’s no other way. I must have fire so the smoke will carry my prayers to Heaven and I can be forgiven. Pleasing to God! Please, God, make her be quiet!

Oh God, forgive me! I have sinned! I have fallen short of Your Glory! I will atone! Here is my sacrifice, O God, let it be pleasing in Thy sight!

The matches, good. Newspapers. There, a good blaze. Fire. Now blood. Quick and deep. It can’t escape. Forgive…

END

Lynn brought up an interesting point in a comment on my last post. Does the longing I feel for my lost childhood home and the urge I feel to move back there play into my current depression? They are certainly not causative factors, but they do aggravate and intensify the condition.

Bipolar disorder is primarily a physical condition, in which the brain’s neurotransmitters get out of whack, unregulated, so they flip-flop between too much and not enough (an incredibly over-simplified analysis). At either end of the spectrum, psychological factors act as magnifiers to intensify the condition.

Therapy helps, and I do get that, but medication ultimately helps more. The talk therapy I get helps me understand the way that bipolar disorder and my many psychological issues reinforce each other and helps helps me deal with that, at least on an intellectual level. Unfortunately, that does not help with the physical manifestations of BPD. The only help for that is patience and medication adjustments.

Thanks for the comments, Lynn and everyone else! The good thoughts remind me that there are people out there who care, and that is a great life-preserver to hang onto. This will turn around. It always has, and it always will. In, the meantime, I just have to keep that hope alive.

Writing? What’s that?

I am not writing right now in terms of creating new stories. I am, though, reviewing some of my existing work (which I do find is pretty good, mostly), polishing here and there, and submitting select pieces. I hope that my mental processes will have turned the corner by the time the rejections start coming back. Though I am certainly used to rejections by now, they can still have a negative impact when I am like this.