Music Mondays: Devil's Deal Edition

I've been revisiting some Christian mythos, contemplating Faustian deals and I started on Paradise Lost this weekend. I needed some music to go along with the mindset. What better than some haunting tunes from artists who allegedly made deals with the Devil?

Violin Sonata No 6 - Niccoló Paganini

Devil's Trill Sonata - Giuseppe Tartini

Hellhound On My Trail - Robert Johnson

Cool Drink of Water - Tommy Johnson

Music Mondays: With It Edition

I don't want to jinx myself, but I think I'm on the mend. And I'm working. And I'm writing. I have some new posts coming up on how to deal with criticism.

I'm thinking about re-opening the Wednesday Writing Romp - but I'd really love some more participants this time. I know you guys are out there, I see the stats. Don't be shy!

And I should have a review of a book (that'll be helpful for any of you in the editing stages of a story or novel) in the next couple of weeks.

But until then, here's what I'm listening to. This week, at least.

On the Mend - Foo Fighters

Seven - David Bowie

Stay Awake - Dishwalla

Conversation Piece - David Bowie

Keep Myself Awake - Black Lab

Music Mondays: Just Shoot Me Edition

I've lost my cheerful disposition. There's a possibility I coughed it out, along with one of my lungs. Or maybe I'm lying and I never had one to begin with. But if I did, it would certainly be gone now that I've had the privilege of being sickly for nearly three weeks.

It hasn't been constant. No, no, no. I thought I'd gotten over the worst of it (and was just battling the ubiquitous post-cold cough) just in time for some lake and sunshine. But then...then my immune system decided to throw me a curve ball; about a week after I thought things had cleared up, I was set upon by a vile little bronchial monstrosity that had me croaking awake at 6:00 a.m. last Tuesday. Maybe my immune system's trying to tell me something. (I'm guessing "sleep more" is part of that message.)

Needless to say, I'm so ready to be hale and hearty again (and I do seem to be improving, but I don't want to jinx myself); I want the full brunt of my mental faculties back. There are too many things I have planned and this month long mental hiatus is killing me. I hope to be back in blogger and writer form soon, but until then, I'm going to continue taking it easy.

In honor of my plague, I've been poking along with songs about sickness (in its various shapes and forms).

Infected - Repo: The Genetic Opera OST

I'm So Sick - Flyleaf

Comfortably Numb - Collide

I Wanna Be Well - The Ramones

Pieces of Myself

So, I'm starting to suspect (after I turned rooms upside down and even checked under the bed for it) that I left a notebook in a hotel in Alabama.

Which got me wondering how many "pieces of myself" I've left in various parts of the country (or world)....

I'm fairly sure a few sheaves of paper containing a really bad novel chapter (I was only 12) got left behind in a closet in Spangdahlem, Germany. There's been a napkin or two with scrawled notes left to absorb coffee and soda rings in various restaurants throughout the South. And I'm fairly sure the Colorado River devoured a story summary that blew out of my hand as I stood on a hotel balcony in Laughlin, Nevada.

And that's just what I recall.

I'm normally, well, we'll say "on the ball"—for polite terminology—when it comes to making sure I've got all of my writing gathered and packed. But every now and then something slips by.

Maybe that's part of the writing life.

Anyway, should the notebook not turn up in some place that I've already searched —under the seat of my car, in the fridge (no, I don't know what it'd be doing in there)—I hope whoever finds it enjoys the scribbles. And the notebook.


Have you left "pieces of yourself" around? Get any good stories out of it?