TR update: first talks and a new detour

This month passed by so quickly.

 
I spoke with Frank, the lawyer who gave me legal counsel all those years ago when I pitched the game to SCEE. SCEE is still going. He assured me that the legal aspects are still essentially the same: NDA, formalized submission agreement, and commercialized contract.

Then I talked with Charlotte's second cousin, Jono. He's a senior business development manager at a game company in SA. He basically crossed out my hope of finding a mid-sized developer company to buy and take over the project. Instead, he suggested trying to find a way to enter into a partnership with an indie group.

He was super helpful. I have to look into Steins;Gate, Dorian, DevCon, and Discord.

Feeling a bit one step forward and now two steps back. Julien advises against becoming too fixated on abandoning the original intent of finding a mid-sized company. 

Backpack to heaven

There is something different in my mom's voice these days. She almost seems... it's hard to describe, but she almost seems... happy. This is such a drastic change in her manner that "happy" doesn't seem to capture the immensity of this transformation.
 
Life with my mother since Covid, lockdowns, illnesses, and uncertainties has been far from easy. She met every challenge with bitter contempt at a world that was out to kill her. She barred her door and her heart against the world at large, as well as her family.
We all lived so far away, and she found our worrying an unacceptable, ineffective means of support.
 
She didn't need consolation; she needed us there with her. Knowing the truth made her brittle: that we could not be with her, that our other families seemed more important than she was, that none of us had enough money or time to drop everything and visit. Seemingly overnight, all her characteristic positivity vanished.
 
I began to dread her phone calls. They became weary laments about life in the senior citizen home. We had all been careful to choose a good place, one where we thought she could be happy. But life there never lived up to the promise.
 
There's no sense in finding fault with the staff or residents. My mom has never been one to make friends easily. It was as if she was mad at us for her getting old. Her laments and tirades directed at us were hard to bear. The underlying message of all those calls was clear: "You've failed me."
 
That's why these last weeks of her chatting happily on the phone seem like a miracle. I was telling a good friend who works in hospice about this change. She listened to my story with a calm smile and occasional nods.
 
When I finished talking, she reached over to hold my hands. "It looks like your mom has packed her backpack to heaven and is ready to leave."
 
What a strange comfort, if this is so.

Beautiful sounds: children playing

The cacophony of the elementary school grounds during the morning break on the first warm sunny spring day.

#booksIlove: The Solitary Summer

Title: The Solitary Summer, by Elizabeth von Arnim
First time I read the book: 1993 when it was published again by Virago

I read numerous books by Elizabeth von Armin, and till today, I thought she was  German. She was born in Australia!
This book (1899) and her first, Elizabeth and her German Garden (1898), were my constant read when I was in my early 30s. They offered me great comfort. 

I was figuring out why they resonated, and I could only come up with the idea that she and Jane Austin were the type of authors who were also my friends.

When asked what are some interesting facts about Elizabeth von Armin, ChatGTP listed the below amongst others:

Independent Spirit – Elizabeth was known for her sharp wit, feminist leanings, and love for solitude. Her works often featured themes of independence, personal freedom, and a critique of societal expectations of women.

Now, I know for sure why I know her as a friend.

Explore: timeboxing (part 2)

Previously, I wrote about wanting to explore timeboxing again. What I've come to realize is that I do not want to spend time timeboxing.

Initially, I would differentiate between the following categories of working:

• Writing (non-specific)

• Ghostwriting

• Project stuff

• Content development

Now, after doing this for a few months, I sort of put it all under the "writing" category. Also, I tend to extend my writing sessions on the go, so I'm not really time-boxing at all.

The one thing that works is that I keep a record of the amount of time I spend daily and weekly. It is a form of self-regulation. I promised myself that I would try to work only 25-30 hours a week. Generally, I am sticking to this, though more in the direction of 30 hours per week.

Secondly, I schedule writing time a week or two in advance. That is working.

The timeboxing routine exposes how often I work without taking a weekend break. Not good.

So, I've decided to switch the timeboxing around. (Okay, admittedly, my therapist did give me a nudge.) What I want to do is time-box "zone-out" times. Now that spring has come, and I will be travelling more in the next months, I want to schedule at least 5-10 hours a week to zone out.

Let's see if that works.

Beautiful sounds: Giui snoring

The sonic sawing through your early morning dreams, trying to navigate a path around the persisting "It's time to get up" chorus in your brain.

If only AI were further along… (2/2)

I wish AI could act as a prism for my wordy, muddled mind—something I could hold up to the swirling kaleidoscope of fragmented images, half-formed words, and metaphors lurking in the shadowed corners of my consciousness.

And then—voilà! Pristine, precise, and meaningful poems would blossom forth. A tweak here, a nudge there, and all those unspoken songs would finally find their voice.

If only AI were further along… (1/2)

I would love it if AI could fill our family photo albums with all those precious, everyday moments of intimacy. Moments like Giui playing World of Warcraft in the living room, with Sara sitting on one side of him and Julien on the other, watching. Or, Julien and Sara perched on the windowsill, observing the construction site below. Or, the morning sun dancing through the steam of my tea as I write in my diary on a summer day.
 
Writing the letter for Sara’s 30th birthday made me realize how few photos we have of our everyday family life. Why did the camera only appear on vacations or at big family gatherings? I suppose it was because I was too shy to bob around with a camera.

This was long before smartphones, Instagram, or selfies—back when the idea of capturing seemingly insignificant moments felt almost preposterous.
 
The phrase “making a mountain out of a molehill” comes to mind. And, admittedly, nothing dispels the quiet magic of play or solitude faster than the intrusive click of a camera lens.
 
That’s why I wish AI could be a silent observer—an invisible lens in my mind—capturing those past moments, shaping memories into form, painting them with light and colour.
 
So, where is that memories.ai app?

Beautiful sounds: pine tree

The phuuing gust of wind shaking the pine tree, sending up a burst of pollen that vanishes before there’s even time to sneeze.