An exciting time at the hut!

The time before NaNoWriMo is pretty hectic, and all the more so for me. Lots and lots of people out there are searching for software to make their lives easier in the coming months, and people around the world are discovering Jer’s Novel Writer for the first time. What’s cool is that all these new users are discovering the rough edges in the software that regular users have grown accustomed to. It’s all the little things that make a product feel finished and fit, and in the last couple of weeks I’ve gotten a whole bunch of feedback. (Not all from NaNoWriMo folks, there are even professional writers using the program now, and their input even more valuable, as they try to make the software work in their existing processes. Overall, I have managed to attract a fairly passionate user base. Part of it, I think, is that I do all I can to make others feel that they are valued members of the design team, and people like seeing their ideas show up in the product — sometimes the next day.)

So I’ve been doing quite a bit of coding lately, and while none of the improvements have been earth-shattering, when taken in sum they add up to a better user experience. As I sit here in the Hut Treehouse, high in the crown of the teeming tropical rain forest for which this Prague neighborhood is well-known, surrounded by screeching birds and curious monkeys, I am filled with a sense of energy and I’m taking pride in fixing bugs hours after they are first reported.

Of course, that will end with the onset of November, or at least slow down, as we put up the monkey-screens and hunker down to write a novel. One unexpected side effect — from the user registrations I now have a list of a thousand names from all over the world that I can use in my writing. There are some pretty good ones in that list.

More about the itch

This episode is one big complaint, which is not my usual style (at least, not so overtly). For those of you tuning in for the first time, I had (I hope) an allergic reaction to some cheap Czech laundry detergent and every part of me that is touched by clothing is now a mess. I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before.

I haven’t left the homestead in a while — the day I watched the Chargers lose was the only other time in a week, but today I had no choice if I wanted to eat. I’m at the little café right now, and I’m itchy.

At night, I go to bed, and often manage to fall asleep, only to wake up a short time later with one nerve somewhere on my body screaming bloody murder. In my half-awake state I will scratch it. From then on I’m no longer just half awake. Whatever I scratched burns like someone is holding a match to it. I lie awake, trying not to think about the burning, trying not to think of… the other itch, and the other one, and the one after that. I lie in bed, rigid, resolutely not scratching, chanting my “no scratching” mantra.

Must. Not. Scratch. Must. Not. Scratch.

Then there is the moment of erosion of will. A new itch will arise, angry and demanding, from a new awkward and uncomfortable location. I thought I had run out of such spots several nights ago, but no. “Oh, crap, not there too,” has become my eternal lament.

Eventually the itch becomes too powerful, and I will watch as if from a distance as one of my hands scratches the most urgent of the itches. There is a tiny moment of blessed relief before the burning starts. I try to restore discipline, but there’s no turning back now. I claw at my skin, from neck to toe, trying to draw as little blood as possible, but there is only one priority. Scratch. My mantra changes as well — last night I caught myself muttering:

Scratchy. Scratchy. Good, Good.

Eventually my brain is so flooded with endorphins that I can fall back to sleep. For while it’s painful, it’s easier to sleep through the general discomfort of ones entire epidermis burning than it is to ignore the urgent, actionable discomfort that is the itch. Once the itch is banished and there’s nothing I can do to lessen my mysery, I am released from my scratchy frenzy and sleep can come again — until the next itch starts.

If you really want, you can see my skin here, but it doesn’t really capture the purpleness or the puffiness. My hip was just an easy region to photograph. I offer this image in defense of being called a whiner.