He must have been an admiral, a sultan or a king

Things are still somewhat in disarray here at the Cat Farm.  Scrabble and Mozart are still insisting that The Kid has to be here somewhere, darnit, and they occasionally mount exploratory surveys.

Mozart yesterday went over the entire house, using the MomCat call, but damn — The Kid still didn’t turn up.  He then sought Steve out to Explain This At Length, and (possibly) to Demand Assistance.  Steve was, sadly, not able to bring much to this, except to offer scribbles.

Scrabble, ever methodical, periodically checks Socks’ favorite spots, and has three times now put his favorite toys into play, noisily — but that didn’t pull him out of his Silly Fluff sulks, either.  There are also Other Worrisome Developments, such as Socks’ bowl going missing.  She has duly noted this on the inventory.

The humans are at loose ends, somewhat, and not so sprightly as they might be.  Work, however, goes on; things arrive in the mail; and laundry must be done.

Things that have arrived in the mail include three! guidebooks for Angkor Wat, which are fascinating.  (No, I’m not going to Angkor Wat or Siem Reap or Cambodia or Viet Nam.  No, I don’t know why I had to have these books.  The backbrain at work, I suppose. I try not to question too closely in the belief that, eventually, All Will Become Clear.  It would be nice to occasionally get a memo, though.)  Anyhow — fascinating, with pictures! and teensytinyitsybitsy little print, and it is to swoon.  So, yanno, at least the backbrain’s happy.

Also in the mail — today, in fact — was a sympathy card from the vet’s office, with personal notes from all the staff, aka Socks’ Waterville Fan Club; and  Protector, the next Foreigner novel.

Speaking of guidebooks, I ought to get one for New York, so I can figure out how far things are from other things and how to move around the place.  Hmm.  Steve and I will be at Book Expo America (aka BEA) at the end of May, doing a book signing and some other stuff TBA.  In theory, we will have some unscheduled time to do, um, stuff.  Noting that the Sheer Amount of Stuff  in New York makes thinking about what one would like to do-or-see. . .somewhat overwhelming.

But!  What do I find, via the New Yorker, but that Kinky Boots, the Musical! is/will be at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre (located at 45th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues, it says, here, helpfully, no doubt). This is very exciting, and visions of theater tickets dance in my brain (to be immediately dashed by my lack of knowing almost everything I need to know in order to figure out if a night at the theater is even possible.  That guidebook is looking like a better and better idea…)


Of possible interest to those who follow the ups and downs of the publishing biz, and wonder why writers go crazy, is the whole Night Shade Books Nightmare.  Steve and I are not involved with Night Shade, we have no skin in the game, but a lot of our friends and colleagues are involved in this. . .horrifying situation.

Here’s a fairly temperate analysis, with history, written by a well-known SF/F agent.

Here’s another summary of the situation, by Tobias Buckell.

Here’s Phil Foglio’s take (Night Shade publishes the Girl Genius text novels (NOT the graphic novels)

Here’s the first i09 article regarding the situation.

And, here’s Mr. Lassen of Night Shade, in his own words.

Kameron Hurley, one of Night Shade’s authors, rings down the sky, and explains why she’s considering the “deal.”

Andy Zack, of the Zack Literary Agency, weighs in.


Progress on Carousel Seas

24,893/100,000 OR 24.89% Complete

“That’s an impressive bit of work the man does,” I said, slowly. “I wonder if it does any good, in the long run.”

One thought on “He must have been an admiral, a sultan or a king”

  1. Mine usually look for a member of the Horde who is lost or has passed away for a week or two before they decide that whomever is missing is not coming home. The only time that didn’t happen was when an Elder, Quigley the Demon Dust Bunny Hunter, died of old age on my chest. Everycat came up to say goodbye to him just before he passed away in his sleep.

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