Author: Sharon

Just waitin’ on a friend

What went before: Sewing was fun; more people continue to find the group. The conversation turned at one point to bats, which was lively and enjoyable.

I hear that I should expect the Martin’s Point Nurse Visit tomorrow between 8 and 10 am, so I guess I’d better get my pill bottles in one place; not that I have that many pills, but I do take vitamins. Will also remember to ask about a referral to an audiologist. I don’t know that the traveling nurse can do that, but — maybeso.

The cats have been fed, to Trooper’s vast satisfaction, and I have poured myself a glass of wine. After I gather up my pills, I’ll be having the evening meal, and, yes, another early night, being as I will have to be up early tomorrow, JIC.

Everybody stay safe.

G’night.

Wednesday. Sunny and already warm.

Waiting on the Visiting Nurse.

Breakfast was half a blueberry muffin with a side of cottage cheese. Drinking my first cup of tea.

First Official Act of the Day was filing a complaint against the spoofed profile. FB reminds me that it will only remove things that are against its community standards, and it appears that, actually, pretending to be someone else is not against community standards.

Which actually tells us everything we need to know about FB, and yet here we all still are.

My sister-in-law is defending her doctoral thesis this afternoon, so if you can spare a good vibe or two on Scholar Net, that would be awesome.

Aside the Visiting Nurse — who just called and says he’ll be here right around 8 o’clock — I need to take bottles to the redemption center, and stop at Agway for rose spray.

And, in view of the Imminent Arrival of the Visiting Nurse, signing off for now.

Later that same morning: So, that was a reasonable and informative visit. I remain Disgustingly Healthy. Speaking of double-edged blades.

I think I talked the Visiting Nurse into taking his wife to Corning to make glass. And I may have a lead on a doctor who is accepting “transfer patients.” Apparently that’s the magic phrase, right there — not “new.”

The lawn guy’s here to mow, and his equipment, naturally enough, is in the driveway, so I’ll be taking the bottles out after he’s done his thing. Which, given that it’s only 9 o’clock — mornings go on forever when you get up at 6:30 — will be about the time the redemption center opens.

Rook was Not At All Certain that he had cleared Vets in the House (double entendre alert: the nurse is, as so many medical folks are up here, ex-military), and hid in Steve’s room. The other three cats stayed in my office:  Firefly and Trooper at the desk, and Tali behind a curtain.

Second cup of tea in hand.

The larger part of the day will be working on the WIP. I hope to get the correx entered today, so I can do the Grand Rearranging of Scenes tomorrow, and be set up to write new words, assuming I haven’t forgotten how, by the weekend.

I did a Coon Cat Weigh-In the other day. Everybody is staying stable — Firefly almost 12 lbs; Rook almost 13; Tali at 11 — except Trooper, who lost 2 lbs. He’s now on the mid-morning Elder Snack schedule. Good thoughts for Trooper, please.

How’s everybody doing today?

Rookie’s box arrived yesterday afternoon, and was put to use immediately I cleared out that pesky rope of lights:

Today’s blog post courtesy of the Rolling Stones, “Just Waitin’ on a Friend.”

Doctor on Deck

What went before ONE: All righty, then!

In my small, as yet uninvaded by Marines corner of the US, where it is cloudy, cool, and damp, I did go see the chiropractor, which was good, because back pain had continued escalating, until I was forced to sacrifice one of my precious Meloxicams to stem the pain and it was exactly like throwing a snowball at Hell.

I’m not gonna lie: getting smacked with a hammer in precisely the places I hurt most wasn’t fun. OTOH, the relief was damn’ near immediate. I came home, threw down some muscle relaxants, in order to get ahead of the cycle, got an ice pack and laid down in the bed, where I was immediately joined by Rook in what may be his first solo nursing gig. When I woke up, he was still curled against my knee, and I had Firefly and Tali bracketing my hips, so obviously this was considered a Serious Event by the care staff.

I have another appointment with the chiropractor tomorrow afternoon, but the absence of pain is a benediction, as ever.

I’m out for the rest of the day, obviously, but hope to be functional tomorrow.

Everybody stay safe.

Oh! Someone had asked about my neighbor: I’ve seen him round and about, though not to talk to — so I guess he’s Clearing Stuff Out.

‘night

What went before TWO: The names! The names! Obviously, I knew about the Sasanoa, but Upper Hells Gate and Hockomock have somehow eluded me for 35 years…

Cruise the upper Sasanoa River through Upper Hells Gate into serene Hockomock and Montsweag Bays. These tidal channels connect the Sasanoa River, Back River, and Sheepscot Rivers and once served as the primary rout for transportation between coastal communities like Bath, Wiscasset, and Boothbay. Their brackish waters host abundant fish and wildlife and serve as beautiful backdrops for photography opportunities. — Maine Maritime Museum Tours

Tuesday. Mizzling and cool. Trash and recycling are at the curb. It would be nice if it didn’t rain on one Trash Day so I could finish getting the Winter Boxes out of the garage before it’s Winter again.

Breakfast was oatmeal with inclusions. Lunch may well be the leftover pretend chicken parm.

I am sneezing. Happily my back does not hurt this morning, so I may do so with impunity.

Follow up with chiropractor at 3 today; sewing at 5 (or, really, whenever I get there); grocery shopping after. In-between, one’s duty to the cats, and the work of the house. I could, yanno, throw in a load of laundry, if I’m feeling particularly ambitious.

Two of the cruises offered from the Maine Maritime Museum hit the six lighthouses along the Kennebec River, and, Readers, I Am Tempted, because there’s no other way I’m going to be able to view these lights. All I need to do is figure out if I can cope with two to three hours trapped with strangers and their kids on a tour boat, and what I’m going to do about not burning to a crisp.

Last night, the cats and I finished up Season 1 of Ncuti Gatwa’s Dr. Who, and, having now seen the Whole Arc, I applaud Mr. Davies’ storytelling (yes, yes, I know; y’all are experts on Everything Who; allow me my discoveries in their own time). Firefly Did. Not. Approve. of Suketh. She threw herself onto the couch and aggressively snuggled against my side, purring, and occasionally looking up at me. I had to assure her several times that Ruby would Fix It, with help from the Man Person.

Ah. And today marks 300 days of traveling with Perry Wink in Finch. A melancholy celebration in its way, but, hey — any excuse for a party.

The younger staff members are playing tag in the back hall; Trooper is asleep on the co-pilot’s chair.

Have a picture of the rose bush:

The Luck in Action

What went before ONE: Well, that was more excitement than I wanted from lunch.

First, I spilled almost an entire box of elbow macaroni over the kitchen floor — I always try to catch things. Often I do catch them. Even more often, the result is worse than if I had just let whatever it is fall.

Rook came rushing to the scene of the catastrophe, looked at the mess, looked up me (“Mom. What the Hell?”), then assisted in clean-up by finding the macaronis that had taken cover under the cabinets, and smacking at least one to its Forever Home under the stove.

Eventually, I got back to the cooking part of the process, and it was lunch, and I even have leftovers for lunch-in-future.

Rook’s been practicing taking selfies:

 

 

 

 

What went before TWO: Well. A Compleat Change of Plan.

I did get some writing done, but after lunch, I noticed that my back hurt, and my hips hurt, and my knees hurt, and — you get the picture, I’m sure. So! I took a couple aspirin (I’m holding on to the High Test until I’m sure I have a doctor who can prescribe more, OR until aspirin doesn’t do the trick), and then I — wait for it — took a nap.

Woke up somewhat less achy, approached the keyboard, and remembered that today’s shopping trip to the freezer had Revealed An Error.

I was out of blueberry muffins.

Clearly, that situation could not stand, and a batch of blueberry muffins is finishing up baking as I type this.

Next, I need to go back down to the basement to see if I still have blueberries. Which tangentially reminds me that I ought to be making a grocery list. (EDITED TO ADD: I have blueberries.)

So! Minor amounts of writing completed today.

Here, have a snippet: “No, Bechimo had accepted Theo Waitley as captain, and there was nothing that could induce one of Korval, be she kin or be she clan, to relinquish a ship that was in her hand. She had been adamantine, had Captain Waitley, and admitted no error – which had only made him more determined to reft the ship from her.”

Oh.  The muffins are out:

 

 

 

 

Monday. Glary, damp and coolish. Windows are open in my office.

Breakfast was . . . different from planned, due to the fact that the cottage cheese appeared to have Mystery Inclusions. So! instead of half a blueberry muffin with a side of cottage cheese, I had half a blueberry muffin with cream cheese. Lunch is likely be a sweet potato, since I’m not feeling All That ambitious.

I hereby report an Instance of the Lee-Miller Sloppy Luck. I had cut two roses off the new bush two days ago, and put them in a bud vase on the dining room table, where they remained, undisturbed and cheery, until!

. . .I’m guessing last night. Maybe early this morning. A Person Unknown — *cough* Tali *cough* — knocked the bud vase over onto a pile consisting of a SanDisk mp3 player attached to a pair of headphones, which was sitting on the case (closed) of another pair of headphones, which was next to a large book.

Reader, most of the water was still in the vase. The mp3 player was slightly damp, but is working. Both sets of headphones are untouched, as is the book. The tablecloth was a little damp, but it needed to be changed, anyway.

I did not sleep well last night, and my back is still bothering me. It occurs to me that the chiropractor was not attached to the hospital that left, so perhaps a phone call to see if I still have an In there is in order.  (EDITED TO ADD:  I still have an In, and better yet?  An appointment for this afternoon.)

Otherwise, today is a writing day. No, really. I mean it.

Looking forward to the rest of the week, tomorrow evening is sewing, after which I’ll go to the grocery. Wednesday, I am to reside in a State of Anticipation of the arrival of the Home Visit Nurse, sometime between 8am and noon. Thursday morning Ashley will arrive, and Friday morning, I get a haircut.

I should sometime soon see what’s to do in Bath, so I can have some fun and find out where my doctor’s new practice is. Maybe there’s a Reny’s.

That’s the news from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

What’s happening with you?

Pics from yesterday:

My father says that almost the whole world is asleep

What went before ONE: Litter pans changed out, basement vacuumed, shower had, shopping done (Do I need more jeans? No. But I adore the Starfish pull-ons from Lands End, and? They’re On Sale! Besides, I cleaned out the basement.)

Next up — the midday meal — and then back with the WIP.

For the Record, should there actually be a record — it’s raining like heck.

What went before TWO: The afternoon theme. My question is: why am I awake?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What went before THREE: So, I did not finish reading the WIP today. I did realize that what I have needs to be rearranged, now that I have nearly half of a (technical) book written. Tomorrow, I’ll start the rearrangement. Or, I’ll write the scene that’s missing. Or, yanno — both. Or neither.

I note that, for this book, and against Standard Practice, I made what I’m pleased to call An Outline, in service of the fact that I’m operating on half the recommended brain-power for the writing of a Liaden book.

It has served me well this far, but its usefulness will end as I commence rearranging the segments, which is fine, because I have the middle pretty much nailed down, and A Few Ideas about the ending.

In other words, we’re in pretty good shape, over here in It’s Time to Write Your Novel Land.

I did not take a nap today. This may or may not have been An Error, though I did not make the Definite Error of applying caffeine, which leads me to suppose that this will be another Early Night.

The Coon Cats have been suing for Happy Hour since 4:45. Right now, they’re being quiet, perhaps even Too Quiet, but I’m willing to take a lack of noise Right Now for the probability of Chaos later.

I will append the Outline to the end of this communication, for those who have an interest in such things.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Outline for current WIP
VARIABLE
VELOCITY
TIME
CONVERGENCE
DISPLACEMENT
SOLUTION

#

Honest to ghu, people don’t pay attention.

Here’s Charlie Giguere, flying the Pride flag outside the Silver Street Tavern, which he has done for years (I mean Literal Years: I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Steve and me standing in front of it around here somewhere, and I was wearing a corset, which is an article of clothing I last wore in 2019. But that year the bullies were too interested in shutting down the bookstore), and only now, he’s getting flack. Like it’s all Brand New, and Charlie Just Got Woke.

It’s not that I want a better class of bully, but the stupid does sometimes burn.

In other news, the Maine Grain Association is sponsoring a Bread Walk in Portland and also an After Dark Bread Walk, which makes me both grateful and sad that I don’t live nearer to Portland. On the 26th, though, there’s the Bread Fair at Skowhegan Fairgrounds, and I may try to make that, absent brain-fying heat.

Where was I?

Ah.

Sunday. Bright and warm.

Breakfast was French toast with strawberries. Second cup of tea is brewing. Lunch may be, um. Maybe I can take a premade chicken patty, cook it in tomato sauce, put it over macaroni and pretend it’s Chicken Parmesan. That could work.

Today is a writing day.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.

What’ve you got?

This morning’s blog post brought to you by Abney Park, “The Wake“

Rites of Spring

What went before: So, I’ve read 108 out of a possible 197 manuscript pages. Will finish that tomorrow.

Otherwise, a Very Quiet day here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory (except Now, because Trooper is yelling for Happy Hour NEOW!). I am for some reason Just Exhausted, so it will be an early night hereabouts.

I watched “Rogue” last night from Dr. Who. The Doctor did look ever-so-tasty in his Regency duds, though I’m going to be very disappointed in him if he doesn’t find the lad.

Hope everyone has had an enjoyable Friday.

Stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

#

Saturday. Cloudy and cooler.

Slept late. Thinking about sleeping some more, but! Today is change-the-cat-boxes day, so — duty first, then nap, if I’m still So Inclined.

It rained last night — a lot — and the ‘beans are calling for more, off and on, during the day.

Tali and Rook did engage me before breakfast in a vigorous game of Spring, which presently goes like this:

1 Rook and Tali Gather Round, looking up at me Expectantly.

2 I Produce a Spring and show it to them.

3 They wriggle.

4 I throw the spring.

5 They chase it at turnpike speeds (Tali runs faster than Rook, but this isn’t an advantage, as she often over-shoots the target).

6 Rook (usually) recovers the spring (if Tali manages to get to it first, he takes it away from her), and brings it back to me, so I can throw it again.

6a If Tali retains the spring, she bats it around until she loses it, then comes back to me, eyes wide, waiting for me to Produce a Spring. However!

6b The game ends when the spring is lost.

7 VARY: Rook hides the spring and then comes back to me, eyes wide. I go find it and throw it again. This Variation has a three-throw limit or ends when 6b is invoked.

So, that’s the news from the Cat Farm. I note that this time last Saturday, I was driving twisty little roads through tidy Vermont towns in the Pouring! Down! Rain! and wondering if it just made more sense to pull over, buy a house, and never drive anywhere again.

What’re y’all doing that’s interesting, today?

Cyberplane #1

Sharon says: I think that these two installments by Steve Miller explain themselves pretty well. Back in the day, Cyberplane 1 and 2 won a web-writing award, the name of which escapes me at this distance. We were nicer to each other on the internet, back then.

#

Cyberplane #1

This is the first issue of Cyberplane; it is a direct descendant of the old Paper Plane fanzine that I published when I lived at Apt 3A 119 Willow Bend Drive, Owings Mills, Md., 21117. In some ways I’m sorry that it’s not appearing in the original format of a snailmailed, mimeographed personalzine….on the other hand I gave that device — that mimeo machine — away to some fans in deepest PA, where it may yet turn out crudsheets with every fourth crank of the handle.

So Cyberplane #1 comes to you via the web from Steve Miller, RR2, Box 4570, Winslow, ME 04901. LoCs (letters of comment) can be sent via email to kinzel@mint.net; additional issues will arrive webward from time to time, if anyone notices this issue. You CAN send stamps, though I’m not sure what the correct postage should be…This is a by whim production; there are no subscribers. Copyright 1995 by Steve Miller. The textured background is my own; I also make web pages….

….If none of that makes sense to you, perhaps I should mention that long ago and far away I was considered a science fiction fan. That was a technical term back when most science fiction was in books and magazines and fans were readers rather than watchers. Many, many fans were also writers, and some of the fans I dealt with have, like me, become “filthy pros” in one field of writing or another.

I have, alas, not given up many of my fannish ways. I still think of the year not in traditional holidays but in condays: April, BaltiCon and MiniCon weekend…also known as Easter. DisClave weekend, also known as Memorial Day to the uninitiated. And of course, WorldCon…frequently known as Labor Dayweek. Having been to something over 100 cons over the years my inclination to think in this fashion may perhaps be understood.

I also have kept many of my fannish odds and ends. My Kelly Freas caricature, my old x-rated issue of Holier Than Thou, many of my convention badges. And, of course, the illos sent to me by artists for the next issue of my fanzine. Original art!


Illo by Rotsler

I am not above the lure of the convention’s song. I am, however, too cynical to enjoy sleeping on the floor in crash space; and too experienced to travel cross country on $6 a day with any degree of comfort. Once upon a time however….

#

Con-Fession of a Con-Addict

In the summer of 1973 the fannish world had a near miss. Not only did the famous Khoutek comet fail to mesmerize and astonish billions, it being one of the real duds of the 20th century, right up there with the Edsel, the Lisa, the Apple III, and the Commordore IV, but also I failed to attend my first “real” sf convention.

I’m not sure who lucked out: I was at Clarion West and rather than go out to the con (in Vancouver perhaps?) I spent my weekend working on my writing. Somehow I thought that was much more to the purpose, having traveled by bus from Baltimore to Seattle to attend a writing workshop, and not to sit around talking trash with a bunch of mere fans. Sigh. I was as opinionated then as I am now and with far less experience to back it up… And so my first convention didn’t happen months after I returned from Clarion.

You can probably blame Sue Miller, who was then Sue Nice, for my first appearance at convention. She read Analog every month ( I read Amazing, Fantastic, and IF or one of it’s brethren) and it wasn’t unusual for us to stare at the con listings and wonder if we should go to one of these things. When it was apparent that I was actually going to get a job in the field…well, it was obvious that we needed to go to a convention. And since we’d missed BaltiCon that year, the first con we got to was DisClave.

I will not bore you with the entire details of the event; I couldn’t, having mixed them up with so many other events that took place at the Sheraton Park. What struck me from the start, and what helped lead to my addiction, was that I was among readers — lots of readers! — who knew enough about the same things I did to agree with me — or argue with me — from a position of information. These people might LOOK weird, but they didn’t think it odd that one might happen to pick up a book at 7 PM and put down the second or third book in the series at 6 AM just before going to work…

In short order I became involved in BSFS, the Baltimore Science Fantasy Society, and I became a con fan. I’d drop everything to run to Pghlange, and I’d go to anything dealing with SF at the Sheraton Park hotel…an edifice that could probably have been bought for a permanent worldcon home for the amount of money that fans spent there.

My involvement in fandom, and in convention fandom in particular, got to the point that I might begin a conversation with someone at a room party in, say, Kentucky, continue it the next week in say, Michigan, and finish it at a party in, say Ohio, three weeks later. Not only might I have these kinds of conversations, I faunched after them. I needed them.

The energy of conventions got in my blood; I found myself able and (all too!) willing to give directions to hotels and restaurants in Anne Arbor and Washington DC and Columbus (that’s in Ohio and is one of the least visited cities in the US). I also found myself recognizing stretches of interstate 400 miles away from home from the last time I’d been there — say three weeks before.

At the risk of sounding a bit like one of Andy Offut’s convention speeches, there I was, a young man from the backwoods of Owings Mills, Maryland and I was not only going places, but I was doing things in those places and I was even welcomefar from home. This was all a bit of a surprise to me. So much so that I needed hints about which cheese to eat (and Joe Haldeman may still consider me uncouth for never having had feta cheese in my life at the time we happened to be at the same party at a con in Ann Arbor); but I came from a poor but boring background where I’d led a very sheltered life away from anything but the blandest and most Baltimore of foods.

I also discovered the unexpected lure of all night partying. As my involvement grew from wide-eyed innocent to WorldCon bidding insider I became more and more involved in the faanish side of things and less in the sercon (serious constructive) side of things. Oh, I still wrote my fiction and my book reviews, but I was not as likely to attend the inevitable “Universe Building” panel as I was to hit all of the open and and as many of the closed parties as I could.

Along the way, I lost my way. Some of the all night parties led to waking up in someone else’s room. Some ended up with a quiet breakfast with someone I’d kissed for the first time three hours before. Some ended up merely prelude to a virtually sleepless weekend followed by a 20 hour crash when I got home. Work and homelife suffered….

And so by the time of the Miami worldcon my marriage was on the rocks; even as my father (who was living in Miami on a houseboat with a 19 year-old girlfriend) was telling me to “hang on to that girl”, the former Sue Nice was plainly not long to be Mrs. Steve Miller. The world of the con and the mundane world are not meant to be lived simultaneously for long periods of time…

For a short while I used conventions to avoid being alone. Then, rather suddenly, my writing was selling, I was reviewing books for the Baltimore Sun, and my new position as editor of a weekly community newspaper made conventions harder to get to.

This is a work in progress…thanks for your understanding– Try Steve Miller If you haven’t had enough you can try number 2 in the series

Cyberplane #2

Cyberplane #2

This is the second issue of Cyberplane; it is a direct descendant of the old Paper Plane fanzine that I published when I lived in Owings Mills, Md. I lived in Owings Mills for close to 20 years with brief time out for visits to Seattle, WA and some semi-communal living in Columbia, Md. and Reisterstown, Md.

Cyberplane #2 comes to you via the web from Steve Miller, RR2, Box 4570, Winslow, ME 04901, where I live with my wife, Sharon Lee (despite rumours on GEnie and rec.arts.sf.written to the contrary) and a stalwart band of rescued cats who have joined the quest.

LoCs (letters of comment) can be sent via email to kinzel@mint.net; additional issues will arrive webward from time to time. In support, you CAN send stamps, personal photos your mother wouldn’t approve of, silver dimes, quarters, half-dollars, or dollars, or canned salmon. This is a by whim production; there are no subscribers. Copyright 1996 by Steve Miller.

The textured background is my own; I also make web pages. The photograph above is the gift of a fan and was probably taken after 9 PM on a Saturday night at a convention on the somewhere on the East Coast in the year 1977. This may actually have been taken at the WorldCon in Miami…and I see my hair was going grey then in a few spots more than 18 years ago.

#

   ….If none of that makes sense to you, perhaps I should mention that long ago and far away I was considered a science fiction fan. That was a technical term back when most science fiction was in books and magazines and fans were readers rather than watchers. Many, many fans were also writers, and some of the fans I dealt with have, like me, become “filthy pros” in one field of writing or another.

What has gone before

In the first issue of Cyberplane I mentioned that science fiction cons had gotten in my blood. The truth is that, even though I was writing for much of my living in fields outside of SF, most of my community was still within the SF world.
This began to become a problem as my relationship with Sue Miller deteriorated, for we were seen as a unit. Additionally, for several years we were extremely active in BSFS, hosting parties and meetings at our large apartment in Owings Mills (sometimes with more than a hundred attendees over a six or eight hour span) as well as acting as Baltimore in 80 ambassadors in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, York (PA), and Wilmington, NC.

And so, I’d found myself at loose ends within the SF community and also found myself exposed to other creative types in the music world I was covering for various newspapers. Thus, when I met re-met Sharon Lee at a writing course I was taking at UMBC (where we were both looking (sigh) for easy credits) I was happy to find a science fiction-oriented person to be around again… and also pleased to find someone who was serious about writing.

I’d been exposed to the poets, the would-be great American novelists, and the newspaper people and found some of fandom’s self-centeredness wearing. In Sharon’s presence though the wonder-and-fun part of SF came through again; and the fan feuds and convention-mongering fell into the background. Oddly enough, it was Sharon’s influence and goals (along with those of friend Drew Farrell) that moved me into some of my most intensive convention-going.

The effort, first, to put together the Star Swarm News as a new kind of science fiction publication, failed. We never got the capital infusion that we needed so badly, and the concept (later echoed in the somewhat successful Aboriginal SF) was itself ignored. Fans, it seemed, didn’t want newspapers.

After Aracelli Karri, Inc. essentially went belly up and with it the Star Swarm News itself, Sharon and I moved into gear with Sharon’s lifelong dream — her own bookstore. That melded well with the art agenting I’d been doing on the side, and so was born DreamsGarth.

This is a work in progress; it is copyright 1996 by Steve Miller.

News of tomorrow, today

For those who were wondering about 2025’s chapbook (remember that?) — roughed out, including the back matter, but not the front matter, we’re looking at 29,780 words/136 manuscript pages. Contents are: Author’s Explanation, Neutral Ground, Outtake: The Healer Removed; Core Values; Text of the Heinlein Acceptance Speech.

This is still in Very Rough Shape, and it naturally takes second place to the novel, which! I’ll begin reading tomorrow, because, yes, I DID get All The Stuff Done, and it is time — nay! past time! — to go back to work.

It’s my intention to post the first two installments (the only two installments I can find, and, indeed, possibly the only two that were written) of Cyberplane, Steve Miller’s electronic fanzine from 1996, to The Usual Places, possibly tonight, and Devote Myself To My Craft, tomorrow.

Which is to say, Friday on the East Coast of the USA will be a Planned Electron-Free Day at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

So! Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you, for sure, on Saturday.

Text of Sharon Lee’s Heinlein Acceptance Speech

I promised to post this before I left for BaltiCon, so that people could read what I intended to say.

It’s worth noting here, for those of you who may someday be called upon to give a speech before a live audience, up on the stage, that, unless your eyes are much better than mine (not impossible), you won’t be able to read your speech.  Memorize the Key Points.  Really.  It will save you some adrenaline.

So, here you are — 630ish words.  Stage Directions in CAPS.

Sharon Lee Acceptance Speech, Heinlein Award, May 23, 2025

It’s traditional on occasions like this to ask the people you meet, “What was YOUR first Balticon?”

Well. Some of you may not know this, but I’m FROM Baltimore, and for many years, BaltiCon was my Home Convention.

But my FIRST BaltiCon – that was Balticon TEN – in 1976.

At that time in my life, I had no idea that there were science fiction conventions, and no idea that there were science fiction fans. I wanted to be a writer – so I entered a short story contest.

PAUSE

And I won.

My prize was: Membership in Balticon 10, $25 in cash that I immediately spent on books in the dealers room, an introduction to that year’s Guest of Honor – who was Isaac Asimov, and introductions to the judges of the short story contest.

One of the judges was a writer named Steve Miller, who happened to be running the art show. We spoke VERY briefly.

PAUSE

About a year later, I met Steve Miller again. We were by chance taking the same college writing course because we both wanted FINGER QUOTES “easy credits.”

After class, we got to talking.

Then we moved in with each other.

AND THEN, we started to write together – as you do.

PAUSE

Now Steve — STEVE was a science fiction fan. He was active in the Baltimore Science Fiction Society as the Club MOP – that’s MINISTER OF PROPAGANDA – and vice chair of the Baltimore in 80 WorldCon bid. He was a writer and a reviewer. He’d also been a performance poet, AND the founding curator of the Kuhn Library Science Fiction Research Collection at the University of Maryland at Baltimore County.

PAUSE

The point of all this being that – by the time I met him, Steve had read an Awful Lot of science fiction.

I was a reader, and I’d read SOME science fiction, including a book by some guy named Robert Heinlein – CITIZEN OF THE GALAXY.

PAUSE

WHICH? I didn’t like.

So, I was – a little surprised when we were shelving books together in OUR apartment to see QUITE A NUMBER of titles by this Heinlein guy in Steve’s MANY boxes of books.

PAUSE

Now, we had a LOT of duplicate titles.

But the only duplicate Heinlein title – in fact the ONLY Heinlein title in MY many boxes of books – was STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND.

“So this Heinlein guy – is he any good?” I asked.

Steve looked at me – you know the Look? The LIBRARIAN DEATH STARE where they’re trying to figure out How Much You Can Take?

Then he reached into a box, grabbed some books and started to make a pile next to my knee.

THE MOON IS A HARSH MISTRESS
THE ROLLING STONES
STAR BEAST
BETWEEN PLANETS
THE DOOR INTO SUMMER
GLORY ROAD

“That’ll get you started,” he said.

Well. It was ONLY six books, and I was in love. I read them – AND THEN YES I READ THE REST, because this guy Heinlein DID have something going for him. His books were FUN.

This is key. We tend to discount FUN, as if it lessens the value of whatever we’re doing, instead of being one of the most important things in life.

PAUSE AND LOOK OUT OVER THE AUDIENCE

I mentioned that Steve and I began to write together. We wrote together for over forty years, collaborating on MORE THAN 100 Published Works — BECAUSE IT WAS FUN. Our pact was that we’d stop when it WASN’T fun anymore.

PAUSE

So, there we were writing, and having fun, and in 2003 we were invited to attend BaltiCon 37 as Writer Guests of Honor.

PAUSE

That was fun, too.

In 2016, we came back to help celebrate BaltiCon’s 50th anniversary.

And now – BaltiCon 59.

LOOK OUT OVER THE AUDIENCE

Thank you, BaltiCon. My life would have been MUCH different without you.

TURN TO BEATRICE IF SHE’S STILL ON STAGE

Thank YOU, Heinlein Board, for choosing to honor the universe Steve and I built together.

TURN TO AUDIENCE

And most of all – THANK YOU – for reading – for listening – and for having fun.

PAUSE; GATHER PAPERS

Have a good con.

–end–

For comparison purposes, here’s the link to what I Actually Said.

Well, our fathers fought the Second World War

What went before ONE: I have achieved and sited roses. The tiny one is the baby from the front garden. The yellow one is True Kindness, which is a hybrid tea rose, said to be hardy, disease resistant and heat tolerant.

If this works out, I’ll try an heirloom rose.

I have also registered for the watercolor class and conquered the rest of my errands, save the bank, which is a Phone Call.

What went before TWO: So! I have a couple more things to do to catch up with Real Life, but it looks like I’ll be going back to work on Friday. Yeah, Friday; and I’ll probably be working all weekend, too, because my boss is a witch, man.

Tomorrow will be a Hide from the Heat day, because 90F/32C, and sunny. Friday will be a little cooler and cloudy, and then Saturday it will be SIGnificantly cooler, with rain. So, it’s not like I’ll be missing a Great Weekend on anything.

I have taken the Executive Decision to put twinkle lights up in the living room. Those should arrive tomorrow, and will be something to do In-Between.

Rookie very responsibly made his annual vet appointment for July. I’m so proud of him. Trooper is calling for Happy Hour, but he still has a little while to wait.
. . . and that’s the evening report.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

#

Thursday. Sunny and already warm enough by my reckoning. The weatherbeans are calling for Warmer, and a thunderstorm or two.

I had hoped that the Corning trip would serve as a buffer against meltdowns, as I came home from a con without Steve, and, indeed, emotions have taken their time catching up. Unfortunately, this morning it all kind of hit like a dump truck. Firefly just brought me her orange chew-and-chase thing, which is of course a Great Comfort.

Today, I’ll be doing normal quiet things — hanging away the laundry, making a pot of rice, doing one’s duty to the cats. I have two phone calls to make, and that will be my limit on Real World Business today.

There had been a call for me to post the text of my speech, so it can be compared to what I actually said. I’ll try to get that done — just a cut ‘n paste.

The coon cats have put their plans for the day into motion. What’re your plans?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Billy Joel: “Allentown”