Category: Fuck Cancer

What on earth is the woman doing, part sebenty-leben

When last we saw our heroine, she was doing Shameless Self-Promotion, as one does, signing bookplates, and starting to work on the next book, by which I mean, staring out the window, and making Cryptic Notes™.

That changed back toward the end of last week, when the edits for Diviner’s Bow landed in my inbox, and I spent the next While dealing with that, doing my own chilly read-through, and making a (few) more corrections.

Of course, in pre-apocalyptic times, Steve would have taken half the manuscript; I’d’ve taken the other half.  We’d have talked over the editorial suggestions — and anyway, that’s not how we do things in this Brave New World, and it took me a good chunk of time to go through the ‘script and consider the suggested changes.  I have only just today returned the manuscript to the editor.

In-between reading, correcting, considering, and inputting, I had the Waterville Fire Department come in and replace the 20+ year old smoke alarms in the house, which they did for free, because the Waterville Fire Department is Just. That. Cool.

I also went to the last meeting (for some number of months) of the book club, and did the 120-mile round trip to the cancer center, to chat with my oncologist.  I’m fine, though they took me off of the drug I’d been taken to help reduce the risk of a recurrence because of the still-inconclusive outcomes attached to my June Health Adventure.  Said drug being known to cause blood clots. That whole thing was much more upsetting than I had planned for, but, hey — it was a nice morning for a drive.

I also went to a writer meetup and met writers, which is something I haven’t done in a while.  I honestly don’t know that I’ll ever feel up to traveling to science fiction conventions again — too very many people knew Steve, and Steve-and-Sharon.  OTOH, one does like to talk with people who Get It, so after much waffling, I went, and had a pleasant evening.  So — four stars out of five:  may do again; encourage others to attend.

Somewhere in all there was also meeting a friend for coffee, grocery shopping, and hitting Home Depot up for paint (one of the smoke detectors had been painted (many times) to the wall, and brought paint with it when it finally was persuaded to let go.

Today was about cooking for the freezer, and making a loaf of cheese bread because I wanted cheese bread.  Tomorrow and Sunday will be about laundry, and dealing with all the things I let pile up while I was concentrating on the edits for Diviner’s Bow.

Next week will be a bit pear-shaped due to the US Thanksgiving.  On Wednesday afternoon, I’ll pick up a Feast For One from a local restaurant to reheat on the day, and expect that I’ll be doing something low-key and enjoyable, like laying out a chapbook.  No, really; that’s low-key and enjoyable.  Also, I need to get back to staring out the window and making notes.

As I’ve been walking up and down in the world, I’ve noticed the wreaths, and the greens, the trees, and the decorations, and — I will be sitting the holidays out this year.  This includes the sending of the traditional Yule letter and cards.  P’rhaps next year.

And that?  Catches us up.

Everybody have a good weekend.

April Fools need not apply

This is an April Fools Free Zone.  Which is to say that the following things are true, and not thinly disguised attempts to bully or belittle you.

Yes, I have Opinions about April Fools Day.

1 A couple weeks ago, Steve and I stopped by Writers Drinking Coffee and had a great time chatting with Karen, Jeannie, and Chaz.
The interview is now up and you can listen to it here.

2  The results of the Great Salvage Right Tyop Hunt have been forwarded to Baen.  Steve and I extend our thanks to all who participated.

3  Steve and I will be Writer Guests of Honor at Heliosphere, at the end of this month.  Our schedule is firming up. We expect to have a lot of fun, and hope to see you there.  You can learn about the con and register here

4  For those who have been following along, for several years now — Yesterday was the six-month get-together with the oncologist.  Blood was drawn and read.  I am pronounced “appallingly healthy” and am under orders to remain so.  Next get-together in six months.

5  April 1 is celebrated as an anniversary here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, it being the day Steve and I moved in together. Yes, we were aware of the irony, but if you didn’t move out by the first, you owed the whole month’s rent, and neither one of us could afford that.
This particular April 1 marks the 45th time we have celebrated the anniversary together, and while we’ve laughed a lot over the years, the partnership was never a joke.

Cancer Update

Up at oghod o’clock and on the road to the Cancer Center for the second year anniversary of my mastectomy.  Cutting to the chase, the surgeon expresses great personal pleasure in the present state of my health.  I have one more hoop to jump through — a mammogram, in August.  If nothing concerning shows up, I will graduate from every six month appointments to every year.

So, metaphoric fingers crossed for good results in August, which is basically what you want from a mammogram, anyway, so no surprises there.

After my visit with the surgeon, Steve drove us to Ellsworth to drop off a clock for repair and cleaning, and we wandered home via Surry and East Blue Hill Village (yeah, not really on the way home, but you can get here from there), stopping at the Lion’s Den in Waterville to have a celebratory lunch.

We’re home now, the coon cats have been brought up to date, and I’m thinking maybe to top off the day by watching a movie.

Work does continue on SALVAGE RIGHT, which right now stands at just a smidge over 71,000 words.

Writers’ Day Off

So, yesterday, it was sunny and warm, for values of warm that factor in March and Maine, and we called in one of our Rolling Days Off.

Now, what with one thing and another, I haven’t been driving much for the last, eh, year?  Two years.  Around town stuff — out to Unity Pond, or to Solon, but not what you’d call a Good Drive.  Or not what I’d call a Good Drive.  Understand, I like to drive, and it’s been a Point of Faith with me since I earned my ticket to fly  that I could drive anywhere, any time, no problem.  You wanna go to Mars?  Fine, I’ll drive you to Mars; strap in.

For the first part of my treatment, I’d been driving myself to the Cancer Center — about 130 mile round trip — but then about half-way through the course,  Radiation Fatigue set in, and Steve had to step up to be my chauffeur (cue the Beatles).

Now, the thing they don’t tell you about Radiation Fatigue, aside that “some” people experience it, is that — it hangs around after you’ve gotten done, received your graduation certificate from your ray-gunners, AND rung the bell.  It hangs around for a long time.

Most usually, it manifests as a sudden, freewheeling Wall of Exhaustion — and I mean this exactly; you’ll be doing something — washing the dishes, reading, writing, driving — and BAM! you’re done.  Now.  You can barely hold your head up.  There’s no predicting how, when, or why this will happen.

So, long story short, given the above, I haven’t been driving much.  And, all other things being more or less back to normal — the other thing they don’t necessarily tell you about cancer recovery is that it takes a lot longer than you think — I decided to see if I couldn’t get my driving mojo back.

Frequent readers of this blog will recall that I recently bought a car — Tinsori the Honda.  Tinsori is the back-up car.  Our primary ride is a very nice Touring Subaru Forester with all kinds of safety features onboard, and it was the Forester that I drove out yesterday, Steve riding shotgun, all the way down to the ocean and back.

That’s a 200-mile round trip — no big deal — and I got to take a long walk on the beach, and we ate supper at one of our favorite restaurants; took another small on-foot tour of the town, stopped for ice cream on the way home, and!

It was fine.  It was better than fine. No Wall of Exhaustion, not even on the horizon. So, I’m calling this a Modest Victory, and hope to repeat it — soon — and eventually arrive at a point where Steve doesn’t need to ride shotgun.

In Other News:  I’ve completed my editorial pass through Section Two of Salvage Right, and Steve has it to read for continuity and general sense.  In the meantime, I will be moving on to Section Three, continuing with the Write the Scenes You Know Method, with which I’m pretty well pleased.  It means writing a lot of bridges, and sometimes having to frog, if the scene doesn’t wind up fitting exactly where it seemed to fit, but that’s all perfectly doable in the editing pass.

For those counting along at home, Salvage Right now stands at 64,656 words, or approximately half-done.

Here, have a snippet:

“One of the crew of Bechimo who may have valuable insight into my work. As you heard, we will speak in depth after the present task is completed, and I have slept.”

“Oh, you remembered sleep,” M Traven said, in a tone of broad enlightenment.

“If I had not, you would have reminded me,” Seignur Veeoni said, rising and moving toward the antechamber.

 

 

Saturday after the storm

So, yesterday it snowed.  I believe we got at least the five inches the weatherbeans had been predicting.  On Thursday, we had large swathes of grass showing in the back yard.  This morning, we have an even cover of white.

The other Big News yesterday, aside the snowstorm and that I won at Scrabble, is that Steve read the first 25,000 words of Salvage Right — this being the Edition that includes all the details that were previously only in my head, and picks up some of that timekeeping I was talking about — and pronounces it Good.

So, we continue.  My job today is to read those 25,000 words, and sketching in a blueprint to likewise expand Section Two, so that next week I can get down inside the interstitials and start hooking up the plumbing and the electricity.

For those wondering after turn-in and publication dates, we are talking with Madame, and may have a schedule to share — soonish.

To review:  Steve is working on Trade Lanes, the sequel to May’s upcoming Fair Trade.  I am working on Salvage Right, set on Tinsori Light.  A third Liaden novel, as yet untitled and only vaguely considered, will finish out the current contract, referred to in-house as The Triple Threat Contract.

Aside taking Trooper to the vet for his annual physical next Wednesday, I’ve got nothing on the calendar until the Cancer Center again intrudes on my life, on March 17, the two-year anniversary of my mastectomy.  I’m looking forward to getting some solid work done before then.

. . . and I think that catches us all up.

Everybody stay safe.  Tell the people you care about that you love them.

 

 

The Writing Life, with tea and snow removal

So, we’ve been having some crazy weather, even for Maine.  Sub-zero (Fahrenheit) temps alternating with warmer days; snow, rain, and Unidentified Stuff falling from the sky.  This has made a Certified Mess of our driveway, given the snowbanks piled on either side by the plow guy, whose mission is to make certain we can get the cars out of and into the garage.

Yesterday, water was standing ankle deep over rotten ice at the bottom of the front steps, and more looking to flow in as the snow melted from the 50F/10C temperatures.

All that said, today I thought I was going to go out with a shovel and an ice-axe and dig a trough through compacted snow to release the water, so Steve and I could safely exit the house. Then! I thought again and called the plow guy, who will come by today with The Equipment, and Adjust the Situation.  And in fact he’s here now in his little Bobcat thingy, apparently enjoying himself hugely.

After a lifetime — and I mean that literally; I started my habit at age 7 — of drinking coffee, I had to quit, and have been searching for an alternative source of life-giving caffeine.  After some poking around, I’d hit upon Twinings Irish Breakfast tea as a reasonable substitute for the morning joe.  However, Twinings green tea is — not pleasant, IMHO — and a search for a more drinkable cup sent me to Harney and Sons.  While I was there, and in addition to two green teas, I bought a box of Irish Breakfast tea.  For Science!

I had a cup of Mr. Harney’s Irish Breakfast tea for my first cup today, and it was very nice — flavorful, smooth; not bitter, but definitely black, if that makes sense.

Mr. Harney directs us to brew this tea for five minutes, and that’s what I did.

I have here at my right hand a cup of Mr. Twinings’ Irish Breakfast tea — my Usual Sort. Mr. Twinings directs us to brew this tea for four minutes, which produces a cup that is not quite as nice as Mr. Harney’s. Therefore, because I am a Slave to Science, I brewed Mr. Twinings’ leaf for five minutes.

Five minutes is too long for Mr. Twinings’ Sort; it’s bitter along the high edge — and not even I know what that means, but it seems to appropriately describe the experience.

I note that Mr. Harney’s tea was black in the cup. Mr. Twinings’ is reddish.

So, on the first taste test, I find a preference for Mr. Harney’s Sort, though Mr. Twinings’ Sort, at the directed four minutes, is perfectly drinkable.

What else?  Ah!  I may have been remiss in reporting here that at my last oncology appointment, I was graduated from every-three-month check-ins, to every six months.  And there was much rejoicing.

Today’s to-do includes washing the dishwasher, which is already happening, and I may have to wash towels, after. Mostly, though, I hope to stick pretty close to Salvage Right, which, for those coming in late, is a Liaden Universe® novel set on Tinsori Light, after the events described in Neogenesis.

Yesterday, I finally intersected with a scene I’d written a month ago, so yay!  Said scene needs expansion, naturally, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I’d like to get to the end of that whole section today, but, really, what do I know?

As of last night’s writing session, Salvage Right stands at 50,885 words, and continues to Amuse Its Author, while zooming right along.

And that catches us more or less up.  As you can see, it’s been Very Quiet hereabouts — writers writing, cats napping, nothing really to see.

To make up for all the excitement included in this post, I have appended a snippet from Salvage Right below this paragraph.  If you don’t like snippets — go no further.

SNIPPET

“What would you have done,” Theo asked, “if she hadn’t stopped?”
Jen Sin raised an eyebrow. “Jumped, of course. What would you have done if she’d veered left?”
Theo sighed. “Jumped,” she admitted.

Anything can happen day

We had a small but boisterous thunderstorm on the overnight, which knocked out the power just long enough to be irritating.

Today is, indeed, Anything Can Happen Day, and all I’m saying is — it better.  Or, wait.  Maybe I mean EVERYTHING Can Happen.  I think that’s closer.

The To-Do List includes:

*Reading Trader’s Leap mass market proofs (which landed yesterday; correx due end of June)
*Renewing the Hummer Bars (three Hummer Bars. I think I’d better stop, now.)
*Do the laundry
*Continue work on contracted short story, working title “Gadreel’s Folly” (mid-July target date)
*Continue work on novel (due end of June)
*The mandatory walk and exercise regime

I’d briefly considered going over to Winslow and stopping at the Spiro’s Gyros food truck for lunch, but that might need to wait until, oh, tomorrow, when I have to visit the vampyres, anyway.

Yesterday, was Echocardiogram and EKG Day.  Now waiting for those results.  We also stopped at the grocery store and I had a haircut in the afternoon.  That was Interesting, though possibly not for the reason you may imagine.  In the space of those three events, I moved from an environment where everyone was masked, to an environment where employees were masked, and customers who had not been vaccinated were asked to be masked (and where one maskless guy tried to pick a fight with Steve about masks, but missed), to the the place where I get my hair cut which was packed and I was the only one wearing a mask*.

It’s been Wicked Hot here in Central Maine over the last few days — I think we cracked 100F/38C on Monday; yesterday was merely 88F/31; and today the weatherbeans are calling for a balmy 85F/29C.  I, myself, am living for Friday, when the high temp is predicted to be 66F/19C.

Presently, I have two coon cat supervisors, while Steve makes do with one.

And that’s how the day’s getting underway, here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

Y’all stay safe.

Today’s blog title brought to you by the Mickey Mouse Club which was on network television around 1958/1959.  Here’s your link.

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*Yes, yes, I’m still wearing a mask, even though I’m vaccinated and all.  Doctor’s orders are to pretend I haven’t been vaccinated and the masking orders have never been dropped. This is because I’m a cancer patient (aka a person whose immune system has been purposefully repressed) and there’s some concern that the vaccine is not 100%, or even, yanno, 87% effective in that population.

Ketchup Post

Because, in the dialect of my youth, “ketchup” is pronounced “catch up.”  Or possibly the other way around.

Before I get started with the catching up of bidness, I have some, eh, Breaking News. We have been talking to Baen re narrators for the Audible edition of Trader’s Leap. We don’t have a date — hell, we don’t even actually have a narrator — but the fact that we’re having this discussion would seem to indicate that the audiobook is moving forward.

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled blog.

I have slightly too much on my plate at the moment, which is my excuse for the irregular updates here.

So, what is on your plate, I hear you ask.  Well, I will tell you.

Deep edit of a story that wouldn’t leave Steve alone, working title “The Port Chavvy Comet.”  I hope to have that done by the end of this weekend, so it can start making its way to chapbookhood.

Also!  I am the Front Office here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, which means, I do the accounting, and interface with the accountant re taxes.  Even if the story isn’t done by tomorrow night, it will on Monday take second place to Getting the Tax Stuff Ready for the Accountant.

I’m taking a pain management course, which has quite a bit of homework attached to it.  Turns out that it’s true what they say, If ya wanna manage pain and stuff, you gotta sing loud.  And do the homework.

I’m still learning the new way of eating mandated by the Cancer Survivalist Program.  Which means I’m doing a lot more Actual Cooking, which is swell, because the new diet is, on the whole, very tasty, but that’s time I used to spend on other things, like, yanno, blogging.

Speaking of post-cancer living, that also comes with homework.  Who knew?  There’s walking and other exercise to be done, and while I have a walking and exercise schedule previous to my mastectomy, if I got into a writing crunch, I ignored  it.  Not an option anymore, along with the previous I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead lifestyle.

So, I guess what I’m saying is that a brush with mortality provides both a new lens and an…opportunity to re-organize.  Given that, I’m still re-organizing.

Those who are tired of the whole cancer discussion, can skip the next bit.

It turns out that coming back from cancer therapy is kind of like unboxing a matryoshka — or, more accurately, like putting one together.

Post-op, you feel lousy; then over a period of weeks, you feel less lousy; then you feel like maybe you could actually walk fifteen minutes a day, in five-minute shifts, around the upstairs of the hours. Gradually you get that 15 minutes into one Monster Shift, until one day you feel a lot better, well enough to go downstairs and walk for fifteen — or twenty! — minutes altogether. A little after that, you find that you’re bored, so you start swatting a Wiffle ball at the wall with your pickleball bat; and suddenly you’re walking 25/30 minutes at a go, and upping the pace, and one day you realize that you’re gonna have to increase the time to 35/40, and! that you’ve out-strengthed the size of your Wall Ball court.

So, my new project, with Steve’s help, is to set up a Tai Chi space in the wall ball court downstairs. We have a couple of screens that are good enough for video, we have Frank the old Windows 7 computer, we have a Windows compatible DVD player, and! we have Tai Chi DVDs. There’s no need for Frank to access the internet, which I understand is a very dangerous place for a machine of his age and persuasion, but he can interface between the DVD player and the screen, and I? can dance daibri‘at.

So, yeah, that’s another new project on the plate.

I hope to get back to more regular blogging here, as the rest of my new schedule takes shape around me.  In the meantime, thank you for your care and your patience.  I love you all.

To send a wagon for thy minstrel

So, it’s been a while since we’ve chatted.  My excuse is — page proofs arrived for the mass market edition of Accepting the Lance (to be published on October 27), and needed to be proofread.  No sooner than had we sent them back, then the copy edits for Trader’s Leap (to be published on December 1) landed, and that’s what I’m occupying myself with at the moment.

In-between All That, Steve and I have had several, err, creative meetings — to dignify a process that involves a lot of hand-waving, staring out of windows, pitching random scenes and sentences, and refilling the wine glasses — regarding the next book under contract.

Those of you who have been following along will perhaps recall that The Original Plan had Steve as lead on the next book, while I had needed surgery on my left foot, and held myself ready to consult, taking up the duties of Staff once I was fit, and also working on a side book.  I may not have said that outloud, about the side book, but that was part of The Original Plan.

It is here that we insert:  The best laid schemes o’mice an’ men gang aft agley.

We started well enough.  Then, in January, there was a funky mammogram, which meant biopsies of both breasts, only one of which had been invaded by cancer; followed by a mastectomy in mid-March, and a course of radiation therapy, which ended in mid-June, when I started taking a prescribed aromatase inhibitor, which produced crippling side effects. We’re now in the phase of letting that med leave my system before we try another one.

Otherwise, I’m pretty much recovered, absent the fact that I’m having some memory and cognitive issues, which I’m told will improve, in good time.

And then of course, there are the on-going shared threats to health, liberty, and life that we are all dealing with.

During all of this, Steve was Front, whose expanded duties included driving me to radiation therapy — a 266 mile round trip — every weekday, making sure we were fed, laundered, and up-to-date.

The book languished.  We missed one deadline, and were on track to missing the second, extended, deadline.

Thus, the creative meeting.  Which led to the realization that we needed to start again.

We spoke to Madame the Agent, who spoke to Madame the Publisher.  Between us all, we worked out a new delivery date, in 2021.  So, this is your Distant Early Warning: There will likely not be a new Liaden book published in 2021.  A Miracle may occur — it would not be the first time that Madame the Publisher has pulled a rabbit out of her hat, but that’s not the way the smart money ought to bet.

Today’s blog title is brought to you by Hildegard von Blingen, covering Gotye’s “Somebody that I Used to Know.”  Here’s your link.

The Journey to Normal

So, there’s this Thing that happens when you start to get better after having been, oh, pretty sick from the flu, say.  You start to feel better, and you say, “Hey!  I’m better!”  and then a couple weeks later, you look back at that point and say to yourself, “Oh, boy, who was I kidding?  But, hey!  I’m really better now!”  And a couple weeks further along, you look back at that point, and shake your head, because, man, you didn’t know what better even was — and so on until you stop thinking about it and eventually, you’re back to 100 percent, or whatever passes for 100 percent in your country, and life goes on.

That’s kind of where I am, now. I’m definitely better than I was four weeks ago, on my radiation graduation day, and really better than three weeks ago, and noticeably better than even two weeks ago, but — still not 100 percent.  Maybe 80 percent.  Maybe not that much.

One of the most frustrating parts of this continuing journey is the hitting a Wall of exhaustion, when, just five minutes earlier, I was feeling just fine.  Really, it’s like 80 to zero in two heartbeats, and suddenly I’m tearing up because I can’t remember how to hard boil eggs.  Disconcerting.  My particular Wall seems to manifest in the afternoon, anywhere from ten minutes to three hours after the midday meal, so, naturally I’ve been trying to cram all the Stuff I feel I need to do in the hours before the midday meal. Which may or may not be exacerbating the situation, but we play with the tiles we’ve drawn.

In any case, I am not back to a place where I can write fiction yet (argh), but I can do other writing related things, like read page proofs, which is what I’ve been doing, slowly, with the proofs for the mass market edition of Accepting the Lance, which has been its own small journey into surrealism.

It’s not that I don’t remember the story — not exactly that.  I do remember the — the hanger points, which is to say, the scenes that had to be there in order for the story to continue in a forwarder direction.  What I don’t remember are things like Val Con having lunch with his daughter, or the Miri’s meeting with the snow removal crew, or any other of a bunch of the small scenes that give the story depth and Truth.

So, I’m about 87 pages short of a complete read of the proofs, and hope to finish them tomorrow.  Then, I’ll see what other trouble I can get into — in a good way, as the journey toward normal continues.

Everybody be safe.