Poor men wanna be rich; rich men wanna be kings

So, about a month ago, Eric Williams was kind enough to send me a print of the cover art for Carousel Sun.  I took it to Framemakers to be framed — and it came back into my possession on Friday.

It looks nice.  Really nice.

But here’s the thing — I long ago ran out of space to hang paintings.  In fact, the cover art for Carousel Tides (also created by Eric) is kinda of hanging — well, see for yourselves:

The wall of All The Things, over in my office
The wall of All The Things in my office

…yeah, it’s a little crowded.  Clearly, no room to hang the sister painting there, right?  Also?  Not only is there going to be a third Carousel cover, which I also hope to acquire, frame and hang, the cover art for Necessity’s Child, which was removed from the living room wall by order of the cats so there was room for their new, primo, cat tree?  Has never been re-hung, so I  — you see where this is going, right?

Because, so I said to Steve, there’s plenty of room to hang pictures over my desk.  All I have to do is shift some things around.

For your information, this is what the wall over my desk looks like:

The uncluttered wall over my desk.
The uncluttered wall over my desk.

Because, I said to Steve, there’s room over the Narbonic strip for all those little things.

Here’s the Narbonic strip.  Imagine about 18 inches between the top of the frame and the ceiling:

The wall to the right of my desk.
The wall to the right of my desk.

So, here’s what I want to hang on the wall over my desk:

Three for a-hangin'
Three for a-hangin’

. . .plus, I want to keep the Red Birds, and Kevin Dyer’s tree, and I have to leave room for the third Carousel picture.

No problem, right?

No, really — you can laugh; it’s fine.  If this show wasn’t low-budget, I’d cue the laugh-track myself.

And the bitter irony is?  That Steve, who has very fine spatial understanding, and who very well knows that this whole project can only end in tears, will get pulled into it against his better judgement and wind up making it work.

As he has done, many, many times before.

. . .I’m thinking I’d better make a pre-emptive Devil’s food cake.  What d’y’all think?

 

 

The Marsh in Early October

As some of you may know, I had been looking forward to a walk in the early autumn marsh, and had picked as my destination the Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge mile-loop trail in Wells.  A dart thrown at the calendar pegged Wednesday October 2 dead-center, a day on which the weatherbeans were calling for sunny and warm.  The stars thus aligning and the gods smiling, I continued with my plans, changed the batteries in my camera, packed a go-bag, asked Steve if he would care to accompany me, made plans for exploring Wells after my walk in the marsh. . .

. . .which was about the time that I recalled that the Full And Proper Name of the marsh in question is:

The Rachel Carson NATIONAL Wildlife Refuge.

A quick check of the net confirmed my suspicion. Yep, the refuge had been closed as part of the Federal Government Shutdown.

Well, phuck.

I’d really been looking forward to my little hike-and-photo-shoot, and at dinner was making a effort to reconcile myself to its loss.  Steve suggested a walk in the other marsh, at Pine Point, but I was. . .somewhat leery, since I hadn’t been able to find any information about it other than it seemed to be under the control of the Audubon Society, so perhaps might be open.  Steve suggested that we go down and check it out for ourselves.

Which is what we did.

It turns out that the trail off of Route 9 in Pine Point is part of the Eastern Trail Alliance, which connects Kittery to South Portland — 65 miles of trail in Maine.  The Eastern Trail Alliance, in turn, is part of the East Coast Greenway, which eventually aims to connect Calais, Maine, to Key West, Florida.

Who knew?

So, the section that we walked connects Pine Point to Black Point — a distance of about 2.5 miles.  Since we didn’t know then the distance to Black Point, we only walked about a mile of the trail.  We had plenty of company; it was, as the weatherbeans had predicted, a Perfectly Gorgeous Day — people walking, running, biking; and also standing in one place, taking photographs.

I took some photographs, too; they’re reproduced below, for your viewing pleasure.

Looking across the marsh toward Pine Point
Looking across the marsh toward Pine Point

 

Shadow Steve on the trail.
Shadow Steve on the trail.

 

Red hedge along the trail
Red hedge along the trail

 

Shadow Sharon taking picture of Shadow Steve
Shadow Sharon taking picture of Shadow Steve

 

Spar, with rocks and swamp
Spar, with rocks and swamp

 

Milkweed
Milkweed

 

Dozing sandpiper-or-plover
Dozing sandpiper-or-plover

 

Red trees
Red trees

 

Fields of gold, with heron
Fields of gold, with heron

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of books, and blogs, and media; of compasses, and things

Thanks to everyone who took the time to answer yesterday’s Idle Question.

From the Idle Question came two Rebound Questions, one having to do with the importance of blogging to a writer’s career (this was more of an assumption than a question, but I’m making it a question because I want to Say Something About That), and one asking what the blogger gets from blogging.

So, the assumption that one must blog or do some other sort of social media in order to be a writer is…a perception born of the frenetic age we live in, and the lack of willingness to accept that, in O So Very Many Ways, success as a writer is a crap shoot.

The Number One Thing that you need to do if you want to be in future, or are now, a writer is — WRITE.  Write, send out what you write, pay attention to your craft, write, study the markets sufficiently to insure that you don’t get cheated, write, and, ohbytheway, WRITE.

Everything else — everything else — is an extra.  You do not have to have — what was the magic number? — 1500? Facebook friends before you start in writing your novel.  You don’t need to set up Whatever or Boing-Boing and tend it for a decade before you write your novel.  All you  have to do is open up your word processor, turn to a clean sheet in your notebook, go outside with a nice thick chunk of tailor’s chalk in hand,  find a clean place on the sidewalk, or whatever else rings your bell — and start writing.

That’s it.  Personally, I think that starting a writing career by writing seriously (by which I mean with serious purpose and a goal) every day is hard enough without putting the burden of an active blog on the list, too.

Now, if you’re a sociable sort of person and you like to blog — then by all means go for it.  In fact, if you’re the sort of person who likes to blog, you’re probably doing it already.

Pro Tip:  People can tell if you like doing something.  If you like to blog — if it’s fun for you, regardless of any other input — then folks will read your blog and they’ll comment and feel comfy with you, and cheer you on in your endeavors.

Conversely, if you hate blogging and only force yourself to do in order to Build Your Brand?  People will pick up on that, too.

The same principle applies to doing book signings and going to conventions; tweeting and facebooking.  Do what you like, and what makes you happy; don’t do what you don’t like.  And for ghod’s sake, don’t just do things in order to Sell Books; that’s lame.  And pretty often it doesn’t work.

Second question!  Why do I blog; aka What’s In It For Me?

That’s easy; I’m a writer, and I like to tell stories.  I’m an introvert, but I like to interact with people.  Blogging lets me do both things — tell stories, and benefit from human interactions — without exhausting myself by having to physically be in a roomful of people, read all that body language, and protect myself.  Blogging lets me limit interaction, when I need to focus elsewhere; I can read and answer comments in my own good time.  For me, blogging is dern near the perfect medium of communication.

* * *

In other news — this is a long blog because you’re going to have to do without for a couple days; we have a buncha stuff on this week’s schedule — a while ago, I got interested in Doc Holliday, and ordered in a well-regarded biography (Doc Holliday, by Gary L. Roberts).  Now, I like biographies — they’re my Reading Matter of Choice when I’m actively writing fiction — and I’ve read a bunch of them, but I’ve gotta tell you — I’m going to give up on Doc’s book, here.

See, the primary reason I read biographies is to learn about people; their motivations; their movements; how they conformed to, or failed to conform to, the mores of their time — and I’m getting none of that with this book.  What I’m getting is the author’s speculation, a bunch of facts supported by newspaper reports and filed legal papers, and a review of the Civil War, as seen from Georgia and the Deep South.

Now, the author does say in his introduction that Doc left virtually no papers.  He had a lifelong correspondence with his first cousin, who had entered a convent, apparently because her religion had led her to refuse Doc’s hand in marriage (they were first cousins).  The cousin had saved the letters, but upon her death, a family member took it upon himself (I assume the masculine pronoun here) to burn them (pause for a group banging of heads on desks).  I can understand that it would therefore be difficult to piece together much about Doc’s private life.

While I applaud the author for getting a 400-plus-page book out of such flimsy stuff, that isn’t what I read biography for; if I want speculation, I read fiction.  So, Doc’s book goes back on the shelf.  Maybe I’ll find more patience with it, later.

* * *

Frequent readers of this blog will recall that I have some. . .Interesting Cognitive Quirks apparently brought into my life when the Good Sisters switched my primary hand from Left to Right.  In order, so my grandmother told me, to make my life easier.

I’ve been living with the effects of this for quite a number of years, naturally, and I thought I knew all the Funny Places, but yesterday I discovered another one.

Compass.

Have you ever seen one of these things?  A dial marked N-E-S-W with degrees between, and a needle in the middle, the red end magnetized so it will always point more-or-less North, no matter how you turn the dial?  Yes?  Holy bananas, what a brain-bender!

No, seriously.  You hold the thing in your hand so that the red pointer points North, and then, if you want to go, say, East, you squint along the dial and pick out a tree or a mailbox or something along that line and you walk to it?  This is how its supposed to work?  Phew.  Steve spent an hour, maybe more, but it’s not looking like a skill I’ll be — forget mastering — understanding any time soon.  I hope to Ghu I’m never lost on a mountain in Maine.

Or anywhere else where there aren’t street signs.

* * *

Y’all have a good Beginning Of A New Week.

* * *

Progress on One of Five
8,062/100,000 OR .81% complete

“Have I finally reached the captain of the pirate vessel Dutiful Passage?” The voice was high-pitched and clealy angry. Priscilla felt a jolt of her own anger.

“This is Captain Mendoza of the trade ship Dutiful Passage out of Surebleak,” she said coolly. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Retribution Officer Blix,” the angry voice snapped; “Law and Decency. In accordance with Chesselport Regulations 928A through 977M, pertaining to known pirates on-port, your vessel and its cargo are forfeit to this office; your officers and crew will be interrogated by this office, and those who are found guilty of piracy and related crimes will be placed in appropriate labor programs.”

 #SFWAPro

We have an entire book about Auks!*

So, in the month of August, I wrote two short stories.  Here are the opening lines of each:

The Gift of Music:
The ballroom and the concert halls paid best, but they wanted the Big Bands, and the big acts up from New York and Atlantic City.

The Wolf’s Bride:
The dogs of the village knew him; and he passed without challenge from forest edge to market street, walking with a predator’s sure, silent tread down the moss-lined way.

#

Yesterday, was an Official Day Off, in respect of my hands, which I had managed to offend.  I read Lord of Light for the first time in many years, and remain constant in my opinion that Creatures of Light and Darkness is, just barely, the superior novel.  Others may, of course, disagree.

Today, there is yoga, and grocery shopping, and various small chores, then the opening of the proposal file and the beginning of staring into the middle distance, contemplating Things Liaden.  I will probably also sign sheets of paper — but not too many sheets of paper, hands; I promise.

So!  What’re you doing today that’s fun and interesting?

——-

*Ref here (possibly not safe for work, not for content, but for loudness of laughter)

In which the author goofs off

So!  Last night I finished “The Wolf’s Bride,” which, at 10,381 words, is officially  a novelette.  Such a cute word, novelette.  “The Gift of Magic,” by contrast, is a shortish short story, weighing in at 4,330 words. This means I wrote a grand total of 14,711 words in August.  Which means I’m a slacker.    It’s now September, my obligations to my characters are retired, and that little nip of fall in the air tells me it’s time to get to work.

So, in anticipation of getting right to work, we slept in this morning,  had a leisurely breakfast of fresh fruit with other things — in Steve’s case, Cheerios; in mine, yogurt with wheat germ — and then Did Things.  I have other Things still to Do, notably changing out the  old USB hub for one that (hopefully) works, signing lots and lots of pages, and doing the bookkeeping that sort of accumulated in a paper drift on the corner of my desk while I was playing with Cael.

Some day realsoonnow, I need to get Ox set up properly for the upcoming Road Trip, but I suspect that today is not that day.  However, I did buy him a wireless mouse yesterday, to make up for neglecting him.

I hear via Twitter from the redoubtable Mr. Standlee that Spokane has won the bid to host the 2015 WorldCon.  Here’s the link, in case you want to register, or volunteer.

Mr. Standlee also lets the world know that Detroit has won the bid to host the 2014 NASFiC (North American Science Fiction Convention).  Here’s that link.

Steve and I intend to be at both DetCon and Sasquan.  Hmmm.  I’m going to have to start seriously saving pennies.

In other, though not lesser, news, today is Scrabble’s declared eleventh birthday, the Shelter having supposed her to be one year old when she locked up for being an unsupervised juvenile on the streets.  She celebrated by performing a new dance, which I unfortunately did not photograph.  Let us just say that the choreography was both stunning and unique, which we have, of course, come to expect from an artist of Scrabble’s standing.

She has now retired to the hefalumps.  Celebratory ice cream is planned later, for Steve and I, with catnip for the Queen of the Day — and the silly fluffs, too.

Here, have a birthday picture:

Scrabble, celebrating
Scrabble, celebrating