Couple more cat pics before I go slay the dish monster.
Dad and Daughter
Category: Life with Coon Cats
Jasmine Sprite, Princess of the Night
In answer to multiple questions from her already burgeoning fan club, Sprite came to the Cat Farm on Friday, November 15. She is Trooper’s daughter; she is 15 months old. Currently, her schedule has her in the basement for much of the day, possibly plotting world domination, or just napping. She comes upstairs after the sun has retired, thus the first of her Working Names. A not very good photo is below.
More later. Right now, there are errands!
Ride with your brindled hounds at heel and your good grey hawk in hand
Last reminder: Steve Miller and Sharon Lee will be on the road in support of Trade Secret, the seventeenth and newest Liaden Universe® novel. We’ll be signing books, reading excerpts, talking trash, drinking coffee and eating cookies (cookies!). This is the roadshow of the century, here, and you don’t want to miss it.
Are we going to be in your town? Here’s the schedule. We hope to see you — yes, you! and your friends and family, too! — at one or more of our stops along the way.*
Now! As you see from the schedule, our very first stop on the tour is tomorrow night — that’s Halloween! — at Pandemonium Books, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Which means? — anyone?
Yes, you with the curly green beard. . .thank you, very good!
It means that I’ll be on the road, with limited connectivity.
This is important to you, because. . .
. . .Madame the Editor, who is, it must be admitted, a bit of a tease, has made reference to All Hallows Eve as perhaps a Day of Interest for those who have been waiting for the eArc of Carousel Sun. This is not, understand, in any way a promise on Madame’s part, though the date would be particularly apt.
So! This is what I’d like you to do for me, if you would be so very kind:
If the eArc comes up — shout the news from the rooftops. Tell all your friends, post it to Facebook, Twitter, relevant listservs, and on your blog. It would be a big help for the title, since it’s been so long — 2010! — since Carousel Tides came out, and after a while people forget to look for a sequel.
Thank you.
On the Getting Ready to Rhumba Front, packing has been accomplished. There are a couple more house chores to be finished ere we leave — the sheets are washing now, for instance; and we have a late-breaking business conference call to deal with, mid-afternoon, then the Ritual Handing Off of the Key to the House Sitter.
The cats, of course, are taking all of this in stride. I have the pictures to prove it:
________________
*If we are not going to be in your town this time, and you are, or know of, a bookstore or convention who would like to host us, please pass this information on to Baen. Thanks!
#SFWAPro
And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell
We have now reached the Point in the Proceedings where I’m avoiding packing. I’ve gotten all my devices together, and their various cords, and have put the files I’ll need onto Number Ten Ox, but as for packing clothes — nuh-uh. Don’t wanna. As a matter of fact, I’m for scrubbing the whole trip, if it means packing clothes. Who thought this was a good idea, anyway?
Oh, wait.
I did.
Well. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Even fun. Once I get past the packing stage.
Did I mention that I hate packing?
Argh.
*flails*
While I’m in avoidance mode, I’ll just mention that two of my colleagues have books out today.
Allegiance, by Beth Bernobich, is new from Tor. Read all about it here.
And!
Janni Lee Simner is re-releasing Tierney West, Professional Adventurer (previously published as The Secret of the Three Treasurers), with a whole new look. Check it out here.
Also!
Cats are good for you. No, really.
*wonders if she can sneak Trooper into her luggage*. That would solve the whole packing clothes thing, anyway.
OK, I can do this. I just need a plan. Jeans. Jeans and turtlenecks — that’s a plan, right?
There’s not one Scot will mourn the loss of ye
Well, the Big News here is that my yoga instructor told me today that I’m ready to go on to the next level of yoga, if I’m willing to stretch myself. So to speak. I don’t think I’ve ever been told that I was ready to move on to the next level of anything, so, yay! Yogi Rolanni!
Understand, this would be a move from Gentle Yoga to Foundation Yoga — think ascending from kindergarten to first grade — and I’m not going to do any switching around of the Schedule-in-Place until we get back from the book tour — which may be gaining one more stop, in Maine. Watch the skies for more information on that!
After yoga, and stopping at the town office to fill out my absentee ballot, and, also, errands — honestly, where do all these errands come from? I can’t imagine how I had time to fit a day-job into my schedule — Steve and I decided to be grasshoppers and to dine at Jin Yuan on Temple Street. We had between us a crab rangoon/egg roll plate and pepper beef — and still brought leftovers home. After, as we took a small walking tour of downtown, somehow two mini-cannoli snuck into our pockets, which we dealt with properly upon our arrival home, thus making it a Truly International Day.
I believe I may have been remiss in reporting Trooper’s acquisition of A Box. Apparently, he had been wanting a box; possibly he had even requested a box, but the new Thumbs are a little dense. In any case, he finally took matters into his own paws, and adopted a box.
As you can see, it’s a little snug for him:
…but we don’t dare try to take it away from him:
For cat fans
So, I was wandering around the house with my camera in my hand, taking pictures of Things That Were Not Cats. Which the cats, naturally enough, decided was Not Allowed.
Here, have some cat pictures.
Autumn in New England
So, it’s pretty much been routine medical appointments and yoga, with a side order of cat juggling, over the last week.
On the topic of cat juggling, I worry about Mozart; he’s getting grumpier and more reclusive, but doesn’t seem to be in any pain. He’s just. . .a really old cat. The other day he hit Trooper in the head for no reason that my inferior human understanding could encompass — it looked to me like the kid got whacked for the sin of jumping up on the bed, and burbling in my direction.
Happily, Trooper is a sunny little person, and slow to take offense. He settled down where he was, to prove that he could, of course; that’s mandated in the manual. After his point was made, he got up, head-butted Mozart gently, and jumped to the floor. I thought that was pretty classy, and apparently so did Mozart, who refrained from being offended.
This morning, was the second of three medical thingies. After it was over, Steve and I motored on out to Fairfield to break our fasts at the Purple Cow. Beyond the fact that we should have had the foresight to bring a friend to help us eat one breakfast between us all, I wish to state that New England chefs continue to Not Get biscuits and gravy. Now, I know this, and you’d be perfectly justified in asking why I persist in ordering it. The answer is that I haven’t, for many years, unless we were actually, yanno, in the South, where they know from biscuits and gravy, but this morning I just. . .fell off the wagon. It was OK, for what it was, which was something other than biscuits and gravy, and there was far too much of it. Also, the coffee was good.
So, anyway — one more medical appointment, on Monday, in Bangor, with a hammer — no, wait; wrong game. One more to complete the set, I say, on Monday, and between then and now, the weekend, during which I finally hope to convince the new book that we’re on the same side, and if it will only just trust me, I can, and will, help it.
Today, I’ve got to find our copy of A Night in the Lonesome October. Because of the timing of the book tour, Steve and I are varying this year. We’ll be starting the journey a couple days early, so we’ll finish up reading the night before we’re to leave, so the book can stay safely at home with Mary the house sitter, and the cats, and not be subjected to the Dangers of the Road.
. . .and I think we’re all caught up. What’re you doing this weekend that’s fun and interesting?
For those who haven’t seen it elsewhere, here’s a picture of Trooper, waiting for me to get my yoga in gear.
Photo by Sharon Lee
Wednesday afternoon cat (and owl) census
I’m sure everyone will be pleased to know that, despite the gorgeous weather outside, the cats are on the case.
/M/o/z/a/r/t/’s HER rocker
Mozart, in the meantime, kept the owl under very close supervision in the living room.
And the sunspot.
…while Trooper tried to rustle up a quick game of Chase the Mouse.
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:
Friday at the Confusion Factory
The on-signing check for the Audible edition of The Tomorrow Log arrived in the mail, and, between agency fees and taxes, we get to keep (just barely) more than half of it! Go, us!
“The Wolf’s Bride” currently stands at 6,239 words. Possibly, I can bring it in under 10,000 words — a novelette rather than a novella. It’s possible that I may finish it today. I would really like to finish it today, especially considering that it’s an extra, a favor to the character, and can’t be turned loose to be read anywhere until after Carousel Seas is published (nope, no pub date yet; watch the skies).
It was cool enough this morning that Mozart sought out his floofiest blanket, under my desk, and is presently snoring like a German Shepard. Fall could start now, for all of me, but I see that we’re in for a couple days of warmish weather in the near future. *sighs*
I’ve ordered in paper books — a collection of some of Bat Masterson’s columns about local colorful folk, all of them gunfighters; a biography of Doc Holliday, and another, of Billy the Kid.
I’m also looking to download some fiction to my tablet, since Steve and I will be on the road for a few days. So! Who’s read a good book lately?