A Portrait of the Princess

It’s still snowing here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.  I’ve been doing Boring But Necessary work — balancing the checkbook, updating links, and whatnot.  I’m thinking this afternoon belongs to the Yule cards — to get them off my desk, if for no other reason.  Then I have to figure out who to call at the ACA because the Promised Specialist hasn’t called, and hisorher time is up.  That’s probably for tomorrow — after I get the Yule cards off of the top of the file.

I want to assure everyone that I have not been undertaking the BBN work alone.  I have had supervision:

Princess Sprite in her fortress. Photo by Sharon Lee
Princess Sprite in her fortress.
Photo by Sharon Lee

And, yanno?  Now looks like a good time to take a break and shovel some snow.

* * *

Progress on One of Five
13,321/100,000 words OR 13.32% Complete

But, there. Quin was. . .mostly. . .quite sensible, wasn’t he? And didn’t he, regardless, spend time better used for reading, or for exercising, threading beads along wires and chains? Indeed, some of his creations were quite pretty, and could at least be given as gifts, and worn. There was some cachet, too, in the wearing of a handmade jewel; even if the stones were semi-precious, at best.

To-Do, with Snow

If it’s December in Maine, it must be snowing, right?

And it is!  Snowing, that is.  Accumulations of 1-3 inches, say the Weatherbeans, which is, yanno, more of a Practice Snow.

So, today, I have a to-do list, which I fear I will not accomplish fully, but it’s good to have goals, right?

I will say that throwing One’s “outline” away was the right thing to do; I’m now back up to 1,000 words a day, from a grind of 500 or less.  Realsoonnow, I need to get back on the 2,000+ word-a-day diet, but right now I’m just happy that the characters have come back from lunch break.  Also, I got to write a Very Cool Scene, so it’s all good.

Steve and I braved the crowds yesterday to hit the grocery store, in anticipation of today’s promised snow, and, while we were out, we visited TJ Maxx.  There we purchased an AM/FM/CD/MP3 stereo clock radio, which will shortly be placed in the living room and, in beautiful theory, give the general household access to music, an access we lost when the last CD stereo blew out.  As much as we like music in this house, you’d’ve thought we would have done something about it before now, but apparently some things Take Time.

Anyway, today’s task list looks kinda like this:

1Write and publish InfoDump #103
2.  Address Yule cards
3Perform various Necessary Services for Felinekind
4.  Laundry
5Write the next scene
6. Update the side links at Eagles Over the Kennebec
7Dishes?  Nah, all of us know that ain’t happening today  Surprise!

Hope everybody had a lovely Thanksgiving/Thursday and a relaxing weekend.

* * *

Progress on One of Five
12,392/100,000 words OR 12.39% COMPLETED

“Shocking,” Father murmured, his silver eyes half-closed. “But tell me how you will turn this sad situation to your hand.”

Moving on. . .

The weather that manifested as blizzards and snowstorms in other parts of the US rode into Maine as torrential rains on the back of an unseasonably warm, and extremely damaging, wind.  We have flood warnings for every river and stream, standing puddles in every lawn, and gullies clogged with leaves overflowing into the roads.  Tree limbs are down, and though we haven’t lost power in our neck of the woods, others — quite a few others — have.

It’s stopped raining for the moment.  The weatherbeans are calling for temperatures plummeting to 29F/-2C tonight, and precipitation in the form of ice pellets.

Steve and I went to town at midday to pick up our deli-made Thanksgiving dinner; and we intend to Stay Right Here at the Confusion Factory for the next couple of days, if not the entire weekend.

It will be a working holiday, as Thanksgiving often is, with writing early in the day, then knocking off for dinner and a game of Scrabble.

I am, let it be known, working again, having accepted the path of wisdom and thrown away the outline (such as it was) for this book.  So, yay.  It would sort of be nice if the book would cough up with at least a working title, but I guess we can get along with “One” for a while yet.

Also, I have identified a Hot Fudge Sundae scene, which makes me happy.  Things always go better with when there’s a Hot Fudge Sundae to write toward.

I hope everyone is safe and warm where you are, and that the holiday, if you celebrate, gives you comfort.  For those who don’t celebrate a holiday tomorrow — I hope your day is stress-free.  Unless you like that sort of thing.

* * *

Progress on One of Five

10,012/100,000 OR 10 percent complete

Well, and none of that solved Theo, poor child, cast from Frenzel to ragtag Cresthaller, and not a profit made from either. It was scarcely the best use of a new — not to say, unwilling — trader, much less a new-found cousin. Happily, her nature appeared tenacious, and he dared hope that she hadn’t yet become discouraged.

The old broken stars they fall down on the land

So, last night we made the journey into Waterville to see James McMurty perform at the Opera House.

The House was full; I think the three empty seats in the row directly in front of us may have been the only empty seats.  It was a crowd almost exclusively made up of the gray of hair, and all of us had a startlingly raucous good time.

I had one of those Awkward Moments of Mortality when the Aggressively Blonde woman in her Coordinated Outfit sitting beside Steve got up to dance.  “Really?” I thought.  “She’s sixty-five if she’s a day.”

hi-hat

James, who was without the Heartless Bastards for this show, sang and played for two hours straight.  You know what?  Having just recently finished a tour where all I did was sit and talk for two hours, I don’t know how he did it.  I went back to the hotel exhausted, and my voice still hasn’t recovered.  James has another show tonight, in New Hampshire.

If you get a chance to see James perform — grab it.

Even if your hair isn’t gray.

* * *

. . .so, today at the Confusion Factory, having identified the Cause of the Stuckness on First of Five, I will be going through Dragon Ship and extracting a chronology so I can figure out where I am in Space and Time.  I suspect this will show me that the two story arcs I had thought to tackle this time are mismatched, which will mean I’ll need to sort through my Big Box of Story Tackle and Spare Parts to find the correct linkage, which is kind of a pain in the hat.

But not as much of a pain in the hat as writing three-quarters of a book and then realizing that the timing’s off.

* * *

Fans of Sprite will be pleased to know that she has ascended from the Cold and Dreary Basement and is now spending almost all of her time upstairs in the warm world, where she has become the Terror of the Stuffed Chipmunk, and started circulating a petition to ensure that All The Hugs Belong to Her.

The petition has little chance of getting enough signatures in this house, but its nice to see that she’s civic minded.

The rest of the cats continue, mostly unperturbed.  Mozart accords the kid a sort of absent-minded goodwill; and she’s respectful, as is proper.  Scrabble, of course, isn’t about to take any ‘tude from an overpowered kitten, no matter how tall she is.

Trooper actually deals with her the most, which is a mixed blessing, I think, from his perspective.  On the one paw, it’s good to have somebody to play tag and wrestle with.  On the other paw, she’s trying to take over all the Good Places he’s identified for himself.

On the left hind paw, though, he’s not shy about asserting his rights, when they matter.  Just yesterday, Sprite had taken over the Plan B box in my office, and Trooper decided that he wanted it.  So, he just. . .walked in, apparently intending to lie down on the kitten, if that’s what it took.

The kitten vacated in favor of the blue rug behind my chair.

And thus. . .tranquility reigns at the Cat Farm.

What did y’all do this weekend that was fun?

Today, I read galleys

. . .and probably tomorrow, too.  News of a due date is rumored for today, but the cover letter references an expedited schedule due to the Thanksgiving holidays, so I Expect the Worst.  For those who keep track of these matters, we are referencing the galleys for Carousel Sun.

What this has to do with y’all is. . .nothing much, really; it’s mostly between me, the pages, the red pens, and the sticky flags.  However, I will be scarce on the web; email and blog queries have very little chance of being answered for the next while.  Please adjust your calendars accordingly.

In other news, Jasmine Sprite, Mistress of the Night, has decided that she is the Boss of Trooper.  We do not agree; nor does Trooper, though he’s rather too polite — IMHO, a sharp whack upside the head would do her some good.  In that vein, it appears that Young Sprite has already gained a Healthy Respect(tm) for Aunt Scrabble, Mistress of the Paw of Steel.

We will at some point post pictures of Sprite, who is quite stunning, but her current schedule has her hiding in the crypt basement during daylight hours, only emerging at midnight, to demand subservience, cookies and snuggles.

Everybody have a good Monday.

I’m gone.

Bustling Monday

So, today we need to be in town early-ish in order to speak with the Spirit Guide from the Health Marketplace.  That will be Interesting.  For values of Interesting including low comedy when we try to get the concept of “freelance writers” across.  Perhaps I’ll treat Steve to a pumpkin latte, after.

After, we each have errands in diverse parts of town, and then Before Tour Chores here at home.  I’ll commit to answering such questions as have short answers attached to them, then we’ll put paid to this Open Q&A Session.  Let me know what you thought, and if we should do it again sometime.

* * *

In other news, there is a wealth of free reading from Lee and Miller, and Miller available right! now!

1.  “Out of True” is available on the Baen website

2.  Steve has added two pieces to Splinter Universe:  the Author’s Introduction to Quicksliver  and the first three chapters of Quicksliver

* * *

Progress on One of Five (restart)

7,559/100,000 OR 7.56%

Her father had told her that she would be running double-time, in effect taking two lines of training simultaneously: cabin-girl and novice trader.

She had chosen to, well. . .not discount his words, no. She had merely chosen to see them as a challenge.

Mark your calendars

Remember!  On October 15 — hey that’s next Tuesday! — Baen will be serving up “Out of True,” by Lee and Miller on its front page.  That’s right, free story!

Here’s a taste:

Squithen was gone from the forest clearing, which was good. The stench of the recent carnage was starting to reach him now and had it reached her she’d been here still, covering her nose as well as her eyes, counting or vocabing, one or the other.

That’s October 15, at Baen.com, front page, below the fold.

 

. . .In other news, I finished proofing the galleys for A Liaden Universe® Constellation Volume 2

 

 

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

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.

The yogi is in Picture by Sharon Lee
The yogi is in
Photo by Sharon Lee