coon cat logic – Page 8 – Sharon Lee, Writer

Book planning and Big Cat update

What went before: Yesterday, as I was staring out the window, my brain informed me that it wanted to write an epistolary Liaden novel. I pointed out that we couldn’t do that, because we were going back to Catalinc Station and the Action! folks, who — while they can write letters — really prefer not to.

Recommencing with the staring out the window, it — finally, some will say — dawned on me that while Diviner’s Bow and Book the Next are — ahem — “unrelated” novels, there’s a character who is leaving the traders and headed for the Station. And that this character not only knows All The Players — he corresponds with them. And the Action folk do write back to him.

I don’t usually like to think about Structure this early in a project (which may be why my first drafts always end up with everything happening on Tuesday afternoon), and I can’t in fairness to the action players have a book that is only letters, but I can use the letters to frame and illuminate the action.

And that? Sounds like fun, which none of the other things I’ve been slinging at the wall, looking for a conceit that will bear a novel, have done.

Also, the letter structure may give me room to do A Thing I wanted to do and shelved, because I couldn’t figure out how to make it fit into a novel set on the Station.

All that being said, I resolved to Sleep On It, and if it seemed good in the morning, I’d go forward.

Going forward!

Friday. Grey and chilly. ‘beans are calling for a high of 36F/2C, following yesterday’s deep freeze.

Breakfast was leftover fried rice. I don’t have one clue what lunch will be.

Today’s Big Ticket To-Do List item is Trooper’s vet appointment. He’s been … off … with many many complaints, so either I’m providing really subpar service or something’s up. I worry; he’s 15, and he’s outlived both his childhood sweetheart, and their daughter.

Speaking of cats. Negotiations have taken a major step forward. I’m awaiting a call from the escort, and it could — could! — be that the new director will be with us on Monday. This will require some finagling in and around the Greater Portsmouth NH Megalopolis, and thus we await that call from the escort, with deets.

The Hybrid Epistolary Novel still sounds good to the me, so! Next step is to open a file and start writing.

That’s all I’ve got; hours spent staring out the window don’t make for a riveting narrative.

What’s your riveting narrative for the day?

Below, a “memory” offered up by the photo app on the phone. Sprite and Steve, sharing a moment.

Herding Cats

What went before: Under Old Business: There have been ongoing discussions between the stakeholders here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory regarding whether or not to bring on a fourth cat. This continues a topic under discussion last February before we jumped from the Timeline That Made Sense to our present position on the Timeline That Doesn’t Make Sense.

Yesterday, the question was called, and all present voted ‘Aye’ with the provision that said new hire would be an older cat, which is to say, not a baby kitten, but a retiree or so-called “older” kitten. We also confirmed that said new hire should be a “kind” of cat — that is to say, a breed. This is nothing against shelter cats; Nicky, Hypatia, Kodi, Max!, and Scrabble were all shelter cats. However, it was felt that, with current crew in-house all being Maine Coons, it would be best to stick with a Clan that’s known to be mellow.

The Secretary of the Board has been directed to seek out possible new hires of the breeds Birman, Maine Coon, Ragdoll, Siberian. One such letter was written yesterday, and has received a reply in the negative.

And that brings us to!

Tuesday. Sunny and cold. Trash and recycling — isn’t that much, I’m lazy, it’s cold — so — next week.

Sun is pouring into my office, but it’s still chilly enough to warrant wearing The Big Fleece Sweater.

Breakfast was an English Muffin with seedless raspberry jelly, an orange, and tea. Kettle on for second cup of tea. Lunch will either be leftover soup, or something else.

I feel — fine. I still do have one day’s worth of meds to finish out, and knock wood that will be the end of that.

I’ve written to a cattery that we had spoken with before Steve died, and have a couple more, non-cat-related, letters to write, but today is mostly going to be dedicated to hitting the Tax Paperwork and seeing how much — and what — Stuff I still need before I can send it on to Gary the Accountant.

Firefly and Rook enjoyed an early game of tag, which Trooper opted out of. Trooper is presently on my copilot’s chair, snoring; Firefly went back to Steve’s office, and I believe I saw Rook heading down the hall to join her.

Summing up — a quiet day planned here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

What are your plans for the day?

Gamesmanship

Sunday. Bright, damp, and warm. As mentioned elsewhere, the Long Back Yard is mostly showing grass, with a little snow, no thicker than a heavy frost, where the house casts its shadow.

We here in Central Maine currently rejoice in a Winter Storm Watch, in which we will start watching the snow fall at around 4pm. Expected accumulations of “heavy, wet snow” are between 4 and 8 inches.

Breakfast was oatmeal, because I Couldn’t Decide and I had gotten up latish and needed to eat SOMEthing. Lunch will be leftover potatoes.

So some of you know that I “play” a game called Finch. I’m not particularly good at it, as the game rewards you for changing stuff up, and I like to get everything the way I like it and then leave it there. It also rewards you for nurturing pets, which I find alternately stressful and irritating. Some of the pets are blobs of jelly, or clouds, or drops of — something? — and I have a hard time relating to them. I’m supposed to be hatching more pets, but I’ve stopped because I don’t feel that I can properly take care of the ones I already have.

Now, I did score a cat a little while ago, and my character, young Perry Wink, has been keeping company with her, and saw her safely from kitten to full grown. Honestly, I’d’ve been perfectly happy to just stick with the cat. But — I also had a baby fox in my menagerie, and a couple days ago I linked him up with Perry to have some adventures.

The pets make sounds — the cat purrs, the blob says, “BLOORP,” the llama says, “llamaLLAMA,” and the fox — howls.

I didn’t know that the fox howled, until this morning, when I rubbed his ears and he did just that.

Rook immediately leapt out of the dining room to the Big Intersection, and froze, ears up, tail straight and stiff behind him, head turning slowly from side to side. Firefly came rushing down to join him and the two of them did a sweep of the dining room, the living room, and the hall.

Oops. Won’t be petting the fox any more, I guess.

In health news, I have now reached the Challenge Stage. Which is to say, I feel — OK. My head isn’t stuffed with cotton, the niggling nasty little headache is gone, my teeth don’t hurt, and I feel like I actually have some energy, and could maybe Think some Thoughts.

However! Having had one relapse, I really don’t want another, and I still have meds to finish out. I will therefore attempt to be Smart this time, and continue with the whole rest thing. I will add the Next Novel Planning Notebook to my cache of couch amusements. Just in case, yanno, I do manage to Think something Useful.

So, that’s my news.

What’s yours?

Doctor, Doctor, Mister MD

What went before: Yesterday was all errands all day. The cover art for Diviner’s Bow is with the framer, and I should have it back by mid-February. There came up for discussion the always interesting question of which band did the superior version of “Good Lovin'” — the Grateful Dead or the Young Rascals. Facebook is leaning toward the Rascals. I now open the question up to those reading here. Here’s the Dead’s version. Here’s the Rascals’ version.

Onward.

Tuesday. Cloudy and cool. Snowed a tiny bit on the overnight. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Woke up sneezing and hacking, so — no sewing circle for me today. Grr. I did mask everywhere I went yesterday, and a good thing too, I’m thinking.

Breakfast was an English muffin with cream cheese and an orange. I only have two of the little oranges left. *adds to list* Lunch will be … um.

Rookie decided to help me choose my day wear this morning, and as a result got locked in a closet for a few minutes. I called him; he answered; and I let him out. It’s nice to have a cat who answers when he’s called.

Having been let out, he had to go get Grandpa to Show Him, I suppose, but neither one could get the door open again.

So, I guess today is stay at home and poke at things, but not too energetically.

I think my next audiobook will be Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, another frequent reread for me. I finished reading Midlife in Gretna Green last night. I had a good time with it, and there are six (?) more, I hear.

The backbrain has been providing snips of scenes and various insights for the next book, so Not Writing is paying its dividends. I plan to continue Not Writing today.

What are your plans for the day?

In Which the Writer is NOT Writing

What Went Before: Last night, as part of the curriculum of Not Writing, I watched a show on PBS Passport called SAFE HARBORS, which is a tour of 65 Maine lighthouses (I note here that this is not all of the lighthouses in Maine, and also that I’ve been to/seen a surprising number of them). I urge everyone to find this show and watch it (I’m told it’s soon to come to YouTube). It’s not a documentary, there’s no narration, only music and these incredible, incredible views of the lighthouses.

Moving on to!

Friday. Chilly, lots of puffy white clouds moving fast across a mostly blue sky.

Tea brewing. Breakfast will be cottage cheese, corn flat (I’ve forgotten what they’re called — Thomas’ Toaster something. As a substitute for corn bread, it’s not. Next time, I’ll make my own. — and grapes. Lunch — I guess fish and — something.

I see there are as many as half-a-dozen folks admitting to having read Diviner’s Bow — thank you and I hope you had fun. Do remember the spoiler space, and to drop a review at Goodreads or other venue of your choice.

Regarding the spoiler space, I am going to vary. It has been the authors’ policy not to be involved in those discussions, merely releasing messages after a scan for politeness &c. This time, I have a Question Regarding Craft that you, the readers of this particular work, can help me with. So, I’ll be posing my question in the spoiler discussion, and I thank all participants in advance for your patience and your assistance.

Today is another No-I-Am-NOT-Writing Day. This is kind of hardcore, but I’ve got to get my brain back, and the best thing I know to do is Do Other Things. If the weather were more clement, I’d go for a drive, but I think that’s off the table. *looks out window at the wind shaking the crab apple tree* Yeah. Off the table.

What I will be doing is taking down the wreath, which has started to lose needles, and changing out the 2024 moon phase calendar for the 2025. Also, there’s rumors of the June royalties in the bank, so I’ll be doing some cash juggling.

I read an interesting article last night about the Five of Cups, which is typically rendered as a Card of Loss. In traditional decks, the image is of a figure and five cups, three of which are overturned; two remaining upright. The figure is focused on the overturned cups — thus the loss. However, the two unregarded cups, still full, sitting behind the figure, hint that all, perhaps, is *not* lost.

It will surprise no one here to learn that my favorite tarot deck is not a traditional deck, but the Halloween Tarot, which I find both joyful and accessible. In this deck, the suits are Pumpkins (Pentacles), Ghosts (Cups), Bats (Swords), and Imps (Wands).

The Five of Ghosts, then: a central figure, gazing downward, clearly disconcerted or sad; there is a bucket on the ground directly behind him. Around the figure are five ghosts, hovering in a sky with five stars. The ghosts are also disconcerted, following the central figure’s downward gaze. The black cat (which appears in all of the cards in this deck) is in the foreground, looking at the ghosts.

I was at first somewhat alarmed. Playful my deck might be, but it stringently adheres to the Language of the Tarot, and this card varied and not in a good way. It seemed to withhold the promise of those two, unspilled, cups, not only going against the Language, but the spirit of the deck itself.

So, I sat with the card for a while, and it came to me, finally, that one of the ghosts was not focused on the disaster, whatever it was. It was focused on the figure, and its arms were outstretched, as if it would offer comfort. And then, of course, there’s the bucket, sitting quietly — empty or full, but not spilled. The Language remains pure, and the card remains true to itself and the deck.

So, that.

What’s surprised you recently?

Wake-up cat census:

Recovering writer is recovering

Wednesday. Sunny and chill.

Breakfast was rice cakes with cream cheese and grapes. Finishing up first cup of tea. Lunch will be leftover quiche.

The bed has been stripped down to the mattress — which Rookie found very exciting. The spread is drying, which will take FORever; blanket and coverlet soon to be washed. Opened the windows briefly to let the good air in and, hopefully, drive the bad air out. I missed a picture of Rook stretched full length in an open window, head high and proud, his fur ruffled by the (icy) breeze, looking every inch a Winter Lord.

I am feeling much much better, obviously, and yes, I am trying to not overdo myself into a relapse. I do note that I’m still hacking and that I’m going to have to send someone out to get me some more Robitussin, which I forgot to put on the grocery list yesterday.

In reading news, I put Lord Julian aside for the moment; he had been such a good friend in illness that it would be wrong in me to thrust him away in a fit of convalescent pique. I read instead last night from The House in the Cerulean Sea.

The plan today is to perform one’s duty to the cats, finish with the washing, reassemble the bed, and work on the short story — which now has a better, and more fitting, title: “Core Values.” I will possibly find it necessary, as I did yesterday, to break in the middle of the day, and listen quietly to a chapter or two of The Goblin Emperor.

A simple, even a modest, plan but mine own.

What are your plans for the day?

Proof of life:

In which the writer has the flu

What went before: Woke up yesterday feeling extremely awful, and running a stoopid high fever. Took myself to the clinic while I could, and Tests were performed. I’m cleared for COVID, RSV, strep, but! I do have the flu. This, according to the doctor, is what passes for good news, because the flu only lasts “a couple days.” I’m to stay in until the fever breaks, wear a mask if I do go out, and avoid, well, people.

Sunday. Cold and sunny. Predictions are for snow.

Kettle’s on for tea, peppermint and honey. Stirred, not shaken. Breakfast will … likely involve toast. Today will likely be spent in the corner of the couch or in the Command Chair. I wouldn’t say that I’m well (especially since I’m now a sneezy, drippy mess) but I have perhaps turned a corner, because yesterday I was content to just sit and be miserable, and this morning I’m grumpy because I haven’t been *doing* anything.

On the plus side, I have discovered something that’s even *more* boring to talk about than writing.

The cats have been taking this Health Emergency very seriously, piling on all three at once, though I’ll note that the Rookie was left on nursing duty all by himself for a couple hours yesterday. He did very well, initially setting up station in the rocking chair directly across from the couch, later adopting a more paws-on approach, by coming over and sitting on my lap to purr. Boy, that cat has a purr.

So, that’s what’s happening hereabouts today. What’s happening thereabouts?

Begin as you mean to go on

Wednesday. Raining and warm(ish).

The first day of a new year. Begin as you mean to go on.

On this day in history, Steve had just given me his draft of “Familiarity,” commissioned for the ZNB Familiars anthology. I spent the rest of the day reading it, tweaking it, and trimming it.

Breakfast today will be oatmeal, because — have you looked out that window? Lunch will be pre-planned chicken pot pie.

I have some various bits ‘n bobs to do at the computer, as well as some housekeeping (first load of laundry is washing, for instance), and I’ve scheduled some time curled under the blanket with pen and notebook and notes for the next book.

How are you beginning the new year?

Rook at work:

Last Day of 2024

Tuesday. Grey and cool. There is no snow in the Long Back Yard, though there is a skim of ice on the front steps. Trash and recycling at the curb. First cup of tea in hand.

Breakfast is destined to be a PB&J on an English muffin with a follow of red grapes. And more tea, naturally. Lunch — I have so many options for lunch. Really, I’m embarrassed.

So far this morning, Rookie has played fetch — he’s really good at bringing the ball and placing it at my feet — tried to lay claim to the deer antler that has been sitting peaceably on a lower bookshelf for years, and peeled all the sticky notes off of the to-do list. Sigh. A Morning Kitten. *Just* what I need.

I finished *another* book last night — Lord Julian is a quick read, so that puts me at 61 books on the year (57, if we don’t count endless rereads of Diviner’s Bow and a re-read of Salvage Right). I do have the third Lord Julian on deck, but, really, I’m not finishing that one today.

This morning is sewing at St. Mark’s. This will be my first foray, I hope of many; and I have an appointment with the chiropractor in the afternoon. And that neatly accounts for my day, give or take a chore or two.

This is the last day of a very bad year, and I stand in dread of what next year will bring, because, absent a death or two, it’s looking to be worse.

What are your anticipations for the new year?

There will come the soft rains

What went before: Yesterday, that being Sunday, I did the needed touch-ups to the paint, baked sugar cookies, visited my embroidery basket, played with and groomed cats, read, and went to bed.

We now move on to . . .

Monday. Raining and warm. Might hit 50F/10C. Fog is rising as the snow sublimates. Spooky ol’ winter, this.

Breakfast was! Braunschweiger (aka liverwurst) on black bread with butter and mustard, because if you’re going to do this thing, Do It Correctly — with an orange for dessert. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch is still an open question, as I have a choice of leftovers and will also be stopping at the grocery as part of this morning’s errands.

One has performed one’s duty to the cats.

Today’s to-do includes the aforesaid errands: chiropractor, post office, vet (for a bag of Trooper’s Special Sort), grocery store. Also staging the trash for delivery to the curb tomorrow morning, and call the cardiologist to see does he want to reschedule the appointment both of us think would be a waste of time, and start rectifying the 2024 financial records. Other than that, I’ve got a small pile of things I was working at before the galleys disrupted life, and I really ought to get back to them, but I’m not feeling the love. Or the energy. They’ve waited this long, they can wait until the new year.

Yesterday, I did get into my embroidery basket for the first time in forever. Man, I’m all kinds of out-of-practice. But, still, a calming, if not exactly graceful, exercise.

Fans of Rook will wish to hear that he is making very good progress, and taking his responsibilities as a Feline Share Holder seriously. I woke up around 2am, not in the best shape, and thinking that I would just get up. Rook was sleeping on top of the bookscase by the bed. No sooner had I thought the thought, then I heard a THUMP above my head, and then Rook was under my chin, purring. Reader, I went back to sleep.

And, that’s Monday in anticipation.

How’s everybody holding up?

Cat pics below, to enliven the feed.

Today’s title comes to you via Sara Teasdale and Ray Bradbury.