let’s do the Time Warp – Sharon Lee, Writer

Cyberplane #1

Sharon says: I think that these two installments by Steve Miller explain themselves pretty well. Back in the day, Cyberplane 1 and 2 won a web-writing award, the name of which escapes me at this distance. We were nicer to each other on the internet, back then.

Cyberplane #1

This is the first issue of Cyberplane; it is a direct descendant of the old Paper Plane fanzine that I published when I lived at Apt 3A 119 Willow Bend Drive, Owings Mills, Md., 21117. In some ways I’m sorry that it’s not appearing in the original format of a snailmailed, mimeographed personalzine….on the other hand I gave that device — that mimeo machine — away to some fans in deepest PA, where it may yet turn out crudsheets with every fourth crank of the handle.

So Cyberplane #1 comes to you via the web from Steve Miller, RR2, Box 4570, Winslow, ME 04901. LoCs (letters of comment) can be sent via email to kinzel@mint.net; additional issues will arrive webward from time to time, if anyone notices this issue. You CAN send stamps, though I’m not sure what the correct postage should be…This is a by whim production; there are no subscribers. Copyright 1995 by Steve Miller. The textured background is my own; I also make web pages….

….If none of that makes sense to you, perhaps I should mention that long ago and far away I was considered a science fiction fan. That was a technical term back when most science fiction was in books and magazines and fans were readers rather than watchers. Many, many fans were also writers, and some of the fans I dealt with have, like me, become “filthy pros” in one field of writing or another.

I have, alas, not given up many of my fannish ways. I still think of the year not in traditional holidays but in condays: April, BaltiCon and MiniCon weekend…also known as Easter. DisClave weekend, also known as Memorial Day to the uninitiated. And of course, WorldCon…frequently known as Labor Dayweek. Having been to something over 100 cons over the years my inclination to think in this fashion may perhaps be understood.

I also have kept many of my fannish odds and ends. My Kelly Freas caricature, my old x-rated issue of Holier Than Thou, many of my convention badges. And, of course, the illos sent to me by artists for the next issue of my fanzine. Original art!

Illo by Rotsler

I am not above the lure of the convention’s song. I am, however, too cynical to enjoy sleeping on the floor in crash space; and too experienced to travel cross country on $6 a day with any degree of comfort. Once upon a time however….

Con-Fession of a Con-Addict

In the summer of 1973 the fannish world had a near miss. Not only did the famous Khoutek comet fail to mesmerize and astonish billions, it being one of the real duds of the 20th century, right up there with the Edsel, the Lisa, the Apple III, and the Commordore IV, but also I failed to attend my first “real” sf convention.

I’m not sure who lucked out: I was at Clarion West and rather than go out to the con (in Vancouver perhaps?) I spent my weekend working on my writing. Somehow I thought that was much more to the purpose, having traveled by bus from Baltimore to Seattle to attend a writing workshop, and not to sit around talking trash with a bunch of mere fans. Sigh. I was as opinionated then as I am now and with far less experience to back it up… And so my first convention didn’t happen months after I returned from Clarion.

You can probably blame Sue Miller, who was then Sue Nice, for my first appearance at convention. She read Analog every month ( I read Amazing, Fantastic, and IF or one of it’s brethren) and it wasn’t unusual for us to stare at the con listings and wonder if we should go to one of these things. When it was apparent that I was actually going to get a job in the field…well, it was obvious that we needed to go to a convention. And since we’d missed BaltiCon that year, the first con we got to was DisClave.

I will not bore you with the entire details of the event; I couldn’t, having mixed them up with so many other events that took place at the Sheraton Park. What struck me from the start, and what helped lead to my addiction, was that I was among readers — lots of readers! — who knew enough about the same things I did to agree with me — or argue with me — from a position of information. These people might LOOK weird, but they didn’t think it odd that one might happen to pick up a book at 7 PM and put down the second or third book in the series at 6 AM just before going to work…

In short order I became involved in BSFS, the Baltimore Science Fantasy Society, and I became a con fan. I’d drop everything to run to Pghlange, and I’d go to anything dealing with SF at the Sheraton Park hotel…an edifice that could probably have been bought for a permanent worldcon home for the amount of money that fans spent there.

My involvement in fandom, and in convention fandom in particular, got to the point that I might begin a conversation with someone at a room party in, say, Kentucky, continue it the next week in say, Michigan, and finish it at a party in, say Ohio, three weeks later. Not only might I have these kinds of conversations, I faunched after them. I needed them.

The energy of conventions got in my blood; I found myself able and (all too!) willing to give directions to hotels and restaurants in Anne Arbor and Washington DC and Columbus (that’s in Ohio and is one of the least visited cities in the US). I also found myself recognizing stretches of interstate 400 miles away from home from the last time I’d been there — say three weeks before.

At the risk of sounding a bit like one of Andy Offut’s convention speeches, there I was, a young man from the backwoods of Owings Mills, Maryland and I was not only going places, but I was doing things in those places and I was even welcomefar from home. This was all a bit of a surprise to me. So much so that I needed hints about which cheese to eat (and Joe Haldeman may still consider me uncouth for never having had feta cheese in my life at the time we happened to be at the same party at a con in Ann Arbor); but I came from a poor but boring background where I’d led a very sheltered life away from anything but the blandest and most Baltimore of foods.

I also discovered the unexpected lure of all night partying. As my involvement grew from wide-eyed innocent to WorldCon bidding insider I became more and more involved in the faanish side of things and less in the sercon (serious constructive) side of things. Oh, I still wrote my fiction and my book reviews, but I was not as likely to attend the inevitable “Universe Building” panel as I was to hit all of the open and and as many of the closed parties as I could.

Along the way, I lost my way. Some of the all night parties led to waking up in someone else’s room. Some ended up with a quiet breakfast with someone I’d kissed for the first time three hours before. Some ended up merely prelude to a virtually sleepless weekend followed by a 20 hour crash when I got home. Work and homelife suffered….

And so by the time of the Miami worldcon my marriage was on the rocks; even as my father (who was living in Miami on a houseboat with a 19 year-old girlfriend) was telling me to “hang on to that girl”, the former Sue Nice was plainly not long to be Mrs. Steve Miller. The world of the con and the mundane world are not meant to be lived simultaneously for long periods of time…

For a short while I used conventions to avoid being alone. Then, rather suddenly, my writing was selling, I was reviewing books for the Baltimore Sun, and my new position as editor of a weekly community newspaper made conventions harder to get to.

This is a work in progress…thanks for your understanding– Try Steve Miller If you haven’t had enough you can try number 2 in the series

Cyberplane #2

This is the second issue of Cyberplane; it is a direct descendant of the old Paper Plane fanzine that I published when I lived in Owings Mills, Md. I lived in Owings Mills for close to 20 years with brief time out for visits to Seattle, WA and some semi-communal living in Columbia, Md. and Reisterstown, Md.

Cyberplane #2 comes to you via the web from Steve Miller, RR2, Box 4570, Winslow, ME 04901, where I live with my wife, Sharon Lee (despite rumours on GEnie and rec.arts.sf.written to the contrary) and a stalwart band of rescued cats who have joined the quest.

LoCs (letters of comment) can be sent via email to kinzel@mint.net; additional issues will arrive webward from time to time. In support, you CAN send stamps, personal photos your mother wouldn’t approve of, silver dimes, quarters, half-dollars, or dollars, or canned salmon. This is a by whim production; there are no subscribers. Copyright 1996 by Steve Miller.

The textured background is my own; I also make web pages. The photograph above is the gift of a fan and was probably taken after 9 PM on a Saturday night at a convention on the somewhere on the East Coast in the year 1977. This may actually have been taken at the WorldCon in Miami…and I see my hair was going grey then in a few spots more than 18 years ago.

What has gone before

In the first issue of Cyberplane I mentioned that science fiction cons had gotten in my blood. The truth is that, even though I was writing for much of my living in fields outside of SF, most of my community was still within the SF world.
This began to become a problem as my relationship with Sue Miller deteriorated, for we were seen as a unit. Additionally, for several years we were extremely active in BSFS, hosting parties and meetings at our large apartment in Owings Mills (sometimes with more than a hundred attendees over a six or eight hour span) as well as acting as Baltimore in 80 ambassadors in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, York (PA), and Wilmington, NC.

And so, I’d found myself at loose ends within the SF community and also found myself exposed to other creative types in the music world I was covering for various newspapers. Thus, when I met re-met Sharon Lee at a writing course I was taking at UMBC (where we were both looking (sigh) for easy credits) I was happy to find a science fiction-oriented person to be around again… and also pleased to find someone who was serious about writing.

I’d been exposed to the poets, the would-be great American novelists, and the newspaper people and found some of fandom’s self-centeredness wearing. In Sharon’s presence though the wonder-and-fun part of SF came through again; and the fan feuds and convention-mongering fell into the background. Oddly enough, it was Sharon’s influence and goals (along with those of friend Drew Farrell) that moved me into some of my most intensive convention-going.

The effort, first, to put together the Star Swarm News as a new kind of science fiction publication, failed. We never got the capital infusion that we needed so badly, and the concept (later echoed in the somewhat successful Aboriginal SF) was itself ignored. Fans, it seemed, didn’t want newspapers.

After Aracelli Karri, Inc. essentially went belly up and with it the Star Swarm News itself, Sharon and I moved into gear with Sharon’s lifelong dream — her own bookstore. That melded well with the art agenting I’d been doing on the side, and so was born DreamsGarth.

The wheel in the sky keeps on turning

What went before ONE: And back from dancing. I was the New Kid. It was interesting and everyone was good-natured and very kind. I may have been the only one in the room who had never had theater or dance in my background, and I include the two Littles who were part of our group.

I notice a cross-over between ASL and some of the “body-speak” going on in dance. I suppose if I pursue it, I’ll have yet another physical language under my belt.

I got to interact, very briefly, with the bowli ball’s older, bigger, and more sullen brother. It was too big and goopy to perform the antics of an actual bowli ball. Instead of a gyroscope heart, it had a — what? bag of mud — that made for interesting shifts of velocity, weight, and … squishiness. Not good for tournament play, but an interesting item nonetheless.

After class, I went down Main Street a bit, stopped at Incense and Peppermints to see what they’re doing with the increased space, then Smitty’s Book Cellar to introduce myself and give out a couple cards.

I grabbed some pretzels when I got in, but I think that’s not quite lunch, so a salad it is.

The temperature has cracked 60F/16C; still cloudy and mizzling, off and on.

I hear through the dance class that next Saturday is World Tai Chi Day. Who’s participating?

What went before TWO: 830ish new words, which means! The WIP has cracked 30,000! +/-30,250. Pretty good for a day when I thought I wouldn’t be writing.

Defrosting some Smithfield boneless pork chops for tomorrow’s making-ahead, and also lunch.

The cats have had Happy Hour and Trooper wished to Take Exception to my coming back to the keyboard to finish the scene, so we had to have That Discussion again — the one that makes no sense? About how the clackity-clack on the keys makes cat food? Yeah, that one. He did lay down and go to sleep though, and I finished my scene. So there is that.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Sunday. Intermittently cloudy and not. Breezy with gusts. Weatherbeans have put out a fire caution; calling for a high temp of 50F/10C. It rained on the overnight.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs with potato and onion, and a side of toast with blueberry-ginger jam, which was actually a bigger breakfast than I usually indulge in, so lunch plans may be adjusted accordingly.

This is Easter Sunday for those who celebrate. When Steve and I first got together, we celebrated by going to BaltiCon. Afteryears, Easter usually snuck up on us. We had the Convention Calendar in our heads and could mostly tell you which cons were on any given weekend, but Easter? Eh–a moveable lay (i.e. non-SF) feast that didn’t have much to do with us.

For those who are interested in cat placement, Trooper is at the moment sitting upright on my lap, purring, and making it easy for me to type. Rook is sprawled at the end of the desk, apparently chewing on the philosophical conversation we had this morning, when he found Tali already in my lap when he wanted to be there. How is it possible that I love him for being The Best Rookie AND Tali for being The Best Tali? This wants Thinking Over.

Second cup of tea brewing.

After I finish my morning letter to the internets, I have some stuff to do downstairs, and then I intend to catch up on all those things I failed to do last week by reason, I guess, of doing other things instead. And do my first pass through the ASL homework.

Directing my gaze into next week — there’s another movie-and-learned-discourse on Monday night; the movie is “Brick.” I may or may not attend. The movie looks interesting, but I have a limited capacity for leaned discourse on the Metaphors of Violence in Cinema.

On Wednesday, my new washer-and-dryer will be delivered, and the sales rep directed me to save up my dirty clothes and start washing the minute the delivery van cleared the driveway, because there’s a 48-hour, if-it’s-wrong-we’ll-make-it-right-today LG policy IF the wrong is reported within 48 hours. So! Laundry Party at Rolanni’s House! Bring snacks.

Thursday evening is of course ASL class. Before that is the Return of the Pest Control Guy, who will be replacing the things he knocked down during his inspection two weeks ago.

I have started reading The Savage, Noble Death of Babs Dionne (by Ron Currie, a Maine author) and in-between am re-reading Sea Wrack and Changewind (by Sharon Lee, another Maine author). Not sure why I got started on that, except it was at my place when I sat down to eat lunch a couple days ago, and one must read something.

My redecorated office door looks very nice in the sunshine. Very glad I decided to take that on.

And that? Is what’s doing at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

What’s doing at your place?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Journey, “Wheel in the Sky”

Cat census and redecorated office door:

Friday Good

What went before ONE: This just in, Diviner’s Bow, by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller is still in the top 50 of Bookscan’s new book releases in SF. Number 39.

That’s … a surprise. A pleasant surprise, mind.

Thank you all!

What went before TWO: With the handwritten scene (I had misremembered; I didn’t have two scenes; I had one scene and Copious Notes), the WIP Entire now weighs in at +/-29,400 words.

I am now going to do a Lightning Review of my ASL homework and? Go to school.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Friday. Sunny, warm, and breezy. The wind chimes are humming to themselves outside my office window.

Breakfast was bialy with cream cheese and a side of strawberries. Lunch will be turkey cutlet (now fully defrosted) and spinach.

I have been up for hours. However, much of that time has been trying to figure out who’s calling me from Northern Light Medical Center. I answer the phone, the person on the other end says, “This is Rachel calling from North–” and the signal drops. I try to call back, and get a recording telling me that I’ve reached a trunk line and there ain’t no humans here.

So! Since the local hospital is going poof! and my cancer team is in Bangor and affiliated with Northern Light Health, I’ve spent an hour trying to find out if one of them has been trying to get in touch. My last hope is Theresa in Oncology, but her phone has been solidly busy for the last two hours.

Fun times. I’m supposing that I won’t answer the phone the next time it shows that ID, and see if Rachel is able to leave voice mail.

Today is Arts ‘n Crafts. Since I have never myself ever put on window film — no, that’s not true. I put window film in one of my day-job offices. So! Since I myself have Not Recently installed window film, I am going to do a Practice installation on the window in my office door. After I’ve learned what I can from that process, I’ll move on to the bathroom.

Tomorrow, there’s a free intergenerational dance class at the Greene Block, downtown, which I may try to make. I’m expecting lots of grandkids spinning in circles and yelling, which may make this a short-lived experiment, but, hey, Wild Clover’s right around the corner in case I need to bail.

Or even if I don’t.

I’ve been thinking of committing a chapbook. This one would include “Core Values,” now available to be read for free on splinteruniverse.com, “Neutral Ground,” which is a story that contains story nuggets that were then (more) fully realized in Ribbon Dance and Diviner’s Bow, and! an outtake from Ribbon Dance. I don’t know how many words that would be. “Core Values” and “Neutral Ground” combined are 21,495 words. I don’t have a word count on the outtake.

So, that may be coming down the pike, if there’s interest.

ASL class last night was fun. We seem to be down to 6 students, which encourages the social aspect of the group, so it’s part gossip and part learning new vocab. Several people now have noted that one day a week is too little to attain fluency. We really ought to form a coffee club, but we haven’t gotten to that step yet.

Tali is coming to terms with the fact that I am the sole source of cuddles, treats, and throwing things for her to chase, and is making modest attempts to jolly me along. She and Rook are in direct competition for my lap, and this morning she actually did curl up for about 2.5 seconds and purred. Then she saw that Rook was eating and had to jump down to join him.

Rook remains unshakeable in his certainty that he is the center of the universe. Firefly is pleased to read with me and is more often deliberately coming into the space I’m occupying. She does still visit Steve often. Trooper — sleeps a lot. The crying seems to be less, and I’m inclined to just let him be. He’s still playing, and eating, and seeking me out for company; he occasionally forgets what he’s doing but, hey, who doesn’t?

So, today is Good Friday, according to some traditions, and Sunday is Easter. Who has Plans?

Blast from the Past: Steve and Sharon visiting the Augusta Barnes & Noble to check out our poster:

Livin’ on rock ‘n roll music

What went before ONE: And! Finished reading. My text for today was Accepting the Lance.

I now want to sleep for five days, but that’s not going to happen, so instead I will open the SFWA past president survey that I foolishly agreed to answer, right after I serve Happy Hour.

I’m looking at my weekly Get These Things Done calendar, and, yeah — MAYbeeee…Friday?

Everybody stay safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.

What went before TWO: Wow. Started to work for SFWA as first! full! time! executive director in 1997; elected vice president in 2001; president in 2002.

Thursday. Sunny and warmish. House has been picked up for Ashley.

I am a tired woman, part X of a continuing series.

Breakfast was oatmeal with cranberries, because I’m tired, and it was there. Lunch will be, um? Oh. Turkey fillets defrosting in the fridge; they may be ready. If not, there’s still that yam the affections of which I’ve been toying with for a week.

Tonight is ASL class — first of the second semester. I do not feel prepared, ref “tired” above, but, yanno — onward.

One of the things I suspect of contributing to feeling tired is that some people are reading Diviner’s Bow and have Just! Learned! through the magic of reading the back flap of the hardcover, that Steve has died. Some are writing to express their condolences, which is very nice of them, but the weight of other people’s emotions is exhausting.

I’ve got an expanding file of stuff that I need to go through, and throw away the things I no longer need, so I’ll be doing that while Ashley’s here.

I’m probably not going to get any new writing done today, though I do have two handwritten scenes I should transcribe. My handwriting’s not so bad as my shorthand — reading cold shorthand is a real challenge, just one down from trying to read somebody else’s shorthand — but I really should type it before I forget what on earth I was thinking.

It’s not supposed to rain today, so I might just take the throw rugs outside and hang them over the deck railing to get some fresh air and sunshine.

I’m reading Check and Mate, which is set in the World of Chess, book provided by a kind friend who wanted to know how accurate the representation of said Chess World is. So far — I’m about halfway through — and it seems pretty accurate to me, remembering that all of my “familiarity” with said World came at second and third hand. Certainly, the misogyny is accurate; Steve kept trying to recruit girls/women to his chess club down in Maryland, but it remained a guys-only environment. The passion is also accurate — yes, you can Win! Big! Money! playing chess, but like, oh, writing, or tournament golf, or other endeavor where passion is a necessary component to even minor success — the return is far, far less for most than the investment. All that said, it was a minor shock to see Judith Polgar mentioned, as I knew somebody who knew somebody who knew the Polgar sisters. OTOH, they certainly belong in a book discussing the Chess World and the limited access thereto.

FWIW, Steve threw a guy out of a tournament for wearing a tshirt that said, “Woman chess player is an oxymoron.” So there was that.

And that’s what I’ve got this morning.

What’ve you got this morning?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Boston, “Rock & Roll Band”

Oh. For those wondering what in heaven’s name the woman was *doing* yesterday, that would be this:

Baby, you want the forgivin’ kind and that’s just not my style

What went before: Everything checked off the to-do list except homework. Which is why homework needs to happen in the morning, and after-lunch is writing time.

We’ll figure it out.

Tomorrow, we are to have rain. I will be staying in. The cats have planned a quiet day of napping in honor of St. Gertrude.

And with all that said, and Coon Cat Happy Hour coming right up!

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

. . .

A blessed St. Gertrude’s day to all.

Monday. Raining. Flooding is in our future, though probably not in my personal future, the river being Way Down THERE. One small patch of snow remains in the Long Back Yard.

Breakfast was rice cakes with cream cheese and the last of the sad, black grapes. First cup of tea is well underway. I have a can of tuna and a can of tomato soup. I believe lunch has been decided.

Today is the Actual Anniversary — five years since my mastectomy. About now On That Day, I would have been getting injected with mercury or some such item, much to Steve’s horror, so I could be placed into a machine that would map my innards, pre-op. I remember the tech administering the shot telling me it would hurt. She wasn’t wrong.

The Garmin watch continues to please, even as it adds to the day’s puzzles. Yesterday, I would have — in fact, I believe I did — tell you that I had a mostly quiet and peaceful day, munching through my to-do list, and writing.

Around 8:00, my watch sent me a very kind message, telling me that I had had a Very Stressful Day, poor dear, and should consider relaxing now.

I’ll be interested to see how this plays out, going forward. It may be that the watch and I have Very Different Takes on Stress.

Today, my choice is either to go back to bed or write, so I believe I will write.

What are your choices today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, a Canadian band, for no reason other than the fact that I’m listening to the radio and the DJ just said that he had never thought of the band as Canadian. OHkay. Anyhow, if you need to get moving, as who does not: “Let it Ride.”

Below, a picture of the Hall Blockers Cadets St. Gertrude’s Day project:

Time is for dragonflies and angels

Before we get started, a Shout Out: Karen Rix Krah, if you are within the sound of my voice, please email me! Thanking you…

What went before: Boy, that sweet potato was good. One of the “Japanese” sweet potatoes, with the purplish skin and the white flesh.

I am currently rearranging the drawers in the pantry so I can centralize my baking stuff, and get to it more easily.

When Steve got taken with the need to rearrange things, or clean the house, he would say, “I’m writing — no, really I am.” And it did more often than not turn out that, next day, or that night, he’d be hitting the keyboard.

So, yanno — I’m writing.

Rook came out to the dining room to eat a few crunchies and keep me company. He’s gone back to the jetpak in the living room. Tali and Trooper are in my office with me, and Firefly is spending the day in Steve’s office.

Some Hours Later: OK, the pantry makes more sense to me now, in re having all the most-used baking things in one accessible drawer instead of some way over my head, some more way down there, and the rest at waist level.

Firefly and Tali were having a game of tag — not sure where Tali is at the moment. Rook is playing with his robot mouse. Trooper is on the co-pilot’s chair with interested ears, trying to figure out What That Kid Is Doing without, yanno, actually getting up and looking.

Sunday

The Early Report: The cats woke me at 6, according to the bedroom clock, which I’ll need to change later. It was of course 7 and probably they’ve done me a favor, but I’m not feeling the love at the moment.

First cup of tea in hand, and I in my robe am sitting in the comfy office chair under a heated blanket, blinking owlishly at the sun rising over the Long Back Yard.

Oof.

Can we just choose one, please?

Later: Sunday. Sunny and chilly. Going to make a sprint for 40F/4C. So say the weatherbeans.

I did sit in the comfy chair, under the heated throw, for an hour, drinking my tea, and staring out the window, which I intend to recommence shortly after I finish writing this dispatch to the internets.

Breakfast was pb&j on an English muffin. Second cup of tea at hand. Lunch will be chicken and veggies. (Though I don’t usually report on the evening meal — last night I had a grilled cheese sandwich and It. Was. Awesome.)

I’ve stripped the bed and have made the Command Decision to retire the flannel sheets for the season. So, that’s A Thing.

And — always aside from one’s duty to the cats, and of course, remaking the bed — that may be all Real Life gets out of me today. I have got to fix this damn’ timing issue, or order in another barrel of handwavium. Or, yanno, both. Can’t have too much handwavium in Da Biz.

How’s everybody feeling today?

Bonus: For the folks wondering if I’ve “grown accustomed.” TED talk from Nora McInerny. It’s short, and in my admittedly limited experience, accurate.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by the sainted Mr. James Thurber: The Thirteen Clocks, which, if you haven’t read it — do that. No, I mean now.

He picks up a bus and he throws it back down

What went before: Lots of staring out the window today. Which counts! Only you it doesn’t show up in the word count, which at close of business today is! +/-10,095 words. A milestone. Only 89,905 words left to go.

Sunday. Cloudy. Snowing very lightly at the moment. Temperatures said to be heading for the upper 30sF.

Sat up late last night, talking with Firefly. I was allowed to sleep in until almost 8am.

Breakfast was a waffle with strawberries and cherry syrup, sausage, tea. Tali is currently occupying my lap, and it is Tali’s philosophy that her tail is magnificent and that if she chooses to smack you in the face with it, your only possible reaction is delight.

I have no idea what lunch will be. I have a couple of choices, including a store-bought quiche — which was actually cheaper than buying eggs to make a quiche — so not likely to starve.

This afternoon, I’m to speak with the narrator for Diviner’s Bow, Eileen Stevens, who has narrated many of our books. Diviner’s Bow will be coming out from Audible very close to the publication of the hardcover. I don’t have a DATE date, but the turnaround time is — very ambitious (what is it with this book that demands kamikaze production?).

In and around that, I have some straightening up to do, one’s duty to the cats, and maybe some writing. We’ll see what happens.

What’s on your schedule today?

Today’s title brought to you by one of the songs Steve and I would always turn up the radio for, and then sing along, and which has become strangely topical. Blue Oyster Cult: “Godzilla.”

After Firefly came home from the vet the other day, Rook tried on her carry box for size. I think I need to go one up, or actually convince him to walk on the leash. He’ll wear his jacket all day long, and proudly, but he still doesn’t get the “let’s take a walk,” thing. He’d rather chew on the leash.

And it’s the night people’s job to take the day people’s money

What went before: Yesterday went from bad to worse, and I took a couple hours out in the afternoon to sip hot chocolate and stare out the window, then watch Rook play with his robot mouse. This toy had terrified him as a baby kitten, but yesterday, he deliberately knocked it off the shelf where it has been rusticating for months, and tried kicking it up and down the hall, so I turned it on and let it run until the charge failed. He had a great time with it, and knew immediately to pick it up by its tail and get it into a open run space when it got (as it frequently does) stuck in a corner.

Wednesday. Sunny and cold.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, apple sauce. Something will leap out of the fridge for lunch, I’m sure.

First thing, I need to talk to somebody about a Confusion of Rights, to which I hope they have a definitive answer. Files under Why Writers Drink.

After my phone call, and hopefully armed with Answers, I need to write a letter. Then, I will be going over the damned tax packet *again* and if all looks good will be delivering it to the accountant’s office, and from there to the grocery to take on food and wine.

I got up early (after 7.30 hours of sleep; someone was concerned that I was not getting enough rest with all these early hours. The fact is that getting up early begets going to bed early, and I, a lifelong Night Person, am now apparently a Day Person, something I’m not particularly happy about, but here we are.), and have already written one letter, so progress is progressing.

Way back when the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory was still in its Country Location, I discovered that there’s a Life Limit on how much coffee one person can imbibe, and, what with years of mainlining the stuff, I had hit that limit. That was when I switched to tea, and Steve, after watching in Stark Terror every time I poured boiling water from a saucepan into a mug (and pretty often over the countertop, too), bought me an OXO Stainless Steel Whistling Tea Kettle with a Geniune Cork Covered Handle.

I love the OXO tea kettle, but it, like me, is starting to show its age, and I thought to get another (because, honest, if me pouring boiling water out of saucepan into a mug was scary ten years ago, it’s only gotten worse. Even *I* get short of breath when I do it.). OXO of course, does not make this tea kettle any more, and I wound up with a Mr. Coffee Whistling Tea Kettle, and may I just say? What a piece of junque. I mean, yes, I’m spoiled; we’ve discussed this, and Steve always bought The Best, whether we could afford it or not — but Mr. Coffee has not achieved a 10 year tea kettle.

On the other hand, given the on-gong axe-work against society and human beings, 10 years may not be something I have to worry about.

Below, another photo from last night — you can see that Tali and Firefly have Made An Accommodation — Firefly on *her* side against my hip, and Tali on *her* side, from hip to knee.

It was all very comfortable.

What makes you comfortable, lately?

Today’s title brought to you by Ray Wylie Hubbard, and there’s a story that goes with that. I remembered the line about the night people’s job being to take the day people’s money, but not the title of the song. I asked the internet, which served me up “Rabbit” which was not the song I’d been thinking of, but which I like on its own terms. A little more digging got me the song I was after, “Nighttime.”

Many cat pictures below. I note that Tali and Firefly are working out the evening reading positions.

They don’t give a damn about any trumpet playing band

What went before: Hired somebody to maintain korval.com, which is an enormous load off my shoulders.

Waiting in my email this morning was a note from NESFA (New England Science Fiction Association); Tony Lewis has left us. Tony and Suford let Steve and me park our car at their house for a week and took us to the train station so we could attend our first convention as Guests of Honor, Silicon, in 1998. Chatting with him and Suford was always a high point at Boskone.

Thursday. Frizzling (freezing drizzle, looks like). Once again the Big Storm wore itself out before it got to us.

Breakfast was PB&J on English muffin. Second cup of tea is brewing. Lunch will be — eh. No, wait. I got spaghetti and meatballs out of the freezer last night. Ta-da! Lunch.

So, I was flattened by the time I’d finished eating the evening meal, so I just took my book and a mug of tea and went to bed, where I was immediately joined by four cats, who immediately went to sleep. I read for a while, then shoved the propping pillow to one side, and joined them. So that was good. Next lesson: I’m going to have to stop thinking that 6:00 is early if I go to sleep at 10.

First up today is sitting by the window, watching the … frizzle frizz … and sketching in some scenes (y’all know that when I say things like “doodling” and “sketching” it means making notes and hand-drafting scenes, not actually doing art? Just wanted to clear that up.) This may actually be the only thing, aside one’s duty to the cats, and feeding myself lunch, that actually gets accomplished today, and if so, sobeit.

So, that’s it for me. Over to you.

Below the requested photos of the classy new cat bowls, provided by a Mystery Friend.

Today’s blog post title comes to you from Dire Straits, “The Sultans of Swing.” Historical note: I was on my way to Steve’s house, and this song “previewed” on the radio, so that almost the first thing I said to Steve after he let me in was, “I just heard this incredible song! Sultans of –” And Steve turned to his record player, picked up an album cover (Steve having been a music reviewer, he got free albums) and handed it to me. “I was just listening to it, when you knocked.” I happened to hear it on the radio this morning during breakfast.