let’s do the Time Warp – Page 2

In which the plan changes, and changes again

The Long Back Yard

The toilet is fixed. Steve Symonds deserves a twenty-five flower parade.

I would like the record to show that I? could never have fixed this myself. A hacksaw was involved.

‘nough said.
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Sunday. Cloudy and cooler than it’s been tending.

Got up early because that’s when I woke up. Oatmeal for breakfast. Chicken breast for lunch if it happens to have thawed. If not, something else.

Wrote, oh? 700 words this morning. Given the timing of breakfast, it’s probably not too early to start investigating the idea of lunch. I will do my duty the cats first, in the interests of going back to writing after lunch.

Yes, I am pushing, but I’m at the stage where “almost done!” is driving the writing engine, and, as I may have mentioned once or twice: I’m really tired of this book.

I put up the “Roman” curtain over the window in the front door, and while it’s better than what was there, I’m not convinced it’s actually what I want for the sliders in Steve’s office. If the tie-ups were longer so I could actually adjust the shade to the height of my choosing, which you would think would be the point of this design, I might be convinced. As it is — meh.

I watched two? three, maybe? episodes of Spy Family last night and it is not for me. May try another title this evening, if I don’t faceplant first.

I am aware that I am taking way long with the Agent of Change readalong — I plead illness. Also, yes, I, too, am reading Conflict of Honors. Things will happen as they happen at this point. Total chaos for the win.

How’s everybody doing today?
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Steve Miller, The Empire State Carousel, Fennimore Farm Museum, Cooperstown NY, June 21, 2023. Photo by Sharon Lee.

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Change of plan, because weather and also brain wants a rest.

So! Wrote just a smidge over 1,000 words today. WIP now at 125,440ish.

You know how you’re sick, after you’re well again, you have to do all the things you let slide? Yeah, that would be my realization today. If there’s eight feet of snow on the ground on Tuesday, I’ve got to get the trash to the curb, so I went out while it was still warm(ish) to load the toboggan with trash bags and fill up the recycling bin. So, that’s ready for Tuesday morning, no matter what.

Also, I missed changing out the cat boxes, ref “sick” above, so that will be my next trick, after which I get a shower, sweats, and ice cream in my blanket fort.

This means I can write tomorrow, and get the trash out before I have to be at PT on Tuesday morning (boy, am I gonna be in trouble with the therapist), with the least possible amount of exertion, and, hopefully, no crazypants.

I’ll just say my good-evenings now. Kind of a weird day, but, some days are weird.

Everybody stay safe.

Twistin’ the night away

Saturday. Cloudy, not as cold, but it ain’t summer.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, and grapes. Yes, I’m eating a lot of hummus, but it’s So. Good.

Lunch will be fish on an onion roll with cheese.

Wrote a little this morning, did my duty the cats, PT homework Session I, took a walk. After lunch? More writing!

Oh, you know the thing, that gay people were invented by the libs sometime during the past 20 years, and the other one, that songs and stories never had a “liberal agenda” until, I dunno, last Wednesday?

Well. Here I was, minding my own business, listening to 60s Gold, and on comes that fun-time dance song, “Twistin’ the Night Away,” by Sam Cooke, in which we celebrate the peaceful coming together of All Peoples at the Sugar Shack before the B52s got their residency — in order to do the twist, and I’m singing along, as one does, and grinning at the man in the evening clothes, and how he got here, I don’t know, and then I hear this come out of my mouth:

Here’s a fella in blue jeans
Dancin’ with an older queen

1962. Here’s a link

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About 1800 words written today, bringing the WIP to +/-102,700. Tomorrow, I write again.

So, on the idea of The Author Reads Her Own Works in 2026 — a Question for the Group Mind: How many of you would like to do a Read Along? I can dust off Splinter Universe and we can carry on as a group over there if there’s enough interest.

Please let me know in comments if this is something you’d like to be part of.

Deets: I’m planning to start in January, and I’m planning to read the novels only, and in Publication Order*. I have my reasons for doing it this way, and if you don’t agree, that’s fine; don’t take part.

All that said, everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll look in tomorrow.

___________
*Publication Order = Agent of Change, Conflict of Honors, Carpe Diem, Plan B, Local Custom, Scout’s Progress, I Dare, Balance of Trade, Crystal Soldier, Crystal Dragon, Fledgling, Saltation, Mouse and Dragon, Ghost Ship, Dragon Ship, Necessity’s Child, Trade Secret, Dragon in Exile, Alliance of Equals, The Gathering Edge, Neogenesis, Accepting the Lance, Trader’s Leap, Fair Trade, Salvage Right, Ribbon Dance, Diviner’s Bow

Easing back into RL

I hate to waste a Buzz Lightyear stamp on the quarterlies (yes, I pay my fourth quarter in December), but that’s all I seem to have.

Also, it’s almost 11 hours from here to North Towinda NY, which — I’m trying to remember how we did that? Surely we didn’t go through Canada? I mean, we might — Oh. Wait.

We went via Pittsburgh.

Maine to Pittsburgh for Guest of Honor gig at CONfluence, then to North Towinda to the Herschell Museum, then to Niagra Falls, late, because that museum is awesome and we got lost for hours, and if you’re ever near enough for it to be even a tiny bit feasible, Do. It.

I remember coming home via Saratoga Springs, so that would have been 90 to 295.

Well. I’m glad I got that straightened out.

Looks to be more snow than mix outside, so, yeah, that’s still happening.

Maybe a cup of hot chocolate before I go down to cut some glass…

Firefly shared her blanket with me, even though I did not share my hot chocolate with her.
So that’s today’s fun with glass. I’d like to say I’m getting better, but what I’m actually doing is less “man that was awful” and more “that was a good cut.”

It’s now raining, and I’m thinking I should investigate the theory of lunch.

I think I’ve had enough fun for one day. I’m going to sign off, watch the last installment of Magriet, serve up Happy Hour when it’s time, read and go to bed on time. Tomorrow — is tomorrow.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. Watch out for black ice.

I’ll check in tomorrow.

Let’s do the time warp, again

Sunday. Sunny and chilly.

How is it not even noon yet?

Well.

Breakfast was cottage cheese, grapes, toast. Lunch will be soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Because I Can.

Wrote +/- 780 words first thing, which brings the total WIP to 105,500. Ish.

Wandered around the house making sure the programmable thermostats remembered their programming from last year. Updated my books read list. Dealt with email. Tried to figure out how much I’m going to be dinged for excise tax tomorrow when I go to buy my sticker at City Hall. Ordered in Scottish, Irish, and strong Irish tea. For Science!*

Still need to pay bills and do PR. And work on my glass project.

The cats were strongly in favor of gathering all together in Steve’s office first thing after breakfast, and that’s where they still are.

How’s everybody doing on this first day of the time change?

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*Science! The scale is: Brisk-Body-Aroma
Brisk: Does your mouth pucker?
Body: Does the tea fill your mouth?
Aroma: Does the tea have a robust scent?

Irish Breakfast Tea: 2-4-3
Hiberian (hi-test Irish): 4-4-2
Scottish Breakfast Tea: 4-5-1

In which the lost are found

Yesterday, I baked bread, did embroidery, carried books down to the basement and got them safely stowed, finished Phase One of the Sekrit Project, which leaves two Phases left to complete by November 14, which is totally doable.

I also found Steve’s cardinal, which was hiding behind books on the bottom-most shelf of the bookcase from which it fled.

And a bonus find…

About a million years ago, I bought Steve a sundial for his birthday. Approximately two hundred years ago, the gnomon went missing. The sundial then became a piece of glass art that sat on a bookshelt in Steve’s office.

Today, as I was looking for the cardinal, I found the gnomon for the sundial. It had been stuck to a book.

So the sundial is back together, which is pleasing, even though it I probably have no place to set it up, since — windows, cats.

Still, I’m pleased that it’s at least potentially functional again.

Where are we? Thursday?

Thursday. Sunny, white-and-gray clouds traveling across a blue sky.

Breakfast was two slices of yesterday’s bread, toasted, cottage cheese, and grapes. Yesterday, I ate three slices of bread with butter as soon as the loaf was cool enough to slice, two slices this morning, and I foresee another slice or two with lunch. I am not usually like this, but I’m gonna finish this loaf by Saturday. Guess I needed Vitamin Bread.

Wrote 1,459 new words this morning. Did the addition, to get some idea of where I am contract-wise, and found the total WIP at 102,870, which In Theory means I can type THE END.

Yeah, yeah. We laugh at Theory.

I did sleep in, and my desk one! more! time! looks like a bomb hit it. How does this keep happening? Gremlins, I guess.

Tonight is glassworking, which means a late lunch, because class goes so late. Happily, I can sleep in tomorrow.

That? Is all the news from this side of the world.

How’s everything going for you?

Oh. I got the sundial set:

Thursday afternoon cat census:

I met her in a club down in old Soho

Oh, dear, dearie me…

For those who have not read it, Be Warned. We are told by a Concerned Reader that Diviner’s Bow is the second Liaden book that was “written for LBGYQ” instead of “staying true to the storyline and characters.”

Well. That’s me told.

In other news — and what I actually stopped by to say — between cutting out teensy pieces of paper, followed by driving for sevenish hours, followed by chores, I have managed to scrod my hands, which means I need to change the shape of the next few days, to wit!

Today and Monday I shall write; Tuesday, I shall finish cutting out my glass pattern and taping said teensy pieces to the appropriate pieces of glass (which means I’ll be missing needlework, but there are only so many hours in the day — and what’s with that exactly?). Wednesday, I have a haircut scheduled, and also some writing to do; Thursday evening is glasswork, I may need to hit the grocery during the day; Sarah comes by on Friday morning.

Also, I need to get a tattoo across my forehead that says, YOU ARE NOT 40.

So! Breakfast was oatmeal with cranberries and walnuts. Lunch will be a ham sandwich, or something else including ham, because leftovers, and!

Time to go to work.

What’s your upcoming week looking like?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by The Kinks, “Lola” because — obviously. Released in 1970.

Here, have a picture of Tali:

Believe in me, I’m with the High Command

What went before: 42% of new ramen shops close within the year; 72% close within three years.

Good heavens; I had no idea (1) how many people want to open noodle/ramen shops or (2) what the fail rate is.

Yes, I’m researching noodle shops for the WIP.

Because! You should write what you know.

Which means: Do your research.

Edited to add: No, I’m not looking for stats; I’m looking for what you need in the kitchen. The stats were just … there.

What went before: So, wrote a scene kind of like the scene I had in my head, about 1,180 words.

I have a couple of things to set up for the rest of the week, which is just chock full of fun. Book club early tomorrow afternoon — that’s fun. Mammogram at 8 am on Tuesday — not so much fun — and needlework tomorrow evening. They’re going to start charging me rent at the library.

Wednesday and Thursday are clear, and on Friday morning, I get to drive to Bath to visit my PCP. Could be worse, I guess. At least Bath is interesting, and I can reward myself for my patience by visiting the bakery, after.

Speaking of fun, I suddenly, and almost without warning, decided that I was done with low-stakes cozies for the moment and on the advice of a friend have taken on Shards of Earth by Adrian Tchaikovsky. So far, so good. It’s good to see what the Iloheen got up to in their retirement. And it’s good to be reminded that we/I don’t write ambitious books.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe; I’ll check in again tomorrow.

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Earlier that same Monday: So, I often listen to Alan Hunter on Classic Rewind on Sirius XM. He’s doing something interesting — send him your top ten favorite songs from the “Cassette Era” and he, or somebody, will tally them up and play the Most Favorite Top Ten of Everybody Everywhere sometime in October.

Of course, I don’t remember Alan’s email address, and he did allow as how this is the sort of list that changes daily, if not hourly, but it’s an interesting challenge of itself.

So! I Challenge You! List your Top Ten Songs from the so-called “Cassette Era of Rock and Roll” (late 1970s-early 1990s) as of — Right Now.

Go.

My Top Ten before I finish my first cup of tea are (in no particular order, because that would be TOO crazy):
1 Silent Running, Mike and the Mechanics
2 Don’t Pay the Ferryman, Chris de Burgh
3 Werewolves of London, Warren Zevon
4 Don’t Fear the Reaper, Blue Oyster Cult
5 Under Pressure, Queen/Bowie
6 Burn with Me, Modern English
7 Missionary Man, The Eurythmics
8 Be Good to Me, Tina Turner
9 Sultans of Swing, Dire Straits
10 Beast of Burden, Rolling Stones

Reading over a section I wrote a couple days ago. Made note: “Korval pilots do not SCURRY.” Sheesh. Who writes this stuff?

So, Monday. Sunny and pleasant. Been doodling around with mini-projects. Getting my needles ready for the next project. Making a pot of rice, doing some business correspondence. Need to go downstairs and clean the cat boxes in a few. Book Club at 1.

Last night, after I quit for the day, I sat down and handwrote another two pages. I really need to sit down, seriously, with the chapter-by-chapter and make a list of What’s Missing, ’cause I could write Good Scenes until the Heat Death of the Universe. Still looking at that title. It may have to do.

I keep forgetting to mention for the edification of Rookie’s Fan Club — for all his obvious charms, and they are many, Rookie has not really been very chatty. Given that he’s a Maine Coon, that made him practically silent. As a kitten, his purr was so loud, it sometimes knocked him over, which was — no, we don’t laugh at our kittens. We tell them they’re Very Special to have Thought of That. Now that he’s a Big Cat, though, his purr is extremely soft and puffy, and while I have once or twice heard him yell in frustration, his vocalizations were mostly quiet, and directed to the other cats.

That has changed, since, I’ll say, since Trooper left us. Rook has taken to meeping at me, making eye contact and Stating A Thing. He’s still much more quiet-spoken than Trooper, or even Sprite, who spoke softly, but with Great Clarity — but he’s talking, and he clearly means to communicate. So, yanno, that’s exciting.

The kid’s still growing.

I don’t think I have anything else to report. As said, I’ve got a few chores to do before I head off for book club, but it’s not really a very crowded looking day.

How’s your Monday shaping up?

Today’s blog post title from Mike and the Mechanics, “Silent Running,” because how could I not?

Also, cat tax. Tali is getting bold:

Weavin’ time in a tapestry

Business first: I regret to announce that I will not (NOT) after all be attending AlbaCon as a virtual panelist. My apologies.

What went before: All righty, then.

I have a filthy headache.

I have no idea how many words I wrote today. The WIP now stands at +/-69,570. FWIW.

Coon cats have had their happy hour. I need to do two things of a mundane nature, and then I’m done for the day.

Everybody stay safe.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Up well before the alarm clock. The windows are soaked on the outside, and the sky, what I can see of it, is grey.
First cup of tea just brewed and sitting here with me at the keyboard.

September 8.

September used to seem like a non-stop party when I was growing up, and also delivered a salutary lesson in the art of budgeting. My maternal grandmother, my mother, me, and my younger sister all have birthdays in September.

I am the last one standing.

Perhaps someday I’ll talk about growing up as a left-handed, wrong-brained Virgo in a house full of Virgos. But today is not that day.

Yesterday … was not the best day ever. I fed myself and the cats, did needful chores, got some writing done, and achieved several difficult clarities — so, yanno, not a loss, but I’ve had better days.

I do want to talk a little about memory, because that was interesting to me, during yesterday’s alarums and excursions.

Yesterday morning, I had an email that told me that I need to use a wired internet connection in order to participate in a thing. I totally drew a blank. Got up, fed the cats, made myself a cup of tea, wandered into the bedroom to open the window for Firefly, came back to the screen — nope, still no clue. Wrote back, said I didn’t know what that meant, got what I considered to be a non-useful answer, and negotiated a secondary outcome.

Some time later, having been doing and thinking about something completely else, I thought “ethernet cable.” And I got up to look at the back of my desktop, and located the plug.

Ethernet cable. Right.

This still seemed to me to be something for In-House Tech Support, which is no longer In-House, but for fun, I walked the route from my desk to the modem in the Tech Room, visualizing blue cable stretching across my office floor, into the dining room, through the cat dishes, around the cat fountain, around the corner, through the door of the Tech Room, across the printer, and myself climbing on a stool to plug the cable into the modem at the top of the utility shelf.

This really seemed like a recipe for a broken neck, if the cats didn’t think of anything more amusing — and I was probably wrong, anyway. Surely it hadn’t been meant that I cobweb my house and put my life at risk via cable, and In-House Tech Support would have known what to do.

I? Went back to what I had been doing and at the next break opened the office briefly to announce that I would not be attending AlbaCon this year due to Technical Differences. A useful discussion blossomed on my wall, and as that was going on, memories started to float up, honestly, like tiles in a Magic Eight ball — I remembered Steve wiring the old house with ethernet cable — a process that involved stapling things to the basement ceiling, holes being drilled in floors, cable being run over doorways, and a lot of swearing. I remembered him setting up Circular Logic (The Largest Computer Bulletin Board in Central Maine!), I remembered getting the first cable modem from mint.net and what a mixed blessing that had been . . .

And that continued throughout the rest of the day and into the evening. Just little tiles of memory floating to the surface — “Oh,” I’d think; “I’d forgotten that” — though obviously I hadn’t.

In fact, an overflow of tiles is what woke me up beforetime. I’ll write about that, for myself.

Now, I have a lousy memory for Real Life, and I’m a slow thinker; I need time to decide (which the world had never given me, but Steve always did). This process of rising tiles is new and novel. I’m guessing by this time in my life, there’s a warehouse full of the things, somewhere, filed according to their own peculiar rules. And I wonder if there’s a way to access them in an orderly fashion.

So! That’s what I’m thinking about on Monday morning.

What are you thinking about?

Today’s blog post brought to you by Mr. Paul Simon as interpreted by The Bangles, “Hazy Shade of Winter.”

Tali found an open window:

Cats and Steve; Snippet and Photos

SNIPPET: “Another good point,” Miri said. “You won’t get much singing out of Delm Korval. A right stuck-in-the-slush, like we say on my homeworld.”

Jen Sin sneezed.

Miri looked at him, head tilted. “Ain’t sickening, are you, Cousin?”

What went before ONE: Rook had been … puzzled, I felt, but taking his lead from Firefly.

Until I just now came home without Trooper, and there was no big brown cat waiting for me to open the door so he could Report, dammit!

We both just had a (damp on my part) cuddle.

No, kid, this is not the way things were.

What went before TWO: And that’s it for today. My brain just went “splotz.” One thousand one hundred seventeen new words written. Cookies need to be put away, windows need to be closed, and Coon Cat Happy Hour needs to be served up.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow.

Saturday, damp and dim. Going to be warmer than the last couple of days, say the ‘beans, and won’t that be a treat.

Slept for dern near 10 hours, straight through, and feel much more the thing this morning. I may even go to the opening of the after-hours vet studio.

Drinking my first cup of tea here at the keyboard. Breakfast will be a salad, on account I have salad stuff to use up.

Junior staff is actively looking for Trooper this morning. Rook registered a Formal Complaint, asserting that his contract specified a grandpa on-site. In fact, his contract lists the cats on-site when he arrived, notes that cats are known for moving on, and staff may change for a variety of reasons, list appended, but not inclusive. I pointed this out to him; he’s now talking it over with Tali.

In Steve’s office, among many other pictures, there are three of Steve, in a kind of a corner grouping. I will post the pictures below. One is of Steve before I knew him, holding a copy of a magazine he edited in college. One is of Steve a few months before I met him, taken by his lady friend at the time. The last is of Steve a few years ago, taken by his long-time partner.

Now, Steve had been married previously, to his high-school sweetheart. I have met her, not to say that I know her; she’s a smart, skilled, and interesting woman; well-traveled, and articulate. You’d like her. I do.

What I don’t like, particularly, is the young man with the magazine. Every time I look at that picture, which, given its location, is daily, I think, “Boy, am I glad you aren’t the Steve I met. It would have never worked.”

This is of course the Steve his sweetheart knew, married, and eventually left. And I confess that I’ve been guilty in the past of wondering how she could have left him. Murdered him, yeah; I’d’ve totally gotten that. But left him? When he was so smart, so creative, so ambitious, affectionate and protective; who had determination, and plans, and presence, and — who leaves that?

This morning as I sighed at the young man with the magazine and told the old guy leaning against the sign that I missed him — it finally and just now occurred to me that the things I saw as features were to his ex-wife bugs. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with all that … chaos, and a certain amount of adamantine in the nervous system to (sometimes) stand against quite so much willfulness, and quite so many plans. I didn’t always make a stand when I perhaps should have done. And — fair is fair — I sometimes got my way, when, perhaps, I shouldn’t have done.

So, my tea is gone, and I still need to put together my salad. Thank you all for listening to that.

What revelation(s) have you had recently?

You really know how to dance

What went before ONE: All righty, then.

Agway run completed. I did not buy plants. Yay, me. I did buy monofilament string — aka fishing line — so I can hang the ball I made at Corning in a sunny window where it belongs, instead of skulking on my bookshelf.

Hit the Hannaford, picked up my prescriptions, bought Fancy Feast Gravy Lover’s Pate, which is the preferred of the moment. Took the returnables to the redemption center. Caused consternation. Gassed up the car, so I don’t have to do it on Saturday. Apparently the Rusty Lantern/Irving at Webb Road isn’t supplying a means for its customers to clean off their windshields anymore, so I’ll be looking for a new gas station. Shame; that one’s really convenient.

What else? Oh, performed one’s duty to the cats, and took a walk.

It is now what time? Yes? Yes, you, right there in front. Ex — yes, say again, please for the guy in the back row who’s asleep?

It’s lunch time!

And then? It’s time to go to work.

poof

What went before TWO: I remember coming in to Albany more than a decade ago from an exceptionally long and fraught train trip which involved the train actually running out of food (long story; bad trip; it was years ago, and man did I learn to hate CSX), and Steve pulled us into the Cracker Barrel because we needed something to eat. I remember looking at the menu, then looking at Steve and saying, “There’s no food here.” “There’s chicken soup,” he said. “We’ll both have chicken soup, then we can go get some real food.” This was the first and only time I was in a Cracker Barrel.

Ah, memories…

Patched up what I wrote yesterday and put it in its rightful place within the WIP, which now weighs just about 65,420 words. Tomorrow, I need to sit down and plot out the next section, even though my brain wants to write the cool! action! scene! over there. I’ve gotta figure out how they got there, first, Brain. Gimme a break, hey?

Anyhow, knocking off early tonight to, yanno, hang away my clothes, write a couple of checks, and see if I can brainstorm not one, but two! titles. Brainstorms are considerably less fun with only one brain, in case that was a question anybody had.

So! Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Friday. Cloudy and cool. Thunderstorms are on the menu.

Last night at bedtime, I made it a point to find Rookie, who often spends the night on the box on Steve’s desk, and carry him with me to the bed, thinking that I would once again introduce this as an option. I put him down, and he lay exactly where and how I’d put him until I’d gotten under the covers, turned out the light, settled on my pillow and drifted off. When I drifted out, about two hours later, he had relocated to my other side, tunneled between my arm and my side, and was snoring. Also, Tali had taken over the prized spot on my ankle. I went back to sleep and woke up at 7, much refreshed.

Today cutting off cat toes is on my menu, and I managed to grab Rook as he was terrorizing his sister. I put him on my lap and began to clip his claws and he was So Good. He made no complaint, or any attempt to play Disappearing Leg, and started to purr when I flipped him over on is back to amputate his back toes. When we were finished, he just — stayed, purring his silly, puffy purr, until Tali walked by and then of course he had to jump down to see what she was doing.

I have finished my first cup of tea. Trooper has had a can of Fancy Feast. Breakfast will be something to do with the peach I bought yesterday, and when I took the stoopid sticky tag off, the skin tore. Lunch will be … something.

Towels are in the washer. In addition to the cutting of cat toes, the to-do list includes one’s duty to the cats, a walk, and plotting.

What’s on your to-do list for Friday?

Today’s blog post brought to you by The Romantics, “What I like about you”

Below, a picture of one of the Agway store cats, and a picture of Tali, who is apparently taking a covert ops course from the Rivers of London foxes.