let’s do the Time Warp – Page 2

Nope, still a ways to go

So! I found somebody to install the dishwasher when it arrives (actually, the day after it arrives). I had thought that part was going to be the most difficult, after the whole banking mess, but — a pleasant surprise.

The tech from Andersen who was supposed to be here by 12 and then by 1:30 has yet to arrive. He did call when he realized he was running late, so I was able to have lunch.

The laundry is almost finished, and Firefly is sleeping in the comfy chair in my office. Tali and Rook came out to shark at lunchtime, but I think they’ve gone back to Steve’s office.

On the Writing Side of Things, my plan is to finish getting The Fey Duology ready to rock ‘n roll, catch myself up on the Liaden Read Along commentary, and read the Jethri books as a lump.

The last is in service of ensuring that This Idea I Had to finish up that sub-series will actually square with what’s already canon.

This means, yes, I’ll be — adjusting — the order of my complete reread of the Liaden books, but needs must, and at least I’ll still be reading in-Universe.
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On Facebook, someone commented that I had clearly always been a cat, which gave rise to this memory:

You may be on to something. The first time Steve and I went together into a neighborhood strange to both of us, we had barely gotten out of the car when two cats came charging down the street, tails high, ran right up to Steve and started slamming themselves against his knees. He knelt down, administered ear scrubbles, then kinda looked up at me, half-smiling (I might have been staring), and said, “Yeah. Cats like me.”
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So, today didn’t quite work out like I expected, but! Tomorrow’s decks are clear, so I can hop right into The Fey Duology.

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

Cultural Genetics

Monday. Cloudy and damp. Bed’s been stripped, towels are drying, eggs on to be boiled hard, submitted news of LUC6’s imminent publication to MWPA’s newsletter. Sea Shanties streaming. Apparently the week’s theme is Sea Shanties.

Waiting for a friend to come by and pick up a thing, after which I b’lieve I’ll wander out into the day and perform this list of errands.

Many thanks to all (on FB) who weighed in on yesterday’s discussions regarding cultural relativity.

I’m a little past the half-way point in Duainfey. Altimere’s invention has been proved, and I haven’t seen any porn yet. I do see that we were very subtle on the SF underpinings, which is to say, I knew it was a First Contact novel, and Steve knew it was a First Contact novel, but we might’ve been the only ones. Though one of course must feel for poor Charlie Mason, taken up by the Purity League for building his steam carriage. Also, Points to the authors for that very telling discussion of duty in which Altimere likens his care for Becca to her care for her horse.

What else? Not much. Oh. I’m feeling some sharper today, which tells me that not only is writing a book much more wearing using only one brain, but recovery takes longer. Information, I suppose.

How’s everybody holding up?

One of the other things roused up out of muck at the bottom of my brain relative to yesterday’s conversation — there had used to be what were called “racy” or “naughty” novels. The Night Life of the Gods by Thorne Smith is my benchmark “naughty” novel, though Topper will do in a pinch (I adore Topper; I’d read it again, if I wasn’t afraid the book will fall apart on me). It seems to me that there are no more “naughty” novels, though I’d be pleased to be proved wrong (titles, anybody?), that we have various kinds of Romances — sweet, sexy, hot, and so on — and of course we have porn, but nothing that’s just … bawdily flirtatious.

Someone in yesterday’s discussions mentioned Nick and Nora Charles, who were more flirtatious than naughty; they teased each other: elegantly, wittily, playfully, sexually. It was play, and illustrated that they each felt safe in their partnership and with each other.

One of the things that continually startles me, in my Brave New World, is how carefree (“carefree” meaning “free of care”) and playful I was able to feel, knowing that I had backup, and genuine affection in my life.

Anyhoots! The eggs are cooling, and I need to get the towels out of the dryer.

Philosophizing with Firefly

Sunday. Sunny and going to be warmer than yesterday, say the ‘beans, but it ain’t there yet.

Firefly and I had a very serious conversation about reset keys and how, no, no one has found a reset key, though not, I imagine, for lack of trying. That means that, no, we can’t get Trooper, or Sprite, or Steve, or Belle back, but that we have Rook and Tali, and while that’s not the same, it’s not necessarily bad.

She’s thinking about it.

Breakfast was flat egg on toast with cheddar cheese slices, followed by a dried pineapple ring, because I was Weak when I was at the co-op the other day, and bought a bag of dried pineapple rings.

Lunch . . . I’m thinking fish — haven’t had fish in a while again — and whatever I’ve got in the freezer for veggies. Peas, maybe.

Today is mostly going to be chores. I’ve done the dishes, and now I need to go sort the laundry and get that started. Also, while I was cleaning off my desk, I found orders to visit the Vampyres, um, a couple weeks ago. So! Vamps tomorrow afternoon, or, yanno, Tuesday morning. They’ve waited this long, they can wait a day longer.

And that’s what I’ve got this early in the day.

How’re you doing?

Tali helped me write this blog post:

Crystal Soldier and Fey History

Tuesday. Sunny and still cool. Trash and recycling are at the curb.

Today is Straighten Up The Office Day followed by an hour with the crafters at the library.

I am reading Crystal Soldier for the first time in 20 years and I am glued to the page. Good Ghod, what a great story! The characters are awesome! The world building is great and so far, at about the halfway point, I have no complaints at all.

I was thinking that I would skip the Crystal books, because so very many people have disliked them. Not nearly as many people as disliked the Fey Duology, and not approaching the level of vitriol, but still — a lot of people really, really disliked these books, and they were not shy of saying so.

I go on record now as saying the critics are wrong.

Firefly is being keeping very close, and is taking every opportunity to climb on my lap to purr and knead and head butt. Her tail is back to normal, and I?

Need to go find breakfast.

How’s everybody doing today?
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A Brief History of the Fey Duology

Back in the early 2000s, Steve and I were writing Liaden books for Meisha Merlin and having a pretty good time, except that our paychecks were getting more irregular than we liked. We talked to our agent, who shared the Industry Wisdom that most writers did not put all of their eggs into one literary basket, but branched out, starting one, or even two, other series, under a (or several) pen names. They key was not to compete with yourself, because the intention of the secondary line was to smooth out the cashflow, not to supplant the primary work.

So, we brainstormed, we three, and we came up with an idea that was Nothing At All like Liad (saving a Regency-like setting for the human settlers), a Deeply Dark SF-grounded Fantasy which would be marketed under a pseudonym.

It was a good plan, and it might even have worked.

Except Other Events Overtook Meisha Merlin, and we were not only out of a job, but we were out a $ignificant amount of Back Royalties Owed. The sequel to The Tomorrow Log was a victim of this cataclysm. Fledgling-on-the-web was a benefit. Sharon re-entered the mundane world and took up the melant’i of departmental secretary at the local Little Ivy.

For a Period of Time, we didn’t know if we would retain our rights in the Liaden Universe, or if they would become part of the assets of Meisha Merlin sold to satisfy its creditors.

Our agent therefore had one thing in hand to try to sell for us, so that our cats wouldn’t have to go live under a bridge — the proposal for two dark “fantasies.”

And — all honor to her — she sold them. To Baen. Under the condition that they be published under the Lee and Miller byline.

Money talks. We took the deal. We shouldn’t have taken the deal, but we were, frankly, afraid. I don’t wish to paint Baen as a villain; in fact, they threw us a much-needed lifeline, and the fact that we’ve been publishing with them since 2008 tells its own tale.

But the Fey books — written against, as you might say, the Liaden books — the reaction to those books nearly finished me as a writer. Wow, did people hate those books, and they wrote to us, and they were Betrayed, and Horrified, and one woman said she had Thrown Away all of her Liaden books and — my ghod, what a mess.

And I was still working as a secretary at the college. Not my finest hour.

But! A happy ending. Meisha Merlin returned the copyrights to all of its authors; we resold ours to Baen, who, as I mentioned above, we’ve been working with ever since.

And we never tried to establish a second series again.

So you want to be a writer…

So, where are we? Ah. Friday. Cloudy and colder than the last couple days. Haircut scheduled for this afternoon; before that, more reading of Kin Right.

Drafted “Melant’i Refresher for Terrans” to go into the front of Kin Right, pointing to the Cast of Characters in the back. Was reminded in so doing about the dog who was our outfielder back when I was eight or so and playing pick-up baseball at the local rec center. We couldn’t keep the dog off the field, so we made him The Outfielder. He fielded for both sides instead of batting. Helluva outfielder, that dog.

What else?

Rookie got locked in the bedroom closet, and missed breakfast. He’s making up for that now.

I think that’s all I’ve got, really. The Exciting Life of a Writer, ayuh.

What’re you doing that’s exciting today?
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Tali helping me edit in the Command Chair

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So, Kathy talked me out of a buzz cut. After the new ‘do, I walked over to Holy Cannoli and bought two lemon-blueberry ricotta cheese cookies — one just eaten with a mug of tea, and one for tomorrow. I really ought to learn how to make ricotta cheese cookies. Or, yanno, maybe safer not to.

Rook is sleeping in the copilot’s chair at my desk (as different from Steve’s desk), while I take my first stab at a list of characters for Kin Right. This? Is going to be An Undertaking.

Next book, I swear — one character and nothing happens to them.

I have about 100 pages to read in Kin Right, then 200 pages to enter correx into, then finishing up with the cast of characters and so on. The end, as the saying goes, is in sight.

I’m a little less than half-way through Theo of Golden, and the next meeting of the book club is April 20. I did finish reading Balance of Trade, and I’m going to have to take a step back and given some thought to my reading strategy here. If I’m going to be re-issuing the fey books, I’m going to need to read them, so I may have to break off the Liaden read-through for that. In the meantime, books I preordered last year when I foresaw oodles of time to read — are starting to download.

Whee…

Well. It’s good to have things to do, amirite?

New haircut:

She’s all that I have left, and Music is her name…

Thursday morning, quickly. Warm and looking for precipitation of an Undecided Configuration.

Firefly and I had a Very Serious Talk while we enjoyed the Happy Lite, and find ourselves as one on every topic of importance.

Breakfast was oatmeal with semi-sweet chips and almond butter. Lunch will be a garnet yam. In-between will be entering corrections to Kin Right. I’m about half-done with the narrative, after, I need to write a Thing and also the cast of characters. Then? It will be free to leave the building.

One of the things I intend to do, once Kin Right has gone on to its next stop on the publication trail is to reissue the Fey Duology as an electronic omnibus. At the moment, I am leaning toward making it available through Baen only, for completeists. It can’t go up on Amazon, because I can’t cope with the grief they will give me regarding my ownership of the content. Such discussion always made more enjoyable by the off-stage threat that Amazon will delete all of my content if its AI or whoever’s answering the phone today decides that I’m lying.

Sigh. Thus, the Brave New World.

And a phone call! The computer repair shop reports that my printer is fixed and ready to come home. Two hours on the bench; $100. Bargain.

But now? I need to get another cup of tea, Tali having just inspected the mug on my desk and pronouncing the beverage icky — and go make corrections in a manuscript.

What’s happening with you today?
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And! Correx entered. Printer home, where it immediately found and log itself into the home network and printed me a lovely copy of the printer for LUC6.

Well worth $100.

Now to chop up onions and get lunch cooking.
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I used to adore the internet, back in the day before it became a hellhole.

That is all.
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Brought to the top because apparently I needed to say this. In re the internet, and Miller and Lee.

The green-screens were Da Pits, but the connectivity was mind-blowing. We were part of the early BBS networks in the mid-1980s, before we moved to Maine, which was about people connecting with people. Then when we came to Maine, in 1988, and found out there were nothing like it in our part of Maine, Steve got so offended he built Circular Logic, which became one of the biggest and most sophisticated bulletin board systems in the state, (this is still prior to the W(orld) W(ide) W(eb)), which is how we got hooked up with I-want-to-say-Usenet — EDITED TO ADD: FIDOnet — the listserv that went ’round the world, and arrived at Circular Logic at about 2 am every day, and had to be uploaded to the conversation section of the BBS, so people who were talking to their friends in Australia would get their answer in a timely manner, which is how we eventually got connected to Pardoz, who set up the very first Liaden Interest thread that went ’round the world, and so the Friends of Liad were born.

Steve had actually been on … bah. ARPANET? when he was doing online cataloging at University of Maryland, before I met him, in the late 1970s.

Well. Sorry about that. Guess my fingers needed exercise.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Crosby, Stills, and Nash, “Southern Cross“

The Mating Dance

Tuesday. Sunny and pretty dern cold. Trash and recycling are at the curb. The chickadees and the titmice that dined with us yesterday told their friends down at the bar and this morning we also have cardinals and mourning doves. I haven’t seen any other interest, but I fear mine will have to be a pop-up diner.

Breakfast was stir-fried leftover veggies and rice. After I finished stir-frying, I removed the veggies to my bowl, cracked an egg into the frying pan, scrambled it around and added it to the bowl. Worked out well. Lunch will be soup today (yesterday, I decided on fish and the veggies of which I had leftovers this morning).

I really should leap right into the taxes, but — when I was sitting with the Happy Lite this morning with Firefly on my knees, I read an article about marriage proposals and how they remain the last stage for the Grand Gesture in Romance (which is not true, actually, unless no one’s doing epic weddings anymore?) — the man down on his knees, his intended shocked, and charmed, and if she hadn’t been exactly in love, this Lovely Gesture is the final nudge, because of course one must say yes! And how you film it and post it on Insta for all your friends to see. And how they’re getting more and more over the top, because nothing says “I love you” like putting somebody into a spot where they don’t dare spoil the spectacle.

Trés romantique.

I, of course, never intended to get married, and nor did Steve, having done that once and found it not to his taste. We did have, as I may have said once or twice, an instant connection, and I was prepared to share a household and cats with him forever, because we worked, snapped into each other like Legos. We decided to marry as a practicality, to ensure that, if I fell ill (again), I would be assured of someone who actually cared about what happened to me out there taking care of the details.

When I did fall ill, I couldn’t even talk to Steve at his temp-agency job to tell him where I was, because I wasn’t his wife. The receptionist at the agency did take a message, though.

I will pass lightly over the Utter Horror that I felt, sick, so very sick, when my mother walked into my hospital room.

The agency got my message to Steve, and he did eventually arrive. At which point my mother did one of the most humane things she had ever done for me. She told the doctor, “He’ll take care of whatever you need.” — and left.

When things were less fraught, and I was recovered, Steve and I talked this event over, and I said, “I don’t ever want that happen again. Do we need to go to a lawyer and get something written up to say that you’ll speak for me?” And he said, “Let me think about it.”

A couple days later, when I came home from work, he poured me a glass of wine, and handed me a carved wooden box.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Open it,” he said.

So I did.

Old brains for new

The Long Back Yard. For those who don’t know why I do this: The daily picture of the Long Back Yard is what the Long Back Yard looks like when I wake up. Yesterday’s picture was not a photographic or an uploading error. Thank you.

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Something a little different — Steve Miller and Sharon Lee signing Plan B at Mr. Paperback in Skowhegan Maine in 1999.

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All righty, then! That was Monday.

1,830ish new words written; the WIP now stands at 127,250ish. I have eight scenes left to write, and I know what they are and I just want to keep on going, but — why do brains get tired? Definite design flaw. I want a refund. I had used to want a new brain, but I’ve finally figured out how to (mostly) work with this one.

Tomorrow? There will be no writing. I have A List.

pulls list out of sleeve
AHEM
1 Take trash and recycling to curb
2 7:45 go to PT
3 Go to grocery
3a Stop home and put groceries away
4 Go to Augusta
4a,b,c Run a stack of errands that have piled up since last week
5 Come home
5a Eat something
6 Go to needlework
7 Come home and faceplant

Wednesday through Sunday, however, I got nothing. Fingers crossed that I will be able to type a provisional –end– by Sunday night.

Re: being tired of a book in progress: Writing a book is an enormous undertaking; a stupidly complex project that takes way too long (NOTE: I do not speak here for the people who write 58 books a year and laugh while they do it. I am not them.). As with any other large, complex project, like, say, building a boat, there are times in the process when you just wanna throw your hammer out the window and walk away. Not because you think what you’re building is useless or dreadful (though there are those moments, too), but just because it’s taking So. Damned. Long.

Writers have a far different relationship with their books than readers do, starting with the disparity in the time it takes to write a book and the time it takes to read that same book.

And that’s Monday at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

How’d everybody’s day go?

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.

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*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