life after the apocalypse – Page 18

Rainy Day and Story Notes

Thursday. Rainy and cool.

Today, I believe, is going to include a sizeable chunk of time in the Comfy Chair in my office, with a pen, a pad of paper and various notes. Which is to say — working, today.

I will be baking a couple of chicken breasts, some of which will be for lunch today, the rest of which will be leftovers.

I have a note from the finance company assuring me that they are On The Case.

In all the Excitement attending the finance company shenanigans the other day, I forgot the Biggest! News! Users of electricity have been being promised for months now that our electricity bills Will Be going down next year, and a couple days ago I got a letter from CMP, assuring me that this happy news is true!

In fact, my monthly electric bill will be doing down by!

Four dollars.

Y’all, I can’t even buy a bottle of cheap wine for four bucks anymore.

I noted several people remarking on how small alpacas are, and indeed they are much shorter than their cousin, the llama. Breed standard calls for a compact animal, and one of yesterday’s companions of the road — Obadiah — is considered Too Tall, and for that defect, he will never know the joys of alpaca fatherhood.

All that said — I’m no longer six foot tall, but I’m still way taller than the so-called “average” American woman at five-foot-three-anna-half feet. Cory, who is closer to the average, but not what I would call short, had to reach UP to fasten Zander’s lead, and had to Speak Sternly to Obie, when he casually lifted his head, putting his nose beyond her reach, when she was trying to fasten the lead.

So — alpacas are compact, yes — but they’re not small. I would not, for instance, have wanted Zander to step on my foot.

Oh! And another question — this regarding the cat balls — Do the cats like them? Yes! In fact, these are the culmination of A Quest to replace the two (similar) cat balls that Rookie carried around with him and brought to me to throw for him, and, indeed, brought to his grandpa Trooper, to show him what a ball was. The original balls are doubtless in a safe place, because they are Treasure, but Rookie doesn’t really get the springs, though he’ll compete with Tali, because — Competition R Rook — and none of the other balls in the house are quite so perfect as those which have been banked.

So! All questions now being answered: What’re your plans for the day?

Walk like an alpaca…

So that was a full day.

First up — tour of the alpacas en masse. The last time I was at Northern Solstice Alpaca Farm, it was with Steve, who may have been trying to keep me amused post-mastectomy. The star stud at that point was Space Cowboy, who you will of course understand was of immediate interest to Steve. I’m sorry to have to report that Cowboy has since joined the Great Alpaca Herd in the Clouds. Alpacas in the US rarely live past +/- 12 years and Cowboy was 20. There are a couple of other elders at Northern Solstice Alpaca Farm; one young lady is rising 18 and two more are 17.

Alpacas do not like to be petted, though either Zander, my guide, didn’t get that memo, or pressing up against your walking partner, (when initiated by Zander), is OK. My purple hoodie, so Rook informs me, smells really interesting. As do my hiking boots.

Alpacas also do not like dogs. I’m told that the Number One Alpaca Predator is the domestic dog. At one point in our walk, Zander suddenly went on high alert, very deliberately bumped into me, and went still.

Turns out that a portion of the Hill-to-Sea Trail runs along the edge of the farm, and there were hikers on the trail, with their dog. Which was leashed. Zander and I waited a couple minutes in Complete Stillness, before I thought to tell him, very quietly, that dogs listen to me, that I don’t know why dogs listen to me, but they do — and that I had this for him. I pulled gently on the lead (as per instructions for If The Alpaca Stops), and we continued our stroll.

I also found out that, aside shearing, alpacas are not groomed, because grooming destroys the virtue of their wool. In fact, if a show alpaca arrives in the ring well-groomed and not dusted with hay, the judges take points off. The exact opposite of a cat show.

After our walk and another perambulation around the meadow, so that I could be properly introduced to everyone, I went on my way, deciding to stop at Augusta, which has two pet stores, and (unfortunately not, but so I believed when I set out) a TJ Maxx. At PetSmart I found Whisker City “It Drives Me Wild” soft fluffy balls — three on a card (pic below). These are crinkly, which the two that are somewhere in this house are not, but Rookie wishes me to let you know that they are Entirely Acceptable. I detached one from the card and threw it for him, and while he initially darted off with it down to Steve’s office, he soon brought it back to me so I could throw it again. We did this for, eh, six times, then he took it some where else.

After I found that TJ Maxx was gone, I went The Senator for my midday meal — crab cakes, rice, and broccoli — stopped at the Cony Street Hannaford for a minor grocery shop, and came home to find a call from the appliance store, letting me know that, nope, no dishwasher delivery next week, but the week after.

I don’t think that’s going to work out for Ray, who has another, more pressing, appointment coming up, but I’ll give him a call and see if he can recommend someone else.

And I think that’s all the news.

How’s everybody doing today?

Photo album here

Today’s blog post title comes with apologies to the Bangles, “Walk Like an Egyptian“

What I did on Earth Day 2026

Welcoming committee. This is a guinea hen, sometimes called a peahen

These are (some of) the lovely ladies of Northern Solstice Alpaca Farm

(l-r) Lysander (Zander, to his friends), Sharon, Obadiah (Obie). Pic taken by Cory, who is attached to Obie by the rainbow lead. Zander was my guide.

Working team, Zander and Sharon

(Some of) the gents:

It’s been a long week already

So, that was not how I was going to spend my morning.

In early March, I paid off the installation of the new French doors in Steve’s office. The check cleared. I foolishly thought that was that.

Until today, when I open a statement from the finance company which states that I owe them the full amount.

I call. The story at the finance company is that the check was “returned to maker” — IOW, it bounced.

I look at my account online. Nope; check cleared. However, there is a noted “returned” check for the same amount after the original check cleared.

I call the bank, which goes into their files, and says that it looks to them like the check cleared, THEN IT WAS SUBMITTED AGAIN — and the second submission bounced. As it should have done.

Call finance company back. Am told several times at length by the first line customer service person that the check bounced. Finally win a conversation with a “specialist,” with whom I go through the whole thing One! More! Time! including the fact that I have of copy of the cleared check with the finance company’s stamp on the back, and he creates a Ticket.

I’m to hear back from the Banking Experts in 48 to 72 hours. And I’m wondering if people can actually shake themselves into a decline.

Argh.

First cat fountain swapped. Guess I’d better go get on the second.
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And on the plus side of the ledger, dishwasher repair guy will be here “today.”

Guess I’d better rustle up some lunch.
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And Ray says the motor’s burned up. I have purchased on his advice, a Whirlpool which will hopefully be delivered sometime next week.

Argh.
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Home now from needlework, which I’m glad I just didn’t decide to stay home and brood.

Yanno what? I’m really looking forward to walking that alpaca tomorrow morning.

And on Tuesday…

Tuesday. Sunny and cold. Haven’t gotten the trash out yet, but I’ve got time.

There have been at least a dozen rescue vehicles going screaming down the road in the last ten minutes, all heading south, and now it’s quiet. Too quiet.

. . . yeah.

The book club met yesterday afternoon at Holy Cannoli and engaged in a wide-ranging discussion, some of it . . . and there goes another one, the second attack wagon I’ve seen . . . some of it, as I was saying, about Theo of Golden, which found a more appreciative audience among the other two-thirds of the gathered readers than it found with me. Next book: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles.

I finished formatting the Fey Duology yesterday. This does not mean it’s ready for release, but that it’s formatted. Formatting is a looooonnnngggg job, but not the only job. I’ll be getting back to the tasks remaining on the road to publication, eh. Thursday-ish.

Today? Is chores. I have two numbers for folks who fix dishwashers, so I’ll be making phone calls, and washing dishes, and changing out cat fountains. Also need to sit with Googlemaps and make sure I have my directions for Northern Solstice Alpaca Farm, since I’m not just going out for a ride, and happen to go by the alpacas, which is a handy place to pull over and take in the view.

This evening is craft group. Tomorrow morning, as above, the Great Alpaca-ing.

But, first? Breakfast. There must be something in this house for breakfast…

What did you have for breakfast?

For a fee, I’m happy to be

Sunday. Grey and damp, but not snowing yet.

This morning while taking my shower, I learned that Joan Jett had covered “Dirty Deeds,” which, had I taken a Moment’s Thought, I would have said, “Of course she did,” but there we are.

I am, let it be known, Very Fond of “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,” AC/DC, and here we find the fundamental problem with humankind. It’s a song about a hitman soliciting business, and assuring customer satisfaction through a variety of means. It is, in a word, a terrible song. And yet, yes — I do love it. Why do I love it?

Well. Beyond the fact that it is of course always a pleasure to hear someone who is happy in their work (I’m especially fond of the list at the very end of AC/DC’s version: “Concrete Shoes. Cyanide. Neckties. Contracts. High Mountains!”); it’s manic; and, so I choose to believe, meant to be a parody. Also, because it may remind me of home — gently raised as I was in a blue collar family in a violent, ugly, port city.

I also learned that I need to find a source for the particular fuzzy little balls that Rookie dotes on and then hides so effectively I can’t find any to throw for him, leading to Sadness of the Tiny, Abused Coon Cat variety.

And! I’ve also learned that my tea has brewed, and Firefly is waiting for me on the comfy chair.

What’s one of your favorite songs — and why?
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Had a lovely chat with Sean Hazlett for the Baen Free Radio Hour. We talked about Liaden Universe Constellation Six, Duainfey and Longeye, The Wire, and had a fine time.

Rook and Tali joined me for moral support, and even Google chimed in at one point, thinking, apparently, that I had asked it a question.

For the curious, it has not snowed, but the skies have opened several times to let St. Peter dump out his washtub.

I’m off for the rest of the day, I think.

Everybody stay safe.

Look at these guys; are they pros or what?

Today’s blog post title from, of course, AC/DC, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap“

Saturday at home

Well. Saturday. Damp and cooler.

My dishwasher may either be broken, or it’s current state of semi-functionality is an artifact of the water main work going on down the street. I checked the circuit box this morning, and started another cycle was this morning, but it’s not sounding good. I’m not hearing water moving in that box, which — at least it’s not leaking, amirite? So! I’ll be doing a dishwasher full of dishes by hand some time today. That’ll be fun.

It will also prepare me for doing my dishes by hand going forward, because a new dishwasher is so not in the budget.

What else?

Not much, I’m thinking.

Breakfast, I do believe, will be oatmeal, then I’m hitting the manuscript until lunch time, then dealing the domestic mini-crisis, then The! Studio!

A plan.

What’s your plan for the day?
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Saturday evening.

I am half-way through formatting The Fey Duology — which means I’ve finished with Longeye. Duainfey will go slower, not because it needs more work, but because I have a busy patch coming up.

Tomorrow afternoon, I have an interview scheduled. Sean Hazlett and I will be chatting about A Liaden Universe Constellation Volume 6, soon to be arriving in bookstores everywhere. Monday is a meeting of the book club, after our winter hiatus, Tuesday is of course needlework, and Wednesday is my date with an alpaca. None of these are all-encompassing, but they do mean I can’t just sit down for a bunch of hours at a stretch to do my job.

In preparation for Wednesday, I found my hiking boots. I was . . . somewhat taken aback to find that these are Rather New hiking boots. Hardly used, in fact. When I went into the closet, I had in my mind my old hiking boots, which memory now reminds me had been retired when the soles got too smooth for safety.

I’ve also done some research about how I should comport myself, so as not to offend alpaca-kind, and I now know not to wear strong scent, or noisy things (which means my keys will stay in the car, with the exception of the car fob itself, which will go into my pocket, instead of the three of them riding on a belt loop as per usual), or very bright colors. Wednesday is supposed to be cooler than it has been for the last few days, and I’m eyeing my dull purple hoodie, as most likely not to be missed in case I am spat upon.

I’ve also been informed that alpacas prefer to take the initiative, so I should not rush my walking companion on Wednesday, and that I should in no case try to pat an alpaca on the head.

I finished grinding my glass pieces, and this evening I will consult my book to refresh myself on foiling.

I put out a call on the Waterville Facebook page, seeking someone competent to repair a dishwasher, in case there’s an easy fix.

I did, for the curious, wash the dishes that were in the dishwasher, which was oddly calming.

I think that catches us all up.

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

Ah. The second daffodil of spring. I note that the Weatherbeans are calling for snow tomorrow.

Proof of Spring

Friday. Cloudy, damp, temps forecast to rise into the mid-60sF.

A thunderstorm rolled into town at bedtime last night. I got up from the couch, moved to the comfy chair in my office, opened the curtains, cracked one of the windows, and watched the storm for an hour. We don’t get nearly enough thunderstorms at this location, so we need to celebrate those we do get.

House has been picked up and Sarah’s due in at 9ish. I’m about to retreat to Steve’s office and start working on getting the Fey Duology ready for prime time.

What’re you doing today?

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Out to the post office and back. Lunch prepared and et. I have done some research and it may be — that is may be — possible to offer a softcover edition of the Fey Duology through Draft2Digital that does not involve Amazon’s marketing arm. I’ve always found D2D … kinder than Amazon. I will continue exploring.

Perusing the reviews for Duainfey and Longeye (I’m looking for a — one — glowingish professional pull quote, and it’s being tough going — I’m again struck by things like the reviewer complaining about made-up words, and I’ve gotten the distinct feeling that some had decided what the books were going to be about, and then were thrown off by them being, err, different.

There are also the odd reviewers who remark — back to back — on the fact that the two books have different voices (yes? this would be why there were two books), and complaining that they were forced to buy two books when a “rigorous editing” could have pared the entire tale into one book.

And then there are the reviewers who found Our Heroine Useless and Too Stupid to Live because she managed to survive a completely alien situation, learn the workings of said alien situation, make her way through trauma and fear back to love and morality — a lengthy road that I believe rightly passes through Anger. Those folks remind me of the people who found it Unbelievable that a woman as brilliant as Aelliana Caylon was “supposed to be” would have allowed herself to be abused.

That said, I’ve been sitting for some time with the problem of how I’m going to survive, going forward, especially as a writer, because I can’t simply just bear down and do everything that both of us did (ref Useless and Too Stupid to Live, above) without becoming a Rolanni-sized ember. Sarah’s visit this morning illuminated my situation. When I needed help cleaning the house, I hired somebody to help me. When it became clear that I couldn’t cope with the website that Steve had maintained, I hired somebody to help me.

So, it will be no shame to hire somebody to help me with PR, and possibly other administrative tasks, so I can write, meet my deadlines, interact with my readers, and Have A Life. You wouldn’t have thought that coming to this realizaton would have taken this long, but here we are.

It’s a pretty day outside. I have all the windows that will open, opened, and now it’s time to go back to Steve’s office and format me some more manuscript.
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So! I’m a third of the way through the Easy Part of the job. Tomorrow I may not be so speedy, as I do fully intend to spend at least an hour in The! Studio! with my glasswork.

Fans of Rookie will be interested to know that he conned me out of a tidbit of hardboiled egg at lunchtime and snabbled it right down.

Tali, offered her own bit of egg was — confused.

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

Proof of spring:

And she’ll tell you she’s an orphan

And I have finished reading Longeye.

I’m so angry, I’m weeping.

There is nothing wrong with these books, and I refuse to put a trigger warning on them that says, What? These are so well-written that they may make you feel that over-riding someone’s will is wrong?

Weren’t we just having a conversation about how wrong it is to subjugate another person?

I’m going to go break things, now.
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This is the cover art for the e-omnibus including the reprints of Duainfey and Longeye, with an Explanatory Foreword from the surviving author. This e-omnibus will be coming out from Pinbeam Books (aka, the Sharon Lee & Steve Miller Publishing Empire) RealSoonNow. I’ll tell you when.

I went back through the professional reviews for Duainfey and Longeye, and am kind of struck by the confusion of the reviewers — even the reviewers who liked them. It reminds me in a way of the reviews for Ondine (which I adore, predictably), in which the biggest complaint was that the filmmakers “couldn’t decide” if they wanted to tell a fantasy or a present day story. When in fact what the filmmakers did (I have no idea, obviously, if they intended this) very well was to juxtapose fantasy and present day, which I think? is pretty common, and I never did figure out why none of the pros could figure that out.

Anyhoots! I have a cover for The Fey Duology (including Duainfey and Longeye in one! convenient! package!), and now all I have to do now is edit the manuscript, reformat it 18 times, write cover copy, and a preface, and all like that. As before, I don’t dare try to sell this through Amazon, because I really can’t depend on them understanding stuff like “rights reverted,” and “I wrote them.” Amazon has had trouble with these concepts before, and I can’t risk the dozens of Pinbeam Books books that are already on sale at Amazon for one title.

And now! I need to go do my duty to the cats.

Blog title . . . Yeah, still with The Black Crowes. Been that kind of a day.

The pain gonna make everything all right

Thursday?

. . . let’s go with Thursday. Damp and cool, but by no means cold.

Breakfast was rice crackers, cream cheese, and grapes. Lunch will probably be fried potatoes and onions and a protein to be named later. The to-do list is everything I didn’t do yesterday.

I am three-quarters of the way through Longeye and There. Is. Not. ONE. THING. Wrong. with these books. I’m actually quite angry with the people who made me ashamed of my own work and very nearly caused me to abandon my art. And while Steve said all the right things — one of Steve’s many talents lying in the direction of selling sno cones to penguins. At a profit. — I doubt he would have given up writing, and I’m not sure the partnership would have survived my withdrawal.

Side story: We had friends who were musicians, a duo, who played gigs in the neighborhood. One day, one of the duo called and asked to meet us for a drink; she had something she wanted to talk out. So, we met her, and it turned out that she had met another musician whose art ignited her own in a way that playing with the other half of the current duo, also her partner, did not. She really wanted to play with this other person, and expand her art. I can still hear the raw anguish in her voice when she said, “And the problem is, I never made a distinction between being with [partner], and playing with [partner].”

Sometime after that, the original duo vanished from the local scene, and we heard, eventually, that they had split and she had left the area.
The moral of this story being that the partnership Steve and I shared was fluid, and informed everything we did. I lost track of how many times we were asked: “You’re married? And you write together? How does that even work?” It worked because we were together.

*deep breath*

Going back to the Fey Duology — I will, indeed, be reissuing these books. Proudly reissuing these books. Under our names.

And now? I b’lieve it’s time to go to work.

How’s everybody doing?

Today’s blog post title comes courtesy of The Black Crowes, “She talks to angels“