Tag: life after the apocalypse

Egg rolls and embroidery

Wow. Thanks to everyone who sent birthday greetings. I can’t possibly answer each of you individually. Your wishes mean a great deal.

I had a pleasant, low-key kind of a day. In the morning, I sat in the comfy chair in my office in the sun and finished my embroidery project. I caught up with the character who refused to tell me her name and learned quite a lot about her, which of course meant that I had to rewrite a couple more scenes, but that’s OK! This is still the working draft; nothing is written in stone. Or even indelible ink.

I had stir-fried noodles and chicken, with egg rolls for lunch. I still have noodles left over, so that’s good.

The cats have been hanging with each other a lot today, largely congregating in Steve’s office. I’m assuming they’re doing some group work, and I let them have at it. Rook came by a couple times to check in, and Firefly and I did have a long chat about how being Boss Cat doesn’t mean she has to go it alone. I don’t know all the stuff that Trooper knew, because how could I? But I do know some stuff and have a lot of experience, so she’s not completely without backup. She seemed to feel better after our talk.

Tomorrow morning, I have a flu shot scheduled. By chance the pharmacy is in the grocery store, so I’ll be doing some shopping while I’m there. Then, I hope to come home and write some more.

Below are a few pics from the day, including the finished embroidery project.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in at some point tomorrow.

Closing Time, Wednesday

The lunchtime report: So, I did go back to the webform and threw in a non-inclusive bunch of titles, so the lawyers can have my contact information (thanks Judy Tarr!). First, and last on the day, load of laundry done; duty to the cats accomplished, walk taken.

Lunch will be baked chicken breast — I bought six last time at the grocery, so I’m baking three and have put three in the freezer — peas, and bread.

Have made minor tweaks and twitches at the WIP Itself, and brain has been chewing on other aspects while I do other things. I like it when I have mindless things that have to be accomplished (which would make you think I like dusting, and you would be wrong), so my brain can keep on cooking. When I had day-jobs, I used to love those big stupid collating jobs where you had to use a conference table to lay out all the pages and then just around and around and around, picking up a page at each stack until you got the end and put the collated pages down, and started back around the table. Ghod, I got a lot of writing done that way.

I currently have three coon cats in my office, and Trooper’s absence is palpable, even though, were he here, he’d be asleep in his box.

The windows are open now, the sun having come out and warmed things up nicely.

After lunch — more writing. Whee!

The evening report:  Trooper “came home” a few minutes ago. His box is back with the others. I hope I don’t have to add to that collection for a long, long time. In fact, I’d rather not add to it all.

Today’s work produced about 800 new words. I had to straighten out a couple of kinks in already-written scenes, in particular writing someone out of a scene that takes place before they actually arrive. For the next scene, I need to do some prep, such as researching the particulars of Scout Commander yos’Phelium’s Field Judgment on the matter of independent logics, which will take me to Coon Cat Happy Hour, so we’ll just call the WIP’s wordage as of today at +/-71,390.

Tomorrow is my birthday, as has been the case for the 72 years previous to this one. Since it is a day of mourning and reliving horrific events for a vast number of people, I will, as has become my habit, be limiting my presence online. For those who are curious about what I’ll be doing to celebrate my 73rd birthday; I will be writing. Maybe I’ll get wild and crazy and order in Chinese.

Everybody stay safe.

Destination, Bangor Maine

What went before: Sat with the WIP for a bit, added some words. Dissatisfied with the name of a new character, which isn’t the name they gave me — which is to say, they gave no name — but I felt like I had to call them something. So! I may be wrong about that. I’ll look again tomorrow, and if I’m still unhappy and they haven’t forked over, I’ll just do without for now.

Vividly I remember the pitched battle I fought with Rool Tiazan’s lady, me demanding a name; she informing me that hell would freeze over and Satan down with pneumonia before that would happen. I threatened to call her Bubbles. She laughed. And? She won. Tough cookie, Rool Tiazan’s lady. I don’t think this one is of that caliber — because, let’s face it, who is? Certainly not me — so it may be that I’ll be worthy of knowing their name after we’ve worked together for a couple chapters.

Scheduled a flu shot for Friday. They had openings for Thursday, but I draw the line at getting a vaccine on my birthday.

Need to do a couple more things before I go off to ply my needle.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Foggy and chill. I had to ask the heat pump in my office to provide heat to take the nip off.

Slept for almost 9 hours again. This seems to be an Emerging Theme — short sleep for however long it takes me to get so tired I’m staggering, then 9 hours of sleep, lather-rinse-repeat. I’m not a fan, but at this point I guess I’ll take what I can get.

The cat bowls have been refreshed, and the cats have each graciously taken a small mouthful, to indicate that they have noted and approve of this attention to their comfort.

Breakfast was a peach with a side of cottage cheese, and now I’m having a cookie for dessert, because what’s the point of making cookies if you don’t eat them? Lunch is a puzzler, but we’ll get there.

The big news in the world of writers and AI, which SFWA tried to get my attention for a couple days ago, but it took a friend writing to me to get me to look at my part of the thing again. . .

The Big News, I say, is that the Anthropic class action suit has moved to Another Level. The motion on the table includes up to a $3000 payment for each work scraped and used to “teach” the AI engines, and a guarantee to wipe their databases.

Though I fully expect this to be whittled down by lawyers to “arrogant non-apology and we’ll only use our databases for good as defined by our stockholders,” it does mean that I now have to become a specific member of the class — which means filing the titles of the scraped works that belong to me, via a webform, with the Attorneys on the side of Writers.

For fun, I went through the Atlantic Database of Stolen Properties (this is not its official name; just a little pet name I’ve given it) last night and! There are about 200 titles for Sharon Lee, and Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. Some of them are not us — not many. Some are duplicates — surprisingly few — though perhaps a few more, since so much of our stuff has been reissued in multiple editions.

The lawyers’ webform. Have I mentioned that it is very Slow?

Yeah. I wrote to the firm, asking if perhaps, given the sheer number of titles involved, I might be allowed to submit One Long List with all titles, ISBNs, publication date(s), and whatnot. Otherwise, it’s going to take, conservatively, 50 years to enter, and even with two of us on-board and able, it would have been a lot.

In other news, I have a load of laundry drying. I need to get the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, and do my duty to the cats, but aside that, and ignoring the To-Do List, what I really want to do is write, so I’m thinking I’ll be doing — wow. Every fire engine, battlewagon, and ambulance in town has just gone charging past the house. That’s exciting. . .

And now? It’s quiet. . . .too quiet.

Well.

What are you ignoring on the to-do list today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Mr. Roger Miller, “King of the Road.”

Cat Census:

There is moonlight and moss in the trees

What went before: Well, the day didn’t go exactly as I had planned. In addition to the chores on the list (The List), I needed to fix the toilet, which I did, go me. Then I sat down to drink my hot chocolate, and Rookie jumped in my lap just as I had put my mug aside and was getting up, and put me to sleep for 45 minutes — Trooper really worked with this kid — and then the Sleep Clinic, where I have a Stoopidly Early appointment tomorrow called to let me know that I have to bring in the whole machine tomorrow, not just the SD card (because their card reader’s broken, she said. I don’t ask questions, any more), and then I remembered that I wanted to buy a more reasonable thing to keep my earrings in, so I went over to Esty and bought myself a birthday present, and … Oh! Atlas Vet, where I attended the Open House on Saturday, called to tell me I had won a prize in the drawing! Ten percent off my first visit, if that happens within a year. So, yay, I won a prize.

I did write 996 words, not the scene I thought I was going to write, and had notes for and everything, and I’d complain, but it’s a good scene, so I may just call this The Book of Good Scenes, said book now weighing in at 70,600ish words.

Tomorrow, as mentioned, Stoopidly Early Appointment, after which I’m going to try to have breakfast at Governor’s, because I haven’t eaten out in … a while now, and we mustn’t lose the Social Graces. Tomorrow evening is needlework and in-between is chores.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow as can.

Tuesday. Sunny and crisp. Cool enough when I left the house that I wore my new jacket. Didn’t need it by the time I left Governors.

Trash and recycling at the curb.

Met a nurse in the elevator up to the sleep center, who informed me that this was a “Groot Day” which — good to know.

Turns out it’s not just the card readers that are down at MEGen, but the whole computer network, system-wide. So my NP was taking notes and writing down stats on a 3×3 yellow pad of sticky notes. I said that they ought to get her a reasonable notebook if she was busted back to pen and paper. They were pathetically pleased that I have the myAir ap, and could show them my stats on my phone (which! triggered a memory of when Steve and I first arrived in Maine and were looking for an apartment; having to go to the bank and change a twenty for quarters, then find a pay phone outside of the Kmart in Waterville, and work our way through the classifieds in the Sentinel. The past isn’t only a different country; it’s a different planet.)

The happy news is that my numbers were so good that I’m cleared to drive for three years. So that’s actually a relief, though I still have to visit the sleep folks annually, to prove that I’m maintaining.

Went to Governor’s, had an unhealthy breakfast of sausage gravy on biscuits, scrambled eggs, and homefries, because if you’re going to go the low road, you might as well go all the way.

Stopped at the post office on my way home, which I haven’t done in a while, then at Uncle Deans to buy some lavender, because I had none.

Home now, having been greeted by three out of a possible three coon cats, all of whom wanted to know where their gravy was; and now I need to get with my correspondence.

Not sure how much writing I’ll get done today, since it’s a short day. Here’s a SNIPPET from yesterday:

“Come here often?”

“As often as my lady allows.”

She sighed mournfully, shaking her head. “Married, is it? That’s too bad.”

“Now, I find it very agreeable.”

“Yeah? What’s she like, your lady?”

He smiled gently. “She is bold and brilliant; strong and subtle. I reverence and stand in awe of her – even when she is casting for compliments.”
#
How’s Tuesday looking in your piece of the world?

Today’s blog post title courtesy of The Eagles, “Seven Bridges Road.”

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?

Friday morning, with rain

Friday. Rainy and sticky.

Did not sleep well. What a surprise. The kids have twigged to the change of order, or at least the absence of the rock that was Grandpa. I’ve been Queried several times, starting with Tali pointing out to me that the prime spot tucked up against my right side in the bed that Trooper reserved for himself and no other was . . . empty. She was nervous, and licked her nose several times, but she did make the report.

I’m informed by Second in Command Firefly that the next step is a call to the Northeast Committee Cat, which will of course come to naught. I filled out The Form at the vet’s yesterday, and they do an upload to NEFU Headquarters every night. I understand that Firefly needs to make sure The Protocols are followed exactly, and I’m impressed that she’s taking resolute action.

To those who are concerned — Yes, Trooper is being cremated as himself and will some time next week come home in a cedar box that will seem much too small, to take his place on the shelf next to Scrabble, and Belle, and Sprite, and Steve.

In other news, breakfast was PB&J onna whole wheat English muffin. Lunch will probably be something I pick up at the store.

Sarah is due in to clean in a couple minutes, and I? Need to straighten up my desk and find my WIP notes from the other day. I may have a title. May. I’m not crazy about it, but it does fit. I’ve made a note and will check back in a week or two to see if it’s grown on me.

How’s everybody doing today?

Picture of Trooper from October 18, 2016. I wasn’t feeling well and had retired to the couch, to color. This is Trooper telling me that I’ve colored enough and needed to take a nap.

’tis a like task we are at

Today’s blog post title from “The Scholar and His Cat”

Thursday. Sunny and breezy.

The house is very quiet, and I’ve caught myself a dozen times looking up with a start, and wondering where Trooper was. This house is arranged so when I’m in the kitchen and turn my head, I can see the copilot’s chair and the section of my desk where the cat napping box is located.

For eight years (in this house), those two properties were occupied in a rotation worked out between themselves. by Sprite, Belle, or Trooper — sometimes two together in a single location. When Belle died, Sprite claimed the copilot’s chair most often, except when she was on duty for Steve. Lately, Trooper has more or less had his choice. The kids sometimes use the box, but the copilot’s chair was Trooper’s.

Seeing both spots empty is . . . yeah.

The house suffered this same feeling of yawning emptiness when Belle left us, and when Spite did. Big cats, with big, big personalities, who had their schedules and took their responsibilities seriously.

Today, following a brief huddle upon discovering that the box had come home, but Grandpa wasn’t in it, the kids have taken to nap spots that are not in my office. Each one has checked in with me at least once, So, that’s good; they know the gig; it’ll just take them a little while to ease into it. Firefly had the benefit of learning from Belle, Sprite, and Trooper — she’s as ready to be Top Cat as it’s possible to be. The other two — they’re good kittens, and I saw Trooper working with them. They’ll be fine.

Kelimcoons Sooper Trooper, December 15, 2009-September 4, 2025. He came on-board at the Lee-Miller Cat Farm and Confusion Factory on June 29, 2013. The final crossing was a sweet easing into sleep. By now, he’s been in Steve’s office at the new place for a good few hours, and is probably starting to ask when’s Happy Hour around here, anyway?

Picture below from October 27, 2013

Video from May 19, 2021

The evening report

Well.

I’ve finished putting together Civilized Behavior, including the front matter and the blurb. I haven’t compiled it yet. Weighing whether to make a call for tyop hunters before compiling. Probably the sensible way to go about it. So! Watch the Skies. In, yanno, an easygoing and relaxed sort of way.

A reprint opportunity came in this afternoon, so I did get that story out.

Checked my story cards, the previous Constellations, and pertinent contracts, then wrote to Madame the Agent, asking her to find if Baen might be interested in a sixth Constellation. There is one story still under Exclusivity, but that ends in November, and even if Baen wants another collection, there’s no way it will be out before November.

Trooper did not eat at Happy Hour.

Our appointment with the vet is at 8:15 tomorrow morning. They wanted us early, so it would be as quiet and peaceful as possible.

Referencing the above, I may or may not be around the internets much tomorrow. Thank you for your understanding.

Everybody stay safe.

Cat census from earlier in the day: