Proof of Life. Writing this morning, movie this afternoon. Movie is Hadestown.
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So that’s 1,085ish new words for a WIP total of 31,220ish.
Someone asked the other day if Trade Lanes had “ever been written.” I’m writing it now.
Now to do my duty the cats, call for a haircut, catch-up the blogs, and see about a pre-movie snack.
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Came around the corner to find that Rookie has made an art installation.
Saturday. Sunny and not quite so hot as previous days.
I’m trying to up my daily word count, at least for this bit right here, where I really feel like I know all of our old friends Who, What, Where, and Why. So! The goal is 1,000 words for each writing session.
I do have some more Writer’s Days Off upcoming. Monday or Tuesday, for instance, I wish to visit the lavender farm in Appleton. And on Saturday, the boat tour of the Messalonskee I signed up for in Coldest January, will finally take place. Also, there’s the gem show in Oxford on Sunday. Which is almost looking like Too Much Fun, but! Summer is short and Winter is long.
Speaking of word count, today’s efforts produced 1,098 new words, for a WIP total of 22,110. Ish.
After lunch, which is up realsoonnow, I need to change out the cat fountains, feed the cats, scoop the boxes, and do some bookkeeping. A Theme!
Tomorrow, I may be able to return to writing after lunch, if I’m very ambitious this afternoon.
So! box lunch out of the freezer today. Yesterday’s hot dog from FiveGuys hit the spot, and the vanilla milkshake, too, so I should be good on the radioactive poison front for the next few months.
The cats all joined me in Steve’s office for my writing session, and they’re all still there, napping in sun puddles, and living their best lives. Or so I hope.
How’re you doing today?
What went before — Tuesday: Saw Disclosure Day.
I have … mixed feelings.
On the one hand — looks pretty, gets on its bike and rides, and — granting that I have no idea what it means — the actors did a good job. And a plea for empathy is always in order, especially now, when empathy — Well. Paraphrasing Gabriel in Good Omens 2: If we have empathy, how will we know who won?
There are two Steven Spielberg movies that have been benchmarks of their kind for me, since forever: one was ET, the other was Close Encounters.
I really liked ET even knowing at the time that the storyteller entertained a vastly more positive view of humanity than I did.
Close Encounters? Made me nuts on so many levels.
Disclosure Day sits in the middle — ET‘s earnest belief that innocence and goodwill shall triump; and Close Encounters’ Imma scrape every nerve you have and leave you shaking with rage.
There was some good storytelling, and some o-so-stupid storytelling born of sheer wishful thinking on the part of the storyteller.
On the plus side, a bit of the movie was set in Sykesville Maryland, which happens to be in my old neighborhood. “Silver Spring 20 miles.”
Gotta go get something to eat.
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Man, the car’s GPS hates Bath. I dunno, maybe it gets its brains scrambled by all the noise and metal and whatnot at the Iron Works.
I’m somewhat chagrined to find that, after a lifetime of people asking me if my blood pressure was always this low? It’s now high enough to require drugs — lisinopril, which Steve took, though a lesser dose, because it was treating a different condition.
I did have a very pleasant drive coming and going, down Rte 197 and thoseways along rivers and past lakes, through a pretty day with a blue sky. I did stop at the Maine Maritime Museum and took a stroll around the grounds to both soothe my temper (ref uneasy relationship between GPS and Bath), and enjoy the day before driving home.
Chores have been done, and I’m getting ready to knock off for the day.
And tomorrow — I write.
How’s everybody doing?
And back from Wal*Mart, where I’m becoming a regular, and Washville, where ditto.
Bought the cats ping-pong balls, a scraper, 3M sticky tabs, rubbing alcohol, popcorn (it’s been, um, years since I had popcorn), puzzle stickem sheets, fusing material for an embroidery project, and some gel pens, because gel pens travel easier in a pocket or purse than an ink pen.
Came home and used the scraper, alcohol, and sticky tabs to re-affix the dashcam to the windshield. It decided to fall off while I was at the ocean, happily before I put the car in gear, and has refused all attempts to restick it. I’m not entirely sure that the sticky tabs I bought are up to Conditions, but! we can only try.
The cats greeted me at the door and are now hanging around the desk — apparently somebody put out the rumor that I would feed them when I got home, rather than after got home.
Maybe I’ll apply stickem to the back of my puzzle until it actually is time for Happy Hour. There’s a plan.
Everybody stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.
So, I did well, today.
… I don’t say — or feel — that very often, so maybe a repeat is in order.
I was betrayed slightly by the internet, which had led me to believe that the Free Street Parking Lot was (1) convenient to the art museum, which it may have been in Portland terms, but I don’t have that vernacular, and (2) easy to use. That? Was An Untruth. When you enter the garage (note: garage, not lot), you’re given the choice of inserting a credit card (I was unprepared; credit card in back pocket) or taking a ticket. I took a ticket, which I have done many times before in my life, if not in this location, only — this ticket says: TEXT TO PAY, and gives a phone number.
I freak. On the other hand, I was already in the damned garage, so I managed to back-burner the freak out, to be revisited after I had toured the museum.
The Conveniently Located Museum.
So, I used the axe murderer’s elevator to get from the 5th level to Free Street, and queued up my phone so it could lead me to the museum.
Only, the phone had lost its mind, and wanted to send me in a nice circle, which even I knew better than, also, I kept assuring myself that my goal was “conveniently located.”
I wandered for a bit, the phone sporadically sending me even crazier messages — No, I did not want to go to the Boston Museum of Art — and I was about to give up on the whole scary deal, when I saw, just ahead, two middle-aged couples having what sounded like an agreeable and normal conversation. I approached, said “Excuse me,” and asked if they knew where the art museum was. One of the men gave me very kind and concise instructions — “You’re good, really. Just keep on up the hill on this side, Don’t cross the Big Street, and you literally can’t miss it.”
And he was right.
The Portland Museum of Art is a very nice little city museum, and a pleasant way to spend three-ish hours of a too-hot-even-at-the-beach day. My brain tried to engage me in dithering about the car, but I managed to concentrate on the art, and had a lovely time.
I even got to be That Patron.
I was watching a documentary done by a photographer who was discussing the reasons for altering a photograph. In this case, he had taken a picture of autumn-red trees, then deepened the reds and limned the trees with gold, evoking Autumn, The Season on Fire. And the reason he did this — mind you, what he’s saying is also running along the bottom of the screen, so I’m reading, because — words! — and he said that he had taken this artistic decision because he wanted to bring attention to the fact that woodlands in Maine are so often — he said “razed” and the word on the screen was “raised” — a classic case of two words that sound alike and mean the exact opposite of each other — in order to create farms. (This is an interesting mirror to something a forest ranger said to me, years ago, that the forests of Maine are a graveyard of farms; that you can walk twenty miles in, and literally trip over a stone wall.)
Back to the museum and the subtitles.
I explained the problem re “razed”/”raised” to floor security, who sent me down to the desk. The person there had me write a note to the Curators, and attached my card to it.
I do hope they fix this. Otherwise, people who depend on the captions are going to have a very odd idea of where farms come from.
Ate lunch at the museum cafeteria, bought some cards, and left just as the entire graduating class of Wherever descended en masse.
Walked down Free Street, took the axe murderer’s elevator to the 5th level, got in car, called the other number on the ticket and explained to the young man who answered where I was and that I was old and had no idea how to text money anywhere. He was very kind and patient, and it turned out that, if I showed my ticket to the scanner at the exit kiosk, it would let me pay with a credit card. Also, he reassured me, there was a panic button right on that kiosk, so if something went wrong, I should just push it to be reconnected to him, and he’d be pleased to help me out.
I didn’t have to hit the panic button, and home I came, stopping for chocolate raspberry ice cream on the way.
One of the exhibits at the museum was called Precious, which talked about the difference between “fine” art and the common sort of everyday, and useful art that people make — marbles, jewelry, glassware, pottery. It’s a topic of some interest to me, as I contemplate my lifetime collection of … Things. I had cried for 20 minutes one day when I realized that nobody was gong to love that jar full of glass marbles I’d collected over 60 years, and they’d end up in a dumpster.
Anyhow, visitors to the Precious room are challenged to pick a piece of art from the exhibit that spoke to them and write a poem. I chose People Like Us and here is my poem:
People like us
hold small treasures
against large fears.
Business First: Draft2Digital this evening has let me know that The Fey Duology is available from Kobo.
. . . and, indeed, it is listed here
No, I have no idea what’s going on
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Today, in my capacity as General Factotum and Cat Mom, I have retrieved from under the bed and the bureau, thirteen springs and one floofy pink ball.
I went to Marden’s and purchased half-a-yard of material that I hope will form the basis of a future embroidery project. I also topped off the gas tank, and stopped at Hannaford for a smol run of supplies — wherein lies a tale.
One of the things in my smol run of groceries was a plastic cup of grapes, so-called KidSnaks. As I was putting my stuff on to the conveyor at the cashier’s station, the cup of grapes staged a Thrilling EScape, darting from the cart to the floor, where the cup exploded and grapes went everywhere.
Surprisingly enough, I did not swear. But I did say, “Well, there’s a tragedy,” as I creakily began to bend over to gather up the carnage.
And the guy behind me said, “I’ll pick those up for you, ma’am.” And so he did, putting all the escapees back into the cup, and standing up to hand it to me. “If that’s the only thing goes wrong today, we’re both lucky!” he said.
I thanked him and waved him ahead of me, since he only had two beers and a pizza, and I was discommoded. Besides, who am I to stand between a helpful person and their well-earned treat?
When it was my turn with the cashier, I explained what happened, and she told me that I didn’t want those grapes, took the cup out of my hand, and dispatched “Ben,” to “go get this lady another cup of grapes, please.” And so it was done.
I have not got any reading of Trade Lanes done today, so that will be tomorrow’s task. Right now, since I’m finished retrieving springs, I’m going to go make the bed.
Everybody have a good evening. I’ll check back in tomorrow.
Business first! KDP has helpfully removed The Fey Duology from “SF-First Contact,” lest readers be “confused.” Gee, thanks, KDP.
Also, as of two seconds ago, the Amazon pre-orders for The Fey Duology stands at 173, which means I need to start shouting.
Obligatory Shouting Starts Here: The Fey Duology, Dark Fantasy by Sharon Lee & Steve Miller is available for preorder now from Amazon, Apple, and Smashwords!
Parenthetical: If you preordered from Kobo, best look to see if your order’s been canceled.
Baen will be releasing the ebook edition on June 1, which is the day that Amazon promises to release the paper edition.
Shouting ends here.
Thanks to everyone for your patience. I really did not expect this to be so hard.
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So, having decided to do all my morning business across town, since I had to go to the Post Office, thereby avoiding the stolen car, the high speed chase down KMD, and all the rest of that, I wound up in Wal*mart. Second time this year. My excuse was that I wanted cheap flipflops/beach sandals/watershoes. Which I found. I also found a new sloped scratcher for the spot in my office dedicated to such things, because the triangular scratcher that Steve had bought for that space has had an enormous hole excavated in it, which Firefly has been protesting by using my rug as a scratcher.
While I was there, I bought cookies and cheese and bread, which takes care of the foodstuffs I absolutely need to get me through this week.
If I get really ambitious, I can fill out my ballot and drop it off at City Hall when I go out for the book club.
Well. Let’s see what happens.
How’s everybody doing this morning?
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Note: I filled out my ballot and dropped it off at City Hall.
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Let’s finish up the day with! A test!
What is your favorite story* collected in Liaden Universe® Constellation, Volume 6, and!
Why?
Yes, an Essay Test.
Go!
____
*The stories included in Volume 6 are: “Standing Orders,” “Gadreel’s Folly,” “The Last Train to Clarkesville,” “Wise Child,” “Songs of the Fathers,” “From Every Storm a Rainbow,” “Our Lady of Benevolence,” “Chimera,” “Neutral Ground,” “Mother’s Love,” “Core Values.”
Monday. Dim, damp, and cooler than the temperature on the thermometer would leave you to believe.
Car service concluded. I had forgotten that I had a Free oil change and tire rotation on the books as an apology for last year’s narrowly-averted tragedy. I was also verbally apologized to several times for that mistake, and the tech not only asserted that he had tightened the oil cap correctly, but he demonstrated that this was so to the manager.
While I was in the Big City, I retired several errands, and! as a Special Bonus, I have a gift of homemade lasagna for lunch.
I’m home now (and will be unless I Get A Call, which I don’t expect) and have eaten the last cookie. Why does this keep happening? WHO IS EATING MY COOKIES?
Ahem.
While I was driving to and fro, I heard a clip from an interview with a member of Kansas, who was describing the first time the band played “Wayward Son.” One comment made me laugh out loud: “We all loved that song. We loved it so much we never thought it would be a hit single!”
Spoken like an artist.
Now that I am home, and absent a phone call, I’m going to take another whack at getting The Fey Duology up for preorder.
How’s Monday morning treating everybody?
Today’s blog post title brought to you by Kansas, “Carry On Wayward Son“
Saturday. Rainy and cool.
Just back from the TJ Maxx members party. I’m old enough to remember going with my Flapper Grandmother (as distinct from my Church Grandmother) to the big department store galas in downtown Baltimore.
This? Was not that. For the Big Department Stores (for students of history, that would have been: Hecht Company, Hochchild Kohn, Hutzler’s, and Stewart’s, with Hecht’s being the Lesser and Hochchild’s being the Greater. My personal favorite was Stewart’s. But I digress.)
For the Big Department Store events, I say, one Dressed. Not in evening wear, but in what my grandmother styled as Afternoon Clothes. For me at that time, it was the pickiest, scratchiest dress in my closet, white anklets, and the good patent leather shoes. For my grandmother, the Season had to be taken into account, but I remember her most often in a flowered frock, with matching hat, purse, and shoes. I’ve never seen a woman before or since who loved a flowered frock quite so much.
There was a catered tea, and fashion shows, and cooking demonstrations, and nicely dressed sales people pleased to Direct You, or even take you to this or that visiting expert — it was quite lovely. Almost worth the scratchy dress.
TJ Maxx’s event was not that, though I noted several members dressed in suits. I was in grey jeans, a nice purple fleece pullover, and the hard black shoes, because — raining.
I did get a Free Gift — an insulated lunch bag which will actually be useful. I did not win a door prize. The group was friendly; I was given a quick rundown on what I could expect from the person ahead of me in the line to sign up for the drawing, which was both useful and very kind of her.
I went with the expectation of not buying anything, but! This morning, I discovered that the refrigerator (the sole appliance that came with the house that is still (fingers crossed) functioning) has stopped making ice cubes. So I did need ice cube trays, and I bought a great pair of Oxo ice cube trays with slide-on lids, so I can stack them on a shelf.
It’s a matter for the philosophers, if I actually needed the bath towel, the illustrated guide to the Victorian Language of the Flowers (which replaces one that I had, but apparently gave away), the coloring book, or the embroidery kit (embroider and assemble a canvas bag! How can anybody resist that?). I can, however, make a good case for the dryer vent brush, the sink stones, and the adjustable chair sliders. Oh, and the hairbrush. One does, after all, need to groom oneself.
All of the above, in fact, demonstrate the danger of this particular event — there were so few of us in the store, I felt no pressure to rush or to get out of peoples’ way. I could just moon about in my preferred style, Stare at Stuff, pick it up, establish a relationship with it, and part friends. (It comes to me that the Mooning About Thing is why I love to visit museums, though of course, I’m not allowed to touch stuff.)
So, in sum — a nice hourish outing. I’m home, have greeted the cats, put my purchases away and eaten a cookie. I’m now free to do what seems good to me until 2ish, when I expect a contractor to arrive.
How’s your Saturday starting out?
Dressed to shop:
P.S. The Big Question on Facebook was “What are sink stones?” These are sink stones. They are not the actual sink stones I bought, because — TJ Maxx, but they’re of the family.
Important Stuff First: I saw Firefly’s tail at Full Upward Extension last night. This morning, she’s preferring half-mast, which may mean it’s hurting her still. I can give her the pain meds at noon, and will be doing so. She did come to snuggle with me when I thought I was going to get up this morning, so we stayed in bed a little longer, talking about how scary That Whole Thing was and how was she feeling now, and articles I’d read about dogs who’d broken their tails and had to get them amputated before there was Serious Damage gone to their spines, and how I’d been really, really scared that she’d gotten cancer wrapped around her spine like her Aunt Sprite, and — well. We promised each other not to do this again.
A little later, she joined me for our sitting-in-the-sunlight session.
Yesterday afternoon, I made an appointment to walk an alpaca at Northern Solstice Farm in a couple weeks. There will be a meet ‘n greet with the alpaca who agreed to walk with me that day, who will already have donned halter and lead, then an approximately 30 minute stroll either around the farm, or, if conditions aren’t too squishy, on a trail through the woods. Now I remember why I have hiking boots. I’m really looking forward to this, and glad I didn’t let myself talk myself out of it.
Other than that, and actually related to the alpaca walk, I’m trying to unfold myself — which is to say, to find the way back out of my head after the Intense Concentration required to finish Kin Right on time and correctly. Steve would have had us out and about, walking up and down the world, breathing the air, taking photographs, eating out, and striking up conversations with strangers chance-met on beaches, in train stations, or in stores.
I . . . am not that ambitious, left to myself, and the timing’s a little unfortunate, as I find it’s Easter weekend (how did that happen?). So, unfolding will take the shape of puttering around, straightening up, making hummus, blowing the dust off of my poor, abandoned glass project, maybe finding another movie/tv show to lightly binge, and planning a ride for next Wednesday or Thursday, when the weather is expected to be warmer and sunny.
The secret of writing is that you can’t write all the time. So — aside an infodump, and blog posts, no Writing here at the Confusion Factory for the next bit.
Reading, though . . . I’ve finished reading Balance of Trade, and also Theo of Golden. I’m about half-way through Seeking Persephone, and after that? Crystal Soldier. Speaking of literary whiplash.
And I think that catches us up.
Here’s a picture of Firefly, from this morning’s sunshine session:
Today’s blog post title brought to you by Dire Straits, “Skateaway“