Tag: snippet

Art takes a rest

Earlier this same day: Wrote about 900 words while Sarah was here. Finished soldering the back of my glass piece, but couldn’t work out how to solder the edges, not having three hands, and came upstairs to look up how that’s done, exactly. Duh. So, I’ll do that after the Fidium guy has come and gone.

I guess I ought to get some lunch…
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Somewhat later: So, I’m stopping here, it being the best I can do. I note that the piece is not perfectly oval, but on the whole it’s looking much better than I had assumed it would.

I did have a moment of inattention and burned a BIG hole in my Styrofoam work surface (sigh). Note to self: soldering irons are hot; that’s kinda the point. I have another piece of Styrofoam. I also have lots of funny little pieces of Escaped Solder, which, as I was gathering them, it occurred to me that I’d done this before. My father was a solderer by trade, on the production line at GM in Baltimore (Spot Welder being the official title), and he had a soldering iron and pertinent equipment in his workshop. More than once, I was put to work gathering up the leftover solder and putting with all the rest in a big iron pestle.

The Guy from Fidium has been and gone, after giving the diagnosis of No Problem Here. Which . . . OHkay. Things seem to be working, so I’m not complaining.

What I’m doing instead of complaining is refilling my cup and taking it with me back to Steve’s office. Maybe I can write another couple hundred words.
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SNIPPET:

“How did you find Jen Sin?” Ren Zel asked, handing Miri a glass of wine.

“Awake. Complimentary, too. Said Val Con wasn’t an idiot.”

Ren Zel choked, and put his glass down hurriedly.

“He’s not wrong, after all, Beloved,” Anthora said.

“Yes, but – ” he waved a hand. “One wonders how the subject came up.”
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Now:  Well. That got to be a busy day. 1,440 total new words, for those keeping track at home. Tomorrow is a writing day. I’ll be finishing the scene I started this afternoon, which will be the final bridge I need to build in this part of the WIP, and get back with entering corrections.

It’s funny how, when you ask people why they want to be writers, nobody ever says, “Because I love entering corrections into the manuscript.” Which is, arguably, one of the most important parts of writing.

Go figure.

The cats are informing me, loudly, that it is Happy Hour. The cats, regrettably, are wrong.

I’m — tired. The Plan for the evening is to serve up Coon Cat Happy Hour on time then snuggle down on the couch and watch “Blown Away” on Netflix. There may be a glass of wine involved. Or even two.

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

Selling the chiefhold

What went before: So, proofed about 100 pages today, since I finished writing early, and the WIP had nothing more to say to me. That puts me well ahead of schedule, but honestly, I would be happy to get it done early so I can pick up another one of the writing-adjacent projects waiting in the wings.

I’ve been having a little problem with the shirt I’m embroidering. There’s the unexpected resistance offered by having to stitch through the paper grid and the shirt, even though I deliberately chose a light shirt. Also, the instructions are adamant, that I use a small hoop, and that . . . just isn’t working for me. The pattern is peeling up from the fabric and — just not working. One of my friends at needlework last night asked if I didn’t need a bigger hoop and I explained that a small hoop was called for, but the more I thought about it today, the more I really wanted a bigger hoop. So, I’ve made that adjustment. What I really want is an oval hoop, but I don’t have one in-hand, though I do have one on order, now.

Tomorrow evening is my first stained glass class, so that will be exciting. The plan is to write! first!, then see what I can do in the time left before class.

The cats have had Happy Hour, and it’s time for me to read the October 1 chapter of A Night in the Lonesome October, and then find a glass of wine and something to eat.

Everybody stay safe. Have a good evening.

I’ll check in tomorrow.
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Good morning:

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Writing session:  supervisors on the job:

 

 

 

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Well, let’s see.

Thursday. Sunny and seasonally warm.

The blanket I used to cover the rosebush last night was a little icy when I took it off at 8 o’clock. I’m not seeing a call for frost tonight, so that’s good. I have to look up this sort of rose and find what they want for winter.

In the meantime, this morning’s go at the keyboard netted+/-1,340 new words, bringing the WIP to +/- 88,800, which is kind of a pretty number, actually.

I have done my duty to the cats, and taken a walk. I’m planning on a late lunch because my evening class goes late. Ish.

Sarah confirms that she will be here bright and early tomorrow to clean — it’s been a while, what with having to cancel last time so I could see my doctor in Bath. The house is looking a little wild because my first priority has been to keep up with the writing and writing-adjacent stuff. Housekeeping is ‘way down on the list of Other Stuff I feel compelled to accomplish.

I read the October 1 chapter of A Night in the Lonesome October last night, in which we get Insight into Snuff’s duties. I’m reading aloud, because it feels Wrong not to, though that will perhaps change. The cats are … not unamused. Firefly at least remembers this thing.

And I think that’s it, aside a snippet. We haven’t had a snippet in a while.

How’s everybody doing?
* * *
SNIPPET:
Val Con looked to Shan. “I haven’t seen this room open since Uncle Er Thom brought that person from the Aeschalees on-board.”

“Good gods.” Shan stared at him. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

“You’d been sent down to secure the trade,” Val Con said. “But I was cabin boy and called upon to serve.”

“Thus all I have is hearsay. And the rug, of course. Though it did clean up nicely.”

“And the trade was preserved,” Val Con continued, “and Uncle Er Thom was pronounced a chief of the Aeschaleen.”

“That I do remember,” Shan said. “Mother would occasionally ask how his second and third wives went on. Which was really too bad of her.”

“More cousins?” Miri asked.

“Sadly not,” Val Con answered. “He saw the wives each well-set-up in their own establishments with the proceeds from the sale of his chiefhold.”

Shan laughed. “Father had his moments, admit it.”

And I’ll know my song well before I start singin’

What went before: Coon cat happy hour has been served, and I’ve brought a glass of wine with me back to the desk.

I managed to put out the worst of the business-side fires, but I still have a pretty big stack of stuff on the physical desk, which I should at least sort through so I even know what’s there.

So, I’ll be doing some sorting, then remembering to eat something, and eventually going to bed.

The plan for tomorrow is to get up, write, do my duty to the cats, and go to the grocery store in-between writing and business. We are the Queen of Split Second Timing, We Are.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thursday Morning Supervisor:

Thursday. Raining and chilly. A trip to the grocery store will not be happening today. Tomorrow, an it snows a blizzard, I will have to do the grocery shopping.

Got up early (breakfast was cream cheese and the last of the grapes), took my cup of tea to the back and booted up the writing machine. This morning, it took me a while to get into the writing groove. I blame last night’s prolonged panic attack in which I was wrestling with the fact pressure of too many things! Too few hands! And Just Get It Done doesn’t work anymore.

OK. Just Get It Done only ever worked because the one of us who was overwhelmed pulled in the other, and we shuffled around needed tasks, and chose which other tasks to ignore until the crisis cleared and then both put our shoulders to the edge of the crisis and pushed.

Which, I guess, would be my point.

I did eventually manage +/- 1,240 new words, and cleaned the cat boxes and took a walk, and now I need to rustle something to eat so I can proceed with the business portion of the program.

I do wonder why I can’t share posts to groups from my phone anymore. I used to be able to do that — as recently as, like, last week. Now, my phone wants me to add things to “my story,” which was ON by default, because of course it was. It’s off now. I think.

Here, have a Snippet:

Val Con finished his tea and waved the pot away when she lifted it.

“Some of this is because it is a very young tree, still, though it was transitioning for centuries. Also, it was born to be a hero, to draw enemy attention away from the Exodus.” He slid from stool to deck and gave her a smile.

“And some portion of the matter is because it is a tree, and it remembers that, once, dragons had served it.”

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Today’s blog post title comes to you from Mr. Robert Zimmerman, writing and singing as Bob Dylan, from back before music went all political. “It’s a hard rain gonna fall.”

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.”
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How’s Tuesday looking in your piece of the world?

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

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?”

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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?

Through caverns measureless to man . . .

What went before ONE: And as I think about Annie Lennox and Tina Turner and the other people who were abused by their creative partners . . .

I was so very lucky to have had Steve in my life: he not only supported and contributed to my art, but he stood between me and people who would have abused me because of my art, and because I “think wrong.”

I say this in interviews pretty often, and will continue to say it, because it’s true: I am so very fortunate to have been able to spend most of my life living in, and exploring, a universe of my own making, and being . . . happy in my art.

. . . and I’m so very sorry that not everyone can have that.

Continue in response to a comment regarding the magnitude of loss: I’m going to say this badly, so apologies in advance for being inarticulate. Yes, it’s a debilitating, life-changing loss. But “loss” implies having had something.

So I look at what we had — do I regret having had those things? No.

I look at what we did — do I regret having done those things? Well — no life is perfect, and certainly, as suited to each other as we were, we weren’t perfect. We did stupid stuff; we were not always wise.

But I can’t regret the laughter, the partnership, the places we went and the joy that we shared. I certainly don’t regret the creative life we shared. We never were famous, or rich, or award-winners, but damn I’m proud of our work, our vision, and the sharing of it.

Am I sorry that what I had is gone? Yes. Yes, I am. And as painful as it is to be without the support, partnership, and love that I had, still I would rather that than what I felt when my mother died, which was, “Thank God she’s gone. She can’t ever hurt me again.”

There was a thing we used to say — “Better together than apart.” That was true; we brought out the best in each other. And I have that experience now; it’s part of the warp and weft of who I am.

And I don’t regret that.

What went before: Ack.

So, I made the phone call and snagged an early December appointment, and staged the trash, but I did not do the bookkeeping. Instead, I weeded the garden, because it really is that nice outside.

The boss says it’s OK to bounce the bookkeeping to tomorrow. She’s cool that way…

What went before TWO: SNIPPET:

“Which improbably puts me in mind of why I chanced to come this way,” Shan murmured. “Jen Sin, my dear, Miri wishes to speak with you.”

Jen Sin paused with his wine glass near his lips and looked up into pale blue eyes.

Shan shook his head, Terran-style. “Unlike some others of us, I know the difference between Miri and the delm.”

What went before THREE: And! The word count at the end of this round of WIP Correx is!

Sixty thousand nine hundred and ninety-five words.

I have the files that I pulled, but to preserve Auctorial Sanity, we are not counting those words.

The Weird Word List has been updated. Back ups have been made.

Tomorrow, I start with the Chapter-by-Chapter which will be the definitive map of Where the Holes Are.

Tomorrow, I am also interviewing a potential cleaner, and! It’s needlework night.

Tonight, however, I’m off the clock.

Or, I will be off the clock once I wash the dishes.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Tuesday. Cool and cloudy. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Breakfast was half a blueberry muffin and plain yogurt. Rookie would like his fandom to know that he really likes plain yogurt, and that Tali and Firefly don’t like plain yogurt, because they’re silly, but that’s OK, because that means there’s more yogurt for him.

Trooper, who has a record of enjoying a wee dram of plain yogurt from time to time, was not interested.

Trooper also informed me that the gravy which has been the only thing he would reliably eat for months now — deserved only to be buried. I broke out the just-arrived food chopper and pureed a can of gooshy food, which is, mind you, already gooshy, and he did eat — lap, whatever . . . most of that. He’s also lost a little more than a pound since August 4, according to the home scale.

These things are concerning, to say the least.

Now that the trash is out, Trooper has eaten something, and is napping while the other cats are occupying the windows in the bedroom, I’m going to start building the Chapter-by-Chapter.

I finished reading Stone and Sky last night, and started reading the book club book. For those who have been wondering what I’ve been reading — mostly rereads, and cozies — the list is here

How’s everybody holding up on the second day of the week?

Today’s blog post courtesy of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a man who knew how to build an earworm.  “Kubla Khan”

Here’s a random Firefly pic as a reward for those who made it to the end of all that:  

Still workin’

SNIPPET from I DARE:
“Tell me, if you would,” he said, “who is this puissant enemy with which Captain Robertson has beguiled my poor Yxtrang?”

Val Con lifted a brow. “I thought they were yos’Phelium’s Yxtrang?”

“One feels a lingering tenderness,” Daav told him earnestly. “They are such good children.”

What went before: I really need to get over the feeling of personal failure because I can’t do what two strong young people could do, or even two elder people who had been Doing Together so long, it all got done, and looked effortless, too.

I’m not going to finish this today. I’m probably not going to finish it this weekend. Which means I won’t be able to write on Monday, and I’m really cranky about that. I am so damned tired of the stop-and-start on this book. It seems like I just get going, when I have to stop to do something “more important.”

Not to mention that all the other things — the bed made, the cat fountains swapped out, the dishes washed — aren’t done, too, and it’s not because I’m a slacker, despite what I learned at my mother’s knee.

Argh, damn, and blast.

OK, I need a Plan.

I’ll work on the correx for another hour, then I’ll call it a day, make the bed, load the dishwasher, find something to eat and a glass of wine. Tomorrow. I’ll get up early tomorrow, and hit the correx again. I’ll use my breaks to swap out the cat fountains. Maybe I can get this done tomorrow. (Yes, yes, it’s not due til the 12th, but if I finish it now, then I can get back to writing without having to interrupt myself, ref stop-and-start, above.)

And the house still looks like a bomb hit it, which shouldn’t be a surprise, because it looked that way, too, when there were two of us working. It’s what happens when you work and live in the same space.

deep breath

Another hour, then done for the day.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

And then there’s the bit where Pat Rin goes in to the portmaster’s office, thinking like a punk kid, “So what’s she gonna do, pull my license?” Only to find out that flying without a license is A Thing.

Sunday. Taking a break.

I was up early and hitting the pages. Still miles to go.

Breakfast was oatmeal. I got salad makin’s for lunch, including tuna, so that’s good.

Nothing much else to report. If anybody wants me, I’ll be in my office.

What’s everybody else doing today?

Cat census:

First Friday and Saturday, too

What went before: So, it turns out there’s a Method to First Friday. It’s advertised as “from” 5 (or 5:30; advertising is a little squishy on this point) to 7:30. What that means is that, some bands will be starting to set up around 5:00 and the restaurants will be open, so you should go have something to eat, nice glass of wine, and then, eh, 6/6:30ish, you perambulate around downtown, and then, around 7, you wander down to Head of Falls, where the music will be happening. Music starts at 7:30 and goes to 9/9:30.

Obviously, I did not make it that far, which is too bad because the band was the Atlanta Rhythm Section, which wouldn’t have been terrible to listen to. There’s a beer garden set up at Head of Falls for the concert and a food truck from The Proper Pig. And I kinda didn’t want to be one old woman in a crowd of folks some of whom had had too much beer.

I did revisit the Langlais exhibit and took in the Dark Was the Night and Bright Were the Stars exhibit. I stopped by the reception — yes, there were cookies and also fruits and cheese and crackers.

I meandered around downtown, and I found out that there’s a rock store. Yes, a rock store; it’s been there about three months, I’m told. I of course bought a rock (yeah, I know, but, hey! It’s flourite, which is an amusing rock, in that it flouresces). I also stopped in Old Soul Supply, Oliver and Friends Bookstore, and Holy Cannoli, where I listened to a folk group for a couple of songs before I moved on, hoping for music in the Green Block, but — not yet. So, I came home, educated and more or less relaxed for having done something different with my afternoon and early evening.

I have about 15 more pages of I Dare to finish proofing — which I’ll do tomorrow.

For now, the cats have had Happy Hour and I’m going to go pour myself a glass out of the Nice Bottle I opened last night to share with Steve.

And that’s the First Friday Report.

Intermission: Oooh, nice echo of the prologue: “I won’t hurt him.”

And my favorite bit in the whole book, though there are so many good bits:

“My lifemate and my oathsworn are blameless. I claim all.”

“Ever more terrifying,” Val Con returned, lightly, deliberately, in the Low Tongue. “Pray reveal at once the horrific crimes of which they are innocent.”

Saturday. Sunny and predicted to a nice-ish day.

Breakfast was toast and cottage cheese and grapes. Lunch will be something easy. I have choices, including a Door Dash account, if it comes down to desperation.

I did not sleep well last night; doubtless the late few days of High Living are catching up with me.

Today’s to-do list includes one’s duty to the cats, finishing the proofing of I Dare, swapping out cat fountains, and straightening up the house, which has become slightly shell-shocked, doubtless from the High Living referenced above. It’s possible that I’ll throw it all over and go back to bed, but not really likely.

My Solid Goal is to get back to the WIP — remember the WIP? — on Monday, so those things that must occur in service of that goal, including turning in the correx for I Dare, have to happen this weekend.

Arrived in yesterday’s mail is news that the Subaru is included in a class action suit referencing failures in the EyeSight Driver Assistance subroutine. The suit appears to focus on the braking protocols, of which I have no complaint. I had hoped that it would be something to address the Concerning Issue of Eyesight turning itself off in downpours where human eyes are basically useless, and the pilot could really use some help staying on the road and not running into the back of a semi. OTOH, I haven’t been to the website yet. That’s actually pretty far down on the list.

Also, just at a tangent — and I’ve made this argument before, so nothing new here — if you (universal you) break the law, you must pay the penalty for breaking the law. It does not matter who you are, who your dad is, what political affiliation you hold, if you have fifteen houses or live in a cardboard box in an alley. Break the law, pay the price. That’s, like, one of the foundations of our society: that money and influence do not alter the functioning of Law. This is why Justice is blind.

So, my second up of tea is gone, and I guess I’d better get to work.

Who’s doing something exciting today?

In which connectivity goes down, and up again

What went before: Wrote about 700 words, mostly expanding existing scenes. WIP currently stands at +/-62,500. I need to think about whose POV will be most fun in this next scene. I’m leaning toward Gordy, but Imma sleep on it, because my brain is tired. Along with the rest of me.

I sliced the bread and put it away (except for that one slice that fell face down in the butter, so I ate it instead of wasting it). Cleaned up the chaos of baking.

Trooper managed to work his way through one can of Fancy Feast tuna in gravy over the course of today, and now he’s punching me in the arm and demanding Happy Hour, right now!

Tomorrow morning, I have an appointment with the chiropractor and while I’m out will hit the vet for more probiotic, and the grocery for the essentials: wine, cat gravy, and fruits, plus whatever looks like it will be good in terms of things to eat for a Writing Weekend.

SNIPPET: WARNING: Possible Spoiler for Diviner’s Bow.

“And,” Priscilla’s voice came from unexpectedly near at hand. “Anthora must remember to ask her brother about his own adventures building a lifeline and how he was rescued by his eldest daughter.”

“By Padi!” Anthora exclaimed, and the sullen look was quite gone from her face, replaced by startled glee. “Absolutely, you owe me that story, Shan-brother!”

“I also have an interest,” Val Con murmured. Miri came to his side and slipped an arm around his waist.

“Me, too,” she said.

“And I,” said Ren Zel.

“Everyone shall have the story!” Shan cried over this growing tumult. “However, I insist that we proceed in an orderly manner, dealing with the most important matters first. For instance, my glass is empty. Who is with me for a refill?

Friday. Sunny and going to be hot, for Maine values &c.

Breakfast was scrambled eggs and potatoes with homemade toast and strawberry jam. Lunch may be meatballs in red sauce over bread. With cheese. Need a veggie, there. Or, yanno, not. Red sauce is a veggie, right?

Trooper has already eaten half a (smol) can of seafood feast in gravy with his meds (because I ran out of bisque and he now will not eat the stew, apparently because it has icky inclusions of real food. I need to call the vet and get some more probiotic. I’ve only been getting ten packs at a time, but maybe I should get more? I have no idea, but I’m guessing it will be useful to someone, if we don’t finish it all, here.

Firefly joined Trooper on my lap last night and they had a little cat love fest, which is nice to see. Trooper’s grandkids — well. technically Firefly is his niece, since she came from the same cattery — are very solicitous of him. They stop by to clean his ears and they sleep near him. Yesterday, Rook forgot himself and grabbed onto the back of Trooper’s neck to wrassle, and Tali let go with a roundhouse that knocked Rook right off the bed, then she licked Trooper’s ears and curled up next to him.

As previously advertised, I have an appointment with the chiropractor this morning, then some errands, then I hope to have a productive weekend of writing.

At some point, I’m going to have to get some time — by which I mean a couple of days — where I can focus All My Scant Brain Power on the WIP, to see what I have, which piece goes where and which pieces still need to be written. I really don’t have much time-in-a-chunk right now, because of Trooper’s necessities. OTOH, there are still pieces I know need to be written, so I’m good for the moment.

SPEAKING OF WRITING — I once again remind people not — that’s NOT — to give me “story ideas.” If I need suggestions, I will ask for them. In the meantime, if your unsolicited suggestion happens to hit something I was going to do anyway, but haven’t gotten to yet (not, in most cases “forgotten about”), I will drop that idea. This is because some people are stoopid and evil, and I don’t want a lawsuit at this time in my life, OR to be cut off from the intellectual property that supports my household. Thank you for your attention to this minor but important detail.

So, South Park! I have to tell you I had no idea South Park was still A Thing. Also, Satan needs a better dating app.

One thing about getting up at 6 am? The morning goes on forever. I’ve got time to perform my duty to the cats before I head out to my appointment.

What’re y’all doing today?

Below, coon cat love-in with Trooper and Firefly, and Tali and Trooper in the sun

I had a premonition that I should not go alone

What went before: One thousand two hundred seventy-three new words today, bringing the WIP entire to +/- 61,750.

Trooper has not eaten so very much today, and he several times came to me, crying, but it wasn’t food OR cuddles that he wanted. I tried brushing him (very carefully, with a slicker brush; his fur’s gotten so thin, I’m afraid I’ll scratch him), and he purred. Then he jumped down and fell asleep with all the rest of the cats, in or near one of the open windows.

It’s almost Happy Hour, after which I have another couple things to do, but basically, it’s Quittin’ Time.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

SNIPPET:
Anthora pressed her lips together. Val Con turned to stare at her.

“Hold. Is this what I was scolded most soundly for doing on behalf of my lifemate?”

“Yes,” Anthora said, sounded goaded. “But you had done it stupidly.”

Thursday. Sunny and going to be warmer. Station air is on.

Yep, up at 6 again, though I did successfully repel borders at 4.

Today, we bake bread. The ingredients have been measured and are coming up to room temperature while I eat some vanilla skyr, drink my first cup of tea, and update the internets on the doings here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

After two “good” days in a row, Trooper again refused his gravy-with-meds. I foresee a long and fretful day, though he’s sleeping in the copilot’s chair right now.

The other cats are about. Firefly is overlooking the front garden and lawn. Rook is hanging out in front of the pantry, in case I open it again. He’s *fascinated* by the Wall that Opens. I’m not sure where Tali’s got to, which probably means she’s in a window, behind the curtains.

I didn’t manage to make either of my phone calls yesterday, and, honestly? It’s not looking good for today, though it occurs to me that I might be able to send an email to one of them. I can manage that.

Sigh. Raise your hand if you hate making phone calls.

What else? Oh. I need to add (at least) one thing to the scene I wrote yesterday, and go back a couple scenes to place Mr. Foreshadow.

Ah. Tali arrives in a burst of skitter-scramble-bam! She’s found a spring to play with. Rookie is now under the standing desk, which is in the UP position, pouting because I didn’t give him /a/n/y /o/f my cup of skyr.

Aside the bread, and my duty to the cats, and that maybe-email, that’s all I have on the list of chores. So, hoping to write another scene this afternoon.

What’re you doing today?

Today’s blog post brought to you by Mr. Glenn Frey, “Smuggler’s Blues”

Last night, I had help getting ready for bed: