the writing life – Page 14 – Sharon Lee, Writer

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.

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:

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?

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:

Quiet normal day

What went before ONE: Waiting for the vet to call back.

Yanno what? I think I won’t be going to needlework tonight. I think I’ll just sit here and work on entering corrections into my chapbook, which is both comforting and cerebral.

Trooper is in the box on the corner of my desk, where he can get the sun and the breeze from the open window. Tali is on the cedar chest, where ditto. Firefly is on her towel on top of the dresser in the bedroom, where she can look out the front window, and also take the breeze, and Rookie is napping in the box on the corner of Steve’s desk.

What went before TWO: Only need to amend the back matter in the chapbook, then I can do a test layout, scream in horror, fall on my sword, and go back to the drawing board.

Trooper will be going to the vet on Thursday morning. He did yell for Happy Hour this evening, but gooshy food is too tough to chew, and the gravy is boring.

It’s time.

I think I ate … something for lunch, though I can’t tell you what. Oh, wait. Rice. I’d made a fresh pot of rice. I’ll have to do better about the evening meal, but I think I’ll get the About the Authors fixed up, first, so I can move right on with being horrified by the compilation, tomorrow morning.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Was foggy when I got up. Now cloudy and sullen. Windows are open, though it’s still a bit chilly. Lawn guys are next door, doing their thing.

Didn’t sleep well last night, but that wasn’t exactly unexpected.

Trooper had breakfast in three parts and did manage to work his way through almost an entire 3-ounce can of Fancy Feast pate, with a little end-of-plate help from Firefly.

My breakfast was cottage cheese mixed in with the tiny bit of leftover macaroni salad, which was surprisingly tasty, and black grapes. Second cup of tea brewing. I’ll probably succumb to the siren call of the last cookie pretty soon.

On today’s to-do: one’s daily duty to the cats, and smol walk. Call the hospital, which sent me an “electronic bill” on 8/27, which I forthwith paid electronically. Yesterday in the mail, comes a paper bill for the same amount, and the same services. Ahem. O! MaineGeneral, I, too, would like to be paid twice, thrice, yea! four times, for the same work, but that so rarely happens*. I feel your ambition, MaineGeneral, and I understand it. But try it on somebody else, hey?

Otherwise, I intend to work on the chapbook — front matter! almost forgot! Blurb! eek! — and Trooper is signalling his readiness to get down to cases, by climbing into his box and going to sleep. So, business as usual. That’s good.

I bought a tween-weather coat, courtesy of Land’s End’s sale. It arrived yesterday, and it’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean — it fits. It has outside pockets of sufficient depth for such things as car keys, and cold hands, but it also has . . . what seem to be meant to be inside pockets — quite large pockets; my tablet would fit comfortably — but. While there’s stitching along the bottom of the panel, it’s not attached to the coat — by which I mean, if you put something into these pockets, it will fall out the bottom. So, yeah, I’m thinking I’ll be getting out some thread, and maybe some fabric tape, for belt-and-suspenders, and just make those things usable. Probably not today, but who doesn’t need projects for the future?

Ah. You can see the inside pockets, here

I think that’s all I’ve got this morning.

How’s your day shaping up?

_______
*Actually, that’s a bit of a cheat. As a writer, I do occasionally get paid for the same work multiple times. I can’t, however, think of one occasion when that happened at a day-job.

And suddenly! It’s Tuesday

What went before: Finished correcting the first 40 pages of Civilized Behavior; only 100 more pages left to go.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Tuesday. Sporadically sunny. Warm. Said to be heading for warmer, still, though not hot. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Trooper has had two — three! — tries at breakfast. The third try — after he had rejected the contents of the bowl I was carrying back to the kitchen and he stopped in front of me, made eye contact, and screamed — I put the bowl down in front of him. He stared at it. Rook and Tali came to see what Grandpa was getting that was Special, and he had a couple…eight? licks to kinda spite them, then turned away. Also, that pound I was so pleased he’d gained, all the way back on August 27? He’s lost it with interest, according to today’s weigh-in.

Yeah, contacting the vet is on my list, right after I have a cup of tea on the deck and sort out my thoughts and feelings. I’m remembering talking with Steve, after we let Belle go, and he said, “Y’know? I think Belle was sicker than we knew.”

My breakfast consisted of an oatmeal-raisin-walnut cookie. Probably I should do something a bit more, in a while.

I intend to work on the chapbook today. Needlework group is this evening. And I think that’s all I’ve got.

How’s everybody doing today?

Later that same morning: Sigh. The New England Donor Services, with which organization I have not found myself in charity with since it first brought itself to my attention by calling me at midnight of the day Steve died, to ask me a bunch of intrusive questions and persuade me to donate usable parts to the Greater Good. . .

The New England Donor Services, I say, not only saw fit to send me a medal in Steve’s name (for, yes, after getting up, very calmly in what I now know to have been an Altered State, I looked them up, saw they were legit, thought of what Steve, the author of “Charioteer,” might actually want, and called them back to give permission), for being a “hero” for giving the Gift of Life — and also saw fit to send me a thin volume of tips for survivors, in which such burning questions as “Am I still allowed to wear my wedding ring?” were addressed, and which still from time to time, despite my stated preferences, takes it upon itself to contact me —

Has contacted me again.

They’re having a walk — to repeal death, I guess? No, wait. They need death. Well. — and they’re making a Day of the Dead quilt, and I’m offered the opportunity to “share my loved one’s ‘donation story'”.

I’m pretty sure I’ve previously asked New England Donor Services to never speak to me again, and, yes, I’ve asked them again, just now.

But I really did not need them in my mailbox today.

Here, have a picture of Tali inna bookcase. That’ll make us all feel better:

Second Sunday; First of September

Second Sunday. Sunny and warm.

Trooper making the day more difficult than it strictly needs to be by screaming for food and then not eating. I suspect his tooth is hurting him again, but there’s nothing I can do about that today, and I’m not sure how many shots of antibiotic he’s good for.

Last night, I was restless, so I sorted through some of the sdcards from Steve’s stash, and found an entire card that’s the car camera videos of us taking a drive on April 22 2023. The camera is set up to look out the back window and into the cockpit, so I have about 30 minutes of little 2 minute clips of Steve and me talking to each other as he drives us through Winslow and out to Fairfield. Talk about your mixed blessings…

Today, I got to working on the 2025 chapbook, because I actually came up with a title, that being CIVILIZED BEHAVIOR: Adventures in the Liaden Universe(R) No. 36. I may have found a cover — I have two mocked up and trying to decide if I like the blue-on-blue abstract, or the two little kids sitting together on a swing, staring at the moon in the clouds while birds fly all around.

For those who may be curious, this chapbook largely deals with the Matter of Colemeno, two stories and an outtake from Ribbon Dance. Also, the text of my speech at Balticon, accepting the Heinlein Award. I’ll have to check, but I may now have enough stories to make a sixth Constellation.

I have a bunch of corrections to make in the chapbook manuscript, but first! Second Sunday dinner, which will be a chicken burger onna roll with cheese, some baked beans and macaroni salad. A picnic, hey?

How’s everybody doing today?

Well. In regard to Constellation Six, it looks like I have 98,617 words of short story. If I throw in the Heinlein speech, I’ve got 99,413.

Guess I’ll talk to Madame the Agent…

Yeah, it’s the kids on the swing.

So I finally just got a pack of chains, because the monofilament wasn’t making me happy, and that was before it degraded in the sun.

Ornament, blown glass, made in the Corning Glass Studio, by Sharon Lee.

First Sunday Report

First Sunday of the weekend. Sunny, going to be warmer than yesterday, but not hot.

Trooper wants me to do something, but I haven’t discovered what it is, yet. In the meantime, he’s had his meds, and two goes at breakfast, but it’s apparently not the right breakfast. If he wants pancakes, he’s outta luck. Steve was the pancake person; I’d eat them to keep him company, but making pancakes for myself just isn’t a thing.

In the meantime, my breakfast this morning was Swiss cheese on an English muffin, because we are a Global Village, black grapes, and a handful of mixed nuts. Lunch? Could be anything. By which I mean a salad, because I’m already feeling too lazy to bother.

Firefly is sleeping off yesterday’s festivities in the box on my desk, which happens at the moment to be sun-soaked. Tali is on top of the dresser. Trooper has found a sunspot on the rug and is drowsing, rather than yelling at me, which is a relief, actually, and Rookie is on the rug in the foyer, underneath the open window.

Aside cat box duty and a smol walk, today will be about the WIP, and looking ahead at what needs to get done IRL next week.

What’s your First Sunday of the Weekend look like?

Two tries at taking a good picture of the earrings and moon (the little necklace is a tree-and-dragon)

You really know how to dance

What went before ONE: All righty, then.

Agway run completed. I did not buy plants. Yay, me. I did buy monofilament string — aka fishing line — so I can hang the ball I made at Corning in a sunny window where it belongs, instead of skulking on my bookshelf.

Hit the Hannaford, picked up my prescriptions, bought Fancy Feast Gravy Lover’s Pate, which is the preferred of the moment. Took the returnables to the redemption center. Caused consternation. Gassed up the car, so I don’t have to do it on Saturday. Apparently the Rusty Lantern/Irving at Webb Road isn’t supplying a means for its customers to clean off their windshields anymore, so I’ll be looking for a new gas station. Shame; that one’s really convenient.

What else? Oh, performed one’s duty to the cats, and took a walk.

It is now what time? Yes? Yes, you, right there in front. Ex — yes, say again, please for the guy in the back row who’s asleep?

It’s lunch time!

And then? It’s time to go to work.

poof

What went before TWO: I remember coming in to Albany more than a decade ago from an exceptionally long and fraught train trip which involved the train actually running out of food (long story; bad trip; it was years ago, and man did I learn to hate CSX), and Steve pulled us into the Cracker Barrel because we needed something to eat. I remember looking at the menu, then looking at Steve and saying, “There’s no food here.” “There’s chicken soup,” he said. “We’ll both have chicken soup, then we can go get some real food.” This was the first and only time I was in a Cracker Barrel.

Ah, memories…

Patched up what I wrote yesterday and put it in its rightful place within the WIP, which now weighs just about 65,420 words. Tomorrow, I need to sit down and plot out the next section, even though my brain wants to write the cool! action! scene! over there. I’ve gotta figure out how they got there, first, Brain. Gimme a break, hey?

Anyhow, knocking off early tonight to, yanno, hang away my clothes, write a couple of checks, and see if I can brainstorm not one, but two! titles. Brainstorms are considerably less fun with only one brain, in case that was a question anybody had.

So! Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Friday. Cloudy and cool. Thunderstorms are on the menu.

Last night at bedtime, I made it a point to find Rookie, who often spends the night on the box on Steve’s desk, and carry him with me to the bed, thinking that I would once again introduce this as an option. I put him down, and he lay exactly where and how I’d put him until I’d gotten under the covers, turned out the light, settled on my pillow and drifted off. When I drifted out, about two hours later, he had relocated to my other side, tunneled between my arm and my side, and was snoring. Also, Tali had taken over the prized spot on my ankle. I went back to sleep and woke up at 7, much refreshed.

Today cutting off cat toes is on my menu, and I managed to grab Rook as he was terrorizing his sister. I put him on my lap and began to clip his claws and he was So Good. He made no complaint, or any attempt to play Disappearing Leg, and started to purr when I flipped him over on is back to amputate his back toes. When we were finished, he just — stayed, purring his silly, puffy purr, until Tali walked by and then of course he had to jump down to see what she was doing.

I have finished my first cup of tea. Trooper has had a can of Fancy Feast. Breakfast will be something to do with the peach I bought yesterday, and when I took the stoopid sticky tag off, the skin tore. Lunch will be … something.

Towels are in the washer. In addition to the cutting of cat toes, the to-do list includes one’s duty to the cats, a walk, and plotting.

What’s on your to-do list for Friday?

Today’s blog post brought to you by The Romantics, “What I like about you”

Below, a picture of one of the Agway store cats, and a picture of Tali, who is apparently taking a covert ops course from the Rivers of London foxes.