Tag: the writing life

Nobody told us it was gonna work out this way

Saturday Cat Census here
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So, that was fun. Decided to make hummus. Got a lemon out of the freezer and left it to thaw. Went to the pantry — and there were no garbanzo beans/chickpeas. Well, damn. Went to the grocery, which alert readers will recall I just visited yesterday. Bought four cans of garbanzo beans, which for some reason are cheaper than chickpeas. Came home and made hummus.

So, yanno — yay! Hummus.

By the time I clean up my mess, it’ll be Happy Hour.
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And before I forget, I want to give the author of the following excerpt from Carousel Sun a gold star. And somehow “this terrible thing” is so much more terrible, for not being said out.

Have I mentioned how much I love Vassily?

“It is simple.” He glanced at me. “Understand, I did not think that; I did not believe my uncle, the priest, when he said to me that it is simple. Worse than this, I did not care. I was . . . very bad. I did bad things. I hurt people.

“Then, on a day, I met my Alisa. And I stop being bad. I am . . . transformed, you see? It is her. She makes me good.” He paused.

“I was new, but the past . . . it follows. Bad deeds want blood for balance.”

Another pause; and a tiny sigh.

“My Alisa, she says, there is a program. We will get jobs in America. We will lose the past, she says. I say, yes, we will do this. And so we sign the papers and are told that Samuil will come for us on a day, to bring us here, to America, with all the rest.

“Two days before Samuil is to come, the past . . . finds me. I had, before my Alisa transformed me, I had hurt, you will say, a wrong person. I did it for money. That person had . . . a protector, a lover. He found me. He found Alisa . . .”

He bowed his head abruptly, shoulders stiff. I wanted to tell him to stop, to not go there, that I hadn’t meant . . .

He raised his head.

“So, this terrible thing. My Alisa is dead. I am . . . It is . . .” He catches his breath in what sounds like a sob.

This evening’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. John (Cougar) Mellencamp, “Lonely Ol’ Night.

Slow Saturday

Friday evening: Back from Errands, including buying a new butter dish to replace the one I broke. Yes, I need to just knuckle under and buy a plastic butter dish, but I don’t like plastic butter dishes. I learned from the nice gentleman at the Verizon store that I do not have to suffer my phone to ring EleventyBillion times before it goes to voice mail. I can Dismiss the call and it will go to voicemail immediately. That, I can deal with, and all the nice robots who are so very worried about the state of my name on the transfer list to Medicare can talk to my robot and there will be peace among the airwaves.

I came home and made myself a blueberry smoothie — getting downright addicted to blueberry smoothies — and when I’m done with that, I will Address the Dishes — oh! And call the vet.

Ta.
Da.

How’s everybody doing?

NOTE: The call to the vet was on the order of a check-in. No worries.
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Saturday. Breezy and surprisingly cool.

This morning’s writing was plotting — which is a courtesy title, since I don’t actually plot, but sort of flit from scene to scene like a slightly demented butterfly.

I’m slowly closing on the material for my first class. In addition to my belief that I will have no students (which is not just natural modesty, but I can’t find any Fall/Winter 2026 courses listed anywhere, and it must be coming up on time to register for September courses), I have no idea of the . . . kind of students I’ll have. This, I have finally admitted to myself, makes it impossible to plan beyond the first class. So! First class will be introductions and a discussion of expectations, goals, level of accomplishments, and so forth. This probably means that the whole class, if held, will be a lot more freeform than I had supposed it would, but, hey. Writing’s an art, not a science.

In other news, I’m trying to talk myself out of buying a Tarot deck. It’s not that I don’t have Tarot decks, after all, and while the deck in question looks interesting and friendly, I really don’t need another Tarot deck. No. I don’t.

Someone had requested my recipe for blueberry smoothies. It is, I promise you, very primitive: 1 cup of blueberries, 1 8 ounce cup of plain yogurt or skyr, 1 tsp vanilla, 3/4 cup skim milk, 2 Tsp white sugar. Zap it on the smoothie setting on the Breville blender, pour it into a Tree-and-Dragon tumbler and drink. You may also sub vanilla skyr for plain (I found this out when I mistakenly took out a vanilla skyr instead of a plain), with no violence done to the resulting treat.

Lunch having been et, I need to do my duty the cats, refill my pens, and do a little more poking at the course. After that? Well. Maybe some embroidery. Couple hours off never hurt anybody, is what I’ve heard.

How’s the weekend shaping up at your place?

Friday morning 8am

So, FB is accessible this morning to the desktop through Ungoogled Chrome.

It is, for the record, Friday, sunny and cool, with the ‘beans calling a high on the day that falls well short of 80F.

I have Stuff to do today, and the boys in the basement need a day off. Also, if I’m reading the note on the torn-off corner of the potato chip bag right, more beer. Lucky for them, today’s Stuff includes a grocery run.

Last week, I guess it was, I was talking with the visiting nurse — same guy whose been here four out of the last five years, and at one point he said something along the lines of, “But you didn’t have a plain vanilla husband. Some of these guys . . .” and he let it drift off. And a week later, I’m still struggling with this, like I’m still, occasionally, struggling with something another guy said to me, a decade or so ago, now, I guess. He was telling me about his first marriage and how it ended, and how his second marriage started, and where it might be going. He was thinking about moving south, come retirement, and his wife had agreed, only he had lately come to understand that “south” to her was Portland, and not South Carolina. And he said something along the lines of, “Well, I guess we could call an end,” and I probably frowned at him, because he said, “No, look. It’s not like we have anything as tight as you guys have. It’s just . . . convenient.”

Now, I happen to think that I’ve been lucky in love, and in most of my life, but I also like to think that I — that we — weren’t the exception to some kind of universal order, stipulating, as we must, that love — and luck — is idiosyncratic. So, those two little stories — they bother me.

Well.

Who else is doing errands today?

Puzzling Thursday

So, yeah, Facebook is apparently broken, returning to Firefox the following error code:

Error Code: SSL_ERROR_RX_RECORD_TOO_LONG

I’m advised to tell them this, but, yanno, don’t really have a clue how.

The app isn’t broken, but for communication purposes, I prefer to access FB via desktop.

That aside, and moving on to the Important Stuff:  1,350 new words written today, in two shifts, bringing the wordage of the WIP entire to 44,490. Ish.

In and around the writing, I renewed the stock at the Flying Fish Saloons, performed my duty the cats, and did PT homework, as much as Conditions Allow — I broke a toe yesterday, go me.  Taped all the toes together with paper tape, so I’m in pretty good shape, and no more nor less than the clinic might do. Yeah, I’ve broken toes before.  Inconvenient things, toes.

I’m almost finished listening to Carousel Seas, and I’m lost in admiration for the writer.  The characters, big and bit, are terrific through the whole series — I especially like Vassily.  And Anna Lee.  And Jess Robard.  And — well.  Also, the slow reveals and the interconnectedness of the plots are excellent.  In my completely impartial opinion.

I may have done myself — we may have done ourselves — a disservice by not making time to reread our own work.  It might have helped us not fall into the expressed opinion that we were cheesy writers of cheesy, shallow scifi and fantasy.

Well.

Aside from all that. . . we’re keeping on keeping on, me and the cats.

And hoping you’re the same.

 

“Sir? Can we go?”

How the work day began:

All righty, then. Sunday. Sunny and warm, with a soft breeze.

Tali does good work. She got 1,020 new words outta me on behalf of the characters, and the WIP has broken 40,000 words.

I hereby declare this Good Progress.

There were exactly eight people in the audience at yesterday’s 4:30 show of Hadestown. I decided to do the thing right, and actually got a small bag of popcorn — buttered, of course — to go with my water. I haven’t had buttered popcorn for … probably decades. It was good.

I had, I thought, oversupplied myself with tissues, but it turned out that I had just enough.

Even though, yes — I know how it ends.

This time I was able to watch some of the stage work, which I really like to do, and also to admire the work of the chorus, and of the Fates — in particular the Fate who played the accordion. Good Ghod, that woman was menacing.

Also, the reason why Hades made that particular condition came home harder for me this time.

So! An afternoon well-spent. I stopped at the grocery on my way home and bought a frozen pizza to have with my wine. That was good, too.

Socks are currently drying, and I? Have had another brainstorm, which I will be acting on after lunch. Disposable litter pans complete with litter are A Thing, and if I take a few on, then I can make sure that the cats have clean facilities while the Magic Dust is working without having to Disinfect the World every day. I do believe my brain used to work faster than this, but I guess I ought to just be pleased that I got there, eventually.

The page magnifier arrived just a few minutes ago, and initial testing indicates that I made a good buy. For everyone who is trying to Help by suggesting that I get a Kindle or reading glasses —

1 I have a tablet with the Kindle app (among others), and it works swell. Only — Not All Books have electronic editions. And it happens that I have several of that class of book that I need to read.

2 I have reading glasses — all kinds of reading glasses! — and I agree that they Ought To Work. Only, they don’t. I have, honest, tried.

2A I had cataract surgery some time — a year, or more, I think — before Steve died.

I think that catches us up on the day. I’ll be going out after lunch, then coming home to work on stuff for my class. Tomorrow morning, I need to pick up the Magic Dust from the vet.

So! How are you spending the day?

Saturday on the run

Saturday. Raining.

It’s been a scrambling sort of a morning. I got a call from Rookie’s vet last night at just about their closing time. She wanted to tell me that Rookie has roundworms. (I thought this was a kitten thing, but apparently roundworms can stay dormant inside a cat for a long time. Who knew?)

Anyhoots, the vet was putting up some Magic Dust that I am to give to all three of the cats in their Happy Hour treats, starting Monday. This discovery means, among other things, that I’ll need to disinfect the existing litter boxes, and the best way for me and my back to accomplish this is just to change to new litter boxes, then clean the old ones thoroughly at my leisure, while they are locked away in the Goblin Room where No Cat May Come.

This meant that this morning I went to Chewy, as the path of least resistance (I only need one new litter box, as it happens; I have two that I can disinfect and make ready today), but Chewy can’t expedite, and — long story short, I’m hoping Fish Tails in town can accommodate me with an XL litter pan, and I’ll give them a call when they open at 10.

Also, it came forcefully to my attention last night that I really can’t read paper books anymore, so I need a page magnifier, which means? More shopping! Honestly, getting old is for the birds.

So, now having finished my shopping and my breakfast, I’m going to finally start my writing day.

How’s Saturday treating you — yes, you! — so far?
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I found a third, though smaller, “extra” litter pan, which I swapped out with one now in use, disinfected it with the other two “extra” XL litter pans, and so! All is in readiness for the Great Litter Pan Swap-Out, as soon as the first dose of the meds is administered.

I am at this point Completely Discombobulated, and have made the Executive Decision to Declare an Emergency Writer’s Day Off. I will be showering, eating lunch, and then going to see the 4:30 show of Hadestown.

Because I can.

. . . It comes to me that my current Smol Disagreement with the WIP is that I Wanna Know How It Ends, and guys in the basement aren’t forking over. Which, let it be said, they never do. Possibly, I’m a Tad Anxious because this is Steve’s Book, and I don’t wanna screw it up. OTOH, and in all fairness, we are presently on this road because Steve didn’t know how it ended, either.

Be a writer, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

Friday winding down

About 1200 new words on the day, for a WIP total of 39,215. Ish.

I may have written a scene that will be found to be superfluous, but, let it stay for now. I recall, when I was writing Diviner’s Bow, I sat down one day and wrote about Bodhar-on-the-River, who the headman and headwoman were, and what were their estates, where exactly was this River, the make-up of the village population, the fact that the headman had built his own airplane, and so on. And when I was done, I re-read it and I said to myself, “Self? WTF, Self? I don’t need this.”

. . . and about 40,000 words later, I found out that — surprise! — I did need that.

You gotta wonder how people have the nerve to write books on writing. Like any of us know what we’re doing.

And! All that said — everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.

Lookin’ to the weekend

Friday. We here in Central Maine reside under a Heat Advisory until 8pm. Tomorrow, thunderstorms are forecast and may bring some relief.

Sarah came by this morning and cleaned the house, and there was much rejoicing.

The last couple days, I’ve been sitting with the WIP, sharpening this and that, and doing some research (beta readers will recall the uppercase HERE’S and/or IS THIS RIGHT?), so, only about 900 new words so far, but I intend to go back to it this afternoon, now that All The PT homework, one’s duty the cats, and lunch is accomplished.

I seem to be Unsupervised until Tuesday, which means I not only have a Big Chunk of time to write, but also to read. In Between It All, I’ve barely cracked the bookclub book, and I really need to get to that. I did read it before, but it’s been 10 years or so, and I’m particularly interested in seeing how it holds up. I was riveted the first time I read it.

Speaking of reading, last night I finished reading Diviner’s Bow, which brings me to the end of the Liaden Universe® novels. On the whole? I’m impressed, and while it’s not by any means Perfect, it’s pretty damned good, and I will be proud to say so to anyone.

We did tend to err on the side of thinking people are basically honorable, and we’re attached to the ideas of equality for everyone, as well as this notion that love is neither cheesy, nor a bug, but a Feature that encourages people to rise to, and maintain, their best selves.

Well. What can I say? It’s fiction.

I think that’s all I’ve got. Oh. I need to decide if I’m actually going to go see Hadestown again. I’m inclined, and if I’m going to, I need to buy a ticket, so I’m committed.

And that is all I’ve got.

What’re your plans for the weekend?

From Facebook:

Rookie, August 5 2024

Rookie, August 5 2026

DIY

Well. Where are we? Tuesday? I think so. Sunny, damp, and going to be warm. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Wrote about 1,000 words this morning, bringing the WIP to 37,050ish. Yesterday was a bust. I hardly got the computer up before I was engulfed by a meltdown, and the less said about that, the better.

I have a date with a PT this afternoon, and I have to buy nails, and probably a stop at the grocery wouldn’t be a bad idea. Craft club this evening.  I missed the last two weeks, so I really don’t want to miss tonight.

Regarding the nails… I noticed the other day that the back door of the garage was sagging open, which was…disquieting. I thought I knew that the back door was held by a latch-and-loop, secured by a manual lock, but, when I went out to look, there was only the latch — loop and lock both gone. (We pause here to wonder if there ever was a lock and loop, and all I’ve got is that I can’t imagine that there wasn’t.)

There is a bolt into the ceiling on the inside of the door, which is not engaged, and I really don’t quite dare stand on the big plastic bin, even after I clear off all the Stuff on top of it, and try to push the bolt home.

There’s a hook-and-eye on the bottom of the door (behind the plastic bin), and that seems to be the only system actually working, but one hook-and-eye can only do so much.

I produced a half-measure, using the only nail I could find (why are there no nails in this house?), but I should probably come up with a better solution, going forward. In addition to nails.

I see that Hadestown  (the filmed edition of the London play) is held over at the Maine Film Center (aka Railroad Square, downtown)–three shows a day through August 13. If you haven’t seen it, I can’t urge you strongly enough to remedy that oversight. I’m of two minds about seeing it again. If I do, I’ll be better prepared on the Kleenex front.

I think that catches us up. In light of that date with the Physical Therapist, I need to do my duty to the cats, and find something to eat for lunch.

What’s happening with you today?

Ice Cream Sunday

Sunday, damp and sullen.

Wrote 1300 words this morning, bringing the WIP entirely to 35,865. More or less. My fingers apparently know more about where this is going than I do. Possibly Steve finally figured it out.

I’ve been listening to various of the Liaden books, and more than once (or twice, or a dozen times) I find myself saying things like, “How did I know that? I don’t know that.” I listen to my colleagues talking about writing and they all sound so controlled, making such deliberate storytelling decisions as they progress. While I? I can remember writing this scene or that, but if anyone is actually making calm, reasoned, and adult decisions about the story, it’s not me.

Yesterday, I made it my business to vacuum and do some minor amount of house pickup. I am today of course achy and ill-tempered. Sarah will be arriving on Friday to do a real cleaning, but, between double-scheduling on my part and the family vacation on hers, not to mention those 10 days when things just stayed where I dropped them (Well. Not the cats. Cats hardly ever stay where you drop them.), and, yeah, there was work to be done. You could sculpt a bobcat from the fur the vacuum took up.

Also, in a Personal Best, yesterday, I dropped my phone on my face, and now I have a shiner.

After that, I did some work toward my writing course, in case anybody actually signs up, which — I fear it’s going to be a very strange course. OTOH, it could hardly be otherwise.

I’m remembering something I read a long time ago, about two writers on a panel — one a professional essayist/news writer, the other another sort of professional who has embraced fiction writing as an avocation. The panel is asked questions like, “Do you rewrite?” and “Is writing hard?” and “What do you do if you don’t feel like writing,” and the fiction writer gives all the Breezy Answers: No, he doesn’t rewrite. Writing isn’t hard, it’s a blessing, a release. If he doesn’t want to write one day, well, then, he doesn’t; there’s no forcing the muse, after all.

The essayist is left in the position of saying exactly the opposite: Yes, writing is hard. Rewriting is a necessary part of the craft. When you have an assignment, that means you have a deadline, so you sit down and write, even if you don’t feel like it.

And the thing is? Neither one of them is wrong. And neither of them is right.

Yeah. Strange course coming up.

So! The cats are in Steve’s office, indulging in a Sunday afternoon nap. I’m tidying my desk in anticipation of next week, and waiting for the pot of rice to finish cooking before I go downstairs to do my duty to the cats.

What’s going on in your life that’s both magical and mundane?
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Spent some time this afternoon sorting photos, and came to the dismal conclusion that I’m going to have to dedicate an entire box to cat pictures.

Have also happened upon two discussions of weight and BMI in “Elders,” which suggests that said “Elders” benefit from carrying more weight. If true, I will have gone from, Fine, you’re healthy; was that so hard? to Good GHOD woman, eat some ice cream!

This does not, mind, take into account the stated preference of the Cancer Ladies for thinner, as opposed to thicker, survivors.

On the other hand, one doesn’t need to be told to eat ice cream more than once, and I had a banana that needed to be used, so! Banana split it was.

And on that note — everybody have a good evening. I’ll check in tomorrow.