the writing life – Page 23 – Sharon Lee, Writer

Doctor, Doctor, Mister MD

What went before: Yesterday was all errands all day. The cover art for Diviner’s Bow is with the framer, and I should have it back by mid-February. There came up for discussion the always interesting question of which band did the superior version of “Good Lovin'” — the Grateful Dead or the Young Rascals. Facebook is leaning toward the Rascals. I now open the question up to those reading here. Here’s the Dead’s version. Here’s the Rascals’ version.

Onward.

Tuesday. Cloudy and cool. Snowed a tiny bit on the overnight. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Woke up sneezing and hacking, so — no sewing circle for me today. Grr. I did mask everywhere I went yesterday, and a good thing too, I’m thinking.

Breakfast was an English muffin with cream cheese and an orange. I only have two of the little oranges left. *adds to list* Lunch will be … um.

Rookie decided to help me choose my day wear this morning, and as a result got locked in a closet for a few minutes. I called him; he answered; and I let him out. It’s nice to have a cat who answers when he’s called.

Having been let out, he had to go get Grandpa to Show Him, I suppose, but neither one could get the door open again.

So, I guess today is stay at home and poke at things, but not too energetically.

I think my next audiobook will be Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, another frequent reread for me. I finished reading Midlife in Gretna Green last night. I had a good time with it, and there are six (?) more, I hear.

The backbrain has been providing snips of scenes and various insights for the next book, so Not Writing is paying its dividends. I plan to continue Not Writing today.

What are your plans for the day?

In Which the Writer is NOT Writing

What Went Before: Last night, as part of the curriculum of Not Writing, I watched a show on PBS Passport called SAFE HARBORS, which is a tour of 65 Maine lighthouses (I note here that this is not all of the lighthouses in Maine, and also that I’ve been to/seen a surprising number of them). I urge everyone to find this show and watch it (I’m told it’s soon to come to YouTube). It’s not a documentary, there’s no narration, only music and these incredible, incredible views of the lighthouses.

Moving on to!

Friday. Chilly, lots of puffy white clouds moving fast across a mostly blue sky.

Tea brewing. Breakfast will be cottage cheese, corn flat (I’ve forgotten what they’re called — Thomas’ Toaster something. As a substitute for corn bread, it’s not. Next time, I’ll make my own. — and grapes. Lunch — I guess fish and — something.

I see there are as many as half-a-dozen folks admitting to having read Diviner’s Bow — thank you and I hope you had fun. Do remember the spoiler space, and to drop a review at Goodreads or other venue of your choice.

Regarding the spoiler space, I am going to vary. It has been the authors’ policy not to be involved in those discussions, merely releasing messages after a scan for politeness &c. This time, I have a Question Regarding Craft that you, the readers of this particular work, can help me with. So, I’ll be posing my question in the spoiler discussion, and I thank all participants in advance for your patience and your assistance.

Today is another No-I-Am-NOT-Writing Day. This is kind of hardcore, but I’ve got to get my brain back, and the best thing I know to do is Do Other Things. If the weather were more clement, I’d go for a drive, but I think that’s off the table. *looks out window at the wind shaking the crab apple tree* Yeah. Off the table.

What I will be doing is taking down the wreath, which has started to lose needles, and changing out the 2024 moon phase calendar for the 2025. Also, there’s rumors of the June royalties in the bank, so I’ll be doing some cash juggling.

I read an interesting article last night about the Five of Cups, which is typically rendered as a Card of Loss. In traditional decks, the image is of a figure and five cups, three of which are overturned; two remaining upright. The figure is focused on the overturned cups — thus the loss. However, the two unregarded cups, still full, sitting behind the figure, hint that all, perhaps, is *not* lost.

It will surprise no one here to learn that my favorite tarot deck is not a traditional deck, but the Halloween Tarot, which I find both joyful and accessible. In this deck, the suits are Pumpkins (Pentacles), Ghosts (Cups), Bats (Swords), and Imps (Wands).

The Five of Ghosts, then: a central figure, gazing downward, clearly disconcerted or sad; there is a bucket on the ground directly behind him. Around the figure are five ghosts, hovering in a sky with five stars. The ghosts are also disconcerted, following the central figure’s downward gaze. The black cat (which appears in all of the cards in this deck) is in the foreground, looking at the ghosts.

I was at first somewhat alarmed. Playful my deck might be, but it stringently adheres to the Language of the Tarot, and this card varied and not in a good way. It seemed to withhold the promise of those two, unspilled, cups, not only going against the Language, but the spirit of the deck itself.

So, I sat with the card for a while, and it came to me, finally, that one of the ghosts was not focused on the disaster, whatever it was. It was focused on the figure, and its arms were outstretched, as if it would offer comfort. And then, of course, there’s the bucket, sitting quietly — empty or full, but not spilled. The Language remains pure, and the card remains true to itself and the deck.

So, that.

What’s surprised you recently?

Wake-up cat census:

The Return of Winter, Part Three

What went before: Discussions yesterday led to the realization that Diviner’s Bow represents the fastest turnaround from manuscript to eARC that I, personally, have participated in. Bearing in mind that the book was due on November 15, this is the timeline: WIP handed in on October 28, line edits received on November 14, copy edits received on December 8, galleys received on December 23, eARC on-sale January 8.

No wonder I’m tired.

Also! for those who missed yesterday’s exciting announcement, you may now purchase, from Baen.com and only from Baen.com, the Diviner’s Bow eARC. Here’s your link.

As has been our pleasant custom, a private parlor for spoiler discussions has been opened so that those who read the eARC can talk about it without spoiling the story for those readers who prefer to wait for other editions to be published. Here’s the link to the Diviner’s Bow Spoiler Space.

That brings us current, I think, so! Onward to!

Thursday, grey and cold. Snowed a tiny bit on the overnight, enough to give the Long Backyard a Wintry Air.

Breakfast was oatmeal with raisins and walnuts. Second cup of tea brewing. Lunch will be chili.

I’m declaring myself flu-free; 24 hours off of Robitussin, hacking non-present, sneezing ditto, no fever for days.

Today is a No-I-Am-NOT-Writing day. The crazy rush on Diviner’s Bow — where I got the edit letter the day before the book was due — may have broken my brain. Not really. Only a sprain, I’m sure. Still, if this is going to be the New Crazy, I’m going to have to take steps to protect myself, so that I can deliver the books that are still under contract. It might be I’ll need to extend the extension for the next book, because I never did get the downtime (being sick is not downtime) I thought I was gaining after I turned in …Bow.

In any case — today I’ll be catching up around the house, changing out the cat fountains (which should have been done days ago, ref “sick” above, and my cats are saints) maybe watching a documentary about lighthouses if I can track it down again, and other Light non-writing Amusements.

I also need to give some consideration to on-going brain care. I’ve mentioned before that I have a very busy brain. If I don’t keep it occupied — not stressed, occupied — it turns on itself, which is … not optimal. For 46 years, I lived inside a vortex of intellectual and creative stimulation, and as much as that might’ve made other people crazy, it was what kept me functional.

Isn’t Life interesting?

Speaking of Interesting — Who’s finished reading Diviner’s Bow? Show of hands, if you please! *raises three hands*

That’s all I’ve got right now.

Here, have a picture of the back yard. What’s the weather where you are?

Day 5

Tuesday. Cold and dim.

Slept hard and late. So that‘s good.

I did not gather the trash and recycling yesterday, and am not going to do so this morning. Next week sees a return to Schedule.

Breakfast was muffin, orange, tea. Kettle on for second cup of tea.

Today, I’ll make a grocery order and have it delivered. I suppose I ought to do that earlier, rather than later. I also have a pile of stuff that was put aside for page proofs, which, yanno, I really don’t want to do, not least because they fall into that large category of things that are insipid and pointless to accomplish without Steve on-hand to offer insights, angles of approach, and random snipery.

I *would* like to spend some time with my story, so I may throw adulting to the wind and do that. What’s the point of being an adult if you don’t get to decide when NOT to adult?

I’ve started reading the 6th installment in Lord Julian’s adventures — A Gentleman of Unreliable Honor — and I’m beginning to get a little annoyed with him. This is either an artifact of having read so many in a row, or because I actually am feeling better and therefore more irritable (the author does now and then drop a narrative stitch; nothing major, and no business of mine, really, but I hit one during yesterday’s reading and gritted my teeth).

As reported elsewhere, the cats are at their stations.

. . . and so it goes.

How does it go with you?

Tuesday morning cat census:

In which the writer is cranky

Friday. Sunny and cold.

I’m feeling . . . a little unwell. Sore throat and iffy stomach. That was before the page proofs for the Ribbon Dance mass market landed. Jury’s still out on whether I’m going back to bed and pulling the covers over my head. I usually resist, but today I might just give in.

After the page proofs landed . . . there’s a scene in Carousel Tides, when Kate has just be informed by the park manager that the carousel not only has to be ready for the Season, but for a Super Early Season, like, Right Now. Her reaction is, and I quote: “We’re already pulling a rabbit out of a hat here, and now you’ve got the goddamn nerve to ask for a kangaroo?”

Yeah. Like that.

So, anyhoot, not really sure what I’m doing today, except cancelling my appointment with the chiropractor, because I do feel that bad.

How’re you doing today?

If this goes on…

Thursday. Coolish, cloudy, and intermittently breezy. Hoping that the wind dries all available outside surfaces, else we’ll have a skin of ice on everything as the weather starts its slide back into winter.

Breakfast was eggs scrambled with cheese and salmon, rye toast on the side. Kettle on for the second cup of tea. Lunch…soup and a salad is my best guess at this time.

First load of laundry is in the dryer. I may have one more load to do; will look about me.

I had such fun yesterday staring into space and making notes, that I’ll be devoting a sizeable chunk of today for doing the same. Yesterday’s Great Writing Insight was that Shan is the thread that’s tying several, widely separated, story lines together, so, yanno, I’m glad we found a way to get Shan and trade and all that boring stuff that nobody wants to read about back into over-arc.

Which reminds me. This is your Occasional Reminder that! just because an author writes about A Thing, does not mean she “believes in” That Thing. We may for instance, write about discrimination, or clone armies, faster-than-light drives, or — oh, cake! Do we think it’s All Good? Well — no. Or — not necessarily.

For one thing, stories without challenges for the characters to meet — big challenges, little challenges, doesn’t make that much difference, though I prefer a mix — are boring, for the characters, the writer, and the reader. This is why stories have bad guys, or bad systems, or, I dunno, bad plumbing.

But more importantly, writers write about all kinds of things, as those things catch our attention, and we almost always write in the service of our Prime Directive, which is — anybody?

Yes, you, back there in the penguin hat. I’m sorry — wh– Yes, exactly! Thank you.

IF THIS GOES ON.

If a particular situation here-stated continues unchecked — what can-or-might happen? There’s a story in that, and writers live to tell stories.

If I were feeling argumentative, which, believe it or not, I’m not — I might put forth the notion that the important question here isn’t what the writer “believes in” in a particular story, but what the reader takes from it. Who do you think the good guys are? Do you think protected populations and clone armies are a good idea? How about brainwashing as a way to control people who might be “too creative”? And so on. Granted, people — and I include myself, here — are rarely that insightful, but I think those are worthy questions to hold in reserve for introspective moments.

And, all that said — What’s everybody doing today?

Below, two pictures of Steve from January 1 2024, when he’d come into my office to tune his air guitar. (Copilot’s note: These are not sad pictures; this was not a sad occasion, just every day shenanigans. One of the pics is titled “Stevie ‘Guitar’ Miller” which is a play on something or ‘nother from that Other Steve Miller)

Begin as you mean to go on

Wednesday. Raining and warm(ish).

The first day of a new year. Begin as you mean to go on.

On this day in history, Steve had just given me his draft of “Familiarity,” commissioned for the ZNB Familiars anthology. I spent the rest of the day reading it, tweaking it, and trimming it.

Breakfast today will be oatmeal, because — have you looked out that window? Lunch will be pre-planned chicken pot pie.

I have some various bits ‘n bobs to do at the computer, as well as some housekeeping (first load of laundry is washing, for instance), and I’ve scheduled some time curled under the blanket with pen and notebook and notes for the next book.

How are you beginning the new year?

Rook at work:

Last Day of 2024

Tuesday. Grey and cool. There is no snow in the Long Back Yard, though there is a skim of ice on the front steps. Trash and recycling at the curb. First cup of tea in hand.

Breakfast is destined to be a PB&J on an English muffin with a follow of red grapes. And more tea, naturally. Lunch — I have so many options for lunch. Really, I’m embarrassed.

So far this morning, Rookie has played fetch — he’s really good at bringing the ball and placing it at my feet — tried to lay claim to the deer antler that has been sitting peaceably on a lower bookshelf for years, and peeled all the sticky notes off of the to-do list. Sigh. A Morning Kitten. *Just* what I need.

I finished *another* book last night — Lord Julian is a quick read, so that puts me at 61 books on the year (57, if we don’t count endless rereads of Diviner’s Bow and a re-read of Salvage Right). I do have the third Lord Julian on deck, but, really, I’m not finishing that one today.

This morning is sewing at St. Mark’s. This will be my first foray, I hope of many; and I have an appointment with the chiropractor in the afternoon. And that neatly accounts for my day, give or take a chore or two.

This is the last day of a very bad year, and I stand in dread of what next year will bring, because, absent a death or two, it’s looking to be worse.

What are your anticipations for the new year?

I have a story . . .

So, I was straightening some shelves the other day, as one does, and a battered little tan pamphlet fell to the floor. I bent to pick it up, and smiled at The Naming of Kinzel, the very first Lee-and-Miller indie published chapbook, with a cover by Colleen Doran. Being unsure of this publication’s actual date — before or after Agent of Change? — I flipped it open to the copyright page, and found that this wasn’t just any random copy of …Kinzel, but my particular copy — #1 of a limited edition of 300 — signed to me by one of the authors.

Here’s the page in question:

As you can see, the chapbook was published in June 1987. A year before our first novel was published. Seven years after we married; a decade after we had declared to All Possible Universes that WE ARE US, and let the sparks fall where they may.

Several things drew Steve and me together: a love of irony and a keen sense of the ridiculous; a love of music, and of reading — and this idea that being a writer was a goal worth achieving. No, more than that: Writing was a shared dream, and a shared reality; it was the glue of our partnership, and what kept us together, tight, and committed to each other, for 46 years.

Over those years, people would sometimes ask how our marriage had survived the pressures, the competitiveness, of a two-writer household. And the answer was that marriage was — secondary to who we were. First, we were co-authors — companions — partners — in the adventure of creating. We were married, yes, for tax purposes and for the demands of so-called Real Life, but honestly, we dealt with Real Life as little as possible.

For Sharon, that inscription reads, the very first, with love — may we stay happily in print for a hundred years — Steve

And there it is — love and writing, and us, entwined and inseparable. That’s who we were, living a very rich, very fantastical, life, of our own devising.

Steve and I had many rituals, as I suppose that most partners do. One was the evening toast, “To the Plan!” or, as it came to be in later years, when ill health and threats of mortality began to assault our walls — “To the Plan — as it may be amended from time to time.”

But, you’re saying, what was this Plan?

The Plan was to stand together, to tell stories, and to have fun.

Not much of a Plan, in the scheme of things, but it was ours. We reveled in being grasshoppers, in living with and for the day, in not looking over our shoulders, to see what might be gaining. Carpe Diem, yes? And we had also agreed that we would keep on writing, as long as it was fun.

The Plan was not so much amended as destroyed, back in February. I was, thank Goddess, already well-invested as the lead writer for the next book when Reality came due. Against all odds, Diviner’s Bow was fun to write.

So, I’m getting ready, now, to write another book, set in the place we built together, out of love, and commitment, and joy. No question, I’m lead writer on this one, and I’m looking forward, and trying not to look over my shoulder.

Last Saturday of the year

Saturday. Cloudy, warmer, and heading for the giddy high temp of 35F/2C.

Breakfast was cream cheese on rice crackers with cherries. I have the second mug of tea and the last two sugar cookies here with me at the desk. Lunch will be spaghetti (yes, yesterday’s lunch was supposed to have been spaghetti, but then Plan B went into effect. As it does.).

Today, there will be writing. Given yesterday’s experience, I make no predictions whether or not this will produce a finished draft. I also have a roll of cookie dough in the fridge, so there may be cookie baking, ref “last two sugar cookies” above. P’rhaps a blog post. At some point, I need to Seriously Look At the tax packet, but today is not that day.

Several people have asked me now if I’ll be at Boskone in February. I thought I had answered this, but, in the interests of clarity — No. No, I won’t (will not) be at Boskone. There are several reasons for this — the Actually Getting There being one, and the fact that I’m not much good on panels anymore, between the whole Old thing, and being out of touch with Current Enthusiasms. I’m always happy to read to people, but it’s a long, heartbreaking trip for 30 minutes of pleasure.

I do hope to read to people, and possibly even to chat, online next year. More on that, pending productive thought.

And that’s all I’ve got, on this, the last Saturday of 2024.

What’ve you got?