Tag: writing

Story time

So, I spent an hour, or maybe a little more than an hour this morning in my writing space, looking for the place where Talizea yos’Phelium is born (Ghost Ship, as it happens, first published in August 2011, and if the Liaden Universe® ran on Real World time, Lizzie’d be cabin boy, or maybe at Scout Academy, instead of walking, now, except when she don’t.)

One of the things that my search convinced me of is that I really should sit down and read All the Liaden Books, which I’ve never had time to do.  I still don’t have time, unless I want to dedicate my free-time reading in 2026 to the Liaden Universe®.

Anyway, what with looking for Lizzie’s birth, and checking another couple of pertinent events, I only wrote about 700 new words.  However!  I did write, and I have the supervisors to prove it:

Lunch was broccoli cheese soup, riffing off of a recipe in the insurance company’s newsletter.  Then I had correspondence to tend to and real life chores, plus PT homework.  I went downstairs eventually to do my duty to the cats, and take a walk.

Then before going back upstairs and maybe getting some more words written, I peeked into My Studio to look at my project, and said, “Oh, I’ll just cut one piece,” which — you know how this goes, right?  Right.  I cut out all the rest of the pieces.  The next step is grinding, but that really does need to wait until I get this draft done.  This will be easier to police than the cutting, since I don’t have a grinder here at home, but will need to rent a studio-with-tools at the glass shop in Manchester.

Tomorrow, now free of driving back and forth to Brunswick, is a Writing Day, and I have lots of leftover soup, so I won’t actually have to stop for more time than it takes to heat up a bowl and cut a piece of bread. I have two scenes sketched in, so I’m hopeful of a productive day.

For this evening, Coon Cat Happy Hour has been served — and appears to have been consumed — I’m all caught up on everything  (except calling for a haircut, which for some reason I keep forgetting to do) so!  I believe I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and go read for a bit.

Everybody have a good evening.

 

Tuesday evening post-snowpocalypse

Welp, that ain’t nine inches. Or even six. More like, oh, inch-and-three-quarter? Maybe two? I feel pretty comfortable saying that Physical Therapy tomorrow morning at 8 is a go.

While I’m out tomorrow, I should probably stop at the grocery store, which means I should probably make a list this evening.

Right after I serve Coon Cat Happy Hour. And pour myself a glass of wine.

No progress made on glass today — it was words all the way down. You will also notice the lack of a wordcount. This would be because the WIP is currently in about half-a-dozen pieces and God She knows how many words — or whole sentences! — are sneaking out for a drink when I’m not looking.

Tomorrow, after PT and grocery shopping, I’ll be settling down to write until Saturday morning when I’ll be driving to Brunswick to have an MRI. Or maybe TWO MRIs. My PCP’s office seems confused on this point. I do need two MRIs, and the information I’ve received from the PCP’s office is that they are helpless to add the second MRI to the Saturday appointment, but! If I ask the folks at the hospital nicely on Saturday, they’re sure to do the second one on my say-so, because it’s “in the system.”

Yes, yes, it is a variation on the Secretarial Nightmare: “Call this number and tell the guy who answers this. He’ll know what it means.”

SPOILER: He never knows what it means.

So, Saturday’s looking to be fun.

Local peeps! Where’s good to eat in Brunswick on Saturday? I’ve only ever eaten at The Great Impasta, which is fine, but I’m feeling like I should branch out. Oh, no, I’m wrong. I’ve also eaten in the Bowdoin College cafeteria, but I don’t think that’ll be an option on Saturday.

With all that said! Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. I’ll check in tomorrow.

 

Winter in his snowy white coat

So! As I was saying — it’s Tuesday.

I woke up ‘way too early, ate an English muffin with cheese, sat with the Happy Lamp over a cup of tea and was at work on the WIP before 8 am, which is, coincidentally, when it started snowing. I decided to leave the trash and recycling in the garage; they can make their spiritual journey to the curb next Tuesday.

I’m taking a break from the WIP to make phone calls, and am now waiting for the PCP’s office to call me back about whether I can squish both MRIs into one MRI on Saturday, or if I’ll have to be rescheduled.

I will not be going to needlework this evening. In fact, I doubt that there will be needlework this evening.

Tomorrow first thing is my PT appointment. If I’m plowed out. If I’m not plowed out, Imma be right here, writing. Yeah, you might say I’m conflicted.

It is, as I write this, still snowing, and the ‘beans are sticking tight to their 6-9 inches, slowly petering out around 4 am.

While I’m taking my break, I’ll go downstairs to do my duty to the cats, and start warming the oven for lunch. Then back to work. I really want to finish this draft from the end of the month/year, being as I missed finishing it by the end of November.

buys the boys in the basement those special pretzels they like — and another keg of beer. Always with the beer, those guys.

And how’s the weather where you are today?

Soup for breakfast

Monday. Sunny, windy — let’s just agree to call it cold.

Breakfast was leftover tom-yum soup from lunch the other day. I think I have the name right. Lately, I’ve been trying to order one thing I’ve never had before, so instead of egg drop or wonton, I got this other soup. It’s sweet and sour, with chicken and veggies, garnished with peanuts. Makes a good breakfast on a cold morning.

Lunch was the last of the (unfrozen) Thanksgiving chicken with gravy and dressing. There’s a little bit of dressing left. It’s in no danger of getting wasted.

Trash and recycling is in the garage, meditating on its journey to the curb. Which may be delayed until next week, depending on when the storm starts tomorrow, and if the weatherbeans remain adamant in their 6-9-inch predictions. I don’t have to be anyplace until Wednesday morning, and I have plenty of milk for hot chocolate, not to say stuff to keep me occupied, so, yanno, I’ll be fine.

Finished watching Maigret last night (I had been going to finish the night before, but it was (sadly) clear to me how this was going to have to go down and I wasn’t up for Maigret finding out exactly what his roll of the dice had bought him.) Still, all’s well that ended well, though I fear for Louise and Jules as a couple.

As a writer, I do need to have a Word with Maigret’s writers. Guys? You don’t give a character a Defining Quirk, like, for instance HE DOESN’T DRIVE, and then, when that Quirk becomes inconvenient, suddenly! he DOES drive. Points off, writers. Do better going forward.

My to-do list says I have some phone calls and banking stuff to deal with, but what does it know? I’m gonna go play with glass for an hour, because I am reputedly An Adult. Also, having sat with the manuscript for four hours this morning, I need to think. Actually, I need to talk to Steve, but since that’s a non-starter, thinking it is, and so the glass.

How’s everybody this afternoon? Weather good? Whatcha watchin?

The Long Back Yard at 6:30 this morning:

If there’s a God up in heaven, he has a Silver Thunderbird

So, Thanksgiving.

Went to work early and wrote, eh, 700ish words on the story that woke me up yesterday.  Closed that and wrote another 800ish words on the WIP.

Made a fancy dinner — two chicken breasts, stuffing, gravy, asparagus, San Pellegrino Limonata with a splash of Pinot Grigio.  I had dessert on hand, but I went back to write some more, at which point, there was a BOOM! that shook the whole house and the windows in their frames.  The cats leapt up.  I leapt up.  Honestly, I thought a tree had hit the house, and ran outside — but all was well.  Did a quick tour of the house, including the basement — all was as it should be.

Turned out that a propane tank had exploded in Oakland (Maine) about 5 miles from my house.  People on the neighborhood list on Facebook were saying they heard the BOOM! in Winslow, across the river — call it 8 miles away.  The house was reduced to flinders and flame, one guy was lifeflighted to Portland.  A dog was found in the area, badly burned; people passing by took him to the emergency vet.  Fire departments from at least five towns were called in.  It’s a right mess, and I’m glad I was no closer than five miles, because it was plenty scary right here.

Tomorrow morning, Sarah’s due to clean.  After, I intend to devote myself to My Art for the rest of Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

I do still have one burning question to resolve today, which is!

Do I want to have a chicken sandwich for dinner?

Hope everybody had a good day, whether or not it was a holiday.

Thanksgiving Day in pictures

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Marc Cohn, “Silver Thunderbird“

Smol Update

I would have told you I didn’t write anything today, but in fact, I wrote about 1800 words, so there’s that.

I played around with my glass for an hour or so, straightened up the house, and weighed the livestock, to wit!

Rook weighs 13 lbs
Tali weighs 12.6 lbs
Firefly weight 12 lbs

The coon cats have just had Happy Hour and after I finish this smol update, I will pour a glass of wine and open the mail.

Everybody have a good evening.

Survivalism PSA and writing report

PSA RE: (1) Survivialism/Survivalist (2) Cancer Survivorship Program

. . . on account of I’m tired of answering the question “What is a Survivalist?”

Those who have been with me for a little while know that back in 2020, I was diagnosed with cancer and had my left breast removed. Just about a month ago, after about 5.5 years, my surgeon declared me “cancer free,” and cut me loose from her care.

This makes me a Cancer Survivor (also, apparently, “a warrior”; make of that what you will).

At the Lafayette Cancer Center in Brewer, Maine, when one has achieved 5 years cancer-free, one is given over to the Survivorship Program, which files under Oncology.

The head of the Survivorship program has been called in my hearing the “Survivalist.” At the Lafayette Cancer Center, this person is a Certified Nurse Practitioner; there is also a Nurse Navigator attached to the program, and of course the backing of the entire Oncology Department.

The mission of the Survivorship Program is to provide education and support to help cancer survivors maximize their health and quality of life after having had cancer and treatment for cancer. The program is individualized, and covers such things as a yearly examination — physical, mental, and emotional — referrals to other specialists sometimes needed by surviving warriors, such as psychiatrists or nutritionists; connections to social services, and support groups. Advice about diet, exercise, and all those other tiresome things is available.

The Survivorship Program also keeps track of my mammograms and orders the next one for me; and is just another cord in what is, in Central and Northern Maine, at least, a Very Thin social health network.

You now know everything I know about Survivalists, Survivorship, and Survivalism.

Here ends your PSA. We now return you to your irregularly scheduled flights of fancy.
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Managed to trim +/- 2,000 words from a section of the WIP which probably needs to lose some more words. There’s an “obvious” bit that I can rip out that will lose me another 500 words, but I’m … reluctant to do that. It’s more than I just like the bit (though I do, and “kill your darlings” is not Eternal Wisdom, so nobody go there, ‘k?), so the bit gets to stay.

For Now.

Did a little bit of house straightening this afternoon and will shortly be heading out in the Stygian Darkness of 4:30 pm to go to needlework.

Tomorrow will be writing in the morning, some more straightening of the house, and a bit of playing with glass.

I’ll say goodnight for now, and see y’all tomorrow.

Stay safe.

Here, have a picture of Rookie overseeing my shoddy impersonation of a working writer:

White bird dreams of the aspen trees

Tuesday. Chilly and dim. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Breakfast was cold pizza. A milestone. I had what I believe to be my first pizza since Steve died on Sunday night, post-interview. It would have been something we might have done. This being so, I had cold pizza for breakfast, also for the first time in more than a year. … It was good. Pairs well with Scottish Morn tea.

Woke up this morning with a short story in my head, so I need to map that out before I hit the WIP.

I have finished writing the Holiday Letter; it is now cooling before I reread and (probably) revise. Firefly helped me find the cards, and then we all had to sit around and explain to Rook about cards, and let him sniff them. He got green glitter on his nose.

Still reading The Thursday Murder Club (yes, yes: slow reader). One of the things I’m especially enjoying is the acknowledgement that all of the club members had Done Stuff — even a lot of stuff. They did not just manifest one day as Old People, their pasts either irrelevant or a blank.

And of course, it’s wonderful to see them manipulate the “clueless and helpless old people” perception.

I’m a little scared of Elizabeth, though.

So! This evening is needlework. This morning is writing.

I’m gonna need more tea.

What’s on your schedule today?

Today’s blog post brought to you by David and Linda LaFlamme, “White Bird“

Small victories in writing a novel

Cat Tax first! Firefly decided to sleep in this morning.

Lunchtime report: I do believe I’ll finish my business with the words that are already written today. Which means that my next 6-day writing sprint, starting Wednesday will be all about writing new words!

Guess I’d better in a box or two, so I don’t run out.

End of Day report: And that? Is the correx entered. I still may need to trim the front, but for now, I think I have all my avians in a row, and can go, more or less confidently, forward.

So! The week coming.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll finish up the Quick ‘n Dirty chapter-by-chapter, just to be certain that the assertion made above is true.

Tomorrow afternoon, I have a Zoom interview with the Baen Free Radio Hour, in which we’ll chat about I Dare. I’ll let y’all know when that will air.

Monday morning, I need to go to the cancer center to get a blood draw and talk with the Survivalist. I may or may not do some other errands while I’m out. Tuesday evening is needlework. Thursday, I’ll make myself a nice meal and Friday morning Sarah will be by to clean for me. This means I’ll have a large portion of six days (not six entire days) to write new words, which is Extremely Cool because I have reached the stage of being So. Sick. Of. This Book.

Right on schedule.

I guess I should wash the pots ‘n pans before it’s time for Happy Hour.

The cats and I may watch another episode of Maigret this evening. Firefly quite liked last night’s episodes.

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

In which Happy Hour is Unreasonably Delayed

Didn’t get as much done today as I had wanted, mostly because my hands hurt. I actually stopped working at one point, heated up the ol’ therapy mittens and watched a bread episode of the Great British Baking Show while they therapeutically warmed my hands.

I’m knocking off for the day, and will be watching Maigret on Masterpiece Theater. It’s been decades since I’ve read Georges Simeon, and while Maigret wasn’t a favorite, he’ll do in a pinch.

Hopefully, my hands will be less ouchy tomorrow.

On the plus side of the day, I thought I remembered that Jermone Joyita had come from “Wick’s World,” but I looked it up anyway, and it turns out I was wrong. He came from The Wikesworlds or “The Wickes,” but since this was a passing detail in Dragon Ship, I think I can be a little proud of myself.

Rook is marching back and forth in my office, shouting “Yowr!” and Utterly Rejects the notion that he has to wait A! Whole! Hour! for Happy Hour. I gather the idea is that we ought to have TWO Happy Hours on Friday.

. . . and Saturday . . . and Sunday . . . and Monday . . . and —

Yeah. Nice try, kid.

Anyhoot.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. Tomorrow is also a writing day — glares at universe — so check-ins may be anywhere from odd-houred to absent.

YOWR! says Rook.