Eagles Over the Kennebec

So!  Saturday afternoon we had a thunderstorm, a really gully-washing thunder-cracker -- a weather-changer, too, thank goddess.  Knocked the temps down 12 degrees F, and cleaned out all the gunk.  Yesterday was in the mid-70sF/20sC and beautifully dry, and today,  we have more of the same.  So, yay! liveable weather.

Sadly, we did lose power during the storm -- lost it, in fact, in two stages. The first snap-off/snap-back took out my mouse, so I had to shut my computer down by pushing the button on the front of the case.  And, when the storm was over?  You know where this is going, right?  Right.  Exactly nothing happened when I pushed the 'on' button, and nothing continued to happen during a series of restorative techniques ably applied by Steve.

This morning we took ol' Jack into the shop, and have just now received a call from Stephanie-the-tech, who tells me, yep, it was the power supply gone south, all right, and the DVD player is toast (which it has been; I just didn't want to unplug and schlepp (actually, Steve does the schlepping) an old and Very! Heavy! box down to the shop just for a DVD player when we had a USB player that I could plug in.), and did I want her to go ahead and do the replacements for an estimated two bills, parts and labor?

I did, and said so, at which point she confessed that her hesitation had to do with the age of the harddrive, which she makes to be on the order of  five years.  How time flies.  I guess there's a new harddrive/data transfer in my future, sigh.

But, not today.  Today, we will have the new power supply and DVD player.  Then, after I make thorough back-ups, I'll take it down again for the new harddrive.  Or perhaps I'll think upon making Number Ten Ox the desktop, and live out of one, easy-to-transport, but hard to fix machine. This digital age we live in sure does make all the decisions nice and easy.

In the meanwhile, I did find Ox the laptop, which had become Lost To Me.  Turns out I'd set it (in its case) beside the couch and when Someone (looks at Trooper) initiated an indoor relay race from the top of the cat tree, over the couch and back again, knocking all the couch cushions and pillows to the floor in a glorious catsplosion, the sofa cover had also become disturbed and was half-covering the computer case and I did not recognize it for what it was, because heat rots my brain.  And, also, Coon cats assisting the search tend to like to take the lead.

So, that's all the news that was and is -- oh, wait.  I cleaned the bathroom yesterday.  The things we find time for when the computer doesn't work...

The Saturday morning cat census here in East Winslow is:
Mozart in his hammock overlooking the Cat Garden
Scrabble on the heffalumps in Steve's office
Trooper, chasing his Special Green Spring up and down the hallway

The Saturday morning author census:
Steve in his office, tweaking and updating webpages, among other things

Sharon, still down among the commas, and hoping to be done with this part realsoonnow.

What's doin' at your house?

Frequent readers of this space will recall that Steve and I, among many others,  contributed an essay to Dragonwriter: A Tribute to Anne McCaffrey and Pern.  The table of contents, with links to samples from each essay are now available for you -- yes, you! -- to read.

Here's your link.

And it's back to the living room office and the final day of red-pen-editing of Carousel Seas.  Tomorrow, I'll be at the keyboard, inputting corrections, expanding zipped scenes, and straightening out one tiny little plot-kink.

No, the glamor never does stop. . .

So, let's see...Day before yesterday -- that would have been Wednesday -- I needed to describe Carousel Sun (by which I mean to say, the book I submitted in February, and God, She Knows what it's about because I'm three-quarters of the way through the sequel, and I surely don't) in a couple paragraphs (aka 150-300 words) so that the spring sales tip sheet will have something on it that will make book buyers eager to stock the book.

This is one of those things that writers do which are double-edged, to say the least.  On the slicing edge, you're glad the publisher has asked you for this input because they've got dozens of books on their plate, and you-the-author have only the one, and, presumably, you know your own work best (insert laugh track here).

On the thrusting edge, though, there's the sad truth that I, at least, am a Lazy Writer and by gum if I could've told Carousel Sun in 300 words, I certainly wouldn't have used 104,000 of the little beasts.  I'd've knocked the book out in an afternoon and then played for four months, until it was time to start the next book.  Trust me, at this point in the proceedings, I know myself.

So, it took a ridiculously long time to craft those words (this despite the fact that I had asked a long-suffering beta reader to help me define the principle storyline), but by the end of Wednesday, I had something I thought would work, sent it off, and got ready to do, yanno, work.

Except that the next section of story stalled, and no amount of pointing at the outline to show the characters what they were supposed to do next elicited anything more than yawns and a conversation among themselves about whose turn it was to send out for pizza -- which long-time readers of this blog will recognize as a sure sign that -- yes, you in the corner wearing the pink flamingo t-shirt. . .

Yes, exactly that.

It means that The Author Screwed Up.

So instead of writing any words, I went back over the last 75 pages of manuscript, looking for the place where I turned left when I should've turned right.

Fortunately, it was easy to spot -- a case of the sub-plot moving along quicker than the main plot.  It's also fairly easy to fix, if frustrating for a writer who is trying to make words and have a complete draft done in twelve days.

Yesterday, then, I pulled 2,490 words of sub-plot out of the book, and carefully saved them for later use; then I wrote 2,252 brand new words.  Today, I hope to write very many more words than this because I have news of two things that will be landing on my desk in the next couple days which will have precedence over this book.

So! another chapter in the exciting life of a writer.  I know, I know. . .not for the fainthearted.

And now?  I'm going back to work.

Everybody take care.

* * *

Progress on Carousel Seas

73,706/100,000 words OR 74% complete

I looked up.  "My point is that any sentence that starts off with, No, but Bel -- really needs to be finished, so I don't have nightmares."

Today, I schlepped dirt.  Dirt is heavy.  After a while, even shovel-fulls of dirt are heavy.  However!  I have finished now with the dirt, and with broadcasting the seeds mixed with purple sand, and with the raking.  All that remains is for the seeds to grow.

Grow, little seeds, grow!

After playing in the dirt, I cleaned the cat boxes and took a shower; ate the lovely lunch Steve prepared for us, and wrote some words.  In a few minutes, I'll write some more words, and then I'll break for supper and perhaps read (Captain Vorpatril's Alliance) for a bit before going to bed.

I know.  I know.  You're asking yourselves, How does she do it? How does she continue at this brutal pace which is the price of her fame?

Years of practice, children.

Years and years of practice.

In other news, Mozart wants me to come into the living room and play chess with him.  Or something.  I know this because he's marching up and down the hall declaiming at the top of his teensy, tiny little Maine Coon cat voice.  Despite this, I believe that there will be no chess this evening.

So, what did you do today?

* * *

Progress on Carousel Seas

45,708/100,000 words OR 45.71% complete

"The elephants are definitely disquieting. In fact, I don't think I'm going out on a limb if I say that they look downright drunk. Who wants to snuggle up with a bunch of inebriated flying elephants of a cold winter's night? And it's definitely not the kind of thing you want to put in the baby's crib."

"Never had much to do with elephants."

"Me neither -- and I'm here to tell you that blanket isn't making me eager to seek them out."

. . .so the pleasure of setting the trash out is deferred until tomorrow.

Yesterday, I did a little more yard work -- bagging leaves, raking mats out of the rosebush, sweeping the dirt and dead leaves off of the statue in the Cat Garden.  The ground's thawing, but you hit the frozen stuff about four inches down.

In cat news, Scrabble appears to have decided that Socks has gone on to another of his fan clubs.  Mozart, however, is spending a worrisome amount of time in the cat circle with two of the stuffies Socks favored.  I don't think he's sick, just. . .sad.  Anybody know how to do grief therapy with an aging Coon cat?

In this morning's inbox is notification from BN that You're All Just Jealous of My Jetpack, by Tom Gauld is shipping.  I think this is splendid, but. . .

I pre-ordered this book many, many months ago.  Three months ago, I got a note from BN that the book had been delayed, did I still want it?  I assured them that I did.  Two months ago, they again wrote to tell me that the book was delayed, did I still want it?  Yep, I did.  One month ago, they wrote in all sorrow to tell me that the book was never going to be available -- and canceled my preorder.

Two days ago, I ordered it directly from the BN website, and today it's shipping.

This wouldn't worry me quite so much if I hadn't also gotten a note from BN telling me that there were canceling my order for The Abandoned because they had not received, and had no expectation of receiving, the book from the publisher.  I received that note the day after the book arrived here at the Confusion Factory.

In other news. . .the news is horrifying.  I see that the explosion in West, Texas last night registered as a 2.1 seismic event.  That's. . .quite an explosion.  I've been staying away from any place that offers me pictures of what's left of the town -- the narrative is quite enough.

Added to the attack on the Boston Marathon, and the rupturing of the crude oil lines in Arkansas. . .

Everybody stay as safe as you can, OK?

* * *

Progress on Carousel Seas
34,897/100,000  OR 34.9% Complete

1. Shovel snow
2. Finish laundry
3. Proofread essay for Dragonwriter: A Tribute to Anne McCaffrey and Pern
4. Pay bills
5. Shovel snow
6. Send file to Toni
7. Cook dinner Steve cooking dinner
8. Shovel snow
9. Continue proofreading galleys Liaden Universe® Constellation Volume One
10. Do dishes
11. Stare out window and think about Carousel Seas
12. Prep for phone calls tomorrow
13. Shovel snow (opt.)

The revisions came back on the essay; happily, nothing drastic.  I'll deal with them...tomorrow.  Or Saturday.

This morning, FedEx brought another 600-ish tip-in pages for Necessity's Child for Steve and me to sign, so -- good on y'all who pre-ordered signed copies!

Also! Did you know that February 2013 is the Silver Anniversary of the Liaden Universe®? That's right, in February 1988, the paperback original of a quirky little space opera titled Agent of Change, by Steve Miller and Sharon Lee, appeared in bookstores everywhere! And the rest?  Is history!

In celebration of the persistence of history, we'll be hosting a combined book release party/silver anniversary at Boskone -- more details as they're nailed down.

We ought to plan a web celebration, too, for the folks who can't make Boskone.  What do you think we should do?

Twenty-five years, and all of the Liaden books are in print.  That's really kind of awesome, actually.

And in other news, I cleaned the bathroom.

So the short story's done in first draft, clocking in at 7,300 words.  It still needs a title (hmmmm...Camel?) and a thorough going-over, but for today it, and I, rest.  By which I mean, "signing several hundred blank pages."  And doing the dishes.  Because yesterday was about writing 5,000+ words, and the dishes suffered for it.

In other news, the Deluxe Scrabble edition which is our Yule present to each other arrived on Friday, and has been sitting on the Mencken Table making with the come-hithers.  We have, so far, Been Strong.

Also!  The Christmas catalogs have begun to arrive.  I love Christmas catalogs, they're so full of. . .stuff.  Ridiculous, useful, in some cases sublime stuff.  Things I never knew existed.  Truly, Christmas is a season of joy.

I'm still working my way, page-by-page when time allows, through Maphead, which is continuing to amuse.  I've just finished a chapter dealing with (among other things, like the National Geographic Geography Bee, and people who turn maps upside down so they're pointing in the direction of travel) people who make up their own geographies.

The 1942 smash hit, Islandia, was the lifework of Austin Wright, who began imagining his world when he was a boy, and continued to work on building its culture, language, geography, and customs throughout his life, until his untimely demise.  (Read all about it here).  The papers from which Mr. Wright's widow and daughter extracted the novel ran to manymany hundreds of pages.

Also discussed, of course, is Tolkien, and Brandon Sanderson, who is quoted as saying something like it's the maps that allow people to immerse themselves in fantasy novels.  A sentiment with which -- speaking as someone who skips over, and is frequently annoyed by, the maps -- I am not in agreement.  Having a map of Mirkwood Forest doesn't make me "believe in" Mirkwood Forest; I believe in Mirkwood Forest because it's real.  Sheesh.

That aside, and speaking as someone who, at an early age, started in to build what became the Liaden Universe®, I'm amused by the author's assumption that people who tend toward that particular imaginative exercise are inevitably mapheads and/or that maps will definitely be part of the process of defining the world.

I am. . .whatever the opposite of a maphead is.  Unless I've walked an area, a map of it makes no sense to me.  If I have walked an area, then I can "see" the houses and the landmarks on its map. I have a map of Old Orchard Beach hanging on my wall.  It serves the same function, for me, as knots on a memory string, to remind me of locations I already intimately know.

It amazes me that Steve (who is a maphead) can look at a map of foreign climes and immediately know how to get from Point A to Point B.  How's he do that?

I guess I'm saying that there won't be any maps of the Liaden Universe® coming anytime soon.

But -- here's a question for all you voracious readers out there -- do maps lend weight or reality to your fiction-reading experience?  What (else) makes a world "real" to you?

Discuss.

. . .and I'm off to do the dishes.

So!  Steve and I spent Wedding Anniversary Number 32 in New Brunswick.  Our lodgings were directly on the Miramichi River, and quite pleasant.

It was low-profile anniversary, more relaxicon than worldcon.  We walked, we ate, we napped, we played Scrabble, we listened to music.  Excepting the music, provided by my Little Red Sansa Clip jacked into a speaker-thingy, we were electron-free.  That?  Was splendid.

Our Celebratory Dinner was, of course, salmon, which was to die for.  For dessert, Steve went with pumpkin pie; I had warm apple crisp with ice cream.  Oh, my.  It's been years between apple crisps with ice cream. . .

We had been going to leave Miramichi yesterday and wander home via the river road,  by way of Bathurst, Dalhousie, and other Interesting Sites, staying a night on the road Downeast, if necessary.  That plan changed with the threat of a snowstorm coming up the river, as well as the nor'easter working its way up the USian East Coast.  We left very early in the brilliant morning, and drove home the way we'd gone in, via Route 8, the Way of the Fish*,  and beat the weather home.

The cats were pleased to see us, and participated in a viewing of David Niven's Around the World in 80 Days, which was kind of the Pirates of the Caribbean of its day, in terms of Big Names wanting to play.  Sadly, it was woodenly acted, but, in balance, very pretty to look at.

This morning, it's raining, having snowed and iced overnight. Hopefully, the lines will hold.

On the topic of  travel being broadening, I have been introduced to Miramichi traditional boiled mayonnaise, and donair sauce.  We stopped at Tim Horton's on the road, for coffee and a snack, and I was pleased to have a tea biscuit.  For some reason, Tim's in the US don't offer tea biscuits; they claim that American's don't "understand" them.  And truthfully, I don't claim to "understand" them, myself.  But they are good.

We came home to the information that Baen has scheduled the first of the two Liaden Universe® Constellations for a July 2013 release.  Rough art (note the error:  this is not a novel; it is a collection) here.

Today's plans include running the cat-eating machine and outlining a short story.  Also need to clear off the Mencken Table, so we can finish signing the tip-in sheets for Necessity's Child.

No, I don't know how we stand the unremitting glamor, either.

I hope everyone had a relaxing few days, or, if not, can see a relaxing few days in your near future.

-------

*The Scenic Roads in Canada (as in Maine, and in New Jersey, too) have graphics assigned to them, in order to make the route easier to find.  Highway 8, the River Route, has a purple fish as its icon.  Similarly, Route 11, the Valley Route, is the Way of the Fiddlehead.