Eagles Over the Kennebec

What went before ONE: I've shifted some furniture, and I think we're good for tomorrow. There's plenty of room to get the old machines OUT, and the new machines are smaller, ergo.

My one -- well, two -- remaining worries are (1) timing (no phone call from Home Despot yet) and (2) where am I going to put the cats while this is going on? Rookie has an Unhealthy Interest in the front door, so I don't quite trust them all to just run downstairs like sensible cats...

I guess I could try to toss them into my bathroom, though catching Tali isn't by any means easy...

What went before TWO: In case anybody cares, kinematic equations are those equations that can be used to predict unknown information regarding an object's motion. If you know three of four variables, then the fourth can be calculated.

The four variables are: displacement, time, acceleration, velocity.

My head now hurts, but the worst part is that I'm pretty sure I don't have enough of a grasp to actually use this information for what I thought I wanted to use it for.
When they tell writers to "Write what you know"? What that means is that you'll spend a lot of time reading about Z until you know (enough about) Z to write about it.

What went before THREE: Tomorrow! I can look for the delivery of my washer and dryer between the hours of 7:30 and 11:30!

Sigh.

In other news, the lawn guy -- that is to say, One. Single. Guy. with a blower on his back, has been doing Spring Cleanup at my place since 1:00. I'm getting a *little* tired of the noise, though honestly it was perfect for doing ASL. I can't imagine where the lawn guy's head is. He is wearing earphones, but The Long Back Yard really IS long, and four hours is a LONG time to vacuum leaves.

Well. I have Imposed Structure on the WIP. I was going to read through it to make sure it made sense this way, but, um. Maybe tomorrow. While I'm getting up early and waiting for the delivery guys. And, hey. An "early" delivery means I can start in washing clothes before moonrise.

For lunch, I made some kind of bean stew that turned out really well, which is good, because I have a lot left over.

EDITED TO ADD: And help has arrived for my Lone Lawn Guy in the shape of another guy and a truck with a serious vacuum, which is sucking up the Big Pile of Leaves in the driveway.

Wednesday. Sun coming up bright and ambitious.

The Wait for the Washer hasn't quite started, but I thought, just in case I happen to be first on the list, that I should be awake. So! Kettle's on for tea, and Classic Rewind is on for music.

As soon as I have my tea, I'm hitting the comfy chair -- no better not. Better find something to eat. Anyway, first thing up, after caffeine and breakfast is a review of the WIP in its adjusted shape.

I've unplugged the resident washer and dryer, but the delivery crew better -- ah, "Werewolves of London" on the radio -- have a wrench, 'cause there's No Way I'm getting the hoses off of the washer.

That's all I've got this early.

Here -- have a picture of the Long Back Yard.

...I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's and his hair was perfect...

EDITED TO ADD: This Just In! Delivery now scheduled between 9:30 and 1:30. So clearly, I'm not the first on the list. Also? Plot Twist! I need to have an adult present to sign. I wonder if the next door neighbor's home.

Today's blog post brought to you by Ah-Ha, "Take On Me"  (I have always loved this video, but then, I tend to like stories about people Becoming...)

What went before ONE: So, one of the joys of writing in Archers Beach was being able to set things not only in a real place (for those coming in late, Archers Beach is built on the map of Old Orchard Beach), but in real time.

For instance, "The Night Don't Seem So Lonely." The White Way did burn on the night of the moon landing, and though the fire burned hot and strong and long, they didn't lose anybody, not even a mule. The firemen did have a bad minute, though, when they sighted the two kids up on top of the Jack 'n Jill, with the flames licking up all around them. They couldn't get the trucks close enough to deploy the ladders, so they dragged in the hoses, and they soaked the scaffolding and yelled at the kids to climb down, grabbed 'em when they got close enough and ran with them down to the beach.

A writer reading that piece of history might well ask herself, But, what were they DOING up on top of that ride that night, after the park had closed?

And that's where stories come from.

What went before TWO: No Actual Words written today, but I have been doing a lot of cleaning up and putting away and ... stuff, which says to me that I'm thinking. Tomorrow morning, I need to go to Home Despot, and if they don't have what I want, I will make the pilgrimage to the Capital City to visit Lowes. If Home Despot does have what I want, then I will perhaps visit the new Reny's before I come home and see if I've worked out enough story stuff to write.

I got desperately lost in the ASL homework today, and had to do some research before I could go back to class. This may have been me, or it may be that Dr. Bill got bored and decided to throw everybody off the pier and see who sinks and who swims.

WHOA!

Ahem. Tali was having the Zoomies. She got up to speed, took to the air at the edge of my office, was in full flight as she passed my shoulder, hit the top of the desk, slid OFF the desk, and zoomed out again. The rest of the cats are sitting in high places. With reason, I see.

On that note -- everybody stay safe.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Sunny. Not quite as warm as predicted.

Breakfast was Kodiak chocolate chip oatmeal and a cup of Irish Breakfast. Second cup of tea just up -- Twinings Focus, which Steve had laid in quite a few boxes, and it's not gonna drink itself. Lunch is too far away to think about.

Boy, Alan Hunter's on a roll on Classic Rewind this morning. "Welcome to the Jungle" (not a favorite song, but I love the line, "You can have anything you want, as long as you don't take it from me"), "Swingtown," "Betty Lou's Getting Married," "Beast of Burden" (one of the many songs Steve and I would sing together, and sit in the car until it was over), "Don't Let Him Go," "Midnight Blue," "New Girl Now..."

Firefly's in the living room, listening up close and personal, the other three are in my office, helping me type this note.

So, this morning, I need to go to Home Despot, and may also go elsewhere, depending on mood, and if I really want to go to a movie tonight.

Thanks to all who took the time to review recently. MUCH appreciated. If you have been considering leaving a review, but are embarrassed because you're not Totally Up To Date -- reviews on Old Books Count, too! If you love a particular book --- review it! Does no harm; may do some good. And I point out that this is not just the case for our/my books. If you loved a book, tell the world! and make a writer's day.

Before I finish my tea, do my duty to the cats and -- ooh, "Heartless" on the radio, now -- get on the road, I do wish to note that Cael the Wolf *knows* how to talk to a cat: Cael dropped to one knee, and bowed his head, squinting his eyes in a cat smile. "My lady," he said softly, "you honor me with your radiant presence."

What went before: 1,266 new words -- not too bad for a woman who thought she was going to sit down in the comfy office chair, open the laptop and -- fall asleep.

I b'lieve I will be ordering in a Garmin tracker. The insurance may pay for it, and even if not, the stress of the sporadically working FitBit is -- stressful. And it's something I can do something about.

The insurance bill for the car and the house has landed, so I'll be writing that check before I use the money for something foolish, like buying a dozen eggs. Couple other pieces of snail that I need to deal with came in, too, though nothing particularly urgent.

Tomorrow, I need to go visit the cardiologist so they can glue one of those heart monitors to my chest for 30 day. Yes, yes; I did do this before. The doctors are bored. Or fishing. It would be nice if they got bored of fishing.

I note that I am Out of Cookies. That was careless of me. OTOH, maybe I'll make scones tomorrow morning, so I'll have something nice to eat with my tea when I come home from the cardiologist.

And that? Is all I've got.

Until. . .

Tuesday. Glowering and cold at the moment. Beans are calling for a high of 51F/11C. We'll see.

In the meanwhile, breakfast was homemade wheat bread toast, cream cheese, grapes. As I remarked to Rook, who was sitting on my lap at the time, "These grapes ain't nothin to write home about, so it's a good think we're already here.'

I'll take the trash and recycling to the curb as soon as I finish my first cup of tea and find my shoes.

Oven heating for scones.

My arm that received the booster shot hurts. I realize belatedly that it is my left arm. I'm usually more careful than that, but -- can't really get a re-do. And thinking about it -- I kind of ache all over, which I ascribe in equal portion to the COVID shot and fifteen trips up and down the cellar stairs in service of getting things to where they needed to be.

After I put the trash out, get the scones in the oven, and do my duty to the cats, I'll look over what I wrote yesterday, and add in all the names that I had forgotten since the last time I used them.

The cats felt that 5 hours and 10 minutes of not-particularly-restful sleep was enough for me. On the one hand, I would have liked more sleep. On the other, I was having some very anxious dreams, which makes me feel like that guy who complained the food wasn't very good and the servings were too small.

All that said, I'm angling to go to bed early tonight, given that the Things I have to accomplish are inconveniently timed for fitting in a nap.

It's good to have A Plan.

How much sleep did you get last night?

____________
Right before he started chewing on my head -- that's head, not hair -- Trooper gave me to understand that There Was No Food In the Bowls. As we see here, Trooper was exaggerating slightly:

Oh, today's blog post title brought to you by Odetta and Harry Belafonte, "There's a Hole in the Bucket."

What went before:  Yesterday went from bad to worse, and I took a couple hours out in the afternoon to sip hot chocolate and stare out the window, then watch Rook play with his robot mouse.  This toy had terrified him as a baby kitten, but yesterday, he deliberately knocked it off the shelf where it has been rusticating for months, and tried kicking it up and down the hall, so I turned it on and let it run until the charge failed.  He had a great time with it, and knew immediately to pick it up by its tail and get it into a open run space when it got (as it frequently does) stuck in a corner.

Wednesday. Sunny and cold.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, apple sauce. Something will leap out of the fridge for lunch, I'm sure.

First thing, I need to talk to somebody about a Confusion of Rights, to which I hope they have a definitive answer. Files under Why Writers Drink.

After my phone call, and hopefully armed with Answers, I need to write a letter. Then, I will be going over the damned tax packet *again* and if all looks good will be delivering it to the accountant's office, and from there to the grocery to take on food and wine.

I got up early (after 7.30 hours of sleep; someone was concerned that I was not getting enough rest with all these early hours. The fact is that getting up early begets going to bed early, and I, a lifelong Night Person, am now apparently a Day Person, something I'm not particularly happy about, but here we are.), and have already written one letter, so progress is progressing.

Way back when the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory was still in its Country Location, I discovered that there's a Life Limit on how much coffee one person can imbibe, and, what with years of mainlining the stuff, I had hit that limit. That was when I switched to tea, and Steve, after watching in Stark Terror every time I poured boiling water from a saucepan into a mug (and pretty often over the countertop, too), bought me an OXO Stainless Steel Whistling Tea Kettle with a Geniune Cork Covered Handle.

I love the OXO tea kettle, but it, like me, is starting to show its age, and I thought to get another (because, honest, if me pouring boiling water out of saucepan into a mug was scary ten years ago, it's only gotten worse. Even *I* get short of breath when I do it.). OXO of course, does not make this tea kettle any more, and I wound up with a Mr. Coffee Whistling Tea Kettle, and may I just say? What a piece of junque. I mean, yes, I'm spoiled; we've discussed this, and Steve always bought The Best, whether we could afford it or not -- but Mr. Coffee has not achieved a 10 year tea kettle.

On the other hand, given the on-gong axe-work against society and human beings, 10 years may not be something I have to worry about.

Below, another photo from last night -- you can see that Tali and Firefly have Made An Accommodation -- Firefly on *her* side against my hip, and Tali on *her* side, from hip to knee.

It was all very comfortable.

What makes you comfortable, lately?

Today's title brought to you by Ray Wylie Hubbard, and there's a story that goes with that.  I remembered the line about the night people's job being to take the day people's money, but not the title of the song.  I asked the internet, which served me up "Rabbit" which was not the song I'd been thinking of, but which I like on its own terms.  A little more digging got me the song I was after, "Nighttime."

Many cat pictures below.  I note that Tali and Firefly are working out the evening reading positions.

What went before:  Hired somebody to maintain korval.com, which is an enormous load off my shoulders.

Waiting in my email this morning was a note from NESFA (New England Science Fiction Association); Tony Lewis has left us.  Tony and Suford let Steve and me park our car at their house for a week and took us to the train station so we could attend our first convention as Guests of Honor, Silicon, in 1998. Chatting with him and Suford was always a high point at Boskone.

Thursday. Frizzling (freezing drizzle, looks like). Once again the Big Storm wore itself out before it got to us.

Breakfast was PB&J on English muffin. Second cup of tea is brewing. Lunch will be -- eh. No, wait. I got spaghetti and meatballs out of the freezer last night. Ta-da! Lunch.

So, I was flattened by the time I'd finished eating the evening meal, so I just took my book and a mug of tea and went to bed, where I was immediately joined by four cats, who immediately went to sleep. I read for a while, then shoved the propping pillow to one side, and joined them. So that was good. Next lesson: I'm going to have to stop thinking that 6:00 is early if I go to sleep at 10.

First up today is sitting by the window, watching the ... frizzle frizz ... and sketching in some scenes (y'all know that when I say things like "doodling" and "sketching" it means making notes and hand-drafting scenes, not actually doing art? Just wanted to clear that up.) This may actually be the only thing, aside one's duty to the cats, and feeding myself lunch, that actually gets accomplished today, and if so, sobeit.

So, that's it for me. Over to you.

Below the requested photos of the classy new cat bowls, provided by a Mystery Friend.

Today's blog post title comes to you from Dire Straits, "The Sultans of Swing."  Historical note:  I was on my way to Steve's house, and this song "previewed" on the radio, so that almost the first thing I said to Steve after he let me in was, "I just heard this incredible song!  Sultans of --"  And Steve turned to his record player, picked up an album cover (Steve having been a music reviewer, he got free albums) and handed it to me.  "I was just listening to it, when you knocked."  I happened to hear it on the radio this morning during breakfast.

So, to the dentist early this morning, on Steve's behalf.  This was the last in a series of four dental-related adventures scheduled for this week.  Everything's come out well.  I do wish there was dental insurance available anywhere in the beautiful state of Maine, though.  Ow.

Since we were already out, and the sun was, too; and after Steve had eaten his fill of a breakfast that wasn't "soft," we pointed Argent the Subaru in the direction of the Great City of Augusta, where it was our intention to visit our "local" Barnes and Noble to sign stock, and also to take on Tesla: Inventor of the Electric Age.

Stock consisted of one hardcover Trade Secret, and one each paperbacks Fledgling, Saltation, Mouse and Dragon, and was quickly dealt with.

The Tesla bio was not in stock, so it's being sent along to the house as soon as BN finds one in the warehouse.

Bidness done, we mooched around; Steve was being entranced by the games and toys.  I wandered over to the Writing and Publishing section, and saw a book titled Book in a Month: The Fool-Proof System for Writing a Novel in 30 Days. The dental bill very much in my mind, I picked this up, to find that it is authored by one Victoria Lynn Schmidt, PhD, who has written several books touching on the craft of writing, but does not appear, herself, to have actually written a novel.

Am I wrong to want a book about a fool-proof system for writing a novel in 30 days to have actually been written by someone who, oh, I don't know, writes novels?  In 30 days?  And sells them?

Sheesh.

After that disappointment, it was all the more delightful to find our friend Stew minding the music section.  We shot many bulls; Steve bought a Tai Chi DVD and I bought a Yoga DVD, and as we were standing there getting the credit cards sorted out, I said, "Nice fiddle music," and Steve agreed.  Stew showed us the cover for "What's Playing Now" and we added Lindsey Stirling to our pile.  For, as it turns out, free, because BN was having an in-store "buy two, get the third free" sale.

We played the new music on the way home.  I gotta tell you what -- I'd've played the hell of this thing when I was incarcerated working at Colby.

Here, try one.

The schedule for the rest of the day includes writing, and laundry, and maybe a nap. Because -- rising ridiculously early four days in a row?  So not cool.

This morning's title brought to you by the weather outside, which is dreadful.  When I lived in Baltimore, I got used to breathing soup, but I never learned to like it.   Terrible thing for a native to say.  Alas, the soup has found Maine this weekend -- heat combined with ozone and pollutants showing orange-red-yellow all up and down the state.

We here at the Cat Farm have deployed the air conditioners and are going to stay inside, reading the contract set that arrived in this morning's mail, writing, and, for my part at least, not reading the news.  I will perhaps spend some time seeking out pictures of kittens and baby platypuses on the internet.  Or maybe I'll just curl into a corner of the couch and spend an hour or two with somebody else's book.

. . .There was a inquiry yesterday into the musical and film preferences of the cats.  Mozart prefers piano -- classical or soft contemporary; he doesn't much admire jazz piano.  He deplores bagpipes and classic rock, though he likes Abney Park and Gaelic Storm.  Go figure.  His politics are apparently liberal:  When he first came to live with us and was sulking in the basement, the first time he came upstairs of his own volition while we were still awake, was in order to view of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.  He also very much enjoyed Hugo.

Scrabble seems to have no musical inclinations, and film bores her.  She prefers to be where the computers are.  Little brown geek cat.

Like Hexapuma, Socks likes anime, and action adventure movies.  He adored RED, which was a surprise; I wouldn't have taken him for a Bruce Willis guy, but there you are.  He also seems eclectic in his musical tastes:  piano music, weird zither-y atonal music, Bruce Springsteen, Janis Ian, Steeleye Span, Grateful Dead -- it's all good.  Hex, of course, being deaf, had no musical opinions.

Which reminds me that the Music of Liad game is still going on. Rules here.  So far we have musical themes for the following books:

Agent of Change:  Secret Agent Man (Johnny Rivers), Life During Wartime (Talking Heads)

Carpe Diem:  Beethoven's Sixth

Crystal Soldier/Dragon:  Capriccio Italien, Smugglers Blues (Glenn Frey)

Fledgling/Saltation:  Somewhere over the Rainbow (Judy Garland)

Local Custom:  I would walk 500 miles (The Proclaimers)

Mouse and Dragon:  She was the Prize (Gaelic Storm), Come Undone (Duran Duran), Lullabye (Billy Joel)

Scout's Progress:  Sweetness  (Yes), Your Own Special Way (Genesis)

And! Character Themes

Daav:  The Clock Ticks On (Blackmore's Night); Renaissance Faire (Blackmore's Night)

Clutch Turtles:  Afro-Celt Sound System

. . .that's a lot of interesting listening, already.  C'mon and play -- you know you want to!

Well, actually, no. We’re not going to Michigan; the post takes its title from a song from Audiobody, called (wait for it) “We’re Going to Michigan,” which has gotten stuck sideways in my head.

(Audiobody was a great find; I have their CD “Do Something Difficult,” and I couldn’t be more pleased. Thank you, EepyBird)

So, anyway, a busy couple days here at the Confusion Factory. Work on Dragon Ship continues; putting the house back together continues; planning for our various winter trips continues (Chattanooga on January 19! Um. Eeep!)(Boston on February 17! Urg!); deliveries continue to arrive (this just in — and I do mean just; the UPS truck is driving away as I type — give-away ribbons, including but not limited to, Happy Birthday Theo! Want one? Come see us at Chattacon.). The guy who was to come back and finish the couple little chores in the house for us has vanished into the ether, sigh. And I have a call in to a young lady who will help me hang the paintings up in such a manner that they won’t fall down again.

Discoveries continue, too. Just yesterday I discovered that it’s harder to upload a video to Youtube than Youtube lets you know. Also, I learned that some folks think a book that you can’t give to a YA reader is by definition a bad book.

Someone in the recent past asked why our books aren’t in the SFBC (Science Fiction Bookclub) catalog. The short answer is: both Balance of Trade and Partners in Necessity were available through SFBC. They didn’t do well (though there was a while there where I couldn’t talk to a SF-reading mundane* who didn’t say, “But! I read your book from SFBC! Why weren’t there any more?”) and SFBC has passed on any more Liaden material.

So, anyway, this is a check-in post. Things — lots of things! — are in process. The cats are asleep. And! there’s nothing much to see here.

What’s going on with y’all? Everybody ready for whatever Winter Holiday you honor?

___
*”Mundane” is the word that self-identified, con-going, and/or fanzine fans use to connote people who are not self-identified con-going and/or fanzine fans.

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.

So, a couple days ago I did the read-through (and fly-edit) of the first 60 grand of Necessity’s Child, then brought the blood-soaked pages back to the desk to input the changes.

And stalled at Chapter Four, because, um.

Let’s just say that Chapter Four is a Pivotal Chapter and it’s kicking my can.

Anyhow, this morning, in-between bread-punching, laundry, and torturing Mozart, I sat on the couch with a yellow pad and a pen, and Brooded.  I also doodled.  And made lists about other parts of the story, and had an epiphany, which is that I was holding shy of the villain ’cause they scare me.  As they should.  Very scary villain, here.  Just so you know.  And doodled some more, and realized that Chapter Four needed to explicate the Top Level Conflict, not the Secondary Conflict.  Which helped about as much as you’d think it would, so I went back to making lists, and realized the perfect time for the villain to — well, never mind.  But it’s awesome, really.  At least, I’m in awe.  Also kind of bummed that I hadn’t thought of it weeks ago.  And doodled.  And wrote some dialog.  And a little more dialog, and went back and made notes on the Big List of Stuff that Has to Happen before I wrote some more dialog, and…

I don’t want to be Unduly Optimistic, but I think I may have Chapter Four nailed.  The writing will tell, of course, but — I think I’ve got it.

Of course, that means that the information that’s actually in the present-but-soon-to-be-former Chapter Four has to go someplace else, because it is important, just not important where it is.  But I think I can sprinkle bits here and there throughout the existing chapters.

Fascinating, nu?

In far more interesting news, I see that Frency and the Punk’s Kickstarter campaign to raise production money for their next two CDs is less than $200 short of their goal.  And!  They say that, if donations total more than the basic production costs, the overage will go toward producing a lyrics book, which excites me, because, well.  Y’all know how I feel about lyrics.

OK, so.  The bread’s about ready to put in the oven, and we should rustle up some lunch.  After that, it’s the big Chapter Four rewrite.

Spot me; I’m going in.

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.