Eagles Over the Kennebec

Yesterday's plan, insofar as there was a plan, was to Get Out of the House and Do Something Else.

We were in large measure, Successful.

I drove us to Coburn Gore, which, for those of you who are Unfamiliar lies on the border between Maine and Canada.  It's our closest crossing to Montreal, and, having not had any real reason to visit Montreal or Quebec in the last few years, has remained Unsurveyed by Authors Goofing Off for Quite Some Time.

It . . . is not much changed.  The northern reaches of the state are much harsher in terms of landscape and standard of living than the sought-after southern points.  Several of the smaller towns have aged badly.  Kingfield looked . . . OK, but we're in the skiing off-season and Kingfield really doesn't come into its own until the first snow.

The country -- harsh, yes, but grand for all of that -- mountains in the distance, and then right up in your face, chains of deep green lakes,  ledges of living rock two feet from the passenger side, and on the driver's side -- why no, who on earth has that much safety rail?  And honestly, at the speed you're likely going, coming down the mountain and playing with gravity, that itty-bitty safety rail isn't gonna make one damned bit of difference.

We drove up Routes 6 and 8 -- hit some road work (welcome to Maine in the summer) but not much traffic, and most of that the big rigs, going up to cross the border.

For the purposes of this discussion, Coburn Gore is a convenience store and two border stations -- Canadian, and USian.  For those traveling in this direction, be aware that Peppin's convenience store has no public bathrooms -- those are said to be available at the border stations.  I did not check this information, so cannot tell you how many questions you might have to answer the border guard before you're let to use a bathroom.

What Coburn Gore really needs is a Visitor Information Center, with maps, and tourist booklets; coffee and soda machines, and public bathrooms,  Mind you, this isn't going to happen, but it would make the place seem less . . . prisoned.

So, anyhow, beautiful drive on the "new" road. The first time we drove to Coburn Gore, it was a lane-and-a-half of washboard; the second time, MaineDOT was tearing down a mountain and putting in a road that the big rigs could make some time on.  That road is now complete and has been for maybe 12 years.  So you see we really were overdue for an Inspection.

It was 77F/25C at the border on the top of the mountain.  Steve took us back down, picking up degrees as we went.  When finally we raised Bingham and pulled into the rest area on Route 201 to eat our picnic, it was 88F/31C and I was thinking it might make sense to turn around and retrace our drive.

However!  There were cats at home, and home we came.

Steve beat me at Scrabble, just by a squeak.  We had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, and retired to the living room with our wine, and said cats, to read until bed time.

Today, it's back to the routine.  I have bills to pay, paragraphs to write, and laundry to do.  I'm also on-deck for supper, which will be!  The Rest of the Quiche, and roasted asparagus.  Shaw's keeps throwing asparagus in my way, and I keep buying it, so . . .

At the moment, I believe I am unsupervised.  Firefly was in for a few minutes, but then Steve went downstairs, and she rushed off to supervise his Important Work for Cat Kind in the basement.

The Big Plan for the rest of the week is to stay inside on Station Air, as we're looking for 90F/32C, and In My Not So Humble Opinion, that is too damned hot.

. . . and I think that catches us all up.

Everybody keep warm or cool, depending on your preferences.

Today's blog post brought to you by The Beatles, "The Magical Mystery Tour."  Here's your link.

So, yesterday, it was sunny and warm, for values of warm that factor in March and Maine, and we called in one of our Rolling Days Off.

Now, what with one thing and another, I haven't been driving much for the last, eh, year?  Two years.  Around town stuff -- out to Unity Pond, or to Solon, but not what you'd call a Good Drive.  Or not what I'd call a Good Drive.  Understand, I like to drive, and it's been a Point of Faith with me since I earned my ticket to fly  that I could drive anywhere, any time, no problem.  You wanna go to Mars?  Fine, I'll drive you to Mars; strap in.

For the first part of my treatment, I'd been driving myself to the Cancer Center -- about 130 mile round trip -- but then about half-way through the course,  Radiation Fatigue set in, and Steve had to step up to be my chauffeur (cue the Beatles).

Now, the thing they don't tell you about Radiation Fatigue, aside that "some" people experience it, is that -- it hangs around after you've gotten done, received your graduation certificate from your ray-gunners, AND rung the bell.  It hangs around for a long time.

Most usually, it manifests as a sudden, freewheeling Wall of Exhaustion -- and I mean this exactly; you'll be doing something -- washing the dishes, reading, writing, driving -- and BAM! you're done.  Now.  You can barely hold your head up.  There's no predicting how, when, or why this will happen.

So, long story short, given the above, I haven't been driving much.  And, all other things being more or less back to normal -- the other thing they don't necessarily tell you about cancer recovery is that it takes a lot longer than you think -- I decided to see if I couldn't get my driving mojo back.

Frequent readers of this blog will recall that I recently bought a car -- Tinsori the Honda.  Tinsori is the back-up car.  Our primary ride is a very nice Touring Subaru Forester with all kinds of safety features onboard, and it was the Forester that I drove out yesterday, Steve riding shotgun, all the way down to the ocean and back.

That's a 200-mile round trip -- no big deal -- and I got to take a long walk on the beach, and we ate supper at one of our favorite restaurants; took another small on-foot tour of the town, stopped for ice cream on the way home, and!

It was fine.  It was better than fine. No Wall of Exhaustion, not even on the horizon. So, I'm calling this a Modest Victory, and hope to repeat it -- soon -- and eventually arrive at a point where Steve doesn't need to ride shotgun.

In Other News:  I've completed my editorial pass through Section Two of Salvage Right, and Steve has it to read for continuity and general sense.  In the meantime, I will be moving on to Section Three, continuing with the Write the Scenes You Know Method, with which I'm pretty well pleased.  It means writing a lot of bridges, and sometimes having to frog, if the scene doesn't wind up fitting exactly where it seemed to fit, but that's all perfectly doable in the editing pass.

For those counting along at home, Salvage Right now stands at 64,656 words, or approximately half-done.

Here, have a snippet:

"One of the crew of Bechimo who may have valuable insight into my work. As you heard, we will speak in depth after the present task is completed, and I have slept."

"Oh, you remembered sleep," M Traven said, in a tone of broad enlightenment.

"If I had not, you would have reminded me," Seignur Veeoni said, rising and moving toward the antechamber.

Yesterday was Errands.

As you're all of course aware the Samsung Galaxy Tab A7 Lite dropped yesterday, and it was in my mind to arrive at Best Buy in Augusta and Acquire One, since my old-in-computer-terms Asus tablet is trembling on the edge of the True Death.

Alas, the Best Buy in Augusta had no A7 Lites in-stock.  They would have been  pleased to order one for me, but yanno?  I can do that myself.

So, onward!

Our next stop was Ellsworth, where we picked up the tambour clock that we had dropped off for repair in March, and and which I have missed DESperately every day it was gone.

Having driven to Ellsworth via the high-speed (where road construction is underway on both sides -- welcome to summer in Maine), we opted to drive home via the low-speed (that's Routes 1 and 3 to you), arriving in good time at Belfast, where we had a lovely under-the umbrella lunch at Nautilus at the harbor.  Steve had the haddock sandwich and I had the portobello with melted cheese on toast, both pronounced excellent.  There was green wine on offer, but we sadly declined, since there was still some driving to do.

Funny thing about Belfast harbor yesterday -- there were no seagulls.  No, not one, even though there were french fries in play.

We drove home, decided that the grocery shopping could be put off until today, and shared the piece of limoncello cake we brought home from Nautilus.  Then Steve put the tambour clock back into its place in the living room bookshelf, I logged into B&H Photography and ordered myself a tablet, and we reconvened in the living room with a glass of wine, to finish reading Network Effect to each other.

In a few minutes, it's off to the grocery store, then a story conference, then all story all the time for the Next While.  I hear there are authors who never have Deadline Crunch, but those authors are not us.

It rained overnight; I'm not sure how much, and the weatherbeans today threaten us with roaming violent thunderstorms, armed with hail, so that will be exciting, and the more reason to do the grocery shopping early.

Everybody stay safe.

So, there's been an inquiry -- what the heck are we doing, anyway?

I'm pleased that people care enough to wonder after us, and I do understand that the terms of my profession include the tacit understanding that I will be Endlessly Entertaining on the Internets.

However.

The truth is that I'm not especially entertaining, all by myself -- rather boring, really -- nor are these entertaining times.  My household is doing what many other households are doing -- getting by, working quietly at our various tasks, communing with the cats, and just trying to stay strong.  Yes, I'm reading a lot.  I like to read; reading is what got me into the Author Biz in the first place.

As reported just a few days ago, we're working on the next Jethri book, and that goes like this:  Steve is lead on the story.  When he finishes a section, by which we mean, he feels it's correct and will require no more adjustments or updates, he passes it on to me for editing, adding clarifying bits, and occasional bridge work.  All very so-so, but it gets the job done.

We have two stories under contract, one for an upcoming anthology, Girls in Tank Tops, edited by Jason Cordova; the other for Baen.com, to be published in mid-November.  Both of those are specifically Liaden stories.  On the side, because there's nothing like the thrill of writing a side story when you have work under contract, I'm writing a short set in Low Port, working title "Our Lady of Benevolence."

I believe I mentioned, though I repeat it now for the people in the back, that there will be no new Liaden novel published in 2021.  Steve and I are very sorry about that; it's completely our fault.  The mass market edition of Trader's Leap will be available in September, and a new paperback edition of Local Custom, in November.  We have also signed a contract for the fifth Liaden Universe® Constellation, to be published sometime in 2022.  I'll get the TOC up as I can.

For those who may have missed the announcement, the audiobook edition of Trader's Leap, narrated by Eileen Stevens, is now available from Audible.

We do still have Liaden books under contract, those would be two Jethri books (Steve is lead on both, and is writing the first one now, see above), and two to be named later.  Right now, I'm inclining toward the doings at Tinsori Light for the first of those, though that's not set in anything even resembling stone.

Regarding conventions, Steve and I will be Guests of Honor at AlbaCon (the one in Albany, New York).  This is a virtual con, and here's your link. Yes, it says "2020;" it's this year's information, trust me.

Steve and I are also looking at DisCon 3, that's the upcoming WorldCon, in December.  We're still talking about whether that will be a virtual attendance, or if we'll be physically taking the train down to DC and actually attend a convention for the first time since Forever.  Here's your link to DisCon.

Other than the above, yes, I have taken up embroidery again, which is not a bad thing; it is not "taking me away" from writing any more than reading "takes me away" from writing.  Woman cannot Just Do One Thing every waking hour.  Well, OK.  Some women doubtless can, but not this one.

Today's blog post title comes from "Start the Car," Jude Cole.  Here's your link.

So, yesterday. . .

Yesterday was Saturday.  In addition, it was sunny, and warm, and, yeah, a little  breezy, but with a welcome lack of winter tooth.  A pre-spring breeze, in fact.

Friday morning, I had gone out into the world -- aka to two places which were not hospitals (the pharmacy and the post office, and yes, I was wearing a mask) -- and had noticed that Skylark the Subaru was just a tad reluctant to start.  I mentioned this to Steve, who mentioned that Saturday was looking good for us to Do Our Duty by our Vehicle, and take it out for a battery-reviving ride.

Which is what we did.  We picked a target -- Lincolnville Beach in Ducktrap (or, if you prefer, Lincolnville) -- and a route -- over Pleasant View Ridge in China, which afforded a tremendous view of Mount Washington, as well as Sugarloaf, and -- it was just the White Mountains and the Appalachians, as far as the eye could see.

Anyhow, we were motoring along quite contentedly, enjoying ourselves and the sun, and remarking on how many branches the winter had shaken out of the trees, and everything was going well, until. . .

We made a Fatal Error.

We stopped for gas.

For those non-drivers among us -- when you stop for gas, you turn the car off.

In an Ideal Universe, once you've finished filling the tank, you get back in the car, turn the key, the motor turns over, and Bob's your uncle.

In a less-than-Ideal-Universe, which is where we all seem to be stuck, the car -- doesn't start.

So, there we were, at the Irving gas station on Route 3, right next to Lori's Diner, blocking access to a gas delivery point, dead, so to speak, in the water.

We called Triple A which this time did not fail us, and very soon we had Sparky himself from Sparky's Garage, who gave us a boost with a -- wait for it -- handheld battery about the size of an ipad, and three times as thick.

On the road again, we resumed our drive, arriving at Lincolnville Beach to find that the Entire Population of Central Maine had thought to themselves, "Yanno?  nobody will be at Ducktrap."  We passed on by, waving at the ocean, and headed up-coast, diverting into Northport, which -- no, I can't describe Northport.  I love the place, but I have peculiar tastes in villages.  Say, that Northport is built vertically above the sea; all roads, save the ridge road to which we scrupulously adhered, go either up, briefly, to the top of the hill, or down, eventually, to the sea.

The ridge road allows many good view of the sea, close in and distant, and so we drove, looking out, across to Searsport, and down to where the odd little boathouses are tucked into crinkles of land right at the edge of the water, and down to more public places, Saturday Cove, and the center harbor.

Coming out of Northport, we continued up to Belfast, did a circuit of the crowded public pier, and so to home, stopping to sit in line at Burger King, to gather fish sandwiches to take home.

So, that was fun, and I'm glad we got out for a drive.  Less fun, I'm going to have get a new battery in the car -- and soon.  I want the car to start, and no back-chat, when I get out of Ray Gun Therapy.  That means -- new battery before Wednesday, which is complicated by the fact that the weatherbeans are calling for 3-5 inches of snow between 8pm this evening, and midnight, Monday.

Oh, April, you really are the cruelest month.

The revisions for Liaden Universe® novel Trader's Leap have been turned in.

Now, I get to find my desk.

So, this weekend, we took off to celebrate my birthday -- belatedly.  We had planned this trip since we realized that Trader's Leap wouldn't be finished by my Actual Birthday, so on Friday, September 20, we took off for Lubec, Maine on the Bay of Fundy.

If you are unfamiliar Lubec, it is the easternmost town in the contiguous United States, situated across Lubec Narrows from Campobello Island, New Brunswick Canada.  Steve secured a third floor corner room in Cohill's Inn, with windows looking over the Narrows, toward Mulholland Light on the Island, and more! windows! looking up the Bay toward Eastport.

In addition to being in just an awesome place, geographically, we were in Lighthouse Country.  Friday, after we checked into our room, we headed to West Quoddy Head Lighthouse, got our Lighthouse Passports stamped and took a cool zillion pictures.  Here's some:

We then retired to our room, but were drawn outside again to watch the tide (the Bay of Fundy is famous for its rapid, dangerous tides) come in and to take another cool zillion pictures, this time of cormorants and seals.

Here's a couple seals:

Next day, we crossed the International Bridge to Campobello Island, and drove out to visit Harbour Head Light Station at the verymost other end of Compobello Island, and Mullholland Point Light, in Welshpool, New Brunswick, which was coincidentally situated directly across Lubec Narrows from our room.

Here's Head Harbour Light Station:

And here's Mulholland Point Light:

Here's a picture of The Spark Plug, in Lubec Narrows.  You can't visit The Spark Plug, but the docent at West Quoddy Light had a stamp, so we got to claim it.

Oh, and here's a picture of Cohill's Inn, our Lubec Headquarters, from Mulholland Point Light, across the Narrows in Canada.  Ours was the room on the third floor right, last window, and then two windows around the corner.

Today, we said a reluctant farewell to Lubec, and Proceeded homeward in a leisurely fashion, taking side trips to Cutler, to view the really pretty little New England Harbor, and the super sekrit submarine base.  We have no pictures of Cutler, for obvious reasons.

Our second side trip was to Roque Bluffs State Park.  Here's a picture of the sign, and the Art:

We're home now, obviously, and reluctantly.  It was 68F/20C this morning when we left Lubec (stopping for breakfast at the Shore Thing Diner). When we arrived home in the metropolis of Waterville, it was 82F/28C.  If I could move Lubec Narrows to our back yard. . .

So!  Tomorrow, it's back to work, but, boy, didn't we have a great weekend!

So!  Steve and I took a vacation.

I place all blame for this on the Cirque du Soleil, which, back in the waning winter, sent me notice that Crystal would be at the Cross Insurance Arena in our very own Portland, Maine, in August.  I, of course, immediately told asked Steve we were going if he and I could make a date for the show, and he agreed.

There remained the small difficulty of Portland being between 90 and 120 minutes from the New Cat Farm and Confusion Factory, and we kicked around the notion of taking a hotel room in Portland, which was not an. . .unattractive notion, Portland having more restaurants per square foot than any other city I've been in, plus, yanno, shopping.

However, it also, slowly, became obvious to us that Old Orchard Beach -- which has the Atlantic Ocean, classic rock, an amusement park, ice cream, silly beach shops, the Atlantic Ocean -- is only a fifteen minute drive from the Cross Arena in Portland, and so we cannily took a room at OOB, not for one night, but for four.

We drove down Tuesday for an afternoon check-in at a sorta newish place for us -- The Waves ("sorta newish" because The Waves is the big sister property to the Sea View, where, back when my first Carousel* book released, I had rented a room block for the release party, so we knew management, but not the property).  Our room was second floor, ocean-side.  It was, in fact, 55 paces to the beach (according to Steve, who Measures Things). The porch overlooked everything -- dunes, sea roses, surf, the Thursday night fireworks display.  I spent hours on the porch, breathing sea air, reading, playing with binoculars -- just, yanno, doing nothing.  So very fine not to have to do anything.  For a few days, anyway.  By the time we were getting packed up, I was getting a little antsy with the whole "rest" thing.

I took my laptop, because -- writer.  But I did not open my laptop.  I did not Facebook.  I did not Twitter.  I did not email.  I took no pictures.  I took no prisoners.  I think I told one guy, in response to a direct question, what it was I did for a living.  It was glorious.  I did, as above, sit on the porch and read; take naps; walk up and down the town and the beach; visited Googin Rock; ate every meal for four days out; also 'way too much ice cream; played arcade games; talked to Steve about things that were not business or writing (well, OK, we did start to plot a short story, and -- full disclosure -- I started to play around with the idea for a new Carousel story, if I should manage to get time to write a new Carousel story).

Life at the ocean over our four-day stay was interesting.  We had a number of thunderstorms, including one that produced a horizontal rainbow about a foot off of the surface of the waves, which was really interesting.  Friday night's storm caught us in the amusement park.  We retreated to the arcade before the heavy lightning and thunder hit, and had just taken up a position beside a row of games when -- FLASH! BOOM! -- and all the lights in the arcade went out.

There was time for a group intake of breath, and for one child to say, on a rising note "Mah-OHM?" -- before the lights came back on and the young lady playing the Terminator machine across from us cussed because she'd lost her best score.

The park was closed for a little while until it was clear that the storm had moved on.  We walked among the rides, saying hello and good-bye, and retired to our room and the so-very-excellent porch.

Yesterday, we regretfully packed out, and drove home the long way, through Oxford, Paris, Milford, Mexico. . .stopping on the way through Waterville to pick up Chinese for lunch at home with the cats.

The cats, for those who are curious about how our cats "punish" us for abandoning them -- the cats were all four waiting for us in the hall at the top of the stairs to the basement.  Trooper was a little forward of the ladies, and he greeted me first, to be sure I was who I said I was.  Then Belle stepped forward, then Scrabble, then Sprite.

The formalities attended to, they proceeded to beg for Chinese.

After lunch, we unpacked in a leisurely manner, and met for a glass of wine and to read out loud, in the living room, in the early evening.

We're working our way through the Cat Who/Qwilleran cozies, the book we're reading now is The Cat Who Went Into the Closet.

I sat down in my corner of the couch, and put the leg-rest out (the right and left seats of the couch recline).  We each had a glass of red wine to hand.  Belle came to sit on my lap; Sprite jumped up onto the Mencken table, where I had carelessly left the Scrabble set (in the box).

Everybody settled, Steve began to read.

Belle fell into a doze on my lap.  Steve leaned forward to pick up his wine, settled back, rustled the pages of the book, Sprite startled, kicked, knocked the Scrabble box off of the table to a crash landing on the floor, Sprite fled, Belle rocketed out of my lap, through Steve, knocking his arm up, so that he was showered in red wine.

There was a twenty-minute recess while clean-up happened, and Steve changed his clothes.

The book -- a book club edition, with those thin, gritty pages, dried quickly enough for us to continue reading, Steve's wine glass refilled.

We were lucky in the arc of wine:  Most of it went on Steve (granted, he doesn't particularly think this was lucky); some landed on the stain-proofed, dark-brown-tweed sofa; a fair amount splashed one of the pillows, which I count a win, because I never liked those pillows and now I have an excuse to replace them.  A small amount of wine hit the floor, and was handily mopped up.  None touched what I like to call my Good Wool Rug.  The Scrabble set was in the box, the box was sealed with ribbon, thus no escaping tiles.

So, as catsasters go, it could have been much worse.  I have a bruise on my thigh where Belle took off, and Steve's clothes may not be completely recoverable.  On the other hand, they were beach clothes, so a minor loss at worst.

Today, I'm clearly on the computer.  I've already ordered Earth Logic, Water Logic, and Air Logic (the follows to Fire Logic, which I finished reading at the ocean), and I'm shopping on Redbubble for some laptop stickers.  I also need to pull out information about a minor character appearing in . . .Lance, who will be the star of the story we need to write for Baen.com, and frowning at the notes I left for myself in re the WIP

Yes, and I've also opened my email; if I owe you an email -- waiting is.

Lunch, I believe, will be leftover Chinese, and that will be the official end of the vacation.  It was terrific, and I'd do it again tomorrow, but -- deadline.

And so it goes.

Speaking of deadlines, we still do have book deadlines in our future.  This is what our professional life looks like, as of right now:

Accepting the Lance finishes the contract we called here in-house The Five Book Dash.  It will be published in December.  Believe it or not, that's Realsoonnow.

While we were working on The Five Book Dash, Baen offered us a contract for two additional Liaden books, the so-called Mask Books (because we had not made proposals, and knew nothing, other than we could write two more Liaden books, and thus Baen would be purchasing a couple of pigs in the poke, or -- more elegantly -- Liadens in masks.)

A little while after that, Baen offered another contract, for three Liaden books, the so-called Triple Threat.

We are, therefore, still under contract for five Liaden books.

The novel I am working on right now will fulfill the first half of the Mask contract.

Steve is working on a Jethri novel, which will fulfill the second half of the Mask contract.

That will leave the entire Triple Threat to be written.

So -- yes there are Liaden books in your future.

No, there are no Carousel/Archers Beach books in your immediate future.

There are no Gem ser'Edreth books in your future.

There are no Jen Pierce mysteries in your future.

Everybody confused now?

Good.

Imma answering my email now.

__________
*Carousel novels by Sharon Lee:  Carousel Tides, Carousel Sun, Carousel Seas
Carousel short stories by Sharon Lee:  Surfside, The Gift of Magic, Spell Bound

So!  Yesterday, Steve and I took off in the rain to see the Very First Waterville Showing of Aladdin.  I had such a good time.  Yes, I know there's Controversy.  Yes, I'm aware that Will Smith is not Robin Williams*.  I still had a great time; I have no fault to find and, yeah, Imma order the DVD.  Also, Rajah the Tiger was terrific.

After the movie, we went into Waterville proper and had our first meal at the new Greek restaurant, Opa.  Steve had the crabcakes, which he pronounced very good; I had the lamb kokkinsto (pulled lamb in a red sauce seasoned with garlic and cinnamon on a bed of orzo), which was excellent.

Replete, we wandered down Main Street, stopping to talk with our friend Ellen at Children's Book Cellar and review the plans for the Drag Queen Story Hour next Saturday, and sought her advice regarding the upcoming International Film Festival (held in Waterville annually).

Then, we wandered back up the street, got the car, hit the grocery story for weekend supplies and came home, where we hung pictures in the dining room.  Yes, yes; it's taking us awhile to hang the pictures, but we're getting there.

Today is gloriously sunny, and the weatherbeans are calling for a high of 74F/23C.  I have all the windows open in my office.  Have I mentioned lately how much I love my office?

Lest you think that the only thing we're doing around here is taking day's office, I report today's to-do list, which includes!

1.  One hour proofing Conflict of  Honors mass market anniversary edition.  Which is not as easy as you might think.  Our experience proofing Agent of Change for it's anniversary edition revealed, um, Some Number of Errors which had come through from the time, long ago, when We gave the electronic files from Embiid to Arnold of Fond Memory, who then stripped out the existing coding, and recoded, automagically.  So!  We're proofing Conflict against the Meisha Merlin and the Del Rey editions.  Which means I (1) read the chapter in the MM edition; (2) go through that chapter in the pages provided by Baen, correcting any errors, and (3) if there's a conflict, the Del Rey edition is the tie-breaker.  Yeah, it's taking some time.  But the corrections aren't due until July, so we have time.
2. Figure out where the pieces Steve has given me back actually go in the current novel WIP, and putting them there.
3. Writing the next scene in said novel WIP.
4. Deadhead the geranium.
5. Try on corset to test The Look for next week's story hour.

Also!  For those who missed the news, you may now purchase Fortune's Favors:  Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 28 AND Shout of Honor: Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 29 in ebook format from your favorite online vendors including Baen, Kobo, BN, Amazon; and in paper format from Amazon only.

. . . and I think that gets us all caught up again.

Everybody have a good weekend!

___________________
*I was 40 when the animated Disney Aladdin came out, so I did not fixate on Robin Williams as the One True Genie before whom all others must be inadequate.  Truth told, he was a little too too for me, but that was often my experience of Robin Williams.

So, Steve and I have been out and about and in and around, we took a drive up into the Western Mountains on Saturday, I've been working steadily on the next novel (still lacking a title), Steve has finished up "Shout of Honor," and now I'm moving on to making that into Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 29, with a planned release date of May 15, while he reads the new beginning of said titleless book.

All of this is enough to keep us busy, but it makes dull blogging.

I can give you a little excitement today, so hold onto your hats.

Here's the cover for the upcoming chapbook.

*Full verse:
Spring is sprung; the grass is riz
I wonder where the birdie is.
They say the bird is on the wing,
But that's absurd.  The wing is on the bird.
--Spike Jones**

_____________________
**There's some dispute about the author.  Some folks say Ogden Nash, but I had always heard it was Spike Jones, and that's what I'm going with.