Lilith Saintcrow

So the kids are back in school. Which means I’m getting up at 5AM again, but instead of running on the treadmill, I’ve taken to running outside.

In the dark. With the dog. Which is pretty much how you’d think it would be. If I could fit the dog on the treadmill for my long runs I would, but on that path lies madness. Best just to get out the door, take my lumps, and haul ass through rain and whatnot.

Predawn. Mist rising off the athletic fields at the middle and elementary schools. Miss B trots along beside me, unsure just what we’re doing at this Godforsaken hour, but she’s got her backpack on and it’s obviously time to work, so she’s down for it. (There’s none of this “I don’t want to get up” bullshit from Miss B, oh no. The instant I stir in the morning it’s a cold wet nose to the face and a “SOHAPPYTOSEEYOU, MISSEDYOUSOMUCH, WHATWEDOINGNOW?”)

Nobody out except us and a few people driving to work, and the morning bicycle-riders. (CRAZY. You couldn’t pay me to do that. To each their own insanity, though, right?) The only sounds are my breathing, the jingle of Miss B’s collar, the pounding of my feet. The usual dogs on our route don’t know what to make of us this early; it will take time for them to realize we’re just out running and they can relax.

So, it’s fairly tranquil. Except for (you knew there had to be an “except for”, didn’t you?) the killer bunnies.

You see, someone’s pet rabbits escaped. And, as rabbits will do, they went feral and started breeding. They’re not a neighborhood plague–not quite, not yet. But they’re fluffy and cottontailed, and very fast.

Miss B would loooove to catch herself some rabbit. Mind you, she probably wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do if she actually did get one. It’s one of the Great Unfulfilled Desires of her life, kind of like Catching A SUV or Fitting Underneath The Alpha’s Bed, or even Getting Her Nose Up The UPS Guy’s Bottom. She’s a herding dog, so she sees something bolt and every circuit in her head fuses. She takes off, dead silent, and the only thing stopping her is the leash tied around my waist. Now, she’s about forty pounds of dog, and I’m *mumblemumble* pounds of human, so those are fun times. Let’s just say that the leash is slip-knotted for a reason, and that I know how to drop my center of gravity and keep going.

Yet another lesson I am very grateful to bellydancing for.

Anyway, when I had the bright idea of running outside before dawn, I hadn’t thought about the fact that right before sunup is when the little vorpel bunnies were going to be out and active. So half of our morning run takes place around an elementary school playing field that is, coincidentally, Grand Bunny Central. It’s like an obstacle course, and also sharpens my night vision. I can tell I’m about to become very adept at bracing myself right before Miss B lunges after Peter Cottontail, who pauses to give her the finger before laughing, sticking his bum in the air, and taking off at warp fifteen.

But I don’t mind. Because of Phred.

So this morning we hit Grand Bunny Central, we’re about a mile and a half in, things are warmed up and going nicely. Miss B starts acting a little funny. I can’t quite tell what she’s getting the scent of, but apparently it is FANTASTIC. If her tail wasn’t naturally docked, it would be wagging itself right off her rump. In any event, she’s trying to wag so hard her back end is skipping around, which usually means she’s seen another dog and wants to make friends. I don’t know how she can run an 11.5-minute mile while her back end is doing the Funky Chicken, but some mysteries are not meant for mortals to solve.

There’s a tawny-gray flash out of the corner of my eye, there and gone. Miss B is almost hysterical with joy. Something is in the neighborhood, running roughly parallel to us. It veers away through a passage between two houses, and I forget about it. Maybe a stray, maybe a cat, who knows? It was too big to be a bunny, that’s all I could tell.

We make the hard left turn into the park near the elementary school, and Miss B is unwontedly eager. Still, we haven’t hit the three-mile mark, which is when she usually calms down. So we’re going along, and all of a sudden there’s that tawny-gray flash again. Four legs, running low. It stops, ears perked high, and Miss B pleads to be allowed to go make friends.

ME: Huh, that’s odd. It’s canine…pretty small to be shaped like that, though, wonder what breed–

MISS B: NEW FRIEND! NEWFRIEND NEWFRIENDNEWFRIEND!

ME: And that’s a strange color, too–HOLY SHIT GET IN THE CAR IT’S A COYOTE!

MISS B: CAN WE PLAY NEW FRIEND NEW FRIEND, OH PLEASE OH PLEASE–

ME: NO IT PROLLY HAS RABIES JESUS STOP IT LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!

PHRED THE COYOTE: Chillax, you guys are scaring the rabbits!

Yep, you read that right. A coyote. In the middle of the neighborhood. He probably comes down from the hills to hunt wabbit. I don’t know if Miss B has ever seen a coyote before. She certainly wanted to make Phred’s acquaintance, in a big, big way. No barking, but that back of the throat ohpleaseohplease whine she uses when she just wants to play with another dog. And me, grimly running onward–Miss B and I, we could probably take anything short of a pack of hyenas, but she is looking like she’d be no help. Plus, if Phred is going to put a dent in the rabbit population, he’s welcome to go about his business.

See, I love crows and coyotes and seagulls. I love the omnivorous trash animals, the ones that creep around the corner and do Nature’s dirty cleanup work. They’re usually smart as hell and interesting to boot. So as long as Phred keeps to his bidness, we’ll keep to ours.

He just better not come a few streets over and start messing with cats instead of bunnies. Because then, shit will get real. I will sic Neo on him.

Speaking of Neo…but that’s tomorrow’s story.

See you then!

It is just way too bright and sunny today. And it’s a good thing I’m damn stubborn, or I would have quit after three miles today and not had that awesome endorphin-kick runner’s high. Not to mention the drift of honeysuckle, the cheerful “good morning”s from other runners–I content myself with a “Morning!” in return, because I can’t be cheerful while struggling to stay upright and moving. I would have also missed having the shaded park all to myself for a few glorious circuits. That was nice.

So, announcements!

* If you’ve ever wondered how Selene returned to Saint City, you can read the brand-new Selene and Nikolai story, Just Ask in the upcoming Mammoth Book of Hot Romance.

* Also upcoming is Reckoning, the final book in the Strange Angels series. The end of August will see a bindup of bboks one and two, Strange Angels and Betrayals with an all-new, lovely cover.

* November will also see the final Jill Kismet book, Angel Town.

* You can now buy all five of the Dante Valentine novels in one smoking-hot omnibus. (Personal demon not included, sorry.) Also, Graphic Audio has released parts one and two of Working For The Devil, I believe part 1 of Dead Man Rising is also available.

* I will be attending SpoCon in August. Not quite sure what my schedule will look like, but I’ll be there on panels etc. I will also be at the Cedar Hills Crossing Powells annual SF/F Authorfest in ?November?, more details on that as it gets closer.

* There’s an interview with me up over at the Gatekeeper’s Post.

* I can’t really talk about this yet, but it’s up on Amazon. Tempty tempty.

* A big “welcome home” shout-out to TP, back from the wilds of Europe. *evil wink*

…I’m sure there’s something I’ve forgotten, but I haven’t even finished my coffee yet, so forgive me. Off I go to find a name that means “a hunter” for a wooden garden-boy. He wants Calhoun, but I’m not sure he should have it. He’s not the protagonist, so he doesn’t really get what he wants as far as names.

Damn characters. Over and out.

Today’s post comes to you courtesy of Reader Kassandra A., who asked me:

Long shot here to get a response from you but still worth it for me to try. I am going to attempt to start running. I am a 34 year old mother of two who tends to delve into my enormous TBR pile of books to escape the reality of life more times than is most likely healthy. *shrug* The way you have talked about your running routine has brought an already (although very dormant) existing interest in doing the same for myself to light. If you have insight into how I can get started (and keep going) I would love to hear your thoughts. (from email)

I got this email and thought, but why would you ask me? I’m not a professional or anything. Then I sat down and looked at my running journals. They’re year-long sort-of-diaries (I like this kind) where I can note mileage, my route, speed (if applicable) and notes about how a particular run felt. I’ve been running for almost three years now, keeping a log for about a year and a half. So, maybe I do have something to say, even though I’m not a professional.

(more…)

Ring the bells and pass the ammunition, I’m running again!

Seriously. I was out of bed like a shot at 5 this morning, into my running gear, and on the treadmill before you could say “ankle sprain BE CAREFUL.” Warm-up, cooldown, and a half-hour at a very slow and gentle pace. My ankle wasn’t happy, of course, but what part of one’s body IS happy when one’s running? It felt so good. I wanted to keep going and put in an hour, but I’m being a good girl. For now it’s half-hour runs, nice and slow, for the next two weeks while my ankle adjusts to the load. I feel calmer and more centered than I have in weeks.

Add to that the robins I can see pecking in my front yard, and it feels like spring is just around the corner. Of course, spring here in western Washington only differs from winter in that the rain is a few degrees warmer and the trees are leafing out. This year I’m ready for the renewal. Most of my life I’ve been like, “Eh, spring, whatever. Just another season to be miserable in.” Now, however, I am doing the Snoopy Happy Dance and almost wanting to be cheerful with absolute strangers.

Almost. I wouldn’t want to injure anything else.

If you missed it yesterday, my first attempt at a podcast is here. Twelve minutes of me rambling; answering a couple questions about combat scenes and other stuff. It’s a good first effort, I think; next time the levels will be better and I probably won’t sound as scared. I also won’t treat the microphone like it’s a rattlesnake that might strike at any moment. Stay tuned!

Now I’ve got to go stamp all over some flaming revisions. Good thing I’m wearing my boots. Catch you later, Readers.

Oprah was in my last dream of the night, the one I remember because the alarm went off in the middle of it. This is particularly odd because I don’t watch television. At all. I haven’t for years, and when I have the opportunity to, I end up passing because it bores me and the ads stress me out. But apparently my subconscious decided Oprah was a good symbol.

I’m baffled.

Anyway, welcome to Monday. Monday mornings are usually slow for me, not in an objective sense (it’s the same routine as every other weekday, up at five, run, make lunches, harry the kidlings into eating and getting ready, kisses and homework checks and finally the schoolbus heaving into sight) but more subjectively, because Sundays I’m not allowed to run. After a more than a year of running mostly-six days a week, my body’s grown to need that endorphin rush. I’m addicted to the damn treadmill, and Sunday evenings I’m usually a bit itchy. I know my body needs the recovery time, but jeez. I get mildly cranky, and Monday mornings my body bitches very loudly at me that it’s missed a day’s worth of endorphins and what the hell am I doing to it now? It takes three miles or so for me to settle into the day.

Anyway. Look, medieval steampunk, sort of! Heh.

I do have a rant in mind, but I want to give it another night’s sleep to marinate in before I decide to say anything. (This is my attempt at maturity. We’ll see how it goes.) Today is for Revisions, Revisions, Revisions, so I’d best get started. Deadlines wait for no-one, and all that. I’m actually glad to have this mountain of work ahead of me. Hard work I can handle. Being out of work I don’t like one little bit.

Hope your Monday is tranquil and productive, dear Reader. Or at least, passable.

Over and out.