what we know is true

Unmatched Stubbornness

So there was a book release, a zero finished, then another book release–this one ultra-stressful for a variety of reasons–and a beloved pet dying.

No wonder I feel like the last few weeks have been an endurance contest, and one I’ve got the worst of. There was also a shift to a new desktop, which is mostly pleasant–as in, my damn computer isn’t requiring a restart every ninety minutes–and partly goddamn annoying. (Catalina broke my Time Machine backups. Fortunately, I have several different automatic backups for work, so it wasn’t a catastrophe, just a series of minor disasters to be surmounted with ingenuity and stubbornness.

I have a limited stock of the former, but my stubbornness is unmatched.

My master to-do list has finishing the zero for HOOD‘s Season Two (featuring a speeder race, a giant heist, and various other fun things) next, but I think I’m going to shift to revising Damage, which needs to go out and start making the rounds. I’ve several projects out on submission; you’d think I’d have a single bite so far. *sigh* Festina lente, that’s publishing. I’m getting to the point where I’ll set time limits for them; if they don’t respond, it’s time to get a damn cover and format something myself.

I’m very tired of being treated like a nuisance instead of the person whose work (creating the damn books) makes everyone else’s job possible.

At least I’ve cardamom coffee, shoes that don’t make my feet hurt (my gods, Alegrias are magic), said new desktop (shiny and new and organized after this past weekend’s drive to get everything in its place) and the kids are healthy. The dogs are attempting to move me out the door for walkies through crisp dry fallen leaves, I can ease back into short interval runs because I’m not walking on knives, and my windowsill is full of freshly dusted and cleaned glass apples.

In short, things are as best as can be expected, in this most semi-perfect of worlds. And I might be able to plug in a beautiful papier-mâché lamp that was a gift many years ago, and contemplate its beauty before whipping a zero into first-draft shape.

It is indeed the little things. Here’s hoping Monday doesn’t get worse than this. I know I missed the Soundtrack Monday last week (grief does funny things to time) but I’ve got a good one for you this week, my friends. It’ll drop this afternoon.

See you then.

Steam, Sun, Cedars

Some mornings you go outside with the dogs and a cuppa, the sun is peeking through a break in the cedars, and the steam is so beautiful you’ve got to get a shot.1

It’s been a dreadful week after losing poor Fearless!Cat. None of us are quite right. There’s been a lot of hugging, a lot of staring into the distance, a lot of petting and making much of our remaining furry friends.

But sometimes, when the sun comes through the branches and you have a cup of strong fragrant caffeine, when the dogs are pleased with the world and glancing up at you every so often to make sure you’re still looking, when the kids can rest easy because they know you’ve done what’s necessary… well, sometimes it’s not all bad, even when your heart hurts.

Sometimes it’s even pretty good.

Adieu, Fearless

So… yesterday, the Princess padded into my room somewhat early, bearing a mug of coffee and some bad news.

Our Fearless!Cat was not doing well.

Regular Readers will remember Fearless!Cat was my father-in-law’s; when he went into assisted living he was distraught over what would happen to her. Of course we took her in. It was a four-hour drive to bring her home, and she made her displeasure known during every single, solitary minute.

Her name was Ninja, because she had only the faintest spot of white on her chest. Her predecessor in my father-in-law’s house–Taffy Kat–lived to be 23 or 24 and required diapers by the end; father- and mother-in-law had a genius for picking long-lived pets.

Anyway, Ninja was twenty, and Saturday night she was just as robust, vocal, and bossy as ever. Sunday morn she was curled up on her favorite bed, obviously slipping away fast. For a couple hours I thought she’d rally, but then she spoke, loud and clear.

It was time.

Our regular vet is moving offices and closed on Sundays to boot, and I was near frantic. Fortunately, there are area vets who do house calls in this situation, and we got lucky. Or, you know, Ninja knew there was an appointment slot that afternoon with the vet she’d chosen, and acted accordingly.

I would not put it past that cat. After all, she’s Fearless!Cat on the blog because she was known, out in my father-in-law’s neighborhood, for taking on raccoons. She was a stubborn, temperamental warrior, and her ferocity was only matched by her great tenderness with the Princess and Little Prince.

When Ninja came to live with us, she was already past middle age, but she would torment Odd Trundles by perching on the stairs (he would not, under any circumstances, go down the interior stairs, and only the outside ones under mild protest, since he was so front-heavy) and regarding him calmly as he barked, wiggled, and play-bowed frantically at the head of said stairs, longing, wanting, needing her to come up and make acquaintance. The Mad Tortie had trained him not to play roughly, but Ninja was having none of this “play with” nonsense. She was there to torment, and she did her job.

She also slept on the Little Prince’s pillow, slipping down the hall like the soft-footed assassin she was named for as soon as Odd was safely in his crate. And she demanded the Princess feed her twice a day; she wouldn’t touch her bowl otherwise.

What I’m saying is, this cat knew what she wanted. Always. And yesterday she decided her bags were packed; she was ready to go.

So. A very nice veterinarian from Loving Hands came out, and Ninja passed in the midst of her family. There were soft voices, tales told of her glory and stubbornness, prayers said to Bast, Anubis, and Artemis. Then, once she was gone, she was laid to rest deep and safe in our rose garden as the Princess requested.

A special thanks to Dr Xava, who was kind, patient, and did exactly what Ninja told her to do. It’s rare to find doctors who listen so well.

I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time digging graves for small animals, in pouring rain. I didn’t mind the rain; I could blame it for the water on my cheeks.

None of us are feeling too grand right now. Kind thoughts are welcome–though please, none of that rainbow bridge business, I can’t stand it. If you’re moved to make a small donation on behalf of Her Grace Madame Ninja, First of her Name, Wearer of Scythes, Chatterer Upon Stairs, She Who Does Battle With Trash Pandas, I suggest BeeBee’s House Kitten Rescue, or the Humane Society of Southwest Washington, where all our pets except Ninja came from.

No doubt she is in glorious battle somewhere, no longer inside an aching body. I’m sure she’ll come back to visit occasionally, but right now she’s resting. Twenty years, she’s bloody well earned it. Please give your furry friends a gentle pat or two on our account, my friends.

I told the kids that the pain is our hearts getting bigger, and our capacity for love deepening. That it’s a gift, the last gift our fuzzy friends give us. I do believe it, I have to believe it.

But oh, it hurts. It hurts.

Soundtrack Monday: Sinister Kid

The Marked

I had the beginning of The Marked inside my head for a long time. One of the things keeping me from writing it was Preston Marlock; he is a cagey character, slippery and desperate.

I don’t deny I was often frustrated with him. I had Jude, I knew what made her and Aggie tick, and to a lesser degree the Skinner. But Preston? Oh, he didn’t like being pinned down. He didn’t like speaking at all.

So instead of talking, I began to play him music. He would come creeping out during the damndest songs, but it took a while to get the one that would reliably draw him from hiding.

What’s it like, I wondered, going through an unnaturally long, unnaturally violent life and never being able to touch another human being without killing them? Once I put the question that way, I realized the problem wasn’t that Press didn’t want things. He just buried the wanting, because he thought it wouldn’t do any good.

If there’s ever a character who exhibits the kind of despair the nuns of my youth called a sin, it’s Press. After a while, I’d hear the first bars of Sinister Kid and think about him, and he’d start talking.

I just had to slow down enough to listen.

Jade (Pencil) Dog

I’m doing Inktober, though I’m not really following any prompts. Mostly I’m just drawing what I feel like drawing, with varying levels of success. Like piano, I’m not very good at it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself roundly.

I’ve been reading some marvelous threads on pre-conquest Mexica history (a lady on Mastodon; here’s her Patreon) and thinking a lot about how, when you died, you’d have to hope you were kind enough to your dogs because they would guard your spirit in the perilous underworld before you got to final rest.

It made me think of Odd Trundles and how he would look as a carved figurine, so I set out to draw it. It’s piglike, both because of the conventions of blocky carving and because, well, the snort-snuffles were porcine, gods forgive me. I even gave him a tail, since one of the great unfulfilled desires of his life was to have a big tail to knock things over with.

I still miss the little fellow. I even miss his snoring at night. But maybe after I cross into What Comes Next he’ll be there, snortwhistle-snuffling, to guide and protect my ankles once more.

The Valentine Test Giveaway

Dante Valentine

The fever is still hanging around and I’m hacking into tissues like a consumptive heroine in a Victorian novel. Of course, this means I have all sorts of ideas that may or may not be good ones, so here we go:

I’m trying something new this month, dear Readers: a giveaway!

I’m testing a giveaway process for signed, personalized author’s copies. Since I don’t sell said copies, and since I don’t do signings anymore (except for the Powell’s Authorfest. which sadly I have to miss this year due to a punishing publication schedule), the copies are piling up. I only need a very few of them for my brag shelf and associated personal uses, so what to do with the rest?

Well, give them away, I guess.

So. From now until October 15, you can enter to win one of two (2) signed, personalized copies of the Dante Valentine UK omnibus. Winners will be chosen on the 18th. I’ll personalize and sign your copy, then send it anywhere in the world. Future giveaways might be restricted to the US or the US, UK, & Canada, depending on what kind of cash I have for postage that month. I may even do a dedicated giveaway page on the ol’ website, I’m not sure yet.

Time will tell if this is a great idea or a terrible one, but if it gets the boxes out of my garage and maybe makes a few Readers happy, I’m down with it.

I may even do giveaways of less-physical objects in the future, though probably not ARCs due to piracy concerns. But, for example, a manuscript critique or a free cover copy revise? That’s do-able.

Anyway, if you’re interested, scroll on down and enter. We’ll see how it goes.

When They’re Not Serving

I’ve got a survey out to my serial subscribers, asking if they want to go to Season Three of HOOD when Season Two ends. Season Three is the payoff, but from what I can tell, plenty of people are getting bored with Season Two.

I don’t take it personally–serials, especially long-running ones, are difficult, and the long shoal in the middle of a trilogy’s Book 2 is an inescapable fact of life. But it does mean that I might be finishing Season Two and putting together a whole new serial.

It might even be The Highlands War, but don’t bet on it. I have several prospects, including Lightning Bound and the wangsty Dracula reboot I’ve been playing hooky with. I may just keep Wangsty Dracula for my own personal delectation, too. It’s nice to have some things just for oneself.

In other news, I spent the weekend getting a few things put together, like an upcoming test giveaway. I’ll be giving away two signed, personalized copies of the UK edition of Dante Valentine; I want to see if the giveaways will drive a couple other things and I don’t do signings anymore.1 Of course, it may be an idea I’ll quietly let die on the vine once the flu-fever recedes, because I’ve been running 99.9F or slightly above since last week.

I don’t mind fever so much–my body tends to cook itself at the slightest provocation–but the body aches have convinced me it’s flu, and I do mind those. I feel like I’ve been beaten with a truncheon. The only thing I’m missing is garish bruises, which I’m alternately grateful for the lack of and a little peeved that I’m not wearing a badge of honor for.

I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s still how I feel.

Anyway, I’ve a full list of things to get done today, including the finishing touches on the giveaway and some yoga, since I’m going mad at not being able to run. If it’s not plantar fasciitis it’s the damn fever; it’s always something. Getting older sucks, but there are good things too. Like being able to look at things, shrug, and set them aside when they’re not serving me.

In any case, it’s a Monday and I’d best be back at work. I hope your beginning-of-blessed-autumn is proceeding a little more smoothly than mine, dear Readers.

Over and out.