Rain, Season

sleep. I am at my most productive during the rainy season. Something about the gray and the water falling from the sky. However, such a season is not turning out to be good for the Chez’s chimney. As in, there’s a leak somewhere.

It’s always something. Hopefully the fix won’t be too bad. But at least it’s my chimney. Buying the Chez was a nightmare of stress, one I wouldn’t care to go through again, but it’s lovely to touch the wall, or walk in the side yard I’m turning into a rose garden, and think mine. I know, nobody really owns anything, property taxes are a headache, I’ll complain about the roof and the state of my driveway…but it’s still nice. I never had a place to belong for the first thirty-four years of my life; now I do, and it’s as wonderful as I thought it would be.

More wonderful, even.

Another thing about the rainy season: the radio stations are playing a lot of Pink Floyd. There oughtta be a law, fer Godsake. I mean, listening to them is grand, I love them, don’t get out the pitchforks and torches. But bathing in the Floyd while it’s gray outside for days on end is just a recipe for depression. Today is the last day I’ll listen to any of that until spring. Really, it’s best for all concerned.

Miss B is an all-weather dog, she doesn’t particularly like the rain, but she’ll deal with it, especially if it involves running with me. Odd, well, he forgets, each summer, that rain is a thing–occasional summer drizzles or downpours notwithstanding. So when the first autumn storm really hits, there are a couple days of him needing to be ushered outside with an umbrella, then told several times to “do his business” before he’ll consent to pee al fresco.

Needless to say, taking him on his walks is going to be pretty interesting. I don’t blame him for being cautious–after all, poor thing, with his nose turned to the sky, he’s like a chicken in danger of drowning. There will be much coaxing, and many treats, and lots of ear skritches to get him out the door and around the block.

After that, it’s still more revision on Agent Zero, interleaving the “bad guy” bits with the rest of the story. I’m beginning to take a more distant focus with stories now, instead of the close, claustrophobic two-person view. A more complex juggling act, but one I enjoy and (I think) readers might too.

That’s about all for news. I’m still arranging things and listening to feedback about Possible Steelflower 2, and there are a few sneak peeks left over at Patreon. As soon as I get these revisions done I can turn my engines to finishing Rattlesnake Wind and getting the zero of the second Gallow book horked up. Now that the dust has settled, I can see ever so much more clearly that I’ve chosen wisely, lately. It’s a marvelous feeling.

photo by: Frozen Hell.
  • Rufus and Sam send their heartfelt sympathies to Odd. Their plan is to try to “hold it” until June. No one else is going along with that plan. It sucks.

    Also: Try the Etta James station on Pandora. Seriously. Juicy good stuff that will counter the drizzle and grey.