Ice, Holding Pattern

We have an appointment for the tree people to come out and get rid of the storm wrack, but with hundreds of trees down (trees, not just branches the size of Greek pillars) that appointment isn’t until next week. Everyone with a chainsaw or chipper is able to command a premium at the moment, and is booked solid to boot.

I suppose it will turn out for the best, not least because the weather is still unsettled. Thunder, wintry mix, hail the size of large peas–you name it, it’s swept over us in the past few days. My sinuses feel every shift in atmospheric pressure like a spike driven straight through, which is non-optimal, but at least everything should be out of the way by the time we get the cleanup crew ‘s attention.

I’ve been possessed by the werelion VC Andrews/Cat People mashup. I suppose I’m dealing with burnout and all this house-related stress by writing something gleefully, utterly unpublishable. It’s the equivalent of scenery-chewing, and I’m about to finish the zero draft. Once that’s done, I don’t know what I’ll do with it–though I already have a cover, courtesy of my utterly marvellous cover artist. It might just be something kept for myself, or I could release it under a tight pseudonym. I’m already serializing it as an experiment, but we’ll see.

I could be working on paying projects, but my concentration is shot. (Unless, apparently, I’m writing Something Horrid.) All the stress has driven me into a hole, and the last time I felt like this I was in the throes of finishing Moon’s Knight during the deep uncertainty of First Lockdown. Fortunately, this book isn’t possessing me to the same degree, but it does demand to be finished before I move on to other stuff, like polishing the first season of Hell’s Acre and going back to the second Sons of Ymre book. There’s also the second Tolkien Werewolves book (wolves instead of lions, VERY different) to write as well, but I can’t really talk about that.

The morning is very quiet; the dogs have either turned up their nose at brekkie (Miss B) or chowed down on the high-value bits and left the rest (Boxnoggin) and are now fully engaged with the first nap of the day. In a little while they’ll sense the level of coffee in my mug has gone down to a critical point and they’ll wake, shake themselves, and start reminding me my own breakfast is nigh. Which will mean I have to get up, make toast, share the crust, walk the fuzzy little brats, and get a run in before I can come home, wash up, and settle to trying to finish this zero draft.

If I can get to the big fight against the human hunters, I can write the falling action tomorrow and hopefully be done with the damn thing. I’m increasingly fascinated with telling the story of hunting monsters from the monsters’ point of view (the short story with Eleni and Tarquin in Chicks Kick Butt proves it, I suppose) and it seems some of this book is a variation on that theme. So the hunters in the werelion story are not good people, and they will get exactly what they deserve.

It’s nice to think sometimes that can happen, instead of ugliness and hatred being consistently rewarded. But that’s a whole ‘nother blog post, ennit.

I was reading the other day about how blogs are dead and writers aren’t supposed to have chatty, conversational ones anymore. After looking around my office in genuine surprise, searching for the cameras as if it were a prank, I decided that as long as it keeps working for me it ain’t dead yet. I like doing it, it sets up my working day nicely and my beloved Readers seem to like it too. So we’ll just keep on going as we have been, mmmkay?

Oh, before I go, one of the two sales this month closes tomorrow, so be advised if that’s your jam. I’m about to take the gulp of coffee that will drop the liquid level in my mug below the magical point, and I can already sense the dogs stirring. Today’s run will be an exercise in agility training, since nobody has had the chance to really get all the storm debris up yet. The entire neighborhood seems to be holding its breath, waiting for a fresh disaster.

After the last few years, who can blame us?

I wish you a pleasant and worry-free Thursday, my dears. But I’m keeping the baseball bat handy because the weather report looks like the week might try some more bullshit, and I am so not down with that.

See you around…