Merely Different Work


Spent the last two days doing a massive reformatting on a certain series, preparing for a big announcement in about a month or two. Writing is such a delayed-gratification game, all the dilly-dang time. But it’ll be worth it when I get to the announcement. (You guys are gonna be thrilled, I promise. *cue evil grin*)

Apparently my idea of “recovery” isn’t rest, merely a different type of work. Still, it’s needed to be done for a while, so might as well. Next comes revising the second Sons of Ymre book so that can get put into the production pipeline. I think I’ll focus on that for the next couple days, and whatever remains of the weekend the revision doesn’t eat will be settling on the couch with Boxnoggin and a book. I’m currently reading about female fighter (and bomber pilots) in Soviet Russia during WWII, and next I have a couple ARCs to try out. There’s a further stack of library books to be consumed, too.

We had an atmospheric river earlier in the week, which was glorious. Finally enough rain, even for me; Boxnoggin was significantly less impressed, though the damp didn’t stop him from acting a damn fool during at least one walk. We turned around and went directly home after, which isn’t precisely punishment–he forgets what’s happened within about sixty seconds, so as far as he’s concerned we’re just taking a new route full of fresh things to smell.

I know dogs are generally Zen creatures of the Now, but he takes it to a whole ‘nother level.

Everything is drying out now, except the park. Mud there will be shin-high, I’m sure. I have to walk carefully to avoid losing a shoe, and Boxnoggin finds it absolutely enchanting to get liquid earth between his toes. Which is surprising, he’s such a prima donna about other stuff.

…I’ve also been answering publicity emails while writing this post, so I’m feeling rather scattered. The Spring’s Arcana release is just around the corner; you’d think after the number of books I’ve published this would be old hat. But it’s not, my nerves are rapidly mounting the way they do before any release. There’s a curious dichotomy between the nervousness and a sense of “well, I finished that story years ago, let’s talk about what I’m working on now”; neither is exactly comfortable.

I also have the first sentence for Ghost Squad #3, which is a relief. I knew what the first scene is, of course–Tax sitting on his car’s bumper, looking out over the desert. But I didn’t have the keyhole into the scene that I needed, so I had to wait. This week’s been good for finding things out during walkies or running. Just the other day I found out what the iron key in Redfist’s pocket is, too. Over a decade since I’ve written that first book where the Muse insisted that was a detail, and I didn’t know why it was important until now.

It’s always like that. The work takes its own time and shape, alas.

So. I guess it’s the moment for brekkie, and getting Boxnoggin out into burgeoning springtime. The plums are in flower, trees are budding, the grass is longer, dandelions are making an appearance, hyacinths are exuberant, and I think the lilies of the valley are coming up. I know the hops are out with a vengeance; the freeze and snow didn’t do any damage to their rhizomes.

Funny, every winter I never think of spring, and when it happens I’m surprised the weary old world is still going. Which means I must endure too.

Off I go.