Swearing at Caesar

Roll out of bed, do yoga, feed cavy and dogs, down my breakfast while Duolingo-ing French and Spanish, make coffee. Retreat to office, do Rosetta Stone Latin. End with pacing around my office swearing at Caesar, as one does. Latin is fun, and it stretches the brain to wait for the absolute end of the sentence before everything else makes sense. I have to find the right bookmark for the Loeb edition I’m using to work my way through, now.

Bookmarks are important. There are some that grow into my experience of reading a book so fully that I keep them perpetually with the volume, the connection deepening each time I reread or pick up a book for reference. Others remind me of particular things in my life while reading a certain book. When one opens a paper book, one doesn’t just dive into the bare story, there’s a whole collage of inner and outer events, references, and emotions that surround one again. Or maybe it’s just me, but any ephemera in my library holds a specific meaning to me. I don’t just stick a receipt in for a marker, it has to be a receipt with some connection.

Yes, I know, I’m strange. I’ve made my peace with it.

Anyway, my swearing at Caesar isn’t because the Latin is bad. Far from. I just swear because I started out with Pliny, whose rhythm is completely different, so it’s like learning to read all over again. When I attempt Ovid there will no doubt be much swears, many angst. Plus I’m sure some of Caesar’s assumptions will be incredibly eyeroll-worthy. Not that some of Pliny’s aren’t, far from. Let’s face it, Roman records are heavily skewed towards sexist, racist asshats as a matter of course.

Speaking of Pliny, I just ran across his assertion that earthquakes are the result of air trapped in the earth, which gives flatus an entirely new dimension. This led to me in bed, giggling hysterically at the notion, imagining the ribald jests at Roman dinners. I’m absolutely certain one or two of Pliny’s friends read this and made fart jokes at him for YEARS.

Anyway, excelsior, onward, and all that. I took a semi-holiday yesterday, filled with errands and volunteering, so now I have to look at the reshuffle and see if I want to write the bakery witch story OR the vampire smut novelette next. Choices, choices.

But for now, I’ll brush my teeth, knock off another page of Caesar, and go for a run.

Over and out.

Much Heat, Many Halp

Day 2 of getting up early to do some yoga is going about as well as can be expected. It didn’t cool off much last night, so sleeping was intermittent at best, especially since Miss B decided that the open window meant OMG PROTECT MAI HOOMIN WIF SNUGGLE. She also decided to “help” me with every. damn. yoga. pose. Not content with that level of supervision, she also tried herding me all the way through our morning run, along with several bees who apparently find my hair extremely fascinating. (It’s not my shampoo, I’ve changed that several times.)

I am reminded of Shel Silverstein–some kind of help is the kind of help that helping’s all about, and then there’s this.

Now, exhausted by her efforts, Miss B’s cast herself onto the office floor next to a snoring Trundles (who has decided my bed is too warm and too soft, Goldilocks) and is eyeing me warily, in case I decide to Do Something Else She Needs To Help With.

At least all the sweaty stuff is done and I won’t have to venture into the heat until after dinner for Odd’s Daily Constitutional. He hates warm weather, and reproaches me about it almost as much as he complains about rain. It’s not really his fault–he’s a walking yeast factory, and with his compromised airways hot days mean he can’t breathe as well. Pretty soon he’ll move out of my office and into the hall, where he’ll find cool spots on the hardwood and move every ten minutes or so, groaning all the while.

That’s all the news from this morning, other than me trying to decide which project goes where in the next six months. I have a list, but I want to depart from it, and I have to find time to write another novella. That was fun, and it makes sense for me to broaden my genres, so to speak.

Maybe a cuppa while I ponder everything, since there’s a nice breeze through the window and it’ll be too hot come afternoon. And before you ask, no, I abhor iced tea and iced coffee. Call it a quirk.

Over and out.

Simulation and Kindness

The weekend was full of K-drama. Goblin, to be precise. Seriously, DramaFever is going to become my favorite timesink. I fell into Scarlet Heart Ryeo first of all, and have not looked back since. I love me some history, and I love me some paranormal, and I love love love me some angst.

So that, with a bunch of housework and playing with some fun things for my favorite editor’s delectation, was my weekend. I’m reading Bill Schutt’s Cannibalism, too, which is entertaining, to say the least.

But the thing I’ve been thinking about all weekend, when my brain settles into that peculiar hum of Curious Questions To Mull, is the crop of breathless stories about how “reality may be just a computer simulation.” Every time one of those comes up, I read it, and I am left amused.

The thing is, we made computers inside the framework of our processing of reality. It’s kind of putting the tail before the snake to assume reality, per se, is a simulation because the things we built process it the way we do.

…you can also tell I’ve been reading Kierkegaard lately. Well, not really Kierkegaard, but people writing about his philosophy. I don’t think I’m quite ready to tackle Either, Or yet. Frankly, I stop agreeing with him at the religious stage, but I suppose that’s only to be expected. His “leap of faith,” to me, is merely an abdication of responsibility. I get that he was fascinated by the Abraham and Isaac story, but I still think Abraham was an asshole for not telling his God to go fuck himself. A god who asks a parent to kill their child is wrong, and not one I care to spend any energy worshiping.

So, I believe I’ll stop firmly at Kierkegaard’s ethical stage, and leave the religious for others to murder each other over. I’m getting too old to coax assholes into behaving better.

All the same…I ran across an Arthur Conan Doyle quote today in the AWAD newsletter, and it summed up that entire uphill battle in a way I think is fitting and best.

I should dearly love that the world should be ever so little better for my presence. Even on this small stage we have our two sides, and something might be done by throwing all one’s weight on the scale of breadth, tolerance, charity, temperance, peace, and kindliness to man and beast. We can’t all strike very big blows, and even the little ones count for something. -Arthur Conan Doyle, physician and writer (22 May 1859-1930)

Kierkegaard may not agree, but I know I do. In the end, it matters little if this is a simulation, or a cold, uncaring, random existence, or both, or neither. What matters is that we behave as if things like decency, kindness, and tolerance matter. I feel no qualms about asserting that even if they do not, in the end, we must act as if they do, simply because it is right to do so.

And now, my chickadees, it’s time for a run, and for wordcount, and for any small act of kindness I can perform along the way.

Over and out.

Deciding to Decide

The weekend was…difficult. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized it was somewhat of a perfect storm, between release-day nerves and finishing the revision of the Afterwar zero, not to mention a traditionally stressful time of year.

I mean, I should have figured it out when all I wanted to do was knit and sob while watching a cryfest K-drama (oh, my God, Jung is the BEST PRINCE IN SCARLET HEART RYEO and if you don’t think so I WILL FITE YOU) and drinking endless cups of tea while it rained outside, but eh, emotional exhaustion doesn’t lend itself to such realizations. I was also in the dolors thinking I had no more books left in me, which is a GIGANTIC NEON BILLBOARD SIGN that I’m not thinking clearly and I need to call a time-out for self-care.

On days like that, the best bargain I can make is “just get through today. If you’re still breathing when you go to bed, it’s a win.” When things get truly dire, it’s “just get through the next 60 seconds.” I haven’t had a 60-second day in a long, long while, and gods willing, I won’t ever again. I’ll take the “just getting to bedtime.”

In any case, the sun has risen on another rainy day, and I feel scraped-hollow but mostly at peace. I’m thinking of adding Greek to my daily language rounds, simply because it seems a good way to understand botanical terms. Also, if one is set to learn Latin, one must at least nod to Greek. Or so I’m told. We’ll see if the alphabet breaks me.

So today is for eyeing the next hill. I’m not sure if it’s the vampire smut novella, or if I want to go in a different direction. Someone asked me for a scarecrow moment (oh, you’ll recognize it when you see it) and my very favorite editor is asking me for epic fantasy. Plus there are other things I want to get done, but I’m not in a condition to really make the decision of what to put into the hopper just yet.

I’m taking a page from the transtheoretical model of change, which is just chock-full of useful applications. I’m not deciding what to work on just yet, I’m deciding to decide. Which is a small and very useful distinction, one I wish more people were familiar with. If you don’t know a change/project is possible, if you haven’t even entertained the notion, you’re cut off before you start. Setting aside time to think over possibilities, deciding to decide, is a good thing.

Of course, it’s pouring outside, and I’ve a run to get in. The physical misery will no doubt force me to make a few decisions, most likely accompanied by swearing. At least when it’s raining this hard I might not get bees trying to fly into my mouth.

Small mercies.

LOVE, BITE Release Day!

The Angelov Wolves

Hey, so, if you’re interested in the werewolf smut…it’s out today, and $2.99 until June 1!

Love, Bite

Mia Roussel is putting her life back together. She’s had therapy, she has two new jobs, and if her ex-boyfriend will just stay away, she’ll be just fine. Especially if Konstantin Angelov has anything to say about it.

Kon’s family is…different. And as soon as he catches Mia’s scent, he knows he’s found something special. He plans on taking it slow, taking it easy, and giving her plenty of time.

Unfortunately, Mia’s violent ex has plans too, and Kon might have to do a little more than growl to keep his new mate safe…

Available for Kindle.

I’m trying out KU for a while. If that’s not for you, there’s a paperback, too! I hope you like Mia’s adventures–and yes, I have sequels planned, for as long as this is fun. Stay tuned!