Weirdsville

Bit Askew

Cormorant Run

It’s been the kind of weekend that reminds me of going into the Rifts, frankly. Everything seems a little bit askew–probably from lack of sleep–and the danger won’t kill you instantly, it’ll kill you three steps ago or an hour from now.

So to speak. Good news and terrifying news has abounded, and now I’m blinking on a holiday Monday, with wordcount ahead of me, a Soundtrack Monday post to write, and I haven’t run in three days.

You can tell I’m a little twitchy.

At least the wind is moving a bit and we’ve had some rain. Well, more like condensation inside Mother Nature’s mouth1, but it’s cleaned some of the particles from the air and made it slightly easier to breathe. The dogs are content with walkies instead of jogging, probably because Miss B is becoming an elderly statesdog.

I am reminded, seeing the grey on her muzzle and how she is a little less bouncy, how little time I truly have left with her. It’s going to be devastating when she has to leave, and I can’t brace for it.

But that’s borrowing trouble. For today, she’s quite happy, having had half my morning toast. She knows what comes next–I stare at the glowing box on my desk for a while, until her staring at my profile becomes a weight I can’t ignore and I take her and Lord van der Sploot for a morning ramble.

At least, she’s very certain it’s her gaze that finally drags me out the door, and I’m content to let her think so.

I’d write more about the weekend, but I can’t for privacy reasons. Suffice to say there’s a brand new human I share some ancestry with in the world; it’s a reason to celebrate even if said brand new human arrived on their own schedule–as brand new humans are wont to do.

Happy Monday, my friends; may your Veteran’s Day pass exactly as you wish it to, and may said veterans find some peace. Later today I’ll have a song for you.

Over and out.

Monday To-Do

NaNoWriMo is underway; I’m doing a fresh new Watcher book for it. Right now it’s like pulling teeth because the word gain has to come in revision, but at least I’ve the damn thing quasi-outlined.

I never use a very tight outline, and the thing’s main purpose is to be thrown out once I get three-quarters of the way through the book, but them’s the breaks. One is tied to what works.

So for this month, HOOD‘s Season Two zero needs to be finished, and also Finder’s Watcher. I’m also waiting on edit notes for The Poison Prince, so there’s something to look forward to.

You know me. Unless I’m drowning in work, I’m not happy.

Also, I’m think I might move (or just propagate) Soundtrack Mondays over to my Substack. Might as well get some content over there to prime the pump. I’ve been wanting to get back into writing-about-writing, and this might be a good way to do it, probably on Tuesdays since Thursday is subscription day. I’m going to have to think about it.

This morning, I got into the driveway with both dogs just as some chucklefuck ran down the street with his dogs. Which wouldn’t have been an issue–except Chucklefuck’s dogs were unleashed.

Lord van der Sploot almost went mad. Miss B, once she recognized what the hell was happening, chose not to go completely mad over new friends, but instead sought to bite van der Sploot in order to calm him down.

I could have told her it wouldn’t do a damn thing.

In any case, I had to stand and wait until Chucklefuck was out of sight, then move forward cautiously, both dogs hanging from their harnesses like wet washing. I just cannot even with people, some days. At least Chucklefuck’s poor dogs didn’t bolt across the road to say hi to my fuzzbuckets, so small mercies, I guess.

I just sat and stared at the screen, feeling overwhelmed. Guess it’s time to make a to-do list and put a few things on it I’ve already done, otherwise I’ll just noodle around and forget to make any real progress.

Such is life. It’s the first Monday after we gained our extra hour of sleep back, and even the tea I’m pouring down isn’t helping. I tried like hell not to work all weekend, with varying success.

I’ll leave you with this: if I do put together a subscription Substack, what would you want me to write about? I had thought just telling personal stories and writing about writing, whatever I feel like at the time, but if anyone’s got a burning desire or a really good idea, this is the time to say something.

Over and out.

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.

Plastic Bat Objections

Yes, that is a small bat encased in Lucite. No, I did not buy it. Yes, I was awful tempted; no, I really didn’t buy it, because of Philosophical Objections.

But given that the morning I saw it was full of uncomfortable things, like being doused in asafetida-laced, salted rainwater while people were screaming, maybe I should have. At least I got a bookstore visit out of the deal.

I’m too old for weeks like this. Bring on Saturday, I’m done.

Gift Reserved

Traffic on a highway at night
© Adam36 | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Had to cut short my run this morning because of my damn heel. I’m doing everything right–icing, rest, gel inserts–but I have to run, goddammit, and what’s the point of doing everything I should if it doesn’t work? My body is not doing any favors by trying to cut me off from the one thing I like doing at the moment.

It’s true I’m in somewhat of a deep funk. I need the endorphin hit from running to keep the rest of me stable, and my dissatisfaction and frustration are starting to gouge under my skin instead of just scratching lightly.

It also seems to be a year for people who stabbed me in the past to believe they’re entitled to some sort of forgiveness or just another shot at the whole deal. It never ends the way they want. I have become somewhat unforgiving–no, that’s not true. I’ll forgive, certainly, in my own time and for my own reasons.

But I don’t ever forget. I can be gracious and even polite. But I’m not going to be open or trusting. That’s a gift reserved.

I suppose some of my ill temper has to do with the weather, too. There hasn’t been rain for a good week or so, and I’m tetchy. It would be nice if I could run, for once, and work everything out inside my head. As it is, I’m stuck with tiny glimpses of peace that only serve to underscore how the rest of me feels.

My reading material lately–serial killers and police procedurals–probably haven’t helped either. I’m also working my way through The Eagle Unbowed, and I have to say I don’t blame Poland for being intransigent at any point. They had absolute and utter reason to be, and I’m cold all over reading history that will almost certainly repeat itself.

In short, all sorts of things seem to be unraveling. Hopefully, come Samhain, the “sleave of care” can be knitted up afresh; we just have to get there.

I’m not even enjoying writing all that much at the moment. Oh, I don’t stop, of course–nothing short of death will halt my scribbling, and perhaps not even that. But now it’s more like scratching at a mosquito bite than usual, I scrub until I get a trickle of blood and then can rest, semi-satisfied. I’ve been pushing myself at a murderous pace for a long while.

Writing is a need instead of a want, especially when I’m edgy and dissatisfied.

Anyway, I’ve RJD2 playing and the world outside my office is hideously bright. The giant yellow Elder God is burning in the sky, and its hissing almost makes me nauseous. I suppose I should swallow more coffee, wash away the sweat from my aborted run, and get to work.

It won’t satisfy, but at least it’ll fill the time until I can call it a day and crawl back into bed. Probably shouldn’t have left this morning, but then, that’s true of all Mondays, isn’t it.

Let’s endure the day together, my friends. I’ll hang on if you will.

Oh, and today is the last day to enter the October Valentine Test Giveaway. At least the prospect of giving presents cheers me up.

En Garde, Good Doge

We are Doge. We are Good Doge. We have the entire couch but choose the ottoman.

We are waiting for the Evil Delivery Driver. When he shows up in his big brown truck we will LOSE OUR TINY LITTLE MINDS. We will create SO MUCH NOISE he will leave and then we will require pets because we are Good Watch Doge who saved our poor dim Hoomin from Evil Delivery Driver.

We also save our Big Doge and Hoomin Cave from wind, tree branches, passing cars, Other Doge (not good doge like us, we are the only Good Doge) and our favorite, Invisible Things Requiring Sonic Assault.

We are Doge. We are Good Doge. We have the entire couch.

But we choose the ottoman.

Price for Acuity

My nose was out of commission for a couple days, thanks to the flu; this morning, however, I cleared it with a honk into a somewhat overstrained tissue and can finally smell again. It’s a bloody relief to have that primary sense fully back instead of only dimly usable when something like a dog’s excited digestive system emits a pungent dambreaker. (So to speak.)

Of course, now that it’s back, I’m sure the house will be full of unpleasant corners. But if that’s the price I pay for acuity, so be it.

I went to bed super early last night, just after my second Inktober drawing–I’m not following any prompts, I’m just doing whatever I feel like. The kids like bringing their own sketchpads into my office in the evening, and we listen to Forensic Files cases while sharpening pencils and sharing pens. They used to draw while I knitted, but now that I’m drawing too they’re extremely pleased. One couldn’t ask for a more supportive audience; I’m no good at visual arts but they gravely remind me that it’s having fun that matters.

Youth is wise, indeed.

I’m pretty sure it was the flu; I still ache all over. Not like I was beaten with a truncheon anymore, which is a relief, and the fever’s receded though it didn’t break in a gush of sweat and clarity as it usually does. But I’ll take it. I can probably even start jogging again, very gently and on the treadmill. I don’t care if my plantar fascia gets upset, I’ve got to move and get some of this itching out.

The October Valentine Test Giveaway is still going strong, and don’t forget you can get more entries by clicking in daily. So far the response has exceeded my wildest expectations, and I’m already thinking of what to give away next month. Maybe a Gallow & Ragged set, or a couple Kismet omnibuses. (Omnibi?) It depends on what I’ve the postage for.

I should also get the monthly newsletter out the door, as well. But first there’s the rest of my coffee to absorb, and a little bit of deep breathing before I hit the damn treadmill. It’s always something, and I can’t wait to write some more Wangsty Dracula Reboot. The only thing I’m not doing is making it an epistolary novel, because I frankly don’t have the patience. I love reading epistolary, but writing it is a whole different ballgame.

Good gods. How did we arrive at Thursday without me knowing? I suppose I’d best get started.

Over and out.