Wonderment

Door Watcher

You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but this guy’s a candle. He really didn’t like the idea of being set on fire, so I said fine, how about you guard the foyer for us and he was thrilled. With some of the summers we’ve had I’m surprised he’s not looking ragged, but he’s surprisingly tough.

I do anthropomorphise a lot of stuff; my preference is always for a conscious, animate universe. If it helps me remember to be kind, I don’t think it’s a bad reflex. And muttering a polite greeting every time I pass a certain corner is no hardship.

It’s been an odd, somewhat nerve-scratching week, my friends. See you Monday.

Version of Wager

Woke up with Loggins & Messina playing in my head, and Boxnoggin startled a young squirrel or rabbit in the predawn grey. I say or because it appeared long like a squirrel, but it had significant trouble scaling the fence and indeed ran along the back of the yard as if it had forgotten (or never knew) such a thing as climbing existed. So the jury’s out–Box could probably tell me on scent alone, but he can’t articulate and in any case he might just smell “rodent” without differentiating.

It will have to remain a mystery. At least the poor thing was able to wriggle under the fence and escape, hopefully a wee bit wiser.

Yesterday proved a bit of a wash. I had so many grand plans, but the day kept getting nibbled by administrivia. However, I did get the monthly newsletter put together–it will go out later today–and opened up edits on a book without screaming, so that’s something. I’ve clearly processed my fee-fees about said edits, so all that remains is the work. I’d rather be producing new stuff, but I have a glut of things needing attention before they can go out into the world.

The week’s subscription drop is formatted and done up as well–serial and Nest Egg folks get something special–so that was another thing ticked off the list. And I got a combat scene started, stealing time while dinner finished cooking to block out a horse-chase which will end badly for everyone except the protagonist. At least, I hope it won’t end badly for her, but there’s always a risk.

The weather app says there’s a frost advisory for tonight; I just knew we’d have one more cold snap. Today’s walk will be spent praying everything flowering is prepared for the event, and listening to what the bees think. I know better than to presume they don’t sense it coming; they’re wiser than Yours Truly. But maybe the sense that I care will help, who knows?

Some people might take comfort in a soulless, clockwork universe; I prefer mine animate and conscious. It’s my version of Pascal’s wager, I suppose.

Anyway, Monday was the kind of day where all the work is invisible; today should see some visible progress. At least that’s the plan, but in order to get there I need a bowl of gruel and Boxnoggin needs walkies. He’s going to want to investigate the corner where he first saw the Mystery Rodent as we head out, on the faint hope that it will have returned.

I’m hoping it will go bother someone else’s yard. We’ll see what happens.

Old Things New

I did my best to slither into my cave and pull a giant rock over the opening behind me all weekend; last week was weird and I don’t quite know if i should blame the eclipse. Even Boxnoggin was behaving a bit uncharacteristically, though not when a rabbit could be seen.

No, when such things appear, his response is ever the same, world without end, amen and ouch.

Deathwish BunBun appears to be inviting all their friends, and they are not crepuscular now but brazenly hopping about at high noon. This probably means more coyotes coming uphill, and I’m sure everyone’s gardens are going to be nibbled thoroughly this year. The rabbit burrow Boxnoggin found in a fern is now vacated, its inhabitants presumably reached an age where they can wander out and fend for themselves, and all that’s left is a divot the dog keeps sniffing hopefully at, huffing the fading aroma of cottontail.

I’d love to spend today on writing fanfic, but there’s the monthly newsletter to get out (if I can manage it, April is a bit busy) and today’s the drop-dead for beginning revisions. I think I’ll clear Gamble first, so I’ll address that during half my working time today, and whatever’s left will go toward the serial. Our favourite sellsword is in the middle of a raid right now, and it’s a confusing welter of horses, giant boars, and a whole lotta violence. Slowing it down inside my head to pick out salient details necessitates a lot of staring into the distance, of getting up and pacing the office to block out particular movements.

I spent most of Sunday (after household chores and some yardwork were both done) on the couch reading about Taoism while listening, to the first time in my life, to the Grateful Dead. Sure, I’d heard a song or two of theirs on the classic rock stations growing up, but somehow they never stuck in my head. I was startled into laughter when it occurred to me that I’d never really gotten into the Dead before, despite being such a hippie. It’s good to try new things, or old things which are new to oneself.

I was attempting to listen to podcasts all last week during walkies, but I don’t think that will continue. Apparently I need music during that time, so I can noodle out plot tangles and clean up the inside of my skull. It was nice to feel like I was educating myself during that time, but if it detracts from the work I’m going to have to pass. Maybe just on weekends, and I’ll save the weekdays for strolling along with shuffle-play.

Boxnoggin, of course, gets his shuffle through his nose. He’s nearly drunk with spring, and honestly I can’t blame him. The plum and magnolia blossoms are all but gone, cherries and apples in full swing, and the dogwoods have started to leaf out. Our backyard lilacs have awakened and the hops vine is going great guns; there is a lilac already-blooming on our usual walkies route, tucked in a beautiful little sheltered microbiome and not very fragrant just yet.

No matter, there’s time. All I need now is a little rain. Onward we go into the week then, hopeful as always.

Moss and Blossom

Clinging to helping hands.

The weather’s been good for both moss and blossom, which doesn’t often happen ’round these parts. Of course, what with climate change it’ll get more usual.

Yesterday was Movie Night, so the kids and I watched Glass Onion. Benoit Blanc saying, “I’m bad at dumb things,” is going to live in my head rent-free evermore. We had fun all the way through–the Princess had watched it before, so she was busy looking for details, while the Prince was snort-laughing at the savagely funny portrayals of rich folk. The only problem with the movie is that it had to tone down just how bizarre millionaires/billionaires actually are, since fiction must make sense and reality is under no such constraints.

It’s been a week of small victories and some frustrations. I’m trying to take the former while breathing through the latter; the eclipse seems to have jolted some things into place. There’s a busy weekend ahead of me–I want to get to a specific place in the serial before shifting to revise a couple books, and the garage could use a bit of spring cleaning. It’s always something.

See you next week.

Learning Anything

Woke up with P!nk’s True Love playing inside my head–probably a function of thinking about the Valentine series again, since I took yesterday to get the second volume of short stories put together and there’s two Saint City tales in it. I’m going back and forth between having the Cain’s Wife or Hell Wars trilogies as the next serial.

Originally I intended to finish the Valentine series and hop ahead in time a little bit, taking up the story from little Liana Spocarelli’s point of view. The publisher was not into that idea, since secondary character series tend not to do so well, so I shrugged and went on with Jill Kismet. (There’s a couple Kiss stories in the second volume as well.) But I’ve always known To Hell and Back wasn’t the ending–it brings Danny and Japh’s story to a place of equilibrium, yes, but there’s more to the world, you know?

Anyway, that’s a decision for another day. It’s enough that I now have two volumes of short stories to bring out, one this summer and another in December-January, I think. And I have to laugh, because my strategy for recovering from a super intense book hangover was…more work, revising and formatting. Clearly I do not have an off switch. But then, we all knew that.

We’ve almost reached the date I’ve set for beginning the Chained Knight and Gamble revises, too. I’d prefer to just…keep writing, and I will with Highlands War. But I have a glut of stuff that needs to be fixed up for actual publication, so it’s probably best to buckle down and get that done. Putting everything else aside to resuscitate and finish Doom of the Elder was not only intense and health-damaging, but also knocked a great deal of my schedule for the first half of 2024 rather caddywumpus.

Ah well. It’s enough that I’ve renewed my commitment to protecting the work. And honestly what did I expect, making this the Year of the Real? It’s certainly turning into a Learning Experience.

One of the things I used to say when a situation didn’t quite turn out the way one of the kids expected was, “Well, have we learned anything?” The Prince went through a phrase of glowering and nearly shouting, “No!“, and that was about the same time the Princess would simply give me a sarcastic glare. Later, of course, both would quietly admit to indeed learning a great deal, with rueful head-shakes and maybe a laugh.

It’s very difficult to make the parental choice to let a kid FAFO when the stakes are super low, because of course it doesn’t feel low-stakes to them. But now that mine are adults, both are well equipped for certain things because they did indeed Find Out while they were school-age. Working retail puts the finishing touches on such lessons if they’ve been learned before, instead of applying them with ten times the force because there’s money or adult risk involved. All in all it turns out okay, though it wears on both parental and child nerves.

I’ve had to admit that I’m undergoing a few Learning Experiences of my own lately, and the kids find it deeply amusing. Hopefully I’m providing a pattern for them to stay flexible even at an advanced age. (Christ, I feel old these days.)

Today’s for clearing a few bits of correspondence, then turning my attention to an army moving northward into what is properly enemy territory. There’s another pitched battle to set up and a double-cross with a traitor our favourite sellsword is well aware of, that’s going to be fun. And I continue to attempt re-wrapping the insulation on my shattered nerves.

But first, brekkie and walkies. Boxnoggin is rambunctious with the advent of spring, so he requires a longer ramble to wear him out for the rest of the day. Although he is getting older and slightly less enthusiastic–only slightly, mind you. Some dogs go from puppy to dog as they age, others remain pup to the end; he’s of the latter persuasion, with all that entails. Gods love the dopey little furball, because I certainly do.

Off I go.

Anticipated Sea Change

Looking back at the Sun.

Early spring dandelions are a great source of food for early pollinators. I did not know this until recently, but it makes sense and pleases me. I think the mason bees woke up a bit early this year (to judge by the fresh mud stoppers in the nesting houses attached to the south side of the shed), and between bright yellow sun-faces, the plums and cherries, and the violets, I hope they’re getting what they need.

I must admit I have not recovered from finishing the recent zero draft. It was really, really tough, my friends. I want to get back to the usual work schedule in the worst way but am forced to more recovery time. It’s upsetting, but what can one do? It always takes three times the days I think it will, even when I’m generous with my poor nerves.

I simply can’t remember finishing a zero exhausting me to this degree before. Even the part of Strange Angels where I was buying the house and moving at the same time as turning in CEs, proofs, and drafts all together was not this unremittingly awful, and that was YA publishing (which I will not willingly go back to, ever, amen). This one was far, far worse, and for completely avoidable reasons.

Anyway, whatever, I did not truckle and it’s done now. I don’t have to do it again, I can look forward, and there are dandelions feeding the bees.

Perhaps the weekend will bring the necessary sea change. See you Monday, dear ones.

Barrel of Literary Carrots

The rains have moved back in, or at least the clouds. This pleases me. I was reading yesterday about theories that the sun is conscious and while that makes as much sense as anything else in the universe does, it also makes the big yellow ball fit the description of an Elder God and that’s hardly comforting. Of course the blessed thing powers all life on this whirling rock, so I suppose one can’t complain, but still…I prefer a bit of rain.

I’m in the middle of the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation novels, which The Untamed is based on, and enjoying them roundly. A collection of Haruki Murakami stories, a translation of the Tao Te Ching, and Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey have all been thoroughly enjoyed lately. That last was an Experience–I hadn’t read Odysseus’s adventures since middle school, and Wilson’s an extremely gifted translator.

I did want to smack Telemachus several times, though. Boy needs to keep his manners on while talking to his mother, fa cry-eye. Even Achilles was nicer to his mum.

I might need more Murakami, I can’t tell yet. I read him while in specific moods until the itch is scratched, like listening to Jandek. Then I’m fine for a while, but at certain points I require another dose.

This is the part of book hangover (or snapback, as I call it) when I am irritated that recovery takes so goddamn long. No matter how much I pad out my estimation of time needed to re-wrap my nerves after a zero draft’s finish, it inevitably takes three times as much. It also requires a lot of “filling the well”, as Julia Cameron put it–giving the Muse and the rest of me enough grist for the creative mill. So I’ve been watching series and movies, and diving into the TBR like Bugs Bunny into a barrel of carrots. The massive effort to get a book out under significantly non-ideal circumstances does tell on one.

I mean, no circumstances are ever wholly ideal, but some are less ideal than others, to coin an Orwell-ism. I’m waiting for the swimming-relief phase instead of the merely exhausted-and-blinking bit. Boxnoggin likes that our daily rambles have become a bit slower, though I always let him sniff as long as he pleases at the usual spots. I’m just not moving very quickly otherwise.

However, work on the serial proceeds apace, as well as the short story collection, which has a cover now. (Long story short, the universe itself is conspiring to make me throw this collection out into public.) Other stuff will have to wait for an upcoming deadline; once that’s past I can engage in more and better planning. Of course Chained Knight and Gamble both need revising, and I should check in about Hell’s Acre again…

Ah, the reward for finishing a zero draft: more work. Still, I’m content to have it so. As long as there are more books to read–and to write–the gods can’t take me, right?

Right?