Said Often

So Odd Trundles had a nightmare last night, and peed his bed. This doesn’t happen as frequently as you’d think, but it does mean I’m up early, his bedding is in the wash, and I have soaped a dog’s ass and undercarriage before 8am. It’s a good thing all my commitments for the day were suddenly changed to afternoon during the span of a half-hour yesterday.

If I can just get through this week without combusting from sheer tension, I’ll call it a win.

So. My office is full of the reek of just-washed Trundles, but at least the window is open. A plumber is coming by this afternoon to fix the shutoff valve and maybe, if he got authorization from the home warranty folks, to install the new dishwasher and take the old one away. I have each scenario planned for–just the valve fixed, the valve fixed but the dishwasher electrical somehow borked, the valve fixed and the new dishwasher installed but the old one not carted off, and the best of all possible worlds, the valve fixed, new dishwasher installed AND old one carted away. Anything will represent a step forward, so I’m pretty Zen about the whole deal. It’s arrived at the point of absurd hilarity, so I can relax now.

The other commitment this afternoon is offering moral support during a friend’s doctor visit. I can’t plan for any of the scenarios on that one. For one thing, nothing is inside my control there except showing up on time and being supportive. For another, there’s just too much we don’t know yet. Today should at least give us more information. Aggressive treatment options are already scheduled for the next few weeks, so we’ll see how it turns out.

I say that a lot. Just this past weekend, I was in the car with the Little Prince. I have this habit of prepping the kids when we’re in the car. When they were younger, everything went easier if they knew what to expect, and the car was the last-minute place for answering questions and taking them through processes. I guess I haven’t gotten out of the habit, because I started telling the Prince what we were looking for and as a bonus, answering his questions about the then-latest bits of the dishwasher saga.

“…we’ll see what happens,” I finished.

He laughed. “You say that every time we’re in the car.”

I said it again at dinner, and since then, I’ve noticed whenever it leaves my mouth. The kids are sixteen and twenty now; I suppose decades of parenting have left me with a few habits they might find a little annoying. Both of them tell me the prep sessions are comforting no matter how old they get. Plus, they’ve absorbed “plan for what we can and relax about the rest” as a Life Maxim, which is hardly the worst way to look at situations.

It’s busy, but so far I’m coping. Especially since work is going relatively smoothly, though I had to take some time off yesterday to think about ceremonial leather armor, mercury poisoning, and different diseases I can give this particular Emperor that will have the effects I want on him and the story. I need his decline to be fairly rapid since we’re in the last third of the book, and the coronation is the next-to-last thing that happens before number one of the trilogy reaches a natural resting place.

But…yeah. We’ll see what happens.

*winks, vanishes in a cloud of smoke*

Morning, Serenading Peas

I hadn’t planned on blogging today, since I was due at a medical centre early for a friend’s PET scan. Unfortunately, the scheduler got it wrong, so it’s another half-hour, early morning drive later in the week.

I did get home in time to call the home warranty folks about the dishwasher again. The poor installers had nine jobs yesterday, mine was #9, but the first seven were builder/apartment complex jobs, which meant each. one. took. forever. The delivery/install window was 1-5pm, and they didn’t end up getting here until past nine. Then, as soon as one of them touched the dishwasher shutoff valve, well, there was a brand new leak in my kitchen.

Which often happens in older houses, I guess. The valves stay open, who on earth shuts them? Sot he rubber gasket dries out and cracks, and the instant it’s disturbed, well, water longs to be free, and will take any path it finds.

I have to confess, I closed my eyes and leaned against the fridge for a few moments, and I could sense the installers giving each other nervous looks. I had to count to seven and take a few deep breaths before saying, “Are you sure you won’t have a cup of tea or some hot cocoa?” They looked quite done in.

Poor fellows insisted on making sure the new dishwasher was settled safely in the garage, and told me several times to call them if the home warranty people got shirty.

Bless them, the poor boys. They really wanted to go home, but paused to make sure I was okay. They seemed genuinely disappointed that they couldn’t get the blasted thing sorted. I am still not quite able to laugh about the whole thing yet, though I’m sure I’ll get there in a few days.

On the bright side, I girt my loins for calling the home warranty people, only to find out they were a step or two ahead of me (many thanks to Samantha in the Georgia call centre) and already had a new repair/installer vendor ticket created. So…I just wait for the vendor to contact me to schedule a time for them to come by, fix the dripping valve (thankfully, the fellows made it so it was just dripping, not a steady stream) and finally, finally put the bloody dishwasher in. I haven’t even looked at the new one, really, beyond making sure it wasn’t dented. I suppose I should go and take a peek at it once I’ve had another jolt of coffee. My eyelids feel like they’re going to slam shut at any moment.

I’ll probably go out in the garden and check on the pea starts again, too. The snails didn’t seem to have found them when I looked yesterday afternoon. They could just be slow starters (ha) but I’m hopeful. The new tomatoes are all caged (lest they run rampant) and have taken to their growing work with a will. The dogs, exhausted from the excitement of last night and this morning (Mum was UP! and SHOWERED! and LEFT!) have both achieved liquid status, though Miss B will be up as soon as I move, determined not to let me stir a step without her if she can help it.

So…that was my morning. At least I’ll get some wordcount today, which I was pretty sure wasn’t going to be the case. Small mercies. But first, more coffee, and some time spent singing to the garden. I need a reset after the past couple days, and serenading the peas–not to mention the grapevines–will do just fine. I might even read them a little Caesar, if they still seem interested.

Over and out.

Life, Slightest Provocation

So today is that most blessed of days. That’s right, my friends, it’s NEW DISHWASHER DAY.

At least, if the installers don’t get caught in traffic or an accident, and if new dishwasher will fit in the space we’ve got–it should, of course, but “should” in appliance replacement is just another word for “ha, you thought you’d actually get this done without a fight?” I suspect we haven’t reached the end of the little gifts the Do-It-Yourself-er who owned the house before us left. I can hope, at least.

All of which means the kitchen needs attending, the rubbish and recycle bins moved and the choke point past the fridge measured–there’s another way into the kitchen, but I think the way past the fridge might work and it’s way shorter–and several cabinets to clean out and stack the contents of on the counters so the installers can get at everything they need. If I’m really ambitious I might even make them biscotti, because I am just. that. excited.

There’s a morning run to get in and the initial revise on another chapter of Atlanta Bound, both before noon. Working on a serial means working ahead, because life can and will happen at the slightest provocation, and one needs a cushion.

Life has been happening to a rather startling degree around here. I’m fine and the kids are great, but people we care about are having Extremely Rough Things happen. It’s gotten to where I wince every time my email notification goes off, since I’m sure it’s more bad news. There’s a special kind of hell called “not being able to help”, there are some things even my stubbornness can’t fix. If I could, I would fling myself on the problems and stab them until they stopped moving, but…they aren’t that sort of problems.

*sigh*

Intellectually I know that offering support and being a safe place for friends to dump their feelings–no matter what those feelings are–is valuable, but it doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. I mean, I was raised to feel like nothing I did was ever going to be good enough anyway, but…yeah.

I have my own support network in place so I can support the people who need it right now, and I’ve severely retracted a lot of socializing in order to have the emotional energy to support and to write. It’s all I can do. As far as I’m concerned, the entire shitty current month can go die in a fire. Just when I think we’ve hit the worst news yet, more happens along.

My regular sunny optimism (ha!) has taken somewhat of a beating. At least if the new dishwasher ends up installed (and working, let’s not forget working) a rather startling vista of free time will show up. We’ve been washing up by hand for months now, and while it’s just fine, I am looking forward to the convenience of loading a machine and pressing a button.

Mod cons, my friends. Mod cons.

And of course there’s wordcount in Maiden’s Blade to get in today. I revised the length requirement for that project in Scrivener and promptly choked when the daily goal skyrocketed. I know I’ll meet it, but it was still a vertiginous moment. Before publication, chop wood, carry water, write; after publication, chop wood, carry water, write.

Time to get out the door. I hope your April is going better than mine, dear Readers, and I hope every bit of news we all get today is good.

*wanders away, muttering about dishwasher specifications*

New Roo, Mum

When you open a package from your Australian friend–who was there and drinking the night the whole nutless-kangaroo-shifter-story thing happened–and you find this fellow breaking into your fucking Kinder Eggs, and you say “who the fuck are YOU?” and he wipes his snout with his paw and says, “er, um, your new roo, mum,” and you DM your Australian friend hysterical with disbelieving laughter…

…yeah. Like that. Exactly like that.

(Yes, that’s a kangaroo scrotum holding a corkscrew, which is how this whole thing started. But that’s another story…)

Bundle of Cheer

Barn Owl
© Donfink | Dreamstime Stock Photos
Got the wind knocked out of me on Monday evening, and I suspect it won’t come back any time soon. I am beginning to hate April; it’s just one thing after another this month. Not to me–I’m doing well–but people I care about are having somewhat of a rough go, and all I can do is support. I long to take a katana to the problems, but that would require enemies one could simply dispatch with a blade.

Life is full of those, but also full of ones you can’t. Plus, swinging an edge often leads to paperwork, and nobody has time for that.

So instead it’s budgeting my energy and retracting somewhat into a social shell so I can reserve enough to be an effective support and get my writing done. It’s a good thing I deactivated Facebook; one could so easily sink into a morass there.

Today marks the beginning of Atlanta Bound, Season 4 of Roadtrip Z. There’s a lot planned for this final season, it’s a real stunner. Once the road trip is over, I’m really thinking the next serial will be Robin Hood in Space, so I’d best get that underway.

The trouble is, Hostage to Empire wants to chew up all my bandwidth. Book 1 now wants to be called The Maiden’s Blade, which should make the editor happier. It’s also hit 80K and shows no sign of stopping or even slowing down. I have to write the kidnapping, the assassination attempts, and an emperor’s death. Hopefully I can get it in at least rough zero form by July; the timeline is compressed because it’s taking the place of the dead book. *sigh*

So. It’s time to get the first two chapters of Atlanta Bound prepped for subscribers, revise another two chapters of the same for next week’s offering, and get in daily wordcount on Maiden’s Blade. Also, some yoga needs to be done, because I am pushing myself hard while running and as a result, my entire body feels like one big bruise. Oh, and I should probably leave the house to fetch milk, right?

I’ve had eight shots of espresso this morning, the therapy lamp is on, and all I want to do is go back to bed. My eyelids need toothpicks to prop them open. If I’m a very good girl and get all the things on my list accomplished today, maybe I’ll plant some beans in the garden boxes.

It’s not much, but at least it’s one small unstressful something I know how to do.

Hug the people you care about today for me, please. Tell someone you’re there for them, and do something nice for yourself, too. We’re all stuck on this rock hurtling through space, and caring for each other is the only way we’re gonna get through it. I mean, life is inevitably fatal, but at least we can do some good before going to sleep.

Yeah, I’m just a bundle of cheer and optimism today. Over and out.

RELEASE DAY: Pocalypse Road

That’s right, my hoopy froods! Season 3 of Roadtrip Z is now out in the world.

Winter has arrived, the walking dead are hungry, and Ginny and Lee’s small group of survivors is making its way towards New York. Other survivors, shaking off the daze of catastrophe, are moving as well. In a wasteland of snow and failing power, of course the zombies are dangerous…

…but it’s the other people you really have to watch out for.

Season 3: Pocalypse Road is now available direct, at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and at independent bookstores.

I had a lot of fun with this season. Things just had to keep going wrong, and more wrong, and more-more wrong, in the grand tradition of every zombie apocalypse tale. Be on the lookout for Tuckerized readers, callbacks to old zombie movies, how to haul ammo in a snowbound wasteland, and finally, finally, Lee Quartine getting a break or two, as well as the mystery of just what was in Colonel Grandon’s case from Season 1.

And now, since it’s a release day, I’m gonna go stick my head in a bucket and hope the anxiety dies down. Enjoy!

Book, Bandwidth

Season 3 of Roadtrip Z goes live tomorrow, which means I’m having release-day nerves all the way down. Maybe that was why my Sunday was full of staring and not getting much done.

Thankfully I get to run today.

*time passes*

My frustration with the home warranty company still dicking me around over the dishwasher replacement reached a certain level that usually leads to stomach irritation, so I tied my shoes and hit the pavement with Miss B. Who was quite pleased, thank you very much, and is now exhausted enough to be a Very Good Dog for the rest of the day. I mean, I know she’s always a Very Good Dog, but this will make her a Very Calm Dog as well. Or at least, as calm as an Australian shepherd can get.

She’s currently sprawled in the hallway, opening an eye whenever I pass. She would like, no doubt, to be snugged up against my office chair, but she suspects I have plans of moving about, and the hall remains the place she can keep track of me without hauling herself upright to supervise my peregrinations.

Today I have release day nerves and concomitant self-care to attend to, as well as seeing if I can get this lady-in-waiting kidnapped and a pair of unlikely rescuers. I have to get through several other scenes to do so, or I could just say “to hell with it” and write the kidnapping/rescue first, then go back and fill in the piercing, the confrontation in the market, the next arranged marriage, and a couple assassination attempts.

This is going to require some thought, and more coffee. I’m hoping the book’s architecture will let me work on it non-chronologically, but that may be borrowing trouble. We’re at almost 80K words for this damn story, it’s only book one, and there’s at least a third more of the whole thing to cram into writing time over the next couple months.

I’m not sure I’ll make it.

Plus, this is something I’ve never attempted before, and the anxiety over maybe fucking it up beyond repair is…mounting. Even sweating for multiple kilometers doesn’t erase that completely. The only way out is just doing the best I can and seeing if I can hit the updated draft deadline. On the bright side, a book usually takes over all my available bandwidth like this right before it spikes towards the finish line.

It’s just that instead of having only 10K words or so to get out of this monster, I have more like 30, and that’s if I’m lucky.

I keep meaning to reserve a little energy to work on Robin Hood in Space–the first season will probably be titled Hood, Home–but when I get to the end of working on Khir’s Honor for the day, I’m worn out. I’m not sure anything else can give in order to free up energy. Dog care, child care, running–those are non-negotiable hard points, and I’d really love to keep on with Latin and piano since the latter is one of the few times my brain doesn’t eat itself during the day, and Latin makes me happy. I have so much crammed into a day, and need to cram in even more.

Well, complaining about it won’t get it done. Time to set a timer and get the fingers to working through the setup for the kidnapping scene. I may have to throw it out later, but at least it’s progress.

Over and out.