editing makes one cranky

Dilly of a Month

The last cold snap has arrived, and it’s relatively mild. I needn’t have worried about that early-blooming lilac, though I’m sure if I hadn’t things would have gone quite differently. It’s not a question of individual power but of Murphy’s Law; the older I get the more I begin to think ol’ Murph was a sage who knew a thing or two.

There’s a tradescantia needing repotting, and I have to turn the hangers for the airplane plants so tropism will bring them back t’other way. Playing with potting soil sounds far more appetizing than the other work needing to be done today, so I’m keeping it for a reward. Gamble needs one more pass to tuck in or snip stray threads, then it can go back to the editor; there’s business correspondence to be handled and toads to be swallowed.

I’d rather be writing. That’s a constant, though.

Once Gamble is out the door there are revisions on Chained Knight to go through, then that particular Tale of the Underdark will be ready for the next stage in the publishing pipeline. After that Doom of the Elder needs attention so it can be sent to the editor, which I might not be looking forward to since the series has had such a difficult go of it.

At least I can spend time with Highlands War in the mornings. We’re at the raids leading up to the second pitched battle at the crest of the book’s third quarter; I have the rest of it all thought out but dear gods, this one’s a monster. It will easily be 120-150k words, not bad for epic fantasy, yet I weep when I think of the revising and editing it’ll need. I’m nearly at the point where I don’t want to bring it out for wider publication, but that’s a decision I’ll make when I’m not exhausted and nerve-strung.

I knew April would be a dilly of a month and May will likely be worse. Still, I’ve spent significant time planning–yes, no plan ever survives contact with reality, but the very act of getting contingencies together is indispensable. It’s not so much being prepared as being flexible; the latter is far easier when one has set up a framework, no matter how useless said frames turn out to be in practice. Having something to start with and build on makes the whole thing loads less frightening, even if most of that something has to be thrown out. (A lever and a place to stand, as Archimedes muttered.)

Boxnoggin is basking in a bar of spring sunshine, but his ears are up and he would very much like me to stop staring at the glowing box. There are things to sniff and bark at today; that’s his plan, and often matches reality. The dog’s damn near a master of strategy.

See you around.

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.

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.

Tenuous Peace, Cutting

It’s always mildly amusing when people who have denigrated and dismissed one for a long while act surprised when one picks up one’s toys and goes home. The ol’ “pretending bafflement when the person you used to kick around suddenly isn’t there anymore” can even be deeply hilarious, if viewed from far enough away to protect oneself. Escaping a bad situation, disengaging from those who use one as a punching bag, is tremendously healing.

All the same, I can’t help but find much of the professed surprise deeply disingenuous. Did you think I’d stay forever to be the whipping girl?

Moving on (literally!), I’m revising the last few chapters of Chained Knight today. The pieces are in place for editing (95% certainty) and cover art (that’s a Texas-sized ten-four, good buddy), so maybe around June or so another Tale of the Underdark will toddle into the world. I am deeply relieved to find out that the book is actually good–the beta readers liked it too–and that I’m still pleased by the idea of playing variations on a theme a la Elric. I think there’s one more symphony of that vein in me, but I can’t write it until *checks schedule* probably sometime next year?

That’s all right, it’ll keep. Of course, making it do so will probably force it to tear its way out of my head in two weeks like the last one. Big fun.

The three Underdark books won’t be a series, per se, but they will be variations. Cover art and releasing long enough apart should make that clear, and if it doesn’t end up getting through to a certain proportion of folk, well, there’s nothing further I can do. My work has never been for those incapable of drawing inferences, or unwilling to do so.

Perhaps it’s the energy of the new year provoking a re-evaluation of where my energy is being spent, or maybe my patience has finally been eroded. It could even be the vast inner quiet of two book hangovers at once, or the ongoing realization of my own inalienable value. Whichever way it’s sliced, I’m at a tenuous peace with cutting off a few gangrenous chunks right-fucking-now. At a certain point the consequences of walking away are far less damaging than those of staying where one is not valued, and I learn that lesson over and over. The relief is immense, almost unbearable.

After Chained revisions are dealt with, there’s a duel with a warrior woman in Highlands War as well as a pitched set-piece battle that promises to be rather fun. Not for the characters–Kaia would much rather have a decent bath and a good dinner, and her princeling is of like mind. Unfortunately the story isn’t cooperating with their dual longing, in any sense of the word. And after that…hm, it would be nice if a few folks would clear their pre-holiday inboxes and get back to me about the four…wait, five…no, six, oh my gods, six or so books waiting to either be picked up by a press or, failing that, stuffed in the self-pub cannon.

It’s a wonder I haven’t gone full-feral indie long before now. In any case, I’m giving trad publishing one last year to shape up, as my grandfather used to say–including paying me on time–or ship the fuck out. We’ll see what happens.

Thursday beckons, the subscription drops are formatted and merely require loading, Boxnoggin dislikes the chill damp but will be glad of walkies, and my own inbox could stand a little attention before I choke down some toast and get truly underway.

I’d best get started.

Emphasis, Little, Resentfully

After an initial bump of good news we’re back in the “mounting stress” portion of a writer’s career, which…well, it’s not ideal, but it’s far more familiar than anything else so why not? There is some nice stuff, though–Paste Magazine put next month’s A Flame in the North on their list of “most anticipated fantasy books of 2024” (along with a LOT of other good stuff), which is pleasant. And I’m finding out that Chained Knight isn’t a bad little book, which is a giant relief, considering.

Now if just a few other things would break loose I’d be able to breathe a bit more deeply. But alas and alack, that doesn’t seem to be in the offing.

Chaucer continues apace! I knocked off the Miller’s Tale last night, and nearly laughed myself into a fit. I begin to see why ol’ Geoffrey has survived the centuries; I also must admit I haven’t been that hilariously surprised by a fart joke since Moby Dick‘s first chapter (beans in the forecastle!). The change from highfalutin’ Tale of Chivalry to a drunken miller telling a complex cuckolding joke (one small step away from a traveling salesman number) is delicious. Just goes to show that lo, raunchy and highbrow hath always been with us, and the tension between them doesn’t mean one is better, it’s just a zone of highly fertile creativity.

I also loved how the Miller slyly mocked the Knight’s constant emphasis on what everyone was wearing, partly because descriptions of beautiful clothes are fun–spectacle satisfies no few deep aesthetic hungers–and partly because I can just see the shit-eating grin on his face as he pokes fun at the Very Serious Highbrow Guy. Alison the carpenter’s wife was as well-dressed as Princess Emily, and probably happier. Although who knows, we don’t get to hear if she wanted to marry the old jealous carpenter? Maybe she’d’ve preferred to worship Diana too.

The Miller’s Tale went a lot swifter than the Knight’s, partly because I have Geoffrey’s rhythm (and number) now, and partly because I had the bandwidth to focus instead of reading scattershot catch-as-catch-can. For a while I was so exhausted, physically and mentally, that a couple YouTube videos were all I could handle as decompression before falling asleep facedown on the tablet. Thankfully my nerves are a little more re-wrapped now. I might just set myself one tale per night and work through the book that way.

My social media mentions are a bit of a mess. A lot of techbro theft apologists are desperately trying to sealion there. It’s amazing what people will cape for these days. No billionaire is so rancid as to lack bootlickers, and plenty of techbro theft apologists take it as a personal insult that a femme-presenting person will have none of their nonsense. It’s also strange to see how many of the sealions conform to a “type”–95% of them, by avatar or bio, fall into a Certain Category.

It’s also mordantly funny that the Venn diagram of those bleating “copyright is theft”, “piracy is FWEEDOM”, and “writers/artists aren’t working fast enough for me to steal more of my favorite content from them” is a complete circle.

In any case, brekkie looms and Boxnoggin needs walkies. I’m back to running again, and the endorphins are simply marvelous. Recovery is my least favorite phase, but at least the hit when one goes back is a lot more intense by comparison–a little reward for reluctantly and resentfully giving myself enough time to heal. (Emphasis on the “little” and the “resentfully”, natch.) The rest of the day will be spent in developing a pitched battle and revising the portal fantasy, so my docket is full.

It’s good to be back.

Future Self Investment

So, after finishing two zero drafts in as many months, I capped this furious spate of activity off by revising Gamble (Ghost Squad #3) and sending it off to the editor. So that’s done, and while I might get more work accomplished before the end of the year (I have madcap thoughts of revising Chained Knight) I think I can safely say I got a few things accomplished in 2023.

I also recorded an entire pronunciation guide for some lovely audiobook folks yesterday, with the aid of a huge tankard of coffee and much nervousness. Then I took the rest of the day off, watched both Suicide Squad movies–the second is, in my humble, better than the first–and went to bed early, full of homemade enchilada. This morning I was greeted by a tap on the bedroom door, a fresh dose of caffeine, and someone else taking Boxnoggin out for his first loo-break of the day. Which was unutterably pleasant.

Actually achieving verticality is ever so much easier with caffeine already in the bloodstream. Whew.

The atmospheric river seems to be dying down a bit. I’m sure that’s for the best–the ground is super saturated and there’s a warning about urban flooding–but I can’t help feeling a tiny bit disappointed. I love rain, and hearing it on the roof the past few days managed to get me through the revision and maybe, possibly, into some kind of recovery phase. I knew I was borrowing trouble by ignoring multiple book hangovers, and now it appears the bill is due. So a few days of stuffing my head with content–reading, movies, gorging on a few dramas–is in order.

For the rest of the year it’ll be all about Highlands War and maybe the romantasy, since I don’t need sample chapters on the latter until after the New Year. I hope another book doesn’t tear itself out of my head; I’ve had all I can take. I also hope this keyboard holds up for a while, but it’s beginning to exhibit some Concerning Signs. Ah well.

So much of publishing is delayed gratification. I won’t see any movement on the stuff I’ve done in the past couple months until maybe June-July of next year, if then. Future Me will be happy with the very tired rabbit that is Present Me (which will be Past Me by that point, but who’s counting?) at that point, I’m sure. If I view the current head-sore state as a gift to or investment in my future self, it gets a lot easier to take a small inhale. Maybe not anything so grand as a break, but certainly a breath.

All that aside, Boxnoggin is quite put out at the break in the morning routine, and wants to get me back on track by dragging me out the door for walkies. I’ll let him, I think…but in a few minutes, after I finish this coffee.

I’ve earned it. Whew. Onward to Thursday, then, at whatever shamble-speed I can manage…