slight pause for station identification

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.

My Favorite Game

There’s a filthy haze lingering on the horizon today–an air stagnation advisory until next Tuesday, for gods’ sake. I can already feel the weight in my lungs. This is going to make running a little more difficult than usual.

Admittedly, hauling my ass at a fast shamble is never easy, but still.

There also hasn’t been rain for ages, and consequently I’m a bit out of sorts. It’s winter, there is supposed to be water falling from the sky, and I feel rather as the dogs must when the weather doesn’t suit them and they expect me, as the Human in Charge, to do something about it.

The only trouble is, even the Head Bitch in Charge (that would be me, thanks) can’t do a damn thing about it.

Ah well. Sooner or later the rain will return and I’ll be productive again. As it is, I spent yesterday prepping the weekly subscription offerings. The great race and big heist are happening in HOOD, and non-serial subscribers got a little bit of Broken Profile, which I keep going back and staring longingly at in between finishing other stuff.

I also prepped next week’s NaNo post. There’s a series of four to inaugurate the Haggard Feathers Substack, which should take us through the month. (A “haggard” is a term for a hawk caught in adulthood, as well as a descriptor of my usual state, thanks.) Once December hits I might hive off all my technical writing-about-writing posts there. It’ll be fun. I’ve decided to stop offering formatting and cover copy as well as editing; I just don’t have the time while I’m working at this furious a publishing pace. At least all my clients are cleared and happy.

I suppose I should drain my coffee and get out the door with the dogs. Yesterday I managed wordcount on Finder’s Watcher, and I’m getting near the end of the revised bits, almost ready to start adding fresh chapters. I have the whole shape of the book inside my head, and the characters are beginning to speak much more clearly. I might not find a publisher for it, but there are Watcher fans out there who are excited about the book, so it might just be a case of tapping my beloved cover artist for a pretty cover and damning the torpedoes.

Always my favorite game.

I woke up with Queen playing inside my head–Who Wants to Live Forever, in specific. Which means at this moment I’m jamming along to Another One Bites the Dust, because I really don’t want Connor MacLeod in my head. Not today, thanks.

The music just shifted to We Will Rock You, so I guess that’s my cue to hop to the day. Let’s kick Thursday in the throat, my friends, and shake a living out of him.

Over and out.

Slow Meatspace

Good morning, chickadees! Today I’m over on the good ‘ol Substack with a post about NaNoWriMo. I’ve decided on a schedule of Soundtrack Mondays, Writing Tuesdays, and Friday Photos, which should keep stuff around here hopping.

I’m not just an author, I’m a damn experience.

It’s foggy this morning, the inversion and Stagnant Air Advisory combining to wrap the world in cotton wool. Yesterday I could smell the sea in little pockets, bits of rank salty kelp rotting on a shore. While there’s a scrim of welcome moisture on the ground–yesterday was so dry my hair rose up in staticky rebellion–I still can’t wait for rain. We’re having a dry, cold autumn, which is not usual.

I need falling water.

On the bright side, new shoes have made a dent in the plantar fasciitis. Barring hobbling in the middle of the night and right when I wake up, I’m actually feeling pretty good. I’m sure as my running mileage increases, slowly but surely, I’ll feel better and the pain will fade. The first few weeks are just going to be a bitch, because that’s how it always is before slight changes begin echoing through my carcass.

Meatspace is sloooooow, my friends. At least, mostly.

I’m toying with the idea of asking for beta reader(s) on Finder’s Watcher. The big thing is that I can’t pay an hourly rate; the most a beta could get is a free ebook of the unedited and edited versions. I’m hesitant because I don’t think it’s a fair price for the time spent reading and organizing one’s thoughts on a book, though I’m only asking for reactions, not critique or editing. If I can satisfy myself that it’s a fair trade, or add something to make it a fair trade, I might put out a call for applications.

That extra hour of sleep I was so happy to get has vanished, but I’m not upset. It was fun while it lasted. Now I just have to train the dogs in ten-minute increments to their new dinnertime.

I’ll probably fail, because I’m a sucker for their big brown eyes and hopeful snoot-boops. (AutoCorrect tried to make that snoot-goops, which is what Gwyneth Paltrow’s company shoves up rich people’s noses. Ugh.) Still, if one has to be a sucker for something, it’s not bad.

Time to shut this circus down, wrap the leashes around my waist, and take the dogs a-walking. I’ve wordcount on Finder’s Watcher and on HOOD to get done, a shower to take, plenty of hot tea to fuel me and keep the chill at bay, figure out the giveaway for this month, and and and. Yesterday the Muse wouldn’t let me go to bed until I made a few more stabs at Corvinus Reborn, which is Wangsty Dracula wanting more of my time than he’s getting.

He’s going to have to suffer. Which, being a Main Character of Wangst, he’s completely suited for. I only hope it doesn’t make him unmanageable.

Come, Tuesday. *chambers a round* Let us dance.

Soundtrack Monday: Measuring Cups

Strange Angels

I’m not a huge Andrew Bird fan. Some of his stuff is just confusing for the sake of confusion, and that irritates me.

And yet Measuring Cups came across my musical radar just at the right time while I was writing Dru dealing with the bullshit that is high school, especially for kids who have nonstandard problems. It’s what would be playing over a montage of Dru in the halls of a normal high school, dodging jocks and rolling her eyes at teachers.

The teacher Dru inadvertently almost hexes to death is a composite of three separate educational “professionals” I had the bad luck to encounter from middle to high school. Of course, I’m sure I was a treasure myself–too smart for my own good, highly verbal, with a hideous home life and a penchant for both mischief and coming to school hungover.

Anyway, sometimes a song comes along at exactly, but exactly the right moment. And this was one.

I am toying with the idea of a sequel series to Strange Angels, and am waiting to see if my agent wants sample chapters. It might be something I do as a serial if I can’t get a publisher to pony up, but that takes planning and my plate’s full today.

Still… it’s nice to dream. Just as long as you’re not dreaming of owls and winged snakes, I guess.

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.

Globular Children

Yes, my lovely globular children! You will be brushed with oil and roasted, then I will SCRAPE OUT YOUR FLESH and PUREE IT and CONSUME IT WITH SPICES and quite possibly a crust.

…if you can’t tell, I had quite a lovely Samhain, and I hope you did too. I got a lot of things done, watched a lot of terrible movies, and bought myself a Shudder subscription so I can watch even MORE wonderfully terrible movies. Plus, there was all the candy I could stomach. (Which is less than it has been other years, but age brings some discomfort to us all.)

And now it’s NaNoWriMo; I’ve decided to write the next Watcher novel this time around. If you’re doing NaNo, buddy me! We’ll get through this together.

Technically I’m on a four-day weekend, but you know I’m going to have to work at least a little. Can’t let the iron cool too much before striking.

Enjoy All Saint’s Day, my chickadees, and I hope your candy hangover is just bad enough to suit you roundly…

Sharing Good Things

Flying hair
© Cherrymerry | Dreamstime Stock Photos

The wind is up today, the Columbia Gorge inhaling for the deep dive into winter. There was stuff hitting the roof all night, but once the dogs are settled on my bed nothing fazes them.1

Of course, that could also have been because the wind chill manages to make the house a trifle chilly at night, so sleeping in a pile mitigates the shivers. I was actually a little too warm, what with flannel sheets and down comforter, not to mention two hairy little stoves to my left.

I do have something awesome for you today, chickadees. My writing partner has a new story out, Voice of the Knife, which centers on woodpeckers, terror, and the legend of Jenny Greenteeth. I consider it one of the five perfect stories I’ve ever read, which is saying a lot. There’s not an ounce wasted in it, and the ending is simply marvelous. I highly recommend taking a gander, not only at it but at her other stuff. Especially Shots in the Dark.2

I am thrilled absolutely to the gills to be able to shout about Voice, since I love the story so much. I’m pretty sure my enthusiasm is both terrifying and amusing for said writing partner, but I don’t do halfway friendships. I am like an octopus on your face UNTIL WE BOTH DIE.

Uh, so to speak.

Anyway, it’s a windy day, the dogs need walking, and the Damage revision is going to be a knotty problem. Yesterday was a 1k net word gain, and I only got two chapters revised. I knew the zero was extremely lean, but this is kind of ridiculous. To be fair, I finished it under acid-test conditions, and I won’t let it out of my hands until it’s a respectable length.3

On the bright side, I got a lot of work done even though I had to leave the house for errands4, so I can look forward to being super productive today because I won’t be interrupted…

…that’s right, go ahead and laugh, I am tempting fate in the extreme. I will be interrupted, but whoever (or whatever) does so will have to deal with Very Direct Problem Solving so I can go back to revisions. I want this draft done and resting with my agent before NaNoWriMo.

But more about that later. For now, it’s time to walk the dogs–though B will have her nose in the air to read the wind the entire time, which will make her trip, and Lord van der Sploot will hop lively every time the invisible hand of moving air brushes his hind end. Fun times will be had by all. (Can you see me rolling my eyes? I’ll bet you can.)

Enjoy Tuesday, chickadees. It’s our only hope.