weather eye

Unsociable For Survival

Here’s one to add to the sales listings–Fire Watcher is $.99 in ebook (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo). Funny thing about this book–I wrote Dark Watcher first, then Fire Watcher while I was waiting to see if the former would get picked up. Then, I wrote Working for the Devil. After that came Storm Watcher. Of course, I wrote Selene before any of those…but that’s a whole different ball o’ wax.

…I should do a post about that timeline, because it’s a messed-up universe. I know exactly where it diverges from our own history–I generally do, even with things like the Hostage to Empire books–and exactly how the intervening historical events played out. There are also some indications that Watchers exist in other timelines, like in Ryan and Chess’s world.

These are things writers think about. In my case, it’s probably why I’m unfit for most human company, because so much of me is away somewhere else building stories.

We’re having what the meteorologists are pleased to call “unsettled weather”, which means we finally got some rain and it’s been glorious, though it’s also been hell on the sinuses. There were even some reports of funnel clouds, though not a hint of lightning. Kind of makes me want to go watch Emerald City again so I can brush up one of those quasi-fanfics.

Yep, sure, another project, that’ll definitely solve all my problems. It’s not like I just added two to the list just yesterday, either. I think I might be ready to go back to Space Werewolves–the last time I touched that story was during the week leading up to Bailey’s passing, and I doubted I’d ever come back to it. But lately I’ve been thinking about it and wondering if I want to do some different things with it, practice some writing outside my usual. We’ll see.

So the project roster right now looks like: The Highlands War, actively writing; Gamble, the third Ghost Squad book, actively writing; a Sekrit Projekt (oooh, mysterious); an experiment in co-writing that I really want to get finished since it’s been hanging fire for about a year now; Space Werewolves; a book of collected short stories.

Come July there’ll also be a revision of a doorstop epic fantasy in there, and adding the third in that series once it’s done. Big fun.

I can’t get to everything all at once, more’s the pity. But I’m thinking with some time management and cutting back on extraneous things (like having a life) I might conceivably get some of this shit sorted in the next six months. The big thing is going to be protecting writing time, because a lot of people want a lot of things from me right now. I can’t afford to have those things be unpaid, so…here we are, about to engage in another round of I’m Highly Unsociable Because I Need to Eat to Survive, and That Takes So Much Fucking Effort Right Now.

On the bright side, I’m going to try a slow, short run on the treadmill today, with the big ankle brace on. I don’t think said ankle is quite ready for primetime, but if I can sweat a bit under carefully controlled conditions it will be a huge improvement. My mood has definitely suffered, what with the enforced idleness from injury. Getting some endorphins and clearing everything out while untangling plot matters is the first order of business today.

Also, the coffee is dregs and Boxnoggin is stirring. He’s going to be perplexed at us not taking the long way home during walkies, but I’m in my running togs so it won’t quite be a surprise. And he has plenty of toys to keep him occupied, spoiled brat that he is.

Ah, the glamour and excitement of a writer’s life…

Even In Unreliable Memory

A ghost of fragrance lingers still.

Super difficult to get out of bed this morning. Not that I’m particularly tired–even the ankle is doing a lot better, the hideous pain earlier this week seems merely a warning not to overdo things–but I did not want to face another day. Perhaps the last few years of being abandoned to the pandemic are catching up to me, or perhaps the realization that I’m in my late forties and do not have time, energy, or willingness to put up with any bullshit kept me snuggled for a few minutes longer.

I needed to take a breath. I’ve been running with the needle all the way in the red for so long now, I forget what it feels like to do otherwise.

Anyway, behold our Friday photo. There are still plenty of flowers, but the early ones have died back. Cherry flowers are long gone. Lilacs, apple blossom, quince blossom, some of the vinca, the ivy flowers, early irises, hyacinths, the dogwoods that made it past the post first (though some late ones are still going full-bore)…the guard has changed, and they have retired. The early spring guard has retired, and the early summer guard has taken its place.

But the earlier crew are still good. Their beauty is not simply in the flowering but also in what comes after. A faint apparition of perfume still hangs about the lilacs, and delicate dry leavings are just as lovely as what came before.

If you’re going to love a flower, I think you should love them all the way through. As long as even a trace remains–even in unreliable memory–that’s just what I intend to do.

Have a good weekend, my friends.

Bud, Blossom, Blown

Roses, roses, roses, Astrud Gilberto sings…

It’s the season of roses here. Bud, blossom, and blown, as I say–they’re everywhere, and in every stage. I should really trim the white ones in the backyard; one of the canes is top-heavy, and bending to the ground. The rest of it has just reached a condition that will cover the shock if I do so, I think.

And today we have rain! Not very much, since it’s June–but enough. Wonderful, glorious, tiptapping rain against the tree canopy, petrichor filling the nose, and a lovely cloud cover making it an utterly reasonable temperature. It is luxurious indeed.

Next week will be a bit of a bear–the new serial to get off the ground, sales post for June to do, chores, checking in with agent and publishers about Various Other Things, and all that. But for the moment I can take a deep breath, brace myself, and keep working on the two books currently gestating. (Or more accurately in active labor, since they’re being born. Precision, precision.)

And naturally, during walkies I will stop wherever I may, and sniff a rose.

See you next week!

Trifled Generosity

Yesterday was moderately stressful, but it worked out in the end. It was tremendously validating to check my perceptions against other people’s and get a, “Yeah, I thought that too,” before I swing into action. Now the house is quiet again, and things can go back to normal.

I do not mind being generous, but when that generosity is trifled with…well, I mind that a bit.

Anyway. There’s exciting news coming down the pike, and yes, it does have to do with a Steelflower book! The Highlands War, in fact, which deals with the hunting of Ferulaine and the evil in the Highlands. I’m super chuffed. There may even be a reveal about D’ri’s scar, which I had planned for the trilogy dealing with Kaia’s return to their homeland. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll ever get to write those three books–ebook thieves are still rampant–but at least I can bring the story to a natural resting-point with this one.

The weather wizards are saying it will be quite warm today–90F at least–so the windows are open to take advantage of morning coolth. I can deal with ugly-hot days as long as the nights are reasonable; it’s when the dark hours are still gasp-broiling that I start to have problems. I am a pale Northwest mushroom, and not meant for such oven conditions.

I want to hold off on the June sales post until I make the announcement proper for Highlands War. We’ll see what happens; there’s a lot of moving parts.

The ankle is slowly healing. It’s in the stage of recovery where there’s a deep desperate pain as swelling goes down and tissues are rebuilt. I have to be super careful not to tweak it, to wear the brace, and to stay on top of anti-inflammatories. The lack of running is making me somewhat tetchy, but if I spend proper time on recovery now I’ll be able to run longer later, so I resentfully cater to my corpse’s demands.

It’s not my body’s fault; she’s doing the best she can, Cap’n, and givin’ it all she’s got.

So today there will be back cover copy written, perhaps that assassination in the Sekrit Projekt to finish blocking, and a little more on Gamble. I’m wanting one of the main antagonists to show up at the wedding planner’s office, and we’re going to see the hero bristle a bit. Which will be fun. Switching between epic fantasy and romantic suspense does good things for me. It feels like both halves of my brain are getting a massage.

I contain multitudes.

In any case, the coffee is near dregs and Boxnoggin is quite eager to get his walkies. I am somewhat slower than usual, but since that means he gets to stick his nose in greenery for longer periods of ecstatic huffing, he’s fine with the tradeoff. And while I hobble the main work of blocking out just how the assassination is planned can be done. I have to know the plan before I can extrapolate what happens in the commission of the act, and that will give my sellsword time and means to disrupt it. I’m pretty sure she sees a danger the others in her party overlook (because she is by far the most experienced with treachery, naturally) and that will give her ammunition during the council later on…

…but that’s another story, and I have to get all the dominos in a row before I can flick one with a fingertip and make the pattern I require. Building a book is often like putting together a Rube Goldberg machine and then demolishing it in the most creative way possible. In other words, a whole lotta fun.

See you around!

Dry Camellia

No filter, just dehydration.

A camellia lay upon pavement, drying out during the recent heat wave. I stopped dead in wonder, which meant Boxnoggin had to stop too, while attempting to suss out what was wrong with his human–my habit of pointing the little handheld thing at stuff he doesn’t see the utility of is puzzling, but he grants me a lot of slack. After all, I am only a monkey.

It’s been a long week and I’m feeling rather low. Hopefully this is just recovery fraying my nerves, and things will start looking up soon.

On to the weekend…

Two Chainsaws Enough

I should’ve known a good working day would drag a not-so-good one in its wake. That’s just the way the cookie has crumbled since, oh, about 2016 or so. It was bad before, certainly…but I think back then I still had hope.

How young I was. How wisely foolish.

It’s a clear morning, alas. The sun is still hiding behind a rather large fir in the cul-de-sac behind us, a trick of the earth’s wobble this particular time of year. Walkies shouldn’t be too bad, just bright and perhaps a little exciting if we see any other canines out exercising their humans–that’s something funny, how many dogs walk their humans rather than the other way ’round. Heaven knows it took Bailey a significant number of months before she finally absorbed that the biped was in charge and her own duties were different.

Boxnoggin, of course, gets so distracted by every little thing that he can’t possibly be in charge, only contained, corralled, and gently chided for terrible behavior. He’s such an anxious dog, poor thing.

As for said work, I made a good start on the Sekrit Projekt–it’s been revealed to patrons and newsletter subscribers, so it’s not Sooper-Sekrit, and it’ll be announced publicly in June–and also got the right opening scene for Gamble, the third Ghost Squad book. I think I’m going to enjoy the wedding planner heroine’s scenes A Lot, she seems like a hoot. A big contrast to indeed to Tax’s buttoned-down, logical, I-think-I’m-so-rational vibe. And I think I have the timeline for the book pretty solid, with only a couple moving parts involved to give me grief.

It’s so nice to be writing again, instead of revisions, proofs, or what-have-you. Two hundred measly words, poking at a fanfic while exhausted at the end of the day, just doesn’t cut it. I need a higher dosage, and a few thousand on two separate projects is just perfect. I’d like to get back to juggling at least three projects at a time, but I think I need more recovery before that’s possible. And I’m glad to be shifting between epic fantasy (there’s a clue!) and contemporary again, getting both sides of a very pleasant coin.

In order to add another project, though, I’d need to rearrange my life so there’s far more self-care and far less dealing-with-other-things, which isn’t quite possible at the moment. Ah well, juggling two chainsaws is enough. And I’m hopeful for Hell’s Acre, season one of which is hanging out with my agent to see if something can be done in that direction. If not, it’ll be choose-an-editor time.

It’s good to have options.

I suppose I should finish the coffee, open my office window, and get Boxnoggin started on the Anticipatory Walkies Dance. It is a very silly dance, but he loves it and I am not going to pass up an opportunity to laugh until my sides hurt. Such things might not keep one young, but they certainly make life easier to endure. And I need to plan out the scars-in-the-sauna scene, where a couple characters are asking one very tired sellsword about past battles, so that it ends on precisely the right note. Today’s ramble will fix that in my head; I already have the next scene for Gamble, which will probably involve someone being menaced with a frying pan.

…I do love my job, after all.

Over and out.

A Few Welcome Clouds

I finished revisions late Saturday, scheduled them to go out, and spent the rest of the weekend in a haze of cleaning and attempting to recover. We’re having the first heatwave of the summer–yes, I know it’s not technically summer until next month, but when it’s 90F it’s summer enough for me, thanks. I am a pale mushroom with moss between her toes, and this sort of thing isn’t good for me.

In any case, the second epic fantasy is off to editor and agent. Now I just have to write the third, including a literal Ragnarok. The fun part will be the valkyries riding winged horses, the shieldmaid seeing them and going, “Oh, HELL YEAH, I NEED ONE.” I have everything set up for the crowning book, including the Ringmaker. Who has already been stirring the pot, though readers won’t realize it until said third book for lo, I am an evil writer.

Anyway, I wrote (and decorated) a whole new master to-do list as well. Oh, and last week’s Reading with Lili is up on YouTube–it’s about Charles Bukowski. The next thing upon it is a top-to-bottom revise of Hell’s Acre before the first season is sent to the agent. We’ll see what happens there. There’s also the next serial to get off the ground; I want at least six chapters in the can before I announce it.

I have the skeleton of the book, sure, but I want some flesh attached before I start singing its name.

The morning is not as bafflingly, awfully bright as yesterday’s, thank goodness. There’s a few welcome clouds and intimations of storming later, which would be welcome save for the wear and terror on poor Boxnoggin’s nerves. I also have to get out before the heat mounts so I don’t drop dead on the morning run.

And I should probably tell you guys about Boxnoggin, Rip Van Rodent, and the (Not Tony) Hawk because though I was not shoeless during that episode, I definitely screamed like a girl. (No surprise–I am, after all, a girl.) But that’s–say it with me–another blog post, and I don’t have time this fine dawning.

See you around…