Cherie Priest's Blog: It's awards season, so here comes the shameless self-promotion, page 25
June 1, 2014
The birds of leaving call to us
Jay Lake died of cancer this morning. There was no last-minute miracle, but he never believed in those, anyway.
Jay was one of the first West Coast pros I met, upon arriving in Seattle. It was a fragile, difficult time for me, and he was unfailingly kind - a social butterfly and touchstone, who went out of his way to draw me into the fold.
I am sad that he is gone.
It’s a shame, and I wish it hadn’t happened, and he deserved better.
My heart goes out to his family and his (many) other loved ones.
Jay was one of the first West Coast pros I met, upon arriving in Seattle. It was a fragile, difficult time for me, and he was unfailingly kind - a social butterfly and touchstone, who went out of his way to draw me into the fold.
I am sad that he is gone.
It’s a shame, and I wish it hadn’t happened, and he deserved better.
My heart goes out to his family and his (many) other loved ones.
May 30, 2014
Through the zero hour I'll walk
Another week draws to a close, and another Friday night blog post lands from me - and surely no one will read it, because my timing is awful. But so it goes.
And anyway, there's little to report. I accomplished a fair bit of Writing Business, got the house cleaned, did some yardwork, and tried to stay out of the way when the yard guys were present. The yard guys will only be with us another day or so - but whether that's tomorrow or Monday remains to be seen. (Weather, etc.)
Lord knows they've been busy, but the yard has presented its challenges to their efforts to restore/repair/rebuild the retaining walls and install a patio. For one thing, the yard is on a pretty sharp grade; for another, this house has been here for 120 years (give or take) and during that time, not everyone who's tried to keep the mountain from sliding through the back window has been an engineering genius, that's for damn sure.
Besides all that, there's been a crap-ton of debris buried in the mostly-clay-soil. So far the guys have turned up painted wood planks, decaying railroad ties, long-buried tree stumps, boulders, broken chunks of late Victorian clay sewage pipes, rusted metal mid-century camping implements, and so forth, and so on. They also had to re-route and manage a drainage issue, so that was another minor setback, there.
But it's really coming together. The walls are about 90% finished, and once that's done - there's nothing left but detail work, and the pavers for the patio.
* * *
When we first moved in a couple of years ago, one of our neighbors [who shall remain unnamed] gave us a warning about yardwork:
"If you're digging around back there, you might find buttons, bullets, buckles...that kind of thing. And that's cool. You can keep those, show them off, whatever. But if you find human remains? You put them back right where you found them, and you keep that shit to yourself."
Our house stands on a square mile that saw a few thousand battle deaths 150 years ago, so sometimes these things happen. But so far, if the yard guys have turned up any interesting loot, they've kept that shit to themselves.
* * *
On another note entirely, anybody want a free Advance Reader's Copy of Maplecroft? WELL THEN. There's a chance you're in luck, because the nice folks at Roc have put 50 of them up for grabs over at Goodreads.
Click here to enter the drawing , and may the odds be ever in your favor.
If you do successfully nab a copy, I'd greatly appreciate any reviews and/or word-of-mouth you might feel like spreading around. Here and there, people are already leaving (very low and/or very high) reviews - which is a hoot, because I can count on one hand the number of people who've seen it. So...whatever.
All I'm saying is, it'd be nice to have feedback from people who've actually read the damn thing.
And anyway, there's little to report. I accomplished a fair bit of Writing Business, got the house cleaned, did some yardwork, and tried to stay out of the way when the yard guys were present. The yard guys will only be with us another day or so - but whether that's tomorrow or Monday remains to be seen. (Weather, etc.)
Lord knows they've been busy, but the yard has presented its challenges to their efforts to restore/repair/rebuild the retaining walls and install a patio. For one thing, the yard is on a pretty sharp grade; for another, this house has been here for 120 years (give or take) and during that time, not everyone who's tried to keep the mountain from sliding through the back window has been an engineering genius, that's for damn sure.
Besides all that, there's been a crap-ton of debris buried in the mostly-clay-soil. So far the guys have turned up painted wood planks, decaying railroad ties, long-buried tree stumps, boulders, broken chunks of late Victorian clay sewage pipes, rusted metal mid-century camping implements, and so forth, and so on. They also had to re-route and manage a drainage issue, so that was another minor setback, there.
But it's really coming together. The walls are about 90% finished, and once that's done - there's nothing left but detail work, and the pavers for the patio.
* * *
When we first moved in a couple of years ago, one of our neighbors [who shall remain unnamed] gave us a warning about yardwork:
"If you're digging around back there, you might find buttons, bullets, buckles...that kind of thing. And that's cool. You can keep those, show them off, whatever. But if you find human remains? You put them back right where you found them, and you keep that shit to yourself."
Our house stands on a square mile that saw a few thousand battle deaths 150 years ago, so sometimes these things happen. But so far, if the yard guys have turned up any interesting loot, they've kept that shit to themselves.
* * *
On another note entirely, anybody want a free Advance Reader's Copy of Maplecroft? WELL THEN. There's a chance you're in luck, because the nice folks at Roc have put 50 of them up for grabs over at Goodreads.
Click here to enter the drawing , and may the odds be ever in your favor.
If you do successfully nab a copy, I'd greatly appreciate any reviews and/or word-of-mouth you might feel like spreading around. Here and there, people are already leaving (very low and/or very high) reviews - which is a hoot, because I can count on one hand the number of people who've seen it. So...whatever.
All I'm saying is, it'd be nice to have feedback from people who've actually read the damn thing.
May 27, 2014
Got to the crossroads but took the wrong sign
No new writing to report, but sometimes I need a little space between projects - and I've been so good about pacing my schedule that I can afford to take it right now. Besides, it's kind of been a week (or so) of catching up around here - catching up on yardwork and household shopping/maintenance, important business-type stuff, and all that other assorted whatnot.
It's just as well I don't have vacation time, proper. I'd probably spend most of it in the yard, or doing laundry.
* * *
Between yesterday and today in the yardwork category, there was more edging/trimming, plenty of pruning, more weed-pulling and killing, and another round of replacing a patch of those blasted violas in the flower boxes out front, because for some reason they keep dying in little clumps ... no matter what I feed them/how I water them/whatever I don't even care anymore. I've found a comparable flower that seems hardier, and you can barely tell the difference unless you look real close.
So to hell with it.
Also, this afternoon I spent entirely too long yanking pavers out from around the garden, as mentioned in the last post. I've stacked them in the garage, where they can wait until later on - when I'll do a dry-install over where the dreaded pea-gravel trail sits at present.
And why did I do this today? WELL I'LL TELL YOU: I got a phone call this morning from the landscaping guy! He's all caught up (weather be damned) and ready to get started on our retaining walls/patio tomorrow! [:: confetti gun ::] [:: tee shirt cannon ::]
So I pulled the pavers to get them out of his way, and to keep them from getting tossed aside or broken in all the hullabaloo.
I. Can't. WAIT to have the yard structure restored. When the crew is finished, I'll hit up the nursery again in search of some border foliage for the top wall (for safety's sake - hard to describe, just trust me - it'll need a stronger sight-line). And we'll need some patio furniture, too. An umbrella or two, at least. Something under which to sip fruity/boozy beverages.
[:: happy sighs ::]
* * *
Yesterday, the husband and I went over to Eddy and Kenndra's for a most excellent Memorial Day BBQ supper. (You remember Eddy and Kenndra: the kitten fostering folks.) We had to leave Greyson at home, but that just meant we got all the kitten-snorgles to ourselves.
I didn't take pictures, sorry. We were too busy chasing them (and the kids) around and sipping wine over delicious food. Sometimes you just have to put down the camera and hang out.
* * *
Speaking of Greyson, and leaving him at home ... even if he weren't such a whiny-puss about riding in the car, he would've been stuck skipping the BBQ due to his gimpy foot. The paw-problem had seemed better yesterday morning, but then he started chowing down on it - and it got raw and nasty all over again.
Since he'd appeared to be improving, we'd postponed his vet appointment until today - but a text to the doc returned the suggestion of Benadryl, hydrocortisone cream, an old sock, and some duct tape. It went over about as well as you'd expect.
But hey, we gave him about 36 hours of that treatment ... and by the time his doc arrived, his foot was almost completely better. Verdict: allergies. The pills and the cream soothed him enough to lose the sock; and so as long as this regimen works, we won't need the Cone of Shame, either.
I felt a bit silly about dragging the vet out over what turned out to be an easily fixed issue, but in my defense - Greyson's our first dog. We've had cats for fifteen years. If something's wonky with the kitty, we can make a good guess about what's wrong, and we have a pretty good idea of what we can (and can't) do to treat her ourselves. But Greyson? We have no idea what meds are safe, or what might be amiss when he's showing some distress.
So ... oh well.
Erring on the side of caution, and all that.
It's just as well I don't have vacation time, proper. I'd probably spend most of it in the yard, or doing laundry.
* * *
Between yesterday and today in the yardwork category, there was more edging/trimming, plenty of pruning, more weed-pulling and killing, and another round of replacing a patch of those blasted violas in the flower boxes out front, because for some reason they keep dying in little clumps ... no matter what I feed them/how I water them/whatever I don't even care anymore. I've found a comparable flower that seems hardier, and you can barely tell the difference unless you look real close.
So to hell with it.
Also, this afternoon I spent entirely too long yanking pavers out from around the garden, as mentioned in the last post. I've stacked them in the garage, where they can wait until later on - when I'll do a dry-install over where the dreaded pea-gravel trail sits at present.
And why did I do this today? WELL I'LL TELL YOU: I got a phone call this morning from the landscaping guy! He's all caught up (weather be damned) and ready to get started on our retaining walls/patio tomorrow! [:: confetti gun ::] [:: tee shirt cannon ::]
So I pulled the pavers to get them out of his way, and to keep them from getting tossed aside or broken in all the hullabaloo.
I. Can't. WAIT to have the yard structure restored. When the crew is finished, I'll hit up the nursery again in search of some border foliage for the top wall (for safety's sake - hard to describe, just trust me - it'll need a stronger sight-line). And we'll need some patio furniture, too. An umbrella or two, at least. Something under which to sip fruity/boozy beverages.
[:: happy sighs ::]
* * *
Yesterday, the husband and I went over to Eddy and Kenndra's for a most excellent Memorial Day BBQ supper. (You remember Eddy and Kenndra: the kitten fostering folks.) We had to leave Greyson at home, but that just meant we got all the kitten-snorgles to ourselves.
I didn't take pictures, sorry. We were too busy chasing them (and the kids) around and sipping wine over delicious food. Sometimes you just have to put down the camera and hang out.
* * *
Speaking of Greyson, and leaving him at home ... even if he weren't such a whiny-puss about riding in the car, he would've been stuck skipping the BBQ due to his gimpy foot. The paw-problem had seemed better yesterday morning, but then he started chowing down on it - and it got raw and nasty all over again.
Since he'd appeared to be improving, we'd postponed his vet appointment until today - but a text to the doc returned the suggestion of Benadryl, hydrocortisone cream, an old sock, and some duct tape. It went over about as well as you'd expect.
But hey, we gave him about 36 hours of that treatment ... and by the time his doc arrived, his foot was almost completely better. Verdict: allergies. The pills and the cream soothed him enough to lose the sock; and so as long as this regimen works, we won't need the Cone of Shame, either.
I felt a bit silly about dragging the vet out over what turned out to be an easily fixed issue, but in my defense - Greyson's our first dog. We've had cats for fifteen years. If something's wonky with the kitty, we can make a good guess about what's wrong, and we have a pretty good idea of what we can (and can't) do to treat her ourselves. But Greyson? We have no idea what meds are safe, or what might be amiss when he's showing some distress.
So ... oh well.
Erring on the side of caution, and all that.
May 25, 2014
Junebug skipping like a stone
Spent a good chunk of the weekend with my website down, but things are chugging along again now - so here goes, another rambling blog post (somewhat overdue).
Let's see. The day after that previous entry, I took my list of Authors To Email with Awkward Requests and asked around - hoping that some of the lovely people I know might be persuaded to take a peek at Maplecroft, since the ARCs had landed. Awkward emails were awkward, but the authors I approached were perfectly lovely.
In the wake of a morning spent chasing down bubble envelopes and camping out in the post office ... I also went back to work on the yard. For the moment - for JUST THIS MOMENT - it's more or less "done."
It won't stay "done" for more than a few days, because such is life in summer, in the south; but it's as tidy as it's going to get for now. I trimmed all the edges of everything, yanked a million vines, weeded a million beds, replaced most of the flowers in the front flower box because they keep dying but whatever, excavated the sidewalks in front of our house and swept everything clear, painstakingly took weed-killer to the old stone retaining walls because they won't make it another 120 years with dandelions and tiny trees growing out of them, did likewise to the driveway and sidewalks, and fed all the flora that needed feeding.
There's still some work to be done, but like I said - it goes on the back burner for the moment. Namely, I want to remove the pea gravel from the herb-garden-turned-dirt-hole path (yes, thank you Greyson) and throw down some pavers. I can do that myself - pillaging them from elsewhere in the yard (I have a number of salvaged pavers that we've been using as bed borders, but I intend to redo all that later this summer). It'll be hot work, and annoying to dig out/discard all that gravel, but it's worth doing. I'm sick of the pebbles getting tracked in via us and Greyson, sick of stepping on it all the damn time, sick of sweeping it off the landing.
Ugh. It needs to go.
As for the backyard patio, that's still penciled-in for the first week of June, but we'll see. We have so much travel and/or out-of-town guests over the summer/fall that if we can't get it taken care of at that time, we may just have to put it off for another few months. But such is life.
* * *
Speaking of all that yardwork, I wonder if any of you can contribute to some peculiar anecdata. In short, I stumbled across something online about people taking B-complex vitamins as a means of preventing insect bites and stings, and I thought to myself, "Self, I could probably use some vitamins. Can't hurt, might help." We went through a six-pack of bug-spray last summer, and I loathe the stuff.
I have no idea if there's an ounce of anything credible to the theory, but I will tell you this: A few weeks ago, I added a B-vitamin supplement to my morning routine. Nothing crazy - just one pill, at an ordinary dose. And believe it or not, I haven't gotten a single bug-bite so far this year ... despite all the copious (and tediously documented) yardwork I've done, here at the edge of a mountain in Tennessee's heat and humidity.
Coincidentally - or not - my husband mentioned that he'd likewise added a B-vitamin to his regimen back in January, and he was wondering where all the damn bugs were this year.
So ... anyone else have any experience with this? Anything concrete to back up the anecdata? Am I just lucky as hell, and certain to be devoured alive by mosquitoes in another week?
* * *
Speaking of Greyson (I did, in the first segment of this post), the little monster's done something to his back right foot. By "done something" I mean he either hurt it, or he's having allergy issues and has exacerbated the problem into something really raw and tender.
At first I thought he'd just stepped on a sharp stone, or got a burr caught between his paw-pads - for I was almost certain I saw blood in there; but he won't stop slurping on the thing, and therefore it won't dry out, and it just gets more and more raw and pink between his pads. He's leaving soggy puddles all over the house, from where he continues to groom it and groom it, to his detriment; and now he'll barely let me touch it to investigate.
I don't mean to make it sound like this has been going on for weeks or anything.
We noticed it yesterday afternoon, and called his vet. Since he wasn't limping and wasn't actually bleeding at that point, we agreed to give it until tomorrow - in case it was just a sting or a thorn that needed a little time. But it's gotten a bit worse throughout the day, so it looks like our boy has a date with the doc on deck.
I'm not in a panic about it. I just don't like to see him so uncomfortable.
* * *
So as you may have heard, there's a bit of a kerfuffle going on with regards to Amazon.com and the publisher Hatchette. (If not, Forbes has a rundown here.) To sum up for the tl;dr crowd, Amazon is trying to bully the publisher into accepting some bad terms - so it's throwing its weight around.
By this I mean that Amazon is making it very difficult - all but impossible, really - to order any Hatchette books from its site. And caught in the crossfire are the authors, whose sales are suffering and whose livelihoods are being jeopardized.
For authors, especially authors who aren't super-established (or are anything short of wild bestsellers, really)...sales numbers determine future books, future advance money, future just-about-everything. It sucks, that's what I'm saying - when one of the largest retailers throws a tantrum and says, in essence, "Fuck 'em." Obviously Amazon is well within its legal rights to behave this way, but there's plenty of nasty, unethical behavior that's perfectly legal. That doesn't mean you should support or endorse it.
I am not a Hatchette author, but I am friends with many. If you're the reading sort, you're probably fans of many, too; it's a big company, publishing a vast array of genres and subjects.
If you would like to show your support for these authors, well, Amazon.com says that you should shop someplace else in order to do so. I say you accommodate that suggestion. If you have an independent bookstore handy, go check out their stock. If they don't have your preferred title on the shelves, they can order it for you easy-peasy - and this is likewise true for Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and so forth. (I live in a city that lacks even a single indie bookstore, so I know how it goes.)
Go here for a list of Hatchette authors. Scroll around, use the search feature (there are a LOT of them), and see if you spy anyone whose latest release you haven't picked up yet.
Now's the time.
Everywhere except Amazon is the place.
Let's see. The day after that previous entry, I took my list of Authors To Email with Awkward Requests and asked around - hoping that some of the lovely people I know might be persuaded to take a peek at Maplecroft, since the ARCs had landed. Awkward emails were awkward, but the authors I approached were perfectly lovely.
In the wake of a morning spent chasing down bubble envelopes and camping out in the post office ... I also went back to work on the yard. For the moment - for JUST THIS MOMENT - it's more or less "done."
It won't stay "done" for more than a few days, because such is life in summer, in the south; but it's as tidy as it's going to get for now. I trimmed all the edges of everything, yanked a million vines, weeded a million beds, replaced most of the flowers in the front flower box because they keep dying but whatever, excavated the sidewalks in front of our house and swept everything clear, painstakingly took weed-killer to the old stone retaining walls because they won't make it another 120 years with dandelions and tiny trees growing out of them, did likewise to the driveway and sidewalks, and fed all the flora that needed feeding.
There's still some work to be done, but like I said - it goes on the back burner for the moment. Namely, I want to remove the pea gravel from the herb-garden-turned-dirt-hole path (yes, thank you Greyson) and throw down some pavers. I can do that myself - pillaging them from elsewhere in the yard (I have a number of salvaged pavers that we've been using as bed borders, but I intend to redo all that later this summer). It'll be hot work, and annoying to dig out/discard all that gravel, but it's worth doing. I'm sick of the pebbles getting tracked in via us and Greyson, sick of stepping on it all the damn time, sick of sweeping it off the landing.
Ugh. It needs to go.
As for the backyard patio, that's still penciled-in for the first week of June, but we'll see. We have so much travel and/or out-of-town guests over the summer/fall that if we can't get it taken care of at that time, we may just have to put it off for another few months. But such is life.
* * *
Speaking of all that yardwork, I wonder if any of you can contribute to some peculiar anecdata. In short, I stumbled across something online about people taking B-complex vitamins as a means of preventing insect bites and stings, and I thought to myself, "Self, I could probably use some vitamins. Can't hurt, might help." We went through a six-pack of bug-spray last summer, and I loathe the stuff.
I have no idea if there's an ounce of anything credible to the theory, but I will tell you this: A few weeks ago, I added a B-vitamin supplement to my morning routine. Nothing crazy - just one pill, at an ordinary dose. And believe it or not, I haven't gotten a single bug-bite so far this year ... despite all the copious (and tediously documented) yardwork I've done, here at the edge of a mountain in Tennessee's heat and humidity.
Coincidentally - or not - my husband mentioned that he'd likewise added a B-vitamin to his regimen back in January, and he was wondering where all the damn bugs were this year.
So ... anyone else have any experience with this? Anything concrete to back up the anecdata? Am I just lucky as hell, and certain to be devoured alive by mosquitoes in another week?
* * *
Speaking of Greyson (I did, in the first segment of this post), the little monster's done something to his back right foot. By "done something" I mean he either hurt it, or he's having allergy issues and has exacerbated the problem into something really raw and tender.
At first I thought he'd just stepped on a sharp stone, or got a burr caught between his paw-pads - for I was almost certain I saw blood in there; but he won't stop slurping on the thing, and therefore it won't dry out, and it just gets more and more raw and pink between his pads. He's leaving soggy puddles all over the house, from where he continues to groom it and groom it, to his detriment; and now he'll barely let me touch it to investigate.
I don't mean to make it sound like this has been going on for weeks or anything.
We noticed it yesterday afternoon, and called his vet. Since he wasn't limping and wasn't actually bleeding at that point, we agreed to give it until tomorrow - in case it was just a sting or a thorn that needed a little time. But it's gotten a bit worse throughout the day, so it looks like our boy has a date with the doc on deck.
I'm not in a panic about it. I just don't like to see him so uncomfortable.
* * *
So as you may have heard, there's a bit of a kerfuffle going on with regards to Amazon.com and the publisher Hatchette. (If not, Forbes has a rundown here.) To sum up for the tl;dr crowd, Amazon is trying to bully the publisher into accepting some bad terms - so it's throwing its weight around.
By this I mean that Amazon is making it very difficult - all but impossible, really - to order any Hatchette books from its site. And caught in the crossfire are the authors, whose sales are suffering and whose livelihoods are being jeopardized.
For authors, especially authors who aren't super-established (or are anything short of wild bestsellers, really)...sales numbers determine future books, future advance money, future just-about-everything. It sucks, that's what I'm saying - when one of the largest retailers throws a tantrum and says, in essence, "Fuck 'em." Obviously Amazon is well within its legal rights to behave this way, but there's plenty of nasty, unethical behavior that's perfectly legal. That doesn't mean you should support or endorse it.
I am not a Hatchette author, but I am friends with many. If you're the reading sort, you're probably fans of many, too; it's a big company, publishing a vast array of genres and subjects.
If you would like to show your support for these authors, well, Amazon.com says that you should shop someplace else in order to do so. I say you accommodate that suggestion. If you have an independent bookstore handy, go check out their stock. If they don't have your preferred title on the shelves, they can order it for you easy-peasy - and this is likewise true for Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and so forth. (I live in a city that lacks even a single indie bookstore, so I know how it goes.)
Go here for a list of Hatchette authors. Scroll around, use the search feature (there are a LOT of them), and see if you spy anyone whose latest release you haven't picked up yet.
Now's the time.
Everywhere except Amazon is the place.
May 20, 2014
Someone start a fire burning, somebody beat the drum
My husband's home! That's news, actually - since he's been gone for almost two weeks, jaunting about on a West Coast tour to visit friends and check out Maker Faire. The poor darling took a red-eye in from San Francisco this morning, and it's good to have him back.
Yes, his absence was what prompted my big spring cleaning binge; I'm just OCD enough to get real satisfaction from such marathons, because I sure do love a good before-and-after - and that's easier to accomplish without anyone else underfoot. Granted, with an 85-pound dog and a little old cat hanging around, things are never perfectly spotless ... but to be sure, my reach should exceed my grasp - or what's a heaven for?
I'm really not a crazy person. I've just learned that having a dirty environment is an excellent excuse to procrastinate from writing - and this is my work-around: keeping the place at a minimum threshold of acceptable tidiness.
So today upon retrieving the husband, I went outside and took the promised crack at the yard despite an allergy headache that's been teetering perilously close to a migraine for the last 2-3 days. It was either get to work, or take a nap. I didn't have the brainpower to muster any writing work or business, but power lawn equipment? Totally doable.
When all was said and done, I cleaned up almost all the hedges - the mighty HedgeHenge and the Great Wall of Hollies are once again civilized shrubbery; I weeded the entire rose bed and the remainder of HedgeHenge; weeded the small side bed beside the gate; performed what trimming I was able on the large shrubs out front (I'm too short to reach it all - that'll be a gig for the husband to finish, later); went on ivy/vine patrol and evicted two large buckets worth of them; but this cost me a chunk of the lovely climbing hydrangea, because I am a clumsy idiot.
It's not the end of the world, and the plant will recover its scale by the end of summer ... but my efforts to liberate it from some choking English ivy cost it the top foot of its height. Dammit all.
* * *
I regret to admit that I was right about the newly hatched finches in the flower basket. They did not make it through the cold snap.
I've set out a new basket.
Perhaps the parents will try again, or some other pair will choose our porch for a nesting spot.
* * *
One of my neighbors who reads this page says that it sounds like I'm alone all the time, but that's not true at all. As of late, I've just been cautious about blogging re: my husband being out of town, so I can see why a reader might come away with that impression - but while he was away I actually had quite a lot of social time.
Besides the visit from Eddy and Kenndra (and their kids, and kittens), I caught supper with my old friend Derek, spent an afternoon with my pseudo-sister-in-law, and had a couple of rounds of shenanigans with my cousin - who is freshly back from Florida.
So although I do spend a lot of time alone by necessity (for the sake of work), I swear to God I'm not a total hermit or anything.
* * *
What's got two thumbs and a box of Maplecroft ARCs?
THIS GIRL.
Now I have to begin the awkward task of writing to some of my author friends, on the off chance they can be persuaded to take a look and (it is to be hoped) say nice things about it.
In case you were wondering, no - this part of the job never does get easier.
I meant to get started on this task today; I have a list of folks I intend to approach, knowing full well that we're all busy people and that this is an imposition - but this book is a big departure for me, and I'm doing my best to give it the greatest chance possible to find its audience. So I'll put on my big girl pants and get down to business.
Tomorrow. I have to go chase down my list, for one thing; and for another thing, I'm utterly wiped out.
Yes, his absence was what prompted my big spring cleaning binge; I'm just OCD enough to get real satisfaction from such marathons, because I sure do love a good before-and-after - and that's easier to accomplish without anyone else underfoot. Granted, with an 85-pound dog and a little old cat hanging around, things are never perfectly spotless ... but to be sure, my reach should exceed my grasp - or what's a heaven for?
I'm really not a crazy person. I've just learned that having a dirty environment is an excellent excuse to procrastinate from writing - and this is my work-around: keeping the place at a minimum threshold of acceptable tidiness.
So today upon retrieving the husband, I went outside and took the promised crack at the yard despite an allergy headache that's been teetering perilously close to a migraine for the last 2-3 days. It was either get to work, or take a nap. I didn't have the brainpower to muster any writing work or business, but power lawn equipment? Totally doable.
When all was said and done, I cleaned up almost all the hedges - the mighty HedgeHenge and the Great Wall of Hollies are once again civilized shrubbery; I weeded the entire rose bed and the remainder of HedgeHenge; weeded the small side bed beside the gate; performed what trimming I was able on the large shrubs out front (I'm too short to reach it all - that'll be a gig for the husband to finish, later); went on ivy/vine patrol and evicted two large buckets worth of them; but this cost me a chunk of the lovely climbing hydrangea, because I am a clumsy idiot.
It's not the end of the world, and the plant will recover its scale by the end of summer ... but my efforts to liberate it from some choking English ivy cost it the top foot of its height. Dammit all.
* * *
I regret to admit that I was right about the newly hatched finches in the flower basket. They did not make it through the cold snap.
I've set out a new basket.
Perhaps the parents will try again, or some other pair will choose our porch for a nesting spot.
* * *
One of my neighbors who reads this page says that it sounds like I'm alone all the time, but that's not true at all. As of late, I've just been cautious about blogging re: my husband being out of town, so I can see why a reader might come away with that impression - but while he was away I actually had quite a lot of social time.
Besides the visit from Eddy and Kenndra (and their kids, and kittens), I caught supper with my old friend Derek, spent an afternoon with my pseudo-sister-in-law, and had a couple of rounds of shenanigans with my cousin - who is freshly back from Florida.
So although I do spend a lot of time alone by necessity (for the sake of work), I swear to God I'm not a total hermit or anything.
* * *
What's got two thumbs and a box of Maplecroft ARCs?
THIS GIRL.
Now I have to begin the awkward task of writing to some of my author friends, on the off chance they can be persuaded to take a look and (it is to be hoped) say nice things about it.
In case you were wondering, no - this part of the job never does get easier.
I meant to get started on this task today; I have a list of folks I intend to approach, knowing full well that we're all busy people and that this is an imposition - but this book is a big departure for me, and I'm doing my best to give it the greatest chance possible to find its audience. So I'll put on my big girl pants and get down to business.
Tomorrow. I have to go chase down my list, for one thing; and for another thing, I'm utterly wiped out.
May 19, 2014
Tell me something that'll save me
The spring cleaning marathon has finally wrapped up, except for the yard. (It's rained most of the week, so oh well.) The house has been as thoroughly spring-cleaned as it's going to get this particular spring, and given that it took me three full days (and a little change) to sort it out - even the worst of my OCD demons are okay with it.
As per the previous post, I did in fact cover everything I predicted - the bathrooms, the baseboards, the stuff in my office, the floor vacuuming/washing, etc. I also cleaned out the attic stairwell (which we use for a janitorial closet, basically) and installed an organizer to get a bunch of crap off the floor/stairs in there; cleared out the medicine cabinet (we have one in the kitchen - and sometimes it gets ratty and/or stuff expires); and dragged down the ladder and cleaned all the lights/lamps/ceiling fans ... including the vintage crystal chandeliers.
Hey, you know what's really gorgeous and amazing? Vintage chandeliers! Hey, you know what's a miserable pain in the ass to clean? Vintage chandeliers!
We have a pair of them; they came with the house. They aren't original to the place, but they are period correct (circa 1900) - and one hangs in the foyer, one hangs in the dining room. I regret to confess that I spent fully 2-1/2 hours on the damn things, and they're still not exactly pristine.
No, I didn't pull off all the crystals and polish them, for even my OCD demons have their limits; but I put painting tarps all over the floor/dining room table, set up the ladder, and sprayed the lights down with a special cleaning solution that smelled suspiciously like flea-and-tick spray. Then I took (what turned out to be a full roll of) paper towels and wiped everything down to the best of my attention span ability.
Before on the left, after on the right.
Y'all don't even want to hear about the army of dead bugs. Just...trust me, okay?
* * *
So the yard is still a wreck, and my patio installation has been pushed back to the first of next month, due to the weather. I am bereft, but doing my best to be patient.
I'm also a little worried about the baby birds on the front porch. We had a terrible cold snap, with lows down around 40 degrees at night - and I'm hoping/praying that they made it. I've heard the adults coming and going a bit, but not very much ... and I won't swear that I've heard the babies at all. It's hard to say. They're still so tiny that they don't make much noise anyway.
I'm afraid to check. I've stopped watering the basket, and I'm leaving them alone for now.
* * *
This week got off to a really weird start.
On Greyson's morning walk, I spied what appeared to be a dead baby possum in the street. Greyson begged to differ with my assessment by whining insistently at it. He doesn't whine at things he wants to nab and eat - he whines at things/people he wishes to meet and greet - so I picked up a stick and gave the little thing a gentle poke. It curled up into a comma-shape, popped its tail into its mouth, and started sucking on it.
So it wasn't like I could just leave it there.
The lucky bastard (masculine pronoun for convenience) had chosen to fall off mom's back between a Methodist church and the house of a lady who refers to herself as Greyson's "Auntie Jane." Auntie Jane was home, and she provided a shoebox and an old dishcloth; she also provided a leash-hand to hold Greyson back while I collected the possum because his shots are up to date and everything, but I wasn't taking any chances.
By the time I got home, the possum had fallen asleep with his tail still stuffed in his mouth.
I wish I'd put something next to him for size comparison, but I didn't think about it. Anyway, he was about the size of my computer mouse.
I wasn't really sure what to do with him, so I called Greyson's vet, who is super-cool - and she suggested I call the Nature Center. The Nature Center surprised me, because they don't accept wild animals for rehab care - instead, they referred me to the Warner Park Zoo, for that's where I'd find the county's licensed/approved wildlife rehabilitators.
So for what it's worth, if you're in the Chattanooga area and you find an injured/orphaned wild animal, that's where you go. Go to the gift shop, which is right out front - and put a shoebox on the counter and ask for help. Or that's what I did, anyway.
I filled out a form identifying myself and noting everything I knew about the critter in question (virtually nothing, except the street where I found him - sans any sign of parent or siblings), answered a few questions, provided my contact information, and so forth. Easy-peasy, and I was greatly relieved that the service was available. It's nice to have a protocol in place for this sort of thing, because I mean, come on. It's nothing short of a miracle that this is the first wild orphan who's fallen into my lap since I came back to Tennessee.
At any rate. The rehab folks gave the little dude a promising prognosis - for he wasn't injured, he appeared otherwise healthy, and he was of sufficient size/age that he's got good odds of making it as a foster. He'll join four other foundling possums who are already in the program, and it is to be hoped that he'll grow up big, fat, and sassy.
Good luck, little dude.
Be well.
* * *
When all was said and done, I didn't make it home until after noon - so it's not like my day was entirely shot, but it sure felt like it. I gave up on writing business because to hell with it, that's why. Instead I went to the grocery store, liquor store, and post office - and I cleaned the garage. It was disgusting. Let us not speak of it again.
Tomorrow, if the weather holds, I'll finally take that overdue stab at the yard. It's only been a couple of weeks since I did any serious work on it - but it's already gotten so crazypants that I scarcely know where to begin. Ah, summer in the south.
We'll see how it goes.
As per the previous post, I did in fact cover everything I predicted - the bathrooms, the baseboards, the stuff in my office, the floor vacuuming/washing, etc. I also cleaned out the attic stairwell (which we use for a janitorial closet, basically) and installed an organizer to get a bunch of crap off the floor/stairs in there; cleared out the medicine cabinet (we have one in the kitchen - and sometimes it gets ratty and/or stuff expires); and dragged down the ladder and cleaned all the lights/lamps/ceiling fans ... including the vintage crystal chandeliers.
Hey, you know what's really gorgeous and amazing? Vintage chandeliers! Hey, you know what's a miserable pain in the ass to clean? Vintage chandeliers!
We have a pair of them; they came with the house. They aren't original to the place, but they are period correct (circa 1900) - and one hangs in the foyer, one hangs in the dining room. I regret to confess that I spent fully 2-1/2 hours on the damn things, and they're still not exactly pristine.
No, I didn't pull off all the crystals and polish them, for even my OCD demons have their limits; but I put painting tarps all over the floor/dining room table, set up the ladder, and sprayed the lights down with a special cleaning solution that smelled suspiciously like flea-and-tick spray. Then I took (what turned out to be a full roll of) paper towels and wiped everything down to the best of my attention span ability.
Before on the left, after on the right.
Y'all don't even want to hear about the army of dead bugs. Just...trust me, okay?
* * *
So the yard is still a wreck, and my patio installation has been pushed back to the first of next month, due to the weather. I am bereft, but doing my best to be patient.
I'm also a little worried about the baby birds on the front porch. We had a terrible cold snap, with lows down around 40 degrees at night - and I'm hoping/praying that they made it. I've heard the adults coming and going a bit, but not very much ... and I won't swear that I've heard the babies at all. It's hard to say. They're still so tiny that they don't make much noise anyway.
I'm afraid to check. I've stopped watering the basket, and I'm leaving them alone for now.
* * *
This week got off to a really weird start.
On Greyson's morning walk, I spied what appeared to be a dead baby possum in the street. Greyson begged to differ with my assessment by whining insistently at it. He doesn't whine at things he wants to nab and eat - he whines at things/people he wishes to meet and greet - so I picked up a stick and gave the little thing a gentle poke. It curled up into a comma-shape, popped its tail into its mouth, and started sucking on it.
So it wasn't like I could just leave it there.
The lucky bastard (masculine pronoun for convenience) had chosen to fall off mom's back between a Methodist church and the house of a lady who refers to herself as Greyson's "Auntie Jane." Auntie Jane was home, and she provided a shoebox and an old dishcloth; she also provided a leash-hand to hold Greyson back while I collected the possum because his shots are up to date and everything, but I wasn't taking any chances.
By the time I got home, the possum had fallen asleep with his tail still stuffed in his mouth.
I wish I'd put something next to him for size comparison, but I didn't think about it. Anyway, he was about the size of my computer mouse.
I wasn't really sure what to do with him, so I called Greyson's vet, who is super-cool - and she suggested I call the Nature Center. The Nature Center surprised me, because they don't accept wild animals for rehab care - instead, they referred me to the Warner Park Zoo, for that's where I'd find the county's licensed/approved wildlife rehabilitators.
So for what it's worth, if you're in the Chattanooga area and you find an injured/orphaned wild animal, that's where you go. Go to the gift shop, which is right out front - and put a shoebox on the counter and ask for help. Or that's what I did, anyway.
I filled out a form identifying myself and noting everything I knew about the critter in question (virtually nothing, except the street where I found him - sans any sign of parent or siblings), answered a few questions, provided my contact information, and so forth. Easy-peasy, and I was greatly relieved that the service was available. It's nice to have a protocol in place for this sort of thing, because I mean, come on. It's nothing short of a miracle that this is the first wild orphan who's fallen into my lap since I came back to Tennessee.
At any rate. The rehab folks gave the little dude a promising prognosis - for he wasn't injured, he appeared otherwise healthy, and he was of sufficient size/age that he's got good odds of making it as a foster. He'll join four other foundling possums who are already in the program, and it is to be hoped that he'll grow up big, fat, and sassy.
Good luck, little dude.
Be well.
* * *
When all was said and done, I didn't make it home until after noon - so it's not like my day was entirely shot, but it sure felt like it. I gave up on writing business because to hell with it, that's why. Instead I went to the grocery store, liquor store, and post office - and I cleaned the garage. It was disgusting. Let us not speak of it again.
Tomorrow, if the weather holds, I'll finally take that overdue stab at the yard. It's only been a couple of weeks since I did any serious work on it - but it's already gotten so crazypants that I scarcely know where to begin. Ah, summer in the south.
We'll see how it goes.
May 15, 2014
OCD Miscellaney
So I sent off the second draft of Princess X - which should hypothetically mean that I could come up for air and fart around on the internet (or wherever) for a bit; but while I have this momentum going on, I'm taking a few days over here to really go eyeballs-deep in spring cleaning.
It's a little late in spring, yes. But this is the first chance I'm getting to take a serious plunge.
For you see, by "spring cleaning" I don't mean "use extra soap." I mean, I'm cleaning ALL THE THINGS. All of them. Like, nitty-gritty OCD crap like pulling out the automatic soap/bleach/fabric softener dispensing trays in the washing machine and scrubbing them all down because yuck, mildew and soap goo buildup. (It's a front-loader; you have to swab the whole damn thing out every once in awhile because it's prone to these things.)
Since yesterday morning, I've cleaned out every shelf, drawer, closet, and cabinet in this house - and I've subsequently taken seven full bags of garbage to the curb. (Trash pickup tomorrow, yay!) I've also washed down the laundry nook, including tidying/clearing the shelves and (as mentioned) washing out the washer and dryer; washed down all the kitchen cabinets for they were seriously disgusting (and they're white, so they show everything); cleaned out and washed down the fridge, took out all the trash cans and hosed them down (then left them to dry in the yard, assuming it doesn't rain anymore overnight); washed all the linens and towels and all the remaining laundry; did all the dishes, and even run the pet bowls through the dishwasher on their own cycle; and run about six bags of household goods and whatnot to Goodwill.
Tomorrow (and I'll note this here to give myself some structure) I need to clean both bathrooms top to bottom; run my shower curtain through the washing machine with some Oxyclean and a towel because it's beyond scrubbie-brush help anymore; dust all the usual stuff; dust the irregular stuff - including the blinds in our bedroom and bathroom, then rub them down with some fabric softener sheets (helps keep dust from collecting on them); clean all the baseboards and trim because it's all positively revolting and likewise treat it with the fabric softener sheets (same reason); pull all the boxes I've been hoarding out from under the daybed in my office and either break them down or put them up in the attic; except for one of the boxes, because I need to load up some stuff I've collected and mail it off; vacuum everything; wash down all the floors.
Then on Saturday, I head to the nursery and pick up some more plants, then get started on the yard. Everything needs trimming. EVERYTHING. And more than a few things need outright pruning, pulling, and replacing.
No news on the patio, yet. Weather delays, and so forth.
I despair.
* * *
But hey, baby birds. Four of them? Maybe five? I don't want to bother them too much, though I'm still (carefully) watering the basket they're hanging in, from the edge farthest from their nest. I'll stop once they get enough mobility to flutter out and get hurt. I'd rather have dead purple flowers than dead purple finches.
* * *
In unrelated-to-anything-important news, I'm about to make a product plug. It's not something I do very often, and I'm not getting paid for it or anything - I'm just charmed when something works like it's supposed to, and does a nice job.
In short, I got a foreign rights check, threw caution to the wind, and treated myself to one of these: the Instyler. I'd seen and read a lot about them, both good and bad - but I'm always on the lookout for some new tool to do battle with my fine, rumply (but not properly wavy) hair.
People either love this thing or hate it - and I'll be the first to admit, there's a bit of a learning curve. But once I'd played with it a couple of times, I got the hang of it; and the results are really quite lovely: a smoothed/tidied look without the lank vibe of a straightening iron. Behold...my results this morning, on hair that was washed last night, topped off with a little mouse, and slept upon whilst still damp. So you KNOW this rat nest wasn't a sleek bed of roses when I got started.
I'd furthermore like to note that it's hella-humid here right now - and even though I spent the day doing housework with my hair in a ponytail, when I run a brush through my hair it still looks very nice.
So...there you go. The tool's a tad pricey, but not wildly extravagant - and if you have fine hair, or hair that neither wants to be straight nor wavy, you might want to give it a try. Internet lore suggests that it's also very good for textured hair, but that's not my area of expertise; so do your own research, and come to your own conclusions.
Give it a shot, if you're adventurous. Skip it if you're not game to learn new tricks with an instrument that could set fire to your head.
It's a little late in spring, yes. But this is the first chance I'm getting to take a serious plunge.
For you see, by "spring cleaning" I don't mean "use extra soap." I mean, I'm cleaning ALL THE THINGS. All of them. Like, nitty-gritty OCD crap like pulling out the automatic soap/bleach/fabric softener dispensing trays in the washing machine and scrubbing them all down because yuck, mildew and soap goo buildup. (It's a front-loader; you have to swab the whole damn thing out every once in awhile because it's prone to these things.)
Since yesterday morning, I've cleaned out every shelf, drawer, closet, and cabinet in this house - and I've subsequently taken seven full bags of garbage to the curb. (Trash pickup tomorrow, yay!) I've also washed down the laundry nook, including tidying/clearing the shelves and (as mentioned) washing out the washer and dryer; washed down all the kitchen cabinets for they were seriously disgusting (and they're white, so they show everything); cleaned out and washed down the fridge, took out all the trash cans and hosed them down (then left them to dry in the yard, assuming it doesn't rain anymore overnight); washed all the linens and towels and all the remaining laundry; did all the dishes, and even run the pet bowls through the dishwasher on their own cycle; and run about six bags of household goods and whatnot to Goodwill.
Tomorrow (and I'll note this here to give myself some structure) I need to clean both bathrooms top to bottom; run my shower curtain through the washing machine with some Oxyclean and a towel because it's beyond scrubbie-brush help anymore; dust all the usual stuff; dust the irregular stuff - including the blinds in our bedroom and bathroom, then rub them down with some fabric softener sheets (helps keep dust from collecting on them); clean all the baseboards and trim because it's all positively revolting and likewise treat it with the fabric softener sheets (same reason); pull all the boxes I've been hoarding out from under the daybed in my office and either break them down or put them up in the attic; except for one of the boxes, because I need to load up some stuff I've collected and mail it off; vacuum everything; wash down all the floors.
Then on Saturday, I head to the nursery and pick up some more plants, then get started on the yard. Everything needs trimming. EVERYTHING. And more than a few things need outright pruning, pulling, and replacing.
No news on the patio, yet. Weather delays, and so forth.
I despair.
* * *
But hey, baby birds. Four of them? Maybe five? I don't want to bother them too much, though I'm still (carefully) watering the basket they're hanging in, from the edge farthest from their nest. I'll stop once they get enough mobility to flutter out and get hurt. I'd rather have dead purple flowers than dead purple finches.
* * *
In unrelated-to-anything-important news, I'm about to make a product plug. It's not something I do very often, and I'm not getting paid for it or anything - I'm just charmed when something works like it's supposed to, and does a nice job.
In short, I got a foreign rights check, threw caution to the wind, and treated myself to one of these: the Instyler. I'd seen and read a lot about them, both good and bad - but I'm always on the lookout for some new tool to do battle with my fine, rumply (but not properly wavy) hair.
People either love this thing or hate it - and I'll be the first to admit, there's a bit of a learning curve. But once I'd played with it a couple of times, I got the hang of it; and the results are really quite lovely: a smoothed/tidied look without the lank vibe of a straightening iron. Behold...my results this morning, on hair that was washed last night, topped off with a little mouse, and slept upon whilst still damp. So you KNOW this rat nest wasn't a sleek bed of roses when I got started.
I'd furthermore like to note that it's hella-humid here right now - and even though I spent the day doing housework with my hair in a ponytail, when I run a brush through my hair it still looks very nice.
So...there you go. The tool's a tad pricey, but not wildly extravagant - and if you have fine hair, or hair that neither wants to be straight nor wavy, you might want to give it a try. Internet lore suggests that it's also very good for textured hair, but that's not my area of expertise; so do your own research, and come to your own conclusions.
Give it a shot, if you're adventurous. Skip it if you're not game to learn new tricks with an instrument that could set fire to your head.
May 12, 2014
The Claw Gang Rides Again
THE FBI'S MOST WANTED LIST has just been updated with SIX new names and faces. Hardened criminals, each and every one. GAZE UPON THEIR FUZZY MUGS, YE MIGHTY and squeal like a set of old brakes...
* * *
First up: ringleader, organizer, and capo di tutti kitty Vinnie the Claw. Wanted on charges of curtain-climbing, bird-watching with intent, and use of an aerosol product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling - Vinny's got a fierce intellect and a crippling weakness for shoelaces.
Also joining the roster of infamy, Vinnie's brother Tony the Meatball. Tony's being sought for toy battery, yanking the tags off of mattresses, shoplifting, and indecent exposure within thirty yards of a religious establishment.
And don't forget the Claw gang's chief lieutenant, Eddie the Flirt - so-called ironically, because he nibbles disdainfully on microphones and sneers at the "hidden" cameras planted by the feds.
Next up, there's Dollface Annie. A princess on the couch and a killer in the grocery sack, Annie's got the looks of a kitten and the heart of a rottweiler. She keeps the former primped to the nines, and the latter in a trophy case beside her bed.
Worse yet is Annie's sister, Molly Fangs. Annie and Molly are inseparable twins - and unstoppable partners in crime. Molly's wanted for mousie abuse, litter-scattering, and practicing law without a license.
And bringing up the rear is Bugsy Malone, dubbed thusly for his tendency to bug out on catnip. One-time trafficker, Bugsy took one too many hits of his own product and made out with the neighbor's German Shepherd. The Shepherd's owner is pressing charges.
SO YOU SEE WHAT WE'RE UP AGAINST, HERE.
(And oh, yeah - click here to see MANY MORE adorable kitten/dog/toddler pictures from Saturday . In case adorable photos are your jam, baby.)
* * *
Okay, what we're really up against is finding homes for six kittens during the very height of kitten season.
Here's the scoop: My friends Eddy and Kenndra were visiting Kenndra's family farm in Oklahoma, when they discovered that one of the barn cats had been hit by a car and killed. According to Kenndra's dad, the cat had kittens stashed someplace...so after several hours of hunting around, they finally turned up six 1-week-old nubbies of squinty adorableness.
Eddy and Kenndra are (a). huge suckers, and [not unrelated] (b). experienced kitten-fosterers, which makes this one lucky-ass batch of babies.
I'm not even gonna lie - all six of them are great little cats in the making. They're entirely people-friendly, bottle-raised since before their eyes opened; they're likewise content to be snorfled and guarded by a big, goofy dog (as we learned on Saturday), and they are hilariously toddler-tolerant.
The gold/gray tabbies are both girls, and they're both particularly outgoing. Dollface Annie in particular was Highly Intrigued by Greyson - alternately following him around, sneaking up on him, and outright chasing him. I thought she kind of had the market cornered on accidental dog-bullying, but then her sister leaped off an ottoman onto Greyson's back, and I knew these sisters were two peas in a pod.
The two black boys are almost identical, though one has a tiny bit of white flecking on the front legs (but you have to look close to see it). They are typical charming, playful, little boys - total comedians. They were unsure of Greyson at first, but before long, they were both creeping up behind him to wrestle with his tail.
The two tuxedo jobbies are also boys, and they're complete cuddlebugs. They're the two who kept trying to lie beside us, on top of us, and in the crooks of our arms for naptime. They're likewise the fluffiest and softest of the bunch; I think they're likely to have longer coats.
At present, this batch of babies is about five weeks old - and in another couple of weeks, they'll be vetted and given their first round of shots. At which point, they will be READY TO ADOPT.
SO. If any of this piques your interest and you're in the greater Chattanooga and/or adjacent North Georgia area (or are willing to drive here) ... WELL THEN. Please allow me to direct you the Claw Gang's foster dad, Eddy Anthony. Please contact him via this address - edwardbanthony@gmail.com - and tell him which of the wee monsters you'd like to call your own.
In a perfect world, he'd like to send them off in pairs - but let's be real, this is six kittens and good homes are limited. If only one steals your heart like a little felon, well then, he can work with that.
Right! So! To recap: Kittens up for adoption, vetted and hand-reared in a loving home, cool with kids, cool with friendly dogs, available in the Chattanooga area. And don't write ME about them, write Eddy Anthony, for he is your kitten gate-keeper: edwardbanthony@gmail.com
Feel free to pass this around!
* * *
First up: ringleader, organizer, and capo di tutti kitty Vinnie the Claw. Wanted on charges of curtain-climbing, bird-watching with intent, and use of an aerosol product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling - Vinny's got a fierce intellect and a crippling weakness for shoelaces.
Also joining the roster of infamy, Vinnie's brother Tony the Meatball. Tony's being sought for toy battery, yanking the tags off of mattresses, shoplifting, and indecent exposure within thirty yards of a religious establishment.
And don't forget the Claw gang's chief lieutenant, Eddie the Flirt - so-called ironically, because he nibbles disdainfully on microphones and sneers at the "hidden" cameras planted by the feds.
Next up, there's Dollface Annie. A princess on the couch and a killer in the grocery sack, Annie's got the looks of a kitten and the heart of a rottweiler. She keeps the former primped to the nines, and the latter in a trophy case beside her bed.
Worse yet is Annie's sister, Molly Fangs. Annie and Molly are inseparable twins - and unstoppable partners in crime. Molly's wanted for mousie abuse, litter-scattering, and practicing law without a license.
And bringing up the rear is Bugsy Malone, dubbed thusly for his tendency to bug out on catnip. One-time trafficker, Bugsy took one too many hits of his own product and made out with the neighbor's German Shepherd. The Shepherd's owner is pressing charges.
SO YOU SEE WHAT WE'RE UP AGAINST, HERE.
(And oh, yeah - click here to see MANY MORE adorable kitten/dog/toddler pictures from Saturday . In case adorable photos are your jam, baby.)
* * *
Okay, what we're really up against is finding homes for six kittens during the very height of kitten season.
Here's the scoop: My friends Eddy and Kenndra were visiting Kenndra's family farm in Oklahoma, when they discovered that one of the barn cats had been hit by a car and killed. According to Kenndra's dad, the cat had kittens stashed someplace...so after several hours of hunting around, they finally turned up six 1-week-old nubbies of squinty adorableness.
Eddy and Kenndra are (a). huge suckers, and [not unrelated] (b). experienced kitten-fosterers, which makes this one lucky-ass batch of babies.
I'm not even gonna lie - all six of them are great little cats in the making. They're entirely people-friendly, bottle-raised since before their eyes opened; they're likewise content to be snorfled and guarded by a big, goofy dog (as we learned on Saturday), and they are hilariously toddler-tolerant.
The gold/gray tabbies are both girls, and they're both particularly outgoing. Dollface Annie in particular was Highly Intrigued by Greyson - alternately following him around, sneaking up on him, and outright chasing him. I thought she kind of had the market cornered on accidental dog-bullying, but then her sister leaped off an ottoman onto Greyson's back, and I knew these sisters were two peas in a pod.
The two black boys are almost identical, though one has a tiny bit of white flecking on the front legs (but you have to look close to see it). They are typical charming, playful, little boys - total comedians. They were unsure of Greyson at first, but before long, they were both creeping up behind him to wrestle with his tail.
The two tuxedo jobbies are also boys, and they're complete cuddlebugs. They're the two who kept trying to lie beside us, on top of us, and in the crooks of our arms for naptime. They're likewise the fluffiest and softest of the bunch; I think they're likely to have longer coats.
At present, this batch of babies is about five weeks old - and in another couple of weeks, they'll be vetted and given their first round of shots. At which point, they will be READY TO ADOPT.
SO. If any of this piques your interest and you're in the greater Chattanooga and/or adjacent North Georgia area (or are willing to drive here) ... WELL THEN. Please allow me to direct you the Claw Gang's foster dad, Eddy Anthony. Please contact him via this address - edwardbanthony@gmail.com - and tell him which of the wee monsters you'd like to call your own.
In a perfect world, he'd like to send them off in pairs - but let's be real, this is six kittens and good homes are limited. If only one steals your heart like a little felon, well then, he can work with that.
Right! So! To recap: Kittens up for adoption, vetted and hand-reared in a loving home, cool with kids, cool with friendly dogs, available in the Chattanooga area. And don't write ME about them, write Eddy Anthony, for he is your kitten gate-keeper: edwardbanthony@gmail.com
Feel free to pass this around!
May 7, 2014
The same 4 questions we're always asked
So my darling friend Simon Spurrier poked me with a stick and asked if I'd be game to participate in a little round of "blog-around-the-rosie." FOR GREAT JUSTICE. Or shits and giggles, as the case may be.
I've poked several other writers in a stick-like fashion in turn, but thus far I've received no solid commitments on the matter, which surely means that some TERRIBLE ILL-FORTUNE WILL BEFALL ME because I'm breaking a chain letter, or something. OR...anybody who feels so moved could pick up the torch and run with it, and that would probably work, too.
So here goes.
Ahem.
What am I working on?Right now? Cleaning up Princess X for my lovely editor at Scholastic, for she is expecting it back by the end of next week.
But from a fiction output standpoint, I'm about 2/3 of the way finished with a draft of Chapelwood - the followup to this year's Maplecroft. As I've harped endlessly over here, Maplecroft is my 19th century gothic epistolary novel about Lizzie Borden fighting Cthulhu with an axe; and Chapelwood is...well, it's from that same planet, at least.
Chapelwood happens 30 years after the events of Maplecroft - and it's set in a very different locale: early 1920s in Birmingham, Alabama. It would be a wild (and incorrect) exaggeration to say that Chapelwood is "based on true events," but that's partly because the "true events" in question were so damn weird that I had to de-weirdify them a bit in order for anyone to believe them.
And then I added a space-worshipping murder cult, so, yeah.
Next up - a dark modern fantasy/horror project with Tor called Godbothering. It's basically about three ancient characters who accidentally destroyed the world...and are trying to keep from doing it again. More details on that one later on this summer - when I get that one underway in earnest.
How does my work differ from the others in my genre?It's hard to answer this question without sounding delusional, or egomaniacal, or otherwise unsavory - and I'll be honest, I'm struggling to compose a reply. But I suppose if you held a gun to my head, I'd say that my work differs from its genre brethren because so much of it is inspired by real places/people/events. Real history is always so much weirder than anything I could make up anyway, so why not use it? Sometimes I have to change a few names here and there, and file off the serial numbers ... but often the most "outlandish" and "unbelievable" elements in my material is something cribbed directly from somebody's life.
Why do I write what I do?I spent a lot of time afraid, as a kid. In much the same fashion that bullied children sometimes become bullies themselves ... these days, I really like to scare people.
How does my writing process work?Wake up around 8:00 a.m., walk the dog, get myself dressed and ready to work. Spend the rest of the morning doing Writer Business - answering emails, sorting out contracts, responding to phone calls and/or requests for information, etc. etc. etc. Break for lunch. Then it's ass in chair trying to write new words until about 4:00 - 5:00 p.m., at which point I stop and either go do some yardwork, or try to come up with a blog post.
Maybe that doesn't sound like a great deal of writing time daily, for someone who earns a living doing this - but it's just One Of Those Things: I can only spend (up to) 3-4 hours at a time dedicated to purely creative output. Some people turn on the faucet and the words flow all day, but not me. My brain starts shutting down around Hour #4 or 4000-5000 words, whichever comes first.
(Hint: the clock almost always comes first.)
As for "process" in the creative development sense, well, it's hard to say. Sometimes I draw up rough outlines or synopses, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have timelines all sketched out, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I know how a book ends before I've got the first chapter written, sometimes I figure it out as I get there.
I don't really have a single way I go about it; each book is different, I guess.
* * *
Bonus: Naked Greyson, for it is summer and he is otherwise too fluffy to be very comfortable, bless his heart.
I've poked several other writers in a stick-like fashion in turn, but thus far I've received no solid commitments on the matter, which surely means that some TERRIBLE ILL-FORTUNE WILL BEFALL ME because I'm breaking a chain letter, or something. OR...anybody who feels so moved could pick up the torch and run with it, and that would probably work, too.
So here goes.
Ahem.
What am I working on?Right now? Cleaning up Princess X for my lovely editor at Scholastic, for she is expecting it back by the end of next week.
But from a fiction output standpoint, I'm about 2/3 of the way finished with a draft of Chapelwood - the followup to this year's Maplecroft. As I've harped endlessly over here, Maplecroft is my 19th century gothic epistolary novel about Lizzie Borden fighting Cthulhu with an axe; and Chapelwood is...well, it's from that same planet, at least.
Chapelwood happens 30 years after the events of Maplecroft - and it's set in a very different locale: early 1920s in Birmingham, Alabama. It would be a wild (and incorrect) exaggeration to say that Chapelwood is "based on true events," but that's partly because the "true events" in question were so damn weird that I had to de-weirdify them a bit in order for anyone to believe them.
And then I added a space-worshipping murder cult, so, yeah.
Next up - a dark modern fantasy/horror project with Tor called Godbothering. It's basically about three ancient characters who accidentally destroyed the world...and are trying to keep from doing it again. More details on that one later on this summer - when I get that one underway in earnest.
How does my work differ from the others in my genre?It's hard to answer this question without sounding delusional, or egomaniacal, or otherwise unsavory - and I'll be honest, I'm struggling to compose a reply. But I suppose if you held a gun to my head, I'd say that my work differs from its genre brethren because so much of it is inspired by real places/people/events. Real history is always so much weirder than anything I could make up anyway, so why not use it? Sometimes I have to change a few names here and there, and file off the serial numbers ... but often the most "outlandish" and "unbelievable" elements in my material is something cribbed directly from somebody's life.
Why do I write what I do?I spent a lot of time afraid, as a kid. In much the same fashion that bullied children sometimes become bullies themselves ... these days, I really like to scare people.
How does my writing process work?Wake up around 8:00 a.m., walk the dog, get myself dressed and ready to work. Spend the rest of the morning doing Writer Business - answering emails, sorting out contracts, responding to phone calls and/or requests for information, etc. etc. etc. Break for lunch. Then it's ass in chair trying to write new words until about 4:00 - 5:00 p.m., at which point I stop and either go do some yardwork, or try to come up with a blog post.
Maybe that doesn't sound like a great deal of writing time daily, for someone who earns a living doing this - but it's just One Of Those Things: I can only spend (up to) 3-4 hours at a time dedicated to purely creative output. Some people turn on the faucet and the words flow all day, but not me. My brain starts shutting down around Hour #4 or 4000-5000 words, whichever comes first.
(Hint: the clock almost always comes first.)
As for "process" in the creative development sense, well, it's hard to say. Sometimes I draw up rough outlines or synopses, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have timelines all sketched out, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I know how a book ends before I've got the first chapter written, sometimes I figure it out as I get there.
I don't really have a single way I go about it; each book is different, I guess.
* * *
Bonus: Naked Greyson, for it is summer and he is otherwise too fluffy to be very comfortable, bless his heart.
May 6, 2014
The fuzzy stare from not being there
I have returned! San Diego was delightful, weather and all - though I was amused by how many locals felt compelled to apologize for the heat. I mean, really: I live in the Deep South. Don't apologize until the heat and humidity both knock up against three digits.
At any rate, for the wondrous weekend of Gaslight Gathering I did a number of panels and chats, and signed a good number of books - and I want to say thanks to everyone who came out to hear me natter and/or let me deface your library. You were entirely too kind at every turn, and I'm terribly grateful for everything.
* * *
The travel was hell, though. Can't lie about that. It was almost ten hours in each direction, as there are no direct flights between Chattanooga and...well, very many places at all. So I didn't just lose a long weekend; I lost a full day on either side of it.
Therefore, I've spent yesterday and much of today playing catch-up. I'm finally unpacked and everything is put away; I've done all the laundry and sorted all the receipts; I got the ol' inbox down to zero, which seriously took some doing; I negotiated some promotion, some travel, and some dog-grooming (for tomorrow); I ran to Target to restock a bunch of stuff; and today, I went to go vote in the local primaries.
Civic duty, and all that.
* * *
Later this afternoon, I got a positively epic amount of yardwork done. I was gone less than one full week! You wouldn't think the yard could go rogue in such a short time! Or you would know damn good and well that it totally could, if you've ever lived around here.
The husband had mowed, and (carefully) watered the flower baskets out front while I was absent, but everything else was up for grabs. And, since I wasn't finished with my office catching-up until around 3:00 p.m. ... I kind of felt like the day was shot from a writer-productivity standpoint - but rather than waste the daylight, I went outside to get some homeowner-productivity accomplished.
I weeded the three biggest beds, at least in part; cleared most of the underbrush from the "bird corner"; pruned back the red quince by about half, so now it's merely the size of a mini-cooper; cut back the rose tree before it could head for the power lines again; busted out the edge-trimmer and cleaned up after the husband's mowing job; yanked a bunch of ivy and vines out of HedgeHenge and/or the row of roses along the fence; evicted some poison ivy and sumac, as well as some thistles; and ultimately discovered a new batch of red roses growing against/along the garage.
I'm really tickled by the new roses. I haven't noticed them before, and they aren't the same variety as anything else on the property. They were "crawling" - and struggling - in the overgrown big bed, and I might not have even seen them if I hadn't smelled them first ... so I went out of my way to clear out the shade and give them room to breathe. I also relocated an unused trellis and gently trussed up the plant - in case it wants to climb.
I hope it wants to climb. Not only will it get more sun that way, but it'll look hella-cool next to the white rose tree.
* * *
Tomorrow night, catch me at 8:30 p.m. (EST) I'll be participating in this-here Google hangout with some very fine, silly, and drunken folks. Click the link for details. No, for real. DO IT. It's gonna get bonkers up in there, I guarantee it.
* * *
No new words of fiction were written while I was gone, and none are expected for another couple of weeks. I have to hand in the next round of Princess X rewrites first - and that's where I'm directing my creative attention, for the next little while. It's got to get done - but then it's off my plate, and I can get back to Chapelwood.
My goal is to have a full draft of Chapelwood before I leave for PlayOn Con in Birmingham, at the end of June; and thus far, I've stayed more or less on track. Let's see if I can stay on this roll, eh?
* * *
Here's a kitty. Or to be more precise, here's the reason my office chair looks like hell.
At any rate, for the wondrous weekend of Gaslight Gathering I did a number of panels and chats, and signed a good number of books - and I want to say thanks to everyone who came out to hear me natter and/or let me deface your library. You were entirely too kind at every turn, and I'm terribly grateful for everything.
* * *
The travel was hell, though. Can't lie about that. It was almost ten hours in each direction, as there are no direct flights between Chattanooga and...well, very many places at all. So I didn't just lose a long weekend; I lost a full day on either side of it.
Therefore, I've spent yesterday and much of today playing catch-up. I'm finally unpacked and everything is put away; I've done all the laundry and sorted all the receipts; I got the ol' inbox down to zero, which seriously took some doing; I negotiated some promotion, some travel, and some dog-grooming (for tomorrow); I ran to Target to restock a bunch of stuff; and today, I went to go vote in the local primaries.
Civic duty, and all that.
* * *
Later this afternoon, I got a positively epic amount of yardwork done. I was gone less than one full week! You wouldn't think the yard could go rogue in such a short time! Or you would know damn good and well that it totally could, if you've ever lived around here.
The husband had mowed, and (carefully) watered the flower baskets out front while I was absent, but everything else was up for grabs. And, since I wasn't finished with my office catching-up until around 3:00 p.m. ... I kind of felt like the day was shot from a writer-productivity standpoint - but rather than waste the daylight, I went outside to get some homeowner-productivity accomplished.
I weeded the three biggest beds, at least in part; cleared most of the underbrush from the "bird corner"; pruned back the red quince by about half, so now it's merely the size of a mini-cooper; cut back the rose tree before it could head for the power lines again; busted out the edge-trimmer and cleaned up after the husband's mowing job; yanked a bunch of ivy and vines out of HedgeHenge and/or the row of roses along the fence; evicted some poison ivy and sumac, as well as some thistles; and ultimately discovered a new batch of red roses growing against/along the garage.
I'm really tickled by the new roses. I haven't noticed them before, and they aren't the same variety as anything else on the property. They were "crawling" - and struggling - in the overgrown big bed, and I might not have even seen them if I hadn't smelled them first ... so I went out of my way to clear out the shade and give them room to breathe. I also relocated an unused trellis and gently trussed up the plant - in case it wants to climb.
I hope it wants to climb. Not only will it get more sun that way, but it'll look hella-cool next to the white rose tree.
* * *
Tomorrow night, catch me at 8:30 p.m. (EST) I'll be participating in this-here Google hangout with some very fine, silly, and drunken folks. Click the link for details. No, for real. DO IT. It's gonna get bonkers up in there, I guarantee it.
* * *
No new words of fiction were written while I was gone, and none are expected for another couple of weeks. I have to hand in the next round of Princess X rewrites first - and that's where I'm directing my creative attention, for the next little while. It's got to get done - but then it's off my plate, and I can get back to Chapelwood.
My goal is to have a full draft of Chapelwood before I leave for PlayOn Con in Birmingham, at the end of June; and thus far, I've stayed more or less on track. Let's see if I can stay on this roll, eh?
* * *
Here's a kitty. Or to be more precise, here's the reason my office chair looks like hell.
It's awards season, so here comes the shameless self-promotion
Hello everyone! It's awards season and this is my job, so please click through and take a peek if you are so inclined. Don't worry - it's short! I only published a couple of things this year, and I in
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