Cherie Priest's Blog: It's awards season, so here comes the shameless self-promotion, page 45

Coming Soon: THE INEXPLICABLES

November 13 - a great date for a multitude of reasons. First of all, by that date we ought to damn well stop hearing political campaign ads, and hopefully this whole presidential thing will be good and sorted. Knock on wood. Second, it is my husband's birthday. I believe the record will reflect that I love me some Scorpios. Third - and most relevant to this blog post: This is the date that my new Clockwork Century novel The Inexplicables will finally be available!



So WHAT you may ask IS THE SKINNY ON THIS ONE? Well, I'll tell you, starting with an amended version of the flap copy.

[Aside: Why amended? Because I'm a control freak, basically. Also because people who read the stuff that's actually on the back of the book tend to freak out and email me questions with lots of exclamation points. But I think it's important to remember that (a). I, personally, did not write the flap copy, and (b). if you want proper answers to your exclamation pointy questions, it will be more expensive and time-consuming to just buy the book and read it, yes ... but ultimately you'll find that course of action more satisfying than emailing me with your demands.]

Rector "Wreck ‘em" Sherman was orphaned as a toddler in the Blight of 1863, but now he's all grown up - and on his eighteenth birthday, he’ll be cast out out of the children's home.

But Wreck’s problems aren’t merely about finding a new place to live: for years, he’s been quietly breaking the cardinal rule of any good drug dealer and dipping into his own supply. Now he's pretty sure he’s being haunted by the ghost of a kid he used to know - a kid who disappeared six months ago, and is almost certainly dead. If so, this old friend would have every reason to pester Wreck, since Wreck's the one who got him inside the walled city of Seattle in the first place.

Maybe the ghost is just a drug-fueled misfire of a guilty conscience, but Wreck can’t take it anymore. So he sneaks over the wall.

Inside, he finds the wasteland of Seattle every bit as bad as he’d heard, chock-full of the hungry undead and utterly choked by the poisonous, inescapable yellow gas.

And then there's the monster. Rector's pretty certain that whatever attacked him was not at all human—and not a rotter, either. This was something different. Arms far too long. Posture all strange. Eyes all wild and faintly glowing gold and known to the locals as simply "The Inexplicable."

I'd say that's pretty much the meat of it - but that's definitely not the whole story. Inside The Inexplicables you'll also find gangland mayhem, dynamite and time bombs, back-door deals, undead fauna, malicious chemistry, forgotten cemeteries, decrepit towers with treasure inside, Maynard's jail, missing soldiers, fabricated zombies ... and a whole lot more.

It’s true, this is my first book in the franchise without a female lead – though Princess Angeline and Mercy Lynch play fairly prominent roles; and it’s true also that people are assuming this is a young adult book, due to the protagonist's age. And that's fine - I hope young readers pick it up and enjoy it. But really, this is from the same planet as Boneshaker - a book written for adults and/or anyone else, but with a young person front and center.

I have been told that the young person in question is a disturbing, yet strangely compelling, jackass. I'm going to go ahead and take that as a compliment.

SO. If you'd like to read the first chapter of The Inexplicables, you can click right here and find it live on the Macmillan page. I'm not gonna lie - the first chapter is a little grim and weird, but I'm rather fond of it and I hope you'll enjoy it, too.

When you're finished with that sample, if you're game and curious, you can click over here to Goodreads and throw your hat in the ring to receive a free copy from Tor.

OR. If you are the kind of person who doesn't mind a plain white Advance Reader Copy without the swanky brown ink and all that jazz... you can leave a comment here, on this entry at my website [NOT MY LIVEJOURNAL], and I'll put you in the running for one of mine.

I have five to give away - and I wish I had time to get more creative with it, but a random number generator will have to suffice.

Comment between now and Wednesday, November 7th, at 3:00 p.m. Eastern time (USA) to enter.

Open to residents of the US only. My apologies, but I am kind of broke and Sandy has delayed all the publishing money, so this is how it's going to be this time.

At any rate! Below I've listed a series of links that will take you to listings for The Inexplicables at the usual suspects, including the known e-book formats. To answer the inevitable questions about an audiobook - I have no idea if there will be one or not. No one has said anything about it, and everyone in New York is a little busy right now with other things, so I'm just going to have to let that one go for now.

But in short and in closing, if you could be persuaded to preorder this book, I would be forever grateful. Publishers pay a great deal of attention to preorders, and preorders go a long way toward deciding how many more books they're likely to pay me for.

So thank you to everyone for your time, your interest, and your readership. Thank you for everything.


Click here [under e-book Agency] to buy The Inexplicables in a variety of e-book formats

The Inexplicables at Amazon.com
The Inexplicables at Barnes&Noble.com
The Inexplicables at BooksAMillion.com
The Inexplicables at Powells.com
Search for The Inexplicables at an independent store near you

My finger on your lips - I stole something precious

Remember when I used to post pretty much every day? Yeah, me too. Ah, well - other things are in the hopper right now, and sometimes the internet just has to take a back seat to the real world. But now is the time to play catch-up! So here goes, in a somewhat fast-and-loose fashion. How about bullet points? I like bullet points.

Ahem.

For starters, I have a new cousin. His name is Noah, and he is very small and snuggly, and he smells good like new babies tend to. I actually got to visit him within a few days of his birth - which was nice, because when I lived all the way out in Seattle I missed two babies being born, as well as a wedding or two, and almost a funeral. But this baby! This baby I got to see when he was still fresh from the oven. So in short - WELCOME, NOAH. The world is a stranger place than you can imagine. Try to have a good time here, eh?

I took Greyson to a cemetery walking tour shortly before Halloween; and there, he got to hobnob with historical reenactors and families with small children, so you know he was a happy, fluffy camper. In other news, I am 13 years old on the inside.

I went to a private sale at a 19th century warehouse - where one floor had hosted a storage facility for decades (and still does) ... but some of the units were abandoned. I picked up a big box of comics from the 60s - early 80s (which will eventually find their way to Jess Nevins) and a red velvet wingback chair in which I feel very very pretty. Total cost for both - less than fifty bucks. Fear my shop-fu - for it is mighty! (Edit: If you're curious about the comics, I posted pics of some on my Flickr page. Scroll down a little.)

A couple of podcast interviews I did at MileHiCon went live - you can find one here at AldMachine.org; and the other one comes via the SF Signal folks - right here on their website - because I love BBQ. Long story. But go check it out - it has Connie Willis in it. If you won't listen for me, listen for the great Ms. Willis. And listen for my candy wrappers. SOMEONE [Patrick] gave me some fun-sized Twix and things got ... noisy.

Meanwhile, at Steamcon back in Seattle ... my book Ganymede won an Airship Award! I, for one, am utterly chuffed, grateful, and delighted. Many thanks to the folks at that fine convention, and to those who voted for me. The news came at a point when I was feeling particularly frustrated with writing in general, and it really boosted my flagging little spirits.

The husband and I went to see Silent Hill: Revelations. The scariest thing about it was the other guy in the theater. Yes, just the one, because we were the only three people there. Anyway, the hubs and I arrived first, and sat down in this delightfully empty space ... and then this dude just saunters inside and sits right behind us [well, okay, I guess ... we were kind of in the middle], and then attempts repeatedly to engage us in conversation [dude, we're on an old people date and the movie's starting - sod off]; and then he kind of invited himself to leave with us [NO NO NO GO AWAY] and started half-assed following us to our car [RECORD SCREECH OF HELL NO]. Eventually we were able to lose him before I had to unleash any fury. I had a can of whoop-ass the size of a spaniel ready to go, but the husband held me back.

The movie itself can have its own bullet point: Pretty to look at, but basically it amounted to a series of unrelated scenes stitched together with some of the most awkward, nonsensical info-dumping you could possibly imagine. Cool soundtrack, though.

Halloween came! I dressed up as the Woman In Black. Full length view here. Greyson went as a sweet little convict in prison-striped jammies that said Bad Dog on the back. He was SO EXCITED by all the kids (and there were a SHIT TON of kids) that we had to leash him to one of the columns in the foyer to keep him from going bananas. It actually worked out quite well; he could just barely reach the door - and I told the kids he was friendly, and they could pet him if they wanted. Yea verily he did receive many pettings.

The kitty went as a kitty. Because I have a rare blood type, that's why.

Over on Goodreads - Tor is giving away copies of The Inexplicables! Go click to enter the drawing. Go on. DOO EET.

Speaking of movies (a few bullet points ago) we saw Wreck It Ralph, too. I found it charming and enjoyable, though it has since been pointed out to me that the story's core message is a little problematic. One could argue that it boils down to: Don't ever try to change your station in life or challenge authority, because you could destroy everything and everyone you love. However, there's also a message in there about not being a dick to people just because they're Not Like You. So, I don't know. I enjoyed it, but the more I thought about it, the more I wasn't super comfortable with it.

And last but not least - last night I attended a positively epic wedding reception. I would've attended the wedding too, but for bullshit reasons Josh and Shawn couldn't get married in the state of Tennessee...so they ran off to D.C. to make honest men out of one another. AFTER TWENTY YEARS. Weirdly and awesomely enough, I first met them riiiiiight after they'd just gotten together, and now I can only jump up and down and cheer, and wish them the very best going forward. At the reception - held here in Chatty, where they live - we all had a blast; I saw people I hadn't seen in 10 years or more, did a little bit of dancing, and mostly had a hell of a time live-tweeting the whole damn thing for posterity. Go poke around my most recent Twitter offerings for pictures and commentary. YES THERE WERE TWO GROOMS CAKES. There were two grooms. Natch. And if you're a fan of 80s movies, you'll get the armadillo reference, I reckon.

SO. I think that mostly brings you up to speed on the last week's worth of unblogged events. I mean, in case you were BURNING to know, or something. Next up, I have a post brewing about the impending release of The Inexplicables, which you should TOTALLY PREORDER FROM THE STORE OF YOUR CHOICE or AMAZON IF THAT IS EASIER for you. And if you want to check out a preview of the first chapter, go right here - and happy reading.

Anyway. Yes. That's all for now.
More to come.

Time and gravity followed you here

So I'm back! From Denver, I mean - and from the convention-induced blogging hiatus, because woo boy howdy, I was scheduled out the wazoo. And that was fine; I'd rather have places to be and things to do than find myself dangling at loose ends - and I had a wonderful time meeting new people, chilling with old friends, and hanging out with people I've known online for years (but had never met in meatspace).

I'd compile a list, but that would look douchey and I'm guaranteed to accidentally leave someone out. Suffice it to say, MileHiCon was marvelous - and I'd recommend it to absolutely anyone as guest or attendee. The worst gripe I could muster is that the hotel internet wasn't very good, so you KNOW it was a hell of a time.

So. Yes. Now I'm back in Tennessee, playing catch-up and running errands and getting ready for the next things on the list. To wit, that includes a whole lot of laundry and email, some grocery shopping, and a jaunt out to the election commission for early voting.

[Aside: Wouldn't it be great if those little "I VOTED!" stickers had some kind of microchip in them - something allowing early ballot-droppers to skip all the campaign ads? Well, I think it'd be great. See also: I wish there was a threshold for donating to PBS, and after you've given them X-AMOUNT OF MONEY or for example A CAR you're not subjected to their fundraiser programming for a certain period of time. Anyway. If wishes were fishes, etc.]

In other news, today I got my very first shiny new copy of The Inexplicables in the mail, courtesy of the Mighty and Powerful Liz. I also got a few extra (somewhat less shiny) Advanced Reader Copies of the same ... and now I have to figure out how to get rid of them. Raffle? Silent auction to benefit charity? Random number generator?

I'm taking suggestions.

But for now I need to log off and make myself some supper/do some housework/settle in for the night. I have to get up early in the morning. Long story. But I did want to let everyone know that I'm still alive.

And in closing: kittygram.

Rum party of one in the sober old church tonight

After getting into a bit of trouble on Twitter, I am now (apparently) compelled to flesh out a small adventure I had today while my husband was out running errands.

So here goes.

I was home alone, wrapping up laundry and packing to leave for Denver. But because laundry and packing are boring, and because we have (a). a big bottle of rum plus (b). some tasty ginger ale, I might have hypothetically mixed myself up a beverage despite the early hour.

In short, this is what you should picture: Me, wearing a truly appalling ensemble since everything else was dirty, toting a plastic tumbler that features a cheerful ghost announcing, "I'm here for the boos!"*

Whilst packing and looking ridiculous, I happened to glance out a window and - out of the corner of my eye - spy the door of a church down the street hanging open. It's an old church. A largely restored 19th century church - which I've been meaning to check out one of these days.

As previously established - I like old buildings. In the past, I've been occasionally known to (cough cough) let myself inside ... shall we say, "inadequately secured" old buildings ... but I am a trespasser, not a breaker and enterer. I'll surreptitiously explore abandoned properties, sure, but I don't bother places that are occupied and/or routinely utilized. My Cunning Plan(tm) to see the inside of this particular nifty old joint had largely centered around dressing up and showing up for church, skipping the ceremony, swinging by whichever rooms were open, and then skulking out the back before the preacher hits his groove.

My interest is in vintage architecture, not fire or brimstone. So sue me.

Yes. Well. The door was still open a good 45 minutes later, and my curiosity - combined with a general sense of protectiveness re: historic properties - got the better of me. 45 minutes of an open door on a landmark structure ... that was a good enough excuse to wander over there and poke my head in, right? And what if I didn't? What if it was still open in the morning and RABID RACCOONS set up housekeeping inside?

Couldn't let that happen. Not in good conscience. And not knowing how often the cops are called when people in this neighborhood get angry at raccoons and start shooting.**

First I checked out the block, for I've learned on dog-walking jaunts where people tend to park when they're visiting on church business. I didn't see any cars, and I didn't see any indication that anyone was present.

The door was still swinging in the wind.

Up to this wind-swinging door I went. I knocked on it. "Hello?" I called. "Anybody here?"

No one answered. I pushed the door aside and stepped into the foyer. (Are they called foyers when it's a church? Well, if it were a house I would've called it a foyer. So "foyer" it is.) The place was dead quiet, and not very big - so I could take a few steps and squint inside the sanctuary, where I saw no one. I called out again, but received no response.

Back in the foyer I found some stairs that went up to another floor, and down to the basement. I climbed the stairs, reached the top - and saw a conference-style room without anyplace obvious to hide and nowhere else to go. So, back down to the foyer.

I thought about checking the basement, but restrained myself. See, the way I figured it, what if someone had broken into this-here church? If so, you could bet the someone in question was still present, hiding. I mean, if I were an unsavory interloper and I heard someone ask, "HELLO? ANYBODY HERE?" then I would probably hide.

Does that sound crazy and paranoid? I don't know why it should. Churches get vandalized and burgled all the time. They're chock full of AV equipment and opportunities for youthful blasphemy. Shit happens.

Had shit happened here?
Damned if I knew.

So you'll have to forgive me if I didn't go all CSI on the place, looking between the pews and under the bathroom stalls. But I'm not some kind of nosy monster, so I frisked the foyer for some scrap of contact information for anyone who might have some interest in whether or not the church was unattended and open to the public.

On a table full of pamphlets I found a leftover church bulletin from last week, and when I flipped it over, I found the cell phone numbers for an assortment of promising parochial personnel. The pastor's number was at the top, so I called him first.

He answered. And then I had a moment of "OH SHIT what do I tell this guy?!!!" at which point I launched into something that I'd like to believe sounded mostly sane and not at all IM IN UR CHURCH GRAFFITING UR BIBLEZ LOL. I told him my name, and that I lived near his church, and that I was standing inside it because the front door had been hanging open like a frat boy's fly for the better part of an hour.

I might not've said that part about a frat boy's fly. Or maybe I did. I don't remember.

I was suddenly having trouble explaining myself, overthinking everything because I've been picked up by the cops for trespassing a A SMALL HANDFUL of times, and the LAST time this happened the cop told me that if found me anywhere else inappropriate in Hamilton County (WHERE I AM RIGHT NOW) then I'd go to jail and no amount of eyelash batting would save me.

In my defense, I was still in college at the time.

But that uniformed dude's words were RINGING IN MY EARS whilst simultaneously this confused but very pleasant pastor was asking questions and I was wondering OMG WHAT IF THE COPS WANT TO KNOW WHY I BROUGHT MY CELL PHONE TO CHECK THE CHURCH DOOR? Because surely the answer, "I thought this might be worth tweeting about" would prove INSUFFICIENT and probably not much better than "Because I love Jesus but I drink a little," or possibly, "There's a cat missing in my neighborhood and I saw it this morning while I was out with the dog so I've got the owner's number queued up in case I stumble across that fluffy wayward bastard again" ... When in fact the answer was somewhere in the middle of those things.

So I babbled some version of the truth at the pastor, leaving out the middle-of-the-day-redneck-cocktail bit and suddenly wondering why I hadn't burst into flames upon crossing the church's threshold. While I babbled, I fiddled with the door - realizing it was a deadbolt, and there wasn't any way for me to lock the place up behind myself.

I told the pastor this, and I apologized - saying that I would close the door as I left and make sure it was secure. But he had a better idea: He suggested a different course of action, whereby I locked the deadbolt from within ... and then exited through the church's basement, where I'd find a door that locked at the knob, rather than exclusively via key-I-didn't-have.

The basement, you say? ADVENTURE GIRL RISES TO THE CHALLENGE.

All right, all right. It wasn't a kobold-filled dungeon or anything; it was a fellowship hall with fall-themed decorations and evidence that small children played there on a regular basis. BUT IT WAS DARK. And considering that there could be NINJA THIEVES hanging about the premises for all I knew, it was not necessarily my first choice of action.

I am not proud to say that I kept the pastor on the phone while I followed his instructions. But if some NINJA THIEF ASSASSIN were to LEAP OUT OF THE SHADOWS, then at least SOME NICE MAN would be able to tell the homicide detectives what had happened.

Cold comfort, sure. But better than nothing.

When all was said and done, the church was secured and I escaped back into the cold, dark, foggy, ominous night lovely mid-afternoon, and made my way back home. For his part, the pastor was friendly and grateful, and he invited me to visit the church in a more official and less inebriated capacity one of these days - which was kind of him, but I'm not likely to take him up on it.

I'm far more likely to sit at home and make myself a drink.


* I bet you think I'm joking.
** You think I'm joking again, don't you? Ha.

The devil bent my ear today about his magical elixir

No word metrics to report, but that's mostly because I've spent the day doing laundry and packing for Denver. Why Denver, you ask? Because I'm flying out there tomorrow, for the marvelous MileHiCon - where I will be a guest.

I'm very much looking forward to it! I have some fabulous friends in that fine city (not least of all Jeanne and Mario), and the scene has always been very kind to me.

At this particular event, I can expect to be quite busy - and you can find a general schedule HERE (fair warning - that's a PDF). But the usual rules apply vis-a-vis hanging out at this sort of thing.

In short: I am attending this event for you, the readers. Unless I am (a). in the restroom, or (b). eating and have my mouth full or something ... you are more than welcome to come up and say "hello" and/or ask me to sign stuff. As those of you who know me in real life are aware, I am kind of hilariously un-shy - and I am always delighted to deploy a signature.

So nab me between panels, accost me before ceremonies, or shanghai me in the hallway. You have my full permission!

Got it? Good.
Then come on down and say "hi!"

I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire

And another week goes by wherein I've been too busy/distracted/otherwise engaged to do any blogging. Now let's see ... how about a highlights reel? Very good. Here goes. Don't worry, it's pretty short. Okay - it's kind of short.

First and foremost, I worked. I answered long-ignored emails, did another ten thousand words on Ninja Planet (all told), and wrapped up a draft of the previously discussed Schrodinger's Project. Sent it off to my agent this afternoon. Depending on her evaluation, I'll either go back to the drawing board or kick it toward the editor and see how it shakes out.

Apart from that, probably the most interesting thing I did all week was take a Writer Field Trip out to Ducktown, Tennessee. It's about an hour and a half east of here, up in the Smokies - a beautiful little place that used to be a frankly awful sort of place, courtesy of the old Burra Burra Mine.

Why? Because I owe a short story for an anthology come New Year's, and I needed a 19th century Appalachian mining town. East Tennessee doesn't exactly equate deep Appalachia, but you can see it from there - and since it was near enough to do as a day-trip, I decided that it was close enough. The drive was nothing short of gorgeous, and the town itself was lovely. There's a small museum there, on the site of the mine's former headquarters. I poked through it at length, and then - because I was encouraged to do so - I wandered the grounds for awhile and took pictures.

If you've ever wondered what a collapsed copper mine looks like, well, here you go.



So, yes. A very pleasant day all around. Lovely drive, learned a lot, hung out in the mine's old hoist house talking to a nice woman who was a retired marine - and yea verily, we discussed pumpkins.




The pumpkin bread I bought was delicious. I nommed it on the way back to Chattanooga.

The only other thing of note (which I can think of right this moment) is that today we took Greyson to his new groomers. This place is closer than the previous (inferior) groomers, and we made it all the way there and all the way back with exactly zero instances of dog puke.

Eight months old, and the little guy seems to be getting the hang of riding in the car. We hope. Later this week, we'll try to take him to the dog park. It's even closer, and he's bound to enjoy it more.

Oh, he doesn't hate the groomers, but he's rather nervous re: the dryers and the noise. Still, the staff treated him kindly, and he was primped to fancypants status that had him prancing around at home. I definitely like this place better.

Sure, we could hypothetically try to bathe him ourselves, but we haven't leveled up to that tier of Independent and Responsible Dog Ownership. This is partly because Greyson is weirdly ambivalent about water. If it's coming from the sky: no worries. LET HIM ROLL IN IT and then come tearing inside and SHAKE LIKE A MOFO so that we soak every towel we own cleaning it all up. But if it's coming from a spigot or a hose: FLEE IN TERROR. Besides, he's got those extra toes/claws and copious foot fluff that needs attending once very 5 or 6 weeks. Frankly, it's worth the fifty bucks to pay someone else to deal with our pretty pretty princess of a pooch.

In other news, he's taken up archaeology as a hobby. Sometimes, the little bastard just needs a nice sudsy bath. Administered by a trained professional.

Bonus hilarity: The cat's reaction to the dog's brief absence.

You see, his old groomers were way at the other end of town, out near the mall - so when we took him there, we'd hang out and go shopping, run errands, and whatnot. This was the first time we ever took him someplace, left him there, and came home to wait out the primping.

The cat was just about hysterical. She wandered from room to room, checking out the dog's favorite places, yowling as if she was heartbroken.

Mind you, this is an animal that behaves like a furry little KRAKEN OF HATE every time the puppy tries to play with her. Usually, she wants to know where he is purely so that she can either avoid him or growl at him. (She goes out of her way to do this, once in awhile. These are not her finest moments.)

But we take him away for a couple of hours? And we get a protracted feline chorus of WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM? MY BELOVED LITTLE BROTHER! HE IS GONE, OH GOOD LORDY HELP US, HE IS GONE!

When the groomers called, we picked him up and brought him home. The cat stayed on our bed, eyeing him as per usual ... but when he sniffed up to her, she didn't hiss. He took this as encouragement, and flopped down on the floor in front of her for a nap.

I call it progress. Because I take what I can get.
Anyway, I guess that brings us up to the present.

So how have you guys been?

On top of the chain and safe from the rain

I spent the day writing about 3000 words across two different projects: One is the beginning of "Schrodinger's Project" from a month or two ago, which I'm finally coming back around to; the other is a continuation on my comic/sci-fi young adult project where a girl becomes a ninja and fights aliens, plus BONUS Bruce Lee’s ghost, a vintage Thunderbird, zenlightenment on the fly, and fat stacks of Cool Ranch Doritos.

That is to say, I got back to work on Ninja Planet.

Schrodinger's Project is technically a bit more pressing, but right now I'm really starting to itch for a full draft of Ninja Planet - because this thing keeps getting back-burnered in favor of deadline-driven pieces, and that's a damn shame.

For this one little interlude I have a tiny squeak of breathing room. So by golly, I'm going to take advantage of it. And since I can't talk about Schrodinger ...

Project: Ninja Planet
Deadline: Halloween [self-imposed]
New words written: Not sure. About 2k.
Present total word count: 37,177 words





Things accomplished in fiction: Successfully cooperated with difficult cousin, in order to break into a cemetery.

Things accomplished in real life: Daily jog/walk with dog who DEMANDED his jaunt-around-the-neighborhood this morning despite the freezing rain, bless his fuzzy little heart and massive fluffy mountain-dog coat of hair; garden clean-up, when it was dry enough to do so; some minor housework; desperately struggled to figure out how to begin the secret project.

Other: Still not 100% happy with the secret project's opener. I'm not sure I have the voice right, but I'll keep plowing forward, and either it'll start to gel, or I'll figure out what I'm doing wrong. Sometimes you've got to quit noodling, and just dive right in and fuck right up.

Bride of Other: I don't actually have the faintest idea how long Ninja Planet will be. 60k is a total guess, pulled right out of my ass. Could be 50, could be 80. I don't know. We'll see.

The devil popped around today selling promises and potions

I've had a busy and yet simultaneously lazy week - taking some time "off" after handing in the Fiddlehead draft, not really by choice but by necessity. I've been too burned out to write anything, and besides, I've had a million and one little things I'd been putting off in favor of wrapping up this round of that project. So I did some of those things instead.

If you really want a detailed rundown ... a rundown with a ridiculous number of cat and dog pictures, that is ... you can go scroll through my twitter feed and/or facebook page.

But by way of a general recap, well, let's see.

I went out to Woodthrush on a drive-by, stopping-in basis, to hang with Mary Robinette Kowal and the folks at her writers' retreat; I'd offer you a bunch of links about who I saw and high-fived or hugged, but here's a picture of me giving tummy-rubs to the family dog instead. I also went out to Reflection Riding for a picnic and shenanigans with some foxy friends and the husband; and then the Steampunk Scholar named Boneshaker in his must-have list of primary sources for academics - and as a retired academic myself, I was tickled by it. Later, I went out for pizza and drinks with a couple of old coworkers, which was a blast.

During my absence, I did a couple of widely publicized chats via headphones and webcam. The first was for the very fine folks at Sword and Laser; the second was for the Story Board. The first link is an interview, essentially. The second is more of a round-table conversation with Brandon Sanderson, Terry Brooks, and yours truly - moderated (and augmented) by Pat Rothfuss.

But in between those events, I had a moment of derp and cracked my head open on an old cabinet door which sprang silently free in our back room whilst I was playing with the dog. In short, I'm clumsy and I don't see very well. I wish I had a better story to go with it, but that's all there is.

[Aside: This is why in the Story Board conversation, I'm wearing a Band Aid over my right eye. It's a Muppets Band Aid with Beaker on it, saying "Meep." It felt appropriate.]

Hmm. What else?

My dad and stepmom stopped by, using my place for a hotel on their way down to Florida. Greyson was overjoyed to meet some of his dog-grandparents, and I was happy to see them too, of course. They'll be coming back through tomorrow night, as they make their way home to Kentucky.

And the only other thing I can think of off the top of my head is kind of lame, but I'll regale you with it anyway: I did some minor renovations to the house - specifically the laundry nook. It's too small to call a laundry room, but it was dark and kind of awful, and I wanted to do something with my hands instead of a computer screen.

Once upon a time the nook in question was a storage/potting/etc. landing with a door that led down to the cellar (apparently) ... and by "once upon a time" I mean "back in the 30s." This thing had the History of Paint upon its bones, and green permanent marker scrawled across the newer cabinet faces - courtesy of the toddlers belonging to the previous owners.

So I changed it up a bit.

First, the top cabinet doors needed to go. You could barely open them without hitting the dryer anyway, and they just made the place feel even smaller. I didn't need cabinets up there; I needed shelves. Next, I removed as much of the paint as was humanly possible - then I put down glass tile mosaic for a countertop. Finally, I painted everything else white (though I left the green walls - as it matches the kitchen, and looks okay) and changed the hardware on the bottom cabinets.

Voila. New look for the nook.

And with that, I think I've brought you all up to speed. But if you're DEEPLY NERDY about old house before/afters on a budget without any proper demolition or anything ... feel free to either scroll down (if you clicked directly to this page) or poke the jump below. (Click anything to go to its main page, and view larger.)



The nook before - with its amazing putty-colored top paint job.




The nook after - feels much brighter and bigger, IMO.

Except the ones who are dead

I had plans to sit down last night and cough up a proper blog post, but I think we can agree that I make all sorts of plans that don't pan out. Last night's excuse: I managed a stellar head-bash into an off-balance built-in vintage cabinet door that sprang free from its ancient hair-twistie fastener and drifted silently open while I wasn't looking.

And soon I will have a bisected right eyebrow scar to compliment the overscoring scar on my left eyebrow, a scar which I acquired in Portland a few years ago during a knife-fight with a pirate. As you may recall.

This one's not so bad. I didn't go to the ER or anything, not because I'm a total badass (though I am, natch) but because it was not required. This is not a 2.somethingoranother-inch long pressure break; this is half an inch at the outside, and it stopped bleeding on its own. The black eye and the headache are just gravy.

In short, I will survive.
But I've been busy and/or bleeding, and I haven't felt much like blogging.

I'm gonna go out on the street and do anything I want

After wrapping up Draft Zero of Fiddlehead, I took a little break from the computer. I needed one. So HAHAHA I have no word metrics to post because I have done no writing for TWO WHOLE DAYS and I won't lie: it's been a relief.

Did a bunch of other stuff, though. Yesterday alone (in addition to the usual early-morning dog jaunt) I spent 3+ hours outside weeding, pruning, and cleaning the garden and back yard vegetation; cleaned house; assembled and installed myself a fancypants Tempurpedic office chair because ow my back; re-hemmed a corner of the guest room bedspread because teething puppy, that's why; made minor (yet time-consuming) alterations to two sweaters I've been waiting to wear as the weather cools off; and watched/cheered as husband removed the compost area (plus its accompanying "structure") and brush pile from the corner of the yard.

The brush piles/compost "bin" outside in the yard have been a source of casual irritation pretty much since we moved in. Not that we have any problem with compost or brush, mind you, but (a). we sort of let the brush pile get out of hand as we gradually reclaimed the yard, and (b). the compost area was kind of a wreck. In addition to the predicted mulchy contents, it contained a rather hilarious assortment of inorganic items - like some kind of medieval trash pit overflowing from a couple of old wood pallets and chicken wire.

Anyway, now that's fixed, and instead we have a big patch of naked dirt taking up about a quarter of our back yard. We're still deciding what to do with the space. Greyson says "leave it" so he can continue to dig over there, merrily unimpeded - dredging up cutlery, broken toys, and the occasional old toothbrush for his personal chewing/digging/rolling around pleasure.

We probably will not "leave it." Though if we are catastrophically lazy, we could just ignore it for a week and let the Kudzu have it. Hmm.

Yes. Well.
Moving right along.

Today I got a late start, but I ran a few errands: I went to the grocery store, swung by Greyson's new groomers to get his registration set up, and then hit up the library - because I've been saying for ages that when I have the time, I'll go look up the historic registry and see what it says about my house.

Over a couple of hours I sifted through five big files full of old newspaper clippings and photos (some from the 1880s), and learned quite a lot about the neighborhood in general, if not my house in particular.

As I was aware, my neighborhood was not originally part of the city of Chattanooga; but Chattanooga annexed it many decades ago ... doing what could best and most frankly be described as a piss-poor job of keeping up with the records. Basically, unless your house was established by a Significant Historic Person, then good freaking luck figuring out what year it was built.*

According to the city, Rosebury Haunt went up "circa 1920," though it's widely agreed upon that the house is older.** Neighborhood lore, the inspector, and the owners-before-last set its construction a few years earlier than that - so I was thinking that one of these days I'd throw the place a 100-year birthday bash.

But it turns out that I probably missed it.

According to a historical and architectural survey done in the 80s (in conjunction with a National Historic Landmark effort) my house was built sometime after 1888, and sometime before 1905. I found a photo of the district that was allegedly taken in 1895 and it clearly shows an empty lot where we presently live, so I tentatively narrowed it down a little further ... but beyond that, I'll probably never know with any greater precision unless I get really, really lucky and stumble upon a pre-1920 photo that shows the place.

Ah, well. It was a fun little exercise.

And now I'm being lazy, just a little - because I've earned it, and I need to distance myself from the manuscript for a few days before going back to revise it. Maybe I'll take a nap, or have a cookie or something. Maybe I'll make myself a drink and sit on the porch swing.

Ooh, I like that last one...


* I told the librarian I was interested in learning who built the house and/or what its original layout was like. He recommended a time machine.
** That is, the formal paperwork we were given by the city/county for the sake of the loan/deed/etc.