Cherie Priest's Blog: It's awards season, so here comes the shameless self-promotion, page 49
July 25, 2012
But if you're willing to play the game
Well, the shy and nervous - but charmingly optimistic - dog we brought home on Sunday is coming out of his shell quite nicely. At first he was terrorized by such frightening phenomenons as televisions, mirrors, and the ice dispenser; but now he lounges on the nice, cool fireplace tiles while we watch the nightly news, and hangs out around the refrigerator if he sees someone grabbing a glass from the cabinet ... on the off chance someone will give him an ice cube to kick around the kitchen.
Mirrors are still pretty freaky, though. And he's still most comfortable in that back guest room, which he's set up to be his own personal "den." He retreats there for naps and quiet time with his chewy toys, and generally speaking, if you haven't seen or heard from him in awhile, that's probably where he is.
He has a very good innate sense of what is a toy, and what is not a toy - and therefore not to be played with. It's charming, really - unless you're the cat, who doesn't particularly care for this dog picking up her catnip mousies or monster eyes* and adding them to his toy fort in the guest room - and not very charming for me, either, because I'm scared to death that he'll swallow one. And then what will I tell the vet? Oh, that zombie eyeball you retrieved from the dog's gullet? That's a cat toy. Please don't call the police.
The only exception to this rule so far is the blue shower pooftie he found on the bathroom floor ... and proudly added to the fort. I took it away from him. It's made of plastic, and he's still teething, so he's chewing like a little mofo right now.
And yes, he has a toy fort. He built it himself.
He doesn't care if you disturb the toy fort for playtime, but he becomes very upset if you move any of the toys out of the den - unless it's bedtime, in which case he wants to have his squeaky hedgehog with him in the crate, and yes, he has a crate. He's only crated at night, and he's just fine with it. He clearly finds it comforting, for this is how he slept at the shelter; and sometimes, we'll catch him napping there during the day.
That having been said, he is being very good about this whole housebreaking thing. His hit rate is about 90 percent right now, and so far today, we haven't had any accidents - knock on wood - though there were a couple of hitches yesterday and the day before, as he decided that one of the dog beds was HIS because LOOK he has WIDDLED ALL OVER IT even though he shows exactly zero interest in sleeping upon it.** There has also been an accident re: the rug in the bedroom, which is, at least, a very dark rug ... and all hail the Woolite carpet/fabric cleaner with Oxyclean in it, because that shit is magic designed by wizards anyway that's my theory and I'm pretty sure of it.
But he's definitely made the connection in his head between "going outside to do business" and "coming inside to get a cookie." In fact, he's made the connection so well that when he wants a second cookie short on the heels of the first one, he'll lure me outside again ... squat, force a small dribble that could be condensation for all I know, and run triumphantly back into the kitchen where he sits right next to the dog cookie jar and gives me The Look.
The Look says, "We both know I just did exactly what you want, and if you don't give me a cookie, I may decide that next time, I'll take another crack at that rug." So I give him a goddamn cookie.
As for the cat, she remains largely apathetic toward his presence. She doesn't precisely avoid him, but she doesn't go out of her way to hang out with him, either. And Greyson treats her like she's being protected by a force field. He won't get closer than a few feet, but then he lies down and tries to be the Best Dog Ever so that the little black cat will come over and be his friend, and when this doesn't work, he barks wildly in case he can convince her that he is TOTALLY HARMLESS AND LOVABLE by SHOUTING IN HER FACE.
(We're actually kind of glad to hear him bark, because at first, we almost wondered if he knew how. He never made a peep, except for the previously mentioned whimper on the way home ... a whimper which preceded a few rounds of barfing, but that's not so much a sound as an activity accompanied by a sound, God help us.)
Spainy is not impressed with the barking. Greyson is starting to figure this out, and in this most recent friendship-attempt or two, he's dropped all the way to the ground, flattened himself there, and stayed very, very still ... in case he can lure her close with this pretense and then as soon as she's bought into the ruse he can LEAP UP AND LICK HER SENSELESS.
Anyway. The cat remains largely untraumatized. She just walks away from him, plants herself someplace conspicuous enough to make clear that she is NOT HIDING FROM HIM thank you very much, and then deliberately, insultingly, she naps. But she's becoming a tad more receptive each day - letting him get closer and closer. I can now sit between them, with one hand petting each animal. It sends Greyson into paroxysms of anticipatory cat-licking delight; but Spain merely tolerates it while pretending that he doesn't exist.
But soon. Soon, she'll crack. Or decide she feels sorry for him. And one of these days, they'll hang out like old pals. I bet.
[Edited to add: Pictures? You want pictures? Or maybe some adorable videos? I got your hookup right here. ]
* I found a bag of these things on sale for a couple of bucks after Halloween, while I was out kicking around Ballard with Kat. They're exactly what they sound like - textured ping-pong balls decorated to look like zombie eyeballs. The kitty can't get enough of them, because they're light and kickable, but they don't roll evenly ... so every swat's an adventure!
** The little bastard did it again, WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS POST. So I cleaned up the bed (it has a leatherette cover, at least) and tossed it up into the attic. Fuck that noise. He knew he'd done something bad, too, even before I shouted at him and threw him out of the room. I wish to God I understood what it was about that stupid bed. [Edited to add: Ms. Spyder reminds me of something that might have been significant.]
Mirrors are still pretty freaky, though. And he's still most comfortable in that back guest room, which he's set up to be his own personal "den." He retreats there for naps and quiet time with his chewy toys, and generally speaking, if you haven't seen or heard from him in awhile, that's probably where he is.
He has a very good innate sense of what is a toy, and what is not a toy - and therefore not to be played with. It's charming, really - unless you're the cat, who doesn't particularly care for this dog picking up her catnip mousies or monster eyes* and adding them to his toy fort in the guest room - and not very charming for me, either, because I'm scared to death that he'll swallow one. And then what will I tell the vet? Oh, that zombie eyeball you retrieved from the dog's gullet? That's a cat toy. Please don't call the police.
The only exception to this rule so far is the blue shower pooftie he found on the bathroom floor ... and proudly added to the fort. I took it away from him. It's made of plastic, and he's still teething, so he's chewing like a little mofo right now.
And yes, he has a toy fort. He built it himself.
He doesn't care if you disturb the toy fort for playtime, but he becomes very upset if you move any of the toys out of the den - unless it's bedtime, in which case he wants to have his squeaky hedgehog with him in the crate, and yes, he has a crate. He's only crated at night, and he's just fine with it. He clearly finds it comforting, for this is how he slept at the shelter; and sometimes, we'll catch him napping there during the day.
That having been said, he is being very good about this whole housebreaking thing. His hit rate is about 90 percent right now, and so far today, we haven't had any accidents - knock on wood - though there were a couple of hitches yesterday and the day before, as he decided that one of the dog beds was HIS because LOOK he has WIDDLED ALL OVER IT even though he shows exactly zero interest in sleeping upon it.** There has also been an accident re: the rug in the bedroom, which is, at least, a very dark rug ... and all hail the Woolite carpet/fabric cleaner with Oxyclean in it, because that shit is magic designed by wizards anyway that's my theory and I'm pretty sure of it.
But he's definitely made the connection in his head between "going outside to do business" and "coming inside to get a cookie." In fact, he's made the connection so well that when he wants a second cookie short on the heels of the first one, he'll lure me outside again ... squat, force a small dribble that could be condensation for all I know, and run triumphantly back into the kitchen where he sits right next to the dog cookie jar and gives me The Look.
The Look says, "We both know I just did exactly what you want, and if you don't give me a cookie, I may decide that next time, I'll take another crack at that rug." So I give him a goddamn cookie.
As for the cat, she remains largely apathetic toward his presence. She doesn't precisely avoid him, but she doesn't go out of her way to hang out with him, either. And Greyson treats her like she's being protected by a force field. He won't get closer than a few feet, but then he lies down and tries to be the Best Dog Ever so that the little black cat will come over and be his friend, and when this doesn't work, he barks wildly in case he can convince her that he is TOTALLY HARMLESS AND LOVABLE by SHOUTING IN HER FACE.
(We're actually kind of glad to hear him bark, because at first, we almost wondered if he knew how. He never made a peep, except for the previously mentioned whimper on the way home ... a whimper which preceded a few rounds of barfing, but that's not so much a sound as an activity accompanied by a sound, God help us.)
Spainy is not impressed with the barking. Greyson is starting to figure this out, and in this most recent friendship-attempt or two, he's dropped all the way to the ground, flattened himself there, and stayed very, very still ... in case he can lure her close with this pretense and then as soon as she's bought into the ruse he can LEAP UP AND LICK HER SENSELESS.
Anyway. The cat remains largely untraumatized. She just walks away from him, plants herself someplace conspicuous enough to make clear that she is NOT HIDING FROM HIM thank you very much, and then deliberately, insultingly, she naps. But she's becoming a tad more receptive each day - letting him get closer and closer. I can now sit between them, with one hand petting each animal. It sends Greyson into paroxysms of anticipatory cat-licking delight; but Spain merely tolerates it while pretending that he doesn't exist.
But soon. Soon, she'll crack. Or decide she feels sorry for him. And one of these days, they'll hang out like old pals. I bet.
[Edited to add: Pictures? You want pictures? Or maybe some adorable videos? I got your hookup right here. ]
* I found a bag of these things on sale for a couple of bucks after Halloween, while I was out kicking around Ballard with Kat. They're exactly what they sound like - textured ping-pong balls decorated to look like zombie eyeballs. The kitty can't get enough of them, because they're light and kickable, but they don't roll evenly ... so every swat's an adventure!
** The little bastard did it again, WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS POST. So I cleaned up the bed (it has a leatherette cover, at least) and tossed it up into the attic. Fuck that noise. He knew he'd done something bad, too, even before I shouted at him and threw him out of the room. I wish to God I understood what it was about that stupid bed. [Edited to add: Ms. Spyder reminds me of something that might have been significant.]
July 23, 2012
July 22, 2012
Southpaw
We were not in the market for a dog. But this is Greyson. That's the name he came with, and that's the name he's keeping - oblique Batman franchise reference, etc. etc. etc.
(Never mind the spelling - that's what's on his records, so it can stay.)
Greyson is a 5-month-old Pyrenees mix, born in a tractor trailer lot somewhere in North Georgia. He was pulled from the pound in Catoosa County and moved to the Pet Placement Center - where we met him a couple of weeks ago - and now he's moved here, to live with us in Rosebury Haunt.
The car-ride home wasn't super-smooth; he was pitifully frightened of the experience, which makes sense when you figure he's never been in a car except to shuttle from shelter to shelter, or to the vet. He barfed three times and anxiety drooled until he and I were both soaked, but when we got him to the groomers, he charmed the ladies silly - and came out of the whole thing smelling sweet as a rose.
Gentle, sweet, and peculiarly quiet for a pup, Greyson is definitely a leftie. When he wants your attention he doesn't jump, bark, or tackle you - no, he just gives you his left paw and a pleading look. And then you pretty much give him whatever he wants, because JESUS YOU GUYS would you LOOK AT THIS FACE.
We figure he'll probably top out around 70-80 pounds, when all is said and done - and that's fine. Even if we're off by a fair margin of error, he'll undoubtedly be the smallest dog I've ever lived with ... and that might sound crazypants unless you know that I grew up with a Saint Bernard and then a Great Dane.**
So. I bet you're wondering how the cat is taking all this.
In fact, the cat is idly curious - but not at all afraid, and not even terribly annoyed. (Right now, she's curled up asleep on the daybed behind me, just like usual.) This is easy for her, partly because she's spent plenty of time around large dogs - not least of all the aforementioned Great Dane - and also because Greyson hasn't yet figured out that she's not part of the decor.
At the Pet Placement Center, many of the cats roam free until nightfall - and as far as Greyson is concerned, all things feline are just background noise. She might as well be a lamp, or an end table. It's kind of hilarious.
Mind you, I don't think much will change once he becomes aware that she's a member of the household. He's very mellow and friendly, and he still has a touch of that "uncertain shelter dog" thing going on; when he doesn't know what to do, he sits down, wags his tail a little nervously, and waits for instructions.
He is crate trained, fully vaccinated, neutered ... and right now? He's sacked out hard for a nap in the back room, beside his new chewy bone and a couple of toys.
In no uncertain terms, he is a Very Good Dog.
And we are very lucky to have him.
[Edited to add: - Bonus! Video of cat and dog and husband, for posterity.]
* As mentioned previously, this is the shelter from whence we adopted Spain the Cat back in 2002.
** Technically, when I was veeeery little we had a poodle for some reason. But the Saint Bernard arrived when I was about six years old, and seriously, a kid could not have asked for a better dog.
July 21, 2012
If you found a golden locket full of some girl's hair
For the last few days, my dad and stepmom have been in town - visiting, kicking around, petting the kitty, and generally saying "hello." In the six years I spent in Seattle, I could count on one hand (with room to spare) how many times I'd seen them, and now that we're less than four hours away, a visit was arranged and shenanigans did occur.
I loved having them here! I got to pretend to be a civilized grown-up, with my own house and my own yard and everything. Not that I fooled them, of course, but that's fine. They know who they're dealing with.
(I'd like to think they were impressed that there wasn't actually any dirty laundry on the floor or junk food smooshed in their bed. After all, these people knew me as a teenager.)
While they were in town, we ended up going shopping for a door, and my dad installed it in our back room - the room which is the guest room/cat room/room where we play video games. Obviously I would not have asked him to perform such a task as a visiting guest, but you have to know my dad - he likes to fix/build/tweak/finish things, and he's marvelously good at it. So when I first told him I'd bought a 100-year-old house, I heard his voice light up on the phone - oh, the new projects! What tools should he bring?
But really, the house doesn't need anything ... it just wants a few things. Ergo, I told him at first that he should leave his tools at home. But then, because it was, in fact, relevant to the guest experience at Rosebury Haunt, I mentioned that our guest room/cat room/room where we play video games ... lacked a door.
In fact, I'd been hunting for an interior door to match the space, with zero luck. I thought I was nuts - I couldn't find anything that appeared to precisely fit the measurements, and when I asked around at the usual home improvement places, people looked at me like I was bananas. Then, on a lark, the husband and I were kicking around an architectural salvage store and we stumbled across a vast row of doors matching my requisite measurements ... a row of century-old screen doors. At which point it dawned on me, because I am an idiot, that the door to the guest space/cat room/room where we play video games used to be the screen door leading off the back porch.
Yes, well. These things happen when you buy an old house that has been remodeled rather extensively. These things also happen when you are a dumbass, who knew good and well there'd been a back porch that was closed off back in the 1930s.
So, yes. We went to Lowes, got a door, and my dad cut it down to size and installed it. VOILA. Now my guest room has a door, because my dad is awesome.
In addition to the minor construction project, we went to many restaurants, kicked around downtown a lot, killed off a bottle of good whiskey, lounged around the house, and made a visit out past the north end of town for something I'll blog about tomorrow. Also, my dad gave me the (early) birthday present of POWER TOOLS because YAY!
In order to return the favor, I might have hypothetically evangelized the tv show "Justified" and hooked up my stepmom with the first season for HER birthday (not quite a week before mine), because I mean COME ON they have lived in Kentucky for years. And against all expectations, that show has some of the best writing on American television.*
Anyway, it was a lot of fun. It was also a lot of fun having Denny and Ms. Spyder here last week, and I expect that this next week will be an entirely different kind of fun with a bonus household member, but like I said. I'll post about that tomorrow.
:)
[EDITED TO ADD: Forgot to mention - the cat is fine. She has bombed the litterbox. If she were a racehorse, her name would be "Poopbiscuit."]
* They've been there off and on since I was about 13 or 14. And I say "against all expectations" because when I heard there was a show set in Harlan County, Kentucky, I rolled my eyes. I assumed Hollywood would fuck it right up, and I didn't feel the need to spend an hour a week watching pop culture make fun of Appalachia. But I am woman enough to admit when I'm wrong.
I loved having them here! I got to pretend to be a civilized grown-up, with my own house and my own yard and everything. Not that I fooled them, of course, but that's fine. They know who they're dealing with.
(I'd like to think they were impressed that there wasn't actually any dirty laundry on the floor or junk food smooshed in their bed. After all, these people knew me as a teenager.)
While they were in town, we ended up going shopping for a door, and my dad installed it in our back room - the room which is the guest room/cat room/room where we play video games. Obviously I would not have asked him to perform such a task as a visiting guest, but you have to know my dad - he likes to fix/build/tweak/finish things, and he's marvelously good at it. So when I first told him I'd bought a 100-year-old house, I heard his voice light up on the phone - oh, the new projects! What tools should he bring?
But really, the house doesn't need anything ... it just wants a few things. Ergo, I told him at first that he should leave his tools at home. But then, because it was, in fact, relevant to the guest experience at Rosebury Haunt, I mentioned that our guest room/cat room/room where we play video games ... lacked a door.
In fact, I'd been hunting for an interior door to match the space, with zero luck. I thought I was nuts - I couldn't find anything that appeared to precisely fit the measurements, and when I asked around at the usual home improvement places, people looked at me like I was bananas. Then, on a lark, the husband and I were kicking around an architectural salvage store and we stumbled across a vast row of doors matching my requisite measurements ... a row of century-old screen doors. At which point it dawned on me, because I am an idiot, that the door to the guest space/cat room/room where we play video games used to be the screen door leading off the back porch.
Yes, well. These things happen when you buy an old house that has been remodeled rather extensively. These things also happen when you are a dumbass, who knew good and well there'd been a back porch that was closed off back in the 1930s.
So, yes. We went to Lowes, got a door, and my dad cut it down to size and installed it. VOILA. Now my guest room has a door, because my dad is awesome.
In addition to the minor construction project, we went to many restaurants, kicked around downtown a lot, killed off a bottle of good whiskey, lounged around the house, and made a visit out past the north end of town for something I'll blog about tomorrow. Also, my dad gave me the (early) birthday present of POWER TOOLS because YAY!
In order to return the favor, I might have hypothetically evangelized the tv show "Justified" and hooked up my stepmom with the first season for HER birthday (not quite a week before mine), because I mean COME ON they have lived in Kentucky for years. And against all expectations, that show has some of the best writing on American television.*
Anyway, it was a lot of fun. It was also a lot of fun having Denny and Ms. Spyder here last week, and I expect that this next week will be an entirely different kind of fun with a bonus household member, but like I said. I'll post about that tomorrow.
:)
[EDITED TO ADD: Forgot to mention - the cat is fine. She has bombed the litterbox. If she were a racehorse, her name would be "Poopbiscuit."]
* They've been there off and on since I was about 13 or 14. And I say "against all expectations" because when I heard there was a show set in Harlan County, Kentucky, I rolled my eyes. I assumed Hollywood would fuck it right up, and I didn't feel the need to spend an hour a week watching pop culture make fun of Appalachia. But I am woman enough to admit when I'm wrong.
July 19, 2012
Updates - Plus a good before/after
Because the world needs to know these things: The kitty is doing better today. She's eaten breakfast - even going so far as to beg for shredded cheese when I made myself a snack - and she's acting like her usual spoiled little self. Still hasn't pooped, though. I know we'd all feel better if she'd just drop a big ol' bomb in the litterbox right about now, but I'm glad for what progress we've seen so far.
But lest this post be entirely about the wonders of cat shit, here - let me give you a few good before/after shots of the Backyard Jungle, duly tamed with the help of my old friend Ms. Spyder.
To forestall any questions on the matter - we left the hardiest, best-established "volunteer" tomatoes, kept the butterfly weed and the zinnias, and planted three different kinds of peppers, a Roma tomato (just so we know what ONE of them is), and started some zinnias/squash/etc. which we won't see until fall, but that's okay.
And before you critique my brick work, kindly keep in mind that the bricks were repurposed and/or came from a salvage store, so no, they don't match. I had to get creative with it.
So without further ado ... click the link below to see a bunch of pictures. Or just scroll down, if you've clicked your way directly to this post.
BACKYARD JUNGLE BEFORE:
BACKYARD JUNGLE AFTER:
BACKYARD JUNGLE BEFORE:
BACKYARD JUNGLE AFTER:
We also dug out a crap-ton of mildewing Lambs Ear and excavated the original brick border for some of the beds, thusly:
And likewise we weeded, pruned, and augmented the herb garden. Thanks to Ms. Spyder, I now know what everything is called, yay! It's all been labeled, too.
So as you can see, we were very busy ladies for a few days. GAZE UPON OUR WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND TREMBLE. Tremble especially hard, considering it was over a hundred degrees and/or storming most of the time Ms. Spyder was here.
[:: flexes muscles ::]
[:: brandishes pruning shears ::]
[:: roars ::]
[:: goes inside to hydrate ::]
But lest this post be entirely about the wonders of cat shit, here - let me give you a few good before/after shots of the Backyard Jungle, duly tamed with the help of my old friend Ms. Spyder.
To forestall any questions on the matter - we left the hardiest, best-established "volunteer" tomatoes, kept the butterfly weed and the zinnias, and planted three different kinds of peppers, a Roma tomato (just so we know what ONE of them is), and started some zinnias/squash/etc. which we won't see until fall, but that's okay.
And before you critique my brick work, kindly keep in mind that the bricks were repurposed and/or came from a salvage store, so no, they don't match. I had to get creative with it.
So without further ado ... click the link below to see a bunch of pictures. Or just scroll down, if you've clicked your way directly to this post.
BACKYARD JUNGLE BEFORE:
BACKYARD JUNGLE AFTER:
BACKYARD JUNGLE BEFORE:
BACKYARD JUNGLE AFTER:
We also dug out a crap-ton of mildewing Lambs Ear and excavated the original brick border for some of the beds, thusly:
And likewise we weeded, pruned, and augmented the herb garden. Thanks to Ms. Spyder, I now know what everything is called, yay! It's all been labeled, too.
So as you can see, we were very busy ladies for a few days. GAZE UPON OUR WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND TREMBLE. Tremble especially hard, considering it was over a hundred degrees and/or storming most of the time Ms. Spyder was here.
[:: flexes muscles ::]
[:: brandishes pruning shears ::]
[:: roars ::]
[:: goes inside to hydrate ::]
July 18, 2012
These are the days
Yesterday afternoon the husband was supposed to fly home from a quickie business trip to Seattle. In fact, his plane was diverted due to some pretty spectacular storms - and when all was said and done, we didn't get to bed until nearly 3:00 a.m., at which point the cat began vomiting up mucus like nobody else was doing it right. After that, she seemed okay for a bit, and then a few hours later she was at it again.
I figured a hairball was the culprit, so I dosed her with some Vaseline* and went back to bed, because I was very damn near comatose with exhaustion. Later, when I'd rallied enough brain cells to get out of bed and start the day, she was shaky and sitting around in the "hunker" position which broadcasts "I don't feel good" to anyone who's ever dealt with cats.
So here we are, back in Tennessee without a dedicated vet. Luckily, we'd had a number of recommendations for the (new since last time we lived here) Cat Clinic of Chattanooga - where they were kind enough to work Spainy into the schedule. Of course, by the time we got her there, she was more or less acting like her usual self ... except that she hadn't eaten or used the litter box since yesterday.
The vet was a sweetheart - in fact, she also does the cat-vetting for the Pet Placement Center, from whence we adopted Spainy all those years ago. The verdict: The kitty has worms(?!), picked up from the fleas she acquired as soon as we got here; she was also a bit dehydrated, and may or may not have a blockage ... but if she does, it's probably not very bad and will likely pass and/or be helped along with Vaseline, since that's worked so far. Deworming, claw-trimming, fluids, and anti-nausea meds followed, and now the cat is camped out on my office day-bed, looking a little greasy from the topical stuff and maybe a little stoned, but otherwise okay.
Still, if she'd just take a great big poop or grab a bite to eat, I'd feel a whole lot better.
Anyway. Because it was just that kind of day - I've also been without internet since this morning. Apparently the storms last night took a lightning-bolt parting-shot at our internet (and TV) service provider, and it took them until about 6:00 p.m. to get everything up and running again. Thank God for smart phones, but I'm kind of behind on my emails and whatnot - so if you've expected to hear from me, or if you need a response, my apologies. I'm working through the queue, I swear.
Yes. Well.
Tomorrow my dad and stepmom come to visit for a couple of days, in order to see the new house and generally hang out - since I haven't seen them for over a year, and now they're only a few hours away. I very much hope I don't have to send the husband running back to the doc while they're here, but like I said, the vet doesn't think this is a major problem - though she's scheduled a follow-up phone call tomorrow to make sure - so I'm telling myself that all will be well.
If I seem particularly twitchy about the cat's condition, I have my reasons. Okay, I have one major reason - and if you're on my Twitter or Facebook, then you probably know about it already. But if not, that's okay. I think I'll save the blogging until all is set in stone, lest I somehow jinx things all to hell.
For now, I'm going to go do some laundry and watch a little TV ... since it's back up again, and I can do that.
* Works just as well as Petromalt or any of the flavored "cat lubes," and for some reason, Spain finds it less offensive than the stuff that's actually intended to be used for the explicit purpose of greasing up her insides. So long as you get 100% petroleum jelly - with no fillers, additives, or fragrances - it's perfectly safe, and pretty effective on hairballs.
I figured a hairball was the culprit, so I dosed her with some Vaseline* and went back to bed, because I was very damn near comatose with exhaustion. Later, when I'd rallied enough brain cells to get out of bed and start the day, she was shaky and sitting around in the "hunker" position which broadcasts "I don't feel good" to anyone who's ever dealt with cats.
So here we are, back in Tennessee without a dedicated vet. Luckily, we'd had a number of recommendations for the (new since last time we lived here) Cat Clinic of Chattanooga - where they were kind enough to work Spainy into the schedule. Of course, by the time we got her there, she was more or less acting like her usual self ... except that she hadn't eaten or used the litter box since yesterday.
The vet was a sweetheart - in fact, she also does the cat-vetting for the Pet Placement Center, from whence we adopted Spainy all those years ago. The verdict: The kitty has worms(?!), picked up from the fleas she acquired as soon as we got here; she was also a bit dehydrated, and may or may not have a blockage ... but if she does, it's probably not very bad and will likely pass and/or be helped along with Vaseline, since that's worked so far. Deworming, claw-trimming, fluids, and anti-nausea meds followed, and now the cat is camped out on my office day-bed, looking a little greasy from the topical stuff and maybe a little stoned, but otherwise okay.
Still, if she'd just take a great big poop or grab a bite to eat, I'd feel a whole lot better.
Anyway. Because it was just that kind of day - I've also been without internet since this morning. Apparently the storms last night took a lightning-bolt parting-shot at our internet (and TV) service provider, and it took them until about 6:00 p.m. to get everything up and running again. Thank God for smart phones, but I'm kind of behind on my emails and whatnot - so if you've expected to hear from me, or if you need a response, my apologies. I'm working through the queue, I swear.
Yes. Well.
Tomorrow my dad and stepmom come to visit for a couple of days, in order to see the new house and generally hang out - since I haven't seen them for over a year, and now they're only a few hours away. I very much hope I don't have to send the husband running back to the doc while they're here, but like I said, the vet doesn't think this is a major problem - though she's scheduled a follow-up phone call tomorrow to make sure - so I'm telling myself that all will be well.
If I seem particularly twitchy about the cat's condition, I have my reasons. Okay, I have one major reason - and if you're on my Twitter or Facebook, then you probably know about it already. But if not, that's okay. I think I'll save the blogging until all is set in stone, lest I somehow jinx things all to hell.
For now, I'm going to go do some laundry and watch a little TV ... since it's back up again, and I can do that.
* Works just as well as Petromalt or any of the flavored "cat lubes," and for some reason, Spain finds it less offensive than the stuff that's actually intended to be used for the explicit purpose of greasing up her insides. So long as you get 100% petroleum jelly - with no fillers, additives, or fragrances - it's perfectly safe, and pretty effective on hairballs.
July 15, 2012
Travis and Heather Forever <3
When my old friend Travis texted to invite me to what was, essentially, his flash mob wedding out on the battlefield - I had two questions: (1). Wait, you mean TODAY?!!, and (2). Wait, which battlefield? The answers were (1). Yes! and (2). Chickamauga, at the visitor's center.
I checked the clock. Me, Spyder, and Denny (the pair of them are crashing over this weekend) had just enough time to change clothes, grab lunch, run and get a card/some congratulatory swag (not at all requested but I am sneaky that way), and drive down to Georgia.
Shortly after we arrived, the park rangers threw us out; but the groom did not get arrested at that time, the bride flipped off the po-po as we peeled out of the parking lot, and we all relocated to a very nice gazebo a few blocks away. Nuptials ensued without further interruption. Viking helmets were deployed. Children were embarrassed by PDA. Tall men hugged. And a good time was had by all.
So congratulations Travis and Heather! Long life, happy years, and lots of love to you both!
July 13, 2012
The lion sleeps tonight
My old friend Ms. Spyder arrived Wednesday night, and shenanigans have ensued. I say "shenanigans" and it's true that there have been tasty cordials and video games; but it's also true that we are going to TOWN on this yard. Or rather, we're getting ready to go to TOWN on this yard. I mean this is some serious, take-no-prisoners lawn-care shit up in here.
Yesterday, whilst we surveyed the premises, I pointed out a ridiculous hole chock full of ground-dwelling stingy-insecty things right in the vicinity of where we needed to get started working. I'd kind of been ignoring it because in the bugs' collective defense, none of them had ever bothered me - and I'm really the "live and let live" sort when it comes to wild things, even though I was stung viciously by wasps as a little kid and still have a general aversion to them.
But Spyder made me do the right thing - that is, get the pest control guys to come out and Deal With It. I called Terminix because our house is under a contract with them (re: termites, as established by the previous owners) ... and they were great. Gave us a discount, sent somebody out same-day, and took care of the problem for a reasonable price.
Come to find out, we had yellow-jackets. They'd dug into an embankment on our (rather steep) back yard, and given a few more weeks unattended, their enormous, well established burrow would've probably collapsed into a large hole come the next big rainstorm. So it's just as well that we got that sorted out sooner rather than later.
Yesterday also saw the arrival and establishment of The Fence Guys. See, there were some nasty storms here in April of 2011 - and these storms took down part of the fence that should've gone all the way around our yard; and part of the yard was somewhat inexplicably unfenced altogether, which meant we just had "some fencing," rather than "a fence." Our recent, cautious interest in possibly adopting a dog brought this particular home improvement project to the forefront - and so we made arrangements. The Fence Guys set all the posts and everything before leaving yesterday, and they were here first thing this morning doing the rest of the work.
[:: peeks out the window ::] I expect they'll probably be finished within the hour, and therefore huzzah, with or without a dog we shall look More Like Civilized Adults.
Speaking of the dog ... we're still a bit up-in-the-air on that matter. We have our reasons for being overly careful, and we can't even consider bringing anybody home until after the 21st anyway (due to some timing issues re: guests and other obligations). So if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. We'll see about trying again later. If it does work out, you may anticipate pictures and squees. But all of this remains to be seen.
Anyway.
The other big thing that happened yesterday was that Spyder and I went trawling through nurseries and home improvement stores and bought what could best be described as An Epic Fuckton of stuff, with the intention of repairing/ restoring/ rebooting our landscaping.
The bones of the landscaping itself are actually pretty nice - with a good assortment of plants and the like - but the situation has gotten utterly out of hand, and we're having some erosion/ mildew/ overgrowth issues. Never mind the hilariously overgrown vegetable garden that has turned into an epic jungle of volunteer tomatoes and unidentifiable thigh-high weeds.
And really? Thank God for Spyder. I have no earthly idea what I'm doing, but she's taken charge - and Shit Is Getting Done, you guys. We went to a salvage place and picked up bricks to repair retaining fixtures and manage landscaping; we went to Lowe's and nabbed fat sacks of cedar mulch; we bought shovels and cultivators and loppers and all kinds of amazing things; we've charged batteries for power lawn tools; and today ... today we slather ourselves with sunscreen and bug spray and we get started. Just as soon as The Fence Guys wrap it up out there.
Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to run off to take some "before" pictures before I completely forget ...
Yesterday, whilst we surveyed the premises, I pointed out a ridiculous hole chock full of ground-dwelling stingy-insecty things right in the vicinity of where we needed to get started working. I'd kind of been ignoring it because in the bugs' collective defense, none of them had ever bothered me - and I'm really the "live and let live" sort when it comes to wild things, even though I was stung viciously by wasps as a little kid and still have a general aversion to them.
But Spyder made me do the right thing - that is, get the pest control guys to come out and Deal With It. I called Terminix because our house is under a contract with them (re: termites, as established by the previous owners) ... and they were great. Gave us a discount, sent somebody out same-day, and took care of the problem for a reasonable price.
Come to find out, we had yellow-jackets. They'd dug into an embankment on our (rather steep) back yard, and given a few more weeks unattended, their enormous, well established burrow would've probably collapsed into a large hole come the next big rainstorm. So it's just as well that we got that sorted out sooner rather than later.
Yesterday also saw the arrival and establishment of The Fence Guys. See, there were some nasty storms here in April of 2011 - and these storms took down part of the fence that should've gone all the way around our yard; and part of the yard was somewhat inexplicably unfenced altogether, which meant we just had "some fencing," rather than "a fence." Our recent, cautious interest in possibly adopting a dog brought this particular home improvement project to the forefront - and so we made arrangements. The Fence Guys set all the posts and everything before leaving yesterday, and they were here first thing this morning doing the rest of the work.
[:: peeks out the window ::] I expect they'll probably be finished within the hour, and therefore huzzah, with or without a dog we shall look More Like Civilized Adults.
Speaking of the dog ... we're still a bit up-in-the-air on that matter. We have our reasons for being overly careful, and we can't even consider bringing anybody home until after the 21st anyway (due to some timing issues re: guests and other obligations). So if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. We'll see about trying again later. If it does work out, you may anticipate pictures and squees. But all of this remains to be seen.
Anyway.
The other big thing that happened yesterday was that Spyder and I went trawling through nurseries and home improvement stores and bought what could best be described as An Epic Fuckton of stuff, with the intention of repairing/ restoring/ rebooting our landscaping.
The bones of the landscaping itself are actually pretty nice - with a good assortment of plants and the like - but the situation has gotten utterly out of hand, and we're having some erosion/ mildew/ overgrowth issues. Never mind the hilariously overgrown vegetable garden that has turned into an epic jungle of volunteer tomatoes and unidentifiable thigh-high weeds.
And really? Thank God for Spyder. I have no earthly idea what I'm doing, but she's taken charge - and Shit Is Getting Done, you guys. We went to a salvage place and picked up bricks to repair retaining fixtures and manage landscaping; we went to Lowe's and nabbed fat sacks of cedar mulch; we bought shovels and cultivators and loppers and all kinds of amazing things; we've charged batteries for power lawn tools; and today ... today we slather ourselves with sunscreen and bug spray and we get started. Just as soon as The Fence Guys wrap it up out there.
Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to run off to take some "before" pictures before I completely forget ...
July 9, 2012
Gimme wild, wild life
I really have been writing, you guys - I just haven't been posting the word counts here. That having been said, the word counts wouldn't exactly blow your mind or anything; I've been busy, and the next two weeks are about to get even busier - with two rounds of out-of-town guests crashing for a few days at a time. And oh yes, we're thinking about adopting a dog. But I'll get back to that.
Let's see. It's been a few days since my last update. Where to begin?
Oh - how about this: On Saturday, it was announced that I'll be next year's author guest of honor at InConjunction, in Indianapolis. And yes, I know I've been talking a lot of talk about how I'm going to travel a lot less, going forward, but I would like to point out that THIS YEAR I have only broken my Travel Rules* A LITTLE BIT and mostly it was due to buying a house and moving. So far, next year is shaping up largely within guidelines, too. Except for May. Possibly. But those two events are ALMOST a month apart. And one is still tentative. So we'll see.
In other writing-type news, approximately one billion people sent me the Japanese cover of Boneshaker. It's equal parts awesome, confusing, and hilarious. I have no idea what Briar is wearing/doing/thinking in that image, but the art is great and hey, it definitely caught my attention.
Later, another billion people (with some degree of overlap, I guess, probably) sent me this relevant article in the Times-Free Press. Several kind readers asked me if I knew I was quoted in it, and I mean, sure I knew. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with the reporter. I would've been a little insulted if I hadn't been quoted.
[Of course, now that I've been so cavalier about it, one of these days someone will make up a bunch of ridiculous shit, attribute it to me, disseminate it on the internet ... and no one will tell me.]
Hm. What else has happened in the last few days?
Ah, yes - I went and got my hair did, as the kids are saying these days; just a color touch-up at the Hair Lounge on West Main. Great little shop - and I was very happy with the color job this trip. (On my first visit I was less impressed; the cut was very good, but the stylist - who is no longer with them - used a feeble semi-permanent color that didn't cover my roots, and vanished after a couple of weeks. This time, I was sent to someone who better knew what she was doing.) I'm gradually steering away from the dark ashy brown shade of the blue/green cover-job ... to something a little lighter and brighter, now that most of the old stuff has grown out. My present shade is a rich coppery brown, and I'm really digging it.
I know, I know. Now you can all sleep at night, knowing that my 'do has been refreshed by a qualified professional.
Anyway.
The other night, we saw on the news that the animal shelter from whence we adopted Spain the Cat (lo these many years ago) was in some trouble; their power had gone out in a storm, and it'd been off for days. We've had 3-digit temperatures here for the last couple of weeks, and although the shelter had a generator to run some fans, the place was low on things like "clean bedding" due to their inability to do laundry. So the husband and I thought we'd drive out there to see if we could lend a hand.
Naturally, the power had come back on right before we arrived - and the situation was more or less under control. Not that I'm complaining, mind you; I'm glad their power came back on, but I didn't get to be a LAUNDRY SUPER-STAR HERO for all the cats and dogs, so oh well. Instead, we took their "essential stuff we need" list and went shopping because hey, this is the shelter that accepted our cat as a stray, then took her back again twice before she came home with us.
(I don't know what the hell was wrong with whoever those other adopters were, but we have been richly rewarded for their dumbassery, because this is one amazing cat. Their loss, I say.)
Then - just as we were leaving - we spied a row of "quarantined dogs" who'd recently arrived, looking sad like only shelter dogs can. Each one was in an individual pen in the shade, with a plastic kiddie pool full of water, food bowls, some toys, and plenty of comfy bedding. So we went over to scratch some ears and rub some tummies, and there ... well, there, we kind of fell in love with a dog.
We are not yet sure if it's a good idea to bring this dog home with us.
There are many factors to consider, despite the fact that the husband and I have been talking about getting a dog pretty much ever since we decided to buy this house - but we aren't sure we're ready, that's all. For that matter, we're not sure if Spain the Cat is ready.** But we're negotiating the possibility of a foster-style visit or two, and if the dog is still available for adoption in another couple of weeks ... we'll need to have a very serious conversation about bringing him into the household on a permanent basis.
I say "a couple of weeks" for a couple of reasons. One, it gives us more time to evaluate our readiness. And two, see above re: the aforementioned sets of out-of-town guests who are crashing with us over the next couple of weeks. I wouldn't want to introduce a young dog to a household that's not experiencing its usual routine.
So... I don't know. But I'll let you know how it shakes out.
As a semi-related aside, did you know that some people get drunk to do this? I had absolutely no idea.
I suppose this brings us up to yesterday afternoon/evening, which we spent with two fabulous friends who we hadn't seen in entirely too long: Mike and Janet Lee, who stopped by on their way from Atlanta to Nashville. I'm so glad they swung by to hang out! We did supper and drinks and a whole lot of sitting around on the couch, laughing our assess off.
Seriously - I love those guys, though they weren't much help in the "weighing the pros and cons of getting a dog" department, because they were all, "YAY, DOGS! We now shall regale you with stories of our awesome dog, and soon you will be ONE OF US!"
After they were gone, I sat up too late and then woke up before dawn, utterly unable to sleep. So now I'm wiped out - to such an extent that I frankly cannot believe I have stayed awake long enough to compose this entire post. But, well, here it is.
And now I'm going to log off, because a little flash thunderstorm is making the power flicker. Have a good one, you guys. Spay and neuter your pets. Don't buy when you can adopt.
* Travel rule #1: No more than one out-of-state trip per month. Travel rule #1, sub-section B: No more work events two weekends in a row, whether in-state or not. I am too old for this shit.
** She loathes other cats, but generally gets along quite well with dogs. Still, getting along with visiting dogs and getting along with a "new little brother" (who outweighs her by thirty pounds) might be a different thing entirely.
Let's see. It's been a few days since my last update. Where to begin?
Oh - how about this: On Saturday, it was announced that I'll be next year's author guest of honor at InConjunction, in Indianapolis. And yes, I know I've been talking a lot of talk about how I'm going to travel a lot less, going forward, but I would like to point out that THIS YEAR I have only broken my Travel Rules* A LITTLE BIT and mostly it was due to buying a house and moving. So far, next year is shaping up largely within guidelines, too. Except for May. Possibly. But those two events are ALMOST a month apart. And one is still tentative. So we'll see.
In other writing-type news, approximately one billion people sent me the Japanese cover of Boneshaker. It's equal parts awesome, confusing, and hilarious. I have no idea what Briar is wearing/doing/thinking in that image, but the art is great and hey, it definitely caught my attention.
Later, another billion people (with some degree of overlap, I guess, probably) sent me this relevant article in the Times-Free Press. Several kind readers asked me if I knew I was quoted in it, and I mean, sure I knew. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with the reporter. I would've been a little insulted if I hadn't been quoted.
[Of course, now that I've been so cavalier about it, one of these days someone will make up a bunch of ridiculous shit, attribute it to me, disseminate it on the internet ... and no one will tell me.]
Hm. What else has happened in the last few days?
Ah, yes - I went and got my hair did, as the kids are saying these days; just a color touch-up at the Hair Lounge on West Main. Great little shop - and I was very happy with the color job this trip. (On my first visit I was less impressed; the cut was very good, but the stylist - who is no longer with them - used a feeble semi-permanent color that didn't cover my roots, and vanished after a couple of weeks. This time, I was sent to someone who better knew what she was doing.) I'm gradually steering away from the dark ashy brown shade of the blue/green cover-job ... to something a little lighter and brighter, now that most of the old stuff has grown out. My present shade is a rich coppery brown, and I'm really digging it.
I know, I know. Now you can all sleep at night, knowing that my 'do has been refreshed by a qualified professional.
Anyway.
The other night, we saw on the news that the animal shelter from whence we adopted Spain the Cat (lo these many years ago) was in some trouble; their power had gone out in a storm, and it'd been off for days. We've had 3-digit temperatures here for the last couple of weeks, and although the shelter had a generator to run some fans, the place was low on things like "clean bedding" due to their inability to do laundry. So the husband and I thought we'd drive out there to see if we could lend a hand.
Naturally, the power had come back on right before we arrived - and the situation was more or less under control. Not that I'm complaining, mind you; I'm glad their power came back on, but I didn't get to be a LAUNDRY SUPER-STAR HERO for all the cats and dogs, so oh well. Instead, we took their "essential stuff we need" list and went shopping because hey, this is the shelter that accepted our cat as a stray, then took her back again twice before she came home with us.
(I don't know what the hell was wrong with whoever those other adopters were, but we have been richly rewarded for their dumbassery, because this is one amazing cat. Their loss, I say.)
Then - just as we were leaving - we spied a row of "quarantined dogs" who'd recently arrived, looking sad like only shelter dogs can. Each one was in an individual pen in the shade, with a plastic kiddie pool full of water, food bowls, some toys, and plenty of comfy bedding. So we went over to scratch some ears and rub some tummies, and there ... well, there, we kind of fell in love with a dog.
We are not yet sure if it's a good idea to bring this dog home with us.
There are many factors to consider, despite the fact that the husband and I have been talking about getting a dog pretty much ever since we decided to buy this house - but we aren't sure we're ready, that's all. For that matter, we're not sure if Spain the Cat is ready.** But we're negotiating the possibility of a foster-style visit or two, and if the dog is still available for adoption in another couple of weeks ... we'll need to have a very serious conversation about bringing him into the household on a permanent basis.
I say "a couple of weeks" for a couple of reasons. One, it gives us more time to evaluate our readiness. And two, see above re: the aforementioned sets of out-of-town guests who are crashing with us over the next couple of weeks. I wouldn't want to introduce a young dog to a household that's not experiencing its usual routine.
So... I don't know. But I'll let you know how it shakes out.
As a semi-related aside, did you know that some people get drunk to do this? I had absolutely no idea.
I suppose this brings us up to yesterday afternoon/evening, which we spent with two fabulous friends who we hadn't seen in entirely too long: Mike and Janet Lee, who stopped by on their way from Atlanta to Nashville. I'm so glad they swung by to hang out! We did supper and drinks and a whole lot of sitting around on the couch, laughing our assess off.
Seriously - I love those guys, though they weren't much help in the "weighing the pros and cons of getting a dog" department, because they were all, "YAY, DOGS! We now shall regale you with stories of our awesome dog, and soon you will be ONE OF US!"
After they were gone, I sat up too late and then woke up before dawn, utterly unable to sleep. So now I'm wiped out - to such an extent that I frankly cannot believe I have stayed awake long enough to compose this entire post. But, well, here it is.
And now I'm going to log off, because a little flash thunderstorm is making the power flicker. Have a good one, you guys. Spay and neuter your pets. Don't buy when you can adopt.
* Travel rule #1: No more than one out-of-state trip per month. Travel rule #1, sub-section B: No more work events two weekends in a row, whether in-state or not. I am too old for this shit.
** She loathes other cats, but generally gets along quite well with dogs. Still, getting along with visiting dogs and getting along with a "new little brother" (who outweighs her by thirty pounds) might be a different thing entirely.
July 4, 2012
I've been waiting for her for so long
Today I looked out into the back yard and saw sad-looking hedges, wilting roses, sagging black-eyed-susans, drooping lilies, and an herb garden that was going positively crispy. No great mystery there; it hadn't rained in ages, so I thought I'd tempt fate and run the sprinkler for awhile.
The birds loved it. They bounced around the yard, taking showers and splashing one another like just the cutest little things I swear to God. Seriously, you guys. Cutest. Birds. EVER.
But anyway, you can guess what happened: The sprinkler hadn't been running for ten minutes when the sky clouded up and the bottom dropped out.
In other news, I AM A WIZARD and DON'T YOU FORGET IT.
But never mind the weather. I bet you're asking yourself, "Self, why hasn't Cherie posted any word metrics in like, a week? Or two?" And the answer is simple: Because I haven't written anything.
The reasons for this are twofold. One, I've been in and out of town a lot. This is very disruptive to a writing routine. And two, the pass proofs for The Inexplicables landed in my lap shortly before I left for Detroit - and this became my #1 writer-business priority, as I only had until the 9th to speak up and list my changes, or forever hold my peace.
[Aside: Pass proofs happen when your book has been typeset, at which point you are presented with a PDF (generally) of the "final" product, appearing almost exactly as it will look when it becomes a Real Book in a few months. This is basically the last chance you get to make any changes before things are set in stone - and the changes had damned well better be pretty minor at this point, lest it cost the publisher oodles of money to have everything rejiggered behind your fine-tuning.]
[Aside the second: I say "set in stone," but really, every time you think you're finished with edits, you're wrong. There's always another round of edits. And even once the book is actually out on the shelves you can always keep your eyes open for any tidying up which can take place in the next edition. I always, always, always discover at least one or two errors after the book goes to press ... usually while I'm giving a reading, and therefore I must physically restrain myself from doing a face-palm right there in front of God and everybody.]
So in between the travel I've been giving The Inexplicables one last major go-over, and it's eaten my brain. That's why there hasn't been any new writing.
But that's about to change! Because yes - today I emailed my list of changes back to the Mighty and Powerful Liz! In case you were wondering what I was doing for the Fourth of July, I mean. Now tonight I can drag out my notes and get all geared up to dive back into writing tomorrow, so watch this space for more Actual Writer Progress in the weeks to come.
I hope.
The birds loved it. They bounced around the yard, taking showers and splashing one another like just the cutest little things I swear to God. Seriously, you guys. Cutest. Birds. EVER.
But anyway, you can guess what happened: The sprinkler hadn't been running for ten minutes when the sky clouded up and the bottom dropped out. In other news, I AM A WIZARD and DON'T YOU FORGET IT.
But never mind the weather. I bet you're asking yourself, "Self, why hasn't Cherie posted any word metrics in like, a week? Or two?" And the answer is simple: Because I haven't written anything.
The reasons for this are twofold. One, I've been in and out of town a lot. This is very disruptive to a writing routine. And two, the pass proofs for The Inexplicables landed in my lap shortly before I left for Detroit - and this became my #1 writer-business priority, as I only had until the 9th to speak up and list my changes, or forever hold my peace.
[Aside: Pass proofs happen when your book has been typeset, at which point you are presented with a PDF (generally) of the "final" product, appearing almost exactly as it will look when it becomes a Real Book in a few months. This is basically the last chance you get to make any changes before things are set in stone - and the changes had damned well better be pretty minor at this point, lest it cost the publisher oodles of money to have everything rejiggered behind your fine-tuning.]
[Aside the second: I say "set in stone," but really, every time you think you're finished with edits, you're wrong. There's always another round of edits. And even once the book is actually out on the shelves you can always keep your eyes open for any tidying up which can take place in the next edition. I always, always, always discover at least one or two errors after the book goes to press ... usually while I'm giving a reading, and therefore I must physically restrain myself from doing a face-palm right there in front of God and everybody.]
So in between the travel I've been giving The Inexplicables one last major go-over, and it's eaten my brain. That's why there hasn't been any new writing.
But that's about to change! Because yes - today I emailed my list of changes back to the Mighty and Powerful Liz! In case you were wondering what I was doing for the Fourth of July, I mean. Now tonight I can drag out my notes and get all geared up to dive back into writing tomorrow, so watch this space for more Actual Writer Progress in the weeks to come.
I hope.
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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