Sue Perry's Blog: Required Writing, page 41

An Ode to Earthworms

It rained last night, hard enough to wash earthworms into the streets. I used to try to relocate them back to the dirt but nowadays I just wish them luck or farewell. (Turns out to be crazy hard to pluck them from asphalt without hurting them.)

Earthworms have always intrigued me, from the days I used to dig to China in my backyard and they would slip away from the edges of my hole.  They move like a sound wave or certain earthquake waves, by contraction and expansion. They can live for a decade! I just learned from Wikipedia that they include a few, wide-ranging species which are called cosmopolitan earthworms.

And of course, if you are a gardener, they are your special allies. When they move through the soil, they make it looser – they are better aerators than any device. As a bonus, their excretions are a terrific fertilizer. I know somebody who enslaves earthworms to gather their pee and pour it at the feet of her flowers. The flowers do indeed thrive. Maybe it isn’t a horrible life for the worms. They live in a black plastic tub, but she is always feeding them treats like watermelon she buys especially for them. Still, I keep hoping for the right windstorm that will tip the tub and free the worms.

The Resurrection of C.R.I.M.E. Science

Cover art by Lars Huston.

So. I’m a writer who didn’t write for a couple of decades. Life is short and I’ve squandered a lot of it. But let’s just say I went in other directions. I tried other things. Certainly the hiatus was worthwhile. I became the mother of twins and completed graduate school in earthquake science. Bu the reality is that I fashioned a life where writing fiction became well nigh impossible, and for a long time I didn’t even try. At the beginning of that long hiatus – before I admitted defeat and succumbed to all the non-writing demands of my existence – I wrote a novella, envisioned as the first book in a detective series. I wrote it, and I shelved it, and I mostly forgot about it. Rhetorical Q: What kind of writer doesn’t even try to get a book published and/or read?

The thing is that I really liked the characters and they kept poking me for attention. So, now that I have resumed writing, I have also unshelved the first book in the series C.R.I.M.E. Science, about a misfit group of scientists and techno whizzes who solve crimes and right wrongs. As of today, it is available on Smashwords in every common ebook format.  Coming soon to additional venues.

Fear of Blogging, part V

My blog. I’ve been at it well over a month now. In addition to posts I’ve actually posted, I’ve got posts I’ve thought about posting, as well as posts in progress. The distinctions are fuzzing up and I realize it’s inevitable. At some point I’ll inadvertently repeat myself. I don’t want to do that but don’t see how to avoid it. Maybe I could convince my kids to read each post before I publish it. They’re so good at detecting my repetitions.  We know, Mom. (Is eye-rolling allowed in the blogosphere?)

How to Shop Kobo and Support an Independent Bookstore

I am lucky enough to live near Once Upon a Time bookstore in Montrose, California. It is a small space crammed with a very large number of treasures and surprises – and a dangerous room to enter if you are in a hurry. For me, time stops at the threshold. More than one book on my Best-Books-Ever list came into my life during some meandering browse of Once Upon a Time shelves.

No wonder this bookstore has held on during so many economic roller coasters and is now the oldest independent children’s bookstore in the nation. Certainly the children’s book collection there is wondrous, but so are the other collections. In addition, the store provides the heart and hub for numerous book-loving groups and communities.

Needless to say, the e-book revolution has affected Once Upon A Time bookstore. Wisely, through its website, the store now sells Kobo-formatted books – and if we buy Kobo books by starting at this link, Once Upon A Time gets a cut of the sale.  Kobo folks, please bookmark the link and do your shopping from it henceforth!

P.S. BTW and FYI, my novel Scar Jewelry is available from Kobo (as well as other venues).

My Epitaph Collection (vol. 14)

An epitaph for Boink:

Peace, love, and asparagus.

 

 

R.I.P. Boink

Is there a cat who is not partial to ridiculous nap sites?

Tomorrow morning I take our nearly 17 yo cat to the vet to be euthanized. Her kidney disease has advanced that far.

She has been part of our lives for most of my kids’ existence and every memory of her lights up some corner of their childhood for me. My son and daughter were 3 when they got to choose kittens. Actually, this cat chose us, and from the moment we entered the big common room shared by all cats at that shelter, she pestered my son until he selected her. He named her Cock Boink Doc but we convinced him to just use her middle name.

It took more than a decade for the scar on my daughter’s cheek to fade. Boink ran across her face one night while she slept. What a wild kitten that was.

She chose us then shunned us. It was years before anyone got to pet her for more than a swipe or two. The kids would get so frustrated with her lack of affection. Then out of the blue she would hook a claw into their clothes as they passed by, to get them to stop and attend to her.

Eventually she transformed into a relentless lap cat – and has remained patient with these clueless humans, too. Remove her from your lap 100 times, she climbs into your lap 101 times. No resentment. Clearly we simply do not understand.  She is in my lap as I write this, but tonight I had to place her there; she lacked the energy to move on her own.

In her day she was lightning fast. We’re grateful she had little interest in hunting, but we did once enjoy having a landlord thank my son profusely “for having such a smart cat”, because she had caught the gopher who was  destroying his lawn.

Boink (back) and Luna (front).

She had a peaceable nature and no ego problems. She never fought although she would stand up to a bully when pressed. Mostly she was indifferent to other cats. She accepted the rabbits, she made friends with the large nervous dog. When she was 7, we got a kitten, Luna, that she has groomed ever since, even though Luna is now 10 and twice her size. The last couple weeks, she hasn’t groomed Luna.

Our vet warned me that it wouldn’t be simple – she isn’t going to die in her sleep from this disease. I have to decide when she is no longer enjoying life.  Certainly, she hasn’t eaten much of anything for ages. But she still has interest in her favorites: asparagus and feta cheese. Every day this week we’ve been staring at her. Sure she looks awful, but does she look worse? Until today, when one answered yes, another answered no. But this evening there is no denying it. She is worse. It is time.

Goodbye dear friend and family member. We will miss you and all the days we shared.

I am the mother of a grown-up. I am the …

… mother of a grown-up. I am the mother of a grown-up.

This is a reminder I will need to keep making to myself over the next several days (and – okay –  years).  My son, 19, has gone on his first long-distance road trip with two friends. They are driving across several states to enjoy snowboarding in Utah.

I had some initial knee-jerk reactions about icy roads and chains but after that I did a pretty good job keeping my mouth shut and my advice to myself as their plans evolved. I confess that at the last minute I did throw a weather map up on a monitor.

My son is smart and quick-witted and has at least an average level of common sense for a 19 yo male. But even if none of that were true, my influence is so very limited nowadays. And that is as it should be. We are in an extended period of his learning to fend for himself and my learning to let him.

Sometimes I am startled by just how wise and insightful he has become. Other times I am taken aback by how deeply green and innocent his perspectives are, for all the superficial street smarts. So far I have had mixed success in keeping my opinions and advice to myself. But I think I am improving.

Interestingly, his twin sister asks me for a lot more advice now than she did a few years ago. The opposite holds true with my son.

For me the most rewarding part of being a parent is getting to know the people they are becoming. I used to live in terror that they would grow up to relegate our relationship to occasional obligation, as I did with my mother; but so far that doesn’t seem to be where we are headed.

Unknown and Unread…?

In 1967 Delacort published a novel by Patricia Cooper called In Deep. Ever heard of it? Probably not. I read it waybackwhen, remembered liking it, now I’m re-reading.  It. Is. So. Good.  My Dell paperback reprint wants to portray it as a sex romp through swinging Manhattan. Actually it is an edgy and suspenseful family drama, full of wit, insight, and memorable turns of phrase. As far as I can tell, this is Cooper’s only novel. She may have written a couple other, non-fiction books. (She doesn’t have much of an on-line footprint  and there may be more than one author with her name.)

Wonder why she stopped writing fiction. Hope it was because she was done, not thwarted or demoralized. It can be hard to distinguish between done  and done in. I hope she didn’t give up.

As I write about her, I think about me, and I hope I don’t give up. Twenty years between novels makes me a first time novelist twice over. And the publishing world of the early ’90s was so different that memories of it can be liabilities today. But I’m not done. So I’ve decided to believe that Cooper pulled a Harper Lee and stopped because she had said what she wanted to say.

Now I had better sign off to go get some writing done.

No Point Reading This One

I am claiming my blog in Technorati and this is the post where I put the claim code.

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Albert Camus, Your Listing Agent

A recent bulk mailing from a local realtor provided a gorgeous picture of a stream bank in autumn and a lovely quote from, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” The quote is by … Albert Camus.

I’m not in the real estate market but the placard leaves me with many questions.

Who is this realtor? Did he just grab a nature quote at random or was he a philosophy major who now needs to make a living?

What would the famous existentialist think of this? Is he doing a grave roll? Or would he see no difference between a quote to sell real estate and a book to sell course units at a university?

Let me know if you have any answers.