C.J. Cherryh's Blog, page 150

We spent today writing and gardening—gardening, as in…

…trying to seal the moon gate against weathering—trying to replace the two canopy struts from Jane's swing that were bent when windstorms threw the swing over: the gate job is only half done: I'm sensitive to the weatherproofing, and I've bought a spray can of stuff that doesn't require such lingering contact. The struts are in place, painted, and ready for the canopy. Jane planted stuff. It hit 70 for the first time this year, and green algae is now growing in the pond. Glug.

Eushu is going 90 per, and has richly deserved getting swatted by Ysabel, but she's been very forgiving.

And after a couple of days of very injudicious eating, we are back on the diet, and hoping to feel better: I swear I am done with potatoes for the rest of my life. I ate one potato and I am so incredibly sore I can't move. I wonder how many people of European descent who complain of arthritis could help themselves considerably by swearing off potatoes and tomatoes.

They're doing some maintenance at the rink, so it's been really chancy ice, not worth the bother of kitting up, so we skipped ice on Monday to get the plants planted. We're beginning to see the front yard taking shape, as in, we now have an idea where things will be put…sort of.

The fish are about ready to switch from wheat-germ food to regular fish food, as the water warms. The water lilies are starting up with new leaves. Our fruit trees are leafing without blooming, the weather has been so weird—I think the flower buds were frozen off.

But I think we are now officially in spring.

 

not doing as well as we seem…

Generally fine. Then again we get to thinking about Efanor and there we go, totally wiped for an hour. We're real lucky to have Eushu or we'd be real cases, right now. I'm still not focusing on things as well as I should. Neither's Jane.

So. Let's talk about kittens. Deep breath. Refocus. Only happy thoughts. Don't post sad things.

And at the moment, here comes Eushu at high speed, mewing his head off, into my room and out again at warp speed. He's lost track of Jane for 3 seconds. I have to laugh.

The computer bug has struck my 'desk'…

Last night, for no good reason, my laptop (only computer) power connection died. Fortunately I always have 2 of these, so I'm still working, but I had to order another.  Just—died. I think Dell makes most of its money on these units. It's how they get revenge for my annual keyboard replacement on my service policy. (I ruin keyboards. I wear them out.)

The power units are always the thorn in the side of a laptop user. They're always a weak spot. The batteries are pretty good these days, since the famous Toshi/Dell burning batteries incidents…but the power supply sucks pondwater.

 

Kitteh wars have largely subsided…

Ysabel watches him play for entertainment value, does resent it vocally when he rams her like a runaway barrel or insists on going into my room, which is HER territory, and pursue her there. But she's beyond pulling her punches, she's 'correcting' him a tap when he becomes obnoxious. Which is often.

I'm cooking chicken: a lot of chicken, about 40 pieces, in the George Foreman grill. They'll go into two bags, one to freeze, one to use, and they're diced up to use for stirfry and Thai chicken, enchiladas, and whatever. I'm being climbed on—the Demon Kitten, aka the Demon King, remember the David Bowie role? He wants to be Near someone. I'm elected, because I've got his other obsession, Ysabel. And I smell like, yes, chicken.

Now he's gnawing on my bare ankle. He's just finishing his first teething round: yesterday he was truly unbearable, wanting to chew on your fingers, ankles, anything. Today it's better.

I decided to bake what I think of as an imari bread, a little bit of every flour in the kitchen. It will probably end up a brick.

Ah, now Demon Kitten has gotten on the bed. He lay down for 2o seconds near Ysabel, and is now back over here crawling on the keyboard.

Then the chicken-beeper went off. I went to answer it, put on new chicken, came back and he'd taken possession of my chair.

I gathered him up and took him to Jane.

Jane: "But what did he do?"

Me: "Everything."

Newsflash: He's baaaaaack. Climbing on my leg.

 

 

 

Finished Chernevog

…and it's 20,000 words longer than it used to be. I can't figure where that happened—but hey, maybe it's a difference in word-counters. Or maybe the revisions are that thorough. The old tag at the top said 100,000 words. The new count is 120,000.

Now I just have to get it into pdf, then another conversion to html, then do a cover, then assemble it and convert to .prc, then get it assembled in Calibre, for .epub and some 9 other formats. While straightening out all the weird artifacts that happen at each conversion.

I'll do that during the hours that most people spend going out, living life, etc. Meanwhile I now have to make up lost time on the new Foreigner book, the state tax people have e-mailed me with a problem of some undefined sort, corporate taxes are due, a bookstore wants me to sign their stock, which they are mailing to me, the rink is down for repairs, the fish tank needs attention, I have to bake bread or we have no breakfast tomorrow, I have to write the next scene in Seeking North, and the Anderson anthology wants a little afterword for my short story and the Lawyers in Hell thing has no end of questions which I think I'm just going to leave to their ingenuity—I'm up to my ears. I'd just like to go back to bed and lie still a while, but that's not happening.

And Jane's computer has just blown up with all the artwork for CC, all her manuscripts, conversions, etc, so she is backing up, hoping the backup works, and out taking vengeance on dandelions trying to establish in our rock garden while I babysit the Demon Kitten and try to assure he doesn't pounce on Ysabel's tail.

Those dandelions, are, believe me, toast.

 

 

I'm working on Chernevog.

The disturbance in losing Efanor was so profound and the emotional jolt so hard that I couldn't go on working as I was, but I will get back to it. In the meanwhile I had to keep working—when you work for yourself, you just have to keep on going, because the alternative is no-funds and no-food. So I hauled out the Chernevog project and got through one bad week with the resurrection of a book which itself represented some very devastating times.

I gave Rusalka a new copyright because of some revisions, but the one I knew most needed it was Chernevog: that one encompassed parental illnesses and some very, very hard times for me. My concentration had gone to blazes, and even an outline wasn't helping me.

It's been long enough now that I can get into that file and not recollect all that was going on in my life just then. Which is a good thing. I'm both appalled by the condition of what's there, and amazed by the clarity of what I intended to do: that's one darned good story buried in that confusion.

Well, to put it plainly, I'm rewriting it—not the good stuff; but I'm making it work the way it should have worked. What was wrong with Faery I can say was not my fault. This one was. But I'm fixing it. It's going to be soooo much better. Those of you who were charitable enough to see the story past the problems, thank you: but I think you'll enjoy this one when I get it done!

 

There are more kitten pix.

Nuff said. Go and enjoy.

Ysabel is beginning to be happy again. She still isn't accepting the kitten near her, but she's got her smile and her purr back, and she's relaxed as she can be.

 

Jane has a happy post on her site…

We have something to show all of you. Jane's blog.

Voyager is exiting our solar system…entering interstellar space…and still working.

It's still making new discoveries. Interstellar space isn't acting the way we thought.

And it's recorded zero solar wind. That may be an 'artifact' of a maneuver.

Its position is no artifact: it's out there.

 

We lost Efanor today.

Beautiful, beautiful kitty.  He's asleep beside the koi pond, near the waterfall and pond he used to watch for hours. His passing was peaceful, without fear or discomfort, and OSG very kindly was there for us.

He was born in Oklahoma, traveled the Great Move to Spokane, via a near calamity in Nebraska, and several apartments. He was very happy when we got a house where doors didn't mysteriously bang and thump and unknown people walk up and down stairs…he loved this house. He traveled over 100,000 miles on the road with us, through getting lost in Utah, and was with us at the Grand Canyon and Meteor Crater and Carlsbad.  He saw the ocean—and did not approve of all that water.

He loved the pond, however, and loved flowers: he sleeps under the limbs of a young Japanese maple and beside a rose bush.

That's what I can tell you.