My Heart Became the Monastery

Wednesday. Cloudy, and cool, but high humidity. The windows are open, because -- cats.

Breakfast was naan and hummus with a side of grapes. Salad for lunch with my pork chop.

Been to the chiropractor, now home; made myself a mug of iced peppermint tea (which is becoming a go-to), ate a pineapple ring (want another one, but so far holding out against tooth decay), and am fixing to place my completed embroidery project into my book, after which I will need to explore my project box to see if I have any more kits.

Stripped the bed, and the sheets are washing.

Made an appointment for a Monday haircut, which is none too soon. Flipping the coin on leaving it "long" or whacking it all off.

To-Do includes washing the bathroom rugs, so I guess while that's happening I'll steam mop the floor and the kitchen floor, too, why not?

This afternoon, I need to read what I wrote yesterday, and maybe write another few new words.

No, the excitement never stops. You can see why so very many people want to embrace the writing life.

How's Wednesday treating everybody?

I finished my project last night at the needlework meeting:

Tuesday, July 8. Rainy and cool.

On this date in 2024, Ellen Richmond kindly gave me a ride to the Tradewinds Market in Clinton, to a meet in the parking lot, where the deal went down, and a black kitten, with wide eyes and a great deal of surprised good humor came home to the Cat Farm. He weighed about 4 pounds on arrival. His name was Rook Thunderpaws.

Today, on the first anniversary of his Gotcha Day, Rookie (as he's called more often than not) weighs a whopping 12.25 pounds, making him the largest cat in the household. The windows have been opened so that he may do a proper inspection, he and Tali have already competed for possession of the spring, and he supervised my taking the trash to the curb from the viewport overlooking the driveway.

I will be updating on festivities a little later, but I woke up knowing where a scene I've had in my head for at least two years goes, and having to do research on: the Tactical Defense Pods; Jen Sin's age; and formal language re Scout issued weapons. I also need to eat breakfast.

Therefore, I'm jumping off the internets for a few hours, to eat breakfast, write my scene, correct my other scene, and do my duty to the cats.

Here's a picture to get you in a celebratory mood:

Saturday. Sunny. Predicted to be much warmer than yesterday, so the windows are, sadly, closed, and we're on station air.

Breakfast was half a blueberry muffin and cottage cheese. Lunch is as yet undecided. I have pork chops that I need to bake, so I could do that at lunchtime, rather than this morning, and freeze two, instead of three. That might actually be the way to go. Turkey burger chili can happen tomorrow, when the 'beans are calling for really hot, and I will definitely be hibernating in the coolth.

Other chores on the day include answering emails, taking the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, swapping out the cat fountains, one's duty to the cats, taking a walk, doing back exercises, and, well, writing.

Since my best writing time is between lunch and coon cat happy hour (and, if I'm honest, after coon cat happy hour til, oh, 10-ish, but I really don't think I'd better go Fully Nocturnal; things are weird enough around here), the Current Plan is to clear chores/appointments in the morning, and after lunch, to write, even if the chores aren't done. There will, after all, always be chores.

Speaking of chores, I Have Viewed How-Tos on YouTube and am confident that I can keep the shower and surrounding bathroom up to spec without killing myself, so *that's* good. God She knows that I have vacuum cleaners. And dust cloths. The only thing that's still a Puzzle are the basement stairs. I think I can handle the cordless vac on the terrain, but there was something amiss with the cordless vac, pre-BaltiCon, which I will have to investigate, now that I'm home.

. . . and John Fogerty has just informed the Listening Audience of Classic Vinyl that "Down on the Corner," was inspired by Winnie the Pooh, whom he imagined busking on a city corner with his band, Winnie and the Pooh Bears. Strange man, John Fogerty.

I do believe that's All The News.

What music are you listening to this morning?

Today's blog post brought to you by War, "Low Rider."

What went before: Did some handwritten work; tomorrow I'll be typing. I still haven't figured out who XX are, but I'm sure they'll tell me bye-n-bye.

Coon Cat Happy Hour has been served up; I've got a couple more things to do, then I'll be pouring a glass of wine.

Everybody have a good evening; stay safe. I 'll see you tomorrow.

Oh. For some reason, this got kicked up by the photo program -- this would be me on my 61st birthday at The Lindsey House B&B in Rockland Maine. FWIW.

#

Thursday. Sunny and warm. Thunderstorms called for, later, with hail.

Breakfast was cream cheese on an English muffin with grapes on the side. I am back from the chiropractor, and thought I was in for the weekend, but! There's a Dumpling Truck at the KMD Food Truck Court today, and -- it just might be that I'll have to go out again in a few. We'll see. I mean; it's not like I don't have food. OTOH -- dumplings.

Today, I do intend to devote most of my time to writing, dumplings or no dumplings. Tomorrow, Saturday, and Sunday will be more of the same. I know what I'm doing first off, so -- all good there.

I spent some time with my Garmin Watch this morning, and to hear it tell the tale, I live a Very Stressful Life. Which I'm supposing is not impossible, Given Everything. It's worth noting that the days when I'm, err, less stressed, are days when I'm writing, so -- I'm going with that.

Tali's fan club will be happy to know that I've finally found a brush that Tali likes; she was purring the whole time, and even turned over for me, so I could brush her belly.

In other news, I'm listening to Faking It by Jennifer Crusie. I'm having an OK time with it, but something about the narration itches at me. Maybe some books just aren't meant to be read aloud? Though Steve read it to me when I was being bathed in the energy of one thousand angry suns every day. OTOH -- I found Steve's voice soothing.

My reading is A Gentleman of Questionable Judgment, the 9th Lord Julian novel, which I had somehow missed, so now catching up.

. . . and, yeah; I'm for dumplings. I was going to have stir-fry chicken and veggies for lunch, anyhow. Dumplings will go great. And it's not like they can't be steamed and heated up for later.

See me convince myself?

So -- who has a long weekend coming up? Plans?

Sometime Later:  The chicken and mushroom dumplings are to die for.

And the lavender honey latte is good, too.

Yeah, I went crazy.

It's summer. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Here's a picture of Tali, post-brushing, and the boys, Judging me:

What went before: Oof.

I wasn't feeling 100 percent when I got up this morning, late but not rested after a very mixed sleep. My knee hurt, my back hurt, my hands hurt, yada, yada, poor writer.

Anyhoots, I thought I'd shake it off, and went, slightly groggy, about my business, including going to the grocery store, and getting gas, and visiting the local pet store. Came home, put everything away, made something -- oh, veggie stir fry -- for lunch, and still felt lousy.

So, I picked up Rookie, who happened to be on my lap, and carried him with me to the bedroom, where we had a lovely and refreshing two hour hap.

I cannot praise Rookie's nursing skills enough. He immediately donned his professional aspect, walked around the top of the bed, laid down on my stomach to make sure I was flat to the mattress, then came 'round and snuggled into the side of my neck, purring until I went to sleep.

I feel less achy, and I've done the dishes and other chores, so the plan is to go to the needlework group, come home, serve up happy hour and my own supper, go to bed early, and see if I can't do some writing tomorrow.

How's Tuesday treating everybody?

#

Wednesday. Cloudy and going to be warm. Feeling much better today.

Breakfast was half an anything bagel with cream cheese and a side of grapes. Drinking my first cup of tea. Lunch will be something to do with chicken breasts.

The only hard thing on the schedule is a visit with the chiropractor in about an hour. Nothing after that until... Monday? And of course Tuesday is the Gala Celebration of Rookie's Gotcha Day.

In theory, therefore, I have four-and-a-half days to write. That sounds promising, even -- exciting. I have a couple scenes, as yet unconnected, that I want to sketch in, and also a continue on the narrative as it stands. This book could be more complicated. OTOH, this is more or less how Salvage Right went together, so the nut hasn't fallen far from the tree.

I've thinking off and on about the conversations I've had recently about colleagues who have resorted to reading genre romance in order to up the romance in their sf/f novel, or! to figure out What Women Want, in terms of a hero -- and why that makes me ... uneasy.

And, I think I've finally figured that out. The problem is that genre romance has its Conventions, as does sf/f. One of those is: The Relationship Drives The Plot. The characters may have other problems, other friends, and, yanno, A Life, but the primary problem that must be solved is how are the lovers going to (1) get together and (2) go forward. You don't, mind, have to SEE them go forward, but it has to be implicit in the HEA that commitment has been achieved and the partners will be going forward together.

A romance writer who is doing her job, therefore, makes certain that the Love Scenes (be they hot or be they sweet) move the characters toward their HEA. They are not only tied to the plot, they are drivers, and there's a reason they unfold as they do.

SF/F has a long-held Convention that states the Big Problem must be solved at all costs: love and life not being exempt. Love scenes still ought to happen For A Reason, as all scenes no matter the genre ought to happen For A Reason, but the romance and the resolution of the relationship are very, very seldom the primary problem, and the relationship is often used to make more poignant the victory. And because the pacing of sf/f novels and romance novels are so VERY different, the inclusion of Love scenes is also different.

(At some point, someone is going to ask me how they're different, and I'm going to tell them to go read a swath of Romance and another swath of SF and get back to me. So just be aware.)

Then there's the vexed question of What Women Want in a (Male) SF Hero. The answer to this has been answered many times in sf/f. I offer the Liaden books as one example, and because they're handy -- but there are many, many others.

In quick sum-up: Men who are strong, but emotionally available; who protect kittens, but who also realize that kittens have claws for a reason, and to deny them the opportunity to use their close is to damage the kitten's nature. Men who laugh, and who cry, and who aren't afraid to say, "I don't know." Men who are willing to learn, and to teach, and to play. Men who are people, I would say, though I've been accused of meaning when I do say that, "Men who act like women."

So. Long-Winded Auctorial Ramblings R Us.

What's everybody having for lunch today?

Thanks to Kristine Smith for the link that appears at the bottom of this dispatch, which was the first thing I saw when I opened my mail this morning.

The link is to a TED Talk about the importance of creativity, and that everyone creates -- even if it's just that nonsense song you sing to your cat, or deciding to try this instead of that in a recipe. Creation -- varying from the so-called "norm" -- is what makes us human, even more than laughter -- though that's important, too.

How can you tell that these things are important? You already know the answer to this -- Because Someone Is Trying to Take It Away From You.

How do you know your backlist isn't worthless? Because your publisher won't revert the rights. How do you know that having fun is important? Because people are shouting at you to Stop Being Frivolous. How do you know your despicable little bit of money is important? Because somebody is trying to rob you. How do you know that your voice is important?  Because somebody is trying to shut you up.

Really, it's a Universal Test. If someone is trying to take something from you -- follow it back and find out why.

I gave a shout-out to the importance of fun in my Heinlein Acceptance Speech, but you can only do so much in four minutes. And I have, as I've mentioned here before, lived a life of Almost Unremitting Frivolity -- writing silly little scifi and fantasy stories; choosing a partner whose gift was making joy, and not so much with the money; indulging myself with cats, and stuffed animals, and music, and baking.

Making art is joy -- your body treats it that way. Make art for half an hour and your stress levels drop. People have been studying this -- obviously slackers who are looking for a way to justify their need to play, to make, to *have fun.*

I'll stop here and go get some breakfast while you listen to Amie McNee