Four-Footed Writing Companions

It's hard to see the void who's positioned himself between me and the keyboard, but that's Raven. He's appointed himself my newest furry writing companion. Provided it's not too hot. Or there's nothing interesting happening on the back deck.  He's not as experienced as the editors and writing companions who filled the position before him, but I'm confident he'll learn. Perceval and Arya want to be my editors. They've perfecting the art of walking across my keyboard. In Arya's case, she particularly likes to stand on keys. Just to make sure she really gets her point across.

 Crow likes to be in the same room so he can offer moral support while I work, but he's more of a thinker than a doer. He looks on from his sunny spot on the cat tree while I write. I'm required to pay a pet tax by skritching his chin if I get up to grab tea or a snack. All of this four-footed company is most welcome as our senior editor died on Monday afternoon. Miss Cuillean had retired from her position about four months ago, but out of respect, no other cat would take her place while she battled her final illness. Now that she's moved on, the younger cats are seizing their opportunities and I have all the furry contributors in the middle of what I'm doing that I can handle. 

Persistence On My Mind

On my mind today: this gal on the right who turned 19 on Thursday. She is the picture of persistence. She ached to be the queen of the household for so many years of her life. I honestly didn't know if she'd ever get to rule the roost. Erie held the position for most of Cuillean's life. When Erie died, Hatshepsut inherited the crown. Then Hatshepsut ceded her rulership to Cuillean just before dying unexpectedly. Cuillean is the undisputed queen of her domain at long last. Even if she's deaf as a post and drags one fore leg when she walks. Hobbles. Whatever. She keeps on. 

I'm doing my best to learn from her example. 

The other thing occupying my mind is a meme someone posted to a Facebook group. It hits kinda hard and I haven't gotten it out of my head for a few days, so I'm going to install it in yours and you can ponder (or wonder why humans are so intrinsically broken - whatever works) with me.

 

The Day Before Christmas

Not a creature is stirring (except to change who gets to snooze under the tree) this day before Christmas. Arya and Cuillean want to remind you that the smallest things are often the greatest gifts. 

May you and yours find peace and joy this holiday season.

Unpopular Opinions? Welcome to my TED Talk.

1. Insomnia's not so bad.
   No, really! It has its limited, mind-numbing, exhausting uses. I mean, I finally got on Tik-Tok and followed people who slay me. Laughing my ass off without waking my family or peeing my pants in the middle of the night counts as exercise, right?
   RIGHT?
2. Being warm is overrated.
   Those of you not enduring a scorching heatwave right now, hear me out. Moving to a warm climate where a good, hard frost is perishingly rare just ain't all it's cracked up to be. Ask the allergic asthmatic how they know.
3. Firefly.
   I'm team Vivien on this one. It can be problematic as hell - just like most human beings I'd posit. But y'know, it did a lot right from a scripting and conflict standpoint. Mostly, I just remember it as a really good time that ended too soon. Of course, had it come out today, it's possible I'd have liked it less because of the yuck factors associated with it.
   
4. Snakes.
   Don't care. I like 'em. Not in my house necessarily, but I like seeing them. I like knowing they're out there in the world doing snake things. 
5. Old cats are the best.
   
   Sure kittens are cute and adorable, but they grow up. Old cats are opinionated, cranky, eccentric as hell, and set in their ways. They might be stiff with arthritis and their hearing may be gone. They might live for another few weeks or for years - getting more assertive and opinionated each day. But they are the cats who appreciate everything you do for them. They're suckers for a warm lap and a few soft pets. The relationship you've forged with them is settled and established. As their worlds get smaller, you move closer and closer to the center of it.
6. Having your parents live with you can be a win.
   Don't think I'm not aware of the incredible privilege I enjoy - my relationship with my folks is pretty damned good and a lot of people aren't that fortunate. In this case, it's even more privileged than that. I get to have this time with a parent who's becoming frailer and whose world is (like the elderly cat's) getting smaller. When we moved my parents into the house, it was to help them age in place and to never need a nursing home. That's a pretty big gift to give and to get. I hope we can sustain it. Are there hard days? Oh, yeah. But you know what? One of the parents brings me tea at random intervals throughout the day and makes fake ice cream every afternoon. It's the little things.
   
7. Pronouns are no big deal.
   Ask what people prefer. Use the preferred pronouns. Mess it up? Correct yourself. No flailing or apology or groveling necessary. Correct. Move on. Impacted people care that you're trying - though at some point - trying needs to move into habit. Otherwise, affected people may be forgiven for bringing an air horn into the conversation to provide demotivating commentary on being misgendered for the thousandth time.
8. Book lights don't actually light up books.
   I'd like to think this isn't an age thing, but it could totally be an age thing. Those tiny LED book lights that so cleverly clip to your book cover and adjust to illuminate the pages you're reading? Yeah, they don't. Sure, I can see the pages and that there are letters on the pages. But provide enough contrast to actually allow my migraine addled brain and eyes to bring those letters into focus so they can be seen, read, and registered? Not a chance. The book light is enough to keep me from killing a cat or dying because I tripped over a cat in the middle of the night, though. So there is that.

 TikTok comedy anyone?

Cat Photo Tax

 

More pet photo spam! Let's begin with our beloved elder enjoying her life. I present: Cuillean blep.

Then there's Arya, she of the endless whiskers. She's having a momentary, but meaningful relationship with her fleece toy.

Then there's the youngest. Peseshet. This is the one who, about a year ago, darted across the street in front of me. She was tiny. She's still tiny, only about six pounds, but she's growing up fast. Two weeks ago at o'dark thirty in the morning, we had an animal come to the lanai screen. All of my big, strong cats scrambled ass over tea kettle to get in the house. This itty-bitty stripey kitten stayed out there, all floofed up, reading the feline riot act at the trespasser. At volume. Very unlady-like language. Whatever critter had come to the screen beat a hasty retreat. (Spoiler: When I set the live trap, I caught a possum. We parted with no damage done on either part.) 

Then, today, this little girl decided to exercise her hunting prowess and catch her own animated cat toy. Naturally, she brought it inside and let it go. I had to get involved at that point and rescue the critter.

 The animated cat toy was ungrateful.

Pets have price tags, y'all. Price tags.

Troping the Story

Cats on the internet. Is that a trope? Heaven knows I Can Has Cheezeburger has gone to town on storytelling with cat photos and a few captions. Bleps, like the one Cuillean has going on here, are definitely a trope in the cat photo world.

As for me, I have never met a trope I didn't like. Except, y'know, fridging girl friends or other sexist/violent/misogynistic. Also? If your trope kills an innocent critter just to show up how bad your baddie is, I will toss your book against the wall. And then in the donate pile. Unless it's really egregious. Then I might destroy it rather than inflict it upon another reader. But really. After that, I'm good! Just don't rest too comfortably on your trope. Give me a light touch and have a little fun with it and I'm yours. Like Jeffe, I like myself some enemy to lovers. I love long odds and heroines and heroes who don't yet know what they're capable of.

Honestly, for me, tropes are never the problem. It's how they're handled that determines whether I'm going to go for the story ride or spend my reading time rolling my eyes until I can look at my brain. If you want to give me a secret baby story, but don't give me a woman keeping her kid a secret. It'd be a cool twist for the dad with the secret baby. Don't hold me to that, though, cause I'm working on a book right now with a secret kid and she's with her mom -- so I guess, don't trope as I trope.

Contributing Artists

Which artists move me varies by the day. Sometimes by the hour. Music is the most obvious and the easiest because I can pipe it directly into my skull from just about anywhere. Right now, Spotify's Nine Inch Nails play list (built for me based on my listening habits - well trained AI is all that, lemme tell you) is keeping me going.

I have no idea what it is about driving beats and angry lyrics that work for me. But here I am. Maybe because the pace is fast and I get pushed to keep up. I don't have as much room to stop and overthink.

On the other hand, I have an app called Calm. It is a meditation app at core, but for me, the greatest utility is the sleep function. The app commissions a bunch of different artists to create content for the app - all centered around focus and relaxation. My two favorite are Liminal Sleep by Sigur Rós and System Sounds: Song of the Night Sky. The last one assigns a musical note to the stars in the night sky based on color and brightness then plays the results based on the stars rising at the eastern horizon. So you know that's right up my alley.

The other artists in my life are the felines. After all. It was Leonardo da Vinci who said The smallest feline is a masterpiece. Cuillean agrees.

Here to Breathe the Vacuum

One of my girls was diagnosed with cancer on her ear and had a bit of surgery to handle it. Here's Cuillean, post surgery with her radical ear tip. Fortunately, this was a mast cell tumor and surgery is pretty much a cure in cats. Yay.

She wants you to know the other guy (the vet) looks much worse. ;)

Writing habits.
Solitary or company for writing? Yes. Usually both at the same time. Couple of ways that goes down.

1. 5AM while everyone else is asleep. But they ARE still present. So I'm not sure what this is, really. Vacuum or company. My only interaction is with the cats who wander through for the occasional pet.
2. Coffee shop/tea shop where no one knows me. I'm in a public, but I create private space by holing up with my drink, my earbuds, and a screen to hid behind. And I do not make eye contact. No interaction, except with a barista for my drink. Maybe that doesn't count.
3. The bench on the screened in porch. This is my current favorite. Everyone else has gone off to day jobs. My alarm goes off and I sit down to work in silence. Except, I'm online with a partner and we're doing an hour of writing sprints. Communication is limited to "Go", "Time", and a report on how many words we each managed during the time. It's a little like having a work out routine. You may pay money to belong to a gym, but it doesn't mean you go. If you know you have a friend or a coach waiting for you, though, you'll haul your butt out of the warm bedclothes. In this case, it's a way to be accountable to someone else about hitting your word count goals for the day. This one is the true hybrid experience. I'm alone, but still interacting with other writers. And if one of us gets really, really stuck, we schedule a Skype session to talk out the stuck bits. Works really well. 

Granted, my ultimate goal is to be able to write anywhere. Haven't achieved that, yet. All I care is that the words happen and I exercise the focus muscles. Stretch them, maybe. Writer yoga. The more focus stretches, the better and longer and stronger the focus.

The Pet Post

Once upon a time, I had an Instagram account. Oh, the account is still in my name. You can still search on it and find it. But. It is *my* account only by virtue of the fact that I am the one behind the camera. The account belongs entirely to the cats. There might be a sunset or two in there, I won't lie, but the vast majority of the account is all cats all the time. So allow me to introduce my masters:
This is Autolycus. He's the eldest at 18 (he'll be 18 in March.) He has fully graduated into a Grumpy Old Man cat post here aboard the boat. He's a super high maintenance guy at this point. He suffers from cholangiohepatitis and the early stages of renal failure. This means a grand total of nine different pills per day, plus the need to feed him every few hours. (Part of the liver disease and the fact that elderly felines can't derive the same nutrition from their food as younger cats. So he needs multiple small meals per day to keep his weight up. The other cats are apoplectic with envy.) This means that in order to preserve the quality of this dude's life, one of his humans must remain with him at all times or hire in a pet sitter. The care and feeding of the old dude are labor intensive enough that when my beloved husband heads to Florida for a wedding in the family, I will remain behind to look after the Little Orange Terror pictured here.  Why go to all this trouble? Two reasons. 1. Taking responsibility for a life isn't a convenience. It's a trust that goes beyond what's easy. There's a saying among animal people: You EARN an old cat (or dog). 2. Because this photo:

He is super sweet and he honestly appreciates every effort we make on his behalf. He's worked out that his pills make him feel better. So while he dislikes taking them, he sits still and allows me to pill him. The instant I'm done medicating, he's up and rubbing his face against mine while he purrs.

Why yes. I am a sucker and easily manipulated. Why do you ask?

He is snoring beside me as I type this. I don't know how much longer we get with him, but every second is worth the effort.

Then there's Cuillean, the middle child. She's a little camera shy. Getting a good photo of her is hard. She seems to thing the camera is a predator looking right at her. For that reason, her photo is about three years old. Appropriately captioned: All yer pizza R belong to Cuillean.

She lives for a warm pizza box to claim for her very own. She's my lap warmer and is the cat most likely to come sit with me while I work. She has a champion purr and radiates more body heat than any cat I've ever known.

She's also exquisitely skilled at human training. She went through a protracted training program with my husband - sitting on his workout bag each morning while he was trying to pack it. He would encourage her to move with "If you sit on my bag, you get pets!" Being the shy gal she is, he'd assumed that would get her off his workout bag. It worked. Twice. And then she had him. The pets became the point. Eventually, she got him wrapped around her paws so much that when the alarm goes off in the mornings, she appears. He is expected to pet her until she flops over on her side and kneads his ribcage while she drools in bliss.

Our youngest is also the queen of the castle. This is Hatshepsut.

The rumors are true. This is one who decided that me being away for a week was unacceptable. She escaped the boat and went into hiding. This resulted in an emergency flight home on my part a day after I'd gotten to Florida. It was January. I got one day of warm before having to fly home in a panic to look for a cat in 20 something degree weather. I didn't find her. I'd given up looking for the day, was feeding the other two, and from the cockpit came a piteous 'mew?' She'd come home on her own after driving an entire neighborhood crazy with looking for her. Now, when (if) I go away for any length of time, she is shipped, under house arrest to my mother's back room to be locked away until I return.

This is the one who is most guilty of adding edits to my works in progress. She takes my attention to anything or anyone but HER very, very badly. She's also the one who rushes to park on my chest in concern when I'm flattened by a migraine. Kitty purr. Very therapeutic.

Then. Because I live on a boat, there are the random 'pet' encounters. There's the Not My Cat Who Is On My Boat (and MY cats are screaming threats at him):

And there's the crow who seems to want to be my pet. She comes straight to me, follows me when I walk down the dock, stands on the dinghy rack staring into the boat to see if I'm here and noticing her. She expects (and gets) whatever cat food scraps the felines leave. I assume someone else trained her to expect to be fed - because she showed up at my boat with clear expectation and no fear of me. At one point, she learned how to meow to get my attention. O_o Or maybe it was to mock the cats. I'm not clear. But every year, she brings me her hatchlings, who never stay - she teaches them to come to me for food, but once they're grown, they bolt and never come back. Not that I mind. One crow with entitlement issues is more than enough, thanks.

No matter how you slice it. My life is ruled by animals. It always has been. Half the time, they show up in my books as characters. And whenever something diabolical happens in one of my stories, it's probably because one of the cats thought it up first and tried it out. My monsters are a lot of work, but boy, are they worth it.

Writing Memed

HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13th! You'd think I'd come up with some kind of meme to honor the day.

There you go. Some days you're the victim, some days, you're the one wielding the bloody knife. I believe that at the moment, I am the one wearing the mask and repeatedly stabbing hapless victims. Because next meme:

 

Relax. Talking about the bad guy in the latest WIP. You know. The book that was supposed to be draft complete on 10/31 of last year? The same day Dad had that first heart attack? Yeah. This leads us to the second meme in this morning's 'Writing Experience as Meme'.

ON TO EDITS! And submissions. And . . .