Where Personal and Professional Life Collide...

 There was no brain for writing, this weekend - Saturday was the usual come-home-fall-over, after an 11-7 shift, and Sunday started early with a trip to the farmer's market, and then I got hit with a lot of winery-related stuff that needed to be done in addition to the actual tasting room hours.  Which is all good, and I got it one, and there's a definite feeling of accomplishment about that.  But the last 6 pages of the novella still need to be polished up, and there's a chunk of work that's resisting the polish.  Grr. Argh.

Patreon stuff to get done, too, and harass my editor once again about my not-yet-arrived revision letter.  And CampCon starts on Wednesday!  

And, in all this, CatofSize has decided to be a grouchy old bear, including giving the Kitten a what-for at the foot of the bed, at 4 this morning.  Thankfully, even half-asleep I know better than to put my hand into a catfight, but my voice was enough to send them running for opposite sides of the apartment.  and then I had to spend half an hour calming both of them down.

They're still not particularly on speaking terms, but there hasn't been a repeat of open hostilities.  This happens every now and again - the rest of the time they're affectionately tolerant of each other, which is about as good as you can hope for, with two unrelated male cats of different ages (CoS is 14, the Kitten is 4).  I suspect I will wake up tomorrow with everything back to normal.  I hope so, anyway.  Two 4am wakeups in the row, an I might forget I really don't want to dropkick them out the sliding doors.

There will be an Official First Post at some point later today or first thing tomorrow, but, um. I may have not only committed Patreon, but Committed To Writing CrackFic.

If it please (and amuse) the court...


Several months ago, the opening line of a story came to me, and it made me crack up so hard the people at the Sunday Writing Cafe demanded to know what had gone through my mind.

The first time I met the tom, I knew he was going to be trouble. He walked in like he owned the place, not an orange tuft out of place, sleek and slick and pretending like he didn’t have a problem. I knew he had one; you could see it in their eyes, and anyway, the Human wouldn’t send me one who didn’t.
That’s what I do. I fix problems. They call me the Duchess, and I know every back alley milk-dealer and fishmonger in the city.

“Oh, you have to write that!” was the general reaction.

“There is no way anyone would buy this,” I protested. “It’d be total crackfic!” Unlike my ‘real’ mysteries, written under the name L.A. Kornetsky, where I try to keep things realistic, this would have cats and dogs and humans (and rats, because what’s pseudo-noir without a dirty rat or two?) interacting in an equal and implausible level…

“That’s why it would be so much fun!” my friends went on, because they’re Like That.

“And I don’t have time to write original fiction just to amuse myself, not with bills to pay and a diabetic cat to keep in medication…” And at that point my objections tripped over their own feet.

“Do it as a Patreon,” someone suggested, sensing my weakness. “Write the cat noir crackfic to cover the cost of CatofSize’s insulin!”

Because everyone knows that CatofSize has more fans online that I do.

But then life got busy with other things, and I pushed the story to the side….but the story kept pushing back, and I realized that writing it was going to happen, one way or the other. And CatofSize’s insulin isn’t getting any cheaper.

So here it is, your chance to encourage my more gonzo side, and see what happens in the dark corners of my mind when I haven’t had quite enough sleep and things get weird silly utterly ridiculous….

Cat1: “Mom is moving furniture! Run! Hide!”

Cat2: “Mom is moving furniture! Quick, get rolled up in the carpet!”






no points for guessing which was which.

Today is Tax Day, which means that 1Q estimated taxes are also due.

Happy Wednesday, my fellow freelancers! (for heavy levels of sarcasm)

But today is also the birthday (observed) of our own CatofSize!

(fitting, considering how much money he's cost me over the years).

This is Boomer when he first came to live with me, at an estimated 10-14 months.  As I said at the time, it was a good thing he had a sweet nature, because that much muscle could do damage without even thinking about it...

And this is Boomer now.  As you can see, not much has changed...except he got LARGER.


... but still the loving cuddler who kept me going through some very bad years.

HBD, my sweet boy.

CatofSize isn't sure if he's having a bad morning or is just in a Grumpy Old Man stage. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference...  And I probably should stop referring to having to shoot the cat. New people (and some older ones) keep reading it all wrong. ;-)

But hey, being up at 6am and thinking "I need to write" and being able to sit down and write... we're doing okay here, for a Wednesday.

Oh, and I'm in the barrel for WWW Wednesday, over at Book View Cafe.

An interesting take on the difference between reddit and tumblr fandom that's both gender-directed and possibly explains a lot about our wider culture...

Meanwhile, out there in the world, our own Elizabeth Bear's dad, Stephen Wishnevsky of Wishbass, had his workshop destroyed by fire. There's a gofundme set up to help him rebuild. If you're a musician, specifically, you might want to take a look, not only to help out but to maybe pick up a new toy once he's rebuilt...

And Mette Ivie Harrison, on How Writers get Paid, if you ever wondered, or thought you knew...

Oh, and because that remids me I need to remember to self-promote every now and again, a reminder that you can pre-order the 4th Gin & Tonic mystery now at the following lovely locations:

B&N Kobo Seattle Mystery Bookstore Mysterious Galaxy Indigo/Chapters Amazon

So, the cost of insulin has exploded recently. Great, I guess, if you're covered by insurance. If you need it for your cat or dog, though? SOL.

Thanks, Sanofi-Aventis. Because paying $300+ for a 10 ml vial isn't a luxury or an option - it's what my cat needs to SURVIVE. I hope you bastards choke on every extra penny you're padding your bottom (dollar) with.

I am all about big pharma having patents - that's how you make money to cover the cost of the experiments that don't pan out. But there's a huge difference between "making money" and "making obscene amounts of money at the expense of life-giving drugs becoming unaffordable."

(And don't even get me started on their legal push to get rid of inexpensive drugs being made available to the poor in other nations, because I WILL froth.)


So if you only see me briefly at Norwescon, it's because I chose to keep my cat alive and healthy, rather than having a hotel room for the weekend.

I have things I need to do (upload this month's Westward Bound post to Book View Cafe, answer emails, write many many words, start reading the new massive reference book I picked up yesterday), but first I have to pick up the rental car, then put the cat into the rental car, then take the cat to their new vet and leave them there for a day's worth of glucose curve testing.

During which I will probably be checking out the local-to-the-vet cafe that seems to have Real Proper NY Bagels. Report to come.

Things I had forgotten:

for all their lives, the Kitten of Thursday and Boomer have been apartment cats. To them, the washer and dryer are things that live Elsewhere.

Not so, here.

Things I learned:

While the washer sounds a lot like the dishwasher, and so is mildly interesting but not terribly disturbing, the dryer is.... well.

Stage One: WHATTHEFUCKMOMWHATTHEFUCKISTHAT? starting nervously and hiding behind my legs.

Stage Two: ....cautious, crouched staring from a safe distance.

Stage Three: we have not been eaten, therefore we are ignoring it utterly.

Stage Four, when the buzzer goes off: HOLYSHITWHATTHEHELLASTHATMOMDIDYOUHEARTHATMOMPROTECTUS!