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Weekend, with planting and… other things.

So, I had a nice 4-day weekend, what about you?

We saw Deadpool 2 (not quite as good as Deadpool 1, but a lot of fun, and Domino was absolutely awesome).  

We planted: 7 tomatoes (2 varieties) 5 peppers (3 varieties), 1 eggplant, 6 kale, a tarragon and a parsley (having planted three roses before the weekend).  We cleared out 4 bags of drywall and insulation from the attic. I cleaned the house. We shopped for cars…

*record scratch*

Oh, yeah.  So I uh. My car and I had a small disagreement with a large truck (someone turned in front of him, he stopped fast.  I stopped…. less fast). My car is — was — a 2008 Yaris. The truck got way the better end of the deal.

So now we’re looking for a fuel-efficient Japanese or Korean car tall enough inside for my 6’4” husband and comfortable for my arthritic bones.

We’ve got it narrowed down to about 8 models…

Anyway! We went to the farmer’s market, grilled outside (asparagus from our own garden!), chilled out a bit and generally had a good time.

How was your weekend?

Internet friends

So this is something I sent my mom after we went walking/talking at Birdseye State Forest. She asked if I found that my internet friends were as they acted online when I met them in person, more or less. 
Then Dad sort of derailed the whole thing talking about being true to your genuine self or something and so… e-mail happened. 

We got a little derailed yesterday on one conversation, but I was thinking about internet friends.
I suppose, way back to the first one I met in person (Cap/Sarah), I wasn’t taken aback at all by the person I met, because by the time I met them in person, we’d already had hours and hours of conversation and interactions online.  So it’s… like if you went and encountered Beth on a chat board online for the first time after knowing her all this time; she’d still be the same person.
By contrast, many of the friends I had before my internet people, I first met roleplaying – so literally pretending to be someone else.  In that situation, it does take a little bit longer to figure out who someone actually is underneath all the roles.

The First 1/3 of April on Patreon

This month’s theme is

Libraries and Librarians

Things marked with a * are free for everyone to read. 


The Expectant Wood: Chapter 21: Worlds of Differences
Portal Bound – a beginning

A Last Conlang Word going in to April *
Cloverleaf’s Library  *

Reminds me of… Dragons Next Door  *
The Weather, it is a-changin’ *

A brief blog post rambling on about audience and writing

I’ve been thinking about audience lately.

(Hi, Audience!)

So some of what I’ve been thinking is how things like Rin & Girey started out as this entirely self-indulgent story, and how now it’s one of my most in-depth worlds (Addergoole/Fae Apoc is THE most in depth, but that’s because of the serials) (Then again, Reiassan has a conlang and Fae Apoc only has a few con letters).

And you know “I am not the audience for this” is totally fine, and I have to remember that.  (Like one time I left romance out of an entire storyline because one person had said they didn’t want romance, and then it turned out they didn’t even read that story…)

And that’s a weird balance.

Like, I am not sure I will ever be comfortable just writing things because I want to see them. A thing here and there, sure.  But not like, as a rule.

On the other hand, I have to remember that I can’t please all of the people all of the time, and that trying is likely to just give me a migraine and make me cry.

I don’t have any real conclusions here yet, just thinking about that balance.  It can’t always be bondage catgirls in space; it also can’t always be ace aro mysteries with pretty magic.  I’d get bored, and so would y’all.

…Speaking of bored, how do niche authors keep from getting bored?  Money?

In Which We Enter Another Century For a Few Minutes

This morning, around 6 a.m., I woke up to a silent house, a blank display on my alarm clock, and a cold nose.

Last night, while we were making dinner, I got the robo-call telling me that my university job (which “never closes” and has closed twice in the two winters I’ve worked there) was closed today.

I got out of bed, encouraged the fire, grabbed my phone, made sure it was on airplane (we don’t get cell service here in the boonies and it just kills the batteries), and went back to bed.

It’s noon now, and the power is still out.  So’s the landline, so I can’t – without walking out into the middle of the street and praying – call NYSEG to find out how long they assume the power will be out.

I made House Thorne oatmeal on the wood stove, and T. made drip?? coffee with a filter stand.  We had toast – I finished a loaf of bread last night – at noon, and we’ve got water for tea heating up on the stove.  It’s 74F in the living room, 69F in the next room over, and probably 65,64F in the kitchen (we don’t have a thermometer in there).  So we’re in pretty good shape.

Of course, we’re in The Rather Rural, so we don’t have running water, which is a bit of a pain.  I “took a bath” by heating water (on the wood stove again) and sitting in front of the stove to shave and such things.  It helped, but it’s no proper shower.  And we might be out of gallons of water sitting around by the time the power comes back on – but that’s what they’re for, so hey.

It’s kind of nice, in a “I miss my internet people and I can’t play with my dragons and what happens when my laptop loses power” sort of way.  It’s quiet – “too quiet” – since there’s no fans, no furnace, no traffic, nothing but the wind and the water heating on the stove, T. talking to himself and reading the book out loud on occasion.

It’s the weird feeling, of “we’ve got this” combined with “but…” Mostly “but” being that “I miss my people and I really want a shower” sort of way.

Also, I’m not 100% sure what we’ll have for dinner, but I have a feeling it will involve rice, be cooked on the wood stove, and hopefully not involve opening the fridge or freezer.

Well, at least work is closed and I don’t have to worry about calling in. 😊

Feral Cat

This is, more or less, just a little babbling about my kitty. 

We have a feral cat.

I mean, she says that all the time. “I’m feral!  Zoom!”  and she runs all the way up the stairs.  “I’m feral!  Oh no!” Zip, under the bed.

She’s really sure she’s a wild feral cat.

You know, like “here’s the WWI Ace Fighter Pilot…” Yeah.

We got her from outside, where she was semi-feral, a barn kitten from down the road who had been eating out of our compost bin.

T. took months of feeding her and coaxing her closer, until she was willing to let him handle her.

Then we shoved her in a carrier and left her at the vets for three days.

That was four years ago.

When I tell her “Merit, Nap time!” She comes and jumps up on me on the couch and sleeps on my hip/stomach.

When I go to bed, she sleeps to the left of me; when I wake up, she’s either on me or tucked against my right side.  T. taught her to cuddle for food and now, when she’s hungry in the middle of the day, she will jump up on his lap and nap there for a little while.

She still says she’s feral, but you can pick her up without any complaint, she tolerates brushing and likes petting, and she talks to you when you ignore her.

(also, she yells at you when you sneeze).

Plants

DialMforMara suggested that I blog about plants, and here I am.

Plants.

I bury my toes in loam-dark soil; 

I walk barefoot through the dirt my ancestors farmed. 

That is the part I easily remember of a poem I wrote in high school, when the assignment was roots.

Yeah, but it took me more than 20 more years to really internalize why my ethnic heritage – German on my mother’s side – was something we never really talked about.  And on my father’s side I was Good Old Mutt, so my roots were, well.  Farming.

My pen name is a tree.

If you look at my twitter, my background image is a vineyard.

When I dream of going home, I dream about my grandparents’ home, the old farmhouse, or gardening with my grandma.

I like things with very deep roots.  Old things with their structure going way down.  I like things with their feet buried in the soil and their arms lifted up to the sky.

Like me.