Listeme

It should be clear by now that we are marching to our own drumbeat.  We are the drummers.  At a certain point, you stop worrying about whether you "should" unpack books before spackling or "should" play scrabble when there's insulation still to do.  You have to just … march. But there are things that are done in a certain order.  You can't bake until you have the correct circuit installed.  You can't take a bath without the hot water tank being in.  (You could, but ow.)  For a while, we did that kind of prioritization.  We had to. That's not where we are at this stage.  From the beginning, we prioritized keeping warm, preparing food, and a place to work.  We have our desks set up now, with some setting up still to do, but the important things:  clear surfaces, materials at hand, internet and printers.  We can cook or bake, and now we have staples and meats.  We have warmth when there is power and a generator coming. ...

We've been living on the edge for 10 months now.  Ten months ago today was when we looked at our lives and said, okay, let's do this thing.  The day before, John had gotten laid off from the corporate thing, and we knew we had to make some big decisions.  Why not add career and location into the mix, if we were talking about big decisions anyway?  Right? So we did and we put all our eggs into a basket and shook the basket.  (Note: don't shake real baskets of eggs.) Would the Centreville house sell well?  Heaven only knew.  When we bought it, the market was in a nasty spiral.  I paced around, imagining foreclosures and worse.  It sold well. Could we handle the uncertainties of the new property?  Could we find a place to stay while we sussed it out?  Yes, and yes, with the help of a tremendously supportive network of friends and family. What about the runway?  The runway was the length of time that we had to get si...

I haven't been writing fiction, this is true, and I haven't really been writing much else, unless you count grumping on the internet.  (That should count in the cosmic word count.)  But I've been filling up with ideas and prompts and solutions to fictional problems, and that does count.  It counts a lot. The lake at Dunn's is home to the best dragon ever.  I had to spend time out there on the water, quietly thinking about him, worrying that he'd tip the rowboat in a pique.  (He has piques.)  And he has a lot more muck and weed down there than I'd realized.  This is a problem if you're the kind of dragon who gathers small treasures.  And he does.  I needed to realize this. And I needed to watch the kids run around barefoot near the fireplace.  Kids get black feet when they do that. I needed to hear families bickering about floats and whose stadium chair this is and how old do you have to be to row your own boat and sit down, si...

Back in 2004, I went to Odyssey.  Before that, I had had published some genre stories on internet zines (Jackhammer E-Zine was one that bought several of my stories).  I wrote a terrible* SF novel that is somewhere in one of the PODs and I should use it as kindling because I will never ever let anyone read it anyway.  I wrote another thing that paid me okay, but it is hidden and will never be found. Then I went to Odyssey and relearned what I was doing. Then I took a few years to get through divorce and raising teenagers and life events. I wrote during this time.  I like to call this phase my "creepy" phase.  I have a stack of creepy stories that are looking for homes.  (Anyone?  Want some creepy stories?) But I don't think I was ever destined to stick with creepy stories or short projects.  I love flash fiction.  I love it.  But it's not as satisfying to me as what I'm working on now, because I have fallen in love with no...

When we woke up this morning, it was cold enough in the camper to turn on the heat.  So I did. Our neighbor came by today to invite us to hike this weekend, and he said, "how do you like this September weather?!"  I asked him if it's usually hotter around this time of year.  He said, "there's no 'usually' around here." We're getting some cow manure from one of our contractor men.  It's three years old, which is apparently a good vintage. I keep thinking of things that will be "fixed" when we move into the house.  I'll be able to use a real bathtub when we move.  We'll have a freezer.  Lots of things will be fixed when we move in.  But my brain keeps glitching:  when the clothesline was a little loose from a heavy item, I found myself thinking, we'll have a real clothesline when we move in.  No, that's the real clothesline, Marsh. We have an odd mix of slow pace and much to do; connected via the internet to th...

I've been hanging out with sheep a lot since arriving here in Maine.  My sister had thirteen when we arrived; an immediate fourteenth was born, and now there are sixteen.  There will be more.  They are raised for both fiber and meat.* When I first got here, they were a mass of baaing fuzzy beasts that might knock me down.  One time Gloria asked me to check something about Penny.  Which one is Penny?  The one with the even horns and the darker nose, she said.  I looked out at the ten ewes baffled.  How would I know which one had even horns out of all those?  She was flabbergasted that I didn't even know that only one of the breeds had horns.  (Jacobs**.) I used to live in a townhouse, yo. Penny is the one who just had twins.  She is wary of me.  I have yet to get her to accept a treat from my hand. Beryl is the other new mom.  She is also a Jacob.  Her baby is Bluebell, and Bluebell is a NUT.  She chases c...