Financial Squeeze

Been a while since I didn't have to get up early and shovel my driveway. At least, it feels like it's been a while.

Part of me wants to share minor life details, like Skamper is back on The Heights. Part of me wants to rant a bit about life. Part of me is hungry and wonders why the turkey sausage and eggs aren't cooking.

How are the rest of you surviving? I got a raise in September, have no debt except my mortgage and I'm just scraping by. At least, it feels like I'm just scraping by.

I use Quicken to keep track of my money, and by the time I schedule the necessities from gas, pet food, utilities, mortgage and tithing, I have nothing left over for groceries. I still need to file my taxes and this is the first year I wonder if I'll owe the government. That raise probably moved me to a new tax bracket.

I'm not complaining. I'm one of the very few Americans who's in a good financial situation. All the years of listening to Larry Burkett and Dave Ramsey, putting money aside, living (mostly) within my means, and a few providential circumstances mean I'm not frantic every second of every day wondering how I'm going to feed the cats. However, I know most people aren't like me, and I can't imagine how they're making ends meet. I guess they're not.

One thing I have learned listening to Dave is it's never too late to start managing money, and managing money always means managing yourself first.

I've fallen off the wagon plenty of times. I can be extremely frugal for a long time and then -wham!- I can't control myself any longer and buy supplies for a catwalk (I always have the money when I do it, but it means I might be tight somewhere else for a bit). I've learned to let off steam in little ways, like a Melted Snowball once a week, to avoid those big wonk-outs.

The emergency fund is also a lifesaver. A thousand dollars kept in reserve for when the unexpected creeps up, like a cavity where there was no cavity 6 months before. I can't plan for everything, and the emergency fund stops an emergency from becoming a crisis that will bury me. The trick with the emergency fund, though, is to replenish it whenever you use it, so you might be tight for a bit afterwards. Hey, at least you don't owe 17% interest on a credit card.

I'm praying for all of us, dear readers, but the solution is complicated. It involves changing yourself, changing the culture and changing the political climate that says the government should own everything, including you and your money. Prayer is the only way to change any of that.

Happy Thursday. God is generous, and He's waiting to bless You if you'll cast your burdens on Him.

Change of Mood

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly a mood can change.

Skamper was happy with The Heights until, this morning, he got a windchime caught on his big fluffy tail and scared himself silly. I have no idea how big a setback this is, but his mood toward catwalks has definitely soured.

I woke happy and ready to dig out my vehicle, only to find a thin layer of snow needing my attention. I checked the state worker website for office closures, found none and moved my schedule up 30 minutes to allow time to get to work and beat the rush.

Apparently, while I was showering and cooking breakfast with the TV off, the state announced the office would delay opening until 10. I didn't know that. I happily cleared off and warmed up the van and got on the road by 7:15 as planned. I arrived at work at 7:25 and found out I didn't have to be here for another 2 hours and 45 minutes. Guess where my mood went?

In George MacDonald's The Lost Princess (or the retitled reprint The Wise Woman), Princess Rosamund's biggest fault is her slavery to her moods. She is a brat because the moment she becomes unhappy, everyone else must be unhappy, too, until she is made happy again. This is the flaw the Wise Woman must repair.

The fact is, nothing has changed. My careful plans went exactly as I wanted. I got to work, I beat the rush, and all is well. I left my house in order and the decision to go home for lunch is no different now than it would have been.

However, perceived circumstances changed. With different information, I believe I would have acted differently. The fact that I didn't and can't now causes anger and frustration. Those emotions are only heightened by the importance I personally place on my time, and this feels as though my time has been stolen by my job.

I wish I'd checked the website again later in the morning. I wish I'd read the ticker tape at the bottom of the TV (not that it would have helped since it was off by the time that notification started running). I wish I'd listened to a local radio station. Lots of opportunity for regret.

Have I learned? Yes. Before I pull the van out of the driveway from now on, I'll check the website. I'll look at the ticker tape. I'll call a blasted local radio station. I won't be caught again.

My life is my responsibility. The only person I should be mad at is me. Believe me, I am. (Although, I harbor a bit of snark toward the idea that an hour is adequate time to adjust travel plans in inclement weather. If you have far to travel, you'd be a fool not to be on the road early. I don't have far to travel, but anger is rarely rational)

I'm hoping this post cools me off and changes my mood, because, like Rosamund, I ain't happy and I'm inclined to show it. However, also like Rosamund, I'm learning to control myself regardless of mood. It's part of growing up.

Be well, dear readers.

Monday Morning Update

Simon and I are fighting over my chair. Our compromise over the last week has been he sits in my lap, which works until I have to get up. Maybe he's telling me the linens need to be changed in the other cat spots.

Skamper has joined Miss Kitty in The Heights. This morning, he used the scratching post to climb instead of jumping on shelves, and he and Miss Kitty played tag in 3D. No one fell off, but I'm going to attach a few more carpet bits up high for better traction, just in case.

Improvements may happen tomorrow if I'm off work again. Another big snow storm rolls over my state today with another 8 to 12 inches expected in my area by 6 AM tomorrow, plus 30 mph winds and possible ice. God gave us three warm days after Thursday's storm to melt (a bit) and clear off driveways and sidewalks, so I'm mostly ready. I also won't complain about the snow because 1) we didn't have any last winter, and 2) we need the moisture desperately.

That's all the updating I have time for this morning. Happy Monday, dear readers. Keep water and blankets in your cars and a full tank of gas (yes, I know it's expensive, but would you rather freeze to death for running out of gas?).

Moving Up

The catwalks were installed Saturday, as my FB Friends are fully aware. While Miss Kitty and Caleb (oddly enough) have taken full advantage from hour one, the others have reacted with skepticism, fear and disdain. They're playing hard to get, is all.

The top beam is 7 feet up (and needs to be painted - little miscommunication between me and Big Brother - ehem). One end touches the wall beside the front door, the other hangs over my computer desk. The overhang seems to be the biggest draw and possibly the favorite spot, which poses a problem since there's only the one. Cats. Sigh.

Simon hopped up there this morning on walkabout. I'm rather impressed with his thorough exploration. He doesn't jump well, but he did love the top of the fridge in his younger days.

You can see I've wrapped the bare pole in pic one in carpet and sisal rope for scratching and climbing ease. I'm doing the same with the second support post at the opposite end of the high beam.

I've hung wind chimes from the shelves because I'm crazy and the cats don't have enough ways to irritate me without being able to lean over and ring my chimes.

Speaking of irritating, Simon has come down from The Heights (oooh, think I just named them) and is squeezing himself into my lap and into my way while I type. Cats. 

Oops. Time is ticking away and getting pics into this post has taken too much of it. Check out my FB album Building Projects for more pics of the latest crazy from the Turtle. 

Big snow storm supposedly coming in the next 24 hours here in the Midwest, up to a foot of snow across most of the state. Prayers are appreciated for those southern areas looking at ice storms and severe rainy weather. Wouldn't mind a prayer for me, too, cause I could use a snow day. Didn't get much sleep this weekend and my mouthpiece needs an adjustment.

Happy Wednesday, everybody. Stay safe.

Teacher Wanted

Had an interesting discussion last week. The kind where your worldview accidentally gets challenged and leaves you pondering for a bit afterwards.

I met someone suspicious of "spoon-fed private school graduates" because "they don't know what the real world is like." Contrarywise, this person approves of "big university graduates whose teachers couldn't speak English" because "they know how to dig out solutions for themselves."

Huh.

This person had no idea I'm one of those spoon-fed private school folks, so the conversation was refreshingly frank. Was I spoon-fed? Is my incessant desire to find a mentor in every job and skill I undertake because I'm accustomed to "being taught"?

There is a benefit to being able to problem-solve in less-than-ideal situations. A good grade in a class of 400 may mean more than in a class of 3. I would argue it depends on the quality of the 400 and the 3, especially in this age where we regularly celebrate mediocrity.

However, the conversation started with the ridiculous cost of higher education and how a "bursting bubble" is on the horizon. We Americans can't afford the high price of college anymore, nor the debt incurred in pursuing it.

My minor is in education. I would argue that a teacher who can't speak the language of his students, and doesn't teach them the subject matter that is the whole purpose of his job, isn't worthy of the high wage he gets paid. Getting good grades in such an environment isn't a testimony to the brilliance of the student; it's a condemnation of the inadequacy of the professor. I would also have to wonder at the wisdom of a student who continues paying such a price for such a pitifully inadequate service.

Wow. Am I a snob, or what? 

In the end, my worldview remains much the same but I'm glad I had the conversation. I can be taught. I prefer it, in fact.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Enjoy the sun.

Winter Cleaning

I was surprised to awaken just before my alarm clock this morning, meaning I'd slept through the night. Been a while since that's happened, pretty much since I started that "health challenge" at work that asked whether I'd slept 7 hours. The challenge is over, so I guess the pressure to sleep is off. That, or taking my old teddy bear to bed with me worked. Dear Puff. I'm so grateful God brought you back to me.

The catwalk project was delayed thanks to a double-whammy of flu and studying. Good thing I hadn't bought steak. We've rescheduled for some evening this week.

Last week was spent cleaning and rearranging in preparation for the catwalk. The cats seem to like the new configuration even without the catwalks. That's a good thing. Unhappy cats fight more.

Little Brother Simon has been the main motivator for this stint of cat-related activity. He's my street tough, and his attacks on the other boys are coming more frequently. It's possible he has some sore teeth, and we're checking that out, too, but more likely it's just the eventual result of too many cats in too small a space.

TT: He's in my lap being all cuddly at the moment, the gooberhead. I really hope the catwalks improve his humor.

I'm reading A Memory of Light, too, the last book for Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. This has been a 20 year journey for me. Odd to finally see it end.

I've put my own writing on hold until that book is done. I can't write while I'm reading in my genre.

The good and bad part of Brandon Sanderson finishing the series is I don't like his writing style as much as Jordan's, so I don't despair while reading like I used to. However, the story isn't hurting me like it should. I can't tell if that's because I continue taking Saint John's Wort or because the author doesn't have the ability to engage my emotions. Doesn't matter, I guess.  The result is the same.

Happy Monday, dear readers. I hope to check in more often this week.

Catwalks and Leverage

Borrowing Big Brother's truck turned into a sibling shopping spree.

Have I mentioned Big Brother was a contractor with a degree in interior design? He's built just about everything you can imagine except a working lightsaber. Some non-working ones, but no laser beams yet. He looked at my drawings and got that "genius" face. The one where all the squiggly parts of his brain turn what I imagine into something that will look cool and work.

See, if you attach a 7' post to a 5' shelf and attach that to the wall, when a 20 lb cat jumps onto the post, you have not a shelf but a lever with applied velocity that rips out part of your wall and falls onto your computer table.

In short, disaster.

However, Big Brother has the knowledge to negate that leverage and moreover offered to build the entire structure for me. He has not made such an offer to Little Sister (because they don't have cats) and was not pleased with me for putting this idea in her mind.

TT: They have a vaulted ceiling in their front room. Can you imagine the catwalk configurations with that kind of space? Mwaahahahahaha! ehem.

Now, while this is more awesome than my wildest dreams, it also means I must move up my readiness schedule by two weeks. Therefore, the house is torn apart and I have 10' boards drying all over the place.

Do you know how hard it is to keep a cat off a board because it's wet yet not traumatize them so much they won't walk on it when it's turned into their "private jungle gym?" Big Brother had a few looks for me about that, too. We have a crazy aunt who hoarded cats. 'Nuff said.

I must also decide what furniture leaves, and that's the hardest part so far. My stuff may look like crap, but it has sentimental value. Plus, it's all cat-friendly, the importance of which should be obvious by this time.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Make it a great one.

Catwalks

This morning I turned over my calendars and got new insights into God's Word, zombie extermination and the world of the Fey. Snapshot of my life, right there.

A new month heralds a new obsession for the Turtle. Furbies didn't pan out as hoped, but this one has hovered in the back of my brain ever since I bought my house. I'd just never seen it done well before.

March's Cat Fancy magazine featured a story on homes that excel at cat-friendliness. One of them is The Cat's House in San Diego, owned by Bob Walker and Frances Mooney. I'd never heard of it, and it's remarkably hard to track down anything picture-wise online. I found YouTube videos from Animal Planet, and some books on Amazon, but I guess they're cashing in on the fortune and keeping pics to a minimum. Can't blame them. They care for up to 10 cats at a time.

What fanned the spark of desire into a flame of determination was a picture of their first "project": a scratching post room divider. The post is a floor-to-ceiling rope-wrapped support beam with a narrow catwalk anchored between it and the wall. The cats climb the post to get to the catwalk where they can lounge seven feet above their humans.

In this instance, the couple hung a picture from the bottom of the catwalk and painted everything bright red, which I wouldn't do (even though I kinda wanna), but the idea is fantastic. I'll be ordering their first book which appears to contain plans for what they did early on, but the scratching post looks fairly no-brainer, so I intend to build one this weekend. If all goes well, I'll incorporate a series of high catwalks and window ledges in every room as my budget allows.

So glad I didn't spend that $50 on a Furby.

The Jobby of Writing

Words are not my friends today, so go see what I wrote yesterday over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Love Your Work

I've hit the 5 month anniversary for my new job, and I'm finally finding my footing. This vocational shift was a big one (auditor? Really?), and I suspect will continue to surprise the snot out of me when I least expect it.

However, I am determined to do well.

Job satisfaction is important to me. More important than salary. I know, that's insane to most people, but I would rather enjoy what I do than make a ton of money in a job I hate.

You may say I have that luxury. I don' t have a family to support. Hello? Six cats and a dog? A home mortgage? A Farmville addiction. I have bills, too. I just refuse to be miserable 8 hours a day 5 days a week.

I've had jobs that weren't great. Jobs that were stepping stones to better jobs, and once to a worse job. Everybody has to do something they don't enjoy some of the time no matter what job they have. However, your opinion of what a job is and should be has a huge impact on how much you enjoy your work. 

See, I don't consider work a result of the Fall. Adam and Eve tended the garden before they sinned. That was work. We're supposed to work. We're supposed to do something with our lives and skills and creative natures. Work is good, which is why I refuse to accept the common notion that work is something you do until you retire. 

I love my work. I don't fully understand it yet, but every day gives me another puzzle piece to fit into the grand picture of what it is I do. I will be competent in my job. I will do the best I can, and not just the "good enough for government work" minimum.

Happy Monday, dear readers. It's a good day to go to work.

(Except the weather is supposed to be so nice today, I'd probably prefer to work in the garden. Oh well.)

Branding and the Turtle

Once upon a time, I learned about branding. It preceded the birth of this blog by perhaps one week. If you cared to do so, you could go back in the archives and look up my first post about it.

Thanks to Yvonne Anderson of the Lost Genre Guild, I just read a refresher course on blogging and branding that led to a few rearranges here in the Swamp. Hope you like the pics.

When I started blogging, I wanted to be somewhat anonymous. "Baby steps" was my motto and the Turtle inched her way onto the thin ice of the bitter lake of the Internet publishing world. I didn't want my name "out there" necessarily. What if I messed up? What if I changed my mind? Far better to have an alias I could ditch.

Enter the Turtle. Ranunculus Turtle. I do love her, and I'm not abandoning her, but she isn't easy to look up, is she? She is my face and voice. My avatar. She is more a part of me than I suspected. As we've journeyed together, I see she should have been a snapping turtle.

I am the Turtle. Yes, yes, perhaps it should have been Tortoise, but that doesn't go as well with "ranunculus," does it? And snapping turtles do live in ponds. 

Since I'm finally getting friends with cell phones who also use FB, I'm finally getting some photos of me to replace my turtle sketch, so I've added a few at "The Real Turtle" page. I also need to practice this "maximizing searchability" skill good marketers speak of. It involves using common key words likely to show up on searches.

Yeah. Like "common" is my goal. (Ooo, that was a bit elitist, wasn't it?)

Anyway, here's to new determination to make myself more visible to those who might want to meet me. I haven't bombed out, I haven't given up, and my mistakes are as much a part of my story as my successes. I will share them all.

Happy Friday, dear readers.

I gotta say, Fridays don't mean as much as they used to because I'm starting to love my new job. It's hard, somewhat thankless and silly, but I believe I can do it. Kinda like writing novels.

Changed My Mind

I was gonna write about writing as "job" or "hobby," and I did, but I'm going to save it for NAF. Can't remember when I post next, but I'll let you all know.

Since I already used all my blog time on that, I guess this is what you get today.

On a side note, I got 63 page views on yesterday's post. Not sure why or how. FB, maybe? Whatever.

Thanks for viewing, folks. Nice of you to stop by. I'll try for "more interesting" tomorrow.

Happy Thursday.

Sevens

One of my writers' loops have us all posting 7 lines from the 77th page of our WIP. I did this a loooong time ago on FB, but I was curious if anything has shifted since then. It has.

From Price of Justice: 

  Startled by a wet nose in the eye, (Caissa) jumped and groaned. She squinted at liquid brown eyes at the end of the long muzzle. Two enormous ears perked her direction. The dog whined.
  “Jasper?” The thin black and red dog was an old friend, companion to the one friend who had occupied her thoughts ever since she’d seen the druids. “Where’s Raven?” 
  “I am here, scholar.” The woman who spoke did not—at the moment—resemble a druid. 

Well, now you know at least two old friends resurface. What would an Ah-rahk story without Jasper be? Wrong, that's what.

However, I've also broken my WIP into smaller viewpoint-specific chunks for my first drafts. I don't have 77 pages of Rhami yet, so this is from page 7:  

  “I’d be happier with a tower,” (Rhami) repeated. “Wizards should have towers. The Great Harvarkoset—”  

  “Died wit’ his t’roat cut, stallion. His tower didant save him.” 

  He hunched further. The disastrous end of his most famous ancestor was a sore spot. “That’s not my point. My point was that he had one, and he was the most famous wizard ever.” 

  (Galena's) blade flashed in its steady journey up and down. “A tower don’ make you famous.”

Hmm. Using the "quotes" option totally wonked up the formatting. Annoying. Anyhoo...

Feeling a strong urge to write something other than a post. Gotta go.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Stay warm.

Back on Schedule

Being sick can throw a wrench into anybody's clockworks, but it seems to be taking longer than usual to recover my stride, especially considering my sickness lasted about 24 hours.

My insomnia is back, despite taking 5-HTP and Valerian Root prior to bed. Yesterday, I finally bought a memory foam mattress topper to soften my "firm" Tempurpedic mattress, so here's hoping that solves some of it. The rest, I suspect, is a result of holiday parties and a neck ache holdover from when I didn't wear my mouthpiece last Monday night.

The not-sleeping is irritating on another level. I joined a one-month wellness program sponsored by my insurance plan (and counting toward a reduced insurance price next year) called "New Year, New You."

TT: Normally, I wouldn't do such a thing because I don't like anybody telling me how to be healthy. I do just fine on my own, thank you, and better than the majority of Americans. However, I do want to add exercise to my routine and this seemed a nice way to get it started.

The requirements are ridiculously simple: get 7 hours of sleep, eat a whole grain, eat 3 servings of fruit/vegetables, and exercise 30 minutes. I get one point per activity per day, I need 50 points to complete it and I have an entire month to get those 50 points. The only thing I don't do now is the exercise.

Except, since I signed up, I haven't slept through the night. I keep waking up at 2 and 2:30 and 3:30, so I can't honestly say I've slept 7 hours. Elder Brother says it's performance anxiety. Murphy's Law is what I call it. The topper helped last night, though, so I may have solved this problem.

Also, thanks to Elder Brother, I have cable hookups in nearly every room in my house, including the basement, where my Health Walker resides. I can now watch TV and exercise without having to rearrange my living room (I have a very small house) or my schedule in any noticeable way. I'm trading goof-off computer time for walking time without losing TV time. Huzzah for me. The exercise should also help me sleep better.

TT: I should be out walking the dog, but one guilt trip at a time, please. I'll walk her when it gets warmer and the sun shines longer.

Happy Tuesday, everybody. Have an apple.

House of Poison, part II

The nausea was over at this point, so it shouldn't come up (much) in this post.

After spending a little time under a thermal blanket to restore my temp to something above a turtle on a frozen pond and sucking down a few more ice chips and some Gatorade, I was able to climb into mom's SUV and ride to the farm to recoup. Good thing, too. Second Dad was also sick, so mom didn't need to split her time between two houses 20 minutes apart.

Once I stopped throwing up, I got better. To my knowledge, I didn't run a fever. I had no aches, no congestion, no other digestive issues (see how PC I'm being in this post!). Also a good thing, because mom got sick about 8 PM and I got up to take care of her.

I thought about the plague. How the sick took care of the sicker until everybody died? Comforting, yes. I thought about Elvis while I was on the kitchen floor, so you see I'm a natural pessimist.

The next morning, while preparing what food I could for the two plague victims, I scrounged for something I could eat. My memory of the morning before was quite vivid, so I didn't want to go for the gusto like I normally would, but I didn't have many choices.

See, I mostly follow Joseph Christiano's Blood Type Diet, so I avoid certain foods. I have a whole list, but a couple of the biggies are wheat and milk. At my house, I have almond milk and gluten-free bread. Mom doesn't follow the blood type diet, so she has regular bread and regular milk, foods which don't sit well in my stomach on my best days.

TT: I'm not actually allergic, and The Wise Woman makes a habit of accepting any gift offered in kindness, so I don't bring up the food anymore when I'm there. It's not normally a big issue.

I ate dry wheat toast and hoped it wouldn't kill me. I ate a banana and hoped it wouldn't kill me. I ate some chicken enchilada and really hoped it wouldn't kill me (I can have chicken, but the cheese and tomato sauce are no-nos. I gave what I could to the dog).

Hence, House of Poison.

Again, I lived. I got home that night and mom and Second Dad are finally getting better, which leads me to believe they didn't have what I did, 'cause I'm pretty much back to normal. A day of non-poisonous foods have done wonders, although I'm still being careful. Unlike cats, I can learn.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Take that Vitamin D and B-complex and wash your hands. Thoroughly and often. You don't want this. 

House of Poison (or Why I Hate Throwing Up)

Warning: As you might guess from the title, this post is not for the weak-stomached. Elder Brother, turn away now.

At 3:30 AM Monday, I suspected I was in trouble. Rarely do I awaken with the desire to toss cookies (that usually comes after watching a political debate) but there I was, lying in bed, with that awful suspicion that vomiting would follow consciousness at some point. I made preparations, so the trash can was ready when the moment came.

I'd like to pause and reiterate that tacos, however delicious going down, are not nearly so coming up.

Adults know a calm follows the first round of vomiting (usually), so I had time to clean up, move the bag to the outside trash bin, blow my nose, sip a little water - you know, prepare for Round Two.

There's always a Round Two. Your stomach knows its unhappy. Round One gets rid of most of it, but Round Two finishes the job. Normally. This time was odd because Round Two took two hours to erupt. I ejected the bit of water I'd swallowed, the rest of the tacos, some of Sunday's lunch, I'm sure, and that should have been the end of it.

I texted Mom that I was sick, asked for some clear soda, unlocked the back door and went to bed.

By Round Three, another two hours later, I was in trouble. The trip outside was harder. My limbs were shaking. Dehydration was setting in. I had nothing more to expel, yet my stomach would not stop trying. I drank water in the hopes some of it would absorb before the next round. Stupid me should have texted mom that I was worse than previously indicated, but I didn't. I was likely already more than a little out of it.

Mom came with the soda, left it on the porch as requested and went on with her day. She never saw me or she would have dashed into the kitchen and called an ambulance on the spot, I'm sure.

I woke up on the kitchen floor about 10 minutes after her departure. I'd gotten out of bed to fetch the soda and ice chips from the porch and fainted, apparently.  I couldn't even turn over to crawl. How fitting for the Turtle. Flat on my back and down for the count.

My phone was in the bedroom a million miles away. The back door was locked (I'd managed that stupidity before fainting - joy!). I lay on the kitchen floor in my nightshirt in my 64 degree house and  the heat bled out of me. To top it off, Round Four presented itself.

As I threw up into a towel I keep in the kitchen to dry the dog during rain storms, I realized I had a very good chance of aspirating on my own vomit. How ignominious. Considering all the puking I've done in my life, to die that way was really too much.

Remembering that episode of Firefly "Out of Gas" when Mal gets shot yet has to repair Serenity's engines, I pulled myself upright enough to unlock the door. Good. Mom could get in. I might be dead, but she wouldn't have to break the glass.

Keeping the kitchen counter at my back, I found the bag of ice chips and sucked a couple down. Hopefully, I wouldn't aspirate on those. The dog finally came by to stare at me. How I wish I'd trained her to fetch a cell phone. Or drag me somewhere on command.

Obviously, I lived. I made it to the bed, and the phone. Mom and Little Sister came and got some fluid into me. I refused a trip to the hospital. My last bout of dehydration-inducing vomiting cost $900, two bags of saline and an IV phobia.

The rest of the story, and the explanation of the title, will come tomorrow. I'm out of space and time today. Kinda like when I was on the floor in the kitchen. Surreal, that was.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Try to keep it in your stomachs, OK?

Research and The Walking Dead

"Why do you write fantasy?"

"I hate research."

Been a standard answer of mine for years, but I'm coming to the point where I can appreciate the value of research. I don't know everything. Yes, take a moment to mark your calendar. The Turtle admitted she isn't omniscient. Didn't say I wasn't a know-it-all.

Tim Ward at NAF turned me on to Ramez Naam's non-fiction book More Than Human about human enhancement. While he's answering some questions, the most helpful thing he's done so far is give me some names. Real people doing amazing things in the fields of robotics and genetics that I can look up and study a bit.

TT: Why would I be researching that for my fantasy novel? chuckle.

Since I've been limiting my Farmville play, I had a few minutes this morning to read some other people's blogs. K.M. Weiland reminded me I've wanted to read the C.S. Forester Horatio Hornblower series for a while. I ordered some of those from Amazon and downloaded a bunch of samples from books I've been meaning to check out. Daughter of Smoke and Bone and The Secret of the Rose, recommended by Kat, were two.

I hope Horatio will come in handy when I write the prequel to Star of Justice. Some of that takes place on the ocean (Hope you'll enjoy that part, Caprice and Grace. I intend to plump it up for your sakes. Ships make me throw up so I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on them). Of course, that's two books from now. Don't want to get ahead of myself. On the other hand, I intend to have a good library to get me through the Zombie Apocalypse. It won't all be interrupting brain function and running from renegades, as The Walking Dead has demonstrated.

TT: Anybody else having a hard time waiting for February's season premiere? Little Sister keeps posting Darrel pics on my FB wall to taunt me.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Enjoy the warmth. Cold front's coming. 

Smaller Bites Equal Bigger Returns

Tuesday night writing went the way of the dodo, not because of social activities, but regular life getting in the way. A grocery trip, an NAF post and raw chicken to cook so I would have food add up to loss of writing time.

Not wanting to "let a missed meal turn me off eating forever," I got back to work last night.

Why haven't I done this sooner? Oh, right, I'm an idiot.

It is so much easier to focus on Rhami when all of Rhami is right there in front of me. The problems are obvious, instead of the vague sense of "something's off." Yeah, it's off and there's why.

I've thought of details I should add, new struggles for him to overcome, even created a few extra people to round out his life so it isn't as empty as the set of Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

I may also be messing up the timeline. Meh, who cares? I created the timeline; maybe it needs some messing up. There's no rule stating everybody's stories need to end at the same time. The point is to maintain tension.

I added almost 500 words again last night. That's 1000 words in two sessions compared to 1000 words for December. This was a good idea.

TT: I also noticed this version of the WIP was 66 pages. That makes Tuesday's math correct, which makes me happy. HA! 

Another good idea is breakfast. Jimmy Dean chicken apple sausage and scrambled eggs are calling. I must answer. Turtle needs food badly.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Enjoy the rain.

A Change of Place

I'm getting a new office at work. You can read about it over at

The New Authors' Fellowship

(I'll post some pics once I'm settled)

Success

I won't crow too loudly. I just started this new tack, after all, and starting tonight, I have all that socializing messing me up again. I have got to get rid of some friends.

I was half an hour early everywhere yesterday. Woke up early. Finished farming early. Washed dishes early. Turned the TV off early. Put the cats to bed early. 

I was so early, I almost put off writing. I mean, I've got my schedule of avoidance down pat. Why mess it up?

That's hardly the adult way to handle things, though, so I buckled down, copied all the Rhami parts of my WIP into a new file and got to work.

I added about 500 words. Wow. Haven't done that in one session in a while. They weren't dialogue words, either.

Rhami currently has almost 16K words for his story, and near as I can figure, I'm halfway through the book. If past is prologue (I love that phrase!) and I want to maintain symmetry, Rhami gets another 16K words to finish his bit.

TT: As suspected, Caissa has the lion's share of the WIP, as it should be, but I'll deal with her later. This one-character-storyline-at-a-time idea appeals.

Of course, I have no idea how to convert "16K words" into real story, any more than I could convert fractions into decimals without a calculator. Except maybe I do. If a page is about 250 words, Rhami gets 64 more pages. I used a calculator for that, but it doesn't feel right, especially since his current bit is 44 pages. OK, so 44 to 64 pages remain for Rhami. I can do that. Who gets next treatment depends on where his story ends.

Hey, a plan! Cool.

Happy Tuesday, everybody. Enjoy the sunshine.