tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70404867151264294202024-03-14T03:07:53.409-05:00On a Wing and a WhimOn a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.comBlogger677125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-60909218891122034002024-01-13T12:40:00.003-06:002024-01-14T10:31:13.445-06:00I'm blameable like beer<p>Been sick the last 5 weeks, so not much happening on the writing front. House renovation from the dishwasher's fill valve failing full on proceeds slowly. I have no words lately. Lots of steroids and antibiotics, but no fiction. On the other hand, this doesn't stop me from being an influence on my friends, whether for good or for ill. <br /><br />CV Walter and Cedar Sanderson are in a little text chat with me, useful for hashing out who's going to the farmer's market and would they pick up the CSA box, or discussing cover art, or stories we like that are not in genres the gents would enjoy, or hey, Aldi has this back in stock, or getting feedback on the latest chapter of a WIP, or there's a great sale on breakfast sausage at Red Barn Butchers...<br /><br />And someone, who shall remain nameless, was bemoaning the fact that they wanted to get more writing done. (Three someones out of three on the chat, really.) But one of them allowed as how they really missed doing Flash Fiction Friday, where they'd come up with a prompt, and then everyone had to write a thousand word story by the end of the... I think it was the end of the weekend. It's been a couple years.<br /><br />(I failed to follow the directions, and worked at least one prompt into a chapter of the novel in progress, while they wrote flash fiction. "Cole's cooking cornbread." If you find that line, now you know...)<br /><br />So, why not restart it? Because her Fridays are now booked solid to overbooked... and she doesn't want to do something as small as flash fiction, this time, she wants to do short stories. which would take even more time out of her weekend that she doesn't have to give. <br /><br />Me, being me, saw this as no impediment. If Fridays are booked, just move it! If the deadline of 3 days is too short, make it a week! Adapt, improvise, overcome!<br /><br />So about the time I was making a joke about tentacles (The current WIP includes satire of certain subgenres. It has a Kraken who is disappointed that he has two humans, but they're not a mated pair. Ryleh keeps trying to give his humans well-meant but wildly species-inappropriate mating advice.), I also replied, "So, make it Taco Tuesday!"</p><p>Somehow, these two things ran together in my friends' minds (I don't pry), and the running gag of Taco Tuesday With Tentacles was born, grew legs (or tentacles?) and took off running.<br /><br />Next thing I know, they've both written a story by the deadline for the first week. And they both blamed me! One in the foreword, one in the afterword. I mean, once I took the obvious cheap shot about getting getting it in front and behind at the same time by two romance authors... all I could do was laugh, and agree that I'm very blameable. <br /><br />You know, like beer: a beverage exists to be regretted, and blamed the next day for all that you accomplished, and the manner and style in which it was done.<br /></p><p>Cedar is building her romance pen-name, with a sweet romance of a chance encounter on a desert planet under deadly circumstances... (What? I didn't suggest it! She still blamed me...) with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRVTL8Y1" target="_blank">Djinn</a> (Available on Amazon at: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRVTL8Y1">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRVTL8Y1</a> )<br /><br /></p><p>CV Walter did a short story that's "the start of the happily ever after you knew would come" set after one of her romances, Pursued by the Alien Pilot, and has it available in her substack, here: <a href="https://cvwalter.substack.com/p/january-update-and-a-free-story">https://cvwalter.substack.com/p/january-update-and-a-free-story</a></p><p><br />The story itself is sweet, and the book it's following isn't that steamy. The series has plenty of spice, though! If that sounds like fun to you, this is the specific book to read first before the taco tuesday story: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09SYBG9S7">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09SYBG9S7</a></p><p>I have no idea what those two will do by next Tuesday. One's off at a convention, and the other just helped me pack my entire pantry, and demolish the OSB-and-bent-screws shelving the prior owner left us. Maybe they'll be too tired and busy. Or maybe exhaustion and sleep deprivation will mean this time, round, Taco Tuesday (With Tentacles) might actually have tacos. Or tentacles.</p><p>I don't judge. I feed them and make amusing suggestions, or advice that seemed like a good idea at the time...<br /><br /><br /></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-56429900107774540522023-10-24T22:26:00.002-05:002023-10-24T22:26:55.360-05:00Looking for something else to read?<p>There's no way I can write fast enough for my readers, so I want to recommend a series I ran into while looking for anything else that might be in the same odd niche as Combined Operations. It's just as tactical, and just as much tangled into the personal and the realpolitik, though despite what you'd expect from the covers, there's almost no romance in it. In fact, it's best if you just ignore the covers, and enjoy the stories. (Seriously. Ignore the covers. I hope he sells enough to fund new covers!)<br /></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vixen-War-Bride-Book-ebook/dp/B092YNRGGL" target="_blank">Thomas Doscher's The Vixen War Bride series</a> is set well after the galactic battles, the human colonies wiped from the face of their planet, and the fleets of starships fighting an alien menace. Instead, this is a human-scale military series, about the war for hearts and minds both of Captain Ben Gibson's human Rangers, left high and dry with orders to occupy a rural backwater in the conquered enemy's homeworld because they have nowhere else to go...</p><p>And the vulpine enemy, whose culture they never knew. Armed with only their weapons, their ability to adapt, improvise, and overcome, and an interpreter who's grasp on the local language is at best on a three year old's level, Gibson is setting out to make the best of a bad situation.</p><p>He isn't the only one. The local priestess has decided that in order to save her people from the vengeance of the conquerors, she need to be the token sacrifice. Armed with courage and inspiration, she demands he marry her, and succeeds... Only to realize that now she has to figure out how to tell him what he's done. </p><p>Cross-cultural communications and the nature of people at their best, and their worst, are handled with a deft touch and light humor in this series, with both viewpoints shown so the reader can delight in the attempts at two very different people with limited communication to forge a path toward true peace.</p><p>You'll also enjoy the hijinks of bored enlisted, and the tense moments of dealing with the problems of repatriating guerillas, as well as the many small incidents, day after day, full of unfounded assumptions, revelations, laughter, and tears as they work together and at cross-purposes to establish trust... despite the latest dictates from the far-away army headquarters, and the deep-seated prejudices on both sides.</p><p>A surprisingly heart-warming set of military scifi tales; highly recommended.</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-11516118369267558362023-10-14T11:21:00.000-05:002023-10-14T11:21:47.225-05:00Introvert's Paradise<p>I found introvert paradise! <br /><br /></p><p>Okay, besides used bookstores with miles of shelf space and a coffee shop attached.<br /><br /></p><p>And besides the ridgeline of a subarctic mountain chain, above the treeline and the mosquitoes, with a break in the weather so the sun is pouring down and you can see 150 miles in almost every direction, from the mountains near and far to the sun sparkling off the sea, with only the faintest hint of civilization.<br /><br /></p><p>And besides a scratch strip up near the glaciers, where summer has already faded to fall and the air is full of the scent of fireweed blooming, along with the airplane's hot oil and exhaust, and the ting of an engine cooling off chimes in with the birds to accent the sound of the wind, and other than the tundra tire tracks at your feet, there's no evidence that man was ever here.<br /><br />Now that I'm in Texas, I have to work harder, and lower my standards to find my paradise where I can.<br />It can be done! </p><p>This morning, for reasons, I was later to the pool than normal... and found I <i>was the only one there</i>. </p><p>It's a adults-only, use-at-own-risk pool, so there wasn't even a lifeguard breathing my air. </p><p>Glorious!<br /><br /></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-33505201867922974342023-10-03T22:17:00.002-05:002023-10-03T22:17:49.358-05:00Something New to Read - Dust of the Ocean<p>So, I wrote another book, "<a href="https://amzn.to/3PYz3wW" target="_blank">Dust Of The Ocean</a>"</p><p>It was a homage to Andre Norton, and to Michael Whelan's art, especially the subterranean and Passages series. I intended it to be horror, but none of my characters cooperated.<br /><br />Which... is awfully like Andre Norton's stories, to be honest. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3PYz3wW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAd3-ukPfZGiNyygc8NeB-5xGl0vjmszunOcDt5fWkZz7A4ALdoA5EcsCqOFVp6XqKR8e8ujEJFnH9wUJmZCLilQmJ1nm4HUATIeTRWcmRamQ8f76JU9KoQmb-mQ9KNAq0J3UfMz_lsj61-fPyLdb9jxwnOHzX26PExthvgjcMFUZIiW0nDx62sVS0J6c/s16000/Cover%20'Dust%20Of%20The%20Ocean'.png" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>What's it about?</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In the ruins of an ancient alien city, a half-alien slave's act of mercy will change the course of a cold war.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When Mika saves Arkady, a wounded enemy soldier, he offers her a path to freedom. All it will take is finding a hidden artifact that may alter the course of an interstellar conflict…</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But the path there will plunge their team into the depths of inhuman nightmares, battling ancient bioweapons and outwitting her former owners. It's going to take everything they have just to survive, much less escape with their prize!</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><p><br /></p><p>It's much longer than my usual, at over 100,000 words. It is a stand-alone novel, but is set in the same universe as "<a href="https://amzn.to/3ry38dn" target="_blank">Shattered Under Midnight</a>"... </p><p>And for those of you who've seen the anthology of incompetent evil, "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGGRCFHP/" target="_blank">Your Honor, I Can Explain</a>" by Raconteur press, yes, Deputy Director Spurgle makes an appearance in this, too. </p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-33366808084832201112023-08-26T12:02:00.001-05:002023-08-26T13:30:11.844-05:00Strange New Smells and Strange Old Males<p>So, I have started swimming again, and learned to wear a skirt to the pool. (It's far easier to get dressed with damp skin compared to pulling on pants.)</p><p>Unfortunately, Ashbutt McDieselthroat <i>loves</i> my recycled-sari skirts. He's fascinated by them in a way that no other clothing attracts cat. </p><p>...at least he's stopped trying to pull them off me? </p><p>However, when I come home from the pool, something about the scent on my feet, flip-flops, and the skirt hem where it's touched the locker room floor is <i>utterly entrancing</i> to this cat.</p><p>This makes life interesting when I'm trying to make coffee and breakfast.</p><p>After the third time I had to gently shove him out of the way with my foot because he got so wrapped up in smelling the cloth he forgot to watch out for me trying to move around the kitchen...</p><p>I grumbled to my husband, "Love, there's a strange male sniffing around my skirts!"</p><p>My love just grinned, and sipped his cuppa. "I'm not worried. He's too hairy for you." </p><div><br /></div>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-82585433238024199212023-05-11T23:27:00.002-05:002023-05-11T23:27:58.801-05:00Artists like challenges, right?<p>So, my cover artist and I went to the range recently. On the way back, we found the time to tackle things even more difficult than shot placement and proper grip: cover art. She'd sent a mockup of what would be a great cover for someone else's book, and I had to think for a few days about why I didn't like it before I had an answer. </p><p>Me: "The problem with the cover is that it clearly conveys military scifi, but this book isn't modern MilSF; it's an homage to Andre Norton, Leigh Brackett, Lovecraft and Jack Vance and Scientifiction. Back before the genres were near as split as they are today, and you could have psychic powers and fantastic alien ruins of unknown races and remnants of the eldritch... If modern readers pick it up expecting a MilSF full of modern tropes, they're going to be unhappy. But how do we signal a pulpy retro Astounding and Weird Tales vibe?"</p><p>My cover artist: "Challenge. Accepted."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyhl3zWo9rWDbSSqEYSgURLVfF87XkurEf-lxDlCdVy_mmGxAckzjjTvlMMNsRwhNrHwf6xH1cgBzwwsXbskJ_NunmCOj-GA1pkntkBmZ_ipof2yqS_AlTq82W0vv0rgb22FnmnD9mgoR2jFCsx4H8c-gXi3AvQpcT5LcLxIi8P3zKqZaxGSu4cIOGQ/s2560/DOE_old_school.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyhl3zWo9rWDbSSqEYSgURLVfF87XkurEf-lxDlCdVy_mmGxAckzjjTvlMMNsRwhNrHwf6xH1cgBzwwsXbskJ_NunmCOj-GA1pkntkBmZ_ipof2yqS_AlTq82W0vv0rgb22FnmnD9mgoR2jFCsx4H8c-gXi3AvQpcT5LcLxIi8P3zKqZaxGSu4cIOGQ/s320/DOE_old_school.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAJz1VgQaPMzX7w_fKwkoA0REW7YJyiIHffowXujBcyAVEoBWY9phXrx8ovt4NqtsATR_VllYfMDZtYrHB1-5HLkTWFPvNH97gWO1L2j8z3FwqK56_L9QHaIQ-bZC8bMfyTzXkr1GydeLvrPC-RyBZEb2hmXHlAw1AA3pjccIjJKoGAPVuToEbDwMjg/s1344/DotE_alt.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="896" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAJz1VgQaPMzX7w_fKwkoA0REW7YJyiIHffowXujBcyAVEoBWY9phXrx8ovt4NqtsATR_VllYfMDZtYrHB1-5HLkTWFPvNH97gWO1L2j8z3FwqK56_L9QHaIQ-bZC8bMfyTzXkr1GydeLvrPC-RyBZEb2hmXHlAw1AA3pjccIjJKoGAPVuToEbDwMjg/s320/DotE_alt.png" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-28937388023312635542023-04-21T10:44:00.001-05:002023-04-23T11:52:22.251-05:00My friends are helpful<p>Me: "Hey, Alma. I flop over and be dead at you now. After 7 years since this story first bit me, on the fifth? sixth? try... You remember how I started this sucker from when it wouldn't leave me alone while I was trying to finish another book? That was back in November 2021, and I've been trying to finish it since? Is finally done!"</p><p><a href="https://almatcboykin.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Alma</a>: "Congratulations!"</p><p>Me: "The next time I pull out an old unfinished story and tell you I'm going to salvage it and finish it, shoot me." </p><p>Alma: "Nerf or water?"</p><p>Me: "Taser."</p><p>Alma: "OK!"</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-8453148175361931642023-04-07T20:24:00.003-05:002023-04-07T20:26:00.689-05:00Want something amusing to read?<p>The requirement was: "take a well-known trope and twist it."<br />Jim Curtis also said something to me about my never having written a trope straight in my life before, so he didn't see why this one should be a challenge.</p><p>Which means, of course, that I couldn't come up with anything... until cold meds, insomnia, and a horrible yet hilarious meme collided, and this came out. I sent it to Jim figuring he'd look at in the sober light of day and recommend Peter take my butt back to the doctor. Instead, he thought it was hilarious. So...</p><p>Come to to the dark side, where demons do dishes, and we have cookies...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Twisted-Tropes-JL-Curtis-ebook/dp/B0C1L3K82Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCN218mAYUTy00B2e5oJucpUxCyhhlYu9jPF5x5B87DXZGnzM2djsW_TO14dFTwoW2gDKpXsGijsxbUuf7yl4uizejXeeM_MU7JkVQIUgn8wL9NdqrXF_ndzZGhrxwBiKl-L0r3sGiBSXUiINHpHIC54Zuaq3qQ4OJ6du5Ylog4h9kDwzw1G73OAySCw/s320/TwistedTropesAntho.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p>Available on Amazon here: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1L3K82Q">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1L3K82Q</a></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-37117397894559343822023-03-17T20:35:00.000-05:002023-03-17T20:35:05.226-05:00Because Dinosaurs!<p>Calmer Half and I have some interests in which we both can geek out happily, and some areas of interest where the other half of the couple has no joy and even less interest in the subject. </p><p>Sometimes he humours me, and despite his "get from Point A to Point B as directly as possible with no stops unless critical to health or logistics" attitude, he'll exude restraint at me while detouring to see a giant meteor crater. (Wheee!)</p><p>Sometimes, he doesn't. </p><p>That's where friends come in. This morning, after rack pulling 208 pounds (2 reps, 3 sets), I eyed the lat pulldown machine and decided I'd had enough of being adult for the day. So I texted CV Walter. "Wanna run away with me and see dinosaurs?"</p><p>She texted very sleepily back that she needed to find the shower, and then her clothes, in that order. So give her 45 minutes. I texted her the equivalent of happy noises, and then gritted my teeth and did my lat pulldown exercises.</p><p>I then went over to her place, kidnapped her from all her intentions, and took her to... <br />coffee first. <br /><br />What, do I look like a monster? I'm not going to inflict random road trip on people without coffee!</p><p>We may have had coffee and gelato for breakfast at The Duck (it'll always be Odd Duck Coffee to me), but we did at least have breakfast bagels with egg and salmon and capers and cream cheese so it wasn't all caffeine and sugar. </p><p>Then we drove off to Seymour, TX, to see all the dinosaurs! And the dimetrodons, which are, just read the sign NOT DINOSAURS. (Yes, it's in all caps. Posted right next to "Rules To Be A Dinosaur".) Just ask any six year old boy, <i>That's Important</i>.</p><p>Some museums are full of themselves and think they're there to "raise the public consciousness" and you're gonna get lectures on cause of the moment and fashionable crises while you're just trying to have fun. Not the <a href="https://www.wmnh.org/" target="_blank">Whiteside Museum of Natural History</a>: this place is rich in artifacts and feels like it was made by a bunch of scientists letting out their inner six-year-olds. </p><p>Right down to the little plastic dino toys hidden in some of the exhibits. And the way the T. Rex is positioned so she looks like <i>she's looking at you no matter where you move</i>.</p><p>And they even have the actual lab where the paleontologists are working on the actual fossils brought in from the dig with the cool toys at the end of the building, with large windows so you can see them. one of them may have caught me squealing over the miniaturized sandblaster the size of a ballpoint pen, and came out to geek out over the awesomeness. Next thing you know, we're crouched over a juvenile dimetrodon's clavicle, exclaiming over the amazing job of freeing from the stone, and the person who's put in all the work to make it look so good is showing off the nerve attach point, and a hole where something bit all the way through before it went from fresh meat to fossilized...</p><p>Utterly cool. </p><p>I stopped on the way home and bought fresh raspberries and roses for my Calmer Half, and he seems just as happy that he missed all the excited female squeaking and squealing and gigglage. </p><p>See the exhibit warning label:<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RmUC5n0owwiyjIF3g6VnckYsqxdRXAhYM5yZpKm_qEwg5cuUbMs0KPODRjSAKj4ZcOfZX5GAK6PTMJ8Aq0BNIa9ZGLj3s2Bd2m1_7D_ClGi-UFFPSywKlbpbz0Y2YuQD_TUkNipao0WdUJ354tl9FSkzeWoaOqVwLyn7yF2D7tCOPPyNx6ui2psf7A/s4032/ItStillBites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RmUC5n0owwiyjIF3g6VnckYsqxdRXAhYM5yZpKm_qEwg5cuUbMs0KPODRjSAKj4ZcOfZX5GAK6PTMJ8Aq0BNIa9ZGLj3s2Bd2m1_7D_ClGi-UFFPSywKlbpbz0Y2YuQD_TUkNipao0WdUJ354tl9FSkzeWoaOqVwLyn7yF2D7tCOPPyNx6ui2psf7A/w425-h566/ItStillBites.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><br />On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-70849557319636372382023-03-05T19:51:00.000-06:002023-03-05T19:51:33.021-06:00Futures Contract, Vegetable Edition<p>Yesterday I did something that I've wanted to do for years, but never felt stable or capable enough to manage: I got a futures contract in unspecified vegetables and berries filling a specified sized container, delivered in 21 installments over as many weeks. </p><p>The marketing people call that a "Community Supported Agriculture Share." </p><p>The difference being, instead of the jargon-heavy contract for a standardized commodity, I handed cash to the farmwife over a handshake, and the details were written on the margins of a flyer advertising last fall's corn maze. </p><p>We both come out the better for the deal - the farmers get stabilized cash flow, up front, with no credit card vendor fee biting their profit margin, and they get a solid estimation of minimum demand for the crops they are planning. Even better from a risk-forecasting point of view, by not specifying the contents of the box beyond "grown on our farm (or the berry farm & vineyard across the road)", if they have a crop failure or an unexpectedly abundant harvest, (or on the demand end, an unexpected run on a particular vegetable / failure to sell a particular vegetable at all,) they can substitute the box composition, and normalize availability between CSA Share buyers and the farmer's market stall.</p><p>This isn't necessarily weighted in favor of the market stall, either; I know the early harvest of high-tunnel strawberries are going in the CSA boxes instead of available at the farmer's market... which makes solid sense, in rewarding high-volume customers willing to assume delivery risk first. </p><p>The only reason it took me this long to do this?</p><p>I had to find a friend who likes to cook, in order to be willing to split the product with me. I don't actually eat that many vegetables, and wasting good food is a sin. Now that the North Texas Troublemakers have grown so much, I have not one but two friends who are willing to divvy up the box, and if I throw in eggs I get from a neighbor, they're willing to pay for what they want upon delivery. Their cash flow might not be able to handle the up-front cost of a CSA share right now, but they can manage weekly payments of same. </p><p>Besides, they'll not only pay in cash, but in kitchen scraps. Those will go to the neighbor to feed the chickens, which will result in more tasty eggs...</p><p>Unfettered capitalism: everyone wins!<br /><br /></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-69809024266433327922023-03-02T09:14:00.000-06:002023-03-02T09:14:08.740-06:00Now for something completely different!<p>So there I was, standing on a corner, minding my own business, when suddenly these two bad dudes...</p><p>Actually, I think I was running around trying to clean the house, and make headway on far too many projects, and being<br /> mildly sad that most of my friends went off to MarsCon while I'd made the adult choice to stay home. And it wasn't Sumdood of EMS fame, it was the Three Moms of the Apocalypse, who are good friends, that decided I needed to be in on the Postcards From Mars fun. </p><p>Something about yanking my chain on my inability to write an 8,000 word short story, and how they mostly keep ending up as novels... so let's see if I could write a story in 50 words.</p><p>I didn't expect to make the cut, much less end up on the cover!</p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BW239Z38/">https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BW239Z38/</a></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEbuSzINtvGRV57Opm-qaCKceKqpVjfGuDSHLdyEAXjY0W8CTcq9Gw0Q0a8FP_4P7_jvjyPp5x6EbWgQTG4mjOSbjtBhCPnIxo5911t-l7Kf2t_nzosCC9xaxnDWzNajMMkKHczBWYgUmweHo4hntnEZBCdInQTiYNT8LnpxBD1QXrzM-7rbsFRU7xw/s499/postvards%20from%20mars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEbuSzINtvGRV57Opm-qaCKceKqpVjfGuDSHLdyEAXjY0W8CTcq9Gw0Q0a8FP_4P7_jvjyPp5x6EbWgQTG4mjOSbjtBhCPnIxo5911t-l7Kf2t_nzosCC9xaxnDWzNajMMkKHczBWYgUmweHo4hntnEZBCdInQTiYNT8LnpxBD1QXrzM-7rbsFRU7xw/s320/postvards%20from%20mars.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br /><p></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-7797653032752239892023-02-12T15:50:00.000-06:002023-02-12T15:50:44.308-06:00How Did You Expect This To Go?<p>How do you expect this to go?<br /><br />At the gym, and everyone present is lifting weights. One gent attempts to go up in weight on bench press, and fails the rep. His spotter quickly grabs the bar and assists in muscling it up onto the pegs before it can be unkind to the gent's chest. </p><p>Another guy, who just deadlifted roughly 400 pounds, commiserates with him. "Hey, man, as Taylor Swift says, shake it off."</p><p>A brief silence descends on the gym. </p><p>"You listen to Taylor Swift?"</p><p>...</p><p>How it actually went:<br /></p><p>The guy who's deadlifting grins as he starts to unrack the plates off the bar. "I have a teenage daughter!"</p><p>"Oh, yeah, then you've heard it all! Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus..."</p><p>A third dude chimes in. "Hannah Montana! So much Hannah Montana!"</p><p><br /></p><p>I love this gym.</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-6066508527788423222022-11-21T23:06:00.001-06:002022-11-21T23:06:09.512-06:00Well, that was a trip!<p>Was on the road for 10 days for a conference, and learned a lot of things. It's a good thing when I come back with at least a hundred hours of homework to do in order to dig into information and implement what I learned. Some of the panels, I was definitely behind on the power curve... and some, I was nodding along and going "Yeah, we already do that."</p><p>Then I went to lunch, and got propositioned and my bag got stolen.<br /><br />I should explain. I met up with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Kacey-Ezell/e/B0195040QU" target="_blank">Kacey Ezell</a>, who is an awesome person as well as good author, and a mutual friend of ours, whom I'll call B. We decided to go to a restaurant in the casino next door, where the ladies had a wonderful steak the night before. The easier way to get there from where we were was to actually go outside and get a little sunshine, while walking around the sidewalks of Vegas... something that none of us were eager to do alone. As we walked along the entry/exit drive to our hotel/conference center/casino, a car started pacing us and the driver calling out. I looked in confusion at him as what he was yelling made no sense. He didn't have any Uber markings, wasn't a taxi, so why was he calling for me to get in the car?</p><p>B looked at my confused face, and broke the obvious news to the slow one in the group. "He's propositioning you."</p><p>"Oh! It's been so long, I didn't recognize it!" (Middle age. It's a thing.) "No thank, you. I'm married!"</p><p>This did not discourage the man, who switched to imploring that he needed more of my big booty in his life, and other salacious requests. After we parted ways from where he could easily follow (with some muttering of unhappiness at the fact that none of us were carrying, and we all now regretted that decision), I looked at the other two ladies. "Great. Now I feel very self-conscious about the size of my ass. After five years of weightlifting, I may have done too many squats, presses, and rack pulls."</p><p>The response was a teasing grin. "Or maybe... you've finally done just enough!" (With friends like these...)</p><p>So lunch in the Very Nice Cafe proceeded apace, and all went well, until we finished off a baguette. They came in little paper bags, and I flattened and folded the sack in to clearly show that it was empty, and encourage the waiter to bring another while we were distracted by talking. None of us were anticipating that it might trick the recognition filter of a pickpocket, but it got neatly swiped off the corner of the table by one just the same!</p><p>(In retrospect, it might have looked, from the wrong angle, like a flip wallet by the way I folded it. Wish we could have seen his face when he realized what he'd gotten!)</p><p>...While it was wonderful to network, learn things, and get hugs from friends, frankly, I won't miss that town.</p><p>Once we Escaped From Vegas (thankfully with less traffic jams, inane and insane drivers pulling stupid human tricks, and GPS misplacing itself than on the way in), we regretfully decided there wasn't enough time in the day to properly see the Grand Canyon, and made our way to Flagstaff. </p><p>I know humans can acclimatize to anything. Not just because my life has moved from Alaska to Texas, but because people appear to happily live in Flagstaff, and elevations even higher. I, on the other hand, was winded just standing up. Thank G-d for oxygen in a can. </p><p>That said, the food was lovely at <a href="https://www.thenorthernpines.com/" target="_blank">The Northern Pines</a>. As for the company, it was even better. We met up with Larry Lambert, who blogs at <a href="https://www.virtualmirage.org/" target="_blank">Virtual Mirage</a>. You know, for a man I'd never met before and only seen a picture the size of my pinky nail that may or may not be an inaccurate avatar... I had no problem looking out the window as he walked up, and going "That's him." There's something about the breed of men my Calmer Half knows and enjoys spending time with that you can just immediately pick out from the body language and the walk. </p><p>The conversation ranged all over the map, from firepower to philosophy to politics to pictures of an elk who's fond of visiting (quite the handsome critter) and flying. I'll just say that it'll be worth going back to Flagstaff to visit with Larry again, and he gives good hugs.</p><p>On the way home, Calmer Half yielded to my plea for a side trip, but told me I had to pick one: the petrified forest, or the meteor crater. ...of course the crater won! I'd love to fly over that thing and see the ripples in the bedrock from a good height, because just what I could see standing on the lip of the rimwall was amazing. </p><p>Albuquerque was not so bad the second time, not after Flagstaff. Well, and the second time it didn't have seriously sketchy and twitchy gent eyeing the van while Peter was checking into the hotel that had me making a slow smooth movement for a piece of hardware... A night without incident and a morning with excellent coffee have me thinking better of that city than first exposure. All the same, I was very happy to get back to our tiny town where "youth run wild" means the cows have gotten out, and are eating my neighbor's roses.</p><p>Not that I had to get back to Tiny Town, Texas to see youth run wild. Just north of Claude, two black angus yearlings who were clearly in high spirits after finding or making a break in the fence came pelting at I-40 in the that bouncing full-tilt run of "you can't catch me!" Calmer Half hit the brakes, as did everyone else - Thank G-d the semi behind us had Very Good Brakes - and the beeves stopped just short of the asphalt, so close to the hood of our vehicle I could see the snot flying as they snorted. </p><p>...Getting chewed out by the cats for being gone was kind of anticlimactic after that. </p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-82761107672668499792022-11-03T22:56:00.001-05:002022-11-03T23:40:11.028-05:00Everything's fine<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaqUX01JAd4Bk_YdHzK9XJtkvaIi8YFwB8VSDDoWKA2HuxQIfsIin1yodph-Vz1JbcYjBDWthaViT0s4Wf89SodRWSx1sI3wT5lRs3FORrfe__SGpuGcbbeoYNh92A-OO7y9-H5Baha-kLGWhBSwr1XxyQqzyjzR_9e4h6U6c55hxzHntGV4TdVXUaA/s3264/Kili.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaqUX01JAd4Bk_YdHzK9XJtkvaIi8YFwB8VSDDoWKA2HuxQIfsIin1yodph-Vz1JbcYjBDWthaViT0s4Wf89SodRWSx1sI3wT5lRs3FORrfe__SGpuGcbbeoYNh92A-OO7y9-H5Baha-kLGWhBSwr1XxyQqzyjzR_9e4h6U6c55hxzHntGV4TdVXUaA/s320/Kili.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Kili-Cat occasionally expresses Strong Opinions with vocalizations that would school an irritated sailor, if only we could translate. Sometimes, it's with an ungentle nip that doesn't break the skin. And sometimes, with a well-placed bit of vomit. Which, hey, at least she doesn't say it with scat.<br /><br />At least, that's for Calmer Half and myself. From vets I have heard "Come get your hellion!" and "that furry little buzzsaw" and her folder at each new vet sprouts fluorescent stickers saying things like <b>DO <u>NOT </u>TAKE TEMPERATURE RECTALLY!! </b><p></p><p>I like the latest Vet; when I warned her with the dreaded phrase, "She's usually very sweet at home, but..." they took me seriously. And <i>mirabile dictu</i>, Kili has yet to go into attack mode around them, and it's been 3 years. </p><p>Well, we had to leave for an overnight trip (one of those "do you want to leave the house at 4am, and fight the metromess's finest rush hour traffic, to make it to this appointment? Or overnight in a hotel nearby?" decisions), and came back to find 6 piles of vomit around the house. I suspected Strong Opinion about us pulling out The Luggage of Feline Lamentation, but that was a bit excessive, so off to the vet we went. </p><p>Besides, I've had her on new food for a while: I wanted to check she was actually doing fine on it. </p><p>Kili was Not Happy about this. In fact, she sounded like a little serial killer with a chainsaw still distant in the smoke and fog, with occasional pauses to hiss at the vet tech. </p><p>According the Vet, she has gained a pound, "which is just fine in a geriatric cat; we're worried about them losing weight at this point, not gaining it." She also has "beautiful clear eyes, nice ears, lovely well-taken-care-of coat, a little tartar on her teeth but not unexpected at her age, everything's fine on her internals, a little arthritis but also not unexpected at her age, and the vomiting is well within normal for cats, especially ones who eat a dry food diet, given her age..."<br /><br />MrrrRRrrrr<b>RRR</b>rrrrROOROWOWOLLLL<i>rrrrrrrr</i>!!!<br /><br />"...and disposition."</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-67683137795857292282022-10-26T11:09:00.000-05:002022-10-26T11:09:07.744-05:00Canned debate<p> Or, how my Calmer Half wins the fight we didn't have. Because old age not only brings treachery, but patience and cunning.</p><p>A few years ago, my love bought some kitchen jars for me that he <i>thought</i> were what I wanted. They were beautiful, with olivewood lids and silicon seals (things I like). They also sucked, because the lids come straight off when I pull up, so any attempt to grab from the top results in broken glass and spilled grits. Also, the mouths were too small to get a half-cup measure in. </p><p>So, rather than get more of them, I promptly started using quart and half-gallon mason jars for other grains, sugar, and ground flours. I didn't get rid of them, because I wasn't going to waste money already spent. Same reason for the mason jars: I had them, and why waste money when I've already got something that will do? </p><p>It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was the duct tape and safety wire solution of kitchen organization. My love got these lids for the canning jars to make it easier to pour, clearly designed to turn the jar into a sort of sippy cup, and they made it better. However, the flours still clump, and the much smaller hole means it's a pain when things clump. </p><p>A few days ago, my darling overheard the smothered yelps of pain and growl of frustration as I smacked the glass jar into an arthritic hand, and hurt myself more than it moved the clumped almond meal inside. I was grumbling (endemic to weather change and arthritis acting up, not this particular jar) as I then started rolling it on the cutting board to try to break up the clump so I could pour out a third of a cup.</p><p>He came out of his office and asked if he should get better lids, or more of the pretty jars instead? I recognized a "problem! fix problem!" air about him, and decided truth would be more useful than tact. Unfortunately, I didn't so it in a gentle, kind, or loving manner. </p><p>You might even say I attempted to bite his head off and gnaw on his jugular. My darling simply waited it out, like a stone calmly letting a wave break over him, as I snarled that I did not like either alternative, and did not want him spending more money to improve makeshift containers I already disliked in the first place. When I was finished, he simply asked, "What do you want?"</p><p>That was the right question.</p><p>I finished pouring the almond meal, and cradled my hands to my chest as I grumbled that what I really wanted were vacuum-sealed plastic containers, but I wasn't going to spend the money on them, which is why I was making do with the glass jars in the first place. </p><p>I got this puzzled look, completely ignoring the way I was snarling and focusing on the single relevant fact. "I've never heard of these. What are they? Can you show me?" </p><p>So I limped over to his computer, pulled up amazon, typed in kitchen vacuum storage containers, and then informed him that I hadn't done any research because I wasn't spending the money, and I was going to go get a painkiller now.</p><p>As I made a cuppa to take the painkiller with, I heard faintly from his office, "Ouch! Yes, I see what you mean about the price!"</p><p>I thought this would be the end of it, but no.</p><p>An hour later, he's in my office. "Love, I just sent you three links, to three different sizes. Which would you prefer in the pantry?" </p><p>As I was in much less pain by then, I was much calmer, and just looked at him with puzzled disbelief. "Love, didn't you see the price tag on them?"</p><p>He gave me this look like when I'm supposed to be somewhere in fifteen minutes, and haven't started drinking my tea or finding my clothes yet. "If I'm going to reorganize the pantry, then best we start with the containers we'll be using when we're finished. Decide what you want, so I can get that out of the way." As I opened my mouth to object, he shifted to a guttural tone of pure command. <b>"You are NOT hurting yourself again."</b></p><p>...and that is how he preemptively wins the fights we don't have.</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-60339268813699083242022-10-23T20:40:00.002-05:002022-10-23T20:40:33.027-05:00Teaser art...<p> I've been sending snippets to Cedar Sanderson, as she's one of my alpha readers. About the point the team is far underground inside the ruins of an alien city, she sends me this feedback:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApR0UDMN5g2vHblNF_uVbhfwAsF_yTbKd_-6t7dp92F7yoTsjjMbt3I9dKRT_-hf56WfVUXQxzWQwLEP3Mcu8UUBxIaGn-mf6AvfjYNceL2gicm6uM6h5CiY3Dkw24fHkB9mJDwVXoJ1NW9kkMj2AYHWkRqs0_MC-K4JTORAnL701GIqwBgtLYPqFUA/s1280/Cedarlili_distant_figures.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1280" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApR0UDMN5g2vHblNF_uVbhfwAsF_yTbKd_-6t7dp92F7yoTsjjMbt3I9dKRT_-hf56WfVUXQxzWQwLEP3Mcu8UUBxIaGn-mf6AvfjYNceL2gicm6uM6h5CiY3Dkw24fHkB9mJDwVXoJ1NW9kkMj2AYHWkRqs0_MC-K4JTORAnL701GIqwBgtLYPqFUA/s320/Cedarlili_distant_figures.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-83900622279808354932022-08-27T09:33:00.002-05:002022-08-27T09:33:44.058-05:00getting ripped<p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Karla, Helvetica Neue, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #faf9f9;">I finally experienced the rite of passage for female weightlifters: I popped a shoulder seam on my shirt.</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Karla, Helvetica Neue, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #faf9f9;">Women’s shirts are not make for significant upper body muscle. Once we start to develop muscle in our pecs, lats, delts, biceps, and triceps, the women's cut shirts with the cute capped sleeves get tight, and then it give way at the weakest seam.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So I carefully deployed a seam ripper… wait, no, couldn’t find mine. So I grabbed the lovely hand-forged damascus knife that was an anniversary present from Calmer Half several years ago, and used it as a seam ripper to remove the sleeves to make a tank top.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Fittingly, the shirt has a line drawing of a feline all curled up, with:</span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Karla, Helvetica Neue, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #faf9f9;">I don’t want to adult today.<br /></span></span><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I don’t even want to human.<br /></span><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Today, I want to cat.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Sounds about perfect for someone who works swing shift lifting heavy things too bloody early in the morning, eh?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #faf9f9; color: #333333; font-family: Karla, "Helvetica Neue", helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">May you all find time to cat, and your own sunbeam.</span></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-45001009712692425202022-08-20T14:07:00.000-05:002022-08-20T14:07:34.116-05:00Shopping, not Buying<p>The Farmer's Market in Itchy Paw Falls recently had a large number of vendors split ways with its old location, so this morning I met up with two friends to check out who decided to move to the new location. <br /></p><p>Some days, you go shopping with Serious Intentions and a list to buy. </p><p>Some days, there's mochas and strawberry lemonade popsicles and salsa and a sticker of an armed kewpie doll (glock in a shoulder holster) and a little ceramic whistle that sounds like a song bird...</p><p>One of the candle vendors had been next to CV Walter when she was selling her books at the art walk. When we checked out his booth (first time he & CV had seen each other since then), he had a new candle based on her books. Cross-pollination happens in the arts! How cool is that?</p><p>We also met a friend's kid, who is now an adult and an artist in her own right, holding down her own table. Which was another layer of fun, because first, we weren't expecting to see her there - we'd been referred by another vendor as "you've got to check her art out" and "She's cool." Second, because this meant four artists could stand there and talk shop about table rents and intellectual property and markets... And walk away having bought stickers she made, because we really liked them! (And now I have an easy and clear identification mark on my new laptop.)<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-9713Fk7HQklYB5drwyb1wfWC2-XJFmm98gMdHE7T99rzWr11foEkpS_9fVmlHt5jxlkiQa6sGaQpZvbsNqXhvQvL3NUv0DadVTMyKLTObmxeOpsYodhGj2mu2A75tKm-jyhaoF45VsAxBw2yczC2anhF1PhcKHu8BF5uNaRzKcUTs63jNTRuf6DUg/s3264/9lives%20sticker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-9713Fk7HQklYB5drwyb1wfWC2-XJFmm98gMdHE7T99rzWr11foEkpS_9fVmlHt5jxlkiQa6sGaQpZvbsNqXhvQvL3NUv0DadVTMyKLTObmxeOpsYodhGj2mu2A75tKm-jyhaoF45VsAxBw2yczC2anhF1PhcKHu8BF5uNaRzKcUTs63jNTRuf6DUg/s320/9lives%20sticker.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We briefly lost Cedar Sanderson when we hit a table selling botanical things... It wasn't the dried flower wreaths, the floral bath bombs, or even hibiscus sugar, which I found really intriguing (I've seen vanilla-doped caster sugar for dusting the tops of pastries and cocktails, but never hibiscus-doped caster sugar before.) No, it was the vintage botanical being used as a prop for the goods. Next thing you know, she and the vendor are geeking out about old herbals and other antique botanical books and where they've found them... </p><p>Given that I had stopped to have a conversation about what blooms at what time of the year and how much you had to hold back in the supers for overwintering a hive in TX vs. North Carolina with one of the local apiaries, I just stood back and grinned. Okay, and egged CV Walter into getting a little ceramic whistle that sounds like a songbird. </p><p>Because cat harassment!</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-78737918777833709012022-07-29T12:46:00.003-05:002022-07-29T12:46:51.524-05:00Want something new to read?<p>If you liked the other things I wrote, you might like this. It's not so much a romance, really, as it is about the problems that come after the happily ever after. Like meeting the family that he doesn't talk to, and finding out that there's more than one feud going on. It's about finding out the hard way that when you've been out defending the homeland, and not being there, home changes until it isn't home anymore, and the people there become strangers with a shared history in the thirty years <a href="https://amzn.to/3bgLhQ2" target="_blank">Between Two Graves</a>.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3bgLhQ2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3XHjQDqj6U95gYGfxeAhPrru1VUbt895y7umAG-WB84WAdQx0r5iY-zSXPGbJ9TlEPD-RdcK3j9a_8nTaO5KU4PTMNtYTGl_6oITLAGGOrAKMPVk5lzo_7vyrwhFl1lbeXxBCkODI8-Y6QnERkqYl-3sd0fjhigh8TyiHTwaJQ6WIBKoEtxnxrqb/s16000/Between%20Two%20Graves%20-%20e-book%20cover%20-%20blog%20size%20350px.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Of course, there are a couple firefights as well, because it's me. <br /><br />The blurb:</p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He swore he wouldn't be back while his parents lived...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Now, almost thirty years later, AJ is going home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ordered to attend his mother's funeral in the rugged northern border of the Empire, AJ is baring old wounds to his new wife, and burying familial feuds.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But the past won't die that easily, and grave secrets will threaten all the survivors and the women they love. Because the Feds are after AJ's unwanted inheritance...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And they're willing to risk a war to get their hands on it.</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><p>Currently available in ebook, print edition to follow very shortly (I accidentally introduced a formatting error and it spread. The cleanup to get chapters and page numbers to agree is tedious, and I love my detail-oriented husband very, very much for all the assistance he's giving on this.)</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-42858221801341123452022-07-23T11:59:00.002-05:002022-07-23T11:59:53.400-05:00All bank angle and speed<p> As below, so above...</p><p>This morning, there was a swarm of gnats hovering above the front yard like a bait ball of feeder fish. Unfortunately for them, they were swarming directly in the approach path the barn swallows use to get to their nest on my front porch.</p><p>The air was full of flashing wings zooming in and out like dolphins taking out the bait ball, right outside my front window. </p><p>And Ashbutt-cat in the windowsill was losing his everloving fluffy little mind...</p><p>It did not get better when I opened the window so he could hear the excited twittering of birds maintaining comms for situational awareness and coordination. No, it got worse. Much worse. </p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-50505492620350098352022-07-10T12:14:00.000-05:002022-07-10T12:14:08.410-05:00Formative books of my childhood<p>The subject came up, yesterday, of formative books from childhood. Everybody usually has one or two they can think of... I promptly went and pulled my favorite off the shelf, because it has been following me around all these years. </p><p>Yes, Dad gave this to me when it was brand new. See the publication date. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZsI3uw0LX73bbbVtA9UXeTksEECVXjLCaEiLLRQ_3I8b5s75K70gOydCU9Rdj4_lnoaCA4NXZEVs7E0iJwFJM5vdbDmX-McShV68OVmODS4XJZdFyKwa5TDhQPfBaOx2JjvLhXQQPrV09j1nnrqPCC--wDtp2byI4n-cxMGGx8HxEXT-bXNp-UdjDg/s3264/Survival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZsI3uw0LX73bbbVtA9UXeTksEECVXjLCaEiLLRQ_3I8b5s75K70gOydCU9Rdj4_lnoaCA4NXZEVs7E0iJwFJM5vdbDmX-McShV68OVmODS4XJZdFyKwa5TDhQPfBaOx2JjvLhXQQPrV09j1nnrqPCC--wDtp2byI4n-cxMGGx8HxEXT-bXNp-UdjDg/s320/Survival.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Yeah, that might explain a thing or two about how I turned out...<br /><br />Love you, Dad. And thanks.<p></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-10812305865766038162022-07-02T13:00:00.000-05:002022-07-02T13:00:01.163-05:00When did I turn into my grandmother?<p> ...So, I'll have you know there were <i>reasons.</i></p><p>But yes, yes, I did just feed a small child Blue Bell ice cream and pineapple chunks for breakfast.<br />Peanut Butter Chocolate Overload flavour.</p><p>...with a little vanilla to stretch it, in case her brother also wanted ice cream and pineapple chunks for breakfast.</p><p>You see, one of her parents was still crashed out in the guest bedroom, and the other was getting precious introvert alone time on my back porch, while her brother was still al imp towheaded bundle on the couch.</p><p>Besides, they'd been asked, when they came in wearily after the Very Long Roadtrip, if they wanted ice cream now (after dinner), or later.</p><p>Breakfast absolutely counts as later!<br /><br /></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-77891751602935844962022-07-02T12:47:00.007-05:002022-07-02T12:47:48.706-05:00A wave of confusion<p> You know, I know better. I do it anyway.</p><p>Yes, I wrote a story involving radiation when I have friends who are actual nuclear scientists and military what worked with the stuff. The level of detail and analysis brought to bear on those scenes may resemble using a sledgehammer to swat a fly, but I am grateful for their input.</p><p>Unfortunately, getting steeped in the difference and the types of emissions from various sources with examples leaves me looking at a post talking about men in romance genre and going "alpha males? Very weak, can be stopped by a thick skin? Beta males are stronger, more likely to affect the heroine, but why do we stop there? She's not going to get knocked off her feet by a gamma male?"</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-5771417574830054582022-03-22T08:30:00.001-05:002022-03-22T08:30:00.174-05:00Roses, Part 3<p>Gunny was clearly slowing down. AJ shouldered him out of the way and finished the edge of the bed where he’d been digging, while the older man straightened painfully and groaned. “The things we do for women.”</p><p>That set AJ laughing hard enough Gunny noticed, and just waited until he felt like speaking. “Used to have a matched set of scars to remember her by. The thorns tore the shit out of me when I salvaged them for her. Had to put ’em up against my skin so they couldn’t puncture the suit. Her nails did the same to my back when she thanked me.”</p><p>“Have a few mementos of my own, like that.” Gunny chuckled, and leaned on the shovel handle. “Where’d you find ’em?”</p><p>“Inshi Q-ship. Did a thorough search for intelligence before we dismantled and disappeared it. Couldn’t tell her that, since it was never here.”</p><p>Gunny grunted. “And now the evidence will be growing all over the planet.”</p><p>“Can’t prove it, though. Lots of horse trading among hydroponics techs. Even the most close-mouthed family trader will happily start comparing plant pedigrees and where they’ve been, when they’re swapping starts and cuttings. Might have been why I was hanging around Amanda in the first place.”</p><p>“Right.” Gunny drawled out the word, and grinned at him.</p><p>AJ shrugged, and started cutting open the burlap bags of soil amendments, laying them out to mix with the original soil so it went back in the hole in the right ratio. “I was getting toward the end of a hitch. Thinking about getting out, taking a permanent posting with her.”</p><p>“She dump you?”</p><p>AJ shook his head, and moistened a dry mouth. This was the part that hurt. “The Mining Hab war went hot, and while I was gone, Doing Things, ThreeFree blew out. It was a dead wreck by the time they called me back to salvage. I looked for her in every corpse… didn’t know she made it, ’til today.”</p><p>“Ah. Damn.” Gunny didn’t have to say more.</p><p>AJ shoveled, because work was better than standing there doing nothing but feeling. “I hope she was happy. Bet she was, down here, where she could put her feet in the soil and her face turned to the sun. Growing.”</p><p>Gunny grunted, and joined in. “She’ll live on as a legacy of weird miscoloured roses.”</p><p>AJ smiled at the friendly jibe. “She will. Skid would laugh his ass off at his namesake having to harden for three days before he could be planted.”</p><p><br /></p><p><i>(Yes, these are the same Inshi mentioned in Business Not Bullets, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08KL9XN16" target="_blank">in this anthology</a>. It’s a very big galaxy out there, and entire wars can go on unnoticed by people on the surface of on one partially-terraformed planet.</i></p><p><i>…Thanks for reading.)</i></p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7040486715126429420.post-67341154549606187272022-03-21T08:45:00.001-05:002022-03-21T08:45:00.176-05:00Roses, Part 2<p>Jenna had a list of everything she needed for the rose bed, and everything but the roses themselves piled on a cart. She looked around. “Where’s AJ? I want to make sure he likes the ones I’ve picked out.”</p><p>“He’ll like anything you decide. He always does. As for where he snuck off to… over there. Huh. Face down in the flowers.” Gunny was looking off toward the table of miniature roses, and Jenna realized AJ was crouched so low his head was even with the taller plants, face actually down in a rose plant.</p><p>The shop assistant who’d been helping them spoke up as they approach. “Oh! Those are officially called Hearts of Space. They have this lovely spicy scent.”</p><p>AJ did not look up from the black roses with a startling red-orange center. He spoke just loud enough for them to hear. “Like Amanda’s clove cigarettes.”</p><p>Jenna wondered who Amanda was. From the way Gunny wrinkled up his forehead, he was wondering, too. The shop assistant, though, kept right on going. “These have only been on-planet for… wait, you know Amanda Grimsley?”</p><p>That brought AJ’s head up, eyes wide open and locked on. “Amanda’s alive?”</p><p>“No, she died in a car accident about five years ago.” A hesitation, then, “Did you know her, Upstairs?”</p><p>AJ froze – a hesitation so slight Jenna knew no one else could see the way he reflexively cooled down at the unwelcome news. “Damn. Yeah, I met her up on ThreeFree.”</p><p>The assistant nodded awkwardly, and tried to fill in the silence after the unwelcome news. “She was the most amazing horticulturalist. She actually named that rose breed Strykers, you know? Because they have cold edges as black as space, but with a warm heart. Rumour says the original grafts she brought down, each one had individual names. The nursery that hired her, they didn’t want to call the breed that because, well, you know, the growers in the Fed… She took the secret of where she got them from to the grave. Do you know where they came from?”</p><p>AJ shrugged, hands spread out in what looked like a natural gesture. But he never made natural gestures; they were always premeditated. “Can’t say, ma’am.”</p><p>That was enough to make Jenna bite her tongue. Can’t say was a world different, in AJ’s careful speech, from don’t know. Before things could go south, she spoke up. “We’ll take… four?” She’d been planning on four roses in a trial bed.</p><p>“Six.” AJ said it firmly, and she followed his lead.</p><p>“Six. And everything we need for the bed, if this isn’t enough.”</p><p>As they loaded up the truck, Jenna paused to put a hand on her protesting lower back, and looked at the pretty little plants. “I’ll call the best one AJ.”</p><p>Her husband looked at her, looked at the roses, and resumed loading. “No. The best one’s Skid. He better not be the first one to die, this time.”</p><p>There was nothing she could say to that, except to give him a long, silent hug.</p>On a Wing and a Whimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00754595334684845895noreply@blogger.com2