Friday, May 13

Eleanor Rahil


My daughter, Eleanor Rahil, was born Wednesday, May 4, 2011, at 11:49 am. She weighed 7 pounds 9 ounces and objected quite vocally to the whole "being born" experience.

I didn't blame her. I started having contractions at 11 pm the night before and checked into the hospital at around 4 am. At 9:30 my water broke, meaning what had been "oh hi, I guess labor contractions hurt, who knew" became a somewhat surreal experience where I was either in severe, insane amounts of pain or semi-conscious -- sort of the reverse of an out-of-body experience; nothing except my body was particularly real. Occasionally I resurfaced enough to realize, in a distant way, that Dan had Pirates of the Caribbean on for me and to briefly appreciate the distractive properties of Johnny Depp, but mostly it was breathing and squeezing poor Dan's hand half-off. At around 11:30 I started informing people that I was going to push now, and there was a bit of running around finding doctors and setting up beds and I don't know what all, and finally, after a bit under ten minutes of pushing, they were holding up a screaming baby and telling me it was a girl. I'm told this was a pretty easy labor for a first-timer, but, as I said, my sympathies were primarily with Eleanor. I can't imagine it felt much better, for those thirteen hours, to be the toothpaste than it did to be the tube.

Ellie is now a week and a half old and I'm... well, it's probably too early to say I'm getting the hang of this parenthood thing, and that I started this blog post on Monday probably gives you an idea how things are going. She's a good baby, as babies go, but there's no getting around the fact that she needs someone adult watching her all the time, that there's only two adults in the house, and that of those, only one has the proper equipment to serve as a 24/7 all-you-can-eat-buffet. We're coping. I'm getting a lot of reading done but very little sleep. Dan let me buy an iPad, which arrived just before Ellie, and I gotta say the thing is damn nice if you're trapped on the couch/bed/armchair with a kidlet... but actual computer time is, how shall I put this, limited. Along with almost every other type of time that doesn't involve being trapped on a couch, bed, etc, and can't be done one-handed.

She is a total pain in the ass, and I love her to death.

Sums up the whole parenthood thing nicely, doesn't it?
10:52 PM - kat -

Thursday, April 22

In the tradition of apparently forgetting the blog until I have something big to announce:

We bought a house.

This house:
New House


So yeah. We'd been batting the idea of this back and forth for, oh, a year or so. On the one hand we are in a pretty decent position, financially, and between the depressed housing market and the Federal tax credit and the rock-bottom mortgage interest rates it would be hard to find a better time to buy. On the other hand, neither Dan nor I really wants to be in Galax for the rest of our lives, and Galax is... well. Shall we say not the most architecturally enlightened place ever. We went and looked at a few places in an idle way, but they were either uninspiring or possessed of many expensive house problems or (most often) both.

Then I got pregnant and the whole "buy a house" thing got revisited in a hurry. Two introverts, one bird, and a kid is pretty much more than I care to jam into an apartment*, especially one I'm renting and have to worry about the kid/bird/introverts accidentally destroying. When the kid didn't, we talked it over and decided to keep going on the house. We were going to end up with a kid eventually, after all, and it was something positive for us -- and especially me -- to focus on.

And we found a house. Actually two. And there was angst, over which house was better, and angst over where the down payment would come from, and how much could we afford, and paperwork, and then mortgage preapproval and looking over the houses again, and offering, and being turned down (both houses), and more angst and a second offer on the house we decided really truly was a better deal, and....

Long story short: we bought the house, at a price that more or less made both parties happy, and all was well with the world. (And Kat signed her name to more papers than she even wants to think about, but we won't go into that.)

It's a good house. Not flashy (the second house under consideration was much more interesting layout-wise) but sound (the second house wasn't), sturdy, well-kept, and a decent compromise between being close to the farm and being able to run screaming for civilization via the major highways. And the lot, basically, rocks. Dan and I both agreed we wanted privacy -- seriously, what is the point of living way out in the boonies if you've got houses ten feet from you on all sides? And we wanted a bit of land to garden and run around and basically hang out on. While the new house has neighbors I could, technically, throw a rock at, the arrangement of houses and trees lets us all comfortably ignore each other, and both directly in front and behind we have farmland. And an acre of our own besides. It's a lot of lot.

Also, well water. Yes, I'm a spoilt country brat, but it's one of my marks of civilization: I can now walk out of the shower not smelling like a swimming pool. And potentially even drink from the tap. Bliss.

Now all I have to do is pack up and clean out an apartment we've lived in for five years, paint, clean, and arrange minor fixery on the new house despite knowing fuck-all about houses, and get all the stuff into the new house. By June 1st. Did I mention I have around seventeen hundred books? I have around seventeen hundred books. And a rather massive kitchen collection. And a full-time job. And a comic. And possibly a brain, although no promises on that come June 2nd.

It's for a good cause. If I get it all moved in, I can walk out the back door at midnight of June 1st, stand in my very own back yard, say, "screw the neighbors", and scream.

I'm gonna need it.



*Yes, I am a spoilt little country girl who considers a two bedroom, roughly 1200-square-foot apartment way too small. I may not have a grasp of public transit or a decent movie theatre within a hundred miles, but by god I have standards.
07:15 PM - kat -

Saturday, March 13

A week or two ago many of you saw announcements from Dan and I on Facebook, LiveJournal, and my comic that we were going to have a baby. Some of you may have seen Dan's followup post also. Now that I'm feeling a bit better I'm going to explain things a bit better and give people a place to respond. I'm sorry for the slowness and the seeming rudeness, but it's been a difficult week for both of us.

On Wednesday, I went in for my first ultrasound. I was about ten weeks into the pregnancy. The nurse doing the ultrasound knew me from my previous, cystic visits, and was chatty and cheerful; but once the ultrasound started she grew suddenly quieter, and grimmer. My nurse-practitioner came in, and she turned to her and said something I couldn't catch.

"Honey," my nurse-practitioner said, turning to me. "I'm so sorry. There's a problem."

"Is it bad?"

"Oh honey, it's really bad. Your baby has no heartbeat."

The child had, by their estimation, stopped developing about a week previous. There were no signs of physical damage; it was pretty near impossible, they repeatedly reassured me, that it was anything I had done, and very unlikely that it was a sign of real problems. Just chromosomal mismatch, random chance, the sort of error that happens in something as complicated as making a baby.

I knew from the beginning that it was a possibility. The estimates for first-trimester miscarriage have been put as high as 40%, and I am too much of a realist, and too familiar with tragedy from my farming career, to ever think it couldn't happen to me. I had repeatedly told myself that the thing growing inside of me needed to stay a thing, a precious but fragile collection of cells, until I was out of that dangerous first trimester. So the blow was cushioned; but it was, nevertheless, a blow. One grows used to thinking of oneself as pregnant, even in so short a time as a month, and it's impossible not to form a certain amount of plans, expectations, and dreams around the potential life. It was a dream I lost, not a baby. But dreams hurt in the dying too.

So that is where I stand. Introvert that I am, I am dealing with the upset largely by retreating, which is why I haven't been online or around of late; I apologize for that, but this is how I best regrow my skin, in isolation and quiet. There has been a lot of comfort reading. I'd been feeling ill and tired a great deal, due to the pregnancy, and that will probably continue until I actually miscarry, which my nurse-practitioner tells me could be weeks, or even a month. I was offered the surgical option of a D&C, a physical removal of the pregnancy, and though I'm generally leery of surgery and doctors I'm seriously considering it. There is some danger, as with any operation, and I'd be under a general; but on the other hand, carrying a non-viable pregnancy around for a month is more emotional strain than I care for. I'm balancing the physical vs. emotional risk as carefully as I can.

So that is probably as many details as anyone wants. I want to reassure everyone that I'm doing, overall, pretty well. It was a disappointment, and I'm still a bit fragile, but I am coping, and eternally thankful that the blow came now and not later in pregnancy when it would have been much more physically and emotionally difficult. My doctor's office has been extremely supportive (even if my nurse-practitioner was sniffling and blinking suspiciously often), as has my family, and of course Dan has been amazingly good to me through the whole thing. I am being petted and cosseted as much as anyone could wish, and I find I have merely to suggest something would help me to have everyone falling all over themselves to get it for me. It's all very kind.

My doctor has advised me to wait through one or two normal cycles before I try getting pregnant again, and the current plan is to try again once that waiting period is up. Hopefully it'll be as easy for me to catch then as this time; but next time I think I'll hold off on announcements until the first trimester is safely past. It will save a lot of unnecessary pain to people who care about me, and reasonable, educated human being that I am, on this one topic I think I may stay a bit superstitious.
07:30 AM - kat -

Tuesday, July 21

At this point I'm not even apologizing for the length of time I've gone without posting. I suck. I'm also working 50 hours a week and falling over, so the blog is pretty low on my list of "things to beat myself up over not doing if I ever have the energy to move."

But I'm gonna be at Anticipation in two weeks, so, you know. Feel free to make me feel guilty in person.

Or just come see me make an idiot of myself in front of an audience.

Panel in the Pool
When: Sat 19:00
Location: P-518BC
All Participants: James Bryant (G4CLF), Kat Feete, Lindsay Barbieri, Seanan McGuire, Thomas A. Easton
Moderator: Thomas A. Easton
Description: What would dolphins do? What side of the road would
cephalopods prefer? Do they make screwdrivers for right-handed
octopuses? The panel, in the deep end with lead boots, discusses
aquatic intelligences.

Cloning Dos and Don'ts
When: Sun 9:00
Location: P-512DH
All Participants: Birgit Houston, Jeanne Cavelos, Judy T. Lazar, Kat Feete, Paolo Bacigalupi
Moderator: Birgit Houston
Description: Cloning frequently comes up in SF, but how does it work
in real life? And what happens when it goes wrong?

Postcolonial SF
When: Mon 9:00
Location: P-518A
All Participants: Joan Gordon, Kat Feete, Steve Laflamme, S.M. Stirling, Gardner Dozois
Moderator: Kat Feete (eieee! Never ever check the willing-to-moderate box!)
Description: Much of the verve of early SF came from its
transposition in space of the colonial epic, and its echoes still
shape modern SF. Has there ever been a postcolonial movement, or at
least an undercurrent, in SF?


That may be the geekiest panel lineup in history. I know. It's awesome.
03:56 PM - kat -

Friday, February 15

The last week or so has looked something like this:

Thursday: Have great inner debate with myself on whether it's OK to go up to Blacksburg, given that my brother is still covered in hives from learning he's allergic to penicillin (thank you, modern medicine) as well as not entirely recovered from the disease he was taking penicillin for in the first place and my parents are still in Belize. Allow Dan and the bro to convince me. About two hours later, get a call. One of the first-calf heifers is miscarrying her calf. I've had more experience with this than the bro but I'm an hour and a half away, so I have to walk him through the nasty, messy business of a mispresentation and disposing of a dead calf over the phone. Note to self: listen to the inner debate next time.

What a day from hell. Sorry, bro.

(On the other hand, I assumed on the phone that his girlfriend -- who used to work on the dairy -- would be there to support him. Turns out she wasn't. *sigh*)

Friday: Oh, hey, nothing much actually happened this day, except fallout from the dead calf. Jude -- the cow -- has milk, which means we won't have to sell her, but we do have to milk her.

Saturday: Deathmarch our way through work so we can get down to Greensboro in time to catch the end of What the Hell?! Con. Small, free, and mostly webcomic artists. It was a hoot. I spent entirely too long hanging out and talking to ursulav and Otter, who probably thought I was being clingy. But I was mostly just being introverted ("Argh! Crowds of people! Cannot relate to crowds! Fine one person! Maybe two people! Relate to THEM!") I was pretty tired.

But we had fun, and will probably try to bounce through it next year.

Sunday: Go down to the Biltmore House with my roleplaying buddies. Despite living in Asheville for three years, I'd never been to the Biltmore -- largely because tickets run, like, fifty bucks, and I was a starving student and cheap besides. But one of the buddies had free passes so we made it a road trip.

I will say this for the Biltmore: it's HUGE. With an order of huge on the side. Seriously, 175,000 square feet? 99 bedrooms? Indoor pool and gymnasium? What were these people thinking?

It's also a bizarre intersection of the old and the new which is well worth seeing. To show off his wealth, the guy who built the place had full electricity put in -- this is in 1895, by the way -- and there are toilets in all the bathrooms (all 40 of 'em). But no sinks. Why? Well, they didn't see a reason for sinks; there were servants to bring you your water in the mornings. And many of the rooms still had chamberpots, as some guests were hazy on the toilet concept.

Well worth seeing. Even if the 45-mile an hour winds made it all a bit more exciting -- and chillier -- than I would have liked, especially the driving.

Monday: Prepare madly for the return of The Parents on Tuesday. Discover that the girlfriend hasn't been helping my bro milk the cow either -- a really tedious chore, since one cow isn't enough to fire up the machines for, and Jude, like most first-calf heifers, has a serious case of IBTs (Itty Bitty Titties). There is a muscle between the thumb and forefinger that apparently never gets used for anything but handmilking; if you only milk by hand, say, once a year, it hurts like bloody blazes. Especially if you're trying to get a grip on IBTs. And bro's been doing it by himself for three days.

*headdesk* Me and my choices of time off.

(In defense of the girlfriend, she had a lot on her plate, and she didn't grow up with this shit. I know better and really should have canned my weekend plans. Bad Kat, no cookie).

So milking. Jude at least does not have IBSTs (Itty Bitty Sensitive Titties); in fact, aside from occasional lunges to get the chickens out of her feed, she's perfectly well-behaved and never picks up a foot.

But all seems well aside from that, so I go home with the reasonable expectation I can face my parents in the morning without needing the hara-kiri knives.

Tuesday-Thursday: Be SICK AS A FUCKING DOG.

....yeah. Best laid plans, and all. Dan was coughing when we went to bed, I assumed as a hangover from last week's cold. I was not expecting him to wake me up at five am due to the sheer amount of heat his body was putting out. I wasn't expecting to feel the beginnings of coughing and general illness myself by the next morning. I certainly wasn't expecting to get to work, sans Dan, so exhausted that there was basically nothing to do but help Jim milk, check in with the parents, and huddle miserably over the heater until I could gather my strength for the drive home.

Being laid up for three friggin' days wasn't in the game plan, either.

And to add insult to injury, the fever had me so addled that for the first day and a half I couldn't even read. I kept passing out. What a waste of perfectly good guilt-free lie-in-bed time, I tell you!

*sulks*

I'm better now. We'll go in to work tomorrow, if nothing else to keep me from going stir-crazy. But seriously. The interesting times, I can has less of them now?
12:05 AM - kat -

Sunday, November 25

So I was checking my site stats the other day, as one does, and discovered an incoming link to my Mary Sue test. From Wikipedia.

The Wiki entry on Mary Sues, to be precise.

Well, that explains the odd pinging noise I heard a few days back. That was me gaining a level in Geek.

The actual Thanksgiving part of my Thanksgiving was great, as usual. Thanksgiving is really the only holiday my family believes in. We're anti-consumerist, anti-authoritarian heathens, which puts a damper on, uh, well, pretty much all American holidays, except the ones we can't be bothered to care about. But we all love to cook. A holiday for eating? Is a holiday we can really get behind. Some non-Thanksgiving things intruded to make this a rather stressful holiday -- mostly involving a specific employee/family member's poor sense of timing -- but the food, oh heaven. The food made up for it all.

In other news, Kith and Kin (the novel I prod with a sharp stick from time to time, to see if it's decided to live or die yet) has informed me that it thinks it would be better off with a first-person narrator.

...
...
...

*headdesk*

Okay, yes, I admit that would address some of the distance-from-narrator issues, and probably stick a patch over the slow start and the timing problems. However, comma, I am not rewriting eighty thousand words on a nine p.m. fit of inspiration. You thought Harmony needed a dead body, and look where that got us.

We will sleep on this. And in the morning, if writing an entire book from inside the head of a saturnine 600-year-old male still sounds like a good idea... we'll plot it out, dammit. Properly. No writing until we're sure this isn't the proverbial paintbrush waiting to back us into the proverbial corner.

God. My friggin' brain.
09:52 PM - kat -

Monday, November 05

Hi! I'm not dead! No thanks to all you people at the World Fantasy Convention, though. I think I have mizkit's cold now.

Dan thinks I should do a con report, probably so he doesn't have to. So here it is:

WFC Day One: This is Kat's Brain on Travel

The day went something like this: get up at 3 am. Drive to airport. Get on plane. Get off plane. Get on plane. Get off plane. Wait 3 hours for hotel shuttle (boo. Though we did meet some nifty people that way....) Arrive at one pm, approach a very closed-looking Registration to be told, "We're running a bit late." Respond with, "Actually, my husband and I are here to volunteer."

"Oh, thank god, down the hall and left and left again thank you thank you thank you...."

Stuff books in bags for three hours. Con is understaffed and overstressed -- pretty much the norm, really -- but fellow volunteers are still fun and we get our pick of the free books. Finally defeat Mt. Boxmore and check into our actual hotel room for a shower (Dan) and and unscheduled nap (me) before returning to Con Madness.

The rest of the night is a bit blurry, actually. I know we went to dinner with a bunch of cool people, and it was good dinner, and then we went to parties -- I distinctly remember propping up a wall and chatting with tambo for quite a while. And we committed Book, where by "we" I mean "Dan", and they would appear to be mizkit's books, so it must have been the Zombie party. Okay then. Kudos to the Zombies for providing Woodchuck cider, though in retrospect I probably shouldn't have been drinking it.

I woke up in my own bed, so I must have gone back to my hotel at some point. That is good to know.

WFC Day Two: Kat Is An Amusing Drunk

Had breakfast with the erstwhile roomies, who I had never met before and who were very cool. If I'd known it was the last real sit-down meal I was going to have for thirty-odd hours I might have sprung for something besides the fruit cup.

Then, volunteering: I spent five hours handing out the bags I had packed the day before to con attendees, many of whom were charmingly shocked to get a free bag of books and a box of cookies. The surprise! pre-shaken! bottles of mineral water we handed out were less charming. I dispensed warnings and napkins very freely.

Brief stop at the hotel room for my introvert fetal-curl time, and then jaylake's cheese tasting, which was lovely (and, thanks to Dan, supplied with a non-plastic knife), and then off for another three hours volunteering at the Cattle Call, also known as the mass autographing. It was a bit of a mess, but only the volunteers and staff knew that, so thus it still counts as a success. The high point of the evening was having Shana Cohen come to the table we were manning and dispense bourbon from her hip flask. Why? Who cares? It was bourbon.

Given that -- and given that I felt obligated to use up my free drink ticket shortly afterwards -- it was probably unwise to go directly to matociquala's chartreuse-and-bad-fanfic party directly after. But I did. Chartreuse is evil. It tastes of green, and there wasn't any food except cheese and chocolate, and the bad fanfic was, indeed, bad. Each person read aloud until they laughed. As I felt obligated to drink each time I passed the book, and as someone (actually, that may have been me) began livening things up by shouting "DRINK!" whenever we encountered a historical anachronism (Silk sheets! In sixteenth-century Scotland! Coffee! In sixteenth-century Scotland! Valhalla! In sixteenth-century incredibly Catholic Scotland!) or an unannounced point-of-view shift, and as I was kind of drinking in between anyway and have the alcohol tolerance of a flea, I got... is there a word for that? Oh, yes. Wasted. Completely and utterly shitfaced.

As a direct result of which, when the book came back around to me at something past one am, I managed to make it through something like three pages of bad, no good, truly diabolically awful sex scene without cracking up and with a certain degree of style. Persons who were in the room at the time may never look five o'clock shadow in the face again. So, yes, Kat is an amusing drunk.

elisem making me snort chartreuse up my nose, though -- that was just mean.

WFC Day Three: Kat Is An Amusing Drunk. Again.

There was no chartreuse hangover per se, but I crawled out of bed at the crack of noon feeling like aliens had borrowed my brain, performed esoteric experiments on it, and returned it to my head still wrapped in cotton wool. If you found the solution to my plot issue in there, guys, please send a postcard.

A few hours working the info desk cleared enough cotton for me to realize that living on ConSuite food for the entirety of the previous day wasn't helping. With this in mind we gathered up a motley crew of persons and dragged them out to eat. This was a good idea, and also grand fun. It was essentially my first meeting with suricattus, who is most funny and wise, and my first real chance to talk to mizkit, who is funny and fun. Dan and I put up a valiant fight to keep stillnotbored from paying for our dinner, but alas, we were overcome.

After that I went back to my hotel room and -- with some persuasion -- squoze into my brand-new leather bodice. As hoped, it went with the leather jeans and the tall boots. Dan made very appreciative noises. We returned to the con and toured a few parties, where other people made appreciative noises, before settling in the bar.

And here I once again must admit to an alcohol-related error in judgement. Cross my heart, people: I am not a lush. I am just a lightweight who doesn't get to drink in trustworthy company much. And doesn't think enough about what she drinks. Had I done so, I would have realized that the three whiskey sours were more than enough drink for me without my sampling freely from the various glasses and flasks of single malt circling the table. I mean, yes, they were all different varieties, educational purposes, et cetera, but. By the end of the night I was -- for only the second time in my life -- having severe difficulty walking. I was also startled by my own boobs. Have we had enough to drink, Kat? Why, yes. We may have.

(In my defense, the bodice did do interesting things to my chest region. It probably didn't merit the startled comment, but hey. As long as I have entertainment value.)

WFC Day Four: Kat Go Crash

Once again, no hangover. Instead I woke up feeling cheerful, alert, and extremely hungry. My metabolism, it is on the crack, yes?

After breakfast, we made the mistake of drifting into the dealer's room, where we committed Book. Multiple Book. Expensive Book. I think I got Dan out before we got into the triple digits, but I haven't had the courage to check our statement yet. Ran into swan-tower in the lobby, where we proceeded to hold a rambling socio-literary discussion that really should have reached critical mass and imploded into a black hole of sucking geekdom right about the time we started talking about Kit Marlowe, but luckily, we were at a con. So it didn't. I expect the hotel staff was relieved.

Then we waited. Some wanker pulled the fire alarm around 4 pm, so we all went and stood around outside for a bit and went back in, but it was generally agreed that this signaled the end of the con. People wandered off. Eventually, our cab came, and we wandered too.

All else was largely airport.


*****
Memo to self: next year, bring hollow leg. And better shoes.
09:04 PM - kat -

Monday, August 06

Bah. It's been... a week.

Upside: my mother is back from Vermont, and we did not destroy anything major. Downside: I totally loose at managing employees. Not that my mother's upset with me, but I'm upset with me. And retreating back into my normal mode of "just do it all yourself, it's easier that way" seems somehow an imperfect solution.

Other downside: our eldest farm dog is dying. This is... um. Pretty much too painful to talk about, actually. The problem with having Border Collies you work with every day is that they really are members of the family. He's not in any pain, and he held on until my mother got home, at least, but. Yeah. Pretty miserable week in that way, trying not to think about it much.

Other upside: We won third place with our Grayson in the Open Farmstead category at this year's American Cheese Society Conference. Very happy-making, especially if it means we get to sell some of the damned stuff instead of washing it. (Says the cellar manager).

And one final happy point: I am determined, now that all the parental-unit-vacation crunch is over, to get back on writing my novel. I pretty well finished all of the revision I was going to finish a month ago and then got... um... distracted. Very distracted. But I will persevere! No more sleeping in until 8 am for ME!

In preparation for perseverance, I typed all my notecards into SuperNotecard. This had the dual purpose of insuring that two months' work could no longer be lost to errant winds, small rainstorms, or parrot beaks, and reminding me what the hell I'd planned to do with this mess. It's actually a pretty good plan. There are some holes, but still. Plan. Plan is good. Progress is occurring.

I was also pleasantly surprised to find that I only had 87 notecards. Now, my vague estimate of 1,000 words per card-scene is probably undershooting things, and there are at least 5 or 6 cards missing where I haven't figured out what happens between A and C, but that still suggests I might wrap this sucker up at or around 100K, something I had long since despaired of doing.

Now if I can just figure out this fucking opening scene, I'll be all set.

(Anyone reminding me that the opening scene is the most important scene in the book? Will be shot.)
09:43 PM - kat -

Sunday, June 03

Much of Friday and all of yesterday got eaten by the Road Trip Monster because we went down to Raleigh for DCampSouth. This was fun for all. Dan got to go to sessions and talk to people and generally get so revved up about usability that you could practically see the sparks coming off his brain, and I got to hang out on the fringes amiably watching, and meet some cool people, and hole up in the spare rooms working on my rewrite and playing with their iMacs. Mmmm. SHINY iMacs. If I had a thousand bucks to throw around, the trusty Sawtooth might be in serious peril.

On the downside, I had to deal with North Carolina city roads. The maniacs who designed these things must be first cousins to the ones from Toronto, only with smaller budgets. I spent a lot of the time hunched over the wheel muttering, "Lane becomes exit only. Right lane ends. Left lane ends. Badly-marked exit requires everyone to veer across three lanes of traffic simultaneously -- hey, I know! Why don't you hang up some hoops, light them on fire, and tell me I have to jump through them! Wouldn't that be fun!"

Seriously. Do these people think? Or are they just servants of Cthulhu who get bonus point for every human they drive into homicidal road rage?

Anyway.

Rewrite Progress

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
92 / 172
(53.5%)


Comments: Told you I got a lot done at the conference. Yay for no distractions!

Changes: Ye gods, I don't know. There were chunks of scene flying everywhere, and I still have at least two free-floating scenes that need to be plugged into the story later. I have just over 40 notecards written up, about half of which are for new scenes. Did I mention I was doing scene notecards? I'm doing scene notecards.
11:34 AM - kat -

Sunday, May 27

A week ago last Saturday, quietly and without fanfare because I was out explaining to 24 baby calves what "weaning" meant via Whifflebat, this blog passed its fifth anniversary. That first post is here, though it's neither interesting nor indicative (the other posts in those first two months were all about my experiences in Britain and were generally much more interesting). But, hey, I actually kept a journal for five years. And people read it now! Hooray! *confetti*

And in slightly more important landmarks, today was Dan's and my first wedding anniversary. We went to the Davis Bourne Inn, where we were married, for a celebratory brunch. And while we're not much for gifting, we have agreed to buy one thing together as a remembrance of our first year as a married couple:




A whole year! And nobody's dead! *more confetti*
06:33 PM - kat -



Listed on Blogwise Blogarama Listed on BlogShares


I don't think Dr. Souda is a madman. He's not even a mad scientist. He's merely a very upset engineer.

Lois McMaster Bujold, "Komarr"
The To Be Read Pile
Blogs

Archives
May 2011
April 2010
March 2010
July 2009
February 2008
November 2007
August 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
August 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
September 2005
July 2005
June 2005
March 2005
February 2005
November 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
March 2003
August 2002
May 2002

Browse By Category