Category: cats

I seem to have made an error …

… in judgement. I mistakenly got up from my desk a few moments ago – in the middle of writing a scene – to grab a quick snack. By the time I’d sliced up an apple and grabbed a cookie (or two … okay, maybe it was three) this had happened:

Leo stakes his claim
Leo stakes his claim

Note how he completely ignores getting his picture taken. If he even blinked, or acknowledged my presence in any way, I might not feel as bad about hauling him off my WIP.

leo_overview
Leo from above . What can I say? The picture reveals all.

And, don’t even think about making a play for that pen. He’s backed by his gang:

thetrio_hardatwork
The trio, hard at work thwarting the writer. It’s a tough job, but some cat has to do it.

So, yeah. I was hoping to have this draft completed by the end of next week … maybe I’ll crack open a can of cat food … or crinkle the treat package … am I a complete pushover?

————–

WIP: Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic, 1st draft
On the headphones: “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
In the fountain pen: toffee brown ink
Chocolate of the Day: 70% Madagascar, Amano

From this week’s writing:

I am currently in the middle of writing the first draft of The Seer of The Wastelands, which is the direct sequel to Spirit Binder, and will be hopefully released this December. Here are some bits from this week that struck me as tiny pieces of gold among the dull, serviceable rock of the first draft.

Monday:

Jose stepped toward Ema. “You underestimated me, Seer,” he growled.

She shook her head sadly, “No, you underestimated the wolf.”

He glanced back at the wolf, it regained its feet with a shake of its head. A nasty cut sliced through the thick pelt of its broad shoulder.

“A second blow with finish the beast.”

“Not from your sword.”

He turned back to her, holding his bloody sword aloft. “And why not this sword?”

“Because its wielder is already dead.”

“What — ” He stumbled, and looked, rather belatedly, down at his leg. It was bleeding profusely. “But I heal,” he murmured, confused.

“Not this,” Reyes snarled, and stabbed Jose through the heart from the behind.

Tuesday:

Reyes snickered. “Let the Seer do her tricks if our host requests it. I wouldn’t personally believe a word out of her mouth.”

“A man like you wouldn’t want to believe in anything beyond himself,” the Rancher replied, calm but forceful.

Reyes narrowed his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. “We are your guests,” he growled, and then rose to leave the room.

Wednesday:

As he came to his finish he whispered, “Ema,” into her neck, and she realized it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. Later, when she cried his name again and again as his fingers brought her over the edge of bliss and beyond, she understood the need to name the source of that utter pleasure, that moment of utter freedom … no matter how fleeting it was …

Thursday:

“Get out of bed, Seer,” Wyn snapped.

“They will wait,” she murmured.

“You knew they would come,” Jared said, something dangerous not well-hidden in his tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he moved away from her.

“You knew they were coming when you came to me last night?”

A door click indicated that Wyn had retreated into the hall.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling up the sheet to try to dampen the chill that surrounded her now.

Friday:

“We are well met, Jared Null,” she whispered. “All will be well.”

“You are dismissed, Null. Run along after your friends,” the corporal sneered, and Ema suddenly hated him for his prejudice toward the mercenaries, even though his attitude was typical and expected.

“Ema,” Jared said, her name a quiet and desperate sound that seemed to explode from his chest painfully and without intention.

She closed her eyes and repeated, “We are well met.” Then she turned away.

A conversation with Leo about the blueberry box

Image

“That blueberry box is clearly too small for you, Leo.”

Leo blatantly ignores Meghan, even though she just so happens to feed him regularly and provide such things as blueberries boxes, looms, and other great places to nap.

“And it’s hanging half off the counter. You might tip and fall.”

Leo continues to ignore Meghan, who is obviously exaggerating as humans have such a propensity to do.

“Fine. I’ll just post a picture of you on the blog then.”

Leo, not even remotely motivated by this nothing of a threat, doesn’t bother to crack an eye for the pictures. What does he care of the blog when he has this perfectly sized box to nap in?

I have a big desk …

When we moved into this house three years ago, I was blessed with my own office (with ocean view!!) and a garden in the backyard. Michael made the office even cooler by building me a gorgeous desk out of 100-year-old reclaimed fir. He made the desk to fit the exact dimensions of the room.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. I loved my desk.

I imagine spreading out index cards and images and brainstorming, and generally occupying the entire, decedent space.

Instead, this is what a typical writing day looks like around there:

That’s me in the far right corner attempting to work on my newest novel. I am pretty much allowed the space of my keyboard, though today I had to  fight for even that much. Not complaining — much — cats do rule the world, at least around here.