Category Archives: Uncategorized

The summer front porch evening office is BACK! Doesn’t quite look like this for 2023, but it’s close.

I sat down and did some looking at the first and second quarters of the year as far as sales were concerned, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Q2 sales were significantly better than Q1–however, that’s also reflective of a new release in February that got some much-appreciated support from Deborah Ross, amongst others, and reflects March sales that didn’t get posted until April. What doesn’t show up necessarily is the degree to which both Ingram and Amazon have supplanted Draft2Digital as my primary sales sites. D2D just went completely flat for sales in Q2, and I’m still not sure why. Barnes and Noble is now a complete and total bust, where previously it used to be my best venue. I suspect it has something to do with changes in their management, because it was pretty dramatic. That, plus the Books2Read links became unreliable. Sigh. I think it’s time to tackle Linktree.

Ingram has been a complete and total surprise this year. I hadn’t been selling much there until suddenly, with the release of A Different Life: Now. Always. Forever. books started to sell. Well, the paperback of Beating the Apocalypse did decently, too, as have some of the Netwalk paperbacks. I’m somewhat falling down right now because I haven’t really been keeping up with the process of editing and getting those paperbacks OUT. I swear, there’s something in the air that keeps holding those books back. Too bad, because as my first series, I really like those books and I think they’re pretty decent. Oh well. We shall see.

But this isn’t the first year that I’ve foundered on the rock of April-May-June when it comes to productivity, especially when it comes to promotion. Oh, some of it is due to health issues–cataract last year, reacting to Covid shot and a couple of other things this year–but that doesn’t really explain other years. I really hit the shoals in April. Possibly due to the time and seasonal changes. April is all about the time change, followed by the need to adjust the horse schedule to later in the day to reflect more daylight and warmer weather. Then comes May and June, with woodcutting and recovering from woodcutting days in between those woodcutting days. We shoot for anything from six to ten pickup loads in the spring, depending on the state of the woodshed and our health. This year, we hauled nine loads of wood.

This year, we also had work on the Portland house, which sucked up a week of time working hard and not doing much fun because we were either a.) working or b.) recovering from physical labor. Plus two weekend virtual conventions. One involved paneling, the other one didn’t, but that still took up time.

Essentially, what seems to happen from April-June is a lot of disruption at about the time that any new routine I might institute needs to be revised and reconsidered. And I think that’s where I flounder in the whole organization thing. I don’t always get back on track as a response to the disruption, and that’s not a good thing.

Still another piece is that my office setup for winter doesn’t always work for summer. I instituted some changes in ergonomics and rapidly became unhappy with the layout. I’ve since fixed it, but it’s entirely possible that I may need to reorganize my office twice a year to reflect the different needs of the season as far as what lives in my office, what sort of paper-sorting organization I need to set up due to what’s happening, and what my responsibilities may be, as well as expanding places where I can work (in summer) and contracting spaces (in winter).

When it comes to promotion, I really need to get my act together. Part of “getting my act together” includes reducing complexities. I sat down and made a list of my social media platforms, sorted them by “these platforms I can post something somewhere in some group on a daily basis,” those where “targeted promotion once a week” is appropriate, and those where “only when something new–blog post, cover reveal, new release–is to be posted.” I sorted them out, grouped ’em, and made that list part of my monthly promo plan list. We’ll see how well it works.

The other piece with regard to promotion is that I really, really need to organize how I solicit reviews and interviews. I’m very hit and miss on that aspect of organization, and I need some sort of system to make it function. Some of that is a result of dropped emails–I need to set up a daily time to review and either respond or delete responses. Not sure how I’m going to set that up.

My biggest problem is that I’ve written and published a lot of work without building the supports I need for easy promotion organization. Now I’m playing catch up, and it’s making me a wee bit frustrated.

Ah well. It just takes time. Deep breath. Onward.

Well, halfway through the year with these posts. Are they working? Kinda sorta, though the promotional side is really lagging.

One of the things I identified early on in my organizing back in January was that I did not have any releases either in June or December. Well, December is understandable–holidays and all. But June?

I started thinking about this. Before retiring and even a couple of years after that when I was teaching PE and Health online, June was the end of the school year. The final push to get all the special education paperwork organized, any advance work for the next fall started, finals, and grades, of course. June during my teaching years was the month where I somewhat collapsed and caught up with myself from the previous mid-August on.

So a good reason not to be trying to release anything new during those years.

And after that?

Well, mid-May through June is the prime time for cutting firewood, before it gets too hot and before fire restrictions limit how much we can do. We generally haul anywhere from six to this year’s nine loads in the spring, and try to do one or two loads in the fall, weather and fire restrictions permitting. The picture above? Much more doable in spring than in fall. All that green foliage will be brown and dry in the fall. A fire hazard. The hot underside of the pickup could ignite the grasses, and…well, we don’t want that.

The flip side is that too early in the spring, and the restriction becomes snow and mud. The sweet spot is…well, mid-May through June, where the ground is still dampish but not so much that we’re going to bog down, or tear up the ground hauling a heavy load to the gravel road. 4-wheel drive somewhat helps reduce the likelihood of spinning out, but all the same…best to avoid the gumbo when woodcutting.

We go out woodcutting 2-3 times a week. Up until the last couple of years, I’ve been able to get some work done in the woods, then come back and do more work at the house. These days, however, age is starting to show. I want to vege out after cutting wood and rest. The next day is frequently a day of being tired as well.

Okay, so another logical reason for no June releases.

But that is done now.

This year, another factor was construction work on the Portland house which required our presence to move furniture and check on the work being done–as well as do deep cleaning at that house. We were hustling to get most of the woodcutting done before that job.

Overall, then, I guess it’s worth it to say that I had good reasons for the past month and a half to be a little bit off.

I am pleased about a few things, however. I finished up Federation Cowboy at the beginning of June and set it aside for a while. I compiled it and printed it out this week, and went through the MS with a red pen. Oh, there are lots of marks on it. Still, I identified two significant developmental issues in the story that needed fixing. I’m quietly happy about that. Second, I got a few words down on Dragons of the Raven Alliance and think I know where I need to go from there. Third, I worked out a major issue in The Cost of Power and I’m ready to start doing developmental work for the second book. And finally, I had some ideas about how to structure the Goddess’s Vision series.

Things are falling together. Now if I can just keep juggling everything appropriately…we shall see.

Another late post, but this one is for a different reason. We went to the woods yesterday to cut firewood and look for morels. Well, we found some good lodgepole logs but alas, no morels.

This past week in writing was kinda meh. I wrote a post about a rejection which illustrated one of my current pet peeves, which is the equating of in media res with “must open with actual physical action scene.” Yes, opening with ten pages of backstory is a bad thing as well, but dumping characters into a complex fight scene without giving us a chance to get to know them? Equally problematic. I like to open my stories with a little introduction to the characters to make the reader care about them. Which does not mean elaborate description of the character or setting, but does mean getting to the main conflict that the character is going to be facing pretty quickly within the first few paragraphs. Or at least a main conflict, as well as showing the reader what the character is like.

The number of rejections I’ve received emphasizing that false conceptualization of in media res just sets my teeth on edge. It’s sloppy application of critique group cliches (one reason why I growl at the Turkey City Lexicon is that it is full of aphorisms that have now become cliches themselves–and look, I was in a critique group that absolutely raved about the Lexicon when Turkey City was new, folx, so I know what it’s about).

Anyway.

Between catching up with necessary household tasks after spending the week in Portland the previous week, and feeling blah and down because of various things, including the formation of claques and cliques on a new social media platform, I didn’t get a lot of words down. However. I did spend a bit of time thinking about The Cost of Power and where it’s going, which meant I went back in and added stuff. I’m throwing in a “mystical origin” history for the Martinieres loosely based on the legend of Melusine and the Lusignans, because why not? The Lusignans are ancestors of the Valois, and since the Martinieres are an illegitimate branch of the Valois, why not? I’ve also been thinking through some backstory notions involving Philip and Gerard, including the scene between them after the deaths of Saul and Angelica, and I’ll probably write that down today. The other piece is that the ultimate reason the Martinieres and the Brauns are feuding is that the Brauns are longtermists for whom posthumans are a goal…while the Martinieres embrace their humanity, and fixing things in the here and now. That’s the key to the multiverse struggle, at least in this series.

I also put together the loose final form of Fabulist and Fantastical Worlds in Scrivener that required me to track down appropriate versions of the stories I wanted to include in that collection, and I made a preliminary cover. A few weeks ago, when family was visiting, I took a rather cool picture of the East Moraine that my camera filters turned into something different. Since I’m now skittish about resorting to stock photos due to the AI stuff, I went digging through my old art shots to find something that might just work. This one was what popped up, and since so many of my stories are based on experiences out in the woods….

Here’s the first draft of the cover:

We’ll see how it plays.

And now it’s time to get to work.

I haven’t been a big fan of editorial comments upon rejections. Some of that comes from the old paper submission days back in the ’90s, when I received several rejections from a Market That No Longer Exists And Will Not Be Named (but contained some Big Name Editors) where the comments were–well, I don’t know what planet they came from, but they certainly weren’t about the story I had sent to that market. At times I wondered if the editors just randomly grabbed a rejection rationale and slapped it onto the page. Other times, I scratched my head trying to figure out what they meant (wizard? What wizard??? I didn’t put a wizard in this story!!). Or I obsessively checked my widow/orphan settings, or margin settings, because dang it, I knew how to set them. Inevitably, my settings were in line with the market requirements.

Eventually, I just stopped submitting to that market, and started disregarding the editorial advice dispensed by the three editors because, going by the poor quality of the editorial comments I received, either the editors or their slush readers weren’t following their own recommendations. What was clear was that they wanted a certain tone, trope, character, and plot, and if you didn’t write in that strict formula, you weren’t going to sell to them. But since they were dedicated to commenting on each and every story, they had to come up with some rationale for the rejection. Even if it didn’t really fit. Honestly, the comment about the wizard was the point where I stopped submitting to this market. They had clearly mixed up manuscripts by that point, which was something I had wondered after the repeated formatting comments.

However, what I didn’t realize in my younger days was that rejection comments when done well not only reflect on issues with your story, but it also points out biases in the markets. That information can be useful because, despite all the comments about don’t pre-reject your story before submission, it helps save you time when sending out new work. If you are aware that a market isn’t going to be receptive to the type of story you’re writing, then why bother sending that story to them?

Hence, my reflections on this latest rejection, for a science fiction space opera story that integrated quilting as a major element of the tale.

First take: based on this and other rejections that fingered the “jargon,” the “technobabble”–I’ve not encountered this particular type of rejection in the past for using the same non-quilting technology in a story. Ergo, it’s the quilting terms that the editors are tripping over. Which is a revelation in itself. I’ve never encountered rejections before where the editors not only did not understand the terms but aggressively pushed back against their usage. Weird. I have theories, but that would be Joyce just blathering feminist conspiracies again. Though I have to wonder what would have happened if I had used knitting as the craft instead of quilting? Knowledge of knitting is more common within the genre.

Second take: this market in particular clearly prefers its in media res openings to not only be action (which we had action and engagement between the protagonists very early in the story) but active confrontation, or, in other words, pew-pew-pew rather than emotional conflict. Pretty telling, especially given the way that they write up their submission guidelines.

Third take: clearly this story isn’t working because the quilting parts are simply too alien for the market and I need to do something different to make the quilting more palatable if I want to publish this work traditionally. It happens. I have several trunked stories that I won’t even put into a collection because of flaws, or they aged poorly beyond the ability to rewrite them. Given that the use of quilting in a far-future setting is very novel, apparently I need to approach the story from a different angle. I won’t take the quilting piece out, but I need to contemplate just how I’ll use it in a manner that is apparently understandable to science fiction editors.

Eh, the story was an experiment, anyway. One of those failed attempts that needs to be put aside for a while. I still maintain that it’s possible to combine quilting with science fiction (originally a conversation in a quilting group brought up this story idea), but it’s clear that unlike the combination of quilting and mystery, there’s active resistance to the use of this particular craft in the speculative fiction genre. Which is a shame, because the quilters I know are heavy readers and would pick up a specfic story if it had quilting in it and wasn’t too heavy on the pew-pew-pew action elements.

Ah well, a learning experience.

(P.S. No, I won’t reveal the markets. Not even in private messages. Don’t ask.)

Well, there wasn’t an accountability post last week and this one is late for a very simple reason.

Late on that Friday afternoon, right after we returned from woodcutting, we got a call from the contractor who was supposed to reroof the Portland house, where our son and a housemate live. He was pulling the schedule up by a week.

That meant instead of having nearly a week to prepare for this trip, we only had three days. And since the work involved removing old, first-generation skylights that were no longer a good thing (admitting heat, for one thing, leaking, and concern about replacing the glass), that required a lot of preparation on our part including a deep house clean afterwards. So, hurry-hurry, running around, packing and organizing and getting ready for a prolonged stay in a hotel because every bedroom in the darn place (except for the housemate’s) has a skylight. It wasn’t just an issue of replacing a skylight, however, it was also the need to seal up vaults for the skylights because…sigh…they went through an attic. Interior work needed to be done.

Furniture moving. Covering things. Preparing protective measures in case the contractors were of the careless type.

It all came together much better than we thought it would, but wow. I am so glad that I had made finishing up Federation Cowboy a priority because I wasn’t fretting about writing. However, as a result, a lot of June has already gone by.

Not that it hasn’t been a useful time, or all dedicated to construction prep and housecleaning. I blocked out the remaining elements in The Cost of Power, enough that my morning reading today opened everything up so that I know where I’m going with that particular subseries (hint: I realized I’ve been dancing around the implications of transhumanism/longtermism with the digital thought clones, and this series is going to deal with those pieces. Including the multiversal element).

I did some thinking about Dragons of the Raven Alliance and what it’s going to focus on–for one thing, I’m dropping Tales from the title.

And this morning, I was able to block out some requirements for promotion in June (oddly enough, June and December are the only months where I don’t have a major book release to talk about).

I’m cautiously excited about where I’m going with the work from now. There are lots of possibilities. We’ll see where they go.

Picture: September 7, 2022, Wallowa County.

I became smoke and fire-aware at a very young age, living in Western Oregon. Besides the one view of a wildfire raging around a point above Lookout Point Reservoir while the family was on their way to our usual summer camping and fishing location in the Cascades, there was always an awareness in August that things were dry, unsupervised flame was bad, and that lightning could bring wildfire. There were little spur roads all around the campground we favored by Crane Prairie Reservoir that had little metal signs on white-painted wood that read “Fire Road” plus a number.

But my smoke awareness wasn’t just due to wildfires. Growing up in the southern Willamette Valley in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s meant being around a lot of grass seed cultivation. The preferred method for sterilizing the fields from pests and disease was open burning. Things got really bad at times. The worst was the infamous “Black Tuesday” of August 12, 1969. Of course, we don’t have AQI data from that era, but I remember the skies being dark with smoke (I was almost twelve years old at the time). A smoke management program which, basically, sent the smoke directly east into the small valley where I grew up, was enacted. It wasn’t until much later and a disastrous 23-vehicle pileup on Interstate 5 near Corvallis which killed seven people on August 3, 1988, that serious management came under consideration. Even then, it wasn’t until around 2009 that serious acre reduction was enacted. By that point I lived at the other end of the Willamette Valley, because between pollen and smoke, the Eugene area was just not feasible.

Years of exposure. Years where part of my summer centered around avoiding smoke as best as I could, thanks to reactive airway disorder and asthma, caused in part by those exposures as well as growing up in a household with multiple cigarette smokers.

Meanwhile, wildfire smoke became worse and worse. A summer visit to Northeastern Oregon where clouds of smoke covered everything in 1986. The 1988 Yellowstone fires that turned the sun orange during our Labor Day camp. Flying to Denver on a red-eye and looking down to see all those fires burning.

Reading Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire. Writing a moody review for an environmental literary journal that hit the streets just as the Storm King fire killed firefighters in almost the exact same scenario that Maclean wrote about.

But it has only been in the last ten years that I learned to dread smoke and fire even more.

#

2015 Fire smoke started in July, with a major fire along one of the corridors into the Wallowa Valley, followed by an August of smoke and fire. Looking at the bright orange sunset as the horse went into the vet clinic to treat colic. Seeing a horned owl hanging out on the lamppost across the street from the house on the smokiest of days. Attending the World Science Fiction Convention in Spokane, just as multiple fires broke out around the region. Needing to leave the convention early because of the possibility that I might need to evacuate my horse, and having to take a 200 mile detour because another fire cut off the shortest route.

2017 Beside smoke, a teenager playing with fireworks sets the Columbia River Gorge on fire, closing down the major east-west corridor of I-84 through the region. The flames come close enough that portions of the Portland east metropolitan area comes under evacuation orders.

2020 Smoke from Idaho fires, California fires, Southern Oregon fires, topped by smoke from the catastrophic wildfires on the west slope of the Cascades from Eugene to Portland. We end up buying air purifiers because the AQI ranged from 250-400 for several weeks.

2022 Late August/early September thunderstorms triggered three big fires surrounding our high mountain valley. While our town was never at risk, hard winds blew ash and cinders into town, some with chunks as big as two inches long. Again, weeks of mostly wildfire smoke with AQIs in the 100-250 range, occasionally with a day or two under 100 AQI. While I used to like thunderstorms and watching them, the sound of thunder now fills me with dread because where’s the next fire start going to be?

2023 Wildfire smoke drifting into the valley in April from Canadian wildfires. Out in the woods cutting firewood for the winter. Almost no mushrooms, including morels. Despite a heavy snow winter, the ground is scary dry. What will this summer bring? Is this the year that the north face of the Wallowas ends up burning?

I hope not, but one never knows.

Shocked reactions when the Canadian wildfire smoke drifts into the mid-Atlantic region and the Midwest. Jaded responses along with survival advice from those of us in the West who have lived with this reality for years.

And now what?

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Forest management is one huge factor in how we got to this position in the first place, and that story is one that is far too long for someone like me to go into all of the twists and turns. Catastrophic wildfire is, unfortunately, not unusual in timber country. Big burns happened in Minnesota as an adjunct to logging. One of the biggest ones happened in the late nineteenth century and killed hundreds of people. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Hinckley_Fire

In my own corner of the woods, the multiple Tillamook Burns are an epic part of the state’s history, now second to the 2020 Cascade fires that happened under very similar conditions. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tillamook_Burn

But the biggest, and most devastating due to long-term impact on forest policy was the Big Burn of 1910 in Idaho/Montana. Those fires led to a policy of fire suppression that has placed us in today’s untenable position, where decades of “no fire is good” has led to a buildup of dangerous underbrush and fuel in the forests, without understanding the role that fire has in the management of a healthy forest ecology. https://foresthistory.org/research-explore/us-forest-service-history/policy-and-law/fire-u-s-forest-service/famous-fires/the-1910-fires/

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Is there a solution? Well, it took us a century to get to this position with the ineffective tool of fire suppression. There’s also a colonialist/settler attitude that disregards the reality that indigenous peoples effectively managed forestlands in the Americas for centuries before the Europeans showed up. Fire was a management tool in indigenous hands, a means for controlling underbrush and dry grasses while promoting the growth of more fire-resistant plants.

But the sort of fire we’re talking about here isn’t the big, huge wildfires. Rather, the use of creeping fire, or quick burns such as used in grasslands.

Other solutions?

Precommercial thinning and thinning of thickets of short-lived succession species before they reach the end of their lifetime.

Shutting down powerlines during high-risk situations.

Educating forest users about safe fire behavior, including not shooting off firecrackers, not driving off-road even to turn around in tall, dry grass (catalytic converters and the hot underside of a vehicle can start a fire), and being aware of any activity that could ignite a fire during hot, dry periods.

Managing brush around houses.

Will that be enough?

Who knows?

Meanwhile, I’m preparing for a typical West Coast summer. I have plenty of masks for smoky days. The air purifiers for the house. Soon, I’ll start checking WildCad and the local Forest Service fire information site for news of potential fire starts. I’ll be making evacuation plans for us and for the horse.

Welcome to the reality of the 21^st century, and life in the shadow of smoke.

There’s been some chat over on Substack Notes about the notion that the characters sometimes take charge of a story, and whether using that language is appropriate or not. In a lot of ways, the discussion falls into the old “plotter vs pantser” dialogue–some people require that the plot be locked down (okay, that’s an extreme representation but some are really into it) while others engage in discovery writing where they kind of know where they’re going but not how they get there. The fundamental conceit from the plotters is that if a character isn’t coming alive, then the writer hasn’t invested enough time in worldbuilding and character creation because there’s a problem with the story. Well, the pantsers admit to similar issues as well.

I’m not sure about that. Eventually I’ll write about the process wherein Gabe Ramirez metamorphed into Gabriel Martiniere, wealthy heir with a conscience who’s on the run from his family, but for the moment I want to talk about the process behind my eventually writing Justine’s book. She’s the archetype of a character type that I call “the reluctant character.” The character that shies away from any exploration of their deeper motives, dancing on the edges of the story (usually as a secondary character). You know that character has a backstory that explains every puzzle piece you’re fitting together regarding them, but what is it?

Such was the case with Justine.

Justine Solange Martiniere (sometimes Justine Solange Martiniere-Atwood) started out as a quirky secondary character with a background in security and one hell of a grudge against her toxic father. She also seemed to have a handle on conspiring, organizing, and dissembling about who she really was and what she wanted to do. The joke throughout the early Martiniere books was “Need to go somewhere? Just have Justine send a plane.” She also collaborated with a Martiniere cousin, Serg Vygotsky, in some sort of secretive weapons dealing involving not just the more paranoid Martiniere Family members based in Europe, but other wealthy families who wanted tight-mouthed, quiet security setups. And then there was her clandestine involvement with a reproductive rights activist organization that helped indentured women remove hormonal ID tags so they could no longer be controlled by powerful men.

But just how did Justine get to that level of power and authority, besides being richer than hell and divorced from an even richer man with whom she seems to still have secretive connections? Whenever I started poking at the motives behind her wisecracking, sardonic schemes, she deflected my inquires. The character Justine was not ready to talk about her past. Bits and pieces kept coming out, but it really wasn’t until Gabe’s book, Broken Angel, that she indicated she was ready to talk.

I had suspected that abuse lay behind her hatred of her father Philip and brother Joseph. But whoa, was it ever something when she talked. Gabe was her protector, along with their cousin Serg, up until circumstances forced her to find a husband to protect her from her father and brother until she was old enough and powerful enough to do so herself.

However, simply writing her story in a linear fashion still didn’t work. Justine had thoughts, many thoughts about her past. I ended up drafting a frame story, where Justine reflects on her life in an attempt to figure out a means to resurrect her ex-husband Donald as a digital thought clone, because the Family is facing attacks from a long-term foe that has also gone digital.

That created a significant aha moment, because Justine’s deep love for Donald, despite the means of their getting together, is a fundamental base for her character. Many of Justine’s regrets in later life center around her willingness to sacrifice her relationship with Donald in order to stop her father’s manipulative schemes. Her love for Donald vies with her strong sense of obligation to the Martiniere Family–not her father or brother Joseph, but other Family members trying to stop her father’s megalomania.

There was my story. Justine telling stories about her past in order to help figure out a means to counter the current threat to the Family from those unknown digital thought clones, while providing the needed recordings and information in order to create Donald’s digital clone. Does Justine have regrets? Oh, does she ever. Does she think about her own mortality? Of course! She’s in her late seventies during this story, and has lost the age peers dearest to her. She’s also the guardian of her great-nephew Ron, which leads to its own issues. And she has things to resolve with her father Philip’s physical clone, Mike, who also has a raft of issues involving Philip.

Mix that all together and the result became Justine Fixes Everything: Reflections on Mortality. The “Fixes” part of the title reflects her own sardonic assessment of what her role in the Martiniere Family has been, ever since she struck out on her own by marrying Donald. Does she want to end up with this role over a long period of time? Well, that’s a question she keeps considering throughout the book.

Justine Fixes Everything: Reflections on Mortality is available in paperback through Bookshop, and also in ebook through Amazon, Apple, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords. Check it out for yourself.

Well, we didn’t get a full load out woodcutting today because the chain on the chain saw got dulled up quickly–spouse has been nursing it along but today it let us know that A New Chain Is Required. Nonetheless, today was a pretty nice day out in the woods.

Last time we were out, and drove home by way of Crow Creek, I noticed that there were isolated wild lilac bushes along the creek. Most of them were nowhere near any place that could have served as a homestead, so odds are pretty good that the seed or roots washed down from someplace that was a homestead at one point. The bushes are all sizes, so I think some are propagating on their own. This time, on the way to the places where we could cut, I saw a similar phenomenon of wild lilacs scattered here and there. So I stopped and took a picture of this one. Keep in mind that these bushes are under several feet of snow or more during the winter. Hardy plants.

Then, as we drove up the steep, winding gravel road above the Chesnimmus canyon, we saw a golden eagle circling in the thermals. It’s not the first time we’ve seen goldens in that spot–I suspect there’s a pair that return to that area every year.

On top of that, when driving on the forest road next to the creek, we saw a ruffed grouse just hanging out in the middle of the road. Ruffies come in two modes–either EI-YI-YI I’M OUTTA HERE or “what are you? I’m gonna scold you forever!” This one was number two. It didn’t spook out of the road until spouse got out and then it promptly ran downhill, tried to fly up, hit its head on brush, and fell down, before taking off running again. No, it was an adult, not a fledgling.

It’s also prime butterfly season. I saw swallowtails and possibly a monarch as well as a painted lady and lots of those little blue butterflies. I have a butterfly book but can’t make heads or tails of what’s what in it. I am a very casual butterfly observer. Probably should work on improving my observations simply because the Wallowas are a prime butterfly location, but….

Otherwise, in spite of the saw chain dullness, it was a nice day out in the woods. I spotted a very pretty camas field, and oh are the calypso (ladyslipper) orchids out and about. No morels with them, alas. Usually if you see the calypsos you can see the mushrooms. But this has been a sparse year for mushrooms.

Here’s the orchids:

Then it was back home. The sheep herds are back along the highway–three separate herds, each with their own shepherd. Then it was gather up the grain, go visit the old mare in her field and grain her (somehow it is raining where she is but nothing at all here in town). After a short visit, then it was back to town. I went out and picked a big batch of lilacs and honeysuckle from the back yard. It made a nice bouquet in the old Roseville vase that was a wedding present to my parents.

Have some lilacs and honeysuckle.

Post number twenty, and it’s pretty darn clear that I need to revise my organizing system. Oh, it worked pretty well for three months, but the last couple of months have been a slog and a battle. Oh, there’s logical reasons for it in many ways–a Covid booster here, gut stuff there, a convention here, other things happening there. It all adds up to one thing, however…things aren’t getting done as quickly as they have been, and not as much is getting done.

Well, at least I did get the final Federation Cowboy chapter drafted. It still needs reworking before I upload it to Vella, and I have a pretty good idea of what the sequel is going to feature–it came to me in the last five pages, just about literally. But it will be a standalone sequel.

In the end, the romantic elements ended up being lighter than I thought they would be. And I’m not certain but what I may end up tearing the whole thing apart and redoing certain pieces before releasing it. I just don’t know yet. It will depend on what betas think. I’m not that confident about this story now. But I’ll probably feel better once I do the second round of editing work on it.

Meanwhile, the lack of promotional activity on social media is showing up big time. I haven’t done much of anything in April and May, and it shows up on my dashboards (haven’t looked at the Ingram one yet, though).

So what needs to happen re-organizationally? I’m not sure yet. I keep thinking back, and it seems like I’ve been floundering to set up a routine ever since Daylight Saving Time started. I am one of those who absolutely hates DST, even in retirement. Part of the issue is trying to adjust to different routine times for the horse, but also just finding time to do everything that should be getting done. Doing the weekly accountability meeting and the monthly summary worked for about 90 days. Now, that is frequently the way these schemes function in ADHD–the organizational structure works for a while, until it runs up against some roadblocks, at which point it runs off of the rails.

Granted, April and May are transition months. Light and weather change during this time, and it’s also my prime allergy season. There are also events happening, and that puts me off my stride. They’re also summer season preparation months, just like September/October are preparation months for winter.

What to do, what to do?

Well, I’m thinking. Finishing Federation Cowboy has lifted a load off of my shoulders. It gives me time to think about the next projects–and I have three of them on board that I need to brainstorm. First is Tales of the Raven Alliance, which is a alt-history steampunk Weird West story with dragons. Or perhaps I should call it something else–the Raven Alliance is a secondary factor to the use of dragons (both real and artificial) as part of a combined Civil War/Western Colonization battle. Or something else, just set in the nineteenth century West with dragons. But who’s really at war? The dragons or the humans, and who is using whom?

Then there’s the final touches on the Martiniere Multiverse. I think The Cost of Power series is going to wrap it up. Two books or three? Not sure yet. Plus there’s the third book of the A Different Life series, where things really go dark for Ruby and Gabe. The Cost of Power universe is the one where the final digital clone multiverse battle gets resolved, however.

Finally, there’s the Goddess’s Vision series.

And…releasing a short story collection, either in June or July.

Okay. Maybe I do have enough to consider and produce this coming month. Maybe things aren’t so bad. It’s all just a transition season, and I’m ready to make the next move.

One thing that’s come about during my now eighteen years with the same horse has been an awareness that yes, she has an emotional life.

As herd animals, horses will form attachments to other horses, other creatures, and humans. They are predominantly hard-wired to be social beings and find safety with others. But that doesn’t mean they won’t have opinions about other beings, whether they be other horses, other animals, or the humans around them. Sometimes those opinions mean that the horse only cares for certain beings, and would prefer to be alone rather than with beings they don’t prefer. Even other beings of the same species. In other cases, relationship bonds–sibling, dam and offspring, friends are so powerful that the horses remember each other even after a long separation.

It’s also true for horses and the humans in their lives. One truism I’ve heard passed around in training barns is that it takes a year after purchasing a horse to form a bond with it–from the horse’s side of things, that is. Horse and human have to negotiate all those little details of a relationship–what are the behavior boundaries between horse and human, what are the handling preferences of horse and human, and, most importantly–how responsive are horse and human to each other’s language, both verbal and non-verbal?

I think the latter piece–learning each other’s specific language–forms a large part of that “one year to create a bond” element. Unlike dogs or cats, horses are not particularly vocal. Oh, there’s the various nickers you get, but that’s just the tiniest bit of the communication process, and is shaped more by the tone of the nicker or human voice than actual words expressed. For example, the other day, one of the broodmares in the herd Mocha was running with was starting to get pushy–communicated by lowered head, flicked back (but not pinned) ears, and swishing tail as she approached me while Mocha was also coming. I snapped the mare’s name and Mocha–plus the others in the herd who knew that tone of voice from me–all froze. Mocha got a worried expression, even though it wasn’t her name, because she knew I wasn’t happy with someone.

Well, we got it worked out. Mocha got her medication and her treats, and the offending horse went away.

But that emotional piece and relating to other horses as well as humans plays a large factor in working out situations like this.

Mocha’s natural inclination when in a pasture is to be somewhat standoffish except for certain horses and only a few people. It’s odd, because when she was in the training barn where college classes were held, she was friendly to nearly every human who came in, prone to begging for treats until I got firm and said “no, treats only from me.” However, she had strong opinions about the other horses in the barn. Some horses–like her neighbor Adam–were very good friends. When she was on stall rest due to severe white line disease, the two of them tore a hole in the wall between their stalls so that they could touch noses. Other horses–like one brightly marked Paint gelding–were seriously disliked. The Paint gelding tended to bully other horses and would double-barrel kick some he disliked. Mocha ended up provoking him into chasing her, then evading him by ducking and weaving through other horses, or turning more sharply away from him than he could turn. I watched her do this in turnout, several times. She tends to be more agile than a lot of horses, even in her old age.

But it wasn’t only bully geldings she disliked at that stable. There was one mare who made a big deal out of Mocha getting treats. Well, this mare wasn’t exactly the best-behaved, either in the stall or the arena. Mocha’s ears would go back, then she would dramatically begin to lick her lips in a rather exaggerated fashion while the other mare made a fuss. If another horse was misbehaving in the arena, Mocha’s ears swept back every time she went by them. Once past the problem horse, the ears went forward. The behavior carried over to her current living situation, where if she sees a horse acting out, she frequently just refuses to look at them.

However, she is and was capable of fast friendships as well. There was one mare that she only saw at the same horse show, for three years in a row. The other horse’s owner and I were in many of the same classes, so we would wait together at the in gate and visit. The two mares took a liking to each other and would stand together quietly, sometimes lightly exchanging breath. When Mocha first moved to pasture life, she formed a very tight bond with one mare that was somewhat problematic at the time. Over the years of herd and pasture life, she went through bonds with weanlings (although after a few encounters, she reversed her attitude and is now “stay away from me, kid.”), other mares, and even one obnoxious connection with an elk yearling that joined the horse herd (and was rather problematic–trust me, you do NOT want your horse adopting an elk as her “baby”!). These days she has more relaxed friendships, though they’re enduring even though Mocha and her herd friends are frequently separated during the summer (the other mares may be raising a foal, or in a different field, or performing).

One close relationship she has developed during her summers, frequently spent alone in one field, is with a neighboring gelding. Last summer the spouse and I joked that it was a tale of “As the Pasture Turns” because there were times when one or the other horse would go into a snit fit where they wouldn’t respond to the other horse’s call. When the gelding would call Mocha when she was in one of those moods, she would utter a deep, groaning sigh that was clearly “again? He’s so NEEDY.” Then go back to licking the salt block or hanging around with me for scratches. Or she would call and call and he would just hang out in his shed or a spot of pasture where she could see him, but he wouldn’t answer her calls.

I rode her back to that summer pasture today. I had seen him earlier in the week when I was checking the fences to make sure they survived the winter (three feet plus snowdrifts can sometimes do things to a fence). About halfway up the hill to the gate where I would put her into the field, she started nickering, clearly remembering the presence of her gelding friend. Her friend answered. Back and forth calling between the two until I turned her loose. She galloped to the fence to meet him. Very shortly after, the two were grazing across the fence from each other, together once again for the summer. She hadn’t seen him since October.

So it will be “As the Pasture Turns” until October comes again, and she’s ready to rejoin her winter friends.