Author: Jonathon

I finished the edits of DANSE MACABRE. Yea! Trinity declared our Christmas tree the most beautiful tree ever. I couldn’t see it, but this afternoon as I walked past the room, I thought, “You know, it is a pretty tree.” I guess I’m feeling a little less blue. I’ve decided to stop whining about my grief over my grandmother. I’m tired of hearing it, so that probably means so is everyone else. At least I’ll stop whining here on the blog. Jon and the people I work with, well, they’ll get some of it at odd moments. I can’t help it. Here I can rewrite, edit, just decide no that’s too personal. When you’re in the middle of a conversation, it’s harder to check yourself. I haven’t shared a lot of this with friends, how much it’s all bothering me . . . Shit, there I go again. It is hard sometimes not to get overly personal on the blog. It begins to feel like a diary, and more private than it actually is. But it’s not private. It’s like the opposite of private. I’m not sure I like the opposite of private.
Business, if I just concentrate on business. The edits are done, and the ball is now being served back to my editor. The next round will be copy edits, and Jon will finally get a look at the whole book. We’ve found that one pair of fresh eyes is important for copy edits, because otherwise you’ve seen the same pages so many times they feel stale, and it’s hard to see them clearly. Of course, I’ve read and discussed some parts of the book with him so it almost seems like he’s read it. But I find it impossible to live and be in a relationship and not share my work. It is too much a part of who I am and what I think. Jon got me a girl’s t-shirt from CITY OF HEROES. The computer game. He also got me a shirt from CITY OF VILLAINS. I opened up my drawer and there they both were on top. I sat there and thought, hero or villain? Today I needed to be a hero, because I’m not feeling particularly brave. Not that you can’t be brave and be a villain, but it does lower your odds. No, I don’t play the computer game, but Jon does.

It’s winter solstice the longest night of the year. It is the night when our ancestors huddled around fires and prayed for the return of the sun, or that’s what folklore and myth tells us. If Jon and I were purely Celtic Wiccans we’d celebrate today and be done, but we are eclectic Wiccans, which means we also have many of the traditions of the Germanic Wiccan in our belief system. (There is some debate among Wiccans and folklore scholars about whether Winter Solstice and Yule are indeed the same celebration, or not. We choose to divide them in our house.) Which means we also have Yule to celebrate. Yule is on the same day as Christmas. So technically for us it’s Happy Yule, not Merry Christmas. But for Trinity it is Christmas. She’s starting to go to church with Jon’s parents and is thinking seriously of becoming Catholic. Not my flavor of religion, but I believe strongly that God, or Goddess, calls us to our paths of faith, so Catholic is okay. That whole women can’t be priests thing, and the whole celibacy for their priests, just puzzles me. Luckily for us many of the trappings, decorations, food, etc . . . are identical between the two holidays. Which makes a duel celebration a very smooth one.
We open one present on Solstice, and divide the rest between Christmas eve and Yule, itself. We also put out extra treats for the wild birds on St. Stephen’s day which is the day after Christmas. The tradition in England, parts of Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, etc . . . was to hunt a wren and kill it on this day. There’s even a Christmas carol about it. I’m trying to make family traditions that reflect the family we are. We had a tradition from when I was a wee girl that we did this year. We do it most years, but this year it was harder. The first night you decorate the tree, you turn out the lights, and by the splendor of the tree in the darkened room you sing a carol. For my mother and I when I was very small, the carol was always ‘Silent Night’. I still can’t sing that carol without a certain level of grief, even after nearly a decade in school choirs. Trinity and have been struggling to find one we both know the words to, and want to sing. This year, it was ‘Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow’. She did it in the Christmas program, so she knows the words, and it was one of the carols I wrote the last book to. So we know the words, and it has not depressing associations. Either we’ve found our carol, or by next year Trinity and I need to learn all the words to ‘O’ Tannenbaum.’

I hate Christmas, the whole Christmas season. Why? Damned if I know. I know it has something to do with the fact that this is the first one without my grandmother being alive. I’m still working through how I feel about her and me, and all the issues that never seem to get resolved. We had our disagreements. Two stubborn, strong-willed women in one house is always a problem. But I miss her, damnit. I don’t seem to want to decorate anything. The tree is up, but naked. We’ll decorate tonight after school. But my heart isn’t in it. I remember when my year revolved around this holiday time of year. Now it just seems like something to endure, rather than enjoy. What I want to do is just drown myself in work. I need to do the work, and I could just ignore everything but the work. Jon would be okay with us playing Scrooge. But we have a child, one that still talks about Santa. Every year may be the last year for Saint Nick, so it’s special and I appreciate that, but it’s hard to do a child-friendly holiday when you, yourself, are feeling so . . . well, not holiday. I love my work and my world. It is my shield and my refuge when the rest of the world goes south in some way. I think one of the reasons I felt so compelled to have a child this time round is that a child forces you to be more than you want to be. They force you to not hide, but to confront. If we’re paying attention as parents we always learn as much from our children as they learn from us. Good, bad, hard, or joy filled; it’s always a learning experience.
The trouble is that you keep learning from each other long after you’re grown as a child. The relationship doesn’t end because you got out and had a family of your own. The lessons continue, apparently, even after one side of the equation is no longer among the living.

I’m a member of SETI@home.
I also started a Team, Team LKH, for the project.
This is to announce that the team exists and to solicit membership.
C’mon and help me find some aliens!

Just picked Trinity up from the sleep over birthday party of her friend, Lydia. Trin was having such a good time that she didn’t want to leave yet, but it was the time on the invitation for picking up of children. Two different parents arrived to pick up their respective children as we were having her gather her stuff. I stood in the foyer carefully not touching anything. They have a cat. Thanks to the allergy shots I could stand there, but within minutes I had to step outside because it began to impact my breathing. I got out before it got bad, but everything that Trin took with her is going to have to be washed. She’s in the bath as we speak. Jon has her clothes in the washer. Her sleeping bag, her pillow case, all of it. I had to roll down a window on the drive home, even in the cold. I’ve taken a benadryl on top of all my other allergy meds, because I’m starting to itch. Some people joke about allergies, those of us who truly suffer from them, well, it’s not so funny. There was an article in Cat Fancy magazine some time ago about the genetic altered cats that are supposed to be ownable by those of us with this allergy. A woman wrote in about the article saying, that those of us with allergies should just suffer through the allergy. It’s just a little sneezing and itching. It’s so much more than that for some of us. It’s throat closing, breathing stopping, epi pen time. Unless the genetically altered kitties actually work, I will never own a cat. Not a horrible tragedy, as tragedies go, but for those of you who spent your childhood wanting a cat, but being raised by someone who hated them . . . You grow up, and think you’ll have one of your own. Then in college I acquired this allergy. Most of my truly severe allergies were acquired in college. You rarely out grow adult onset allergies.
I don’t know where I stand on the genetic alteration of animals. Especially when it’s to allow people with allergies to own them. It seems frivolous. But, it would sooth something inside me to finally have a cat of my own. Funny, somethings you want when you’re five never quite go away.
Truthfully, the thing I miss most about my allergies is birds. I lost my beloved cockatiel, Baby, when she was still quite young. She had not yet seen a decade. Many birds live much longer than dogs or cats. It is one of their many pluses. She passed away before I realized I was allergic to the birds. We found new homes for the canary and a cockatiel that we had inherited from a deceased relative. Snoopy, our yellow-naped Amazon parrot, stayed. If Baby had been alive I wouldn’t have gotten rid of her, and Snoopy had been ours since she was a very little big bird. I did not realize how terribly allergic I was to Snoopy and her cage until I moved out and she stayed with Gary. I got the two pugs, Pugsley and Phouka, and he got Snoopy. I was home more and could do more exercise and socialization of the dogs. It seemed logical. But once I was in a bird free environment I felt so much better. Unfortunately the allergy shots will not help with the bird allergy. Because no one has been able to isolate the protein, or component that makes humans allergic to bird feathers. It is the feathers. I eat poultry just fine, but something in feathers is not my body’s friend. I never owned a cat, so it’s harder to truly miss what I’ve never had. But I had birds. I had a shoulder bird. Long after Baby died I would catch myself at the computer reaching up to scratch her head, and she would not be there. I would swear that I could feel her pressed against my cheek while I wrote. She was my muse for many of the first Anita books. I guess there are three things I feel better with when I work; tea or coffee, music, and animal companionship. Snoopy would sit on her perch, or her play area near my desk. She was a little big to be a shoulder bird. And also, as an Amazon she was more playful, not so much into the sitting around. Heck, we taught her to play catch with some of her smaller toys.
I don’t ever expect to be able to own a cockatoo or a cockatiel again. Very high feather dander. Any of the bigger parrots are going to be out. But if I could just have a canary again. One little bird, to sing in my office. We had a canary named Snert, after Hagar the Horrible’s dog. Snert was a character. He totally sold me on canaries. He was a Gloster Fancy with that Beatles hair-do. He would sing at the drop of a hat. He would come out of his cage and play on Snoopy’s playground. He ate green peas like a hawk with a kill, stabbing through the pea with his little-bitty claws, and eating the pea hollow. He died, and we got another canary. The one that had to find a new home. Sigh. I don’t dare get another bird, because an pet deserves a home for it’s entire life, and I couldn’t count on being able to do that for a canary, or any bird. I have the room to have that finch aviary that I dreamt of, but that is like totally out. Too many feathers.
It isn’t a tragedy, but it is a little loss. I have the dogs, and I am grateful, and I am a dog person at heart, but I do miss the possibilities.

Christmas is next week. Aaahh! I knew it theorectially. I mean I’ve looked at the calendar recently. I saw that the winter solstice was the 21st. Which meant Christmas was close by. I even knew that the 25th is always Christmas, but somehow the whole that- would -be- next- weekend just escaped me. I have not finished my shopping, at all. Trin’s done, but Jon’s not, and lots of other people aren’t finished either. Still trying to finish up the edit of DANSE MACABRE so it can go back to New York. It’s making those last decisions, like; do we cut this bit of dialogue, do we cut this new minor-major character and save him for another book, do we really need two longish speeches by this character, or does the second one do enough character development. There are also smaller questions like what is that one move in ballet called? Grand jete, actually. Yesterday was not as productive as it might have been, because Mary, Jon’s mom is on vacation and we’re on earlier munchkin duty. Jon and I picked the kiddo up from school then drove to get dinner before her dance class. Yesterday was their Christmas program. A lot of little girls in reindeer antlers. It was very cute, and Trin had improved a lot in the ballet moves. The jazz moves, which are newer, are a little less refined. We’re going to have to make sure she practices between now and the main recital.
I have to get DANSE MACABRE done. Jon and I must pick out the last of the lighting fixtures and plumbing fixtures. These things cannot be put off. Do the holidays come with a delay button? Don’t I wish?

Feeling a little more cheerful this morning. I finished the first go through of edits of DANSE MACABRE on the airplane coming home. I also finished rereading I.O.U. by Robert B. Parker. I started the first chapter of the next Anita book. I’ll do an outline. Sometimes the outline is very close to the final book, and sometimes has little to do with the final product. I think this one will be pretty close to the actual book. Time will tell.

We’re back home. Yea! The flight back home was harder than the flight out for me. There was more turbulence. I don’t like turbulence. Yeah, yeah, no one does. The business went well. We’ll know more after the holidays. I’m not being cryptic on purpose, but I’ve found that no matter what I say that some people pick it apart, of course, those same people will complain because I’m hinting but not saying anything. You know there are nights when I wonder if the blog is a good idea. It just seems like another thing for people to bitch about.

Jon and I just finished unpacking the brief case that we took with us to Italy, so we can repack it for the trip to L. A. I’ll be taking the last half of DANSE MACABRE with me to edit on the plane. About five hundred pages worth. Should keep me busy, the flight isn’t that long. I’ve packed a couple of books just in case, but I’ll probably work. Work and try to forget where I’m sitting and how far up we are. Damned phobias.

I got the edits for DANSE MACABRE back yesterday in a box; a big, thick, box. I’ve gone from eager to do the editing to just strung out from it. Some of the book is so familiar from writing and rewriting that I still can’t see it clearly. I’m on page 568 and the book is over a thousand pages, so still far to go. I was hoping to have it done before we fly to the coast for a business meet on Monday, but there is just no way to be done in time. Not unless I spend the whole weekend working, and I don’t want to do that. One of my goals for the new year is to enjoy my success more. I mean what’s the point of making money and doing well at your job if you never let yourself enjoy it? I was hoping for a more relaxing grown-up weekend, but my ex is sick, and he’s supposed to pick Trinity up tomorrow, but I’m not banking on it. Hoping, but not banking.
Frankly, with a book this size I’m not sure that working steadily all weekend would get it done in time to have it shipped back to New York on Monday anyway. Long damn book. I thought nearly a month off would make it seem fresh, but it’s still too close, too recent a wound. It’s like I’m still bleeding from the experience and they want me to fill out insurance forms. I’ve got THREE DAYS GRACE playing while I type this. I needed something with more of a beat than the Dean Martin Christmas album I was listening to. THREE DAYS GRACE is one of the albums I listened to when I did the last Merry book, A STROKE OF MIDNIGHT. Strangely, I’m going to be able to recycle almost all the albums that I used for MIDNIGHT for the new Merry book. She doesn’t seem to burn through music as fast as Anita does. I’d started rereading MIDNIGHT when the edits came back. Another reason why I was hoping to get done with the edits was to take the last Merry book and read and make notes on the plane, but I don’t want to immerse myself in one world then try to immerse myself in the other one. Too confusing.
I have no idea why I’m so discouraged today. It’s cold here, but I’ve put a space heater in my office for the dogs. I’ve had it aimed at their bed all day. Usually when I get up and leave the office they wander around or want to go with me, but today the pugs haven’t moved from the warm bed. Pip even stayed put through two interruptions. He finally couldn’t resist finding out what everyone else was doing, but he’s followed me back up, and he’s curled on the other side of the room. I guess there is only so much room on the dog bed and the pugs have stretched out, deeply asleep, and taken the space over. I’m going to make them go downstairs with me this time. I need a hug from my husband and then I give up for the day. I’m going to run a large amount of hot water in a tub and soak. Jon will handle the kiddo, and then we’ll have dinner, and then bed. The only thing that sounds better than a hot bath is cuddling next to Jon for a long winter’s sleep. Maybe I just need to hibernate?