Day before the Thanksgiving holiday, I’m the only editor in the office, and the work just keeps coming. I can’t write with all of these distractions! Wah!
1.2K on The Stupid Novel, and I think there must be ruthless scene chopping today. The price for not writing this chronologically, I suppose.
1K words on The Stupid Novel, and they were good words for a change. Think I’m back on track. ‘Cept my hamsters are massing at the gates.
Less Stupid Novel progress than I’d hoped, but after 2K words, part 3 is now at zero draft. Next up: adding the bridge scenes to part 4.
So the results from the vet came back, and Hobkin has a staph infection, apparently a methicillin-resistant one. He gets another course of antibiotics. Poor lil guy! But it’s a relief having a definite diagnosis and simple treatment.
However, as one skunk-related worry resolves, another rears up. The housing crisis and economic recession caused Hobkin’s godmother to lose her house. She’d been unemployed for a while, and with the job market being what it is, she ended up exhausting her savings and then having to default on her mortgage. She declared bankruptcy, and she and her houseful of skunks relocated out-of-state.
We’re devastated. I hope she manages to get back on her feet soon. Really, really hope she does. And now Hobkin doesn’t have a place to go when we’re out of town. His godmother was wonderful. We completely trusted her to look after him, had total peace of mind boarding Hobkin with her, secure that she was both capable of and would look after him with the same care and attentiveness that we would.
I don’t know what we’re going to do next month for Christmas when we go to visit fosteronfilm‘s folks. We can’t take Hobkin with us because skunks are illegal to own as pets in Illinois, and we simply can’t board him at our vet’s. It would be far too stressful. We’re considering getting a professional pet sitter, but even if we can find one who’ll sit a skunk, I very much doubt they’d have any experience caring for one. And even if they came by four times a day (which is how often Hobkin’s meals are), Hobkin would be alone for huge chunks of time. He’s used to having someone with him essentially 24/7, not to mention sleeping with me at night. I think he’ll be sad and lonely being alone for so long. I would be.
Don’t know what to do. Wah!
Lethal insomnia. Dead now. Waiting to be resurrected by the aqua vitae (aka coffee) I slammed. Otherwise, consider me added to the ranks of the walking dead.
The 2009 Nebula nomination period opened yesterday and runs through Feb. 15, 2010. This is the first year of the revamped Nebula nomination rules, a process that really, really needed an overhaul. It promises to be much more transparent and commonsensical than the previous system.
I invite folks to peruse the Carl Brandon society list of 2009 short stories by writers of color and the Nebula suggested reading offerings at the SFWA.org site for some fabulous fiction to consider nominating.
And, of course, my own shameless plug:
My novelette “Sinner, Baker, Fabulist, Priest; Red Mask, Black Mask, Gentleman Beast” was published by Interzone and reprinted in Apex Magazine in 2009, making it eligible for Nebula consideration.
Folks can read it for free from Apex‘s site or listen to a free podcast of it, read fabulously by Lawrence Santoro, at Escape Pod.
Just got back from another vet appointment. The follow-up urinalysis from last week’s visit showed there was still blood so we brought Hobkin back for more tests. Today’s results: x-ray was clean (no kidney stones, whew), waiting on the urine culture results. And we’re $340 poorer. Sigh.
But I’m glad we could confirm that Hobkin doesn’t have stones. And he was really well behaved. Although obviously anxious. Poor lil guy.
Just committed guest bloggery at Jeff VanderMeer’s Ecstatic Days: “Niches, Typecasting, and Stereotypes”. Go read, yo.
Been sitting on this news until it was announced: Bards & Sages named me their Author of the Year for 2009! Squee!
