Saying Goodbye. Again.

We lost Thomasina today. Even when you know a dearly beloved friend has lived a long, good life, it's still hard.

Because she was once feral (hence the cropped ear), we've never known exactly how old Thomasina was, but best estimates put her over seventeen or eighteen. When we first brought her home from the rescue group (just weeks after moving to New Orleans), she was so shy she lived in our spare room amidst the boxes for months, only venturing out after everyone had gone to bed. But Danielle slowly won her over. As far as Thomasina was concerned, the sun rose and set in Danielle--and the feeling was mutual.

Thomasina saw Danielle through all the painful adjustments involved moving to a strange new country, negotiating the American school system, and heading off to college and then graduate school. Last Wednesday, Danielle successfully defended her doctoral dissertation; on Thursday she accepted a position as assistant professor at a good university. And today, this.

More Audio Books!

Sorry I've been MIA for a while. Life has been aggravating this past week for reasons I won't particularize. But I do have some new audio book covers to show you. Here's the final version of the Recorded Books edition of Why Mermaids Sing:

This is actually the third version. I can show you the second version because for some reason it's up on Amazon. Needless to say, I did not like the red lipstick, and they surprised me by taking my suggestion they cut the mermaid off at the chin. Here's the original second version:

Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to show you the first version, which featured a different mermaid with a shell bra and a very prominent bellybutton. No, I'm not kidding.

Anyway, here is the cover for the upcoming Where Serpents Sleep:

I asked that they make the font of the title darker. Maybe I shouldn't have shown it yet? Oh well.

In other news, I've signed up for Bouchercon, the mystery/thriller convention that will be in New Orleans next September. If you like that sort of thing, maybe I'll see you there?

I am also chugging ahead with my plan to gradually release my Candice Proctor backlist as ebooks. I was going to release Midnight Confessions first and I have a gorgeous new cover for it, but, ahem, that has hit a snag (some of the "I won't particularize" stuff that's been affecting my blood pressure this week). But I will be going ahead with the release of Beyond Sunrise, although it will have only "Candice Proctor" on the cover rather than "C. S. Harris writing as Candice Proctor." (Yeah, you can read something between the lines there.)

And, finally, I have a new keyboard because this guy knocked a cup of coffee over on my old one and killed it. He's cranky because he's no longer allowed on my lap while I'm drinking anything at the computer and he's convinced I'm just being so mean. Which translates into, Let's bite Candy's foot. 

Hopefully next week will be better?

Hendon, C.S. Graham, Cats, and England: Answering Ask Me Anything Monday

Angel was my mom's old cat; he's now 17.

From Judith at Goodreads: Will Things get better between Sebastian and his father?

The book I'm writing now, which has the working title WHERE THE DEAD LIE (due out March 2017), sees Sebastian and  Hendon united in their opposition to the betrothal of Hendon's granddaughter (Amanda's daughter), Stephanie, to a charming but decidedly nasty heir to a marquis. This has been a very emotional book to write; the scene I was working on the other day had me literally crying.

Huckleberry and Thomasina. These two were mine from before Steve and I married; Huck is almost 15  and Thomasina is at least 17-18.

From Mary at Goodreads, Will we ever see any more stories from C. S. Graham?

I loved writing the Tobie and Jax books, and I think it helped keep the Sebastian series fresh when I could write something else in between (one of the dangers of a long-running series is that the writer can get tired of it). But it was just too much for me, trying to keep both series going. When my mom fell ill and moved in with me, I almost went crazy and decided I had to drop one. Even though she is now gone, I don't think I could manage both series at once, at least not for two different publishers. So I guess the short answer is, I have another C.S. Graham idea in my head that I'd love to write but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Once a series is allowed to go cold like that, publishers are reluctant to pick it up again. Probably the only way it could happen is if someone made a movie. But while we had tons of interest, nothing ever came of it.

Banjo and Scout, our shaky kittens.

Toni asked, How do you take care of all your cats with your busy schedule?

It isn't anywhere near as difficult now as it was during the Year of the Shaky Kittens. To be frank, caring for our two little handicapped babies took a huge toll on both Steve and I. Hand feeding them three times a day (for the first several months it was four), keeping them clean, and just holding and cuddling them took an enormous amount of time and required us to get up an hour earlier before Steve went to work and usually kept us up late at night. But my Banjo died in June of last year, and we lost Scout in October. And then we lost Indie, my little darling who left us far too soon this last March.

The rest of the guys aren't much trouble. Thomasina, the calico female in the bottom bunk in the picture above, now spends most of her time in Baton Rouge with my younger daughter. I feed and cuddle the rest of the gang first thing in the morning before I go for my walk (Huck and Angel get a med that needs to be sprinkled on wet food). In the evening, before I go to bed, I sit with the Marmalades again for a couple of hours and read (Roscoe and Peanut live in a part of the upstairs that is closed off by a glass door because Huck doesn't like them) while Steve goes out and sits and reads with the Pee Cats (Nora and Whiskies live on our fifty foot screened in gallery because they have "elimination issues"). Angel and Huck (and Tommy Girl when she's here) are free to roam the rest of the house (Huck doesn't like Angel, either, but Angel can hold his own), and they cuddle next to me (or ON me) during the day while I write.

The worst part of it all is that Steve and I really can't go away together for more than a night. I have friends who would be willing to come refresh water and food and litter boxes, but I can't ask people to come twice a day and administer medicine (Angel has another med that we squirt in his mouth at night and Huck gets a different med sprinkled on his bedtime snack). I can't board them, either, because Huck's problems are the result of a near fatal reaction to his last vaccines and the vet told me to never give them to him again. Which is probably way more than you wanted to know, but does explain why I went to England last June and poor Steve stayed home to cat sit!

Roscoe and Peanut. Technically, these two belong to Sam. I'm not holding my breath. They're six years old.

Caroline asked, Do you miss living in England, and if so, what?

I do miss it, yes. To be frank, I'd go back if I could (well, as long as I could pick one of the warmest, sunniest bit, and maybe also had a little house in Spain for the dead of winter!) I miss being able to drive over the hill and visit everything from a castle to a thousand year old church to a Roman ruin. I absolutely adore the beautiful gardens (when I was there this last time I was threatening to come home and rip up all my roses because they are so sad here in comparison). I love tearooms and neighborhood pubs and lovely little villages that made you ache for times gone past.  I could go on and on, but I think the thing I love most is how wonderfully polite and funny the people are.

Indie, my little darling

I have three more questions to answer, about Jamie Knox and Sebastian and 19th century intellectual history, but each of those will be long enough to require a post to itself.

Whiskies (sibling to Roscoe and Peanut, and mentally "slow" since birth)  and Nora (now 15, the sole survivor of the three cats Steve had when we married) on the porch swing. At the other end of the gallery are heated and air conditioned little houses for when it gets too cold or too hot. Yes, we are crazy.

Don't Worry, she said; I'll Find Homes for Them, she said...

Six years ago today, my daughter called on her way home from hiking in a national park to ask if I knew anything about cats having kittens. When I said, WHY? she admitted that an abandoned pregnant cat she'd rescued from the park was at that moment having kittens in the backseat of her car, barreling down the Interstate toward New Orleans.

My first thought was, Oh, God; I'm going to get stuck with them.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll find homes for them," she said.

I guess I should be grateful her then-boyfriend took the mama cat and one of the four kittens when they amicably went their separate ways, otherwise I'd have all five. As it is....

Happy Birthday, Peanut, Roscoe, and Whiskies!

Sunlight on Ripened Grain

Indie's gone. We were hoping for weeks, maybe even months. Instead, we had hours. He's left a yawning hole in our lives and in our hearts.

Do not stand on my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in the circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there. I did not die.

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Indie Update

We're bringing Indie home today. It is FIP. All we can do is make him comfortable and love him for however many days he has left.

Indie Is Dangerously Sick

I'd planned to do an excited post about my book tour, but I came home to a very sick kitten, and somehow I just can't.

At first, Steve thought Indie was lethargic and not eating because he was missing me. As a result, the alarm bells didn't ring until late Saturday night, when he took a turn for the worse and Steve rushed him to the emergency vet. We took him back this morning, and the vet kept him. They're doing tests but not sure yet what it is--he may have come to us with FIP, which is being complicated by exposure to a flare in Huck's chronic toxoplasmosis. Whatever, he's very dangerously ill.

I think I took all the heartache from losing Banjo last summer and poured it into the tiny kitten that showed up at my door a few weeks later. He's the sweetest little guy imaginable, and I'm so afraid.

Looking Ahead

Whenever I finish a book, I try to spend some time doing all the things I put off while I was caught up in the throes of writing. I clean my office, work in my garden, tackle some of the house repair projects I'm always putting off, etc. In the process of reorganizing my files this past week, I found some notes I'd written back in 2003, outlining my vision for the future of the Sebastian St. Cyr series. I was stunned to realize that I am now starting book #12 and I STILL haven't done some of the things I'd envisioned happening by the end of book #5! Which made me laugh--and also caused me to give some thought to what lies ahead.

Someone suggested recently that I add to my website a peek at what lies ahead, so I thought I'd do that here. As you know, I've just finished #11, and it now has a title: WHEN FALCONS FALL. Not my first choice (I wanted When Doves Fall), but I'm getting used to it. And the nice thing is that I already have approval for the title of #12, which is still only in the beginnings of the outline stage: Where the Dead Lie. 

How many more books will there be? I honestly don't know. But sales are still growing, my publisher is more strongly behind me than ever, and I have a lot of Sebastian and Hero stories I still want to tell.

In addition to dealing with my ever-growing To Do list, I'll be spending the next month plotting out #12, writing guest blogs for a number of sites that will be featuring Who Buries the Dead next month, and getting ready for my book tour the first week in March. I'm really looking forward to meeting my readers in Houston, Phoenix, Portland, and Seattle, and wish I could be going to even more cities.

I'm also planning a redo of my website, although that won't happen until April. My webmistress recently reminded me that it's been eight years now since she first did my site and pointed out that sites are much wider now than when my current one was made. So I'm going to be giving lots of thought to that and welcome any ideas for improvements.

There's a bunch of other stuff going on--I should be able to show you the cover for the audio book of Who Buries the Dead soon. And I may finally be officially getting the rights back for my first seven historical romances so that I can do something with them. But today I'm dealing with a swarm of bees that seems to have decided to make my home their home. I have a bee keeper coming this morning, so wish me luck!

Focusing

I can't believe how long it's been since I put up an new blogpost. My excuse is that I've been focusing on getting this $#%& book finished in time for Christmas. But I've resigned myself to the fact that's not going to happen, and now I'm simply trying to get it to a good stopping point. Angel's been helping by draping himself over my arm while I'm trying to write.

I've decided to do the ARC giveaway for WHO BURIES THE DEAD after Christmas, when life will be more sane. Hope that doesn't disappoint anyone too much. I'll be putting up another post soon, I promise! Now back to work...

Run Free, Little Girl

We lost Scout last night.

She managed to hang on for four months after Banjo had his final, fatal seizure. We knew she was deteriorating, but her slide has always been more gradual than his. When we first rescued them, Scout could scamper around (sort of) and eat and drink on her own. But she'd lost that ability shortly before Banjo died, so we knew it was only a matter of time.

Still, losing her last night was unexpected and a bit of a shock. I went in to check on her before dinner and knew as soon as I saw her that she was in trouble. She died in Steve's arms shortly before midnight.

We rescued our "shaky kitties" just over a year ago, on my birthday. It's been a very tough, very draining, and very emotional twelve months, and now it's over.

Bugsy. Again.

Bugsy's back, and all grown up now. Unfortunately, the parents of his little owner have decided they don't want him any more, so they gave him the boot.

He knew right where to come.

I've sent emails to two Louisiana no-kill rescue groups, which of course are all full. But both have promised to put him at the top of their waiting list, so I am hopeful. I'd be more hopeful if I didn't still have this little cutie (now four months old and bad, bad, BAD).

Can I just say, I really didn't need a rabbit?

Sometimes, Life Sucks

It's been a bad week. I had a close encounter of the clumsy kind with a tree branch and tried to poke out my right eye. I'd show you the lovely picture of me with half the side of my face bandaged, but the Internets are forever, so it ain't gonna happen. The good news is that it will hopefully be all right in the end. But I haven't managed to get much done over the last ten days or so because eyes are rather important to a writer.  I was able to devote some of those hours I spent lying in a darkened room with my eyes closed to plotting out my next book, though, so it wasn't a complete loss.

And then, probably because I was so stressed, I came down with a nasty respiratory infection. (And don't even get me started on my mom's house!) Hopefully things will sort themselves out in a few days. In the meantime, that's a picture of Indie eating the manuscript for Sebastian # 11. Yes, he still doesn't have  home of his own, and this manuscript still doesn't have a title. Maybe September will be better.

Copyedits, Cats, and Crazies

Life has been hectic lately. The sale on my mom's house fell through because the buyer I thought was nice turned out to be so crazy that the real estate agent who was helping her find a property actually dropped her. So we had to go back on the market. We've just signed a new contract, ironically for 10% more than the last sale; hopefully this one will go through.

At the same time, I've been going over the copyedits of WHO BURIES THE DEAD. It's been about six months since I read this book, so I was coming at it with fairly fresh eyes. I must say, it's an unusual book. But then, who wants to keep reading the same thing, right? Please tell me I'm right!

And then, of course, I'm still dealing with this little guy. I have flyers at the two vets I work with, but still no takers. He's now clean of the worms, fleas, and mites he had when he arrived, and he's had his first shots, so he could come in the house EXCEPT.... Huck is sick again, this time with a dangerously low white blood cell count (yes, I am worried; he's never been well since he almost died last fall). And since we don't know what's causing it, Indie is only allowed in the rooms occupied by our houseguests, aka Rosco and Peanut.

Rosco is a weird cat who would be on Ativan if he were a person. I don't trust him alone with the little guy (who looks enough like him to be his own offspring), so we've been having 1-2 hour play dates: Indie plays while Rosco hisses and swats, and I sit there like an anxious mama and watch. I do wish I could find a proper home for the little baby; I seem to spend my life taking care of special needs cats.

Oops, I Did It Again--UPDATE

He just showed up at my door the other night, a little eight week old kitten. Who dumps a tiny kitten?

I tried to say no. Oh, I gave him some food and fixed up a sheltered box for him to sleep in, but I have no room in my house for any more cats.

He's as cute and sweet as can be. I walk out the house and call him, and he comes on the run, meowing all the way. We've named him Indiana Jones because he's intrepid and adventuresome. He has a vet appointment in the morning, but he really, really needs a proper home. Anyone?

UPDATE: So he went to the vet this morning. Passed his AIDS and leukemia tests, but there is no test for distemper so he's going to be in quarantine in the big crate in the garage for the next 2 weeks (no more climbing trees, poor guy). He has ear mites, fleas, and worms, which we will be treating while he's in isolation. Otherwise the vet says he's strong and healthy and just 8 weeks old. He loves to be petted and purrs his heart out. He's a real sweetheart.

Scout Without Banjo

Several people have asked how Scout is coping now that we've lost her brother, so I thought I'd do an update.

She'd seemed very lethargic in the week or so before Banjo died and actually perked up a bit after he was gone. We realized she must have known he was dying and been depressed because of it. But there's no denying a spark has gone out of her. It isn't just that she's alone now. She was always the timid one and leaned heavily on Banjo for moral support. He was the calm one, the brave one, the one who bathed her face and neck every day and reassured her when things were scary. Now she's lost that, and she's adrift.

Steve especially spends as much time with her as he can, because she's always been his special girl. But she's not eating well. As much as I miss Banjo, I know she misses him more. He was her rock, and now he's gone.

As for Huck, he seems to be feeling a lot better; he's eating and running around and terrorizing the other cats again. But we are still waiting on some test results.

Progress

 I've spent the past week organizing my computer files (and I'm still at it!), trying to reconcile my outdated backup with what the Rent-a-Nerd guy managed to salvage. By far the biggest hit was to my iPhotos: out of over 6,000 photos, he managed to salvage just 268. Ouch. So I've been organizing the files from the old backup, looking at old camera cards in the hopes that things like my daughters' graduations last year (med school and MA) are still there, and hitting up family members for their photos.

I've made some interesting discoveries along the way, such as the above picture of me with Tracy Grant at Bouchercon in 2010; I misplaced the camera after my trip to San Francisco and found it so long after the fact that I never did anything with the pictures I'd taken. I also found this old scan of me on a dig on San Juan Island in the 70s. I look like a child.

And I was thrilled to discover this great photograph of my mother at a Mardi Gras parade, age 92, taken just weeks before she died:

I'm afraid I haven't been spending much time with Sebastian, though, except for three hours while waiting at the orthopedist the other day with a lateral meniscus tear, and the hour I spent at the vet's with Huckleberry. Yes, Huck is not well again. I'm really worried about my baby....