My publisher, Tor, is giving away five copies of Indigo Springs along with advance reading copies of Blue Magic. Details are here: you have until March 23rd. And do spread the word!

(I’d meant for this to be a low-key, personal post, but of course with the book out in twenty days, the excitement is building… there’s lots to post about.)

Kelly and I have been living in the current apartment for almost eleven years, which is about three years longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my entire life. I had something of a bounce-around childhood, and university was university–moving’s what you do. Then there were three places after the move to Vancouver: Chez Michel, Chez Frank, and the current Chez Dua.
So a couple years ago, around the time that we passed that longest-time-ever threshold, a bit of an itch developed. Some reflexive ‘isn’t it time to move?’ instinct scratches at the back of my consciousness. K’s got it too.
But moving’s not necessarily the right choice, so we’ve been trying to put a little effort into the house. Like Badger, I’ve been decluttering. I’ve sunk some cash into swoopy new gadgets that’ll do things like get us Netflix and let me use the TV in the living room as another computer monitor, if I please. We bought the footstool that is a (small, narrow) guest mattress, and allowed it to develop a healthy coat of cat hair. There’s a faint shadow of hope that the bathroom reno, which got stopped midway (I blame exhaustion brought on by the Parade of Death) might get wrapped up this year.
And windows! Yesterday, the stompy-boot guys who are putting new glass in all the suites in our building got started on installing new, non-moldy and allegedly noise-reducing windows in our place. To that there is only one thing you can say, and it is basically “Frabjous Day!”

Soon there will be pictures. In the meantime, an old reno photo.

A few weeks ago I decided that it would be good for all of us if Rumble got a bit of a run in every night before bedtime. What’s spilled from that decision is the following bedtime routine:

First, there’s a bit of hopeful chirping as the evening winds down. “Are you going to bed now? How about now? Now?” This is, in fact, an improvement over his snoozing all evening on the bed, resting up so he can wake me at three in the morning for a snuggle, get threatened with Squirty Bottle, and stampede in terror over Kelly’s sleeping form.

When bedtime finally comes, I have a little snack and get out of my clothes, all while Rum lurks about impatiently, with an air of “You’re not gonna forget, right?”

I then drag the peacock feather around our bed while he chases and pounces and tries to kill and kill again.

Meanwhile, Minnow, who’s realized that Fun is being Had, sits in the kitchen sending Big eye vibes of Hope through the wall.

Once Rumble’s wiped out, I leave him with a feather to gnaw and close him in the bedroom so he can’t beat the crap out of her for getting involved. This is necessary because a) he’s not dumb; b) Minnow playtime is a high-volume, impossible to miss scrabble of claws on the faux-hardwood floor. I take the other peacock feather and set Minnow on a mad, looping, acrobatic feather chase in the kitchen (I was using a laser pointer to run her around, but I dropped it and it died, and I haven’t replaced it yet.) Anyway, this goes on until…

Rumble starts crying piteously at the bedroom door and Kelly has her face washed and jammies on.

I am hoping to get video, but of course they tend to stiffen up when the camera comes, usually in an attitude of “Oh, did you want a close-up of what’s right under my tail?”