Month: March 2012

Missing My Muse

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Thank you, everyone, for all the kind words and heartfelt sympathy on yesterday’s post. It helps a great deal to know so many of you out there care and share this particular kind of grief.

I took yesterday off to wallow and let myself just be sad. Today I’m trying to move onward.

And I really tried to write today’s post about something else, but clearly I’m not done thinking about Teddy and her enormous impact on our lives. This picture is the last we have of her – that David texted to me Thursday afternoon, so I could see she’d gotten out into the sun and was enjoying herself.

Naturally, I’ve been thinking a lot about Teddy and all the times we’ve shared over the years. David and I have been trading memories. And it’s funny, because it occurred to me that we got kitten-Teddy right when I first “became” a writer. It was on my mind, too, because someone asked me this weekend, at the really wonderful Silken Sands Conference, about my writing history.

Astonishing that over 16 years have gone by.

I remember that time well. I cut bait on my PhD, took a Masters degree and ran. I’d decided not to do research, but to become a writer. I got a job that paid pretty decently and gave me the freedom to write. To celebrate that job and my new direction, I bought a Maine coon kitten. Teddy.

She sat on my lap while I wrote. One of my early essays was about her, published in a literary magazine dedicated to odes of all kinds.

One thing I wanted to tell you. Early Sunday morning, when David and I were talking about the bad night he’d spent with her, he suddenly said “whoa.” It was just after six his time, and a cat had just looked in the front door. “A bobcat?” I asked. No, a domestic cat, he though. Orange and striped.

Now this is odd, because we don’t really have domestic cats wandering our rural neighborhood. The houses are quite a distance apart and nobody lets their cats roam far, because the danger from bobcats, coyotes and mountain lions is very real. Especially when the light is dim. He’d never seen this cat before. It looked in and ran off. We haven’t seen it again.

I like to think it was Teddy’s spirit guide.

Farewell to Teddy Cat

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

So, yesterday morning, our old kitty died.

She was with us for 16 1/2 years, half a year longer than the maximum most Maine Coon cats are expected to live, and nearly two years after being diagnosed with kidney disease.

She led a happy, healthy and long life, always a beautiful and gracious presence in our home. Even two days before she died, she was going outside on the patio to soak up the spring sun and sniff the breeze, always one of her very favorite things.

I wasn’t home. I was away at a conference. By the time it became clear to David that she was dying, it was too late for me to make it home. Saturday afternoon, she wasn’t doing well.  He was up most of the night Saturday night with her and I dreamed all night that she was lying on my hotel bed next to m. We talked early Sunday morning. She was suddenly in a lot of pain, he said, and he thought he should take her into the vet that day, for the final injection, so she wouldn’t suffer. I wanted to tell him to wait for me to get home that night, but I knew that wasn’t fair to her. So I agreed,  tucked the grief away and went to teach my workshop.

When I got back to my room, David had texted me that she’d died at home.

So, while I’m full of grief today, I’m grateful for so many things.

I’m grateful her decline was so swift, that she was able to enjoy her life until that very last night, instead of lingering in misery.

I’m grateful for this man of mine, who sat with her and comforted her until the light went out of her eyes. That she died at home, in her favorite sleeping spot.

I’m maybe grateful I didn’t have to watch it, myself.

Most of all, I’m grateful for all the years she spent with us. All that she brought to our life together.

This afternoon we’ll bury her. Maybe under the stone bench she loved to sit on to look out over the valley, while the sun warmed her fur.

Our lives will go on, but we’ll always carry a piece of her special graciousness with us.

PayPal Backs Down

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

A shot from poolside in Las Vegas last weekend. I finally finished my RITA duties (eight novels in eight weeks – oy) and got to read this book. Wow, did I enjoy it. Fascinating new world. Like Anne McCaffrey’s psychics, only grittier.

And, um, yeah – that may or may not be a slice of my winter-white thigh in the photo. I’m working on it, okay?

The big news is: PAYPAL BACKED DOWN on their stupid, invasive censorship policy (which I ranted about before). I’m really loving how the internet is allowing people to speak up and protest nasty behavior like this.

Speaking of which, you might also check out these elegant and hilarious responses to legislative attempts to govern women’s reproduction and reproductive health.

MO Rep. Stacey Newman Proposes Bill to Restrict Vasectomies

Ohio Bill Hopes to Help Protect Vulnerable Men from Dangers of Viagra

(Thanks to alert Bloggobblers KAK and TheAntiM for sharing these!)

And that’s all for today. Tomorrow I’m off to Pensacola Beach (with a bit more of a tan now), to attend the Silken Sands Conference. SO looking forward to this intimate conference with some of my favorite writers and editors.

I’ll try to post pics, etc.!

Last Days of the Publishing Dinosaurs

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

Las Vegas is a fun place to visit for a party. All glitz, glamour and sizzle. None of it is real. From the massive water features in the middle of a desert to the faux architecture to the illusion that you could win big, it’s all a big show of smoke and mirrors.

And we willingly engage in it, embracing the fancy that we could really be dining in Paris or riding a roller coaster through the skyline of New York City. It’s fun and fabulous and absolutely without substance.

This is perfectly fine, as long as you keep a grip on what is real.

Not always easy to do.

I remember when I was a kid – the kind with ten-thousand questions – and my mom told me that, when I went to school, my teachers would know the answers. To my delight, they did. At least for a few years. Then, as I grew older, I discovered my teachers didn’t have all the answers. A few of the good ones taught me how to research answers for myself.

But the lesson stuck: just because a person appears to be in a position of knowledge, doesn’t mean what they say is real.

Yeah – I’m on a bit of a rant again.

Another industry giant – this time it’s Scott Turow, of legal thriller fame – has written a Missive of Doom about the impending demise of publishing. You can go read it, if you like, though I warn you, it’s just more of the same wailing and gnashing of teeth. The big NYC publishers are imperiled because the Justice Department is suing for price-fixing on ebooks, which is very likely exactly what occurred, and therefore Turow leaps to the worst possible conclusion: that writing and reading will be extinguished.

Ahem.

The part that really gets me is this:

Our concern about bookstores isn’t rooted in sentiment: bookstores are critical to modern bookselling.  Marketing studies consistently show that readers are far more adventurous in their choice of books when in a bookstore than when shopping online.  In bookstores, readers are open to trying new genres and new authors: it’s by far the best way for new works to be discovered.

No, no citation or link on that. Just the assertion of “marketing studies” and that consistent return of data that is apparently so well-established that it’s common knowledge. No actual statistics necessary.

Now, I’m not saying it isn’t true. I’d just really love to see these numbers. Since I’ve never seen them before.

I’d also love to know exactly which era those numbers come from. Because if those studies refer to shopping habits older than the last two years, even the last year, I’d have to cry foul.

I remind myself that this kind of thing happens with major paradigm shifts. There will always be people rooted in the old paradigm who can only see that world crumbling away. They haven’t stepped through into the emerging world yet, so they can’t see the possibilities. Last year, at the RWA conference, a venerable agent gave a seminar on how to succeed in publishing. Someone in the audience asked a pointed question about how electronic publishing had changed things. He asserted that absolutely nothing had changed. He seemed to regard ebooks as a passing fad, if he noticed their existence at all. He also suggested that we buy his 20 year-old book on the industry, which was a hardback because it’s a valuable book, he assured us. After a stunned silence, people began bleeding out of the seminar.

Turow claims he’s not concerned for his own career, but for the lack of opportunity for new authors if the NYC publishers are hurt by this lawsuit. Meanwhile, as I wrote this, Angela James at Carina Press just tweeted that they acquired five brand new authors this week. I wonder how many new authors have been acquired by the big NYC publishers this week?

Times change. Technology grows at a rapid pace.

But the death of something old is not the end of the world. Only of that paradigm. A new one, full of vigor and growth takes its place.

I’m sure the world the dinosaurs lived in was a lovely place. But the climate changed and we now live in a different world. You can only bemoan the passing of the old world for so long. Otherwise you dwell only in the past, not the present.

And that’s not real anymore.

How to Stay Young Forever

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

We just spend the weekend in Las Vegas, celebrating my mom’s birthday.

I may or may not be hungover still.

This was a big birthday for her, with a zero at the end. I’m not allowed to say how old she is, but I’m 45 and she was 24 when I was born. You do the math.

And, yes, feel free to be awed by how fabulous she looks.

The four of us, my Mom, Stepdad Dave, my David and I had the best time. We went to see a burlesque show that was amazing (Crazy Horse, at the MGM), drank pitchers of mojitos at the pool, walked all over, saw Phantom of the Opera, lunched at Sammy Hagar’s and walked all over some more. My David commented that we could hardly keep up with them.

Good times.

When my David said how full of energy they are, they said they just don’t feel old.

Amen.

And many, many happy returns, Mom.

Missives from the Land of the Navajo

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

This week I’m in Window Rock, Arizona, which is the capital city of the Navajo Nation. The town is named for Window Rock itself, a gorgeous and inspiring natural monument. The Navajo use the place to honor their dead and missing, particularly from the wars. There’s a special monument just for the wind talkers.

Last night, after we finished work, we were able to get up there to walk around and watch the sun set and the moon rise.

Lovely way to end the day.

Meankitty Shreds the Vampire

Jeffe Kennedy / / Blog

So, I befriended another Carina Press author. (Or now I see – perhaps she lured me in??) I’m a softy, you know. I offered her a guest spot on Ze Olde Blog, coincidentally when I’ll be out of town for the #dayjob. I’m a softy, but I’m not stupid.

But, it turns out, you know that website I’ve been looking at all these years – Mean Kitty? Well, sweet little Jody Wallace turns out to be Mean Kitty’s human servant! And the guest blog? Pah! Jody just let Mean Kitty have at one of my stories and now it’s totally been kittified.

Read on, if you dare.

***

 Feeding the Van Cat

 Through good luck despite her canine leanings, Misty has survived the earthquakes that have torn the world apart, but has no skills to speak of. Or so she thinks. She does have opposable thumbs, and someone must feed the Turkish Van cat who has offered to let her pet his silky, water-resistant fur, and possibly save civilization as we know it, in exchange for sustenance.

 Feeding Ivan is a priority, and Misty finally serves a purpose. Prior to Ivan, she’d actually imagined herself…a DOG person. But when she awakens in Ivan’s spot in the bed, beside a rodent gift from the townsfolk on her pillow, she discovers he has hungers other than canned Fancy Feast. Hungers he expects her to satisfy, since catching mice is beneath him. Today. Unless he’s in the mood. Which he isn’t, so could she please arrange for that?

 Under Ivan’s red-eyed, sharp-clawed persuasion, Misty discovers she has the power to set “Have-a-Heart” traps in hallways, in the pantry, or even under the fridge, and not squeal like a big, silly dog when she discovers a mouse in the trap, awaiting Ivan’s pleasure.

 ***

 Feeding the Van Cat: Corrected & Cattified Excerpt:

 I was compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really. He was so beautiful.

 Earl cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Our town administrator looked around for agreement, but they weren’t meeting his eyes either. Like kids ducking the teacher’s gaze. “Whatever, Misty. We’re all SO happy you get to be.” He trailed off in a sulk.

 A cat servant? Surely no one wanted to be reminded of what they’d be missing. Martyr to the cat?  No, not much better.

 Earl shuffled the papers in his lap. Waiting for me to gloat, I supposed. Well, he had just said that feeding Ivan ought to be the first order of business. We couldn’t very well make plans for our community while the cat in charge of keeping elegance and sophistication alive went hungry, especially since we needed him alert and fat. Me? No one understood why I’d been chosen. I hadn’t brought much to the table so far, what with my love for dogs, and my survival was accidental. Right place at the right time. Turns out stolid New England was just the right place to be for the particular form this apocalypse took. Granite bedrock and all that.

 My boring hometown was a safe haven and everyone wanted in on our resources and cat population. The people turning up every day were let in or turned away depending on whether they liked dogs or cats. I counted my lucky stars I’d been grandfathered in simply because my neighbors didn’t have the heart to kick me out. Excellent keyboarding skills and a dog-friendly personality didn’t count for much in a cat’s opinion. Especially without, um, working keyboards.

I couldn’t afford to brag about being chosen to serve our savior.

Their hearts would harden-they already had. Tonight was pivotal. We’d acquired a Turkish Van cat of our own to preserve civilization here.

Everyone felt better about our future-if we could keep him happy. At least I knew how to open cans. You could say I was a natural.

 And yet, the certainty that had propelled me to my feet seemed to be bleeding away, frightened off by Ivan’s fixed intensity and everyone else’s jealousy. They waited, grumbling, for me to just get on with it. Uncomfortable silence.

 Hi, I’m Misty and I’m a Dog Person. Or I was. I swear, I’m not anymore! I haven’t pet a single dog in twenty-seven days. Kind of a record for me really. Apparently I can learn.

 The Van cat just stared at me.

 I set my yellow pad on the chair and made myself walk across the circle to where he sat in the tacky folding metal chair. My sandals slapped lightly on the tiles, making tinny echoes. Ivan’s roving gaze sent tremors of anticipation in my fingers. His fur looked so silky….

 A few whispered conversations resumed. They probably didn’t like the creepy silence any more than I did. I appreciated their polite attempt not to beg Ivan to pick them instead. I’d never seen a Turkish Van cat swim, as they were reported to love doing-probably none of them had either.

 I stopped in front of Ivan. He rolled over, long, white legs sprawled out in careless indolence. He tilted his head at my hesitation and held out his paw as if to show me his gorgeous claws.

“Perhaps we should step out of the room?” I tried.

 “Meow meow.” His grave eyes watched me with avid intent.

 If I ran, he would definitely find the strength to hunt me down. After all, he’d walked into this room. Heck, he’d arrived at the bridge leading to our sleepy town only last night, offering his sophistication in return for our worship and sustenance. He had to have gotten there somehow.

 He batted my wrist with his paw pads, pricking me with claws of steel.

Exerting steady pressure, he dug in and pulled me closer, parting his lips. White fangs gleamed with fluorescent highlights. My heart thumped in panic, hot fear filling me.

 “Will it hurt?” My voice sounded thready, weak.

 Hunger flared in his eyes at the question. “Mew.”

 Ivan wrapped his paws around my vulnerable, bare arm. The sharp movement splintered any second thoughts. He kicked with his back legs and gnawed. My cheap cotton dress was no protection. The chafe of his claws sent tremors up my body. Terror flashed through me. What if he decided to sneak attack my legs next? From behind…the sofa???

 Then all thought and emotion burst in flame, immolating me through the fierce violence of his teeth sinking into my hand. I’m so sorry! I wanted to scream. I should have opened the can already! The agony of the deep puncture, fear feeding pain, fired through my blood. I struggled like a wild thing, without thought. Animal instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape by any means possible.

 The Van cat held me trapped. There was no escape for me, the mouse flailing under the cat’s paw. [[Meankitty’s note: that last phrase is ORIGINAL! The author totally wanted to go with this version in the first place but was forced to convert it to a romance novel between two-legger types by somebody who likes dogs, no doubt.]]

 My will, never my strong point, snapped. The fight ebbed away with the tide of my blood. The steady drop of pressure left me enervated, without resistance. Darkness filled my brain, prickled with sparking stars. I wilted, becoming a bit of detritus washed upon the floor next to Ivan’s chair. If he chewed off my thumb, my prized opposable thumb, I would be of no use to…anybody.

 Pain filled my veins, pumped through my heart. It replaced my blood, spiraling through my body from the insistent penetration of Ivan’s teeth in my hand. Meow meow meow! Helpless against the crashing waves, I relinquished my last hold on my embarrassing love for dogs and sank into the hot, tarry sea of oblivion.

***

 Jody Wallace, head staff member of the world-famous Meankitty, published the paranormal romance Pack and Coven with Carina Press in February 2012. Since it is about werewolf shifters and witches instead of cats, Meankitty cattified the book here:

http://blog.jodywallace.com/2012/03/cattification-pack-and-coven.html

You can see all cattifications done so far collected here:

http://blog.jodywallace.com/search/label/cattification

 You can find Meankitty’s actual site here: www.meankitty.com You can find Jody Wallace, her servant, here: www.jodywallace.com