Rose-Owls and Pumpkin Girls

I am currently too sick to die. I picked up a cold in Minnesota, which slammed down on me hard enough and fast enough that I thought it might be strep (it's not strep). I currently have a bone-rattling cough, so much snot in my head that I think my brain may be liquefying, and a general sense of full-body malaise.

This is where you come in.

Please, please, do not prod at me for the next few days unless you have something that absolutely will not wait. Let me rest and recover, because this is slaughtering me, and I have a book release next week, which means I need to rest more than I can say.

Thank you.

Katharine Kerr is a nice lady, a fellow DAWthor, and a really great storyteller. She needs our help.

I started the first draft of this post with some personal stuff, and then realized it didn't matter; this is a nice lady who tells great stories, and needs us, maybe now more than ever. Take a look.

http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/help-author-katharine-kerr-care-for-her-husband-howard/278370

Thank you.

It's no secret that I love Disney Parks more than is strictly normal. While my friends start saying "maybe we could vacation somewhere, you know, else," I am still going "HAUNTED MANSION WOO HAUNTED MANSION LET'S GO." So when I had the opportunity to go to Paris, it was pretty inevitable that I would actually be going to Disneyland Paris (still often referred to as "EuroDisney" by people who haven't gone alone with the name change).

Problem the first: the cost of the Disneyland hotels was so high that it seriously made more sense to go in on a very nice, very expensive apartment on Rue Rambuteau, which is like saying "it cost so much to get a manicure that I decided to buy a new car." These things should not even be in the same discussion. But they were, and so we decided to stay with our friends and have some wonderful non-Disney experiences to go with the wonderful Disney experiences that we were already guaranteed.

Problem the second: we didn't actually know how many days we wanted to spend at Disneyland Paris. I mean, there's the quick and easy "all of them," but that didn't really address the fact that we had no idea how my foot was going to have held up during Loncon (surprisingly well, as it turns out), or how much walking we'd have to do to get to the Parks (annoyingly large amounts), or even how much there'd be to do inside the Parks, which are more spread out and still slightly sparser in some ways than their California equivalents. In the end, we decided to buy our tickets when we got there, since that would give us more flexibility.

Monday, we went down and wandered around Disney Village, and I started my multi-day campaign to collect all the pins I'd never had the opportunity for before.

Tuesday dawned bright and (relatively) early, considering that we were all sort of sleeping with no concept of time or how long things would take. Vixy, Amy, and I departed for the train station, and were basically the annoying giggly tourists all the way there, since "We're going to DISNEYLAND!" was continually appropriate.

Upon arriving, we joined the first mighty queue we found: the bag check. This took a dauntingly long time, and was followed by an even mightier queue, where we bought tickets. All three of us got Park-hopper tickets, two-day for me and Vix, one-day for Amy. I was already almost out of steps by the time we got through the gates and entered Disneyland Paris, so Vixy and Amy parked me on a bench while they went and got me a wheelchair.

This is where I say "we fell prey to thinking that because it was a Disney Park, it would be like all the other Disney Parks, and nothing could possibly go wrong." I had looked at the website previously, trying to figure out what we needed to do in order to have me in a chair without a problem, and had not realized that we would be banned from the main queues of even rides where I could physically go through the queue in a wheelchair. Instead, we would have to use the back entrances for everything, and would need to have an Access Pass. Why would this be a problem? Because at Disneyland Paris, unlike at Disneyland California, you need a doctor's note to get an Access Pass. Even if you clearly cannot walk. So...

Amy and Vixy returned with a wheelchair, and we proceeded into the Park. Being long-time Disney Park people, we immediately beelined for the Phantom Manor (the local equivalent of the Haunted Mansion), using the Frontierland signs as our landmarks. I admit, I teared up when I saw the Manor for the first time.

The queue area involved stairs. Amy followed the wheelchair signs to the back entrance, where we learned about the Access Cards for the first time. Oh, we said, and made our way back to City Hall...which is where we discovered that we were supposed to have a doctor's note. Which was a problem, since a) we didn't have one, b) my doctor was in California, c) we were in Paris, and d) my doctor was not going to get up at local 3am to fax over a note saying "her foot is messed up, she cannot walk." Vixy, as our main French speaker, tried to explain that we hadn't known before we got there and was there anything we could do. Amy looked distressed. I tried not to cry, while wishing I could sink into the floor. I hate this, I hate it, I hate having to do research on lifts and where I need a doctor's note and not knowing, day to day, whether I'm going to be able to walk. And sitting there not knowing what was being said, just that it was being said about me, made me want to die.

I can say "it was all my fault, I didn't dig deep enough into the website," and that is true. I can also say "spending a day confined to a wheelchair for the privilage of using the back entrances, not seeing the queue areas, not getting on the ride any faster, and being sneered at for taking up space, is not fun; it is not something I do for shits and giggles," and that is also true.

Eventually, Vixy was able to get across that my injury was temporary, rather than being a permanent disability which was why we didn't have a placard or anything. The very nice man in City Hall basically went "Americans" and gave us an Access Card that was good for me and one other person to use the back entrance (again, not priority access: we had to wait for the length of the line before we could get on the rides, which was totally fine by us).

We returned to the Phantom Manor, where Vixy went through the line while Amy and I waited in the back. Multiple people checked my Access Card to see if it was legit, which...we were not getting priority access. We were not "cutting" or getting a special magical show. We were, instead, fighting across cobblestones in a manual wheelchair, having people run into us, and basically being treated like we didn't deserve Disney because I had the audacity to be in an assistance vehicle. I was miserable. I was sitting in the Phantom Manor, feeling like a cheat and a fraud and a liar, because everyone was treating me like one. The Cast Members I usually count on to be on my side were acting like we were trying to pull something over on them.

I have never felt more like a burden to my friends and loved ones.

But the line moved, and we got on the Phantom Manor, and Vincent Price laughed for me, and I gradually reclaimed my Disney spirit. It was not easy. It hurt, and that was new and strange and awful. But I did it. Amy and Vixy and I proceeded to a BBQ place, where we ate lunch, and then enjoyed the Park.

Alice's Curious Labyrinth! Space Mountain Mission 2! The Nautilus! The Tower of Terror (across the way in Disney Studios)! The new Ratatouille ride, which used the trackless 3-D ride format from Mystic Manor, and was splendid! And so so so so so so so so so so so so so many pins. Oh, the pins. AN INFINITY OF PINS. I traded constantly, and got glorious pins from cast members, and it was wonderful.

Space Mountain Mission 2 was jerky and weird, but it was a coaster Amy had never been on, and we loved it so. We hit the Ratatouille ride just before closing, and the Cast Member on the door kindly let us ride together, even though I still had to use the wheelchair entrance. Dinner was at a little cafe on Main Street, and included the best ham and cheese sandwich I have ever had. We returned home tired but okay.

The next day it was just me and Vixy. We had already decided that our main objective would be a) pins and b) trying to eat lunch at Cinderella's Enchanted Table, so Vixy could meet the mice (Suzie and Perla). I decided not to get a wheelchair. It just wasn't worth it, and I knew I could turn back at any time; we didn't need to close out the Park.

It was my first day on foot in a Disney Park in more than two years.

To say that I was nervous would be an understatement; so would to say that I was overjoyed. I could climb stairs (slowly). I could step up curbs (also slowly). I could do anything I fucking wanted and it was magical and I only cried a little from the pain. I really am getting better. (Note that this would not have been possible had I not been in a wheelchair for the whole previous day.)

Vixy and I started by going to see the dragon that sleeps beneath the castle. It was a glorious piece of animatronics, and leaving put us right near Cinderella's Enchanted Table, where lo and behold, they had just started service, and we were able to get a table. She was ecstatic. I was amused. We spent two and a half hours eating a very slow lunch, ending with flaming ice cream balls, and she got her picture with the mice. She then declared that it was ANYTHING YOU WANT O'CLOCK, since I hadn't stabbed her with a fork during the very slow dining experience. Yay!

I elected for Pirates. Their queue led through a smuggler's tunnel into Tortuga, and it was a glorious piece of ride design (the ride itself was pretty awesome, too). From there, we went to Indiana Jones (totally different from the California ride; this is a single-track roller coaster with a full inversion), Phantom Manor, and then out, marking a day with very few rides, but with a lot of pins. So many pins.

On the whole, Disneyland Paris was gorgeous, and I wish I had been able to take more time to really drink it all in. But I couldn't have done any more time than I did on foot, and being there in a wheelchair was so unpleasant and dehumanizing that I don't think I could have loved the Park if I had spent any more of my time in an assistance vehicle.

Glad I went; may go back someday; will not go back until I am absolutely sure I can spend the whole trip on foot.

Next up, Ireland, and Eurocon!

10. I'm getting ready for the Parasite tour. In the local parlance, "getting ready" means "busting ass on book two, so I don't feel bad about essentially taking a week off while I jet around being fancy." I'm making a lot of progress, although the book is, as always at this stage in the composition, a hot buttered mess.

9. I am also getting ready to do a few more Parasite giveaways. I'm very conflicted. On the one hand, I like the ease of "comment and RNG" giveaways, but on the other hand, I really appreciate it when people put out a little bit more effort, since I have to do a lot of effort on my end, and then I feel like I get to have fun too. I'm still deliberating.

8. Since a few people have asked recently: the tip jar is currently closed, but will be opening on October 1st, since I figure that once every six months is a good way of doing things. I'll make a post clearly stating the situation and what your tips will do when we get to next Tuesday.

7. No, funding a second "season" of Velveteen vs. is not currently on the table. I may be doing something else about that. We shall see.

6. Ryan and Amy are visiting! Ryan and Amy are incredibly tolerant humans who understand that time and deadlines wait for no house guest, and thus allow me to retreat into my room and actually get stuff done while they amuse themselves. Best Amy and Ryan are best. Also...

5. I remain too sick to die, although I'm breathing a little better, so a lot of "company" thus far has consisted of "I want soup no not that soup different soup oh gods above and below why is air so hard?" and whining piteously. I hate the human body sometimes.

4. I am super excited about Frozen, but am amused by the fact that—thanks to the current trend of "gender neutral, non-evocative, mentioning no characters, single word" titles—it's hard to sort news about the movie from news about a remarkably wide assortment of books. Disney, perhaps it is time to reconsider your titles...

3. ...says the girl who wrote Feed.

2. Jean Grey is currently not dead and my mother refuses to come into the comic book store because she's afraid I'm going to develop telekinetic powers and burn the place to the ground.

1. Zombies are love.

Many of you probably know that I've been having severe issues with my left foot right now, which make it difficult for me to walk normally. Sometimes I can't walk at all. It turns out that this is because I've developed an internal bone spur. So I'm going to the podiatrist, who's going to refer me to a surgeon, who's going to cut me open and make things better. "Better" is a word that lives on the other side of surgical recovery and more pain, but at least there's a clear road from here to there.

I keep joking that I'm a mermaid now, since I get to walk on knives everywhere I go. Damn, do I feel bad for Ariel.

It's not fun, being basically in good physical form and ready to resume my normal exercise regime (now that my back injury has finally recovered enough to allow me to do so), only to have my foot decide that I don't need to be independently mobile. It's been making me snarly and a little more short-tempered than usual, because constant pain does not a happy blonde make, and for this I apologize. Hopefully, surgery will resolve things neatly, I'll spend a few weeks sitting around hating everything while I recover enough to start physical therapy, and then I'll be better.

I am excited to be better.

Comment amnesty on this post: I really appreciate your support, silent or vocal, but I have a massive comment backlog, so I can't promise to answer everything.

A wonderful fundraiser has been put together in the name of my beloved friend, Jay Lake, who is currently battling a recurrence of his cancer. The fundraiser is at http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/Sequence-a-Science-Fiction-Writer/38705

To quote the description text:

"Jay Lake is an award-winning American author of ten science fiction novels and over 300 short stories. He is also one of more than a million Americans who have colon cancer. Diagnosed in April, 2008, Jay's cancer has progressed from a single tumor to metastatic disease affecting the lung and liver, recurring after multiple surgeries and chemotherapy courses, and multiplying from single tumor presentations to multiple tumors presentations. Jay is now in his fourth round of chemotherapy, but it's not clear that it's working, and his doctors have little to go on in terms of advising further courses of treatment for him. In short, things are not looking good for Jay. Not at all.

However, a new technology is becoming available—one that may offer his doctors a better option for treating the cancer. We're trying to raise funds to allow Jay to have whole genome sequencing. There is a small possibility that the results of such a test, which is more comprehensive than conventional genetic testing of tumors, may suggest a treatment path that Jay's doctor's may not have considered, and that could be life saving. It's a really small chance, and Jay knows that.

For this fundraiser, we have asked some science fiction and fantasy writers to donate an "Act of Whimsy" which they will share with the community as we reach milestones in our fundraising."

My act of whimsy? DISNEY MAGIC, BITCHES. I have promised an undisclosed act of filking, and here it is: I, and an assortment of the ever-rotating members of my mix and match band, will perform and record a cover of the Disney song of your choice in honor of Jay Lake. Animated movie? Musical? Live action classic? Phineas and Ferb? The possibilities, and the horrors, are endless. "Wreck It Wreck-It Ralph," "Age of Not Believing," "Rollercoaster," "That's How You Know"...whatever.

But first, we gotta pick a song. So! If you have donated ANY AMOUNT, go ahead and comment here with the name of the Disney song YOU want to hear. If the song you want has already been commented, do it again, as I will be using the random number generator to pick a song tomorrow afternoon at 5pm PST. I will NOT tell you what song has been chosen. ONLY TERROR WILL TELL. (Actual recording will have to wait until this cold gives me back my voice.)

This is honor system, guys; please only comment if you've donated, but I won't chase you down demanding proof.

GAME ON!

Parasite is the first book I've written largely in secret. Not because I was ashamed of it, but because first it wasn't sold, so I couldn't say anything about it. Then it was sold but unannounced, so I couldn't say anything about it. Then, when it was finally announced, I was so far into the writing process that I couldn't force myself into the normal flow of word counts and benchmarks and all the other things I use for motivation.

Pro tip: I work better with word counts and benchmarks. I know this now.

Friday I wound up staying home from my day job, thanks to an inability to breathe that was only resolved when I had another of my amazing fire hose nosebleeds, or, as I like to call them, "blood vacations." (It's not high blood pressure, it's a weakness in one of the blood vessels that runs through my sinuses. My doctor and I have discussed it. So please, no medical advice.) And once I mopped up the blood and got some clean clothes on, I got to work, and quietly, without any real fanfare, passed 500 draft one pages.

It's not a perfect book, by any means; for one thing, it's missing about 8,000 words still, and for another, it hasn't had any editorial, which means that all the Mira Grant "tics"—repetition, over-explanation, Joss-y dialog—are in full display, with no mitigation. But I can see the shape of what will be a good book, once we finish kicking the crap out of it, and that's very reassuring to me.

It will be awesome.

1. To clarify a point from all the shirt posts: please don't email now asking if your shirt has been mailed. Your shirt has been mailed. I don't know where it is anymore. The post office does what it will do, but as we have not, thus far, had anything vanish while in transit, I am relatively confident that your package will get to you. It can take up to a week within the US, and up to three weeks outside the US. If you are in the US and don't have a shirt by April 15th, or outside the US and don't have a shirt by May 1st, that's when we should become concerned. (That's a lot of time on purpose. I want to give the post office the chance to find things.)

2. Texas was gorgeous, and College Station was amazing. I realize the state's unusual weather meant that it was basically all dressed up for my West Coast eyes—it rained for several weeks before my arrival, so everything was green and covered in wildflowers—but first impressions matter, and my first impression was "This place is gorgeous." Definitely an E-ticket of a state.

3. Midnight Blue-Light Special has been turned in to The Editor, which means I can focus on all the other things that I'm supposed to be writing right now. No, it never ends. Which is also kind of awesome, even if right now, all I want to be working on is InCryptid. Stupid muse and her stupid laser focus. Oh, well.

4. Thanks to trusting the travel gods to see me safely home on Sunday, I managed to upgrade my two flights in coach to a single through flight in first class. Let me tell you, first class is a nice way to fly home. Also, there was free digital cable on the flight, so I watched Jennifer's Body, Zombieland, and Pandorum. Awesome, even more awesome, what the fuck were these people thinking.

5. Also on the topic of first impressions, thanks to this lingering cold, College Station's first impression of me was "scratchy-voiced, foul-mouthed, evil pixie." I can definitely settle for that.

6. Tonight, I do laundry; tomorrow, I pack for Emerald City Comic Con. Because it never really ends once it begins around here. I'm super-excited to see my Seattle family, go to my first ECCC, and hug Amy Mebberson lots and lots. My life is empty if I don't hug an Amy once a month. True fact. And my beloved Amy McNally went home after Consonance.

7. The cats are filled with hate, because the suitcases will not go away. I begin to fear retribution. On the plus side, their "retribution" usually takes the form of sleeping endlessly atop the objects of their annoyance.

8. The new Monster High characters are starting to ship, and my local Toys R Us is once again seeing me two and three times a week as I check in, looking for Rochelle Goyle and the basic Jackson Jekyll (he previously appeared in the beachwear line, Gloom Beach, which means this is the first time he's been available with all his accessories). Luckily, I have a tolerant mother, and tolerant friends.

9. For those of you in the UK, I have a column in this month's issue of SFX Magazine! Or, well, Mira does. I wrote an article about why The Stand is a classic and you should read it. US folks, you'll be able to pick up the issue next month. I'm really pleased with it.

10. Jean Grey is still dead, zombies are love, and the Great Pumpkin watches over us all.

...or at least, dealing with person with OCD.

It's no secret around here that I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; I manage it on a daily basis, and I do a pretty good job. It's why I can accomplish as much as I do, given how little time I have. But it does mean that some things are non-negotiable for me, even as I politely tell people that they don't have to do them.

One of those things is responding to comments.

Sometimes, when I get overwhelmed, kind and concerned and loving people try to grant me comment amnesty. "You don't have to answer this." BUT I DO. I answer comments because I have to answer comments, or I literally cannot forget that I have left them unanswered. It may take me a long time. I may answer so far in the future that you've forgotten commenting. But unless I was the one who said "comment amnesty" (and sometimes not even then), I can't leave the majority of comments unacknowledged.

(This came about, ironically, because someone got very very very angry at me for not answering comments, and left me with a terror of being screamed at again.)

So please, don't tell me I don't have to answer you. That will just stress me out more, and move answering your comment to tell you that I do so have to answer higher up my priority list.

This has been another day of Seanan, living with OCD. Have a cookie.

ETA: Because I apparently wasn't clear: I love comments. I enjoy answering them. What stresses me out is other people trying to declare comment amnesty on my behalf. I can't process that, and so it just makes me unaccountably tense and unpleasant. So please, comment as normal. Just don't try to tell me I don't have to answer you, 'cause really, I do.

So last night, my body decided it was time to hit the shiny red STOP button on my life, by bringing on a bell-clanging migraine of the sort that I only have once or twice a year. I went to bed at six o'clock, figuring I'd sleep until eight or nine, and have trouble going to bed, but feel much better. Instead, I slept until seven the next morning, and woke up groggy, dehydrated, and feeling faintly like I'd been hit by a truck.

Needless to say, I did not go into the office today.

Instead, I have done ALL THE WORK here at home, and written ALL THE WORDS, in-between unplanned naps and episodes of Criminal Minds. I'm on season three now, which is very comforting and reassuring. By season three, most shows have found their feet, settled in for the long haul, and stopped shifting their perspectives without warning. It's a nice place to be. And serial killers make me feel better.

I'm hammering away on Midnight Blue-Light Special, hoping to buy myself Sunday as a free day for processing edits on Ashes of Honor, since every little bit counts. I'm also working on the page proofs for Discount Armageddon, and writing another John/Fran story set decades before the start of the series. Literally decades; they're the parents of the POV character's grandmother. It's one of my favorite universes, because it's both very open and accessible, and very close and snug. I love that sort of narrative contradiction.

The cats have loved this last day. Thirteen hours in bed, followed by hours and hours without leaving the house? Feline bliss. They'd be happier if I would feed them more than twice, but right now, they're taking what they can get, and what they're getting is my total attention. I'm a little vexed about today being a no-mail holiday, since I wanted to both send and receive mail. Since I didn't make it outside, I should probably let the vexation go.

And that's my Friday. Hope you're all gearing up to an amazing weekend!