2T Repeat Performance - author's cats get interviewed

I've done a number of blog tours over the years, posting on different sites. Now I'm bringing them to you!

Originally published 2011 for Mean Kitty Blog

Living at the Hughes household are two-year-old brothers Aahz and Caesar II (Mary=s son=s cats, so the grandcats) and grande dame 20*-year-old Skittles. Aahz and Caesar II are tabbies, blond and brunet, and Skittles=s fur is jet black with orange highlights (all natural, dearie).

*Twenty years is anywhere from 85 to 97 in a human, depending on which calculator you use. She=s, um, age-enhanced.

1) So, your human writes books. Does this mean he or she is home all day and easy to access? Elaborate if necessary.

Aahz: Well, during the day she shuts herself in that room with my sleeping chair. Sometimes she=ll even come in when I=m sleeping and skootch me back, sitting her butt on a full half of my chair! I mean, what part of my chair doesn=t she get?

Caesar II: Hey, you=re lucky. Sometimes when I=m on the chair she=ll take over the whole seat. Though she makes up for it by putting me on her warm lap and petting me. (Purrs.) Petting is good.

Skittles: She does come out of the room to bring me my 12 and 5 pm feedings. But I=m going to have to talk to her about the 10 am and 2 pm meals and the 3 pm treats.

Aahz: Hey. We only get fed twice a day.

Skittles: Whaddya want? I=m old.

2) How large a proportion of her income do you have her devote to your gourmet tuna, cat beds, toys and other basic necessities?

Aahz: Being a writer=s pretty solitary. So we make sure she=s kept active by sending her out for lots of special food, medicine, and treats.

Skittles: I=m old, so I need lots of small meals. And I only eat baby food. Not because of my teeth, which work just fine on crunchy treats. At a dollar a jar, it makes her keep working at her writing.

Caesar II: I help out by getting her to take me to the vet! That=s super-expensive. And a sacrifice on my part because the vet pokes me with needles. (Turns to his brother.) Although you could go. Why don=t you go?

Aahz: Because you=re the best-mannered of all of us. You get all the human women to love you, and never shred any of them with your claws.

Caesar II: Oh yeah. Because then they pet me. (Grins.)

3) What are your techniques for distracting your human during crucial writing moments, just because it's fun?

Caesar II: I like to sit on her lap and spread. My favorite position is with my head and front paws on her forearm so she has to type one-handed. And then I demand she pet me so she doesn=t have any hands free!

Aahz: I like to practice my magic tricks. My favorite is where I tug the tablecloth off the table, you know, the table in front of the window with the big cylinder on top, the one sprouting green leafy stuff. I give myself ten points for pulling the tablecloth all the way off. But sometimes when I pull the cloth off, the cylinder comes too. It lands on the carpet and makes a big whump! and my human comes running. I give myself an extra ten points for that.

4) What indignities and neglect have you suffered because of your human's writing career?

Aahz: The chair-sharing that she makes me do. Although she does scritch my neck to make up for it.

Skittles: She makes me come upstairs to remind her of the two p.m. feeding. Hey, I=m old! And she won=t even buy me a Mustang 5L V8 to make up for it. Kitty=s gotta have her playthings.

5) Tell me about the felines in your human's fiction. How often do they appear and how big a part do they play?

Caesar II (hissing): She hasn=t had any of us in her books.

Skittles: Since she writes erotic vampire romances, that isn=t a bad thing. I mean, how would I explain that to my mother? I told her I was fixed!

6) On the off-chance your human has yet to incorporate cats into a story, what are your plans for making sure she rectifies this egregious error and demonstration of poor writing skills?

Caesar II: I=m trying to convince her to write a shifter novel. One with a dark-haired, heroic, very handsome big cat shifter named Caesar.

Aahz: Or Aahz.

Caesar II: That name=s been used already. In Robert Asprin=s Myth books.

Aahz (bristling): Yeah? Well Caesar=s already a Roman general.

Caesar II (claws coming out): A heroic, very handsome general I=m sure.

Skittles: Hey! You kids, stop that fighting. And get off my lawn.

7) What works of fiction or cinema involving cats does your human enjoy sharing with you?

Caesar II: I like the Cat Sitter video. I=ll paw that screen for hours to catch the birds.

Aahz: Ooh. When my human=s trying to wind down by doing puzzles, I like sitting on the puzzle book.

Caesar II: It=s fun to chomp her pencil when she=s trying to play puzzles, too.

Skittles: Plebs. I share artistic endeavors with my human and her mate. Specifically, we watch television. I like House, M.D. even though it doesn=t have cats, because I loved Hugh Laurie in Blackadder.

Aahz: Hugh Laurie was in a show before House?

Skittles (ignoring the children): I also like Simon=s Cat videos on YouTube. And Meankitty.com. And Animaniac reruns with my role model Slappy Squirrel. Cranky old lady squirrel squealing her fire-engine-red sports car around town. Awesomeness personified.

8) If you could make one change to your human, what would it be?

Caesar II: She=d give me more pets.

Aahz: Like she doesn=t pet you all the time.

Caesar II: Exactly my point. She doesn=t pet me 24/7.

Aahz: Her hand would fall off. Then who would change our litter?

Skittles: I=m old. Feed me.

User submitted:

Question for pets: Are you happy with your human? If you could tell your human one thing, what would it be?

Caesar II: I=m warm, fed, and well-petted, so I=m happy.

Aahz: Me too.

Skittles: Feed me.

What things does your human do that would mortify it if known? What does your human do that most annoys?

Skittles: Mortifies? Even though she pretends to be a model mom, she likes to drive fast. Annoys? She won=t teach me how!

Questions for cats: Did your human name a character for you? Are you pleased? If not, why?

Caesar II: Not yet!! But I=m working on it. Mental kitty wavelength big handsome heroic cat-shifterY

And did your human name you for a fictional character? Hate it or love it?

Aahz: My human=s son named me for a main character in Robert Asprin=s Myth series, the demon from the dimension of Perv (a Pervert). My original name was Aladdin. I think Aahz is a step up.

How do you give your writer new ideas?

Aahz: My claws make her think sharp. *snort*

Caesar II: Ha-ha.

Skittles: Feed me.

3T Writing Tidbit

 So one of the reasons we read fiction is to get a perspective on our own lives we couldn't get without the distance.

I was just rereading one of the 3T blog posts to make sure it still scanned and I had a shocking realization.

The post (here) was about the mask of a complete human being -- that characters imagine themselves an archetype and do everything they can to live that archetype. The post's argument is that it prevents them from growing, from changing, from being truly themselves.

The shock was that I'd recently come to that same conclusion about myself.

I have an idealized form of myself, the person I want to be. Kind, funny, smart, graceful, charitable. I do everything I can to live up to that ideal, which is a good thing.

What's a bad thing is that I'm so focused on being that perfect ideal, I can't imaging anything else for myself. Worse, I'm angry and disappointed with myself when I fail to live up to my idealized self.

Any of you have this?

They're good traits, but they mean I can't grow or really be me. For example, I'm hell on wheels when it comes to finding errors in computer code. We need that -- when code goes wrong, it isn't pretty, and we need a surgeon to find that bug an excise it.

But in doing that, I'm not completely kind and definitely not graceful. It's a messy, unhappy business. I'm not saying it's not ultimately a good thing. It needs to be done in order for better things to happen. It's just not my "ideal" self.

And this is ultimately why we live along with some characters in fiction. To watch their mistakes as they cling to their ideal self. As if they're a human encased in a porcelain doll of themselves, we're relieved when they break the out of the shell and truly live.

I'm breaking out of my shell. Slowly, having to be reminded. Leaving behind the shards of my "best" self to become just myself.

What about you? Do you hold yourself to a perfect ideal? And... is it interfering with the amazing person you truly might be?

Published since 2009, over the years I've accumulated various items of writing wisdom. The Third Tuesday Writing Tidbit showcases these items in no particular order. Click here to see all 3T Tidbits.

2T Repeat Performance - editing examples

I've done a number of blog tours over the years, posting on different sites. Now I'm bringing them to you!

From books originally published in 2009

Elena stared at me a moment longer.  “All right,” she said finally.  Let’s go.

WeI climbed through the hole in the door, into the end of the world.

 

(Leading up: Chaos.  Violence.  Screams. Gaunt, fiery-eyed men rampaged outside.  Skull-headed, unnaturally fluid men with teeth like jagged glass.  Evil-looking men, seemingly hundreds of them.  A knot of red fire and flashing knives, surrounding...shit. 

Surrounding Julian and Bo.)

Bo held a limp bundle, fought ferociously with in one bare hand.arm.  The bundle seemed to havehad two blonde heads.  Then I realized it was two people, one a child.  Both were as limp as puppets.  Neither movedThey seemed unconscious...or dead.

But my attention was almost immediately snared by Julian.  Julian...Julian was magnificent.  He stood headBo fought ferociously with one hand.  He wielded what looked like a long knife, or a sword.  The blade whistled through the air, forcing the gaunt men back.

 

See one state before changing:

A skull-like head rolled to the edge of the circle, near me.  A body – a headless body –I shuddered, wondering what I should do.  What I could do, unarmed as I was. 

I knelt there, undecided.  That was when one of the gaunt men stumbled from the pack toward me.  His hands were pressed to his neck.  Blood soaked his shirt. 

He fell to his knees just a few feet from me.  Collapsed to the ground with a whump.

I crawled over to it.  Lay down next to the man.  His head.   was canted at an unnatural angle.  His hands fell away from his neck. 

His throat was almost completely severed.

I shuddered, covering my mouth.  A scream rang in my head but all that came from my mouth was a terrified little hiss.

And then – and then the unthinkable happened.

The head and the body’s neck...melded.moved.  The neck started to straighten. 

The throat...started to close.

Before my eyes, the muscle and gristle knit.  Became whole.  Over it, the seam of skin melted, became whole.fused.  Like clay smoothed shut. 

Soon not even a scar marked where the man’s throat had been cut.

The body sat up.  The body sat up.  Cricked its...man...corpse...God, I don’t know what he was...he cricked his neck with a loud pop.  Smiled,Grinned and rose to itshis feet.  Joined again in the attack.

 

Make more immediate:

In the dark beyond him I caught the impression of movement.  Blurs, twothree of them, coming in fast.  I couldn’t see much, sequestered behind Julian.  He was lean, yes.  But big.  His chest was solid and his shoulders broad.  His waist was easily as big as my hips.  That lean, flat waist.

“Get him!” someone growled.

In front of me, Julian’s arms jerked.  Cut through the air, hard.  His hands almost whistled with the force he used.  If he’d held knives, whatever he hit was now sliced, diced, and julienned. 

 

Straight view -> tension view:

“You have an awfula juvenile sense of humor, Strongwell.  Get Elena and Nixie out of here.  I’ll clean up.”  Julian jerked a hand toward where Elena and I stood.

I didn’t want to go.  I wanted to figure out what the hell had just happened.  And find out if Julian been hurt. 

And comfort him if he had.

Julian didn’t look hurt, butAll right, probably not a good idea.  But the body – the possibly headless body – of the gang leader looked big and fierce on the ground.  Julian was a lawyer.  A desk jockey.  For somewhatever insane reason I had to know if he was okay.  I edged closer, reached out to touch him.  “Emerson?” I said tentatively.  “Julian?”