>Several hours, a bottle of spray deicer (not aerosol), and one helpful neighbor later, John managed to get our cars back in working order – just in time for me to meet the trainer at the gym so my muscles can hurt for three more days. Of course now that the possibility of getting out of the house is a reality, I don’t want to go out anymore. But we need groceries, and I’ve been a slug for 3 days now; it will be good for me. Right?

Made a split-tin loaf. It’s pretty and white-bready, just like John likes it; very little appeal in that for me (which is good). I like bread full of things like seeds and nuts.

Received the pdf of Destination:Future by email yesterday, which meant I got to read the final version of “The Light Stones.” I had a similar reaction to when I read “Skinned” – a few places that made me wince, especially in the beginning. How could I not catch that? How did someone not point out these words used too closely together, with all the crits I’d received on it, the multiple times I’d posted it on OWW? Ultimately, my fault, of course. But I am proud of the second half of the story. I’m proud of the plot, the off-world politics and reality of it all.

What surprised me, though, was my disconnect to Burin; the character emphasis and/or bond I’d like to think most of my writing carries was missing. John disagrees – he thinks it’s in this story, too, and holds to the fact that it’s the best story I’ve written yet, flaws and all. But when I read it, I felt nearly indifferent to Burin’s story, to her fate. This could also be the fault of my editor side, or me trying not to be bothered by all the things I wish to change, and no longer can.

This led to a conversation about what happens next for Burin. John’s convinced she’s done for; she has too many injuries, she’s never going to get what she wants. But I think she will. She’s a fighter, in a way that none of us can really understand – not even me, and I’ve lived with her longer than anyone else. She’s a fighter in a way that I’ve never been. Maybe there’s a part of me that has to believe she’ll make it. The way we choose to believe certain things about life, and about succeeding.

Kitty believes I can do anything I want to. Like feed him more.

Just look at those elegant whiskers of his.

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