In Gratitude

Here’s my random in-no-order Thanksgiving gratitude post.  (No, it’s not meant to be comprehensive.  Yes, it may contain a secret message).

I’m so grateful for:

The cold leathery paw to the face which awakened me this morning.  Salem, my big black cat, thirteen years old and still trying to smother me.

Amazon, Kindle, KDP, and everyone who ever bought, reviewed, or told a friend about one of my books.  Bless you.

My friends, all of them, but especially the ones who’ve been around the longest.  You know who you are.  I can’t imagine facing this world without you.

Michael Fassbender in A DANGEROUS METHOD

The movie A Dangerous Method, if I can find a theater that’s actually playing it in this region…

The series The Walking Dead, which has fascinated and infuriated me so much, I just might write a zombie book.

My cat Howard, still a kitten at 15 months and plotting to launch his own advice column, Dear Tabby.

James McAvoy in the Brit drama, MURDER IN MIND

For British TV, independent British films, and books by British authors.  What would I do without you?

For Gevalia coffee, often the only thing that gets me to work each morning.

For my brother J. David Peterson, who has created four of my book covers — and two more in the pipeline!

“Dude who played Magneto,” as I once called him in a blog post

For my sister-in-law, former librarian and world-class bibliophile Barbara.

For Letty Hise, who solved my formatting woes.

For Donna, who puts up with more than most of you realize.

And finally, for those nice reviews of SOMETHING DIFFERENT.  When I published the book I wasn’t sure anyone — beyond the five usual suspects — would read it.  Now I’m glad I took a chance and put it out there.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Victorian Sundays

Since it’s Sunday, here’s a repeat of one of my “rogue kitty” Howard’s posts…

Duty calls

Yet I am here to tell you a bit about Victorian Sundays.

In 1851, a “religious census” revealed less than half of all the English attended any Church or chapel at all, much less the almighty Church of England.

This was often because the working man (and his wife!) had little respite.  The working man was at it from early Monday until late Friday.  Often he worked Saturday morning as well.  This left Sunday for all the necessities: a trip to the barber, repairs around his own house, and a feast with the family.  Not to mention the fact in Victorian times, a working man who appeared in Church in his regular everyday clothes was made to feel ashamed.  Couldn’t he locate some finery for the occasion?

Popery, or allegiance to the Church of Rome

Being a professed Roman Catholic made one a non-conformist.  Also all Baptists, all non-Church of England Protestants, and all Jews.  These folks were required to support the Church of England with their taxes.  Likewise, depending on the era, they paid additional fees as religious non-conformists.  Nice, eh, to be a minority, pay tribute to the majority, and also pay a fee for not agreeing to join the majority?  Talk about the courage of your convictions.  Frankly, most felines would fold.

Sundays


So what was Sabbatarianism?  Just what it sounds like — strict observance of the Sabbath as a day of rest.  This didn’t just restrict all labor, which for the working man was a wonderful thing.  It also prohibited many recreations, such as:

  • reading novels
  • reading newspapers
  • reading non-religious stories in magazines
  • romantic dates for young men and women
  • play with regular toys for children, though a Noah’s Ark might be permitted

Sabbatarians pressed for NO pubs on Sundays, no trains, and no shops.  They were mostly successful.  On a Victorian English Sunday, most shops were closed. and pubs ran shorter hours.  Only the trains continue, unabated.

So did these Evangelical Sabbatarians do anything worthwhile?

They actually did.  One needs only to read the collected works of Charles Dickens to feel the real fire, religious and humanist, demanding reform.  Victorian religious reformers weren’t simply in the business of restricting the workman from his Sunday pint.  They wanted to change the world.  And in some ways they did.  These religious folk rethought Victorian prisons, asylums, and workhouses.  They campaigned against cruelty to animals and took up alms for orphans.  They even established religious refuges for fleeing prostitutes.  All in all, they sincerely tried to leave the world better than they found it.

And now … we  must sleep.  Good day to you!

We Interrupt This Blog…

I need a synonym for “psi-bolt” … hmmm…

Hello and happy summer!

You may have noticed I haven’t been posting as much lately.  All my writing time is going toward my two projects: Fearful Symmetry (Past Lives Series #1) and my as-yet-untitled sci-fi novel.  I’ve found that when the energy to write is on me, I have to obey.  So I’ll be back to more regular blog posts as soon as I can.  In the meantime, Howard may post a few things for me, assuming (of course) that he regains consciousness long enough.

Mystery paw shot

Howard Presents: The ABCs of Steampunk

Hello.

Mother is taking a week’s vacation starting — well, now, apparently.  I explained that bloggers are supposed to post at least 5 times a week, but she went off muttering.  So it’s up to me to save the day.  Please enjoy a “vintage” (from April) blog post.  I’ll throw in a Victorian picture or two.

A is for Alchemy, Science’s emo elder brother
B is for Brass
C is for Corsets, or Cyborgs, or cyborgs in corsets

D is for Damask, Decanter, and Daguerreotypes
E is for Engine, steam of course
F is for Flying-Machine
G is for Gears, Gauges, and Gadgets
H is for Helium

I  is for Imperial
is for Jules (Verne)
K is for Knickers, Knobs and knobs in knickers
L  is for Leather (brown)
M is for Muttonchops, Machines, and Mankind

N is for Never was, but should have been
O is for Opium
P  is for Parasols, Pistols, and Petticoats
Q is for Queen, of course
R is for Revisionist (Alternate) History

S is for Spectacles
T is for Test tubes, Tin-Plating, and Tarts
U is for Uniforms — love a gal or a guy in one!
V is for Victoriana, the prettiest ugly stuff around
W is for Wells, H.G.

X is for X-rays and Xenon Gas
Y is for Young Edwardians
Z is for Zepplin, and for zzzzzzzzs … Good-Night!

Victorian Cats

Pondering the indignities suffered by Victorian cats

Hello.  It’s me — Howard.  Mother is still in a state of collapse.  Apparently she had a little too much fun last night.  So today I’ll be writing her blog post.  And what’s on my mind?  Cats.  Specifically, the ridiculous images of Victorian cats.

Ummmmm…  

Okay, check out the above.  First of all, have you ever tried to put a bonnet on a cat?  Second — what’s up with those heels?  A HUMAN couldn’t walk on them, LADY GAGA couldn’t walk on them.  The artist must have been “chasing the dragon” with some of that legal opium the Victorians used to enjoy.

Poor guy looks suicidal…

Even Victorian “natural” cats were robbed of their dignity, it seems.  At least back then there was no such thing as declawing…

What the heck is “eclectric” oil?  Both electric and eclectic???

Even then, of course, we were exploited for advertising purposes.  The price of being so adorable.

Ahh … much better.

But you see, all was not indignities and exploitation.  See above, and tremble at the League of Extraordinary Victorian Attack Kittens!  (Which would be the title of my own steampunk novel if I wasn’t generally too busy to write it.)  Have a lovely Sunday.  I’m going back to sleep…

Always sleep with a busy ball nearby…

In Which I Properly Introduce Myself

The Author

Hello.  I am Howard.  Mother is writing — fancy that, as in writing actual fiction.  As opposed to Facebook-ing, Twittering, and whatever else it is she’s been doing to try and promote her books. Since she didn’t get a blog post together for today, I will take over and write something truly interesting.

 
I see you

You see I’ve grown up quite a bit since my adoption in August.  This is mostly because my big brother, Salem, believes in “toughening up” new kittens.

He actually looks happy here

My interests are many and varied.  I enjoy chattering in the window at birds (why won’t they come closer when I ask them nice?), stripping mouses down to the core, chasing Sister, wrestling with Brother, snuggling on Mother’s lap and sleeping on the cable box.  One day I will dart out the front door and discover what’s out there.

Typical prey

I am often asked (in my mind) if I will write my own book and become an indie author like Mother.  Maybe one day.  But for now, I have found the truest contentment of all:

The end

Howard

I am Stephanie’s cat Howard.  I have made note of her password and may overtake this blog from time to time.  That is all.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,655 other followers

%d bloggers like this: