I had every intention of posting more than four times last month. and for posting something this week as well. As the title quote (usually attributed to Prussian military theorist Helmuth von Moltke) implies, my plans did not map well onto reality.
When I was in my twenties, I was way too ambitious in my planning. I’d set such insanely high writing goals I couldn’t make them and when I saw how far behind I was, I’d just say and mutter “screw it.” Over the years I learned to set more realistic, though ambitious goals. They worked well as a spur — even if I didn’t achieve them, I got more done by aiming high. Like the saying goes, you miss every shot you don’t take.
The past couple of years though, I feel again like I’m setting goals too high. Partly that’s because I’ve been working as a reporter for one of the local papers — an online non-profit — and that work always expands to fill as much time as possible.
Partly it’s our pets. Morning and evening they get a longer drug regimen, some physical rehab, regular vet appointments, plus we have the two cats as well as our dogs. The time demands add up, especially if one of them gets sick.
Happily the work we put in has paid off. At 15 Plushie is approaching the end of life for his breed (shih tsu/lhasa apso) but he’s comfortable, has good quality of life and we’re hopeful we might push him a little beyond the anticipated expiration date. That’s worth the effort.
When I began planning for 2026 I wised up. I knew I wanted to take a vacation with my siblings (accomplished); I’d have to take two to three weeks to write the galleys for Watching Jekyll and Hyde and index the book; and I should anticipate two to three weeks for shit to happen. Nothing specific but with Plush Dudley hitting 16 in November I fear that despite my optimism above we may end up mourning him before 2027 gets here. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
So I figured all that into my estimate of what I could get done: finally release my novel Southern Discomfort, write the next draft of two novels, write several short stories, etc. And, of course, blog regularly here. What I did not anticipate was that I’d use up all that “shit to happen” time before the year was half over.
First we had a couple of weeks where both dogs came down with raging diarrhea. Including in the night so every morning we had to strip the bed and throw the sheets in the washing machine. That adds up. Plus wiping bottoms, trips to vets — we are very lucky there’s a 24-hour emergency vet five minutes away — and worrying. Turns out they both have some pancreatitis, which is very fat sensitive. They’re now on a low-fat diet and we keep Plushie away from any sort of fats; Trixie can handle them in moderation but she’s several years younger.
Then a couple of weeks back, the compressor on our heat pump blew, just in time for the heat to start spiking up into the 80s or 90s in the afternoon. That made things very unpleasant indoors; with the cats now fully indoors we couldn’t open the windows for a breeze without them succumbing to temptation and running out. True, they haven’t tried to escape, but given the temptation … did I mention there’s a coyote with cubs in the neighborhood? So no.
After nine days our HVAC people brought the compressor. Once they installed it, they discovered there was another broken piece, something they couldn’t tell before. Miraculously, it came in two days later. And all our pets survived, as did we (TYG had purchased a portable a.c. unit a while back or I don’t think we’d have made it). But I didn’t get much work done in the heat, especially as the stress kept me from sleeping.
For the moment, things are peaceful again and I can hope to get back to my regular schedule, including blogging here. Fingers crossed we get at least a couple of months without God once again saying “Ha!”
JLA cover by Murphy Anderson
