Bonus Flash Fiction: The Detective and the Archaeologist

Eliza Carlisle had never given much thought to the ancient Babylonians. So, it’s no surprise that when she first appeared in the middle of a crowded marketplace, she was confused and more than a little pissed off about being there.

A strange man, not wearing near enough clothes, had grabbed her and started babbling at her on the street. Assuming the man was one of the crazy homeless who occasionally inhabit every large city, she did her best to extricate herself from his grasp without setting him off further. The man was strong and began shoving something into her hand that she later recognized as a pocket watch and mumbled “Baker, Baker, help.” When she closed her hand around the object, the man let go of her and stumbled off through the crowd.

It took her a moment to realize she was the one who was wearing the wrong clothes.

“Oy! Come back here!” She called after the man then started shoving her way through the crowd after him. He ducked into an alleyway and she followed quickly after him. She followed him through the maze of the unfamiliar city, rudely shoving people so she could keep following the bouncing head that she couldn’t quite catch up with. When he ducked into a fabric covered doorway, she saw her chance and ducked in behind him.

Going from the hot desert sun into the dark house blinded her long enough for the man to get away from her. By the time her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, the only person she could see was a man who looked as out of place as she did.

“Oh good, he found you,” the man said, standing up and handing her a cup.

“Who are you?” Eliza said, taking the cup from him.

“I do realize I’m dressed a bit differently from the last time I saw you, but I should think you’d recognize the person you punched in the middle of a busy London street.”

Her mind raced but, try as she might, she couldn’t recall punching anybody the last time she was in London. “I never punched anybody in London,” she told him. “I haven’t been there since I was 7, anyway, so I’m certain you have the wrong person.”

“Oh,” the man looked at her, his face guilt stricken. “Oh dear. I deserved it then.”

“I’m sure you did, if a strange woman just walked up to you and punched you in the middle of the street.”

“It was you, my dear, just not yet. I know, because you told me to not bother asking for your help when I found the pocket watch.”

“This pocket watch?” She opened her hand to show him the pocket watch the Babylonian had given her.

“That’s the one,” he said, sitting back down on a cushion and taking a sip from his drink. “Please, sit, have some tea. It’s actually quite good.”

Something had been nagging her about him and it suddenly clicked. “You’re British.”

“And you’re American, as evidenced by your appalling manners. Do sit down, time, while fluid, is currently not on our side.”

“Well, excuse me for asking,” she snapped and sat on the cushion opposite him. “You’re not modern British, are you?”

“Strictly speaking, there is no ‘modern British’ right now.” He smiled at her. “But I understand your question and the answer is no, my understanding is that I am from approximately 100 years earlier than you.”

Questions dragged through her head, each not wanting to be asked. “How…” she started than trailed off. He smirked at her and she shook her head. “That’s not important. No, it is important but not particularly relevant to this discussion right now. Why am I here, why are you here and how do we get out of here?”

“You are here because you punched me in the face and mentioned a pocket watch I hadn’t found yet. I’m here because I was shocked to find a working pocket watch when I was on an expedition to find the ancient city of Babylon. As you can see, I found it.” He gestured to the city around him.

“Yes, very good, well done. Now, how do we get out of here?”

“I wonder if you think I brought you here for revenge. If I knew how to get out of here, I would not be here. You seemed to know how to work the watch when last we met.”

“We haven’t met yet.” Eliza sniffed at the tea in her hand.

“And I accused you of bad manners. My name is Sir Richard Baker, archeologist. And you are?”

“You’re a sir?” She laughed. “I am Ms. Eliza Carlisle, private investigator.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Carlisle. Now, if you could, I’d like to go home.”

“Sucks to be you because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They look at each other in expectation. “Damn,” he says. “I was hoping to not have to live through an ancient battle. There’s an army on the way and the walls aren’t finished. Won’t be for quite some time, I’m afraid.”

Eliza suddenly figured out why she had punched him in the middle of a street in London. She was hard pressed not to punch him right there. “How did you send the guy to me to bring me here?”

“I could tell you a very long, convoluted story but it comes down to, I don’t know. The man who came from you was one of the few people I know here. I mentioned I was lonely, that if I was going to be stuck here, I’d prefer to be stuck here with somebody I had more in common with. He had the watch in his hand and said he would bring me a companion if he could. Then, he disappeared.”

“What were you talking about the first time you held the watch?”

“My desire to see Babylon as it was being built.”

“Did you think to ask it to take you home?”

He opened his mouth and she could see the sharp retort forming on his face then his expression changed to one of chagrin.  

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” She laughed at him.

“Well, now that you have, I’ll have the watch back, thank you.” He put his hand out expectantly.

Eliza smiled and looked down at the watch in her hand. “Maybe I’ll make a wish, then. Since my life was so rudely interrupted because you were an idiot.”

“I do apologize for the inconvenience. Now, if I could just have the watch back, I’ll see to it we get where we need to be.”

“I’ll wish for us to get where we need to be, thank you very much.” The world around her changed abruptly and Eliza Carlisle found herself in the middle of a street in Victorian London. She scrambled out of the road as quickly as she could and very nearly ran into a man who looked very familiar.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” the man said. “Are you all right?”

Eliza cocked her arm back and punched him across the jaw, knocking him to the ground. “You jackass! Leave me alone! And don’t you even think about coming to me for help with that damned pocket watch! I want to go home!”

She found herself back in her apartment, the pocket watch making itself felt in her hand. The urge to check what time it was, what day it was, was overwhelming. It was only the man coming out of her kitchen, dressed in modern clothes and bearing two cups of tea that stopped her.

“It’s about time you got home,” he said, handing her a cup. “We need to start planning the wedding.”

Flash Fiction Friday: At Ease

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction, inspired by some of the stories I heard from friends and on the news about happenings during and after the Waldo Canyon Wildfire. Thank you to all the firefighters and support who saved so many homes and lives. I apologize for any inaccuracies in the few details I used for my characters.


Captain Lacey Sterling, MD, walked into the mattress store that was blocks from her home, looking for the man she'd been assured would be there. Her sister and brother-in-law had just picked her up from the airport, she'd been awake for 22 hours, arriving home 2 weeks before most of her unit. There had been several other soldiers on the plane home with her, most of them looking at pictures of the damage from the wildfire that had swept through weeks earlier. Though many of the people in her unit were aware of what had happened, the people on that plane had been directly effected by the fire. Some of them were returning to see what could be salvaged from the smoke and water, others had nothing left to return to.

Veterinarian Tanner Sterling stood in the middle of the mattress store and stared at the bed in front of him. It looked good but he wasn't sure it was the right one. He remembered his wife had liked the mattresses that were firm but had a fluffy top. He should have taken a picture of the last bed but he couldn't bear to go near it. The whole thing smelled like smoke and mold and reminded him of the fire. He'd spent the last few weeks cleaning and painting like a mad man whenever he wasn't checking up on his patients who had been affected by the fire. So many ranches and farms had been burned, most of the livestock had managed to get away from the flames but not all of them. No, not all of them.

When Lacey appeared at his side, Tanner wasn't surprised. He hadn't been sleeping very well lately and he kept seeing her everywhere. When she held him and he realized it wasn't a dream, tears welled in his eyes, and panic set his heart racing. The house wasn't done yet. He'd worked so hard to make sure she would have a home to return to, one that would show no trace of the smoke that had billowed through their front windows and out the back, that he almost wanted to put her back on the plane until he could finish making it perfect. The only thing missing was the bed.

"They told us what happened," she said, not reading his mind but knowing him well enough to know where his thoughts were going. "There were videos about where the fire was going, what was going on. I saw the horses on the ridge."

He could still hear the horses screaming as the fire raced over the mountain.

"You were in a lot of the videos, baby. Helping the fire fighters, working with the animals."

"The house isn't ready, yet," he told her, still staring at the bed in front of him.

"I'm amazed it's still standing," she told him, wrapping her arm around his waist and cuddling into his chest. "You did the best anybody could have asked, and so much more. I'm so very proud of you."

He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at the top of hers. This tiny woman who was cuddling up to him was a doctor in the army, a tough cookie by anybody's definition, and it still amazed him that she had chosen him because he made her feel safe. She worked with some of the toughest men in the world but she cuddled with him.

"Barb told me you weren't sleeping well," Lacey said, stroking his arm.

"There isn't a bed, yet," he said.

"I'm sure they can send one up soon, we just have to tell the nice man behind the counter which one we want."

"I couldn't remember which one you liked last time. I thought it was this one but every time I tried to sit on it, it didn't feel quite right."

"There was something missing, I bet, because you were right, this is the one I prefer."

"You were missing. Nothing's quite right without you here."

"Well, I'm here now, so let me help you finish making the house back into a home." She turned and looked at the salesman who had been dancing around nervously, trying to find a way to help her husband. "I'm sure they can get the bed delivered today."

"I'll call and see if we can get it there within the hour, ma'am," the salesman said.

Still not certain that he wasn't just having a very vivid dream, Tanner paid for the bed and started to walk out toward his car. Lacey took his arm and steered him toward her sisters car. "Neither of us is really in a condition to drive, babe. Enjoy the driver and we'll come down and get the car later."

The drove to the house and the mattress truck pulled in behind them. The salesman had made good on his promise and the delivery drivers had put them to the front of the line.

Barb directed the delivery guys where to put the bed and went upstairs with them to make sure everything was where it was supposed to go. Tanner walked his wife through everything that had happened to the house and everything he had done to set it back to rights after the evacuation orders had been lifted.

Lacey waved to her sister as she left and gently led her husband upstairs to see the bed. She helped him undress and tucked him into the bed.

"Come to bed," he told her, as she went towards the door.

"I'm still wearing Afghanistan," she told him. "I was going to take a shower."

"Take off the uniform and come be my wife," he demanded, half-asleep.

"Yes, sir," she smiled at him. She undressed quickly and got under the covers with him.

"At ease, soldier," Tanner Sterling said, and drifted off to sleep, his wife following him quickly into slumber.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Mad Professor

Professor Alexander watched as the entrance to the tomb was opened to the chanting of the villagers behind him. The wisewoman stood before the entrance, clutching a wooden box, and muttered the incantation to keep the souls inside at rest. Once the stone was finished being moved, everybody became silent. He had been told the chanting and rock moving would coincide but he didn't expect the chanting to stop the moment the rock stopped moving. He would have to make a note of this part of the ritual.

The wisewoman moved forward with her precious cargo and the people behind her began the low chants to keep her safe from the spirits within the cave. The professor followed her as closely as he dared, making sure to keep well outside of the ritual area. He could see a ledge inside the cave and he knew there would be more near the back. The people of this village had been using this tomb for centuries and the objects on the ledge proved it.


Professor Alexander had been observing the Inda for years. They considered him harmless  if a little mad, and very curious about everyday things. He examined everything, even going so far as to weigh the spirit dolls before and after somebody died. He was very excited to find a difference and the elders looked on his excitement with indulgence. Any child could have told him the dolls would change weigh once the spirit of the dead man entered it.

Several years into his study of the tribe, Professor Alexander returned to his home and came back to the jungle with a wife. She was pretty and young and wholly unsuited to the heat and damp of the jungle. Her children, though, seemed to thrive in the jungle.

She was pregnant with their third child, a much hoped for girl, when the river flooded higher than usual. Fever and death followed, devastating all the tribes in the valley. There were trips to the spirit cave every week, bringing the souls of the dead to start their journey. When the professor's wife was taken by fever, he spent long hours looking for a way to save her and their unborn child. She went into labor but died of the fever before the baby had uttered its first cry.

Professor Alexander pleaded with the wisewoman to make his wife a spirit doll, so he knew her soul was at rest. Saddened by his grief, the wisewoman explained that the dolls had to be made when they were children so the spirits would know where to go when the bodies had died. They had to have time to learn about two bodies. As an adult, they had become too entrenched in their own bodies to learn how to transition to the spirit dolls.

The professor was distraught, frantic to save his wife. The wisewoman agreed to perform rituals to guide her soul to the spirit cave that was the portal to the after life. Without being trapped in the dolls, the best the rituals could do is give the soul a path to the after life. Only the gods could take a lost or confused soul to the afterworld. His children, however, could be given spirit dolls.

The fever passed through the valley. Professor Alexander decided to seek out the gods the wisewoman had told him about. They were supposed to be deeper into the jungle and he was determined to seek them out. There were many people in the tribe who would watch his children while he went out to ensure the peace of his wife's soul. Most of the men in the tribe were sure he would not return.

The professor did return and he brought with him a creature nobody had seen in person for centuries. The art on the abandoned temples that had been retaken by the jungle portrayed the creature that was in chains as a servant of one of the gods. It was often considered one of the lesser gods.

The tribe didn't know what to do with the captured god. Frightened and cowed, the creature cringed when the people came to look at him. Professor Alexander had gone even more mad in the jungle looking for the gods and kept the one he had captured in chains near him. Construction began on the professors laboratory, the tribes people following his orders with awe. Wars were fought throughout the valley for supplies and laborers, the Inda attacking with their peaceful neighbors with a fanaticism that had not been seen for centuries.

Professor Alexander moved into his laboratory and took the god with him. His children were given spirit dolls by the wisewoman while he was in the jungle. When he remembered to be, or could be reminded about his duties, the professor was a doting father. When he was working on his experiments, the professors wild eyes would sometimes be drawn to the spirit dolls his sons carried.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Weeping Fire

Once upon a time, there was a fire sprite who fell in love with a human. She came to life in the sparks of a fire he'd built, nurtured, and breathed to life with his own breath. Everything about him was wonderful to her, the way he moved, the things he did in her light. She stayed for him, hidden in the ashes when he ran out of wood, keeping him warm until he could find more things to feed her and she leapt to life once more to dance and amuse him in the darkness.

Then, one day, something had angered her human and stood before her fire, pacing and muttering to himself and she grew angry for him and burned hotter than she'd ever burned. The man sat in front of her glow and meditated on his hurts and water fell from his face until she could no longer stand it. She glowed so hot, she made the water evaporate as soon as it sprang forth from his eyes and she could see that he was comforted.

Soon, he decided to go out and he took her with him in a glass case to keep her from being put out by the wind. He stopped and stood in front of a house and they stood there for a very long time until he decided to let her out. He opened the case next to the roof of the house and urged her to go and catch the wood there on fire. The roof was wet and not easily burned but she tried her hardest and soon the whole house was on fire.

She looked for him, to see on his face that she'd done a good job but he had left her on the rooftop and run away. Something swelled inside her and the anger and betrayal she felt was seen in the way her fire leapt and roared over the roof of the house. When people ran screaming into the street, she laughed and decided to try to get to the next house. If she was to be abandoned, she would take the world with her.

The people below began to pour water on her but she was too quick and too strong for them to catch and she burned everything she could touch. Eventually, they were forced to destroy their own homes to keep her from reaching them and she laughed at the destruction. She stopped laughing when she started running out of things to burn. She raced to the bottom of the home and leapt onto everything she could reach but it wasn't enough. The weight of the damage she had wrought was slowly smothering her until she was huddle beneath the ash, against the earth and she shivered, waiting to go out.

The earth below the home spoke to her as she shivered; it told her of the humans, of the good they'd done and the bad, and how what her human had done was going to hurt many of the people who had tried to put her out. It wasn't her they objected to, it was the damage she wrought at the behest of a man who had abandoned her.

Her heart broke and she asked the earth to swallow her up so that she might never have to see the humans again. The earth did swallow her up and it took her down, down into the hot depths that swirl below it's depths where she could be with her own kind. Every now and then, she would burst forth from the earth and be overcome with grief at her lost love and she would run down the earth, covering it and laying it waste but also leaving the possibility of life behind her.

The Dreaming Tower

It's done, finally finished and sent off to the editor who assures me she doesn't hate it. That makes me very happy. I'm nervous though, as excited as I am about this book, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be driving Jill crazy asking if she liked it. It's the longest thing I've ever finished and the birthing pains of bringing this book into the world are just beginning. (the cover art is going to be fantastic!)
I found myself, as soon as I hit send on the email, wanting to tinker; it needs 20 more pages, I need to cut out 3 major characters, I need to add 2 more. For some reason, I wanted to explain how the kingdom would function, what the economics were and how the fairies were going to be integral to everything that was going to come in the future. I had some awesome
world building details floating around in my head and, honestly, if I'm plied with enough alcohol, I may be induced to bore whoever asks me about them for hours. But they don't belong in this story. This story ends with a happily ever after and I like it that way.
I'm ready to walk away from this story for a bit and go play with some of my other imaginary friends. I'm hoping to have it out in the world by February, a full year after people started asking for a sequel. No, it didn't take me a year to write this book. It took me almost 10 months to want to write it and I'm glad I took my time. I couldn't have written this book a year ago.

It's Ok to Not Be Ok

There are days when I really struggle; trying to do what I've been wanting to do since I was 7 and being convinced I'm doing it wrong. I'm not. I know that. But sometimes, sometimes...

I struggle.

I decided that I didn't want to put anything out that wasn't positive or uplifting in some way. Then I let life get to me and I didn't put any thing out at all for months. If I couldn't say something nice, I wouldn't say anything at all.

But I realized something the last few days and weeks; life isn't nice and this blog was supposed to be about my creative journey. My life had been a while pile of not nice lately and I know it's affecting my writing.

It affects my sleep, too, which is why I find myself blogging from my smart phone at 2am Christmas Eve.

I don't know that I could tell you why I'm not ok right now, except to say there's been another death in the family and I'm worried about how my son is handling it. I want him to cry so I can comfort him and I feel so selfish for wanting that. I want it to be ok for me to cry but she and I rarely got along and I don't do the wailing that seems to be so in vogue around here.

I'm not ok right now but I will be soon and I want that to be ok.

Energy and Focus - a question.

Such a cute idea, and so cheap and easy to make. 

There are few things that take more energy and focus than starting a new lifestyle, especially when it's drastically different from your old lifestyle. When you're used to grabbing a microwave burrito from the freezer, covering it with cheese and calling it breakfast, making a conscious decision to eat better is work!

I've decided recently to take control of my life as much as I can and that includes getting healthier. While I can't take control over everything (the doctor's still don't know the bleeding hasn't stopped) I can take control over what I eat and how much I exercise.

I'm still writing but I haven't been writing about writing for a while. I was thinking I should start talking about my journey towards better health.

I'm just not sure where I want to write about it.

So, I ask you, my regular readers, do want to read about it on this blog or should I start a new one, complete with pictures and recipes? Let me know it the comments.

Vision: Why Does It Matter?

You can describe the cobblestones of the city your characters start in. You know everything that's happened politically for the last 20  years, leading up to the conflict that forces your characters into action. There are times when you would swear you could smell the flowers in the queen's private garden. And you know what? None of that really matters. It makes the setting real to you so you can write the best story possible but none of it will make it into the book.

Asked to describe their world, most author's get the same manic look as a new religious convert. Their breathing shortens, their eyes get a feverish glow and they will talk your ear off for the next hour about the imaginary world they're writing in. When asked to describe their writing career, however, most authors will give you a basic timeline of what has happened and what their agent/publisher has told them they can look forward to. They may have a couple books coming out but that's about the only thing that might give even a pale comparison to the excitement they feel for their books.

Why is that?

I think it has to do with the reason authors work for so little.

There are self-confidence issues, to be sure, and the pressure of 'that's just the way it's done' that's being pushed by agents, editors and other authors. There's also a distinct lack of vision.

Vision is important to anything we want to do in either a personal or professional capacity. Yes, I have goals and plans for this next year but without a vision of what I am working towards, those goals and plans have very little chance of success.

If your vision is to be a starving, though critically acclaimed, artist, you're going to be an artist who has difficulty putting food on the table. If your vision is the publishing equivalent of winning the lottery, you're going to be very frustrated as you keep trying to promote the only book you've written. If you just want to write and not deal with any of the messy (or confusing) financial nonsense, then you'll likely take what  you're offered and be ripped off by any publisher or agent you end up working with.

So many times I've seen people who can't figure out why they're not doing better; either professionally, with their health or financially. When asked, they can't say anything about their vision. While a clear vision isn't a magic wand to get what you want, it tells you where you are, where you want to go and what you have to do to get there. When you're working towards a specific vision, you're more likely to notice things that will get you there. Though it may seem like magic, it's really just being better aware of opportunities that you may have been missing.

People in general, and authors specifically, need to have bigger visions. There is nothing wrong with acclaim and a nice paycheck.

So, what do you want to do? What is your vision?

Writer's Don't Wanna!

I don’t believe in writer’s block. There’s writer’s don’t want to, though, and that usually indicates a problem in the project you’re working on.

I’m currently experiencing a block. Not on the novel, though I haven’t spent as much time on that as I want to. I’m mostly still deciding the path I want it to take. No, the problem I’m experiencing is with the short story for January.

The short story series I’m working on is a series of fairy tales, re-telling them with a bit of a twist and a sense of humor. I want people to experience the joy and wonder they felt the first time they heard these stories. I also love semi-obscure stories. There are so many beautiful, wonderful and terrifying traditional tales that have fallen to the wayside that need to be re-discovered.

The first story I did in the series was the story of Tamlyn, a traditional Irish ballad. I love this story. I have since the first time I heard it and I have always been surprised that few people had heard the story or knew it by name. The next story is going to be Sleeping Beauty. That’s the arc the next character takes. There’s just one problem.

It’s boring!

 

Everybody knows the story of Sleeping Beauty. No matter how many twists and turns I put in it, it’s still going to be the story of Sleeping Beauty.

The third story in the series is going to be The Sea Wife. I love this story. And so few people have heard of it! It just seems to be flowing better, which tells me that this is the story I really want to tell.

So, I may be telling the story I want to and skipping the story of Aidan. Just for now. 

Goals For The New Year

I don't believe in making New Year's Resolutions. They're too easy to make and then forget about.

Rather, I use the first of the year and the first of July to take stock of where I am, where I want to be and what I need to do to get there. Yep, I do this twice a year. I usually wish all of Facebook Happy New Year on July first. Most of my friends who know what I'm doing laugh and wish it back. I understand I've convinced a few other people to do the same thing. Score!

My goals are always doable, if a bit of a stretch sometimes, and they always follow these 3 rules: Personal, Positive and Present-Tense.

I will explain.

Personal: This means something that I can control. "I will be published by a big 6 publisher" is not something I can control. "I will submit my first finished book to 10 publishers" is something I can control.

Positive: I am working towards something, not running away from something. "I will quit smoking" is not positive. "I will develop positive personal habits to replace unhealthy behaviors" is better. "I will take a walk or do push ups every time I crave a cigarette" is even better because it names a specific alternative to smoking rather than a vague "positive personal habits".

Present-Tense: This one is a bit harder to do at first, but much fun once you get into it. "I will submit to 6 publishers" becomes "I am submitting to 6 publisher this year."

Easy enough to understand, yes?

So, what are my goals for 2012?

Professional goals:

I am writing and finishing 3 novels this year. Amaria, Urban Fae and Cthulhu Penguin are the titles I am finishing and submitting to publishers.

I am writing, finishing and publishing a short-story every month of 2012. I am continuing in the worlds of the first two stories that are published and will be collected into an omnibus edition for each of the worlds at the end of the year.

Personal goals:

I am visiting Jillybean in New York.

I am going to continue working with my doctors to find out what the heck is wrong with me and I will seek professional help if my phobias block my ability to do this.

I am walking for 30 minutes 5 days a week.

I am adjusting my cooking and snacking to make what I eat healthier.

These changes will contribute to the loss of about 1 pound a week, with an over-all goal of losing 50 pounds in 2012.


So, these are my goals for 2012. What are yours? Will you be stretching yourself or staying within your comfort zone?

And The Year of Suck Just Keeps on Giving

I hate posting negative blogs but sometimes, I just gotta do it.

To say that this year has been one of 'challenges' would be to understate the case. Badly.

Between health problems, that are yet on-going and financial set-backs, we've been hit with a lot of punches. We've been rolling so much, I think I'm getting dizzy.

We're getting hit again. The Hubster is being let go from his teaching job. In the middle of the year.

And my computer is dying.

We'll hang on until we find something, I'm sure.

In the meantime, hit the tip jar if you're so inclined or buy one of the books on sale at Amazon.

What am I doing? Looking for work and writing. Always, always writing.

Why I Write

I'm writing this post in response to Angela's blog post over here about why most people quit writing and why you shouldn't.

I'll be honest, I did quit writing. For a very long time, I couldn't bear to look at a blank page or a computer screen. The thought of having to commit anything to any medium where it could be remembered made me shake with anxiety. I took creative writing classes in college to force myself to move through this fear. Every time I had to read something I'd written in class, I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. I got a degree in English Literature where I had to write essays and I ended up pouring parts of myself into them because I couldn't not. I couldn't write them sober, though. It hurt too much to be aware of what I was writing, that I was writing.

I gave up writing because I was afraid I was going to become an alcoholic.

It felt so good to write, though.

I started sewing because I refused to write. I took beautiful, luxurious fabrics and gave them a shape and a purpose. I created order from chaos and gave the fabrics I chose a purpose beyond just themselves. They were lovely to look at and a joy to wear. Just thinking about it makes me want to pull out the rose crepe I have and turn it into something, a dress or a shirt, perhaps.

Writing is the same thing. There's a release, a high, that comes to giving form to the lovely places I can see in my head. I love the image of Joan Wilder in Romancing the Stone as she weeps writing the final scene of her latest novel. It's cathartic and terrifying to write the words "The End" when the story is finished. You're letting go, even if just for a little while, of those characters you spent so much time with and came to love.

I mourned my writing, even when I couldn't stand to do it. There finally came a day when I had to look at myself in the mirror and say "You can blame whatever issues you have on your family but you can only blame yourself for not getting over them. You are a grownup. If you want to do this, do it, and don't become Hemingway."

So, this is why I write. I give form and voice to worlds that nobody else can see. I pour a little bit of myself into the book so it comes alive for anybody who reads it.

Writing is hard. So is rejection and fear. But it's worth it.

Busy . . .

Well, this is kinda funny.

I had to drop in to write a blog post just to say I was too busy to drop in and write a blog post.

This is one of those problems I like to have.

What am I up to?

Yeah, this doesn't have much to do with today's post, I just
like the picture. 

Well, first, I'm getting December's ebook edited, expanded and covered to go up on Amazon. I have a deadline of December 15th. Let's see if I can make it.

I'm a little more than half-way finished with the book I started for NaNoWriMo. I've been going over notes and I have to make a decision how I want this book to go. I'd originally planned to have it be a stand alone book in the center of three stand alone books that all propelled the largest plot forward. As I've been writing and plotting, I saw the potential to for it to be the first book in a trilogy that might border on the epic.

Also, we went from having two cars to having one. This means, if I need to go anywhere during the day, I have to take my hubby to work first thing in the morning. He's a teacher. I'm a night owl. This does not do good things for my sleep.

So, if so inclined, drop a couple bucks in the tip jar to help with repairs or stocking up on coffee.


Also, go like my author page on facebook. I'll be posting all publishing updates on that page first.

So, where do I go from here?

Last night, I 'won' NaNoWriMo and, trust me, it feels awesome to say that. This morning, I expected to feel how I used to after a band concert or a dance performance; a little hungover and kinda depressed that it was all over.

I didn't.

Instead, I woke up with a list in my head of everything I have to do still.

Here's what it looks like right now:

Finish the damn book
Re-write and edit December's ebook.
Unpack the apartment - Find the Wii remote!!!!
Call maintenance about the washing machine
grocery shopping

Yep, November showed me a lot of things. The most important thing it showed me that I can write prolifically and consistently.

And that I'm a winner.

NaNoWriMo: Day . . . I WON!!!

I'm a winner! See what the badge says? It says "Winner".

Not bad for somebody who decided to do this about three days before it started.

I'm not finished writing, though. Given where the plot has gone and some of the scenes left to write, I'm about half done with the book. Looks like I'll be finishing it up in December and then sending it off to Jillybean over Christmas break.

I hope she doesn't hurt me.

NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Eight

Day twenty-eight and the end is in sight! I am so close, I can taste it!

Today was mostly spent taking care of the various sickos, erm, I mean sick people in the family. I needed the time away from the computer, too.

Back in college, where I first met my hubby, I played Dungeons and Dragons. A lot. Half the time, I was drafted to be the DM and we all had a blast. One of the things that made my players groan, though, was when I announced that I'd had time to plan.

Well, today in all the waiting rooms, I had time to plan. I fully believe that, as a writer, it is my job to torture my characters in order that I might torture and delight my readers. Things are about to get brutal for my characters and I almost feel bad about it. Almost.

Today's Stats:
Title: Amaria
Total words written: 48,834
Words written today: 3,370

NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Seven

I'm taking a break in my writing tonight to make this blog post before I lose track of time and get my numbers from today and tomorrow mixed together.

I'll admit, I kept getting distracted today. The shiny that is the internet has a lot of fun things on it that can keep me from OpenOffice. I found myself stepping away from it to do laundry and dishes, make dinner and get breakfast for tomorrow set up.

As an aside, I'm finding that I can actually eat muesli. The texture of oatmeal is just too gross for me most of the time.

Finally sitting down to write and I'm getting more into the relationship building between my two main characters. I think some of this will be cut out of the final draft but it sure is fun to write people who actually like each other interacting.

If I don't finish NaNoWriMo before I go to bed, I'll probably finish tomorrow.

Today's Stats:
Title: Amaria
Total words written: 45,464
words written today: 2,037

NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Six

I am caught up! Yay! I actually spent today shopping and my kiddo's are going to like what they get for Christmas I think but it left me with not as much time as I would like to actually get some writing done.

So, I made some coffee, sat down with Write or Die and started doing 15 minute sprints. My goal was to do 400 words in every 15 minutes. Most times, I hit 500+.

Something else I've found is that I write better with one certain group playing than I do with any other music. Writing without music is not an option right now for reasons I'm not going to get into here. If I had a white noise generator I could attach headphones to, I probably would. As it is, I think I've probably memorized the entire Celtic Thunder library.

This is my favorite song right now, though is seems to change depending on what scene I'm working on.

Today's Stats:
Title: Amaria
Total words written: 43,427
Words written today: 2,633

NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Five

Today was a much better day.  I haven't quite caught up to where I need to be, but I'm very close. I expect to surpass tomorrow's goal by 3am. I seem to do my best writing late at night and in the early morning.

Today's stats:
Title: Amaria
Total words written: 40,647
Words written today: 3,079

NaNoWriMo: Day Twenty-Three and Twenty-Four

So, it's still Thanksgiving for another hour or so. As anybody who follows me on Twitter or Facebook has probably figured out, I had a horrible Thanksgiving. This was my favorite holiday, eclipsing even Christmas, for as long as I can remember. I may get my enthusiasm back for it next year but for now, I'm avoiding anybody talking about it.

As for yesterday's post, I have been sick and trying to fight it off. I finally gave in to it yesterday and went to bed before I got much of any writing done. I'm still writing on my novel tonight, though I haven't quite caught up. Here are today's stats so far.

Today's Stats:
Title: Amaria
Total words written: 37,568
Words written today: 804