10/10 Nailed It

This is why I write instead of operate a gourmet bakery.

Here's to 2014

2013 was a pretty decent year for me. Not much happened in my regular life, which is usually a good thing. But there were a few waves in my writing life, all of them good.

-In February my short story "The Dark Familiar Shapes of Things" was published in Sky Warrior Books' anthology, Tails of the Pack, and I conducted a series of interviews on this blog with the other authors.

- My novella "Hour of the Lotus" was published by Dreamspinner Press. Recently I also learned it won a Rainbow Award for excellent cover art, which is most definitely has, courtesy of the awesome Anne Cain.

- My short story "Dog of War" was accepted into The Bedlam Book of Horror, a horror anthology. No release date as of yet.

- I completed my second novel, currently untitled (because I suck at titles) and finished the second revision on it. My third revision will begin in January, and then it will be ready to go to publishers.

- The sequel to "Hour of the Lotus" finally presented itself to me, and the roughdraft should be finished any time now.

- I found three stories (honestly, probable novellas) I'd stalled on and once my current projects are finished I'll be turning my attention to them.

So, my resolutions for 2013 are to complete those three rediscovered stories (and begin the sequel to my second novel). I'll also be showing up at a couple cons next year, Conglomeration 2014 in Louisville, KY, and possibly Gencon in Indianapolis, IN.

As 2013 draws to a close, here's a photo of something else that's ending: a dying star caught by the Hubble space telescope. There's a whole big universe out there, friends. Let's keep our eyes open next year and see what we can see.

Scooby Doo and the Blob Monster

I live in the Southeastern Midwest (ha) and there's a huge storm predicted to hit us in a couple hours. Usually these Snowpocalypse predictions turn out to be nothing, but it looks like this one might be for real this time. We woke up to ice-encrusted trees and it's snowing pretty hard right now.

The stressful part of days like this is trying to keep a 4-year-old busy while trapped inside. We made gingerbread houses this morning (no, you don't get to see them, they look hideous). And then over lunch my son wrote a story (well, I wrote it. He dictated).

I present you, "Scooby Doo and the Blob Monster".

Why I Don't Do NaNoWriMo

November is coming to a close, and that means National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) is winding down. For the uninitiated, NaNoWriMo is an informal challenge for writers to write a novel- 50,000 words or more- in a month. If you are successful you 'win'. If not, there's always next year.

I have never participated in NaNoWriMo. I am a slow writer. I have written two novels, and it takes me, on average, four years to write one (though mine are considerably longer than 50,000 words- 120,000 and 112,000 respectively). But I can console myself with the knowledge that no matter how slow I am, I still write faster than Donna Tartt, who has published three novels in the past thirty years; in an NPR interview Stephen King said he just 'wants to shake her'.

I laugh about it, but honestly, Donna Tartt is an amazing writer, and if it takes her a decade to write a book that satisfies her, more power to her. I would much rather have three great novels than ten lousy ones. I am only thirty-four. If I can turn out a novel every four years I should have a pretty good bibliography before I kick the bucket, since I don't plan on dying until I am at least ninety.

NaNoWriMo is a nice challenge for some people and I'm sure they have fun, but I swear all I see and hear this month are panicky complaints: “I'm so behind!” “I have to write 3,000 words tonight to catch up!” “I'll never catch up!” “I'm not going to make it!”

I have enough deadlines in my life. I've been writing long enough to know that giving myself an unrealistic deadline is not going to work for me- and since I have to write longhand, my process takes even longer than it usually would. Instead I use NaNoWriMo to make some more achievable goals: this year I finished the second revision on my newest book and have reached a certain point in my new novella (a sequel to “Hour of the Lotus”).

Some people do make NaNoWriMo, but I have to wonder how good the finished product it. Of course it's a roughdraft, and all roughdrafts suck, but personally I need time to consider my words. My roughdrafts still suck, but at least I don't have to rewrite everything. Which I would have to do if I attempted NaNoWriMo.

So even if NaNoWriMo doesn't appeal to you, you can use the month as an opportunity to make different deadlines for yourself. There's no point stressing yourself out over someone else's challenge; make your own that works for you. And if you do give it a shot, remember that ninjas won't come and kill your family on December 1st if you don't make it. There's always next year.

Good NaNoWriMo participants, and every one else too!

I Am a Scaredy Cat

This October my grown-up brain re-learned something it had long since forgotten: darkness is fucking scary.

One day I went into the garage and flipped on the light, only to be greeted by a popping noise and a hideous smell like burned rubber. Somehow the big fancy tube light out there had blown something or other. It wasn’t just the bulbs, there’s something wrong with the wiring (the wiring in this house is messed up, thanks to the former homeowners who had lots of weird shit done. There are three separate light switches in two rooms that turn on the living room light, for example). So we turned off the breaker to the basement/garage to avoid burning the joint down. That was several days ago and we are still waiting on an electrician.

The cat’s food bowl is in the basement, and I feed her every night before we go to bed. Going down into the pitch-black basement, toting a flashlight, gives me some serious willies. Everything from the couch to the game table to the laundry room door looks terrifying in the dim glow of a flashlight. I dump food in Mei’s bowl and skitter back upstairs as fast as I can, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

So this entire post is not just about my inane life, here’s a short film where the only villain is the darkness- and it’s creepy as hell. Happy Halloween month, friends.

Awwwwwctopus

First, here is a picture of my Mary Marvel costume. My writing group wanted to see it. Hi guys!

This is actually me from last year at Gencon, with Brian Morris as Uncle Marvel. It's one of my favorite pictures and I've posted it here before.

Yesterday was Shel Silverstein's birthday. In his honor, here's a poem:


The Bridge

This bridge will only take you halfway there
To those mysterious lands you long to see;
Through gypsy camps and swirling arab fairs
And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.
So come and walk awhile with me and share
The twisting trails and wonderous worlds I've known.
But this bridge will only take you halfway there-
The last few steps you'll have to take alone.

Shel Silverstein

I like to think this poem describes the act of introducing children to literature. I can give my son every book I have ever loved. I can take him to Narnia, Bradbury's Mars, Earthsea, and Westeros. But at some point he's going to have to find what kind of books make him happy, and decide where to travel on his own- I can only take him so far. 

Let's see...I have a story coming out in The Bedlam Book of Horror anthology, but I don't have a release date on it yet. The story is "Dog of War", a pulpy horror tale based on a real-life urban legend of World War I about the Hound of Mons (there were demons as well as angels at Mons, it seems).

In conclusion, here is an awwwwctopus. Your argument is invalid.

Life as a GIraffe

I am a giraffe.

The other day, my husband said he was talking to his lab-mates at lunch about their totem animals. According to them, a totem animal is the one you are most like. It doesn't have to be your favorite animal, just one you resemble. They decide that he is an owl. It makes sense; a quiet, watchful bird that notes everything and is very precise in all its movements.

Also, he can fly almost silently, so there's that too.

I thought for a while. Giraffes are my favorite animal, so I was deliberately steering clear of them in my head so I didn't bias myself. My husband suggested that I was some kind of sea creature.

A jellyfish? They have no brain, after all.

Harhar, no. 

A cuttlefish? They're colorful and rather creative.

No, he said. A cuttlefish changes its appearance to camouflage itself. I don't do that; wherever I am, I am obviously me.

I thought some more. Well, then I'm a giraffe.

Giraffes are very chill animals. They hang out on the plains and eat leaves and don't bother any other animals. And if a lion or something tries to bother them, it is dispatched with a swift, powerful kick (I don't get into other people's business, and those who start drama are quickly ejected from my life). Giraffes don't make much noise (I am quiet). And a giraffe is a giraffe, always. It can't pretend to be anything else. It sticks out no matter where it is.

I think being one of those social chameleons would actually be very useful, and it's a little frustrating that I can't always make myself fit in.

But since I can't, I'd rather be a giraffe.