In a mood

Anyone want to start with a Gregorian chant this morning? Just me? Cool. 

Or...because I saw the iconic living room in a picture on FB...the "Three's Company" theme song?

There's always a soundtrack in my head. I have no "skip" option, which is complete bullshit. On loop?

Suuuuuuurrrrreeeee...these few lines in the Gracie Abrams song:

What'd she do to get you off? (Uh-huh)

Taking down her hair like, oh, my God

Taking off your shirt, I did that once

Or twice, uh

No, I know, I know I'll fuck off (uh-huh)

But I think I like her, she's so fun

Wait, I think I hate her, I'm not that evolved

I'm sorry she's missing it, sad, sad boy

Not my business, but I had to warn ya

*****************************

Maybe not as catchy as "Call Me, Maybe", but thank the Lordt for that.

Switching gears...it can be incredibly painful to be an author. 

I've queries out and about to agents for "Plot Twist." Though I'm thinking of changing the working title to "Broken Discus" for reasons.

I'm sticking to my guns about PT being a wider-published title. I'm nearly done with book 2, "The Morrigan."

And I'm completely in love with the characters.

I'd always wondered how Nora (J.D.) kept track of multi-characters and their respective quirks. The machinery in the squad office. Roarke's secret office. Peabody and her idiosyncrasies. 

Now?

I've a town full of characters I truly enjoy. Nax, the petite baker with a gift for baking and lending an ear. Rhapso, the town's clothier that is both bubbly and pushy. Jason, owns the hardware store and is my protagonist's archenemy. Spice seller sisters, Marta and Nona. Complete opposites. Marta is calm and collected. Nona could make a person want to separate their ears from their bodies. The Gordon sisters, owners of Ashlar Gallery, specializing in stone and masonry. Chloris runs the farmer's market. And Mayor Saint aka Mayor McFuckFace to most of his constituents, also for reasons.

But my heart stays with LA Bennett, my lead. Damaged. Determined. Driven. 

Finding her path amongst a traumatic childhood and an even worse adulthood after her mother passes when LA is nearly eighteen.

Did I mention deities galore?

😁

Radegast. Zephyr. The Morrigan. Brigid. Macaria. Tsukuomi. Seshat. Hedjhotep. Idunn. Annapurna. Budi. 

*sigh*

Man, I love this shit.

Now, an amusing story courtesy of my idiotic ginger child, Murphy.

I'm typing this at my desk, of course, in the Sanctuary. The Murphinator brings some of his toys in here to play. My walls are full from the floor up, but I've carved a large square in the middle.

I put down some Amazon stuffing paper (the brown thin business) because Sim loved the way it sounded. Murphy does, too. Then there's the skin of a furry hedgehog that our Chihuahua baby, Harley, disemboweled before he passed. Also, crinkles. Also, lamb chops. Also...I think there's a fucking wand in here somewhere.

Murphy? Not only does he like attention, he wants to be in the same apparel I've donned. I let him camp out with me in my rocker recliner when I've finished for the day. So, this little shit is batting around one of his crinkles (highly recommend) and bats it between my feet where I'm sitting. I kick it back beneath my chair to the carpet. Then Might Murphin Power Ranger bats it around again.

I hear him on the left side of my chair, under my desk. 

(I'm evil. You know that, right?)

So I raise my left foot up, bring it back down, and I hear a small feline cranium hit the bottom of my desk.

I lost capacity to see, hear, and breathe. I was wheezing like Po taking the stairs in Kung Fu Panda. 

Where did the little heathen land it?

By the front left wheel of my desk chair. 

*looks down and sees supine feline*

I love him so much.

Now that I've ironed my mood out a bit, think I'll bop back to "The Morrigan" and finish her up today.

Have a great Friday!

I'm 54

No big deal, except yesterday I was 53. 

🥳😁

Murphy is my Valentine's Day/Birthday present. The little ginger shit.

This morning, I drove over to 7/11 and grabbed a couple Pepsi. Bit of a line for gas and whatnot. Finally got to me, and I motion to the young man behind me and tell the cashier I'm paying for his, too.

He asks if I'm sure. I'm like...yeah. It's my birthday; I'm feeling generous.

So the cashier rings me up, and this lovely young man grabs his drink, gives me a hug, and wishes me a happy birthday.

Best morning evah.

Other than that? Not doing much over here. Had some sort of mental plans that simply overstep my energy level. So. Back in the Sanctuary and working on some written loveliness and watching Murphenstine tear up his crinkles and lamb chop. 

Hope your day is fantastic!

Search engines

I use the big G. I've only now noticed the first hit uses AI. Didn't pay much attention before. I don't have a problem, per se, with AI being used as such. Should be its only use, imo.

Yesterday, I only wrote a few thousand words. I needed to do research. Cool beans. The coolest beans.

I had two interesting searches. Allow me to share.

I am digging deep and finding names that are unusual. I need to know how to pronounce them. Because I don't want to get it wrong. That would be awful. It's important to me. Names...are important.

okay

I have a name with the "h" in an odd place. So I type in the word, and my page is filled with information about this fetish.

I beg your finest pardon. 

Fetish?

Turns out, the name I'm using means "muscle", and that led me to a literal "muscle fetish."

I'm jaded in some ways and so naive in others.

It was hilarious.

Then, I need to pronounce another name, an archaic one. I type in the name and "pron" because I've done this so many times, it usually auto fills "pronunciation". More frosty beans.

I thought it had until my searches came back with adult materials because stupid AI thought I spelled p*rn wrong. 🙄 

Now I'm enlightened about another aspect of other people's lives. 

mercy

I also am redecorating a kitchen in my book and was all over G with searches for everything from color of paint, matching tiles, wet saw, crown molding and its numerous types, and doors, amongst other things. Took far longer than I wished. But it gives me a great starting point for tomorrow.

Today is recovering from yesterday's searches 😂 , cleaning around the house, and having Valentine's Day dinner with the Honey this evening.

Tomorrow?

Back to inappropriate searches and at least 7000 words on my novel.

Write what you know vs write what you love vs surprise me

I have thoughts. When don't I?

For a long time, the old creed for authors was "write what you know." But that's limiting in its context. 

It could mean to write about your passions and interests. Leverage your identity and use universal human experiences. 

Which is cool.

Write what you love. This also includes passions and interests. But it may be a bit limiting if you're only true loves are of ballet and basketball. (Great crossover romance, huh?) I feel as though this gives you rules you never asked for.

But is also viable.

Now.

Some of us use a starting point and then go wickedly wherever. There's so much I don't know. And so much I WANT to know. Example: In "Over Her Head", one of my protagonist's neighbors keeps retired horses. And here goes me...looking up horse breeds and common early retirement issues. Treatments used on horses that shouldn't have been. What type of temperament for each breed. I do a deep dive, and I fucking love it.

Bring your emotional depth, of course, but authors can use so much information to enrich their stories. 

I've looked up types of flowers, knives, scorpions, medieval weapons, horses, furniture, houses, barns, ancient deities, book shelves, Christian Siriano Spring 2026 fashion for men, types of fabrics, expensive cars, and so much damn more I don't have the word space to continue.

And I take at least one piece with me as I go. 

It's euphoric. Quick kick of dopamine that feeds this sporadic ADHD brain with all the factoids I can fact.

I don't always know where I'm going (contrary to the "Whitesnake" song), but I sure know where I've been. And it's a gift to be able to utilize so many parts of the world in one book. And I believe it deepens the narrative. 

How exciting to be a connoisseur of some niche subject and find it in a book you're reading! You can always do the grass is green, the sun is yellow, and there will be a happily-ever-after. 

But if you say the grass is a dark evergreen that smelled of earth and hope, then you've pushed a bit farther past the general greetings. You feel me?

It's the little things that make a good book. All the dynamic elements of genres have been laid out in fine print. Authors know the expectations. It's up to us to go farther and push harder. 

Now.

Let me clarify. 

Let's not dive into the minutiae. I don't need to know there is a ladybug on grass blade number three with 62 dots and a bad attitude. Unless, of course, that ladybug is germane to the story.  

You need to use a Kukri, not a machete. But you also don't need a scalpel to scrape all the meat off the bone. 

Fiction requires our readers to use their imaginations. We don't want to force feed them everything. And as a reader, I hate it.

There's your recipe, authors.

Write what you know.

Write what you love.

Start and surprise yourself.

Kukri

No machete

No scalpel

Seems so simple, doesn't it?

Step in Time

Hellooooooooo...what do we have here? Oh. Just the chorus to "Step in Time" from Mary Poppins that has been randomly playing in my head for about five days. Why? You ask. If you told me, then we'd both know. 😶

Reading certain words, loosely connected to lyrics, always sets me off.

There is a "hellevator" in my "Canary" series. And, I swear to you, every time I typed it in the first book, I would sing "love in a hellevator" and cackle to the stars and back. The honey was not amused. I was, though. 😂

Then there are songs that fade into others with the same beat. Who needs a mixing table, when my ADHD brain does all that without prompting? 🤔

And, concerning my grey matter, there is always something in my internal monologue. Sometimes quite a few somethings. I don't understand how other people can't have this and how QUIET their brain must be. I don't even want to know what that's like. I'll take the chaos and chatter. 

Now.

To get THIS banger out of my head. 😒

Artificial Intelligence AKA AI

 AI does not recreate. It regurgitates. 

The clue is in the name. "Artificial" is simply a "copy of something natural."

*brings my soapbox over*

Before Internet, *ahem* clears my throat because OBVIOUSLY volcanic ash, people needed to find a solid, literally, source of information.

Encyclopedias, school books, dictionaries, and library books. If you were lucky, you owned at least one and could borrow others.

Knowledge obtained through solid material resources with involved a TON of reading, especially to borrow the requisite library books. And if you could only borrow two or three from the school library, then they best be the best.

But woe unto you if someone quicker obtained the desired material first.

All this to say...it was work. Solid work. Some it was also false. I remember coloring in a diagram of a tongue in fifth grade with different flavor centers in certain areas. 

COMPLETELY FALSE

Science? It evolves, loves. It literally lives and breathes.

But let's toddle back to fiction, shall we?

In the beginning, *cue horns and percussion*, AI was force-fed tons of fiction, also non-fiction. But bestselling authors took a hit. The ones off the top of my head are Margaret Atwood and Stephen King. 

Now, this AI, artificial remember?, can now spit out stories similar to the two authors using diction, spelling, and vernacular. 

Does that make AI as good as Stephen King or any of the others AI content creators stole from? 

Fuck, no.

Because here's the rub. Creativity takes passion. 

PASH UN

AI doesn't have a soul. And if it did, well, I wouldn't give two fucks about writing because the world would be trying to survive the mass genocide.

It's like Chris Pratt said to Bryce Dallas Howard in "Jurassic World" when referring to the specially-bred dino (Indominus Rex) with the bad temperament and super hero features. 

Can't find it verbatim, so I'll paraphrase. 

What's it made of? 

BDH rattles off a few dino DNA names. But it was bred in captivity. 

You mean to tell me she's never been with other dinosaurs? Imprinted on anyone? All she knows is that big crane dropping in a cow. That's all she's bonded with?

LATER...AFTER MASS DESTRUCTION AND DEATH

Well. She's top of the food chain now and knows it.

*end*

Do you feel me?

If AI were simply another tool to use like a dictionary, thesaurus, or resource material, I'd be all over it. But AI doesn't stop there. It can now chat with you. Sympathize (NOT empathize--you need a soul for that). 

And a LOT is being made in creative communities about the use of AI to write and form pictures. 

I hate it.

A lot do.

But if you're not willing to put in the work, use that grey matter, I guess a pale imitation of what could loosely pass for a book or painting would work for you.

I had a problem with something from Amazon the other day. Hitting all the boxes did not help. I resorted to "chat." *LONG SUFFERING SIGH*

Finally, after it had given me back every response I gave to it, with the words messed about, I achieved my goal. NOT because the idiotic AI whatever could glean what that was. I had to STATE IT.

If I need crayons and puppets, I shouldn't have to waste my time.

I don't know what HDs are, but I've got 80 of them.

Current situation.

PT will be renamed "The Broken Discus" as the new working title. The second in the series will be called "The Morrigan."

Finished BD and have 55,000 words on TM. Blowing through it would be putting it mildly. I have never...literally...never written like this. I would say something about "getting used to it," but I'm a believer in some superstitions and will hereby keep my trap closed.

Will edit "Canary: Out of the Shadows" and publish it by the end of February. Tried for the beginning of February but was immersed in my series. When you're in the flow, you keep flowing.

Now here it is...all laid out and about. 

Third book in mythological series. I already know what the fourth is about. But this one comes first.

New Erotic Romance 

And now, as I sit in front of my computer, I can't think of the third thing. Must've been important. 🤨

Update on the Murph 'n' turf. Could've called him "Hunter", and it would have worked, also. This boy carries his crinkles in his mouth. Drags his wands from here to there and back again. Tears the feathers off said wands. Gave him a lamb chop, spur of the moment on adoption day, and he has jacked that poor baby up. 

But when I pet his oh-so-fluffy bunny belly, he makes sure to not scratch me like he would another kitten. However, this little shit digs his claws in, not thinking, and my limbs look like constellations, at this point. 

Murphenstein has also decided to grace me with his feline presence around 2 to 3 in the morning. And he wants to cuddle. I don't even cuddle with people. Or he'll use my arm as a pillow. OR my pillow as his pillow. 

All in all, he's pretty fucking awesome, and I love him dearly.

Haven't been watching the Olympics. But I did watch the entire Bad Bunny halftime on YouTube. Knew I would love it. 

I have been, however, blowing through the Dept. Q series by Jussi Adler-Olsen. I could not get enough of Season 1 on Netflix. Impatiently waiting for Season 2. FOR ALL THE REASONS.

But I'm on book 4 of the series now, and I'm going through one every two days or so. That's my downtime from writing.

Other than that, it's supposed to be 81 here today, and tomorrow will be 61 with a strong north wind. 

Spring? Winter?

Your guess is as good as mine.