New beginnings

We're hardwired to inhale on December 31st and exhale on January 1st.  Welcome in a new year with resolutions and plans for a better us.  Having a whole new year stretch out before us is incredibly hopeful but also...overwhelming.

People put their resolutions out in the world for accountability, I think.  I used to ascribe to a similar way of thinking.  But the year is a blank piece of paper, and we aren't the only ones writing in our notebook.  I've switched to goals now.  I like to stick to about ten.  Jot them down.  Hang them at my desk so I can see them daily.  It's a reminder of what I'm working toward.

But I've something for all of us to remember.  January 1st isn't our only shot.  The first of the month isn't our only shot.  Mondays aren't our only shot.  New beginnings happen ALL THE TIME.  If you start something wonderful for yourself at 6pm on a Wednesday evening in March, then THAT is your new beginning.  Please don't be mired down in what this world has trained us to think is the only time to start fresh.

I have a horrid little cold right now, and I'm sure I'll start the new year with it.  But it won't last forever.  I'll be back to multi-tasking and driving myself crazy sooner than later.  Starting my new beginnings as they come to me and not giving a damn what the calendar says.

Always writing*

...Happy New Year!

Writing toys

 Look at my early Christmas present!

She is so pretty, and she makes the clickety-clack of the typewriter sounds. 😁 I'm both taken back to high school and being soothed by the lovely ASMR.  And the colors!  OMG!  LOOK AT THEM!  They explode from the keyboard.  I could type in the dark.  I won't, but I could. 😊

Yeah.  You guessed it.  No jewelry on my Wish List.  No fancy shoes or purses.  I have one purse.  I have maybe three pairs of shoes.  I have no idea how to wear make-up.  I'd love for someone to take pity and show me how to do the basics.  Priority?  Not hardly.  

What do I want?  

I told my son I wanted these:

He sent them to me.  Good kid.  I, um, have no place to put them because I took my regular colored post-it notes out of my post-it note holder to put my pastel post-it notes in there.  There is no room at the inn.  Right now, I've taken these beautiful babies out of the box, and they're chilling out on my bookshelf.  

While I literally have these overflowing on my desk and in my drawers, I will always take another:

planner

journal

set of pens (fountain, gel, med point, etc.)

unlined post-it notes

highlighters

notebook

composition book (I actually have a decomposition book-delightful)

reference book (mythology, baby names, odd facts, any type of dictionary or random house word book)

index cards (I don't have any color ones yet)

Writers live in their heads a lot of the time, and we don't need a lot from the outside world.  The outside world, quite honestly, leaves a lot to be desired most days.  It's just out there...worlding.  But inside my head?  There's conversation, laughter, action, and so many thoughts you could drown in them.

However, the writing will take a backseat the next couple days to family.  Babies and grandbabies.  They ARE my world.  I'm sure I'll jot down notes and whatnot.  But the real writing will wait until Christmas wraps up.  

Then I'll hop on Amazon and see what's on sale in their office supplies. 🤔  Maybe some colored index cards. 😂

Always writing*

...and wishing all of you Happy Holidays!

Loving a cactus

Cacti are striking plants.  It's hard to miss the prickly plant hairs and barbed bristles.  They are the literal "DO NOT TOUCH" of the plant world.  One of the bad boys of Botany.  So why do people like them?  Most collectors will say it's because of their gorgeous flowers.  Every cacti species is capable of producing flowers if given proper watering, fertilization, and light.

The villains and bad boys of fiction are the same.  There is not one, living on the page, another character or reader, doesn't think can't bloom.  They only need time.  Or understanding.  Or unconditional love.  Someone to listen.  Therapy.  Just one thing.  Whatever that damn one thing is.

The memes are cute, sure.  

"Didn't you see the red flags?"  "Yes!  I thought it was a circus."

"He has five red flags."  "Sure.  But I'm a Six Flags season ticket holder. WHEE!"

Like WE KNOW the issues are there.  But we are willing to look beyond all that because we want the cactus and the flowers.

For instance, LOKI.  Yes.  All caps.  Because Marvel™ had the sheer brilliance to cast Tom Hiddleston as their villain. This man: 

This character plucked an eyeball from a living man's skull, while grinning maniacally.  I would let him eat crackers, or anything he desired, in my bed, whenever he wished.  He's selfish and self-destructive.  Cunning and chaotic.  Loki is the epitome of a cactus, and I would bet more viewers would try to save than destroy him.

Writers walk the fine line with our cacti.  We can make them attractive.  *shrug*  But they're all assholes.  They have to be.  Prickly as hell.  No time for anyone.  Hateful, usually.  Red flags waving in the wind like NO-NO triangles. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 😁

But then we give readers a glimpse, a small sliver, of their humanity.  And we've hooked you.  You can see exactly what our cactus can be.  You start rooting for this snippy underdog.  Celebrating their triumphs.  Grieving their sadness.  

Suddenly, you love a cactus.  And aren't those blooms beautiful?

Always writing*

...isn't Tom Hiddleston absolutely stunning???

Today I saw my grandmother's eyes

Grandma Bell was my favorite grandparent.  We all have one.  She lived in California.  We'd go visit and see fancy places and cool amusement parks.  But even when we didn't, Grandma had a rumpus room.  It had a poker table, a bar, and its own fridge.  The adults loved to gamble with pennies, talk shit, and drink those mixed drinks.  I loved the Harlequins stuffed together on the far wall.  

I'd grab one, find a seat by a window, and inhale the sweet romance.  This was the late seventies, kids.  And the copyrights on these aged beauties was well before that.  They kissed.  Sometimes.  😳

But these were my gateway drug.  Because once romance bit me, I wanted more.  I blew through grandma's collection and found my way into the Teen Section of the library.  I was not remotely a teenager.  😁  

I've read everything from Grace Livingston Hill to J.R. Ward.  Sweet Christian love to dirty demon love.  I've been a reader since the age of three, but this?  This gave me the cornerstone of what I write.  

I love writing romance.    

No matter what else I venture into, I will always write romance.  I've written Time Travel, Paranormal, Fantasy, Erotic, and Contemporary.  There is so much you can do with love.  I could ramble on forever, but I won't.

What I wanted to say is, today, after having my hair done, I walked out to my car.  I hopped in and flipped down the visor to check my hair up close and personal from the front.  But when I looked?  I saw my grandmother's eyes.  It shocked me.  I sat, in silence, and studied them.  I felt a duality, but I also felt a comfort.  

She's a cornerstone of my writing journey.  Even though she's not around, I still have her with me.  I have the wonderful memories, and now, as I age somewhat gracefully, I can look in the mirror and see my grandmother's eyes. 💖    

Always writing*

...thanks, Grandma Bell...

Writing is a gamble

 And I'll tell you why.

Every agent and publisher is looking for the next big thing.  Except...what is it?  Nobody knows.  Timing in publishing is every role of the dice taken.  No one can predict the next big thing, but when it hits, OH MAN!  Suddenly every book takes place in the woods in the pacific northwest with dead bodies and a psychic.  Or every romance has a vampire.  Every summer read is about three sisters unfolding their past.  Every teen book is a dystopian novel.  And then the tide recedes, and every writer who tries to hook an agent with any of the above?  The market is saturated.  😖

OR...You wrote one of these perfect books two or three years earlier only to find no one remotely wanted a full, much less to represent.  

Timing.

The other issue with writing is finding your babies a home.  A lot of the established agents are still out there with their homes in New York.  Brilliant.  And quite a few of them are closed to queries until a referral or meeting at a conference.  

Those of us who haven't queried in a minute (years) now Google to look around and see what we can find.  I recommend QueryManager.  There is no charge, and you can query agents by genre.  If they use QueryManager, it will keep track for you next to the agent.  Love this.

There is also: Association of American Literary Agents.  You may separate by genre, also.

I dipped back into my Twitter even though I loathe the owner.  You can follow agents and support fellow writers there.  There's been a decrease in numbers since change in ownership.  Still waiting to see if the ship rights itself.  But also, I found mention of a publishing house I may be able to directly query.  I had never heard of it before.

There's no way in this life or any other I can keep up with all of social media and its many arms and mouths.  But I try to stop in and say "HI!" and check on people.  See how everyone is doing.  Celebrate.  Commiserate.  

Going to the "Sixth Annual Holiday Party" for the Manuscript Academy this evening via computer.  Never been to one.  But merriment and fun are promised.  And in the writing world?  That's a win.

Always writing*

...and rolling those dice  

Kindle Vella

Someone mentioned Kindle Vella on Twitter.  I'd forgotten all about it.  I went and looked.  Serial writing with readers buying installments with tokens.  I briefly looked over everything.  Didn't dive in.  But why not?

I already divide my writing into either self-pub or query.  But how do I want to approach it?  That's what I'm asking myself.  I'm writing Book Four in a five-book series right now.  Do I want to work with those?  Do I want to wait and try to serialize the Erotic Romance I've started?  The book I'm working the hardest on right now is Canary: DD.  It stays querying.  It's made to be published.  And why...with an absolutely full platter...do I need to ponder this RIGHT NOW???

Because I like to have plans.  I like to know where my writing is headed.  Going to work this over in my wee head while I work on Canary: DD today.  I'm at 52,900 right now.  At least 20,000 more words, maybe 25,000.  I may take a break between the end of this and beginning Canary: OOS which is the third and final book in the series.  Depends.  I've already started my OneNote Notebook on it.  

I'm off to make notes and shape worlds.  I seem to be living in my OneNote notes this morning.  Love it.

Always writing*

Stay relevant

When I published my first book, Virtually Yours, in 2005, I only remember feeling so much happiness I literally thought I would explode with it.  Simply turn into a million burning stars and burst because there wasn't any way my skin could hold the emotion.  When I received the less than stellar royalty check, I cried.  Did I cry because of the amount?  Yes.  But I cried more because I wanted to see large numbers and know there were so many people reading my book.  But me, being me, did what I always do.  I dug in.

I published an Erotic Romance, What He Wants, and a Paranormal Romance, The Portrait, in 2006.  What He Wants was the bestselling book for my publisher three years in a row.  The Portrait was nominated for Best Small Press Paranormal Romance in Romantic Times, now defunct.  I also squeezed in a Time Travel Romance, Perfect Timing.

I was at work December 9, 2006, when our house started on fire.  It burned to the ground, and we lost everything.  Some of the kids didn't even walk out with shoes.  I'd started a new job.  Not even four months in.  Not going to go over the details, but we lost more than simply the house.

I'd already signed a contract for my Elemental Guardian series.  I'd written Fire Goddess and Water Goddess.  Confession from my heart.  I don't remember writing Wind Goddess.  Bits and pieces, actually.  It was right after the house fire.  We'd moved into a new place.  I think I was still in shock.  Thank the Muse it turned out well.  Then, of course, Earth Goddess.  I was mostly back in my right mind then.  I remember Eden's story well.  The first two published in 2007 and the other two in 2008.

I also managed to squeeze out another Erotic Romance, Programmed for Pleasure, in 2007.

The publishers contacted me and said they'd like to publish a megabook with my Elemental Guardians.  Thus, my Elemental Guardians Megabook released in 2009.

The last book I published with my ePub was Warrior and the Sparrow in 2011. 

I continued to write but didn't want the middleman, anymore.  I started self-publishing on Amazon.  Not right away.  But I had an idea for a series, based, incredibly loosely, on an old Brothers Grimm tale I'd read forever ago.  I can't even find it now.  But I digress.  It's a five-book series.  I've published three.  Working on the fourth.

I wrote Chimera, which I'm querying now. 

I'm in process with Canary.  It's a three-book series.  First book is finished.  I'm querying.  I'm 50,000 words deep on the second. 

I received my quarterly royalty email this morning from my ePub which was taken over by Start Publishing/Simon & Schuster.  

Here's my point:  I sold copies of Virtually Yours, What He Wants, The Elemental Guardian Megabook, and 23 copies of Programmed for Pleasure.

Stay relevant.  Don't give up.  Keep your name in the conversation.  I sold books I published over 15 years ago.  It can be done.  You can do it.

Always writing*

...and selling those oldies but goodies

 

Don't apologize

I read bullshit on social media daily about the anonymous "they" calling people losers for any number of ridiculous reasons.

For example:  not having an animal, outfit not matching, self-publishing, living with parents, etc.

Every time I read these posts and tweets with people asking the ether if they're really losers because FILL IN REASON, I am pissed.  Because they're not.  But they allowed some fucking yahoo with a keyboard to make them feel like they are.  If I catch the lament, I respond immediately by telling the person they are NOT a loser for XYZ.  Nor will they ever be one.  Using only 280 characters is a bit tricky.  What I really want to say is:

Don't apologize.

Don't apologize for the clothes you wear

Don't apologize for the unmatched socks that remind you of your grandmother

Don't apologize for the hair that sticks up on the back of your head

Don't apologize for your loud laugh

or

the reason behind it

Let them look at you and envy your mirth

Don't apologize for your smile, be it crooked-straight-metallic-toothless

Don't apologize for your kindness when the world is cruel

Don't apologize for your simple life when the world mocks your lack of designer label

Don't apologize for the love you give or how you give it

Your life is not an apology to make.  It's a gift to be lived.  Your gift.  Your life.  No apologies necessary.

Always writing*

with no fucking apologies...

Dialogue is the best

I'll say it.  Writing dialogue is my favorite part of writing.  Periodt.  It's also my favorite part of reading.  Snappy dialogue goes a long way in favor of me finishing a book.  Purple prose is a quick wallbanger.  Be clever.  Be innovative.  Make me laugh.  Gasp.  Cover my mouth in astonishment.

I wrote a scene yesterday between Ray and Cody.  She needed to poison him, a little bit, because they had to infiltrate a certain part of a hospital to investigate.  They didn't seem to find what they were looking for, so she slipped him the antidote, and they were about to leave.  Ray is my MC.  Cody is her younger assistant and guinea pig.

****

Ray fished a vial out of her pocket and brought it to Cody’s lips.  “Drink.”  She tipped it up, and he swallowed the dark blue liquid.

“Shit, Ray.  Tastes like toilet cleaner.”

“It’s not an energy drink, but you won’t be throwing up blood.”  She shoved the tube back in her pocket and helped him sit up.  Ray concentrated.  Lacey, erase us.

She helped Cody slide his shoes on and put her arm around his waist.  “We’re going to walk out of here a hell of a lot smoother than we walked in.”  Ray wiped his face off.  He already showed more color.  “Now.  Stand tall.” 

Cody straightened with a small groan.

“For fuck’s sake.  How old are you, man?”  Ray looked up at him.

“I am poison years old, Ray.  That’s how fucking old I am.”  He glared.

“Note to self:  Cranky when poisoned.”  Ray rolled her eyes.

“Please remove me from this place before they decide to stick something up my ass.”  Cody took a couple of steps. 

“Do you think they would?”  Ray stopped in her tracks.

“Ray,” he warned.

“Maybe next time.” 

****

This shows their dynamic and makes me laugh every time.  Dialogue sets the tone for me.  It can change a mood in a swift second.  Setting is obviously important.  Tone.  But when a character opens his/her/their mouth?  I'm all ears.

Always writing*    

  

December!

Wow.  This year has been another odd one.  Some months feeling like years while others felt like a week.  No wonder I'm usually discombobulated and wondering what day of the week it is. 

Going to be a busy month.  Christmas party this Saturday with my fellow writers.  I'm incredibly excited.  It's rare for me to go out and whatnot.  I'm well with being attached to the keyboard and chilling out in the evening.  A couple weeks after that, we're going to the Van Gogh exhibit, and I'm beside myself.  To be surrounded by that man's work on every side.  I think I'm going to cry.  Maybe a lot.  Then the holidays with family.

But what I really wanted to cover in this blog is my end sig..."always writing".  Some may think, "Oh, this cow is full of it.  Trying to make herself look or sound good." 😒   

I can assure you, however, that I'm certifiable.  I woke up at 1:14 this morning for a bathroom visit.  Crawled back into bed.  About three minutes later, the phrase "arterial spray" came to me with the scene in the current book I'm writing.  It's the reason the scene won't work.  I need to go in and fix it.  THEN...a small detail from the first book slapped me around.  Noted.  THEN...a cute idea for a series of novellas.  Then I fell back to sleep.  Eventually.

I've written a scene standing up at the island in the kitchen eating chips and dip.  Mind wandering and simply letting my brain...brain.  There have been countless times something has come to me in the car, and I turn the music down and have Siri make a note in my NOTES so that I may access it later.  

I've learned in order to be a better writer that I can't shut it down.  I've never wanted to, but I had to when I was working full-time, and it both hurt and frustrated me.  It was like trying to close a beach house door against an incoming tsunami.  

Now I let it come whenever it wants, however it wants.  I'm grateful for the voices and the insomnia.  Thankful for my characters and their stories.  I derive infinite pleasure from writing.  Some days it's like scratching my eyeball with a fork, but I'd still take it over any other profession.  

That's me.  I'm fairly consumed by it.  But hey!  Light me up.  I like the way it burns.

Always writing*  

Thanksgiving

My younger daughter brought her family up.  Simply going to post some pictures.  It was, of course, a wonderful day with my baby and the gbabies. 💖

My youngest:  Nisi

CC and her great great grandmother's quilt

            CC and Sy

In this house, we eat dessert first.  Seen here. 💖😁

Thankful for family.  Always.

Sending love to you and yours.

Crystal*

Broke 40,000 words

Two o'clock on a cool Tuesday afternoon.  Sitting at 40,069 words on Canary:  DD.  Still writing, of course, but I love the little numerical milestones.  🥳

Puts me around halfway with this book.  It's funny because there is SO MUCH going on here.  And the third book is even more packed with unraveling Ray's story (Mercenary Girl).  Lineage matters so much in this trilogy.  Family.  Hope.  Sacrifice.  So many damn secrets.  Not going to see those coming, dear readers.  You may catch the hints, though.  I've woven them through.  I spend a great deal of time laughing and crying with my characters.  Sometimes happy endings don't look like you think they should.

Always writing*

Routine and the wild hair.

I'm a study of contrasts.  

I love to have my holidays the same.  All my babies and gbabies come up and there's laughter and food and frivolity.  It's exhausting and beautiful.  Thanksgiving and Christmas will be different this year.  Oldest moved out of state about a week ago.  Middle will not be coming up with her two daughters.  But Baby Child will with J and their three babies.  That'll be my grandson and two granddaughters.  I am excited!  But it's going to be a lot different.  I like to cook for an army for the holidays.  I'm scaling that down.  Still not sure how that looks right now.

I have a routine with my writing.  The only time that changes is for appointments or the Honey having her knee replacement and whatnot.  But it's usually waking up.  Taking meds.  Breakfast.  Monster or smoothie.  Writing.  Except I don't know if Mercury is doing the cha-cha or fucking what.  Because suddenly my phone is going off and weird shit is going on.  I start typing and something happens.  I am completely unamused.  I'm in the flow, and then my focus is broken.  It's not pretty.

But the other part of me?  I want at least one more tattoo, preferably two, before the end of the year.  I want a mani/pedi.  I am NOT a mani/pedi girl.  But I want black polish.  I want to shop for clothes and be frivolous.  I want to wear make-up (I have no idea how).  I want to blast music and scream and go out in the woods and howl.  I want to do weird and crazy shit that makes people uncomfortable.  That's my wild hair.  I love her.  

It's part of why I love writing so much.  My characters can literally do anything.  Do I live vicariously?  Sometimes.  How can I not?  Because when I'm away from my computer and picture the scenes, it's a movie.  I'm there.  I love the characters.  I live the characters.

I'll continue to be a big bundle of chaos.  Keeps things lively.  Keeps me sane.  But I'll post pictures when I get my new ink.  🥳 😁💖 

Always writing*

Ray says "Hi!"

Oh. Damn it.

Writing.  ALL DAY.  🥳

I've made notes of scenes I need to add.  I've no other priorities today.  All about the writing which is utter bliss.  I open Canary 2:  DD.  Reading.  Editing.  Adding things in.  Look at my newer additions.  Reading.  Scroll.  😶

What?  I didn't write anymore?  😂  Oh my goodness!  That's the worst.  Seriously.  Nothing so annoying as in the flow of the story, reading your own words, nodding along, and suddenly you realize you haven't written more words.  

Cracking myself up.  I shall be hoping for around 4000-5000 words today.  Considering my start time, I believe I should be able to hit my goal.  It's one of those times you wish you could simply transfer items in your Mind Cabin to the page.  But tapping it out gives me time to work things out, and I enjoy doing that.  It's a nice balance.

Still laughing at myself.

Have a lovely Sunday!

Always writing*

Nurse Ratched

The Honey had left knee replacement surgery Monday.  I've been existing on snickers and green Monsters.  Now, I had my right hip replaced last March so I knew a bit about what to expect.  By the way, I love my hip, Dr. K., and my PT chickie who I described as an evil Kristen Bell.  But I digress.

It is NOT easy.  We are independent women.  I had the dubious honor of basically cramming my love and help down her throat.  😂  And she doesn't want to BOTHER anyone.  In pain and didn't want to call the nurse.  Oh, so help me.  I nearly beat her with her pillow.  I think we've overcome that hurdle.  Or not taking a pain pill fifteen minutes earlier while she's practically writhing in pain.  Once again, I had to threaten bodily harm.  😑  But we're making progress!

Both of us.  I made myself eggs for breakfast! 🥳

My problem is I tend to neglect myself while caring for others.  I lived off rice krispie treats when my baby child had her baby child last September. 😶 We all have our things.  🙄

The Honey has taken to calling me Nurse Ratched, and I laugh.  I promised to live up to the name if she doesn't behave.  Better get used to me and my methods now.  She's having the right knee done in February. 😎

Always writing*

...and being THAT nurse...

I'm a dreamer

I think I aggravate some people with my optimism and certainty of my dreams.  I live my life in a state of knowing I'm capable of achieving my dreams so why wouldn't I live as such?  But Crystal, it hasn't happened.

Yet.

Hasn't happened...yet.

I stay in motion, and my dreams do the same.  I write or work on writing at least six days a week because that's my dream, and it needs to be fed like other parts of my life.  Do I become discouraged?  Of course.  I'm human.  But I pick myself up and continue.  It doesn't matter so much if others in my close circle don't understand how truly the writing mirrors the beating of my heart.  I understand it.  I nurture it.  I hold it close and murmur encouraging words.  We make plans for the future.  We grow.

We dream.

My dreams are built on a solid foundation of love, hard work, and diligence.  And I will make sure they are given the best opportunity to bloom into the full manifestation of every second put into them.  What I want, more than anything, is to share my stories with the world.  

And I will. 💖

Always writing*

One hell of a week

Baby Child had her gallbladder surgery October 24th.  Had pain afterwards she said was worse than her C-sections.  Worrisome.  Took her home.  Pain.  Then she got migraines.  She has bad ones.  Then Saturday began throwing up.

All bad.

Went to the ER.  They did CAT scan on her stomach and chest.  Didn't see anything.  She felt a bit better.  Sent her home.  She made an appt with her PCP for October 31st.  She calls me from the doc's office saying she went there and threw up during the appt and would drive herself to the ER.  I'm in the city with the Honey doing her pre-op appt for her knee surgery.  We finish that, and I zip my ass down to the ER to be with BC.  SHE IS MISERABLE.

I think it's around four o'clock when I arrive.  I've been up since five that morning.  They gave her pain and anti-nausea meds.  They decide they need to do a test on her, but no one in the hospital there does it.  So they reach out to St. Anthony's and OU Medical.  OU Medical accepts the transfer.  BC goes from ER to ER by ambulance.  We arrive at OU Medical ER, and BC is put in Acute Trauma.  We are in the hallway from eleven that night until six that morning waiting for a room.  They were incredibly busy, and they accept patients from all over the state.  There were flights coming in and ambulances arriving every half hour, it seemed.

I slept in a chair older than myself.  BC was tested and treated according to what her medical team felt could be the issue.  I took her home yesterday afternoon to her family.  Her three babies missed her terribly.

I don't know if/when I'll catch up on sleep.  But I'd never be anywhere else.  Because the truth?  While we were waiting all those hours in acute trauma?  People coded.  People passed.  Two rooms away a kid kept coding.  Three rooms away on our left, an older man kept crashing, and they were wheeling blood in to keep him alive.  That's reality.  

We're here for a blink.  Like a shooting star.  Remember that.  Shine while you can.  Remind your loved ones they still are.  And your dreams?  You are NEVER too old to pursue them.  

Always writing*

 

Better when I'm busy

I've Canary:  DD pulled up on my other monitor and will hop right on that forthwith.  Haven't touched it since the last time I blogged.

But what have I been DOING???

Well.  My short overachieving ass decided to buy 45 yards of fleece and make the family fleece blankets.  The only truly creative thing I can do besides write. 😊  I can also freehand cross-stitch, but that's been a long minute, and I would certainly need a magnifying glass now.  Hard pass.  

Acquired an air fryer, and I MUST play with the new toy which means:  Scouring the Internet for recipes I will actually eat I can pop in there and admire.  Take food porn pictures for Facebook.  Feel some sense of accomplishment for eating semi-healthy.  Rinse.  Repeat.  heh

Took youngest baby child for gallbladder surgery.  Not a good scene.  My poor baby.  She said she hurt worse over this than her C-sections.  I felt awful for her. 😭  

Flu shot.  Bivariant booster.  

But...the writing.

Woke up a little before 2 last night.  Bathroom.  Bed.  Wrote on my book.  In my head.  But it was vivid enough I remember the details, and it was a great scene and then some.  I knew I'd be writing today because you don't ever say "no" to the book.  Dialogue and scenes are a gift.  I'll raise my bleary-ass head, no matter the time, and jot down notes on my phone about my books.  

My Mercenary Girl is fighting another uphill battle or three.  Several beings have taken an interest in her movements and actions.  She's been marked by an ancient deity.  She owes a debt her mother should have paid.  Not easy trying to survive in this world or any other.  They don't know my girl.  But they soon will.

Always writing*

Pick your hard

 You've seen the "pick your hard" memes.  "Losing weight is hard."  "Leaving your comfort zone is hard."  "Being broke is hard."  "Change is hard."

PICK YOUR HARD.

*clears throat*

Attention!  Guess what?  Everything lately is fucking hard.  Grocery prices are at a heinous high.  The electric company here is raising rates to cover THEIR shortcomings, and it's making living even harder for those on a tight budget.  Have heat or food during the winter?  Thanksgiving?  Nice thought.  Christmas?  Hardly.  If all you can afford is pasta and cheap meat, if that, to feed your family, then nutrition is going to take a slide.  If you're working your ass off twelve hours a day to come home, eat, sleep, and do it all over again, guess what?  Working out in any way, shape, or form isn't happening.  

My hard right now is waking up with chronic pain, taking my short ass to my laptop, and working on writing I believe in.  I've finished two books since retiring.  Still receiving queries back from my first one.  And it's hard.  Hard to keep going even though I believe in myself and what I do with no encouragement from anyone but myself.  Belief in myself.  That's my hard.  Some days I feel like bawling.  Period.  Not that I lose faith in myself.  Not that.  More of feeling I'm rowing this boat alone, and my damn arms are so tired.

Dear ones.  I know you're tired.  I see you.  I feel you.  You don't have to "pick" your hard.  I have a feeling you have enough hard without needing a multiple choice.  If you need to visit a food bank, please do.  I worked full-time at one job, and when Thanksgiving rolled around, they delivered one of their Thanksgiving meals to me.  Slightly embarrassed but so thankful.  Look into programs that help with utilities and/or rent.  Enroll in WIC, if applicable.  If you don't have Internet, go to your local library and sign up for a card.  They have computers you can use if you don't have one at home.  Also, they have free wi-fi.  Look into acquiring a free phone from the government.  But please, don't give up. 💗

I'm off to tap around and work on Canary 2:  DD.  It's 65 in the house.  We don't want to turn on the heater yet.  I have my Grandma Newhouse's blanket around my shoulders and a head full of thoughts.  Take care of yourselves.

Always writing*

7-year anniversary

This has been one of those months where every day feels like a month in its own.  And we're only halfway through.

BUT...today is my 7th wedding anniversary!  WOOT!  We celebrated yesterday, but today is the real deal.  Been together thirteen, but wed seven.

Lunch with two former co-workers tomorrow.  Thursday will be a rough day.  Friday will be errands and chores.  Monday, my baby child goes in for gallbladder surgery.  That Friday is my oldest baby's birthday.  October is always busy.   

It's only supposed to reach a high of 62 today.  Oh my goodness!  I'm all about it.  Ready for fall weather and not sweating my ass off.  

About to open up Canary2:  DD and poke about.  Still have queries floating back in for Chimera.  This writing business is not for sissies.  Not even remotely.  😔  But I march on. 💃💃💃

Okay, my dears.  I'm back at it.  No matter what.  Have a wonderful Monday, if there is such a thing.  

Always writing*

I'm due

 Usually I have two different manuscripts I work on at once.  One is always an Erotic Romance.  But I've been busting my ass lately on my Fantasy Fiction.  I'd been supplementing my urge to write the naughtiness by writing FanFic in a FB group I'm in.  Seriously, I have to write the stuff.  Have.  To.  I've never written FanFic before, but it came easy to me, haha, because I know the characters incredibly well.

BUT...the book I started writing today has been floating around for about two months in my cerebral waters.  Hanging out in the Mind Cabin.  Chilling.  But it's been making itself KNOWN the past three days.  Scenes.  Dialogue.  Thoughts about characters.  And that's when I know it's time.  Folks...it's time.

I have the plot.  Premise.  Three or four important scenes.  The damn ending.  ???  Weird when I literally have the end scene before I type the first damn word, but I don't knock it.  But the best thing?  Oh.  It's erotic.  And I'm so on board with it.  🥳🎉  

I'm going to go fictionally frolic.  Everyone have a good rest of the week!

Always writing*

Feral women and first birthdays

 Had the absolute pleasure of celebrating my youngest grandbaby's first birthday.  Nisi will rule the world someday with her sister and cousins, I'm sure of it.  Her brother will look out after them.

Went to lunch Saturday with two women I hadn't seen in far too long.  We graduated together and haven't seen much of each other since.

We had the best damn time.  And yes, we are feral women.  We are powerful, outspoken, and intelligent.  We work hard, pay our bills, and know our worth.  We make no apologies for being ourselves.  Going to try and meet up once or twice a month now.  

Wrote over 5,000 words on Canary 2: DD yesterday.  I was in the flow and feeling fine.  Right around 20,000 words now.  Loving this story.  Mercenary Girl isn't loving life, but I'm here for her. 💕

It's been a wonderful past few days.  Hoping to continue the trend.  Have a lovely week!

Always writing*

Canary 2: DD

Queries for Canary-sent.  Working on Canary 2: DD.  Started September 1st.  Currently at 12,751 words.  Skipping about, but that's fine.  We go with whatever works.  Mercenary Girl is not doing well.  Her arc is concave and not convex.  

I would like some encouragement.  Feel like I'm paddling uphill with weights around my arms most days.  Me=busting my ass.  Party of one.  Is that whiny?  I don't think so.  People are continually told to suck it up.  No complaining.  Deal with it.  That's incredibly unhealthy.  So I'm throwing it out into the universe:  I need some encouragement!!!  🥳

Outside day tomorrow.  Working on the lawn and whatnot.  I'll get out early since Oklahoma is still hot as hell and trying to set record temps.  😒  The audacity.

Guess I'll get back to my smoothie and writing.

Have a Monday.  😐 That's all I got.

Always writing*

Eclectic

I often think of myself as a kaleidoscope.  Shine a light on me, and there's no telling what colors and patterns I'll show you. 

I store factoids like Pac-Man eats those little yellow dots.  I want more.  I NEED more.  Then I'll pop them off like those little plastic bottles where you pull the string and confetti blows out.  I'll surprise us both.  It's endlessly satisfying.  

It has come to the point now where my wife says, "I'm not surprised you know that."  And I laugh.  Because I read or saw or heard it somewhere.

Growing up in the seventies, I read everything I could get my hands on.  We had books about science at the house.  Do I enjoy science?  Some of it.  But I wanted to read.  So I read.  I read the dictionary.  It would give me the synonym for a word, I'd thumb to that page and then read from there.  Parents bought a set of encyclopedias.  You guessed it, my nose buried deep in those, too.

God, I love the Internet.  I had one of these:

Circa 1980.  I was eightish.  Words matched to definitions.  Spelling.  Learning all with words.  I loved this like no other.  🥳

I'll keep going down rabbit holes and learning about white matter, beyond the pale, and how to cook hearts of palm.

Never stop learning.

Always writing*

...and shining 🌞

  

And some days, we struggle.

It's been an off-week.  Doc appt eight yesterday morning.  Fasting lab.  Then drove to have lunch with a friend who is having a serious operation next Tuesday.  It was a three-hour lunch.  She needed to be able to talk, and I was more than happy to listen.  The Honey has been teleworking since her knees are being even worse than usual.  Replacements are scheduled.  The waiting is pure hell.

I'm out-of-sorts.  I don't do well with that.  Bad headaches the past three days.  That's the stress letting me know it's present and accounted for.  

I know some of it is my all or nothing mentality.  I spent Monday-Wednesday querying.  Literally 9-5.  Exhausting but obviously worth it.  I've been working on Canary 2 in bits and pieces as this week has not been temporaly kind.

Tomorrow is:  grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, trash, cleaning.  😑

Maybe I'll get my groove back Sunday.

Maybe.

Always writing*

...even in fits and starts

Editing

 Oh, the joy of...bullshit.  Utter bullshit.  I enjoy editing as far as tightening the story and choosing better words and phrases.  I like shading in areas I didn't have enough descriptives.  Yes.  Yes.  All that.

But do I enjoy editing as a whole?  It's tedious, and I have a hard time focusing sometimes on the smallest of things.  I find my mind wandering and have to go back, AGAIN, to try and read the damn paragraph over.  

I loathe writing the synopsis.  In comparison, editing is a walk in the park.  In the dark.  With an iffy flashlight.  

Am I writing this blog to simply bitch?  Why yes.  Yes, I am.  Instead of editing?  😑 Damn it.  

Always writing*

...except today.  Today I'm editing.

And it goes on and on and on...

Have that song in my head.  It's also appropriate.

Finished Mercenary Girl AKA "Canary" on Saturday with 73,169 words.  Letting it sit for around a week before I even glance at it again.  Now it's Tuesday, and I'm making notes on DD, which is the second book in the series.  There are scenes coming to me.  Dialogue, of course.  Because I can't simply sit and watch a show or read a book when my mind is engaged elsewhere.  

I promised myself long ago I wouldn't close the floodgates if I ever had the opportunity to leave them open.  Writing is what I'm happiest doing.  Yes, it's full-time all the time.  Yes, it keeps me awake and wakes me early.  Yes, I will drift off in mid-conversation while either of us is talking because I hear other things in my head.  It's the best.

I told the Honey the other day that if I were born in a different time, I would have been one of those women locked up in Bellevue Hospital with a piece of chalk happy as clam to write on the walls while I listened to the voices in my head.  I've no doubt I would have ended up somewhere neurodivergent people were placed.

Now I'm off to make more notes and maybe even jot down a beginning to the continuation of MG's story.  She thinks she only has a few ends to tie up, but that's never quite the case, is it?  Because the story only darkens farther until she's not even sure there was any light to begin with.

Always writing*

It's about that time

I always know for certain it's time to wrap up a book when I start on another.  MG is around 5000-7000 out, but I'm already making notes and writing scenes for DD which is MG:  Book 2.  It's not a conscious thought.  I simply switch gears and begin incorporating story into scenes and dialogues I'll use.

Bad news?  I was doing that while trying to fall asleep last night.  Because of course I was.  When the good stuff comes, you don't stop it.  You let it flow.  It's like floating in a warm bath full of sparkles and relaxing music all around.  As hard as my brain was working, it's completely relaxing.  It's literally in the flow.  You're not riding the wave.  You ARE the wave.

DD is much darker.  You can't completely destroy one's reality and think they'll bounce back like those damn rubbery balls.  Resilience is one thing.  Actuality is another.  Our girl is the reigning champion of pulling herself up.  But she doesn't realize there's been a foot on her neck the entire time.

Don't want to leave my girl in limbo.  Give her a little happiness before I show her what she's really up against.  Wish us luck.

Always writing*

Monday? Again??

About 1500 words shy of 70,000 words on Mercenary Girl.  That's my good news.  Several things to do this week.  Will I finish this book one?  This month, certainly.  This week?  Eh.  Even if I "finish", I'll still have editing.  And while MG marinates?  Either "Incantation" or MG Book 2.  Or...the erotic romance bouncing around in my head right now.  Or two of the three.  🤔

Funny thing is that I'm not writing any sex scenes right now.  Usually I have a romance I'm playing with.  I've been focused on finishing MG since "Chimera."  Apparently I need to have a steady diet of both.  I've been writing short erotic fan fiction in a group I'm in on FB.  😁  They appreciate my efforts.  🥳🎉

That's me.  Today.  About to make that smoothie, change my clothes, and begin the day.  Hope you have a good one!

Always writing*

...or editing

It's been a week

 Last two days=hell.

I've been trying to take Mercenary Girl over 60,000 words since Monday.  Finally stumbled over, barely, yesterday.  I'm now looking at finishing around 75,000 words total.  I've a major scene to write today with a twist.  Love those.  👀  I'd like to finish at 65,000 today, if my everything can keep up.  

Starting earlier than usual.  Sipping on my energizing smoothie.  Already have both fans on.  Going to be another hot one.  Rather looking forward to the actual cool down.  Sunday looks quite lovely.

Here's my view when I'm writing:

I love it beyond words.  💖

Always writing*

Feeling myself

I believe we've discussed my slight obsession with post-it notes.  My desk is currently filled with them from mouse pad all the way to the end of my desk.  I use the pink ones to keep my word count for MG.  I write the title, date, start word count, and finished word count.  

August 1st, I was sitting at 32,723 words.  It's August 14th, and I'm starting at 56,482 today.  Hope to break 60,000.  Pretty sure I will.  Another 15,000-20,000 after that, and I should be finished with this first book of three.

Consistency.

Some days I want to write so bad, and I only eke out a couple thousand words.  Yesterday started slow, and I was displeased.  Finally picked up in the afternoon, and I finished with 4,041 for the day.  Like to think I'll manage that today.

This is my current love affair.  As an author, you fall in love with your works over and over again.  I suppose that's why some authors write multiple works at once.  I do no more than three, but I usually only stick with two.  In all fairness, I focus on one with one in the background.  But being in love is everything.  That's what writing is.  Being in love.  It's intoxicating.  

I'll toddle back to MG.  She's having a bit of a moment right now, and I'm enjoying every second of it.

Always writing*    

Blue Dot

I was not born with an inner compass.  I can turn myself around in a Kohl's.  When I lose myself in the city, I pull up Maps and blue dot myself.  As in, oh!  Crystal is here.  No word on how many times that has happened.  Though I do pull over when I do this.

Yesterday, it was a bit cooler in the morning, and I decided to take a walk in the neighborhood.  My usual is basically a straight line there and back twice.  About a 5K.  But this is Oklahoma, and by God, let's have construction falling out of our asses.  EVEN in my neighborhood.  😡

I decide to turn right instead of going straight into the workers only to discover that I can't turn right or left at the end of that block.  It only curves around to the right.  A lot.  Of curves.  I come out not knowing where in the hell I'm located.  I look left.  Right.  Forward.  Check out street signs.  Squint.

Ah.  Two blocks down.  That's my main road.  I hadn't walked long enough.  I turn left.  Music is playing.  I'm seeing roads I've never seen before.  I continue.  THEN...I get excited.  I have something in me that kicks in which I will call my "wild hair."  When this happens, everything else goes to hell.  Mostly, my common sense.  

I think I'm on the road where there is this really neat little body of water that snakes through our housing place.  Keep in mind, I have to walk back the way I came.  I have forgotten this sweet little tidbit at this point in time.

And...I was right!  Since I'm there, I may as well walk up that little hill to the main road and then turn around.  Sure.  Great.  Fantastic.

Oh.  Indeed.

Moderation and I are on nodding terms.  I don't remember walking halfway down on the way there.  I will, however, remember walking UP most the way home.  My hips, today, are also being kind enough to remind me.

Would I do it again?  I'm actually looking at Friday for another jaunt.  My wild hair and I are excited.

Always writing*

...with my sore-ass hips

Killing someone today

Twice, when I've killed characters, I've known when I created them.  Name.  Description.  Then the realization.  Oh, shit.  This character is going to die.

Today is a hell of a lot more delicate.  The scene is massive.  

There will be a huge fight scene, character introductions, and a major character death.  I fucking feel like a writer for Marvel™.

Currently eating my granola and yogurt, trying to pump myself up to ruin my day.  Because as much as readers will mourn characters who pass, it's the writers who will carry that grief for a lifetime.  We created them.  Loved them.  They will always be a part of us.  

"Kill your darlings."

Fucking awesome.  Pass me the damn Kleenex.

Always writing*

...and killing people today, I guess.

Feeling accomplished

 Wanted to write two major scenes on Mercenary Girl.  Wrote one.  BUT...wrote 5,091 words.

🥳🎉

Feeling pretty damn froggy, my friends.  Makes for an incredibly happy Sunday and happy me.

Hope yours has gone good, as well.

Always writing*

Busy Sunday

 Been awake since six.  Up since six-thirty.  That's borderline heinous in my world.  Not a morning person, but I've roughly a million things to do today, and I'm excited about all of it.

Two major scenes for Mercenary Girl.  One will gut me.  The other will soothe my soul.  Such is the way of the writing world.  

Sundays have always been productive writing days for me.  Something about the low-key pace, I think.  Drinking my smoothie with energizer powder.  Let's be realistic here.  I'll need all the help I can get.  But I feel it's going to be a good one.

My desk is lit up.  Fans blowing.  Desktop covered with pastel post-it notes.  Feels like home.

Always writing*

...when the smoothie kicks in

Simba

 I love this little heathen.  He has a long backstory, but suffice it to say he has my heart.  In case you wonder who keeps me company when I'm writing.

Taken today, in my office, the Sanctuary.

Always writing*

...and admiring Simba

I'm working

I take my writing incredibly seriously.  I work on it from eight in the morning until four or five in the evening.  I do break for smoothies and meals.  I blog every few days.  I need to pick up Twitter again.  I query.  I research.  I make notes.  I work.

Writing is serious.  Four to five thousand words is a good day.  Three thousand is average.  Anything less is a bit disappointing.  Unless I've made up for it in notes or queries.

Yes.  I did retire from an eight-to-five job.  But I have another one.  A more important one.  I'm not watching Netflix or Amazon Prime, eating bonbons, and lounging in my pajamas.  

I'm not sure if any other person, besides a writer, understands the complexity and immersion of being one.  Probably a good thing.  Also a lonely thing.  

I'll be in my Sanctuary over here.  Writing books.  Having adventures.  Weaving words and worlds.  Living in my head and yours.  This is everything.  

Shhhhh...I'm working.

Always writing*

Empathy

I'm an empath.  It's the reason I can't watch game shows or reality TV.  My stress and anxiety is palpable because I absorb what the people are feeling.  I didn't last one season of "Grey's Anatomy" because I sobbed every damn episode, and it wore me down.  The episode Bailey cried?  Yep.  Color me done.

Would love to watch "John Wick" because I love action movies and Keanu Reeves is brilliant.  But...*spoiler*...they kill the dog.  I never got over that.  I would have to skip over that part.  Can't seem to make myself watch it.

However...it helps me as an author.

I'm in each scene.  I AM the scene.  Every action and reaction.  Each character's happiness, fear, hope, and uncertainty.  I need to feel it to make the reader feel it.  Sometimes I need to step away from the laptop.  Push back away from the heavier emotions.  I've made myself cry more than once.  Laugh more than once.  Been so mad at a character I wanted to meet them outside to throw hands.  😑 😄  

That's the life.  The investment.  I can't imagine wanting to do anything else.  I don't want to.  

Going to sit down with my Mercenary Girl this morning.  Writing a scene that occurs later in the book.  Not pretty.  But we'll make it.

Always writing*      

5 Year Accidentversary

 Five years ago, I had an extremely bad accident.  A young man in an orange truck decided to investigate my backseat in the rudest way possible.

They had to cut my short ass out of Pearl, my beautiful car.  I remember bits and pieces.  Apparently there was a young man, an off-duty EMT, who saw the entire thing and rushed over, before any emergency vehicles, to check on me.  Put a shirt under my bleeding head.  I gave him my phone passcode, told him my wife's name, and he called her.  I remember him telling me my head was bleeding a lot and sliding the shirt under it.  That's it.  I wish I knew who he was.  I owe him my thanks.

Next thing I remember is the fire department reclining my driver's side seat and cutting me out through the seat behind me.  They covered my face while doing so.  My claustrophobia and anxiety have skyrocketed since then, thanks.  I can remember the sound of the saw.

Now I'm in an ambulance.  Mo is keeping me company.  He wants to put a neck brace on me.  I come back to myself in time to ask him to please not because I'm claustrophobic.  Then they're wheeling me into the hospital.  The medical personnel grabbing me wonder why I don't have a neck brace on, and Mo tells them I'm claustrophobic.  Go Mo!  

They wheel me in for a CAT scan.  I remember telling one young gentleman I thought he was adorable.  Yes.  I flirt when I have a concussion and nearly died.  Don't judge.  😇  

Then I'm in a room waiting on results.  Then the Honey is there.  My thoughts go 'round on a carousel.  I'm in.  I'm out.  We call the kids.  My middle one cries.  That hurts me.  But it's a better call than the alternative.

Here I am.  Five years later.  Married to the Honey seven years in October.  FIVE gbabies who own my heart and soul.  Three beautiful children I'm blessed to have.  Still kicking.  Ever-so-grateful even for the chronic pain, rough days, and the clouds.  

Because there are hugs, kisses, laughter, words, music, and the totality of this world I'm still a part.

Always writing*

...and living

It's a beautiful day!

 Music lives in my soul and branches out into all areas of my life.  I'll find new songs or be reminded of old, and I revel in them.  

One of the prevalent the past few days is "I'm Feeling Good" by Michael Bublé.  My God!  The swing.  The brass.  The sheer feel of it.  Snapping my fingers and feeling every beat.  Niiiiice. 

Day-trippin' yesterday up to Tulsa.  Hit up Gardner's, Oklahoma's Largest Used Bookstore.  Found a few books for my gbabies.  There is one book that I need to come back around to me.  Been decades since I've seen it.  I've looked all over, of course.  Don't remember the name or author.  Of course.  Still on the search.

Then Savastano's for late lunch/early dinner.  Appetizers were great.  Brought home most of my pizza.  

Today, since the sun won't be melting my skin off, I'm grocery shopping and then coming home and writing.  Only in the EIGHTIES!!!  Not the hateful hundreds.  Thank goodness.

Hoping for another lovely one.  And here's hoping yours is as well.

Always writing!

...and eating leftover pizza  

Saturday Saturday

 I am, once again, scantily clad with two fans blowing on me.  Believe me, nothing about this is remotely sexy.  I'd rather have pajama pants, my Kermit slippers, and a T-shirt on.  😑

Writing is the only item on the agenda today! *dancing*  

Okay.  While I was writing yesterday, the key to the entire series came to me.  Three beautiful lines that will dictate every action made.  Now.  I know what my trilogies are about.  I don't throw out a number and then frantically scramble around and try to make it work.  That's called being short-sighted, and I have enough shit going on without stressing myself out.  

But this clarity in these few words?  I literally pushed back from my desk and wallowed in the rightness of it.  Basked in the clarity.

Writers like to label themselves.  I don't like to label anything, and I sure as hell do NOT like to be labeled.  I both plot and freestyle.  I loathe the word "pantster."  I do NOT write by the seat of my pants.  Mad love to those who do.  I'm not knocking anyone.  Nor do I jot down the minutiae.

I use OneNote.  I have different tabs for characters and locations.  I can paste in pictures and type in dialogue as it comes to me.  

For example:  The Rivers Sisters Series has their own notebook.  Each book has their own tab.  Then underneath each tab are pages.  Megan's story, "Fascination", has a page where I posted visuals to represent the wild child's stories.

Here we have Megan, quite young, completely done with her red curly hair.  She decides to try a spell to straighten it.  And she does.  Into sticks.  I love her so much.

I'm a visual person, and I enjoy being able to use this tool to enrich my storytelling.  When my brain meanders, and I pick up a scene or dialogue from another story, I open the tab and jot it down so it's not lost.  That is one of the worst feelings in a writer's life.  Losing a piece of a tale that you swore you would remember.  Aches like a bad memory.

Now that I've prattled on a bit, I really AM off to weave words and let my mercenary girl have an extraordinarily unpleasant day.  😣

Always writing!

Mercenary Girl

This will be the public working title for my dark trilogy.  I'm superstitious about throwing the title out there with too much information.  It's simply how I am.  And while she is not strictly mercenary, it fits.

I'm averaging 3500-4500 words a day I spend working on it.  As soon as I'm done blogging, I'm back at it.  Little over 25,000 words now.  When I need a breather, I'll pop over to "Incantation", or possibly an erotic short story.  Man, I love the words. 😍   

It's hotter than the devil's hemorrhoid here in Oklahoma.  I'm sitting in my office with a ceiling fan, a floor fan, and not a lot of clothes on.  Give it a couple of hours, and I'll be sweating, no matter what effort the central heat/air is putting out.

It's funny, I'd stepped away from my laptop the other day.  Walked into the kitchen for a drink.  I'm mid-pour into my little mug, and a scene pops into my head.  And the dual  process delights the hell out of me.  What're you doing, Crystal?  Drinking milk and writing.  But you're simply standing there.

I said what I said. 😎

Down the rabbit hole I went.  Apparently your brain has a two-task limit.  If you add another task, your prefrontal cortex will discard one.  Utterly fascinating.  Love learning new things.  Off to weave worlds and words.

Always writing!

Newton's First Law of Motion

A body in motion stays in motion.  I've discovered that to be quite true.  Two weeks into retirement, and I'm restless if I'm not doing something.  

I have a chronic pain disorder, and if I am NOT in motion, and I land somewhere, it's entirely too easy to stay there.  I'm not about that life.  I would rather be sore from deep-cleaning the house, trimming trees, hauling soil in a wheelbarrow, or a host of other physical activities.  Or planted in front of my computer weaving words and worlds.  Ideally, a nice mix of the two.  

I've started calling the days of my week "indoor" or "outdoor."  With it being a balmy 108 here in Oklahoma, those outdoor days start early and finish before noon.  Then I find something inside to do.  The indoor days find me in front of my computer working on one of the two dominant stories I'm focusing on right now.  I have an Erotic Romance short story nagging on me.  Oh, hell.  And another one.  Wait.  I could make a nice quartet out of them.  Wow.  That just came to me.  Love my wee brain sometimes.  Let me jot.  Okay.  Jotted.  How exciting!  🥳

But my major focus is Book One of a dark trilogy about a young female shapeshifting assassin and her siblings.  They are trying to find all of their brethren their homicidal fairy mother discarded in favor of keeping those offspring that showed her talent for murder.  Because their dear mother wants to start and win a war over the fairies and rule by death and destruction.  The war has already begun.

My other focus is on Book Four, Incantation, of my Rivers Sisters series.  Paisley, the youngest of the Rivers, botched a love spell when she was twelve and has been paying for it since.  But she's not the only one.  Those few words ruined another life.  They're about to cross paths, and neither has any idea of the consequences.  But power is up for grabs, and new players enter the game and will stop at nothing to take what they want.    

I have a group on FB that I've let go due to, you know...life.  Going to resurrect that.  I really don't know about Twitter.  So easy to become lost in all the chatter.  I'm useless on Instagram.  Maybe TikTok.  My problem is that I click on that damn app, and I am GONE.  😂  Rather defeats the purpose.  Ah, well.  I'll ponder all of this.   But for now, I'll leave you with a picture of my latest purchases.  They make my heart happy.  

Always writing*

no...really 😁

Querying Agents

As there is an art to writing, there is an art to querying agents.  When I told friends that I finished writing a book and was querying agents, they assumed it would be a quick process.  God bless their wee hearts.  

Querying an agent is like speed dating without the speed.  You both have something to offer, and you're trying to find a match.  Each agent, and rightfully so, will want something different from the author.  Some will want a query, a synopsis, and the first ten pages.  Others may want a query and the first fifty pages.  This is their method to see if they are interested enough to ask for more of the book.  Oh.  You didn't think there was an immediate offer of representation, did you?  Bless YOUR wee heart.  It's a true collaboration between two people wanting the same thing.

I've put out queries for "Chimera" and am still waiting to hear from probably two-thirds of the agents I queried.  But I received truly the best email of non-representation ever.  Let me share a bit:

Dear Crystal,  

 

I’m honored to be one of the agents you considered to represent your hard work. Unfortunately, though your premise is intriguing, I don’t feel as invested in the overall project as I need to be its best champion, and so I'm going to pass.  

*******

First of all, "honored."  She is "honored."  That's a nod to my hard work of banging my head and fingers against the keyboard to create a story I love with my soul and want to share with the world.  Then she goes on to say that my premise is "intriguing."  That's my little boost right there.  Thank you for taking the time to comment on my work.  It's beyond appreciated.  Then she says she doesn't feel she can be its best champion.

And I say thank you.

That's what the author needs.  That's what we're looking for.  A champion.  

I will DIE on that hill for this book.  Give my last breath.  My last heartbeat.  And I'm looking for someone willing to do the same.  That's what an agent will do for the author.  It's a collaboration, a marriage of sorts, between the two where they both work their hardest for the work.  

Still looking for my match.  But he/she is out there.  Because, as I've always said:  A good book will find a home.  Don't ever give up on yourself or your work.

Always writing*

One week out

 I've been "retired" from the day job for one week.  I've also deep-cleaned 92% of the house, mowed the lawn, trimmed the trees, and kept myself remarkably busy.  Cleaning the Sanctuary now.  My office.  I'm on Day 3.  I'd put everything from my other desk in here, plus every other thing I didn't know where to place.  I can finally see the carpet again.  But I still need to clean off my desk and bookshelves.  And...dust.  Man, I am NOT a duster.  I don't mind laundry, dishes, or vacuuming.  But dusting?  The result is great.  The process?  😑

That's how I'm spending my day today.  Cleaning the Sanctuary.  Probably at least today and one more day since I'm moving and dusting everything.  I'm not a knick-knack person, but I've some of those in here.  I've a row of baby ceramic kitten an inch high.  I had to have them.  Now I have to dust them.  😊

Tomorrow is a bit cooler.  I'll probably make that an outside day.  At least early on.  Mid-nineties instead of hundreds.  *sigh*  

But.  About mid-week, I should be able to settle my ass right back into my office and completely focus back on the writing.  It's simply been a major upheaval with leaving the day job of 16 years and shuffling everything and readjusting (I still am).  Going to be a bit before I'm steady and have a routine that I can be comfortable with and trust.  But I'm getting there.  Things are finally falling into place, and it's a wonderful feeling.  It's an imperceptible click.  A feeling of rightness.  It's the same feeling I get when I'm writing and in the flow.  It's a knowing.  There's nothing better.

Always writing*

Even though right now I'm cleaning 😂  

In a mood

 My mood dictates my writing.  I was in one this morning.  Dark but not too dark.  Was going to go with "C" but decided that really was a bit too much this morning.  "Incantation" it is.  Conflict scenes.  The right amount of static to fit my mood.

Words of wisdom to myself:  Do NOT open iCloud and start playing with stories you've started in lieu of simply opening up one of the three you are seriously writing now.  You will piss yourself off that they are not finished...hate when that happens, and you will have wasted time not writing on one that you know you'll publish in a couple months.  DO NOT take you phone into the bathroom with you.  TIK TOK is the devil.  Fifteen minutes later, my legs are numb, and still no writing.  sigh...

Good news?  Working on "Incantation" and probably putting some words down on Book Five, "Transformation".  Makes me happy. 😁

Always writing*

Saturday Saturday

This is it.  My last Saturday to work at the day job. 🎉  When I say it's weird...it's weird.  I have an Exit Interview planned.  I need to clean up my desk here.  I don't have a lot of stuff, but I need to pick a day to take most of it home.  I'm here two more weeks, and I don't want it completely bare, though.  🤔

I feel like I'm stuck at the in-between.  The "long goodbye" as the Honey calls it.  I want to dive into the writing, but I'm still tethered to the day job for a few.  Also want to work a few rooms around the house.  The Sun Room needs a bit of sprucing.  And the living room needs some rearranging, as well.  That makes me excited.  Sometimes, besides the writing, I think I've almost forgotten what that's like.  

Have a lovely Saturday.  Bury your nose in a book for me. 💓

Always writing*