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 😂