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*