TamboWrites

January Challenge - Day 29

2012-01-29T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

This time I'm supposed to post my favorite song. Frankly, it's a toss-up between two classics, both of which are below.

And

The Eagles and Skynyrd. You betcha.

January Challenge - Day 28

2012-01-28T00:44:00.002-06:00

Gak.
Just gak.

I took this picture on my 47th birthday last summer. I can't remember what we were doing that day - likely not much. And it was humid - see how curly the mop is? I usually have that brushed out or at least contained.

Since then I've lost 22 lbs. I've become a grandmother. I've shed much of the writing angsty shit that's paralyzed me for so long. I've mourned a beloved pet. I've worried endless sleepless nights over my husband and his new job. I've done my best to reclaim myself and not be what and how other people expect me to be.

It's been quite a year. lol

January Challenge - Day 27

2012-01-27T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

It's been twenty seven days, and I haven't missed a one. Been a bit late a couple of times (frankly, I've been fighting a crappy-ass headache and cold and have been going to bed much earlier, which screws up my evening routine, so I've written a couple of posts in the morning instead of the night before, but I still think that's 'on time'. Right?) but have not missed a single day, or a single post.

Why, then, am I doing this, this crazy, self-absorbed 30 day challenge?

For a few rather specific reasons, most of which involve my introversion.

To start, I'm trying to decide how I will approach social media in the future. I've pretty much abandoned Facebook because it was getting too personal, too invasive, and, frankly, too nasty. Bad words and bad attitudes seem to breed there like lice on a gradeschooler's head. And I know about that, because we fostered three kids back in 2007 and I have HORROR stories about the nasty things.

The lice, not the kids. The kids were pretty much awesome.

Anyway, Facebook was not a good fit for me (not only the negativity, but the time suck), and I don't think Twitter is either. I'm not clever enough for Twitter (nor do I have anywhere to tweet from other than my desktop puter which kind of defeats the purpose, I think) and I just don't get it. I've tried - and am, kinda, still trying - but... Damn. Most of the stuff in my feed I simply do. not. care. about. I don't. I try, but I don't. I pretty much consistently like Wil Wheaton's tweets, and TheBloggess as well as a few others, but I really don't give a flippity do about politics (the one reasonably-minded candidate I did like dropped out already so this fall's choices will once again be shitty and shittier. Yay for the USA! Again.) I don't follow sports. I don't care for the seemingly endless marketing and promotion from fellow writers (Good God, do NOT let me do that shit when M sells), and, well, I don't feel like I fit in. Re: I am not clever especially not in 140 characters or whatever.

So that leaves Google+ and - in theory - blogging.

G+ is all right, so far, but I'm really not all that involved. I read my friends' posts, usually, and it's certainly a lot more adult and mature than Facebook, but it doesn't have any urgency or zing, either. And most of my friends aren't there. So, shit, I dunno. Even the one game I played, Triple Town, has fizzled for me since they 'improved' it.

That leaves the blog. I was kinda getting into this blogging every day thing until my darling husband asked me night before last why I was bothering because 'isn't blogging dead?'.

Oh, gee, thanks, honey. I'm trying to get back into a habit of communicating with the outside world, so let's just kick it in the knee and watch it twitch.

For those of you who don't already know this, I am damn near a hermit. A stay at home wife/mom/writer/quilter who generally considers it an exciting day if I go to the grocery store and Target on the same day.

I'm not exaggerating much.

Anyway, I am shy, okay? Introverted. I don't like noise, don't like crowds, don't like unfamiliar places and events and hullabaloo. I can backspace when I type online, make little tweaks, not stick my foot in my proverbial mouth every 28 seconds. Sure, sure, once I know someone and feel comfortable around them, you can't shut me up - just ask people who actually know me - but, mostly, I'm quiet. Silent. Blogging is okay with that, most social media is not. The demand (real or perceived) by various social media outlets is to post frequently, comment often, and share, share, SHARE!! I'm not good at that, unless of course it's on my own terms.

And let me assure you all here and now that despite the open, genial, conversational tone of this blog and most of my online interactions, I don't share as much as folks might believe.

I don't talk about my family other than in the most general of terms. I don't talk about Bill's job. I don't talk about my job. I don't talk about our house or where we live or what problems are making us lose sleep this week. I don't talk about health issues (other than my own safe ones - re: allergies and rosacea) and I don't talk about personality conflicts and troubles that erupt in my life. I do have them, btw, just like everyone else.

That shit's private. My goofy pets, a small fraction of my sewing projects, and some of the stupid messes I find myself in are acceptable blogging fodder, at least for me. They're also boring as hell, surely, which is another reason I accepted this challenge.

It's dragging me out of my comfort zone, at least a little.

As an introvert, the exquisite horror and shame of posting my own freaking picture, several times, was almost debilitating. Some times my hands shook as I hit 'publish' and I can say with absolute certainty that I never, ever would have uploaded any of them if they had not been demanded by the schedule. Shudder.

It wasn't just the pictures, but other things as well. This challenge nudged me into writing about things, even obliquely, that I tend to avoid. But I bit the bullet and only turned away from posts that might hurt people I care about. If it hurt me, eh, suck it up, Tam.

Another aspect of this challenge was the daily nature of it. A big part of me wants to keep a regular interaction with my online friends, far flung family (most of whom are on Facebook. Sigh. Miss you guys!!) and the fans.

Yes, the fans.

I love my fans - well, all but the crazy stalker ones who worry me - and I really do enjoy interacting with you all. I do my best to answer every fan email that comes in - including the 'you and your writing and characters and stories suck donkey balls dipped in dog shit!' letters. I figure, if someone who's read the Dubric books takes the time to write to me, I shall make the time to respond. Heck, even the obvious crackpots who write their emails in crayon (and, yes, I've had several of those) get a thank you for taking the time to contact me note.

I have been taking - for me at least - huge steps to get back into writing for publication again. I've talked and emailed back and forth with my agent more this past year than during the whole 'Dubric Books Publication Saga'. I want to work again and, perhaps more importantly, my brain wants to work again. It's all healed up and raring to go out there and tell stories.

This blog challenge is part of that, my regular interaction with the story telling part of my brain, and the people who read it. I will finish two novels this year, maybe three next year. It's all about habits, and this blog is a habit, too. Blog something, even just a short note, every day for a month. Read something. Write something.

They say it takes a month to set a habit into place. For me, that was the main purpose of this challenge and I think I've managed it fairly well.

It's almost over though, but I intend to keep it going through February. I will admit that the topics and focus will surely be different and will not include photographs of me. Enough of them have been inflicted upon the interwebs already. ;)

Does anyone have any comments - good or bad - about this blog challenge and how it's played out here on TamboWrites?

January Challenge - Day 26

2012-01-26T07:18:00.002-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

What do I think about my friends?

I love them, every one.

Some, like LeAnne, I've known for damn near forever - we met in college when we were too young to know any better. Kat BM and Michele I've known almost as long. My life-long friends and I might go months without talking, but we always pick up right where we left off as if we'd seen each other every single day. Some, like Kat F, I've known only a short while but we just kinda click. Most (Sam, Josh, Jean, Monica, Stuart, Catie, Joely, Virginia, Sara, Tanya, Gretchen, and on an on - I wish I could list you all!) I've known somewhere between. I'd do anything for any of them.

My friends help me with my books, and they help me with my life and all the crazy wackiness that seems to land randomly on my head. Most are online, but I've met quite a lot of them. Heck, I'm having lunch with Jean in a couple of weeks as she drives through Iowa, and she's from Texas. This will be our third get together. I've met friends from Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Canada, and Australia in person. Also New Hampshire, Kansas, Texas, Minnesota, Massachusetts, Arizona, and lots of other places in the states.

My friends rock!

{{huggs}}

January Challenge - Day 25

2012-01-25T09:07:00.001-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

We're in the pink today as I tell you what you'd find in my bag.

I thought - briefly - about being clever (bag of tricks, a quilt project bag, bag of potatoes, bag of groceries, laptop bag, etc) but decided to just take the simple, straightforward approach instead.

So, here's my purse.

I tell everyone I bought it at
Mrs. T's Mercantile,
one of the coolest quilt shops in Northern Iowa

It's pink, as promised, and while it's a smidge bigger than I tend to prefer, it's working out really well for me, probably because I don't carry much in it and it holds my sunglasses so I don't have to carry them separately. Most of the pockets - including both on the sides - are totally empty.

From the top. ;)

Actually, I keep only 2 things in pockets. My debit card, and notecards. Everything else is in the main compartment.

Ooooh. Two Avon lipstick samples! Forgot I had those!

Other than an occasional receipt, this is what I port around every day. I made the blue wallet, Michele gave me the worry-doll change purse, I keep the sunglasses with me (won them on the radio back in 2005? 2006?) because my eyes are super light-sensitive after being lasered a couple of years ago, and I always have a little lotion, lip balm, ibuprofen, and cold pills. Add the checkbook, postynotes, some pens, my bank card, hair pick (circa 1986 lol), truck keys (car keys are in my coat pocket) and a scrunchie, and I'm good to go.

Does any item surprise you? Anything you expected to see, but isn't there?

January challenge - Day 24

2012-01-24T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

If you're following along the list, you know that today's post is supposed to be a letter to my parents.

Okay, then.

Um.

**cue chirping crickets**

Ahem.

Since I love my mother and it's best not to annoy the dead, I am going to respectfully decline to participate in today's meme.

Tomorrow, though, I shall empty my purse (it's PINK!!) for y'all and take pics. :)

January Challenge - Day 23

2012-01-23T01:12:00.002-06:00

I gave it up, cold turkey, months ago and I miss it terribly. There are lots of days, especially if I'm feeling stressed or blue, that I want one. Really, really bad.

Sigh.

I love the stuff, but it's bad for me, my depression, my skin, and my overall health. No pop at all for me anymore - diet or regular. It's just unsweetened iced tea or flavored water.

Dammit.

January Challenge - Day 22

2012-01-22T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

What makes me different from everyone else?

Gak, that's an awful question and I don't know if it's really answerable.

I'm tall. 5'9", ish, but lots of people are tall. Left-dominant ambidextrous, delightfully married, mother of one, ditzy, natural blonde, curly hair, blueish eyes, need to drop a pile of pounds... again, lots of people are those things. Lots of people are artists and writers and love to cook. Lots of people like animals, have lived their whole lives in Iowa, straddle the middle fence politically speaking, believe in God but not organized religion, and have a thing for old houses.

I, like about a third of Americans, can drive a manual transmission. I like Big Bang Theory. I hate things that are dirty but I tend to be cluttery. Used to suffer from nightmares and insomnia, but lately not so much. And, oh, I have sinus allergies - likely because of my cats, but tough shit, I'm not giving them up, pass the Sudafed. Nothing unusual there.

Hmm.

I've been a foster parent - loved the kids, hated dealing with the state and all the wretched rules and mazes. I write to-do lists and drink unsweetened iced tea almost daily. I sing when I cook. Sometimes. Before I got old and creaky, I could put my feet behind my head and I can still put my palms flat on the floor behind my feet. Well, almost behind them. I was in a car accident (a couple of them, actually) and I still have trouble with whiplash. I'm an owner, not a renter, my ears are pierced but I almost never wear earrings, and only own three pairs of shoes - tennies, flats, and sandals.

Um. Shit. That's all boring, normal stuff.

I guess I'm normal and boring. Maybe admitting that makes me different? Your guess is as good as mine.

January Challenge - Day 21

2012-01-21T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

Today's challenge is to post a picture of something that makes me happy. There are so, so many things to choose from, but I thought I'd share something that's a really important part of my creative life.

Quilting.

My shelved batik fat quarters.
I have more in yardage and fat quarters stored with various projects.
Lots more.

I am a fabric junkie, especially batiks. The photo above is almost entirely batik fat quarters (made from cutting a half-yard piece in half again crosswise) it's my primary batik working stash, and it's about one half of one shelf in my fabric closet. There are close to 300 fat quarters in that picture - there are 27 whites, for example, stacked on the right - plus I have lots of other fat quarter batiks in bags with various projects, and I have stacks and stacks of batik yardage on another shelf. But I look at my batik shelf, and it always makes me smile.

I don't just sew with batiks - they are my favorite, though! - but with all kinds of cotton prints. I generally don't do solids and I honestly don't think I even have any anymore - a tone on tone works better for me.

Most of my quilts have black backgrounds and Hoffman 1898 Ink Batik is by far my favorite fabric (it's a black-black with a blue undertone) and I usually buy it at Quilter's Cupboard because they stock it and, if it's sold out, they happily order it for me and ship it (so far) for free. Heck, any place that I can call from a hundred some miles away and say, 'Hey, it's Tammy and I'm out of black again' and they know EXACTLY who I am and what I'm talking about is a damn great quilt shop.

When I first started sewing, I bought almost all of my fabric at a BenFranklin store not far from where we lived (because it was really inexpensive and we were broke), but now I shop almost entirely in quilt shops and I pay a lot more attention to the fabric and its color than how much it costs.

There are about 40 different blacks in this quilt's background
and I lost count how many other fabrics (80 some, I think). All batik.
Photo by Roni Rork from our 2010 quilt show.
Quilt in the collection of Stuart MacBride, Aberdeen Scotland

Here's another picture of the same quilt, with my super quilting helper (damn, I still miss her!) that shows some of the background fabrics better.

Malaysia always helped me put on binding.
Can you see some of the different black fabrics?
She's laying on the lower left corner of the whole quilt shown above.

I am a scrappy quilter in that I tend to use a LOT of different fabrics in any given quilt instead of choosing a few coordinating fabrics, but there is usually a method to the apparent madness. First, I almost never use 'scraps', the leftover bits and pieces from other projects, although I do dip into my scrap stash if I need just a smidge of something I'm otherwise out of. No, I go to my stash in the closet, ponder awhile, and start pulling fabric which I then custom cut as the quilt demands. 40-80 fabrics in a quilt are not uncommon for me, and I think the most I'd used in one quilt was over 400.

There are approximately eighty background fabrics alone.
I made it for us, and it's the only bed size quilt I kept.

I don't just 'scrap' the main pieces, I use a variety of background fabrics, too. In the quilt above, I intended to make a red and tan quilt, but there are a lot of fabrics that aren't red, or tan, but the quilt reads as red and tan because of careful attention to color and value. The backgrounds in this quilt range from bright white to coffee and all of the potential varieties between. There is one solid tan triangle, just one, everything else in the quilt is a print or a batik.

Sometimes my preference to 'go scrappy' drives other people a bit crazy. I made the quilt below during a class taught by the pattern's designer and she was pretty insistent that scrappy would not work for the pattern and I needed to choose 3 or 5 fabrics. I think it turned out great.

About 40 fabrics, all batik.

I don't always go scrappy, or batik. This next quilt is neither. Despite having 100 fabrics, it's actually made from one charm pack, 100 5 inch squares from the Fossil Fern fabric line, and they are prints, every one of them. I liked it so much I kept it, and it hangs over my sewing desk. :)

Charm Dance Color Wash,
and, yes, this is where I sew. :)

I'd like to take a moment to mention that most of the quilts I make are smallish - wall hangings, table runners, bags, book covers, and baby quilts. I sew one bed sized quilt a year, on average, but dozens of the smaller things. Also, I give almost everything I sew away. I have - in my possession - one bed quilt, two table runners and four wall hangings that I've made (two of which are in this post). Everything else, 15-25 projects a year, I give away. Yep, you read that right, I give them away. I don't do commissions, I don't make them to sell, I make them for specific people or reasons. I donate some for fund raisers or charities, but almost all go to people. Always. So don't try to talk me into making one for money, it isn't going to happen. I have my reasons and they're not open for negotiation.

Sometimes I see a fabric that just screams a particular person. Sometimes there's a compelling reason to make one (like a baby on the way). Sometimes I see a pattern and think Oooh! I know who would love that!! Then and only then do I sew.

The last quilt I want to show is the most recent baby quilt I made, for my friend LeAnne's daughter, Katie, and her newborn daughter, Kitsune.

Kit's quilt, from a Moda Bakeshop pattern.
One charm pack, one background fabric.

Those little triangles are folded fabric and it's soooo CUTE!!!

So there you go, a quick survey of my quilting. I quilt because it makes me happy.

January Challenge - Day 20

2012-01-20T00:30:00.000-06:00

He messed up his hair and squinted like a Grumpy Old Man
all for this post. Isn't he awesome?

It's been a fantastic 23 years and we have at least another 40 ahead of us, if not more. Love you babe!

January Challenge - Day 19

2012-01-19T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

I'm supposed to talk about my nickname and why I have it in this blog post, but it seems rather silly since I already explained it.

So, please refer to Challenge Post #2 for the full story, but I'm Tambo because of a song that Bill sang when we were dating.

Fwiw, looks like tomorrow will be a really short post, too. ;)

January Challenge - Day 18

2012-01-18T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

The list says I'm supposed to talk about my plans, dreams and goals.

Frankly, that seems kind of vague. I plan on heading to bed soon - but surely that doesn't count, nor does my intention to crock-pot pork and potatoes tomorrow, fold two loads of laundry (currently in the washer and dryer) also tomorrow, or finishing my current quilt top this week. Surely those aren't worthy. So... Something bigger?

Hmm.

How about I break them up into short term (within the next month or so), medium (this year), and long term goals (five years) and make them bigger, brighter, and - mostly - writing related?

Short term, let's start with finishing this crazy blog challenge - I think I've done astoundingly well so far and haven't missed a day. In a way that's not quite true - I actually write these things the evening before (it's currently 9:45 pm on Tuesday Jan 17th) and a couple of posts I knew would be hard to squeeze into my wackydoodle schedule, so I wrote them a couple of days earlier, but, still. I've blogged every day and I shall continue to do so for the remainder of the month and, possibly, February (I'm considering another posting challenge, but I haven't committed yet).

I also have a plan in motion to read at least one book a week for the remainder of January (this actually started on January 4th) and I intend to finish at least 6. I've read two - one was a real slog, the second went quickly and I'm almost done with the third). These books and the reading of them was suggested by my agent. Not the specific books, but their audience, since (as you'll see in a subsequent goal) I'm trying to reach that audience. I'd better learn what they want to read, don't you think?

My current medium term goals start with talking with my agent about what I've gleaned from these books, how I can add these grains of insight and understanding to my novels and, once I've decided exactly what these things are - so far, the books I've read have not been very, um, complementary to one another - come up with some story concepts and short pitches. My agent will mull over them and let me know if any are worth pursuing, of if I need to read another pile of dissimilar books (so far, it's been an edgy, best-selling thriller -meh-, a sweetly romantic post world war two fictional memoir -loved it despite thinking it would suck balls-, and a family tragedy crammed full of snotty rich women and partying teenagers -meh, with candy sprinkles. Seriously. I see little connection between them.) I have two more books waiting, and another to pick up at the bookstore, so, with a little luck and diligent poking with my authorial tweezers, I should be able to find the common thread that makes women go gaga for these books. Yep, each and every one, despite being insanely different in genre, scope, length, style, and cover art, is selling briskly to women. And, dammit, I'm trying to break into women's fiction but having a helluva time cracking that particular nut.

Anyway, my notes and pitches are due in February.

Also, once I've finished all this reading, I intend to get back into the swing of things on Stain. I am just about positive that when it's finished and polished and show-room ready, it will be self published and available through gobs of online retailers. Haven't decided yet how I'll handle print editions. Have to get it written and soon, at least the first draft, so Sammie can yank all the floppy bits into line and I have time to finish up any remaining tweaks.

Also, M will sell. Dammit. It's a heckuva good book. I believe in it, my agent believes in it, and just about everyone who's read it has believed in it. It will sell in 2012.

I have a quilt retreat to go to, and lots of sewing to do.

Finish paying off the two credit cards. (Will be done this spring! Yay!)

Get back into the habit of exercising.

Continue the blogging habit.

Find a comfort level with self promotion and social networking. So far, it's been tough. But I shall find a happy middle ground.

The last mid-term goal is to write a full length novel with a women's audience in mind. At this point, I have zippo idea what it'll be about because my research material has been all over the map. But I shall write one, and it'll totally rock!

Anyway, that'll make two finished novels this year, and that's right on track for where I want to be. :)

Long term is rather hazy and nebulous. I've always said that I wanted to be respected enough as a writer to sing backup with Steve King and Dave Barry and that is still my primary writing goal. Yup, I dream of becoming a do-wop girl. I've been practicing, singing the harmony and backup lyrics on all kinds of songs. I have a good ear and great rhythm (one bonus of being a musician's child) and I'll be ready when the call comes.

I intend to routinely write at least two (possibly three) novels a year in dissimilar genres.

Those novels will increase their audience share (unlike Dubric's steady decline - boo!) so that my first long-term goal could actually happen in this universe and paradigm. Because I would make a totally kick ass do-wop girl.

I will write a quilting book and break into non fiction. This form may be my third book per year.

We will move out of this small town and buy an acreage near to wherever it is that the posty office sends Bill to work, or near to whatever job he has. Because in-town is making him feel constricted, and he drives too damn far every day. Being a hermit, I can happily live almost anywhere as long as I have Puufy, my laptop and my sewing machine.

I shall remain delightfully married, with an awesome daughter and equally awesome grandkids.

If we stay here, I shall run for city council again because I believe that decision making should be local, not national, and involvement is said decisions is a good thing.

I shall get my good-but-creeping-toward-the-borderline bloodwork numbers down and well away from the line by eating better and exercising more, so much so that it's routine and I don't even have to think about it anymore. Pass the spinach, please! :)

One of my novels will hit a bestseller list. Somewhere. And I will allow myself to celebrate.

Hold me to that last one, willya? I need to learn how to celebrate.

{{huggs}}

January Challenge Day 17

2012-01-17T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

I'm supposed to pick someone I want to switch lives with for one day.

Excuse me, but WTF??

Bill has suggested:

Daniel Boone, because he was a man. A big, big man. But a bear was bigger.

Mary Todd Lincoln, because no one else would think of her.

Wilma Flinstone, because you've always wanted a baby mammoth for a dishwasher. (This is true. Baby mammoths are soooo cute! ;)

Judy Jetson, because she's not afraid of living half a mile in the air.

He's such a great help, isn't he?

I can barely manage my wackydoodle life, how can I possibly drop into someone else's, even for a day?!?

After about 10 minutes of deliberation, I have chosen Anne Lamott. She's sweet, funny, wise, hyper-creative and, unlike me, seems to have her shit together!

Go Anne! ;)

January Posting Challenge - Day 16

2012-01-16T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

I'm supposed to post yet another picture of myself again today.

Ya know, I'm getting really tired of pics of me, and I'm sure you all are too. So instead, here's a pic of Bill with The Nut.

She jumps on us whenever we bend over.
Yes, it's a bit of a pain.

Besides, they're much cuter. ;)

January Challenge - Day 15

2012-01-15T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

This time, I'm supposed to put my iPod on shuffle and give you the first ten songs. Cool!

Here's my list.

1. Angel From Montgomery, Bonnie Raitt
2. Behind the Hazel Eyes, Kelly Klarkson
3. Save a Prayer, Duran Duran
4. Love Letter, Bonnie Raitt
5. Life is a Lemon, Meat Loaf
6. Angry, Matchbox 20
7. Not the Doctor, Alanis Morissette
8. If You Don't Start Drinkin', George Thorogood
9. Two People, Tina Turner
10. Behind the Wall, Tracy Chapman

Great songs, every one!

January Challenge - Day 14

2012-01-14T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

There are very, very few pics of me anywhere, especially of me with family. I'm usually the picture-taker so I'm on the other side of the lens. There are some pics from our wedding with selections of family members. A picture from my sister's wedding. And a pic from a Christmas when I was about 20 years old. To the best of my knowledge, that's it, at least pictures in my possession.

Those photos, however, are packed in a box, somewhere in the depths of our hall closet, and I could not locate them or the photo albums they're in.

I did find two pictures, though, one of Bill and me at our wedding, and the other Laura and me at my college graduation. They weren't in the albums because Laura went through a phase where she'd look through the family albums for hours and hours and, sometimes, would pull out pictures. I have a Tupperware™ box I keep loose photos in (it's mostly pics of Laura she'd pulled loose when she was little that I haven't gotten around to returning, pics of various pets, neighbor kids being squirrelly, remodeling projects, and quilts) and I truly was lucky to find these two photos in that box.

Here they are.

Yep. That's Bill and me when we were young, and Laura when she was little.

I was 24 when Bill and I married (Bill had just turned 26). That picture was taken by my good friend LeAnne. The other was the day I graduated from college (I have a BA in Art and we all tie-dyed our tassles). I was almost 31 and Laura was 5. I think Bill took that one, but it might have been my mother (she is also rarely photographed).

So there you go. Me and my family.

January Challenge - Day 13

2012-01-13T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

I'm supposed to write a letter to someone who's hurt me recently, but, as I sit here, I keep coming up blank.

Sure, my friends, family, and acquaintances have had bad days and said or done cranky things - and so have I. It's human to occasionally become irritated, overwhelmed, angry, distracted, or oblivious. No one worth writing a letter to has done anything intentionally vindictive or purposely painful, in fact, pretty much everyone in my life has consistently been encouraging and supportive. Do we always agree? Nope, but that doesn't mean I've been hurt. As long as they're not nasty, I'm happy to let it go. Life is too short to bear grudges, especially against people we supposedly care about. That said, if someone is consistently an ass - regardless of who they are - I shrug, maybe fume for a moment or two, then I close that particular door and continue on my way. I am not good with bullshit or meanness or spite for spite's sake, and I do everything I can to simply keep it out of my life. There are a handful of people who used to be considered friends that we haven't seen in years because they're just not worth all the negativity.

From the people that actually matter, the last kind-of hurtful thing I can think of happened about 4 years ago, and the last really hurtful thing was almost a decade ago. I see no reason to write a letter about ancient history. I have long since moved on.

Maybe I'm lucky, maybe I'm too trusting, maybe I just believe in the mantra, All is forgiven, move on.

Except with myself. I'm horrid to myself. And I rarely, if ever, forgive my failings.

I really need to work on that.

Tomorrow is another picture day, and I don't know what I'll be able to find, or if anyone would actually want to see it.

January Challenge Day 12

2012-01-12T00:30:00.000-06:00

The amazing, insightful, and always brilliant Juliet Ulman.
Original photo and more info about Juliet at http://www.omnivoracious.com/

Juliet purchased Ghosts in the summer of 2003. When we discussed marketing - and what I could do to to help - Juliet suggested that I blog so folks could see how friendly and quirky I am.

So I did.

The original tamboblog is no more, but I'm obviously still writing, and still blogging. Despite being downsized in the Great Publishing Contraction of 2009, Juliet is still editing, mostly freelance now, and I cannot recommend her talent and precision enough, plus she's friendly, funny, and easy to work with. Check out her site at http://papertyger.net.

January Challenge - Day 11

2012-01-11T00:43:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

More pictures. Of me and friends.

Have I mentioned how much I really, truly hate having my pic taken? This is hard, but here goes.

This first pic has a rather long story to go with it.

It's Michele and me in major east coast city (that I won't name publicly), sitting on a curb at the bottom of a freeway off-ramp that was littered with used condoms and broken glass, across from a boarded up apartment building, beside a car with bashed in windows, in a really bad part of town, when were were just about to be left there lost and alone to be raped or killed or who knows what, because we're terrified women from Iowa who seriously thought we were gonna die. Unless we received angelic intervention.

Yep. We're doomed, but we're trying to make the best of it.

We'd been picked up at the airport because I was a guest at a convention, one of my first. The person who picked us up, well, she didn't believe me when I told her her car was smoking as she drove down some freeway. She argued with both of us about it, even, said it was the guy ahead's exhaust (honey, growing up poor in rural Iowa, I know what a smoking car looks like) Finally, she could barely see the vehicle in front of us. So she pulled off, and stopped just past the bottom of the offramp in what has to be the scariest place I've ever been in my life.

Then she tells Michele and me to get out of the car. Now.

I think there were gunshots somewhere, far away but close enough to hear. Some guy that looked like a sterotypical drug dealer/gang member sauntered by and checked out the two pasty plump chicks in the smoking car and their crazy chauffeur.

Michele and I looked at each other, eyes wide, and said we'd rather stay in the car.

The gang member waved and continued on.

Our escort cussed at us, popped her trunk, threw our stuff on the curb, and pretty much forced us out of her vehicle. Which had stopped smoking. So we huddled on the sidewalk, freeway behind us, scary stuff everywhere else, while she got back in her car and made a phone call. She apparently called her mechanic and requested a tow because she rolled down the window to tell us that everything was fine because they hadn't closed yet and would send someone to get her car.

What about us? we asked.

She shrugged and pretty much refused to talk to us, other than occasionally fretting about how she was going to pay for her car. That she'd just gotten fixed or paid for or something, because that's all that mattered. Her car.

She wouldn't even call someone at the convention to come get us. And the locals started to peer at us, interested. Two plump blonde mommies. Look like they've eaten a lot of corn. Should be tasty!

The tow truck finally arrived, and our protector hopped right in the tow truck without even looking at us - the not-really-famous writer who was supposed to talk at the convention tonight, and her Super Porter Extraordinaire. Michele and I had no idea where we were since the street signs had been stolen. There were no open businesses within sight, only derelict buildings as far as the eye could see, and what could be kindly described as clumps of 'rough looking individuals' who chuckled among themselves and eyed our luggage. And us.

We asked her again what were we supposed to do. There wasn't room for all of us in the tow truck, and she told us she had no idea, and didn't care because she had to get her car out of there. It was our problem.

This was several years ago and I don't think Michele had her phone back then. I still don't have a cell phone so we were rightly and totally screwed. We pressed together and hoped our families would at least find out what happened to us.

Please note that none of the locals approached us at all because, frankly, if one would have come up and said, hey, I see you're in trouble here, I'll call you a cab, we would have hugged him and offered to cook supper. But, no, they just... waited.

As the tow truck guy strapped her car to the hoist, Michele and I dragged our stuff to the offramp and frantically tried to flag down cars. Some drivers barely glanced at us at all, most just sped right on through the stop sign because they, too, wanted to get the heck outta there before it got dark.

Finally, while our benevolent guardian dickered over the cost of the tow and the local vultures moved in for the final assessment, an off duty cab came down the off ramp and he probably messed himself when two terrified women leapt in front of his car, begging for help. He told us he'd just gotten off work, but once we explained our problem, sure, he'd take us wherever we needed to go. We all but threw ourselves into the cab and our hero/angel took us away from that mess.

En route to our hotel, we heard a few rather unsavory stories of rapes and murders in the neighborhood we'd nearly been abandoned in and, despite him saying there was no charge, I paid him double what we would have paid a cab from the airport. And I took a receipt and had the convention reimburse me.

That actually was an incredible convention, other than the 'getting to the convention' part, but it's the first, last, and only time Michele and I have allowed ourselves to be picked up by strangers at the airport. It's been cabs or hotel shuttles for us ever since.

My other picture is of me and Sammie when we met up in Las Vegas a couple of years ago.

She's really not that short.
I was just closer to the camera.

I've known Sam since fall of 2001 and she was one of the first to critique an opening chapter of Ghosts in the Online Writer's Workshop. We've been friends ever since despite her living in Australia and me in Iowa, and she has pre-edited every one of the Dubric books (Valley is dedicated to her). She's amazingly insightful and thorough, and makes sure my tenses never let their slips show, and ensures I don't wimp out and take the easy way. We finally met for the very first time in Vegas when she and her husband took a vacation. There was much squeeing and jumping around, and it's a wonder her husband didn't leave us to giggle and talk the whole time.

He was awesome too, btw. :)

Sammie gets a quilt from me almost every year, and we've sent I don't know how many care packages back and forth. No one gets to read my fiction before Sammie. I absolutely could not be a professional writer without her assistance and insight.

And that has depleted my 'Tam with friends' picture options. Thank goodness there aren't any more on the list!

January Challenge Day 10

2012-01-10T00:30:00.000-06:00

Today is about music, specifically songs I listen to when I'm happy, sad, bored, hyped and mad.

Whoa.

Music has been a vital part of my entire life. My dad was a professional musician and he played guitar all of my life until he died. We constantly had the radio on, or records or tapes, and, despite our low income, he was an early adopter of music technology. We were the first people I knew with cassettes, for example, and when lots of kids were dubbing music off the radio, we were copying songs from original to cassette in my dad's dual-cassette stereo monstrosity. I grew up with amplifiers and microphones and PA systems, mixers and guitars and whammy bars and lugging all that stuff to and from my dad's van.

So, yeah. Music and me go waaaaay back. lol

In an effort to limit my blabbering - I can go on all day about songs, song writers, and the various genres of music - I'll give one song for each topic. Just to warn you, there's no genre consistency to my choices, I like all kinds of music.

And, by the way, I sing every one of these songs. Belt them out even. Why listen if I'm not gonna sing along? ;)

Happy, I like to bop around the house to... Bootylicious

Sad is a whole other story and nothing gets me out of my funk like Guilty, as performed by the Blues Brothers

I'm usually cleaning something when I'm bored, and for that there's my Adele CD. My favorite track is Rumor Has it. For this song alone she should win a Grammy. lol It gets me motivated.

Now for hyped. Hmm. That's kinda tricky, because I mostly just put the iPod on 'tammy dance mix' and let 'er rip, but I think I'd have to put Red Hot Chili Peppers' Give It Away near the top of the list. (sorry about the ad but I wanted to link to the studio version, not live)

I don't get mad very often, in fact, it's one of my least-likely emotions. Getting mad means to push those emotions outward and I'm not very good at that. However, I've done a lot of walking - and singing aloud all the while - to this song when I've been ticked off. Especially when we fostered our nieces and dealing with the state was such a freaking joy.

So there you have it. My list of pivotal songs, but I wish I could have included something by P!nk, Bonnie Raitt, The Eagles, 3 Doors Down, Toad the Wet Sprocket, and Tracy Chapman. But maybe they're more middle of the road musicians for me. ;)

January Challenge Day 9

2012-01-09T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

Today it's about something I'm proud of in the past few days. Like so many other posts in this list it's hard to pick one topic.

I'm proud of my daughter for being more strong and capable than I'd dared to hope.

I'm proud of my husband getting up before dawn to carry mail when he doesn't know the route or the town they've randomly sent him to, and working 10-12 hour days to get it done despite inclement weather and cramping feet.

I'm proud of my sister for doing all that she does for so many other people.

I'm proud of our friends who've weathered health issues, employment issues, and personal issues, yet remain the wonderful, lovely, determined people they've always been.

I'm even proud of our cat, Echo, for figuring out that she's supposed to only pee outside or in the litter box. Finally.

And I'm proud of myself to face the uncertainty of writing and working to find ways to make it better.

There's a lot to be proud of and, so far, it's been a great year! {{huggs}}

January Challenge Day 8

2012-01-08T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

Today's topic is all about goals. My short term goals for this month.

Honestly, this month I have to read. A lot.

I used to be a voracious reader, roughly a book a day (about 5 books a week) through my teens and much of my twenties. My reading really fell off after I published - reading became an exercise in fighting against the urge to get out my red pen - and I've only really gotten back into reading since we moved up north.

Earlier this week, my agent and I talked quite a lot about M's struggles to sell (and the crappy condition of the print marketplace) and he wants me to spend a month reading a lot of current, popular fiction, across genres. Once I've done this, I'm supposed to analyze these books to see what makes them tick. Why are they popular? What similarities do they possess? What insights can I glean?

I've never worried about analyzing books before and while I definitely don't want to follow any trends - much rather start some, thanks anyway - this is an excellent exercise to improve the scope and structure of my fiction.

So that's what I'm doing. Better get back to it. ;)

January Posting Challenge - Day 7

2012-01-07T00:30:00.000-06:00

Here she is.
The often mentioned but rarely seen
Original Issue Kid.

She is awesome, amazing, smart, funny, beautiful, creative, and it astounds me every day that Bill and I were given such a tremendous gift. I don't mention her much - once I became a pro author I decided that she, at least, would remain out of the spotlight and get to keep her privacy - and I don't think I've ever posted her picture before. Maybe when she graduated from high school? Maybe? She has my crooked nose, creativity, blue eyes and complexion, and her dad's ears, need to organize things, toughness, and sense of humor.

She's all that we ever wished for and I couldn't do half of what I do without her influence, encouragement, and unwavering belief.

Love you, Punkin.

What's up, Tam?

2012-01-06T22:38:00.001-06:00

I thought I'd step away from the 30 Days goofiness to post an update of sorts about my writing.

2011 was an extremely stressful year for me, with quite a lot of life upheaval, especially concerning Bill's job. He's a postal worker - specifically, he repairs the machines that sort the mail - and as most anyone who follows the news knows, things have not been going well with the posty office.

Anyway, we've endured a lot this year and my writing has definitely suffered. I've squeezed our about 20,000 words on Stain - much, much less than I intended - but have not managed to make progress on anything else since I sent M to my agent in March. M has not yet sold - it's still being shopped around - and, in an effort to focus my writing in a more productive direction, I discussed this past year, and the one we're just beginning, with my agent.

He's amazing and wonderful, and has pointed me into what we both hope will be a more productive and profitable future. I can't really talk publicly about what that is just yet, but Stain is once again on hold as I spend this month on research.

There's a lot of research. I have a huge stack of books in my kitchen, and my brain aches from all the reading I've been doing, but there's a lot more yet to come. I've promised to get back to him in about a month with some ideas how to make this all work for me and my books, and I'm genuinely excited and optimistic about the future of my writing.

It's been a long, long time since I was happy and excited about writing. It feels really good to be sliding into the groove again. We're taking my work into a whole different direction, and I think it's going to be fantastic!

As for Stain, I'll get back to it in February (actually, I should be able to sneak some time into it next week, but don't tell ;) ), and after talking with my agent about the future of the Dubric series, I can just about guarantee that it will be self published. Threads and Valley simply have not sold enough to keep the series viable for traditional publication. After considering those facts - they're pretty obvious - I've also decided to make Stain a bit longer than I'd intended, and include more closure of story lines that were originally going to get tied off a book or two further down the line. There are some things that will be left hanging, lots of things, actually, but I plan on ending the book in such a way that if it were truly the end of the series, no one would feel cheated, or that there's too much left to go.

It's going to be a rather long book, I'm afraid, but that's just fine with me. Sammie has already volunteered to edit it and I know several of my pre-readers would be happy to jump into the madness as well. All of this has me super-encouraged, too. So look forward to a lot of updates as the various projects progress. Again, Stain will be self published, likely through Smashwords and Amazon, and I'm writing it for the fans, all you wonderful folks who've stuck with me through all the upheavals. I love you all more than you know, but, dammit, I am so relieved to be working again.

It's nice to be back.

January Posting Challenge - Day 6

2012-01-06T00:30:00.000-06:00

Don't mess with her, puddin',
or she might shoot you with a laughing gas grenade.

Harley Quinn. Hands down, no contest.

Yeah, yeah, I know she's technically a Super Villain, but c'mon. She's survived living with the craziest nasty in comic-land; The Joker. For years. Who else can say that?

No one, that's who. Not even Batman.

She's smart, creative, and best of all, goofy. She has a soft spot for dangerous men, and she's totally able to kick ass all on her own. She's also buddies with two of the most ruthless women in the DC Universe, Poison Ivy and Catwoman. So she's gutsy, too, and sees the best in everyone, even the criminally insane.

Go Team Harley!!

January Challenge Day 5 - A Place I've Been To

2012-01-05T00:30:00.000-06:00

Today I get to talk about a place I've been to.

Four words.

Ricky Tims Quilt Seminar!

This is the actual venue in Bettendorf, but silly me forgot my camera.
Picture borrowed from http://sewingandstitcheryexpo.blogspot.com/

My friend Deb and I went to Betterndorf last summer to learn quilting from three amazing quilters, Ricky Tims, Alex Anderson, and Libby Lehman. It was a three day expo, with lectures and a coursebook and lots of opportunities to shop! I bought too much fabric - especially Ricky's batiks - and had several chances to talk with all three hosts. The highlight for me was a really insightful conversation I had with Libby about selling our creativity (I've adored Libby and her work for YEARS).

Plus, even better, I got to hang out with Deb! Woot!

January Posting Challenge - Day 4

2012-01-04T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you're following along with Tina, Jean, Krista, and Kat. If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

Today's topic is to post about a habit I wish I didn't have.

The problem is picking just one.

I could choose something safe and simple, but instead I'll go-for-the-real-clunker and wish I didn't blame myself so much. I blame myself for everything, and it just happens. I try to stop it, but slam! I screwed up. I know it, deep down. If only I'd done better, been better...

None of this (whatever this is) would have happened.

My husband says that reaction is egotistical, and maybe it is, but I see it as more of the opposite of ego. For me, it's a learned avoidance behavior from a lot of years spent helpless and blamed. Brother tore up his leg doing something stupid so I get screamed at for letting him do it. Didn't matter that I tried to stop him, didn't matter if he'd snuck away while I was taking care of some other crisis. It was my fault. Not his. Mine. And I was the one punished for it, screamed at for it. Hit for it.

FYI - Kids shouldn't have to cower.
(image from thesmartlyanonymous.com)

Your sister hit her head. Slam.
Your dog tore up a book. Slam.
Roof leaked on the TV all night and it shorted out. Slam.
Your cat pooped on the floor in the middle of the night. Slam.
All the money's spent on you goddamn kids. Slam.
You goddamn kids ate all the food. Slam.
You lost my car keys. Slam.
You didn't paint all the way up that wall. Slam.
Something's broken, lost, stained, cracked, dirty, crying, bleeding, or financially out of reach, shutthefuckup it's all your fault!! Slam.

You get the idea.

I spent most of my pre-marital life expecting a stone to land on my head or a boot hit my butt for something I genuinely had no control over. That shit gets imprinted on a kid's brain. It just became easier, safer, and much less physically painful to accept blame. Immediately. And express repentance. Preferably by cowering. For whatever troublesome or inconvenient crap happened to erupt because, surely, it's my fault. Like everything else. The fists and boots and screaming say so. Must be true, right?

Anyway, I really wish I could stop blaming myself. I still catch myself doing it, even now that I know better, and it sucks.

My sister's always sorry, too, and my brother's mostly silent. Shocking, isn't it?

Hopefully tomorrow's post will be cheerier. And I'll try to quit chewing my nails. ;)

January Posting Challenge - Day 3

2012-01-03T00:30:00.000-06:00

I hope you all are following along with Tina (and Jean starting on Wednesday). If anyone else wants to play, just let me know and I'll stick you on the 30 Day Challenge blog roll. :) My list (with links to each post so far) is here.

Day Three's instructions are to show a picture of me with my friends.

I have to admit it's rather tough to do. I have a pic of Michele and me sitting on a sidewalk (I'll show that pic later, as the prompt comes up). As far as I know, that's it.

I was, however, a guest speaker at a writing conference in Des Moines a few years ago and several of my online friends attended. One - Sue - talked another attendee into taking a picture of all of us, and she ever-so-sweetly agreed to let me show that photograph here.

So here we are. I'm the tall one in back (this was before my eyes were lasered so I'm wearing glasses) and I'm putting bunny ears behind my writer buddy Valerie Griswold Ford. Some of these folks I only know online from the Forward Motion Writer's Group, so I hope they forgive me for using their usernames instead of their real names, but they are (left to right) Mistyck, Me, Valerie Griswold-Ford, Sue Petroulas, Lucas Dalton, Kris Whinery, and Prue.

They all came to Iowa (some even flew in from Texas or the East Coast) for a small local conference. I'd met Val before, and hung out with both her and Sue at other conferences later, but it was the first time most of us had ever seen each other in person. We got along great and pretty much talked ourselves hoarse. Good memories, good times. :)

January Posting Challenge - Day 2

2012-01-02T00:30:00.000-06:00

Today's it's all about the Meaning Behind My Blog Name

It's all Bill's fault. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It started during that sweet, short time we were dating, back in the fall of 1988. We were already engaged, and one evening he started singing a version of this song to me. (You don't have to listen to the whole thing. 10 seconds ought to do it)

Yep. Froggy Went A Courtin'. Only when Bill sang it - and I'm pretty sure he sang the whole song - it became Billy Went A Courtin' and he found.... Tambo!

I've been Tambo ever since. I dropped the capitalization (under most instances) when I joined the internet in, oh, 1993? 1994? Thereabouts, anyway. I've always used tambo in my email addys, chat handles, and so on, and when I had tamboblog* back on my TSJ website. Here, though, the title just looked better to have it capitalized, and I write, so... TamboWrites. I also have TamboCreates (for my sewing and other things) and TamboCooks (for the recipes).

See? Much simpler and shorter than yesterday. lol

Two days, two blog posts. 28 more to go! :)

*I wanted to name this blog tamboblog but that was already taken. Dammit.

Follow along the 30 days challenge with my friend Tina at her blog, too!

January posting challenge - Day 1

2012-01-01T00:30:00.000-06:00

The official instructions are to post on Day 01- A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself.

Okay. Deep breath. It's me. As I was yesterday, after lunch. Bill took the pic, by the way, so complain to him if it's crappy or inaccurate or breaks your computer. ;)

Yep. This is what I look like pretty much all the time.
Sitting at my computer and trying to kill bears.

I took my hair out of its customary ponytail - more on me and my hair below in my required list - and removed the red-eye from using a flash, but that's it. I didn't retouch for my Rosacea (which has been doing really well) or anything. Didn't even put on a nice shirt.

Yep. I truly am this exciting. ;)

So. That hard part's over. Now for the somewhat easier task, fifteen things about myself. I don't know if they're interesting or not, but I have to list them.

Fifteen Wild and Fabulous Things About Tam

1. I cuss. Less than I used to but a lot more than I should. Including the F word. It's below, several times, so if that bothers you, stop reading here. Please. It'll save us both some trouble.

2. I am frantic, screaming, insanely terrified of falling. Even from teensy distances. As in accidentally slipping out of the back of my sandals while moving about the kitchen. Seriously. I freak the fuck out. People laugh at me. But, dammit, I almost never fall. ;)

I almost never do anything that might potentially in this or some other parallel universe lead to falling either, like step up onto anything, but that's another story. When I do fall, it's rather dramatic, almost absurd. As if all the little falls and stumbles I avoided have banded together to get me. (one of those is briefly noted in #11).

3. Since we've already mentioned falling, let's talk about Demophobia. I don't think I have a full blown phobia of crowds, but I am not good around masses of people. Especially strangers. Like crowded malls. Meeting rooms. Crammed elevators. Airports. Uh uh, no way. Unlike freaking out over falling, I shut down in crowds, as if I could melt into walls and disappear to escape. I have consistently finished my holiday shopping, should I need any, by Halloween. Because after that... Crowds. And crowds suck. Mightily. I don't even like big family gatherings, unless they're at my house, on my turf, where I can hide if necessary until I'm calm again.

4. I detest airplanes with a deep and festering hate that is nearly crippling. This is likely a combination of items 2 and 3 on the list (crowded plus being waaaaaay the hell in the air? Oh, fuck no!), and the instinctual belief that nothing that big and heavy has any business being that high up. Yes, I understand the physics of flight and lift. I do. Still. Me, crammed in a tin can hurtling miles above the ground while someone else drives? Again, oh fuck no!

Pre-flight, when the airline sadists have their victims sitting around waiting for the inevitable torture of actually being on the plane is, frankly, worse for me than being on a plane. Because I know it's coming. And there's no escape. I have two keys to coping and, they are:

5. My Worry Doll Barrette. It is a thing of mythical power. It will smite your ass, so do not screw with the Worry Doll Barrette. Or me if I'm wearing it.

Behold the mighty, all powerful Worry Doll Barrette.
Songs have been sung, epics written.
Much carnage has been avoided.
Especially within Tambo's brain.

Let's go back to 2003, shall we? I'd just sold Ghosts and had agreed to go to World Fantasy (I believe it was in Washington DC that year) to meet my fabulous new editor and other Important Fantasy Literary Professionals. Because I'd suddenly found myself to be one, too (who'da thunk??) and that's what Fantasy Literary Professionals supposedly do. Go to World Fantasy. It's like a law or secret handshake or something. But, to attend, I had to get on a plane for the very first time and, well, the idea of me on a plane was not, shall we say, going well. I was Freaking The Fuck Out, to put it bluntly, even months before hand, so my husband and daughter brought me a talisman. Probably to save themselves from three months of me and my freaking, but still. They got it and gave it to me, informing me that I could wear it and the worry dolls would not only suck up all those terrified plane-and-flying related fears, they'd keep me safe.

So far, they've performed their duties perfectly. So perfectly, that they set off alarms Every Single Time I've worn them through the anti-terrorist scanners. So perfectly that their faces have been worried away. And I only wear it when flying. Or facing an Extreme Medical Crisis. Like being in a MRI machine as it scans a scary tumor. (see list item #12).

Anyway, I do not, under any circumstances, enter an airport with the intent to get on a plane (picking people up is totally different) without The Magic Barrette upon my head. EVER. This is non negotiable and, in fact, Michele (she's item number 6) and I almost had to drive all the way back to Iowa from some God-forsaken east coast metropolis (Baltimore? Saratoga Springs? Someplace full of strangers and totally devoid of corn) because my Worry Doll Barrette had decided to hide in the hotel room and vacation a while longer.

But Michele found it (probably dancing with the mini-bottle of Bacardi in the wet bar) just in time, and we managed to make the plane and get home. And not drive for days. Because that would have sucked, especially since we had non refundable plane tickets. And I'm cheap.

6. I could not do this pro-writer thing without Michele. We've been friends for almost forever (since meeting at a con in 1992 or thereabouts) and I drag her all over the country to various authorial event things. Even ones we've had to drive to. Not only does she ensure that my Worry Dolls are properly placed and motivated, she keeps me from freaking out in the airport, and from ripping my seat apart once inside the plane, especially if the sadists won't let me have a window seat. Which also is a requirement. Please. It's just easier for everyone if I can stare out into the great, open wide, uncrowded, sky and land and anything at all that's not inside a terrifying plane! Like I am!

Ahem.

Anyway, Michele has this innate calmness about her, mostly because she is, well, awesome. And she knows that I'm scared, but she's right there, so everything will be okey dokey. Being middle-ageish women from Iowa, we're both blondish, roundish, and blue eyed - and have several times been mistaken for sisters - but I'm a good deal taller, and definitely more neurotic. She gets motion sick from flying, but, once her little behind-the-ear patch is in place, she takes it like a trouper.

At conferences - when I'm overwhelmed by the crowds and the concept of Shit! Strangers are wanting to talk to me!! WTF!?! - she makes sure I eat, drink, pee, and get 'quiet time' away from the teeming masses of people who know more about my novels than I do. She keeps me on schedule and in the right place even when I'm lost, knows who everyone is when I can't remember their names, and generally spoils me. As a long standing member of Fandom, she knows a lot more about Fantasy anything than I do - she's organized the Art Show at ICon in Iowa City for years and years, plus she's a voracious reader and always is totally knowledgeable about the books up for awards, just for starters - and she has a lot more fun at these events than I could ever hope to. She's one of those sweet, patient folks who get autographs and discuss series developments and she just knows everyone. She considers me dragging her to these events as a free vacation away from job and family (I pay for everything but her souvenirs) but to me she's a life saver and every bit as essential as the worry dolls.

Michele. With a Lego Pirate.
Aarr, ye maties! I totally liberated this booty from her purse, er Facebook page.

She's a great pre-reader, a sounding board, and an amazing friend. The scant few times she couldn't come along, I missed her terribly. Michele is awesome. And necessary. I love her to pieces. (And I think she keeps spare Worry Doll Barrettes in her purse, but don't tell her I know the secret.)

7. I wrote Ghosts in the Snow to escape my father. A lot of people know parts of this - so I guess it's not a super-new factoid or whatever - but my writing the novel pretty much paralleled his slow decline into the last stages of diabetes and my - admittedly small - part in caring for him. We did not get along and, most of the time, writing the slaughter of castle maids and the chase to catch their killer was both catharsis and escape. I consistently write about abuse for a reason, and since I don't want to wallow in my misery today, let's just stop this entry with that. 'Kay?

8. I have been delightfully married for 23 years despite Bill and I dating a mere three months before our wedding day. Seriously. When you know, you know. And we just knew. We were looking for places to get married while on our second date and, driving up Hickman Ave in Des Moines (right by Living History Farms, I could just about pick out the exact spot) he asked me to marry him. I, of course said yes. Woulda been crazy not to. It's been a great time ever since, despite the crazy ups and downs and all arounds life has thrown at us. He's awesome, and we're awesome together. I thank God every day for my luck in finding Bill, and for our daughter who, too, is awesome.

9. I like pink. A lot. Most of my shirts are some shade of pink, from baby pink to deep maroon, and I have pink desk accessories, pink bins in my sewing room, pink socks, pink notebooks, and a pink purse. I am drawn to pink, but I am not, nor have I ever been, girly. Also, I haven't made any pink quilts, own pink towels, or ever painted any rooms pink. It's just shirts and accessories. Weird, I know, but here we are.

As a barely-related side note, I can totally whistle the Pink Panther theme. ;)

10. I used to hate my hair, but I now really like it. A good cut makes a huge difference (thank you, Dawn, for taking such great care of my curly mop!) but growing into and accepting my natural curliness has helped a lot, too. When I was young and trying to at least be within sight of 'in style' (oh, the folly of youth), my hair was awful, just awful. It's naturally curly, with a mind of its own, and, well, that mind did not want to be straight. Or feather its bangs. Or, well, behave and be stylish. It's a tousled, curly mop, always, in its own, odd, dishwater blonde color, but since I've decided to just go with the curl and stop trying to change it, we've gotten along a lot better. I now get it highlighted from time to time (it makes it look even curlier than it is, plus covers some of the gray) and I love the color, the texture, everything. People ask me pretty often where I get such a great perm, but I have to tell them it's just my crazy hair. :)

As much as I really do love my hair, I get rather picky about things touching my face (blame the Rosacea), so it's usually in a ponytail so it doesn't get in my eyes and make me aggravated.

11. I've never hesitated to tell anyone my age. I know a lot of women - and some men - get all twitchy at revealing their ages, but I never have. I am 47, will turn 48 next summer, and I've earned every gray hair and wrinkle. I've also earned my creaky knee which is caused by my bad heel (broken about 20 years ago during a slip/fall down a flight of stairs, talk about terrifying!! It's a wonder I didn't have a heart attack in the process!) and flaky eyesight. I did cry over a birthday once, but not because I turned some arbitrary number. Nope, I cried because no one remembered it. Not even my mom. Was a very sad day, but age is still just a number. I was born in the summer of '64, the year of the Beatles invasion, and I am happy to admit it.

12. Despite my age and plumpness, I am generally healthy. Except for Rosacea, factory reject sinuses (see number 13) and the occasional Truly Weird Thing. I get all the weird things. For example, back in 2007, I had a bone tumor in my wrist. Now one would think that a bone tumor is bad, bad, bad. Well, for me it was primarily a PITA because we were fostering our three nieces at the time and, well, I was insanely busy, okay? Too bad, Tam. Gotta take care of the damn tumor. So we added in too many doctors and so many x rays I thought my wrist would start glowing, but, in the end it was not cancer, not even close, just an enchondroma. Totally harmless - other than screwing up the bone - it was also about the size of a walnut and was about to obliterate the surface of the joint. Once we learned it was nothing more than a pocket of gunk, Bill and I deemed it my bone zit. We finally found a specialist who would tackle my bone zit and one step along the way to the surgery ward was an MRI. My first and hopefully only MRI. The Worry Doll Barrette and I endured the claustrophobia of the machine pretty well (it was really COLD in there, though, and a movie would have been nice). Then, my bone zit was opened up and refilled with ground up cadaver bone. So now it's a zombie zit or something.

It's all healed, no harm done, but do have a cool scar and people kinda freak out when I explain it's from my bone tumor. Other people freaking out is always a plus in my book. ;)

Another example. Last winter, I broke my butt. Specifically, I strained and possibly tore a teeny little muscle called a Piriformis. I'd never heard of such a thing before - let alone someone straining one - but it took months to heal and I now know how to stretch it so it doesn't happen again. Imagine, if you will, being unable to sit without severe pain. For 4 months. And you're a writer. Yep, a strained Piriformis equals super fun times. ;) No one freaks out over a broken butt, though. They just laugh.

In my last nod to my medical harmless-but-odd happenings, part of normal aging for near sighted folks like me is a separation of ocular fluid from the retina. Happens to most every near-sighted person on the planet when they hit middle age, but, for me... It tore off a blood vessel that filled my right eye with blood and partially blinded me. But, like my bone zit, the problem was very scary yet quite harmless and temporary and was all better a month later.

13. I have constant respiratory allergies. I also have cats. Yes, I know one causes the other.

My physician, Nicole, who has guided me around all sorts of odd medical tripwires, prods me every year about my chronic sinus issues and goes through a list of potential allergens. Whenever she gets to cats I reply, "Five. And I'm not giving up my Puufy."

Nicole then closes her little note book, writes me a scrip for some other sinus med that does nothing to help, and we go through the same dance the next year.

Would you give him up just to not sneeze so much?
I didn't think so.

14. I love to cook. I kinda geek out over it and I have a lot more cookbooks than writing books, and frequent more cooking sites (and have recipes that come right into my inbox) than anything writing related. But I'm a homey kind of cook, nothing fancy schmancy here, just good, yummy food. I can do anything from vegetarian nummies to kick ass pork chops and gravy. I even have a cooking blog, but I mostly use it to post simple stuff so that I - or anyone else - has a place for easy, quick, yummy recipes that can be done most any time. And I don't have to dig through the pile of cookbooks and printouts to see how much vinegar I need for broccoli salad. I LOVE broccoli. Gobs. It's my fave! Nom nom!

15. Not only do I make a lot of quilts, I am a batik addict and have more than 150 different batik fabrics in my stash at last count which was, well, before we moved here almost four years ago.

About 2/3 of my batik fat quarters, sorted by color.
I have more. Many more. But they're not sorted.

I probably have somewhere around 300 different batiks now, but most are smallish pieces - fat quarters, 18x22" - because I primarily make scrappy quilts. It's a compulsion, and my quilts, too, have their own blog.

Now that I've finished my list - which it took longer and ran longer than I expected - I'll sign off and see you all tomorrow as we learn about why my blog is named how it is. Hopefully that'll be simpler. And shorter. ;)

Ebook Royalites

2011-12-31T10:49:00.002-06:00

Most of you know that I send every penny I make from the ebook shorts to charity (Johns Hopkins Burn Unit will get the last 2011 check once my year-end royalties hit in January). Past recipients have included a battered women's shelter, a food bank, and a children's literacy group.

In 2012, though, in an effort to make my wackydoodle life just a little less wacky (but totally keeping up on the doodle lol) I'm sending all those royalties to a single charity, Project Night Night. I might send them some quilts too!

All About Me posts start tomorrow and, sometime today, I need to take a self portrait. Not looking forward to that. ;)

30 Days of ME!!

2011-12-19T23:26:00.000-06:00

Iactually wrote a rather long, rambly post about me and my introversion, but Idon't want to bore you all with my shyness, so I'll just cut to the chase.

Sincea good friend is taking the plunge- and I certainly need to blog more regularly - I'm going to do 30 Days of Me blogprompts in January.

Someof these scare me. Too bad. Gonna do 'em anyway.

Here'sthe schedule:

Day 01- A recent picture of you and 15 interesting facts about yourself.

Day 02- The meaning behind your blog name.

Day 03- A picture of you and your friends.

Day 04- A habit that you wish you didn’t have.

Day 05- A picture of somewhere you’ve been to.

Day 06- Favorite super hero and why.

Day 07- A picture of someone/something that has the biggest impact on you.

Day 08- Short term goals for this month and why.

Day 09- Something you’re proud of in the past few days.

Day 10- Songs you listen to when you are Happy, Sad, Bored, Hyped, Mad.

Day 11- Another picture of you and your friends.

Day 12- How you found out about blogging and why you made one.

Day 13- A letter to someone who has hurt you recently.

Day 14- A picture of you and your family.

Day 15- Put your iPod on shuffle: First 10 songs that play.

Day 16- Another picture of yourself.

Day 17- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why.

Day 18- Plans/dreams/goals you have.

Day 19- Nicknames you have; why do you have them.

Day 20- Someone you see yourself marrying/being with in the future.

Day 21- A picture of something that makes you happy.

Day 22- What makes you different from everyone else.

Day 23- Something you crave a lot.

Day 24- A letter to your parents.

Day 25- What I would find in your bag.

Day 26- What you think about your friends.

Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge.

Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?

Day 29-Your favorite song.

Day30- In this past month, what have you learned

Ifanyone else wants to join in the fun, let me know and I'll put a 30 Daysof Me blogrollhere on TamboWrites so we all can follow along.

I'mtelling you all right now that the pictures are going to be HARD for me tolocate. I avoid cameras like they're spreading Ebola. I know there's a pic outthere of Michele and me, but... me? With other people? Do such things even exist??

GuessI better start looking.

Moar Nuttiness

2011-11-26T12:42:00.001-06:00

Peanut again, on her spider plant.

She sits there every night when I'm cooking supper or cleaning. The spider plant doesn't seem to mind. ;)

Nutty, nutty

2011-11-21T08:31:00.001-06:00

This is Peanut.

Peanut and her sister, Echo, joined our household this past August and while Echo's name was chosen for her (she chirps instead of meows and it sounds a lot like a dolphin's echolocation, so... Echo) Peanut chose her own name. We had something else picked out for her but we all kept calling her Peanut, or Nutty.

Which she is.

She's super gentle, sweet, and prone to random acts of purring, but she also gets herself into crazy troubles.

This morning The Nut woke us up by being upside down in the corner of our bedroom closet so she could un-attach the corner of the carpet just barely reachable behind a set of shelves.

We've had to remove Miss Nutty from being stuck - again upside down - from a packing tube, the broom closet, and the coat tree. She consistently leaps in, gleeful and oblivious, looking for the fun and novelty of almost anything. She likes to ride on shoulders. She helps me type. Monster Under The Blanket is her favorite game. If something gets knocked over (especially things like button jars), we can pretty much guarantee she did it. Her favorite perch is the middle of my big spider plant, which has been flattened for weeks now but otherwise suffering no ill efects. And, as you can see in the pic above, taking the regular path (even out of a paper bag) just isn't her thing. She just has to do it her own Nutty way.

I still miss our Princess Malaysia quite a lot, but The Nut has become pretty freaking cool to have around.

Plus Pages and Banner Graphics

2011-11-08T13:11:00.001-06:00

Now that Google Plus is allowing pseudonyms and business pages, I've set one up for my novels and shorts. If you're a plusser, please check it out! :)

I made a square banner graphic for that page, plus a much larger, longer graphic on facebook. I think they've both turned out well, but if anyone has suggestions to make the artwork better, I'm always open to critique. :)

NaNoWriMo

2011-10-31T21:15:00.000-05:00

I am officially participating in National Novel Writing Month, also known as NaNo, where a slew of crazy writers dedicate one month to writing FAST. The goal is 50,000 words in November, usually in a new project special for NaNo, but I desperately need to make good progress on Stain of Corruption. Soon. I need to have at least the first draft finished this year. I need to get this book out of my head and off to the fans, despite the endless insanity we've been mired in since, well, March when the postal closing mess tipped the first domino of 2011 life chaos. And I need to get back in the habit of daily prose creation.

Anyway, I'm all signed up and I've been working on the book steadily since I promised to get my 50k in November. I will post daily (well, nightly since I write at night, ha ha) word counts on Twitter, or you can follow along and friend me on NaNoWriMo. :)

Life nuttiness continues (gak, don't get me started on the post office!!), but books don't write themselves. C'mon, November! Let's get LOTS done!!

Corn

2011-10-13T11:07:00.000-05:00

I live in Iowa. Small town Iowa, to be precise, and have lived essentially my whole life surrounded by corn and soybeans.

Corn whispers, did you know that? The leaves caress one another in the wind. Deep into a big, green, field it is quite possible to lose sense of direction since the corn gan grow well over most anyone's head (hint: follow the row, it'll end sooner or later, or listen for traffic and go that way) but, mostly it's pretty mindless to walk through a cornfield in high summer. Just wear a long sleeved shirt and pants, not shorts - I don't care how hot it is, wear the full-coverage clothes anyway. You'll thank me later. You'll be surrounded by green, emersed in it, swimming in it, and, other than the whispers and the wind, it's nearly silent there. Peaceful. Cut off from most everything. You can think in a green cornfield, like walking through a sensory deprivation chamber of green (unless you're wearing a tank top and shorts, in which case you'll be too scratched up and itchy to notice the peacefulness).

However.

Anyone who has to call the cops for being lost, TWENTY FIVE FEET into a corn maze is crazy, stupid, or both. Twenty five feet. It's not that far. Four tallish guys put head to foot. TEN STEPS. Tops. And taking a cranky toddler and a newborn into an hour-long maze only highlights the idiocy. What? They couldn't simply turn around? Couldn't yell 'Hey! We need some help here!' Couldn't climb back up onto the platform they'd just crossed and look to see which way was the 15 feet to the entrance?

Nope. They called the cops.

I couldn't put this in a book. No one with any sense would believe it.

Reviews. And warning stickers.

2011-10-10T00:36:00.004-05:00

While checking out some stats on Amazon (thanks, whoever bought Fire and Sid this past week!) I noticed that there was a newer review in my cue. For Threads of Malice. The reader gave it one star.

I honestly don't have a problem with bad reviews - I know my books aren't for everyone and I'm totally cool with that - but the reader obviously didn't read any of the numerous other reviews bluntly stating the subject matter of the story, or realize that my stuff, especially Threads, is gruesome, violent, and brutally frank about the dark underbelly of humanity. And, I'd like to take a moment to note, despite the violence and horror of Dubric's world, it's nothing in comparison to what happens to real people when captured by sociopaths and murderers.

My characters are fiction. Pretend. Mere imagination. Serial killers do things to real, living people that are horrific beyond comprehension. As twisted as I'm often said to be, I can't even imagine how anyone could actually do what I've read during research, let alone the worse acts that no one outside of law enforcement ever gets to see. What I make up is pale and frothy in comparison to reality and I always, always, try to offset some of the darkness with a bit of light from humor, romance, and family - an important facet of my work that doesn't usually brighten the reality of murder.

I wish I could apologize to this poor woman. I dunno what she was expecting, but obviously Dubric's version of John Wayne Gacy was too much. While I don't expect to thrill every reader, I also don't want to leave mortified, angry readers in my wake either. It's a hard line to walk sometimes, remaining honest yet inoffensive. I just tend to step toward the 'honest' side of that choice.

Some days I wish I could have NC-17 for Violence and Depravity stickers put on the books. Especially Threads.

Or, as my buddy Michele often suggested, 'Do NOT Eat Tacos While Reading This Book!'

(She was eating tacos while first reading the autopsy scene. Maggots. Remember the maggots? Apparently the combination wasn't pleasant. ;) )

Anyway, if, by some miracle, that reviewer is reading this, I am sorry that you hated the book, that it was too gratuitous and you thought the violence served no purpose. I am. I'm sorry that you had to endure the depravity and perversion. I don't want to disgust people, so in that I obviously failed.

But, in the mid 70's, a man named John Wayne Gacy raped, tortured and killed more than 30 teenage boys and young men in far nastier ways than I put in Threads. Gacy finally got caught, thank God. But there are others out there, roaming free and doing similar and worse things even now to men, women, children, and the elderly. It happens every day. For real. I've tried to write 'nice books' but it's simply not in my makeup. I cannot do it. During my forays into the dark, however, I try to shine the brightest light I have and report honestly on what I see. Abuse. Murder. Madness. I don't choose these topics, they choose me. And I always, ALWAYS, try to tell the unvarnished truth as best I can. I might write fiction, but I don't lie. And I don't flinch.

The books really aren't about the dark, though, they're about the people, the good people, who stand up and say that they will no longer allow this to happen. And they stop it. They're about how no matter how awful, how incredibly, impossibly awful things get, Dubric will endure, regardless of how heavy the burden of his ghosts becomes. How Dien will protect the weak, even if it kills him. How Lars will always get back on his feet and snarl at the dark.

How someone has to say NO! I won't allow it anymore!

And, in the end, that someone succeeds.

I write about the people who refuse to falter in the face of evil. And that, I am never sorry about.

Links! I have links!!

2011-10-06T12:36:00.000-05:00

I've created a new page here on TamboWrites called Books and Such. It's over to the right and has anything you need to know about the novels, shorts, and where to buy them. :) Thanks for your patience.

Two posts. One day. Omg, I've lost my mind.

2011-10-05T23:25:00.000-05:00

I've been reading a lot about writing lately, craft, e-vs-traditional publishing, marketing, platforms, royalties, and all the other assorted important-to-writers-but-no-one-else concepts. I love this stuff, just gobble it up (and I spit it back out, as evidenced by my many re-tweets and G+ shares). ;)

One thing I keep running into, though, is:

Every concept has its lovers and detractors.

Writers are people too and we all have preferences and opinions. And we like to be heard. So we, as a group, tend to respond to articles we agree with, and ones we absolutely disagree with. All that's fine. However, some writers (a few in particular who shall remain nameless) apparently live to spit on others.

They DISAGREE, by golly, and they will continue to post and post and fill up the comment area, getting blunter and nastier with each passing comment. I not talking about the folks who comment, 'I disagree and here's why,' then either let it go or continue the discussion in a back and forth, yet always polite fashion. No, I'm talking about the folks who stand in one spot and keep screaming the same damn thing over and over, often peppering their stance with insults or demands that their correct (and obviously superior) opinion be accepted as truth. Or they'll post again, only madder.

It's not just articles about writing, of course (this time of year, politics are a hot bed of rudeness) but as a writer who often knows the two people on either side of the argument, well, it bothers me.

In that vein, I'd like to promote one simple concept that has served me well. It was in the movie, Bambi.

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Wil Weaton phrases it as Don't be a dick.

Perhaps that's better, it's certainly more to the point.

You don't have to agree with anyone else's position on anything, but at least be civil about the disagreement. Don't make personal attacks. If the other person isn't budging, especially the person whose name is on the blog, article, or essay, maybe it's time to walk away because repeatedly screaming louder won't help and it makes you look like an ass.

And I'd be willing to wager, because it's certainly true for me, people are often less likely to purchase products if they know the writer/artist/company/whatever is a jerk.

There are several writers and musicians who will never get one penny of my money because they're jerks. I don't care how fabulous their album or novel is, I won't buy it because I won't support people and companies who promote nastiness. I just won't. And there are lots and lots of us who make these little financial decisions every day.

And we tell people.

Urgh? You're reading that? Did you see how they handled that thing back in August? What an ass!

And, even better, there are writers and musicians I do buy - even if their product or position isn't my thing - BECAUSE they're nice people.

Take my dear friend Catie for example. Love her, love her work, but we pretty much (but not always) disagree on politics. We can, and have, discussed various issues in a kind yet passionate manner and have remained steadfast friends. Same thing with other friends who lean in the opposite direction.

It is possible to disagree without getting nasty. It's possible to discuss an issue and realize that while your friend may have valid points, you're not buying into them.

Just be polite about it. Please. There's more than enough nastiness in this world already without adding to it.

Free Pie Day

2011-10-05T18:17:00.000-05:00

For those of you who don't know, Wednesday is FREE pie day at Village Inn restaurants. Yeah, it's only fruit pie, but still. Free. Pie.

Bill and I imbibe in the freeness now and then - went last week, but not this week - and, if nothing else, it's a nice, cheap date. We each get iced tea to go with our free pie, so for about $4 total, it's a pretty good deal, especially when you're on a budget.

Then again, we don't get out much. ;)

Since almost everyone's been impacted by the current economic climate, what kinds of cheap yet enjoyable things have you found to do?

Waving goodbye to Facebook

2011-10-03T09:52:00.002-05:00

I joined facebook a couple of years ago when a friend started an author page for me. It was a fun place to hang out, catch up with friends and family, and play a few games. But it soon became a time suck and, as the rules kept changing, a bit too public for me. I didn't like having my personal data up for sale (not that almost every social site online doesn't do that, too) that anything I posted, clicked at, or even potentially visited outside of facebook would become public knowledge.

That really bothered me. Not because anyone would care that I frequent quilting sites, writing blogs, and news (Seriously. Who cares that I like Moda Bake Shop?), but does anyone really need to know if I'm researching decapitation, spousal abuse, or how long a person can live after a disemboweling? Not only would it potentially label me as psychotic, it could give away a story element long before the story went public.

And what writer wants that? ;)

The real kicker for me, though, was the increasing negativity. It's like people's self-sensors have turned off. While there's always been that free wheeling 'F this!' attitude to facebook posts, especially by the younger set, I lost count how many non-teenagers were telling others to do things to themselves best not said in public. Or posted raunchy, nasty pics and videos. Or just plain bullying and harassment. On my wall, at least, the venom exploded over the past couple of weeks.

I have no issue with disagreement, only the lack of politeness. People can disagree without calling each other names or making threats. People can be upset and angry without being vicious. Just apparently not on Facebook. And God help you if you ask someone to tone it down.

I just don't want that crap shoved in my face anymore. I have enough of my own to deal with, thanks anyway. So, between the nastiness and privacy issues, I decided I was done. I didn't want to lose my author page or that path of interacting with fans, so I haven't deleted my account, just closed the social 'wall'. I hope that works for everyone, including me. :)

I'll keep checking the page - promise! - but I'm also maintaining a twitter account (http://twitter.com/#!/tambojones) and Google+ (http://gplus.to/tambo). And I'll make a greater effort to update this blog frequently.

{{huggs}}

Reflections on Network TV.

2011-09-30T22:53:00.001-05:00

This is all because of Star Trek Voyager.

Seriously.

I'd like to point out that I've never really watched much TV. Never seen The Sopranos or the West Wing, barely knew LOST existed, and, frankly, the one time I tried to sit through Sex in the City I thought WTF? People actually like this crap??

(Please don't be offended if you're a fan, I am just so far removed from New York, fashion, or being single that it was like watching a show of aliens doing alien things. In their alien language. Nowhere near a cornfield.)

Anyway, growing up and into my adulthood, I occasionally had one TV show that I watched, at least to the point where I looked forward to the day and time, and made plans in my life accordingly. One. Show. At a time. Not 'Fab Fridays' or whatever. Just the one show. SOAP was a must-see fave. Twin Peaks (oh, the flowcharts and character-plot-dissections I made) was another. And Voyager... Yup, it was a third.

I can't think of any *since* Voyager, at least none come to mind, (well, maybe the Goren and Eames episodes of Criminal Intent, which rock) but back in 1996 I was totally, completely hooked on happenings in the Delta Quadrant.

Then our local Fox affiliate quit buying the rights to show the new episodes. My one show, after a cliffhanger season ender, was gone. I was distraught, upset - not quite as upset as I was with Twin Peaks' cancellation, but close - and I frantically sent letters and searched far and wide for some way, any way to get my Voyager fix.

Very few stations picked it up that year (I think it was season 2??) but WSBK in Boston carried it. I lived in Iowa, though, and didn't know a soul in Boston who could tape it for me. Our local Fox affiliate was immune to my pleas, as was the cable company, but, lo and behold, there was a brand spanking new satellite dish company, Dish Network, that listed WSBK as one of their upgrade channels.

Because I get rabidly attached to a TV show roughly once a decade (and because I'm relentless when I'm fixated on something) my darling husband agreed to check into it (spouse speak for 'I'd better agree to this or she'll never give me any peace') and, right about the same time, like that very DAY if I remember right, a local radio station ran a promotional offer for this newfangled Dish Network. One phone call and a couple of days later, I became one of the very first Dish subscribers in Iowa. Seriously. Me, who didn't even watch TV, other than Voyager, of course.

This was back when internet service, at least for us, was dialup, btw. 28 baud or some crappy speed. Us getting a dish was a hugely big technological coup.

Yes, I know I'm spoiled. I do.

Anyway, I'd missed a good hunk of that season, but by-golly we had Dish. Voyager (spoiler alert!! ;) ) finally made it back to the Alpha Quadrant in 2001, and I went back to not-really-watching TV. My family watched, though, shows like MXC and South Park and some screwy ass thing called Cow and Chicken. (I pretty much hated Cow and Chicken. I'm sorry, but Cow bouncing through life with her udders bouncing along with her was just wrong on so many levels just thinking about it makes me cringe). Life moved on to Sponge Bob, CSI reruns on Spike (along with Voyager, wooohoooo!!!! who cares if it was on at 2am, it's VOYAGER!!), and crappy SyFy movies. We dragged the dish with us to the wilds of northern Iowa, upgraded our system a couple of times, and, even as the originally cheap fees steadily grew (and, for me at least, the TV was mostly background noise), we remained constant subscribers despite a hundred channels with nothing on (as Bill liked to say).

Until about a week ago.

With Bill's diminished hours at the posty office and rising prices on everything else in our universe, we decided to let Dish go. It was a luxury, and we didn't need all those channels anyway. Not even WSBK. So we cancelled our service, and promptly discovered that despite having digital TVs, we couldn't receive anything up here. Nothing. But static. And, once, a really grainy episode of Matlock.

So we bought an antenna - gasp! - a big, shiny aluminum monster that could supposedly pick up the signal all the way from Des Moines. It's mounted on the garage now. With its assistance, we receive 5 networks (ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX, and THIS) plus three separate public television stations that show the exact same things. Despite it being 'on the list' the ION channel out of Newton is just too far away. All of the stations have additional 'kinda crappy' affiliate channels (1 to 3 more, like our FOX is 17.1, 17.2, 17.3) I find this perplexing. Why have these other subordinate channels? All Iowa weather? What's the point in that? Channels with sound but only a blank black screen? That's like radio. On TV! I do, however, really like how one channel is nothing but music videos! It's what MTv used to be! Cool.

Like Spock, I squint at it and mutter, "Fascinating."

This week I half-watched auditions for X Factor. I'd never seen a 'talent reality TV show' before. Weird and sad, all at the same time. Why show the obviously awful entrants? It just seems cruel. I doubt I'll watch any more. I saw Aston Kutcher debut on 2 1/2 Men (which we'd seen in reruns) and, yanno, he seemed just like Kelso (on That 70's Show, also only seen in reruns). Saw the premier of TerraNova (other than Laura insisting we had to watch 2 1/2 Men during TerraNova's third quarter so I missed the kids getting chased by dinos) and it was a lot like a cardboard SyFy movie. Watched some PBS. The local news (first time in more than a decade) and a couple of things on daytime TV. Was vastly disappointed in The Chew.

Anyway, we've only had 'Broadcast TV' since Monday. It's just background noise now, if it's even on at all. I think the best thing we'd found was M*A*S*H reruns. Even my nearly-addicted-to-TV daughter isn't watching.

Maybe one day they'll rerun Voyager. Until then, I'll leave it on the music video channel. :)

Getting social

2011-09-26T17:17:00.000-05:00

I'm on facebook (as myself, and as Tamara Siler Jones), on Google+, and on Twitter. Some of these activities are professional while some are purely social - I have quite a lot of friends and extended family who use some or all of these services, and, frankly, it's kind of nice to know what my cousin in Georgia is up to - but they do take a lot of time to monitor and update and such. I'd really like to cut back.

But, as an author and a somewhat public person, I need to maintain an online presence that's easy for fans and new readers to access. I've been thinking about re-starting the TSJ website again, that was certainly easy for the readers to find me, but interactions were difficult and often mired by spam. This blog has not yet received one single spam comment, and I've had no trouble with any of the social networks or their affiliates spamming me, not yet at least.

I am going to sell mainstream/thrillers under a different name, so there's that diversification, too. Do I have two unrelated sites? Put both under the 'tambo' banner somehow? Maintain two separate everythings? I've already made a blog, email and a G+ account for the pseudonym, but what about all the rest? Heck, am I better off, for sales and my sanity, to just write the mainstream books as Tammy Jones (or Tamara Jones) instead of a totally different name?

I love talking with all of you, comments and emails and other interactions (in some ways, that's the best part of this job, and many of you have become good friends over these past years), and I don't want to become a hermit, I'd just like to find a way to manage all of these 'internet presence' responsibilities without spending so much time doing it.

I'd love to hear any suggestions you might have, and remember, you can always email me at tambowrites AT gmail DOT com. :)

{{huggs}} and have a great week, everyone!

We have a winner!

2011-09-19T12:36:00.000-05:00

All of the comments were awesome and really insightful - THANK YOU!!!

Bill picked the random number today and the price-point quilt winner is Childlight! Please send me your snail mail address to tambowrites AT gmail DOT com.

Thank you again everyone who commented. :)

Price Points

2011-09-09T22:17:00.000-05:00

Since I've sort of lumbered into the self-publishing arena with the short stories (again, they're still available for FREE at http://tambowrites.blogspot.com/p/downloads.html) and listed them all for 99¢ at online retailers, I've noticed a few things.

Online sales - not the freebies. Btw, I do not track the freebies in ANY WAY, there are no counters at all and I don't even pay attention to how many people visit my blog or any page on it - show that FIRE sells about four copies for any single copy of the others. ENDORPHINS sells better than SID (more than twice as many). While I understand how fans are more likely to buy the story featuring Lars Hargrove, and 4:1 sounds like a reasonable ratio, I assumed the other two would sell at about the same rate. Nope. The lighter story of Edyth and her chomping quest for happy weight loss totally trumps the gruesome price of Theo facing his writer's block.

Hmm.

Is this due to the covers? The 'free sample' pages? The concept? Do readers care more about fat farms than writer angst? I dunno. But I find it very interesting. While I do write primarily to please myself and keep my own 'Sid' quiet and well fed, I also want to keep the fans happy. So I wonder.

I also wonder, especially after reading Chuck Wendig's essay on pricing ebooks at 99¢, if the perceived value of 99¢ or free is working against me and the stories. None have received any reviews anywhere that I have seen - despite dozens and dozens of paid downloads (and I can only assume even more free ones). Are they great? Are they crappy? Are they - most likely - somewhere between? Is there a stigma associated with reading, or reviewing, or, hell, enjoying, a super-cheap story? All things to ponder as I contemplate another Dubric short and the future completion of Stain of Corruption.

I'd like to try an experiment, but I'd also like some input beforehand. So, how do you all value free and cheap ebooks? Would they be more desirable if they were a bit more expensive - say $1.49 - $1.99 for short stories, more for novel length? Are you more inclined to read or review something you paid for vs something you picked up for free? If an author has a selection of super-cheap ebooks, does that make you more or less inclined to purchase their traditionally published works? Does the fact that I send all of my ebook royalties to charity make any difference at all? (John Hopkins Burn Unit is the fall recipient, btw.) Do you have any other comments or concerns as an ebook buyer?

How about I turn this into a contest? Anyone who leaves a comment answering questions about ebooks in general - or mine in particular - on the blog or facebook will be entered into a drawing to receive one of my table-topper quilts. I actually have four here ready to go. One's black, white and red, one's kinda purple, teal, and green, one's Christmas, and the other is neutrals and browns. So note a color scheme with your comments and I'll leave the contest open until Saturday September 17, at midnight.

Thanks for your help!! {{huggs}}

Derailment

2011-08-24T00:20:00.000-05:00

It amazes me sometimes how easy it is to derail my writing and other plans. Things happen and I sit, shell shocked, and unable to concentrate. I guess that's normal, but this summer has been crammed full of bumps in the road, some good, most not. But Stain is chugging along fairly nicely, not as quickly as I want, no, but I'm pretty happy with it.

To celebrate passing the troublesome beginning and getting into the meaty middle, I'm including a scene from Chapter 3 below the cut. It's first draft, will likely be TONS of changes, but it's fun.

I do love writing Kia and Fyn when they're together. ;)

Jesscea Saworth rummaged through a mountain of laundry in her parents' bedroom and managed to smile at her baby sister Cailin stealing a sock. Cailin gnawed on it a while then, sock dangling from her gums, she grasped the edge of the mattress and pulled herself to her feet.

"Don’t go too far with that," Jess said, willing her shaking hands to fold a pair of her father’s undersho0rts. "I need to match the pairs."

Cailin answered in her cheerful baby blather and toddled around the edge of the bed, holding on for balance.

Jess’s mother, Sarea, hurried in, another basket of laundry in her arms. She smiled at the baby glurgling happily around her chew-sock and set the basket on the floor beside Jess's feet. "You doing all right, sweetie?"

Lars killed another guy in front of me, and I nearly cut the hand off one myself. Now he and dad are in the gaol torturing the guy to get him to talk while Lars’s roommates are guarding our suite just in case someone else comes to kill me. Oh, yeah, I’m super grand dandy, Mam. Jess sighed and tried again to fold the undershorts. "Yeah," she said, shrugging. "I’m okay."

Sarea caressed her daughter’s head, gently smoothing her hair. "If you need to talk..."

Finally folded the dang thing right. Apparently, the third time’s the charm. "Nothing to talk about." Jess set the undershorts onto their allotted stack and it fell over, spilling her father’s undergarments to the floor.

"Here, let me get that," Sarea said, kneeling to pick up the sprawling pile.

Jess watched, eyes stinging, and she clenched her hands to keep them from trembling. Five pairs. How long did they take me to fold? Half a bell? Longer? Her hands slipped open, fluttering, and she clamped them together. Goddess, what’s wrong with me?

Sarea met her daughter’s gaze as she re-stacked the undershorts on the bed beside Jess. "Everything’s going to be okay."

I don’t think it will, Jess thought, managing a nod and a shaky smile.

Sarea kissed her forehead and asked, "Would you rather have pork chops or chicken for supper?"

"I’m not hungry, Mam. Whatever you make will be fine."

Sarea caressed Jess’s head again and turned as someone banged on their suite door. "Stay here." Sarea lifted Cailin and thrust her into Jess arms then hurried from the bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

Jess cradled her baby sister, flinching at the angry voices coming from down the hall. Cailin cooed and rooted at Jess's blouse. "Stop that," Jess murmured, deflecting her sister's quest for the breast. "Mam'll be back in a moment."

The door across the hall flung open with a bang. "Can't a person take a nap around here without all this commotion?" her sister Fyn hollered, walking past Jess's door. "Some of us--"

"Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're special," their elder sister, Kia, yelled back, and Jess sagged, relieved. Kia always has to make an entrance.

She opened the door to see Kia flounce past in a haze of perfume and fury, her dark curls piled high on her head. "Not only was I locked out of my own home," she muttered, oblivious to Jess, "that buffalo at the door wouldn't let me through. He's lucky I didn't kick him in the rocks."

"You're lucky he didn't drag you to gaol for acting like a spoiled brat," Fyn muttered, waddling behind. The smallest and skinniest of the three Saworth girls, late pregnancy made her look like a golden-haired twig that had swallowed a bushel basket. "You know we have to protect Jess."

"Jess, Jess, Jess, the whole damn world revolves around Jess!" Kia snapped, turning. "Why can't--" She stopped, mouth clacking closed, as her dark eyes lit upon Jess and the baby. Her face reddened and she turned away.

"Why can't I what?" Jess asked.

Glaring, Kia turned back, her carmined lips pursed closed.

"Yeah, Kia," Fyn said, arms crossing over her belly and under her considerable bosom. "What should Jess do? Tell us, we're dying to know."

"Never mind," Kia muttered as she turned away.

"I suppose you'd rather it was you everyone was trying to kill," Jess said toward her sister's retreating back. "Or maybe you like the idea of being hunted because someone thinks you can do something that you can't. Or is it because I have to be locked up and under guard all the--"

Kia turned and snapped, "You're being courted by a Royal for Goddess's sake! A Royal who's not only cute and worships the ground you walk on, he kills for you."

Jess took a step back and clutched Cailin closer. "Excuse me?"

"Damn, Jess, what are you doing for him to make him kill for you? The same nasty crap Fyn does to Gilby?"

Fyn leaned forward and snarled, "What my husband and I do is none of your--"

"Shut up, Fyn," Kia said, still glaring at Jess. "And not only do you have Lars wrapped and salivating around your little finger, you have his friends at your merest beck and call. Are you blowing them too? Is that it?"

What? I'm not blowing anybody! Jess stammered, feeling her cheeks get hot, and she managed to mutter, "Lars and I aren't--"

"Shut up yourself!" Fyn snapped, pushing her bulk past Jess. "You're still jealous that we have guys who love us, and you can't find anyone."

Kia glowered, towering over Fyn. "Lots of guys like me. Lots."

"Oh, please. You've balled half the castle, but none ever come back for seconds. Even a smelly old drunk prefers his crusty sock over you!"

"Girls!" Sarea ran toward them while, behind her, Lars's three roommates stared.

Jess cringed and, once again, removed Cailin's questing hand. Goddess, what is it with them?

"That's a lie! Take it back." Kia said, shoving Fyn.

Fyn pushed back. "No."

"Girls! Please! Now isn't the time--" Sarea begged, reaching for Fyn.

"Bitch," Kia snapped.

Fyn leaned forward despite her mother's grip on her shoulder. "Whore." She shrugged free and pushed Kia before adding, "Maybe you need your own crusty sock. No, a carrot! You need a nasty, crusty carot!"

Fingers curled to grab Fyn's hair, Kia snarled and leapt, and Jess scrambled out of the way, Cailin clutched close against her and rooting for her breast.

Her mother struggling to separate the two, Jess stumbled toward the sitting room and Lars's three roommates stretching to see past her down the hall. All three wore longswords at their hips, but Trumble's hung crookedly and looked far too big for him.

"This happen a lot?" he asked, flinching as Fyn let out a pained screech.

"More than you want to know," Jess sighed as she flumped onto the settee. "They've hated each other since we were little." She pulled Cailin out of her blouse again and set the toddler on the floor, then she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, even as her mother yelled at her sisters to knock it the hells off.

Serian, thick, unkempt, and by far the most massive of the three, rooted in his pocket and pulled out a pair of greasy breakfast sausages. He munched one, chuckling at the fight in the hall. "Ooh, that's gonna leave a mark."

"Yeah." Trumble shifted the too-long sword so it didn't touch the floor. "Fyn fights dirty, especially for a pregnant girl."

They both do. Jess closed her eyes and tried not to listen to the screeching and taunts. She thought of Lars and her father, in the gaol, doing Goddess knew what to the grimy man they'd caught. It's surely something painful, all because of me. Goddess, why did I ever touch that dagger? She sighed and opened her eyes again.

Moergan gave Jess an encouraging smile and sat on the settee beside her. Usually a raunchy, incorrigible flirt, she expected him to make a snide comment about her sisters - or attempt to peek up her skirt - but instead he said, "You okay? Anything we can do?"

Jess stared at Serian and Trumble for a long time, long enough for the fight in the hall to cease and Moergan to ask her again. Kia stomped past, hair mussed and blouse crooked. She flicked an obscene gesture at the two laughing young men and flung the door open, stomping through before slamming it behind her.

Jess sighed and said, "Roll back time to last spring then smack some sense into me."

Moergan patted her back. "Will do. I'll have Lars do the smacking though. I bet he'd love to plant a swat or two on your pretty ass."

Jess raised an eyebrow at their friend's ornery smirk.

Moergan grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. "Hey, nothing wrong with a little spanking. It can be rather fun, at the right moment and all."

And here we go with the lewd innuendo. "Lars doesn't want to spank me."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Jess nodded and watched her mother walk into the sitting room. Her hair, too, was mussed and her blouse untucked.

"Positive what?" Sarea asked.

"I bet he'd surprise you," Moergan whispered as he stood. He turned to Sarea and said, "Was just asking Jess if she wanted us to bring Kia back."

"Oh, no, don't do that," Sarea said, scooping up Cailin who immediately reached for her breast. "Let her cool down awhile first."

Back on it, and a good writing night.

2011-08-02T10:12:00.000-05:00

We're still kinda reeling over last week's many life implosions, but I'm back on Stain. Last night I wrote about 10 pages of Dien interrogating a would-be assassin - while struggling to rein in his temper - which was fun.

Today is set aside for errand running, then it's back to work.

The book is starting to fall together. Finally! Yippeeeeee!!

Okay, so maybe this thing is working out. Maybe.

2011-07-27T21:55:00.001-05:00

I've spent the last couple of weeks trying to integrate a massive amount of backstory (mostly from the War) into the current story as a parallel narrative and, so far at least, it seems to be working.

Stain has a whole new opening, I finally got to write a scene from Albin Darril's POV, and I'm actually pretty happy with this!

This integration has, however, shown the need for massive restructuring of the middle of the book - including a different villain, er, assassin, er, sort of both and neither, and that too is coming along quite well. Now I just have to figure out how to kill someone(s) without Dubric getting (or at least being stuck with) their ghosts. ;)

Feel free to make suggestions. lol

Farewell to a Princess

2011-07-26T13:38:00.000-05:00

Our Malaysia died this morning, hit by a car right in front of our house. She was three years old, had been a fabulous mama to a perfect litter of kittens, and was very much adored. She was also determined, ornery, spoiled, particular, and in all ways a Princess. Since we can no longer worship at her altar and bow to her many whims, I can only say goodbye my sweet princess. We loved you and miss you very much.

For a mere ten dollars

2011-07-16T12:50:00.000-05:00

I meet with my writing group twice a month for lunch followed by much gabbing at Borders. We critique each other, support and encourage each other, and do our best to keep each other accountable because, let's face it, we're all mired with life upheaval. Grandkids. Grown children moving back home. Job changes. New romances. Illness and injuries and car trouble and, well, life.

In short, we've been slacking with our writing, all of us so we've devised a plan. Create a writing goal. Hit it, there's no penalty. Miss it, pony up $10 toward a writing retreat.

My goal is 8 more finished chapters of Stain by our next meeting (the end of this month). I'm CHEAP and there's no way I'll have to pay.

No freaking way.

Speaking of Stain, I'm working at integrating the Pavlis Accords and other important events into the narrative, not as flashbacks but as intersecting story. It's coming along really, really well. :)

Gilby and Otlee

2011-07-06T10:33:00.002-05:00

Now that all the house-stuff is done, I've been trying to focus on Stain. The current draft is mostly finished, length wise, but a real mess, content wise. That's okay, it's fixable.

But, in an effort to show that it's not all awful, I'm sharing a scene from about mid-book with Gilby and Otlee. Since Dubric, Dien and Lars are insanely busy with bigger problems, Dien has sent the boys to bring in a known drunk (Crith) supposedly for a minor offense, but actually because Dubric has been haunted by Crith's wife's ghost for a couple of days. There's been no time to investigate her murder because things in Faldorrah are a bit nuts to say the least, and Dien assumed it would be an easy and safe task to delegate.

Easy and safe in a tambo book? Um... no.

Anyway, the scene's below the cut. Hopefully it'll last through revisions because I really like Gilby. ;)

Gilby struggled off his horse and didn't want to look at their destination. He'd heard whispers that Crith hadn't just beat his wife, he'd killed her. Days ago. And that the place was starting to stink. Feet on the ground, he wrapped the reins around his hand and wished he could climb back up. Still early morning, it was sweltering hot and sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, making his back itch. Grimacing, he swatted at a fly that had decided his ear looked tasty.

"What's wrong with you?" Otlee asked as he tied his gelding. "We're just bringing in a drunk. Lars does it all the time."

Lars has a stronger stomach. "Yeah, I know." Gilby detected a low heavy stink on the breeze. Rot. Death. And pig shit. His gut did a slow roll and he swatted another fly. Beside him, the horse shied and backed up a step.

Otlee rolled his eyes. "You do realize there's more to this job than sitting in the outer office watching people come and go?"

"Yes, but..."

"It's the job, Bug," Otlee said. "If you don't have the balls to arrest a common drunk, you'd better grow some." He glanced at Gilby from the corner of his eye, "Assuming Dien lets you."

No reason to get snotty. Gilby gave Otlee a hard and humorless smile then limped up the steps to the Perr's tenement, one of three vermin-ridden flats above the slaughterhouse. The stench of animal feces and fear was enormous and Gilby wondered how any sane person would even consider renting a room right above all of that squealing, death, and blood. A walkway of spongy wood decking led from the stairs to the flats, and a moldy rail on the right was all that kept folks from tumbling to the road below. Gilby put a hand on the rail to help his balance and it creaked outward, its supports rotted and weak. Grimacing, he stepped closer to the solid wall.

The door before the Perr's flat stood wide open, possibly to let in the putrid, cooling breeze. An old woman - Glayd? No, something like that though - lay on the floor, snoring, without a stitch of clothes on. Flies landed on her privates and buzzed around before flitting off just to land again.

"Quit staring at her snatch," Otlee said. "We're not allowed to look at stuff like that. It's not professional."

Gilby blushed and looked out to the road. "Someone should cover her."

"Not part of the job," Otlee said. They reached Crith's door and Otlee knocked. "Mister Perr? It's pages Otlee Arc and Gilby Talmil, from the castle. Can we talk to you for a moment, please?"

Gilby heard nothing but a cart rattling past and some poor pig squealing its last breath below.

Otlee knocked again, louder. "Crith? Are you there?"

"Peggin' asswipe sumbitches!" Crith screamed from inside and the door flung open. He stood there, tottering, barefoot and covered with drying puke, wearing nothing more than stained undershorts and a ripped unbuttoned shirt. The gassy dead reek that billowed out made Gilby cough, and Jennit lay just inside the door, sprawled over a busted chair and her face a mass of flies and maggots.

Goddess damn, she's really dead!

Crith bellowed a hitching wail and swung a jagged hunk of wood that looked like it might have once been part of a bedpost.

It whooshed past Otlee's head, leaving a waft of old urine and ale behind. The boy squawked and dodged aside as Crith pulled back for another swing. Otlee scrambled to the rail overlooking the road and hunkered down, but he was cornered, nowhere else to go.

"Hey!" Gilby said, swinging his arms in the hope that he'd draw Crith's attention. He might not be able to move fast, but at least he had the whole line of decking and the stairs to escape to, not to mention the sleeping old woman's flat.

"I didn't mean to!" Crith screamed, swinging at Otlee again. The makeshift club hit the railing, shattering the creaky old wood. "Why can't you bastards understand? I love her!"

"Calm down," Gilby said, reaching for Crith. The club whizzed toward his face in a wild, round swing and he ducked, nearly stumbling as his bad hip twinged under the sudden strain.

But Crith had focused on Otlee and the club snapped another shard off the railing. "Peggin' castle nobles don't know shit!" he screamed, slamming down a third time. "Quit drinkin'!" Slam! "Quit fightin'!" Slam! "You think I don't love her?" Slam! "Peggin' bastard sumbitchin' nobles! She's dead!" Slam! "But that ain't enough for you, is it? Friggin' bastards!" Slam! "Quit peggin' with my life!"

A huge hunk of railing snapped off and tumbled to the ground where it shattered like old glass. A crowd had gathered below, gawking. Several stepped back to avoid the shrapnel.

Otlee cowered, arms over his head, his remaining cover gone.

Gilby tried again. "Hey, over here! Let's talk about why you're so upset--"

"Get the peg away from me." Crith elbowed Gilby in the gut, knocking him on his ass.

Crith tottered and passed gas, then took a bleary, stumbling step after Gilby. "Peggin' asswipe nobles!" he screamed, swinging.

Gilby protected his head with his arm. The pain from the blow was enormous, a huge vicious beast erupting from fire. Crith pulled back for another swing and Gilby kicked out with his good leg, hoping to knock Crith back.

Gilby's foot slammed Crith's knee, hard. The drunk squawked his surprise, arms cart-wheeling, and he stumbled against Otlee. The boy was still hunkered down, balled up to protect his vitals, and Crith kept going, momentum carrying him over the boy and off the edge of the decking.

He screamed his descent, but the thud silenced him.

Panting and in pain, Gilby crept to the edge and peered over to the see the man sprawled below and a bloody stain spreading out from behind his head.

Otlee peered out from beneath his arms. "What happened?"

Gilby hung his head then sighed before dragging himself to his feet. "Dien sent us to bring Crith in and what do I do? I kill the guy." He held out a hand to help Otlee stand and wondered why he always pegged up the simplest tasks.

Yup, I'm 47. Not sure if I like it much.

2011-06-25T16:58:00.001-05:00

It's my birthday today, and I'd like to say we had a big party and cake and gobs of presents, but that'd be fibbing. I did get to go out to lunch with Bill and Laura (which was nice), and we did a little shopping (also nice), but mostly we went through lists of postal sorting centers to filter out all the upcoming closings and places we really didn't want to relocate too (huge cities, like New York, Chicago, etc, and locations in the southwestern desert because Laura and I both burn like crazy) and then tried to pick our top contenders from what remained

Honestly, not a lot remained. It's shocking and quite worrisome how many postal centers are closing. We had twelve pages of centers, HUNDREDS to start with, and more than half are just gone or soon will be. Where are all their employees going to go? How can so many people relocate? Will they? Since Bill's only been a postal employee 5 years, will he even be able to find a place to relocate to? Hell, will he even have a job after October?

Very scary stuff. Neither of us are good with uncertainty and it's really dragging our psyches down.

Our house has been on the market for 2 weeks and no nibbles yet - not that we expected any this quickly - and we're having an open house tomorrow. Hopefully that will go well.

We really could use some good news.

Dermatological 2

2011-06-21T20:08:00.000-05:00

The doc was really nice, if a bit rushed, and I now have new, pricey, super-gentle cleanser and am awaiting arrival of special, super pricey, must order it in because our pharmacy doesn't stock it, antibiotic lotion. Both of which must be used twice a day.

If they won't help, there's one more thing she can try, then it's off to laser surgery for me. So, hopefully this stuff will work.

I must admit, the cleanser makes my face feel 'happy'. I am rather encouraged if humbled by the price of all this stuff.

Dermatological

2011-06-15T10:30:00.000-05:00

I'm biting the bullet - again - and going to a dermatologist to have my Rosacea looked at. I'm just tired of my face stinging all the time and people asking me if I'm okay, since I'm so red.

ARRGH. I don't want to go because it will almost certainly be a waste of time. I went to one once, years ago, a guy highly recommended by my regular doc, supposed to be the best in the area, and it didn't go well. He blustered in, confirmed that I did, indeed, have Rosacea, remarked that - oh! - I was allergic to tetracyclines, so here's some amoxicillin pills. Put some moisturizer on it and good luck. Poof, right back out the door.

Was with me all of maybe 45 seconds. We didn't have insurance at the time and it cost more than a hundred bucks. The amoxicillin helped my sinuses, but I was already moisturizing, and the visit was all just a big waste of my time and money. My regular doc has since tried tried a couple of things, but nothing's helped. It just is what it is, I guess.

Here's hoping next week's appointment helps, at least a little.

Driving!

2011-06-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

Our darling daughter has never expressed an interest in driving. Ever. All of her friends and cousins were chomping at the bit to get their permits and licenses, thinking up a zillion great reasons why they needed the keys to the car. Not Laura, not ever. For one thing, she never had anywhere to go that someone else wasn't going to. For another, she's not much of a social butterfly, more of a homebody (although she does get feeling cooped up and stir crazy from time to time) so when she did go out, it was with friends, or family. Or she just walked. Mostly, though, she just stayed home or asked someone to drive her, which often became a PITA for her mom (me), especially considering Laura's wackydoodle work schedule.

Last week, after her parents pretty much demanded she rectify this situation, she got her permit. Today, since he's home, her dad is taking her driving. I'm sitting her queasy and worried.

They're heading out to dirt roads in the rural cornfield wilderness. Here's hoping they can stay out of the ditches.

Drive safe, Laura!

Royalties to help spread Literacy!

2011-05-26T20:11:00.000-05:00

Okay, gang, I need some brainstorming help here. Smashwords and Amazon have both paid me within the past few days (a total of $26.27) for the three short stories. Last winter's income went to a women's shelter, and this round is slated for a library/literacy.

Does anyone have any suggestions as to where to send it? I can write a physical check, or send money through paypal. While I'm sure my teeny local library could use the funds, I'd kinda rather have it go somewhere that would actually help people learn to read.

I know it's not much money, but every little bit helps!

Implosions

2011-05-11T21:39:00.000-05:00

Life has, in its random pain-in-the-butt way, imploded. Hubby is getting 'excised' at work - which means he'll be forcibly transferred who-knows-where who-knows-when - and we're trying to get the house ready for sale. Our community wide yard sale is this weekend, and we're getting ready for that. Plus our daughter has moved back home, adding more stuff to the house and our worries.

Needless to say, I haven't written much. I have, though, decided that the original opening, where Lars and Dien deal with a child rapist, is still the opening, only changed somewhat, with Dien being the POV character in the initial scene, before Lars heads upstairs to talk to the victim.

My sewing room is all packed up and hauled off to storage, the kitchen is in shambles, the bathroom is half gutted, and I have a pile of, well, crap we're trying to get rid of, in my living room. I'm planning on working on Stain tonight, get chapter 3 roughed out at least, because I need to do something besides worry and pack boxes.

Here's hoping we all have a good weekend and this next upcoming week!

Updates and such

2011-04-25T14:28:00.001-05:00

After all of these years/months of struggling to wrap my brain around all the things that need to happen in Stain of Corruption, I think I may have actually figured out the book! Been making good progress the past few days and I'm not angsty of gnashy or anything. I do, however, stay up till 4am or so writing. ;)

Btw, pretty much everyone is still totally screwed, which is awesome! Well, at least for me. ;)

M has received two declinations so far and both have been very encouraging. Loved the book, couldn't put it down, but must decline due to this one (minor, easy to fix) issue. And, of course, the issues do not match. That's all perfectly normal and fine. I think that the real issue, if there is one, is that print markets are shrinking due to both the increase in ebooks and the tightening of the American economy, and that the rejections of M are, in a large part, due to that financial reality. I totally understand, and it's okay. The book will find a home, sooner or later, and, if not, I'll just write something else.

It is nice to get such gushing rejections though. lol

I don't think I've mentioned our Looming Big Life Change here on the blog, but due to posty office restructuring, we'll likely have to move sometime this summer or fall. We don't want to - we both love it up here in the corn-fed wilds of Northern Iowa, so Bill and I have been struggling to decide what we're going to do and how we're going to do it. We've agreed upon a plan and have set it into motion, including the partial gutting of our bathroom as we totally update and move stuff around to better suit the space. So, here at Casa Del Jones, we're in remodeling mode.

We love remodeling mode! Been to Menards four times in the last three days and it's pretty awesome. As our new shower will be! Woot!

Once the new shower's in and functioning, Bill will rip out the existing shower and put in a jet-tub (you can kinda see part of it on the left edge of the picture). Today we looked at tile for the 'top' of the tub surround thing and found some really nice granite tiles that just about perfectly match our vanity. This is all so exciting! :)

M is off to the next stage

2011-03-28T11:54:00.000-05:00

My agent loved M and he's sending the book out to editors. I'm nervous and scared and excited, but it's been a great journey. Im pretty confident someone will buy it.

Managed to finish some sewing over the weekend and I've also started cleaning out closets and things for this spring's community yard sale. I'll be working on Stain's narrative starting either this weekend or the first of next week.

Let's finish chapter 1

2011-03-26T20:05:00.002-05:00

Here's the final scene from Stain's chapter one, but that's probably all I can post, copyright issues and all that jazz. As always, it's subject to change if it ever sees print, and I'm reserving all rights. :)

Not much gruesomeness below the cut. :)

A bell or so later, Lars hopped onto a table in the castle physician's examination room and watched Physician Rolle prepare a suture kit. "I... I don't need stitches," Lars said. "Not today."

Rolle paused, peering over his spectacles. "You? With all that blood?" Rolle tsk tsked and returned to his threads and snips. "I've never known you to be afraid of a few stitches."

"The only cut I have is inside my lip," Lars said, shrugging, "and a few scrapes and bruises on my knuckles. I don't need stitches for that."

"All right," Rolle said, giving Lars his full attention. "Broken bones? Contusions? Dizziness?"

Lars reddened and tried to push his worry away. "No. Snap. Maybe. I--" He shook his head and muttered, "Hells."

Rolle put a calming hand on Lars's shoulder. "These things sometimes happen, especially to young men your age, but I find it rather difficult to imagine that either you or Jess would be unfaith--"

"Goddess no!" Lars leaned back, knocking off Rolle's gentle grip. "No. Not that. We haven't even done anything like that with each other, let alone with someone else." He grimaced, unable to comprehend kissing anyone but Jess, let alone lying with another girl. "That's... awful. No."

"Lars," Rolle said patiently, "snap spirochetes aren't something a boy can pick up while going innocently about his business. There has to be some sort of romantic exchange involved. Fluids and things."

Lars sighed and shoved out, "I caught a rapist today. We fought. I castrated him. He had snap. Bad." He felt his lip quiver but he forced it still again. "Should I start the medications? I don't want to take any chance that Jess might get sick, especially not something like this."

Rolle offered an encouraging smile. "We'll do a full exam, okay? Let's start with your hands."

Lars let Rolle work, asking only minimal questions as the physician closely examined and swabbed every scratch, scrape and scar on Lars's hands, face and arms.

"What did the barber put on your hands?" Rolle asked as he finished collecting his samples and put the little dishes away.

"A lye-based antiseptic scrub followed by a soak in a tincture of mercury," Lars said, reaching for his notebook. "I wrote it all down."

Rolle read Lars's notes and nodded. "I'll give you a light dose of mercury and zinc cream for your hand, but there's a new inoculation all the medical ledgers are touting. It supposedly works wonders if the disease is caught before the chancres turn to rash, and has virtually no hazardous effects. It's a miracle, they say, just a simple filtrate of green mold."

"Really?" Lars let his breath out in a relieved rush. Maybe he wouldn't have to suffer through the bloody diarrhea and vomiting of arsenic treatments, let alone the potential lifetime of pain. "Just a shot of mold and I'll be okay?"

"Five, actually, to be sure," Rolle said, moving to the medicine cabinet. "One every other day should clear it up before you have a chance to develop a single pustule."

"Oh thank you thank you thank you," Lars said, smiling at the ceiling. Even though he and Jess hadn't made love yet, he had every intention of completing that task. The possibility of telling her they had to wait even longer because he might have caught snap from a rapist was too awful to comprehend.

Rolle smeared a thin layer of gray goop on Lars's right hand and wrapped it before readying a syringe. "I really don't think you've caught it, those scrapes on your knuckles have barely broken the skin, but just in case, tell Jess I said nothing but kissing for at least a phase, and if she has bleeding gums or bites her tongue, not even that. Okay? You keep your germs to yourself until I make sure you don't develop any chancres and nothing unexpected grows in the incubators."

"Sure. No problem," Lars said, happily relieved. He didn't wince at all when Rolle plunged the needle into his shoulder.

"After you've had all five doses, you kids can go back to whatever you've been doing, but use a prophylactic for anything beyond the kissing. Anything. Until a moon from today."

"I told you we're not--"

"Lars, I've seen the two of you together," Rolle said, turning to put away his tools. "If you're not laying together yet, it's not far off. Here. Explain it all to Jess and use these. Doctor's orders." He turned back and gave Lars an envelope of folded prophylactics before checking the wrapping on Lars's hands. "I really don't think you'll have any trouble. The disease is very contagious, yes, but your exposure was minimal and the correct treatments were prompt. We'll know for sure in a few phases. Keep that medicine on for a full quarter bell then wash it off with soap and hot water. I don't want you to get mercury burns or become toxic, so no more mercury for you unless you develop lesions, okay? I'll see you back here day after tomorrow for another inoculation. If you find a rash or a blister, anywhere, see me right away, all right?"

"Yes. Of course." Cheered despite his embarrassment, Lars hopped down from the table and pocketed the envelope. "Thanks."

Rolle smiled and shook his head. "You're going to be fine. Try to stay out of trouble for once."

Lars chuckled and turned to go, but paused near the door. "Hey, do you have enough of that green mold stuff to send to Merilee in Miller's Creek? The guy got five or six little girls before we caught him."

"Filthy bastard. And those poor girls." Rolle's cheek tightened and disgust was plainly etched on his face. "I'll send a batch out to Merilee today."

Stain, scene two

2011-03-25T14:16:00.001-05:00

Since I'm pretty sure I'd snipped Stain's opening scene before, here's the next. It's a bit more violent. Hope 'yall like it. (scene below the cut)

This is scene from a first draft version of Dubric Book 4 - Stain of Corruption. There may be many modifications and changes, and all words contained here are © Copyright 2011, Tamara Siler Jones.

Dien had hacked out a mountain of bloody phlegm onto the road as they rode to the presser's farm, and he had listened to Lars review the particulars of Jinnie's rape.

"I barely remember Ethan," Dien wheezed, rubbing his aching right side. "Served his time without a bit of fuss. I don't think Aghy complained about him once." He coughed again, until a wad of dark gunk flew from his mouth. Busted ribs my ass. That mage hurt me moons ago. Something's pegged up in my lungs. Scowling, he wiped at his lips with the back of his arm. "I always figured Ethan was a drunk, not a kiddy pervert."

"Assumptions are sometimes wrong," Lars said, shrugging. "I just want to be sure. No doubts, no way this can come back to bite us in the ass." He glanced at Dien and added, "I'm not taking him to gaol. Not this time."

"No argument from me. I hate pegging kiddy perverts."

"She bit him on the post," Lars snarled. "Bit him hard enough to knock her own teeth loose. That'd leave a mark, if not outright lacerations. And the bites he left show that his mouth is a mess of missing and crooked teeth. I confirm those two facts, and I'm gutting him like a fish."

Despite the conversation's wretched tack, Dien relished his pride in the young man's principles and resolve. "I won't stop you, pup. Dubric might get his panties in a twist, but he's not here. He didn't see that little girl."

Lars nodded and let out a heavy sigh. "I hate cases like this and just hope we get this done and get home without too much fuss. Or mess. Jess always worries when I come home a mess."

Dien couldn't suppress a smile. He could not conceive of a better man, anywhere, to court his favorite daughter. "You kids have special plans for tonight?"

"Just supper and stargazing, as far as I know. She's been feeling caged up and I try to get her out to open air as much I can." Lars stretched in the saddle and sighed, "She's not happy about the tomb. At all."

Dien ran a shaky hand over his short shorn head. Jesscea had ultimately killed the same mage that had sprung his lungs and, since then, several men had attempted to kill or kidnap her. Desperate to keep her safe, Dien had built a tiny, secured room between two closets. A room Jess utterly hated, referring to it as her tomb. He didn't like making his daughter a prisoner, unable to take a breath of fresh air without an armed escort, but what choice did he have? "I know, pup, but it'll keep her safe," he said at last.

Lars glanced over and said, "I can keep her safe, haven't I proven that? I love her, she loves me. Let us get married. Please."

Dien looked away. Lars had been pressing for marriage for moons. Dien had little doubt that the lad could protect his daughter, or that they truly did love one another, but they were so young. Too young. It was hard enough for two kids to worry about one getting killed without shoving them into the responsibility of marriage, too.

"You're too young. Maybe next summer. Or the one after that. We'll see then."

Lars ground his teeth and stared straight ahead. "Let's just get today's creep caught and punished. At least I can do that well enough."

They reached the presser's shop and dismounted. Dien managed to drag himself to Lars's horse without completely losing his breath, and he let the boy tie both mounts. The presser's shop stood to their left facing the rutty lane, while a long tangled row of overgrown trees on their right served as a windbreak for the house and small barn beyond. "I know you're ticked pup, and I know seeing that little girl tore up was frigging awful, but we have a job to do, no more no less. Keep your head. Don't let it be personal."

Lars pulled his sword from the saddle scabbard then strapped it to his hip. "I'll be fine." He gave Dien a curt nod and, together, they walked to the shop.

A boy about Lars's age opened the shop's main door and stepped out, a five-gallon barrel in his arms and a plump woman tottering close behind. Apparently oblivious to Dien and Lars approaching, he set the barrel in an old wheelbarrow then turned to shake the woman's hand. His eyes widened and he took a startled step back. "Hey!" he called out, paling. "There's men here. With swords."

Ethan, a thick, balding man in a worker's leather apron, rushed out the door and instructed the young worker to head to the house. "Is there some problem, gentlemen?" Ethan asked, gaze flicking aside to watch Lars's hand fall to his sword. He let out a tired, accepting sigh. "I gather you're not here to purchase cider or whiskey." The woman gaped and fell back to land, sprawling, in her wheelbarrow.

Dien and Lars stopped a few short lengths in front of the man. "Ethan the presser?" Lars asked.

"Yessir," Ethan said, nodding his head slightly. "I don't want any trouble. Can you give me a moment to lock up my shop?"

He turned to go but stopped when Lars said, "Let me see your teeth."

Ethan looked back, caution tightening his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard him shit heap. Show us your frigging teeth," Dien said. He coughed to clear his pipes and spat a wad of blood.

Ethan shook his head and took a step back. "Why do you need to see my teeth?"

"Because I said so," Lars snapped, stepping forward. "You teeth and your dick. Now."

Dien came to stand beside Lars. "I'd suggest you comply before we force your frigging mouth open." The woman in the wheelbarrow watched the confrontation, her eyes bugged open and her mouth babbling silently.

"I don't understand," Ethan said, looking back and forth between the two officials. "I know why you're here and I've volunteered to be arrested without any fuss. That should be good enough."

Lars partially drew his sword in an obvious threat. "Not this time. Show me your Goddess damned teeth now or I'll look at them while you're lying on the ground screaming."

"Pup..." Dien said, his voice a low warning.

Lars muttered something Dien couldn't hear then said, "Last chance. Show me your damned teeth. Now."

"Just arrest me," Ethan said, holding out his wrists for shackles. Take me to gaol. I'm not denying I hurt--"

Lars punched him square in the throat and Ethan dropped like a bag of grain. He writhed on the ground, wailing a low, hoarse squeak.

"What'd you do that for?" the woman screeched. She struggled to get out of her wheelbarrow but her heft kept her stuck and flailing. "He said he'd go with you!"

Lars stood over Ethan, panting, and muttered an audible curse. "He's missing a couple of teeth on the bottom, and an upper molar. Piss!" He looked over at Dien and added, "It's not right. Our guy's missing a bicuspid and a canine, both on top. Nothing gone on the bottom."

Dien arrived and stared down at Ethan. "You're sure pup, certain, about the bites?"

"I sketched them." The boy pursed his lips a moment and shook his head. "He didn't do it."

"Check his dick," Dien said, pulling his own sword. "Make sure."

"No!" Ethan choked out. "You can't do this! Just arrest me and be done--"

As Ethan reached down to stop Lars, Dien kicked him in the belly. "Hold your ass still or I'll cut your pegging hands off."

Lars knelt to quickly cut open the front of Ethan's trousers and flipped the fabric aside. "He's clean. See for yourself," he said, shoving back to his feet. "Dammit!"

"Of course I'm clean!" Ethan choked out. "I bathe every other--"

Dien glared at Ethan's unmarked privates then kicked him again. "Shut the peg up."

Ethan started to beg to be taken on to gaol, but Dien just kicked him again before looking at Lars.

The boy was pacing and muttering. "Why would someone volunteer to go to gaol for a rape they didn't commit? Why? It doesn't make any sense. We've had criminals that were relieved to get caught, sure, but no one in their right mind would--"

"I can think of a reason," Dien said. He glared down at Ethan with sudden, crushing pity.

Lars turned, furious. "Her hair was smeared with molasses and there were sorghum seeds in her back and ass! It's syrup-making season and she said it was the presser. It all makes sense, adds up, but... it's not him!"

"I ain't arguing with you, pup, but did she say it was this presser?" Dien asked.

Realization brightened Lars's eyes and he rushed back to them, blade in hand. "Is it your apprentice, you lying freak?"

"Is he your son?" Dien asked, his voice soft.

Ethan shook his head and rolled to his side, to his knees. "Just arrest me. Hang me if you have to. I don't care. I did it. I hurt that little girl. Arrest me!"

"Check the house," Dien said to Lars as he dragged Ethan to his feet.

Lars ran around the row of bushes, soon screaming for Ethan's apprentice to halt, to not move, and to drop it.

Dien slapped shackles on Ethan's wrists then shoved the smaller man aside and stumbled toward Lars.

"He used to be a good boy," Ethan said, his voice squeaking yet hoarse as he stumbled to keep up. "Please. Please don't kill him."

Lars had his sword out and slowly approached the lad carrying a valise. The other boy looked back and forth between the two castle officials and backed away, moving toward the open ground between the house and barn.

"Stop right there," Lars ordered, moving aside to block the boy's retreat.

"You planning on take a little jaunt?" Dien asked. "Visiting relatives, maybe?"

The boy shook his head and clutched the valise to his chest. "Leave me alone."

"Don't say anything, Edgar," Ethan said from behind Dien. "Go back in the house. I've already told them I did it."

Edgar, eyes wide and darting between Lars and Dien, took a step to the side. Both of his hands were on the valise and Dien saw no obvious weapons. "Pa... They got swords."

"Yeah, we do," Lars said. "And we both know how to gut filthy freaks like you."

Edgar babbled, "I... No. No," and stumbled his next step back while Ethan screamed for him to stay quiet and go back in the house.

Dien and Lars both moved closer. "Pup," Dien said, using one hand to keep Ethan behind him. "I'm a bit occupied here. He's all yours."

"All right." Lars put his sword away and held out his empty hands. "Let me see your teeth, Edgar. Okay?"

"No!" Ethan yelped, lunging at Dien. "Don't you hurt my boy!"

Edgar staggered toward his father as Dien grasped Ethan by the shirt and flung him to the ground. "Pa!" Edgar screamed, rushing toward them, valise tossed aside and forgotten.

Lars lunged, tackling Edgar and knocking him off his feet. They wrestled, blows flying, but Lars punched Edgar repeatedly in the face until the other lad stopped struggling. "Piss-head bastard," Lars muttered as he shoved himself aside and wiped at his bleeding mouth with the back of his wrist. He took a breath and returned to loom over Edgar. "Let me see your teeth."

Edgar clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, so Lars punched him in the face again. And again. Until all the fight was out of him.

One finger hooked in the other boy's lower lip, Lars jerked his jaw down. "No canine and the bicuspid's rotted to the hells," he said, shoving back. "Match there." He took a couple of breaths and spat a mouthful of blood before pulling his dagger.

"No. Please," Ethan begged, but Dien cuffed him and dragged him to the two boys. A crowd had gathered at the road and, greedily horrified, they slowly moved closer.

Edgar protested weakly but was no match for Lars's dagger at the fastenings of his trousers. Another flick and the trousers opened. Lars coughed and turned his head away for a moment; the disgusted grimace on his face was unmistakable. "Definitely snap," he said, looking up at Dien. He made a gagging sound and cleared his throat.

"And she bit him good," Dien said, nodding at the mess. "Looks like we got our proof, pup."

Lars nodded and glared at Edgar's bleary blinking. "Edgar whatever-the-piss-your-aftername-might-be, as a duly appointed and noble-ranking representative of the province of Faldorrah, I hereby deem you guilty of raping Beliene's daughter Jinnie and other minor children. Such an offense is punishable by death, as per the discretion of my office. And I so decree." Lars flipped the dagger in his hand and held it at Edgar's throat. "Do you have any last words before I commute sentence and send your filthy soul to the seven hells?"

"You can't! Please! He's only sixteen!"

Still a pegging minor, Dien thought. Piss. He shoved Ethan back to the ground and ran a hand over his short-shorn head. "Pup..."

Lars glared at Ethan. "That's why Dubric incarcerated you. The father paying penance for the crimes of the son."

Ethan nodded, crawling toward him. "Please. Just take me to gaol and be done with it."

Lars cursed and looked up to search Dien's eyes, then something brightened there, behind his gaze. "Article twenty seven in the federal code," he said, nodding slightly. "There's more than one punishment for rape, if we go to federal law, instead of Faldorrahn. Just because we can't execute him doesn't mean we can't save the kids."

Dien bent to grab Ethan by the back of the collar. "You still want to serve your son's sentence?"

Ethan's eyes rolled back until he looked up at Dien. "What?"

"Article twenty seven allows for castration of perverts, leches, rapists, and molesters if an execution isn't warranted."

"Or allowed," Lars said, moving the dagger toward Ethan's hips. He grimaced again. "I'd rather just kill him so I don't have to touch that... mess."

"But he was a good boy! It's my fault, I took him to a whore for his birthing day! She gave him the snap and it's rotting his brain. Please! Punish me, not my son!"

Frigging hells, Dien thought as he shoved Ethan back again. Lars's birth mother had a long history of prostitution, an occupation that had brought Lars much grief and shame. A snap-riddled whore infecting a boy so badly that he'd hurt children might make the situation a personal affront for Lars and break whatever control he still had over the current frigging crisis in progress. And continue to worsen the boy's already strained relationship with his mother.

"What? You're blaming this on a whore?" Lars immediately paused, shaking his head, then took a shuddering breath and lunged at Edgar again. Edgar groaned and tried to crawl away, but Lars shoved him flat onto his back and punched him in the gut, the throat, the face. "Don't you dare blame her. She didn't do it. You did. You. Bastardhells!" He shoved himself away and took a few panting breaths. "Why'd you have to hurt little girls?"

Edgar laughed despite the blood clogging his mouth. "So little, so tight. So tasty."

Snarling, Lars grabbed him by the throat and throttled him, slamming his head against the ground. "Pegging shit. Pegging filthy shit! I should just kill you anyway. Goddess damn, I hate this pegging job. Pegging filthy shits!"

"Pup, don't," Dien said, his voice low, his heart breaking. "Keep the law. Don't let him win. Not like this."

"Goddess damn you and the law." He stared at the mess in Edgar's pants and rummaged in his jacket pocket, his expression fading to exasperation. "Damn it. I forgot my gloves. You bring any?"

Dien shook his head. "Sorry, pup. I didn't expect to run into this."

"Piss." Lars snatched a kerchief from a trouser pocket. Fabric protecting his hand, he grasped Edgar's testicles as if they were smeared with maggoty slime, then made a single, firm swipe with his dagger. Edgar and Ethan both screeched, but Lars just stood and, bloody mess in hand, he snapped an evidence sack from his jacket pocket. He shoved the kerchief and wad of bleeding testicles inside then spat on Edgar before kicking him one last time.

Ethan fought Dien's grip, screaming, writhing, and swinging wild, shackled punches. "What'd you do to my son? You call him a freak? You pegging bastards! What'd you do to my son?!" He wailed, tears streaking down his face.

Dien held the presser just out of reach. "We let him live. Be thankful we didn't cut off your balls, too." Ethan's struggles faded then he sagged, weeping.

Lars cursed and kicked the valise open. Six bloodied sets of little girls panties lay inside, most smeared with old, crusty semen. "Should've killed him. Would have been easier, all around," Lars muttered, kicking the valise closed again before tossing it to Dien. "I think I need some lye soap and disinfectant," he said, rubbing his hands on his trousers. "Get this mess scrubbed off me and my clothes." He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I wish I could scour it out of my brain."

"We'll go right to the barber, get you cleaned up," Dien said, undoing Ethan's shackles so he could tend his unconscious son. As Lars staggered to the horses, Dien approached the crowd. "If any of you folks have young daughters, we'll leave them both to your tender care."

It's out the door!

2011-03-24T14:18:00.001-05:00

M left my emailbox this morning and is in the hands of my agent. I'm taking this weekend and all of next week off to sew, then I'm back to working on Stain of Corruption. I thought you'd all like to hear that. :)

As a bonus, I'm including part of Stain's opening chapter below the cut. Please note there is ADULT CONTENT and this scene may be offensive to some readers. Just probably not mine. :)

Stain of Corruption

Chapter 1

It had all started as just another long, awful day on the job, just another crime to clean up. After summers of working with Castellan Dubric, Lars had long become accustomed to drunks, thieves, and the occasional messy murder. Child molesters were another matter entirely. No aspect of their investigations ever came easy, including dealing with the parents. Especially when said parents were angry drunks like Missus Beliene.

Arms crossed over her narrow chest, she muttered around a shitty smelling cigarette, "If you two think I'm letting some boy examine my daughter you've lost your fool minds." She plucked the fag from her lips and jabbed it forward, the smoke leaving putrid tendrils in the air. "Ain't she been hurt enough? And where the piss is Lord Dubric? I sent for Lord Dubric."

Behind her, on the opposite side of the main room, three ragamuffin children jabbed and struck one another, apparently oblivious to their mother arguing with two castle officials. One of the children, a boy of maybe five summers, broke an already chipped stoneware tray over his toddling sister's head. The girl promptly screeched.

Beliene turned to yell over her shoulder, "Shut your fool heads, you shits, before I paddle your asses! Can't you see I'm talking, here?"

Lars Hargrove glanced at his partner worriedly. Dien had sagged his usually imposing bulk against the greasy kitchen wall, coughing as if his lungs were full of mud, and his face had turned a mealy shade of gray. Lars wanted to help his old friend, thump him on the back to loosen the congestion, drag him outside to fresh air, something, but there was a job to do. And as much as he wished he could knock some sense and parenting skills into Beliene, his authority only extended so far.

"Ma'am," Lars said, as kind and helpful as he could manage, "Dubric simply couldn't come today. But let me assure you, I've worked for him for almost seven summers and I've seen many, many cases like this. I'm more than qualified to--"

"You're what," Beliene asked, taking another drag on the filthy fag, "sixteen?"

Fifteen. "Roughly that, yes," Lars said with a slight nod. "And I'm a squire, ma'am, been working for Dubric most of my life, and I've investigated several rapes. You daughter will be safe--"

"Safe my freckled ass," Beliene muttered, shoving aside the toddler that came to her looking for comfort. "The midwife just went in to her, and that's enough. You two can talk to the midwife."

Lars pressed down his aggravation and took a step toward her. "Ma'am, it's imperative that Squire Saworth or I examine your daughter's injuries. We need to see how he caught her, how he hurt her, because any little detail might make the difference between catching the bastard and him roaming free to harm someone else's child. There are innumerable things a midwife won't notice or ask about. And with your daughter being so young and Squire Saworth coughing, I am the only choice."

Before Beliene could retort, Dien managed to choke out, "Goddess damn it, let him do his pegging job so we can catch the shit and get the hells out of here."

Beliene sucked another drag off her cigarette and glared, but at last she nodded. "Don't you hurt my baby."

"I won't," Lars said as he brushed past her. "I promise."

The kitchen lay at one end of the main room of the house, the sitting area at the other, with a ladder along one side leading up to the attic. Lars grasped the rail and stepped onto the first rung. "Merilee? I'm coming up."

Upstairs in the gloom, a tiny, blood-splattered child lay weeping on a ratty straw tick, her feet toward the one cobwebby window. The girl had turned her face aside and clutched the pillow close while the midwife poked and prodded her. She squealed, weeping, and one foot kicked out to open air.

Goddess damn, she's maybe seven summers old.

"Glad it's you," Merilee said without glancing back. "I don't need to catch whatever Dien's got, and Dubric, well, he--" Merliee sighed and looked up at the little girl. "Jinnie? Honey, you have to let your knees relax, like I showed you. So I can see. It'll hurt a lot less if you can just relax." She gently laid her bloody hands on the girl's knees and eased them apart again.

"Hey, Jinnie," Lars said as he knelt beside the bed. "Can you look at me?" he asked, offering the child an encouraging smile. "My name's Lars and I'm here to help you."

Jinnie shook her head and clutched the stained pillow closer.

"I just need to ask you some questions and things," he said, coaxing. "C'mon, just look at me. We can talk while Merilee works. It'll be okay."

Jinnie hitched a big, trembling breath and the pillow moved aside, just a little. "It hurts," she said, her one partly-visible eye scrunching closed. Her hair had matted and tangled against the side of her head. Between it and the pillow, he couldn't see her face other than the occasional shimmer of the one eye.

"I know," Lars said, reaching forward. "Can I touch your hair? So I can see your face? So you can see me? Just your hair. I'm not going to hurt you."

The scrunched eye opened, flicking to the side to glance at his hand. "'Kay," she said, and she stared at his face as he gently brushed her hair aside with his palm. Her hair was sticky, her cheek bruised and pitted, and blood clotted at the corners of her lips. Lars smiled at her as he reintroduced himself, and took a quick sniff as he pulled back his hand. Molasses.

"I need to ask you some questions," he said, showing her his notebook and pencil, "and I'm going to write down everything you say, all right? The more you can tell me now, the better."

Jinnie nodded, her one walnut-brown eye pained and glistening. "You're from the castle?"

"Yep. Sure am," he said, noting that she was responsive and able to ask questions. "And it's my job to find whoever did this to you and make sure he can never do it again. Never ever."

Jinnie swallowed, the eye scrunching shut for a moment before returning to stare at him.

"So we're like a team," Lars said, his voice softening even more. "I need your help. Okay? So don't be scared, just try to remember everything you can. We'll get though this together."

Jinnie's tongue - unlacerated, Lars noted - had flicked out to moisten her lips. "'Kay. I'll try."

"That's a good girl," he said, recording every word she spoke. "Do you know who hurt you?"

She nodded, wincing as Merilee muttered to Lars's right, but Lars kept watching Jinnie. "Was that man. From the press. Where I was supposed to stay away from."

"Do you know his name?"

Jinnie shook her head. "No. Mama never said. Just that he'd hurt other girls and I needed to stay away. I didn't see him! I looked around, but didn't see him!"

"It's okay. Shh. He can't hurt you any more. Tell me what happened."

"He came up behind me. I tried to run but... but he caught me. 'Cause of the apples."

"The apples?"

Jinnie nodded and licked her lips again. "I was pickin' some. For pies. Mama sent me."

"Where were you picking apples?"

"Sunders' farm. He lets us 'cause Mama cleans his house sometimes."

"When the man caught you, were you near a fence? A creek? Anything like that?"

"Just by the road. There was carts and stuff making noise, with cabbages and pumpkins and chickens and things. I didn't hear him 'til he was right there."

"So you ran?"

"Yessir. But he caught me anyways. Caught me and took me to a barn."

Lars continued to question Jinnie, wriggling loose every little morsel of information, even after Merliee had finished her examination and stood by the window, listening.

When he'd learned all he could, he touched Jinni's hand and thanked her. "You did great," he said, smiling. "But can I ask you for some more help? Just a couple of things, but they might be harder to do."

Jinnie nodded. "Sure. 'Kay."

"Can I look in your mouth? I might need to poke around a bit with my fingers."

Jinnie obediently opened her mouth for him. Lars carefully probed with his clean hand. Three of her front teeth were loose and bleeding from the sockets, but he found no other damage.

"Good job," he said as he left her teeth. "The last thing is, I need to look at where he hurt you, front and back. But I won't touch anything. Okay? I'll just look."

Jinni panted, shaking her head in obvious panic. "No, no. You're not a girl. I'm not supposed to let boys..."

"Honey," Merilee said from near the door, "I'm right here and he's just going to look. See where the man bit you, where he hurt you. He has to, honey, so you won't have to go through this again."

"But... But... It's down there," Jinni said, her voice rising, shaking.

"Hey," Lars said, holding her gaze with his own. "It's okay, I know you're scared. I would be too. But we're a team, remember? I'll just look. Won't touch. Promise."

Merilee came and grasped Jinni's hand. "It'll be okay. He's one of the good guys, honey. Just look at me. Shh now."

Lars moved aside and gently lifted the sheet covering Jinni's scrawny little body. His gaze moved past the old bruises and scrapes on her shins and knees - nearly every child he'd ever met had similar dings on their lower legs - but paused to note the thin lacerations on her thighs and belly, the scabbed human bite mark on the rise of her pubis - leftside upper canine missing and right bicuspid jagged and crooked - and the obvious stink of semen.

He asked Jinni to open her knees and she complied, whimpering. Another bite with the same missing and damaged teeth tore at the left side of her vulva. Her privates were bruised and torn. Bleeding. As was her anus. She rolled over at his request. Two more bites marked her left buttock. Pits and tiny gouged holes much like the ones on her cheek scribbled up her thighs, buttocks, and back, along with a hand-sized bruise at her waist. Two of the pits were filled with diminutive round grit and he leaned closer to examine them. Gravel? Some kind of seed?

"Jinnie, there's some rocks or something stuck in your skin. Can I take them out? Then they won't hurt anymore?" Jinnie nodded and after Lars carefully plucked the teeny orbs free and put them in an evidence envelope he thanked her for her bravery. Assuring her he was finished, he lowered the sheet before completing his notes.

Merilee came to him and they huddled close together, whispering. "How bad?" Lars asked. "What can't I see?"

"Trauma to her rectum and vaginal walls. But she'll heal. Nothing permanent there, it'll just take time." She shook her head and added, "I don't think he's very well hung, a regular or generously sized man would have left a lot more damage. I'm a bit worried about his leavings, though."

"Oh?" Lars looked at Merilee and raised an eyebrow, his pencil poised over the pad.

"Smells like snap," Merilee said, shrugging. "I'll know for sure in a moon or so. If she develops the lesions."

Piss. "Can you put her on the medicine? As a precaution?"

"I don't know what effect it'll have if she doesn't have the disease."

"Better a little nausea and bleeding than snap," Lars said. "I'll talk to her mother, get her approval. But get it ready."

"Sure." Merilee paused, searching Lars's eyes. "What are you going to do about Ethan?"

"Ethan who?" Lars asked, his voice lowering further.

"Just Ethan. Presses cider, syrup, corn mash. Regular pillar of the community." Merilee paused. "Last child he did this to caught pregnant. Thank the Goddess Jinnie's too young for that."

Lars let his breath out slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. "Why hasn't anyone told us about him before?"

"We have," Merilee snapped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I sent for Dubric myself last spring, but all he did was take Ethan to the castle gaol for a few moons. Said he didn't have enough proof to do more than that."

Lars pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment as he said a silent curse. "How many kids has he hurt?"

"Four. Five. Maybe more. Most mothers don't want the whole town to know their daughter's been defiled." She shrugged. "I've treated four, counting Jinnie, but I'm pretty sure Ethan got Miss Kizzel's girl. Snap doesn't infect most five summer olds."

Seething, Lars closed his notebook. "Well, I have proof. And I'll catch him. He won't go to gaol this time." He took a cleansing breath and asked, "Goddess damn it, Merilee, why haven't we heard about all of these attacks? Why's the shit still walking around? Don't these children have fathers?"

"No, no fathers. Even if an unwed mother made a stink, no one cares about their bastard children."

I do. "Send us the bill, for the exam, the medicine. All of it."

"Sure." Merilee touched Lars's upper arm. "I'm glad it was you, kiddo, not your boss. At least you care."

He thanked her and excused himself to confer with Dien, wishing all the while that he'd never have to investigate a child's rape ever again.

The Joys of Getting Old

2011-03-17T15:21:00.000-05:00

I had some weird bright flashes in my peripheral vision last weekend followed by a new and annoying 'floater'. Today (Thursday), I visited the eye doctor and learned that these are common symptoms as the fluid in the eye shrinks and detaches from the retina. This process usually happens without symptoms or fanfare, but, since I *have* flashes and floaters, there's a chance I might get a retinal tear.

Whee. As if I don't have enough excitement in my life.

So far, everything looks fine, it's all just normal aging (but with fireworks and streamers - ha ha), but I'm supposed to go back in two weeks and get checked again. I'll keep y'all posted.

Fly away little birdie

2011-03-13T16:47:00.002-05:00

Our daughter moved out this past Thursday to start her own life and we're so proud and happy for her. She has a job. She has roommates. And she's super excited and happy.

Her parents, however, are stuck cleaning up the aftermath that's scattered and piled in her old room, but that's okay. Nothing a few bins, trash bags, and the washing machine won't fix.

Good luck, Laura! We love you and don't forget to call home once in a while!

Cops? Why'd it have to be cops?!?

2011-03-01T21:52:00.000-06:00

There are several scenes in Secret Project M where M has to talk to, deal with, and explain things to the police and detectives. I must admit that it's MUCH EASIER to write such conversations from the viewpoint of the questioners than the question-ee. This is a single POV book and, sometimes, it's proving tricky to get information and questions across to M and the readers without being overly blunt about it.

Semi-stalled again on Chapter 14, but I think I can get this one cleared out fairly quickly.