We have a toddler in the house. Specifically our granddaughter, who is 18 months old, right about three feet tall, on the slender side, and goes Full Speed All Of The Time.
We refer to it as 'Very. Busy.'
She's a climber (our little monkey) and she wants it all and she wants it now, as most toddlers tend to be. We usually try to burn off some of this excess energy and determination (which helps everyone in the house have a reasonable bedtime, ha ha) by going to the park just beyond our back fence, or by playing for hours on end in the back yard. Preferably both, several times, in any given day.
That's not always possible, especially since we can't seem to go more than a few hours without rain lately. So, what's a tired gramma to do on a rainy day?
Sometimes we go to the mall and I let her run while I scurry along behind (hey, that's exercise for me, too!!). Sometimes we go to the grocery store with all of the cool stuff to look at and taste and people to talk to (and a steering wheel to spin around as she pretends to drive). Sometimes I knock over grandpa's computer chair and she climbs up and over and around and through it, then we make a fort/tent with her favorite blanket, and we wrestle, and stuff like that.
Tuesday night, though, she was wound up after being cooped up all day, Grandpa needed his chair, I had no desire to spend an hour or more literally running around the mall, and we didn't need groceries.
So we went to McDonald's to play in the tubes with other kids.
She was fine, happy and squeeing and going up, down, and all around the kiddy tubes and slides, all while stopping at our table after every circuit to get a drink and something to munch on (my girl loves her unsweetened iced tea and apple slices!!) but some of the other kids... Not so much.
First, I'd like to say that I know boys will be boys and some climbing is gonna happen. When we got there, there were eleven other kids. Eleven. Two, a boy and a girl of, oh, 6-8 years old, were brother and sister and kept trying to figure out how to get past the fencing to behind the tube-maze. Their mother wouldn't let them do more than make feeble attempts, but she did let them climb a little on open areas. Mostly they played and laughed and were just fine. Regular kids.
The other nine? Not so much.
They were there in a group. Four moms, nine kids, seven of which were boys. One little boy was just walking, and there was a girl of about 12, but the rest were spaced roughly between 5 and 10 years old.
These kids, other than the barely walking infant and the nearly pubescent girl, climbed over EVERYTHING. Two of them repeatedly got on the top of the tube contraption, back beyond the fencing to 'off limits areas', and got themselves stuck in places kids obviously weren't supposed to go.
I really didn't mind the climbing much, and, like I said, boys will be boys and they do stuff like that, but, well, when an area is locked, fenced, and marked 'off limits', I tend to think the parents ought to discourage their little darlings from going there. Or their kids being about 20 feet in the air walking on a tube or pipe. But what do I know?
I could let the climbing and generalized naughtiness slide without too much of a second thought, but four of these seven boys (the four biggest) seemed to be trying their best to disassemble the whole dang thing. They jumped up and down on weak points (like a propeller on one of the pod areas). They tugged on the netting, swinging from it, obviously trying to get it to pop out of the bolts and fastenings (but if it had, they would have fallen about fifteen feet). They lay down inside of the tubes and kicked against the inside of view ports over and over and over trying to pop them loose. They kicked, pulled, jumped, wriggled, and slammed everything they possibly could, preferably if it meant they could get into a restricted area to do it.
All the while the mothers sat and watched and did nothing, until the little girl (she was maybe 6??) got stuck in a fenced off area about 10' up in the air. What did her mother do? Marched over to where her daughter was crying for help and told her to jump because it wasn't like she was gonna break her leg or anything. Then she went back to the table and her conversation with her friends.
Seriously.
And the barely walking infant managed to climb all the way into the tubes and get himself up at the top, but unable to find his way back out. They left him up there whimpering while they all walked to the counter to get ice cream.
Maybe I'm weird or old fashioned, but I cannot fathom allowing my kid to be willfully destructive like these kids were. I can't imagine letting a baby who's obviously too small to be in the tubes without assistance be in the tubes without assistance. And I also can't imagine leaving all of my supper mess (including spilled drinks, smeared ketchup, thrown food, and I dunno how many wrappers and napkins) just sitting there on the tables for someone else to clean up.
They all were nice enough to my granddaughter, gave her space to do her thing, smiled at her, told her 'hi' and other friendly things, and a couple of the kids even talked to me as they gleefully tried to jump on the propeller until it broke. So they weren't all bad, just... physically out of control, and no one seemed to give a damn.
05 June, 2013
04 June, 2013
Getting Fixed
I come from a long line of big, friendly people and, for much of my life, I was the smallest of my siblings, and even smaller than some of the extended family.
Since I'm tall, and 'extra cuddly' sized, that's saying a lot.
Other than sinus allergies and Rosacea, I've always been healthy, despite being heavy. My brother had his stomach done a few years ago, my sister has lost more than 100 lbs with the help of TOPS, but I remained basically the same weight, at least within 10 lbs or so, for more than twenty years. I also have extreme self confidence issues, part due to the introversion, part not. They all tend to compound and reflect back on one another. Overweight, introverted, depressed, fearful, avoidant, self loathing! Welcome to the family ferris wheel! Round and round we go!
Things started to change for me when we moved up here in 2008. Our daughter went off to college (she's back home now, with a daughter of her own) and it gave me what could best be described as too much spare time. I used a good hunk of it to change myself and my mindsets, starting with Lasik. I've always been dreadfully nearsighted (just like my mother), but when bifocals became necessary, I lost all depth perception and started falling/tripping. A LOT. Yeah, I'm introverted, but the necessity of staying home because walking out in the world meant tripping over the tiniest cracks and falling on my face was a very scary prospect. Anyway, I got lasered in 2009 and now only need glasses to read, which is pretty cool.
It was astounding to me how much losing my glasses opened up my life and my mind. One of the many, many shields I'd manufactured for myself was no longer there to hide behind and it was a terrifying yet liberating experience. But, hey, it was a start! With that barricade destroyed, I decided to deal with the writing demon. Writing, for me, had never been a pleasant endeavor, always mired in angst and pain and anger. I used it to vent, to purge, to drain off internal poisons, and to let the darkness loose before it ate me alive. I stopped writing after Valley of the Soul for a lot of reasons, but pretty much all of them were, admittedly, psychological and based on fear. Once my eyes were fixed, I decided to stare at the writing monster once again and make it my bitch instead of the other way around.
In 2010, I wrote an amazing, twisty, hopeful novel called Morgan's Run. Almost everyone who's read it has gushed and raved about it, but it was, supposedly, 'unsellable'. I'm not exactly sure why. My only theory is it's because the MC (a child abuse survivor suffering with extreme PTSD) and her situation are rather nuts. Morgan's crazy, yes, but that's why I like her so much.
There's still hope for Morgan - YAY!! - and I'm trying to figure out how to tweak her into a NA book instead of a mainstream psycho-thriller. I'm so excited she still has hope. :)
While working on Morgan's Run, writing once again became a compulsion, but not a painful one. I considered this to be great progress. Unlike the Dubric books, she wasn't an endless trudge of pain and suffering and cutting my psyche open to slap the bloody mess onto the page while it lay there twitching and screaming. There was blood, yes, and pain and tears, but none of it was forced, and none hurt more than it helped. Morgan's Run was incredibly cathartic. And short. I think it's about 95,000 words which for me isn't much longer than a short story. lol
Anyway, I adore Morgan and I'm so, so glad she might yet find a home.
While working on Morgan, I kind of forced myself to become more outgoing. I served as Treasurer for our quilt guild, I worked part-part time at a quilt shop (talking to real people!! Aaack!!), I got onto FaceBook, I self published three short stories (all of the proceeds go to charity), and I joined the Des Moines chapter of Sisters In Crime.
I've cut back some on my responsibilities (SinC especially since time and gas are at a premium) but I'm still making myself be involved in things outside of my head and home. But, anyway, Morgan wasn't selling and I really, really wanted to get back to work as a writer, so I asked my agent what he thought I should write next. I gave him short synopses/concepts of several ideas I had. He picked SPORE, a book about a haunted comic book artist and people who are no longer dead, so in 2012, I began.
Also, around that time, I noticed my knees were becoming increasingly problematic, my feet hurt all of the time, and my energy level... Frankly it sucked. All of my medical particulars were still just fine, but I really needed to deal with the excess weight. I wrestled a long, long time with this because I was hiding behind my weight. It was just one more barrier. I knew it, my husband knew it, my physician knew it. Shit, everyone who knew me knew it. I, however, was reluctant to lose that last bastion of safety. But I needed to. Having been overweight for nearly my entire life, I'd tried losing weight before, with almost every possible plan under the sun. Nothing had ever worked, or more accurately, nothing had ever 'stuck' because I'd slip up and throw in the towel. So, what to do?? My friends Jean and Wendy had found a good deal of success with Weight Watchers, and while I'd tried them decades ago (I think I was still in high school) my research showed that they were highly rated on successes, especially in the long term. I liked the idea of structure with flexibility, and I liked that going to meetings meant you weren't doing it all alone.
I kind of need some sort of real accountability.
So I talked it over with Bill and, despite the cost (oy, the cost!!!) I joined up in September, with meetings plus online. Also, contrary to my natural cheap nature, I'm all in. I buy the smoothies, I buy the fiber bars, I have the exercise DVDs, the whole shebang, even the ActiveLink fitness monitor, which has been a godsend at keeping me from sitting on my ass all day.
As of my last weigh in, I'm down 36 lbs. Not as fast as I'd like (it never is) but averaging a pound a week is pretty cool. Bill is ecstatic, my physician is ecstatic, and my clothes are all too big. My shoes are too big. It's insane. I'm looking at doing a 5k this fall, just walking it - my knees won't stand for a run longer than a minute or so - but Damn. Me. I still have a long way to go, but this is totally doable, long term, lifetime, forever. And it's making other things better, every lost pound lets in a little more light.
SPORE is done - it was a frustrating pleasure to write and I finished it right before Thanksgiving last year - and I'm currently awaiting another batch of changes from The Agent. It will, with luck, sell to a major publisher sometime this year. I hope it does. I hope he can find a publisher for Morgan too, assuming I can nudge her into the New Adult realm.
I need another book to work on, but so far my brain keeps downshifting back to Morgan and SPORE. I'm not sure why, exactly, maybe because they're still 'unfinished business', maybe because the true concept of the next great twisty story hasn't yet taken root in my brain (I have a few seedlings, but nothing strong enough to pull on yet). I'm not sure, but I'm also not worried. Frustration with writing is no longer about facing the pain, it's about trying to cram a pissed off bobcat into a gallon ziplock bag. Length. Good golly, I fight LENGTH. How the hell does anyone write a coherent book under 90k?? I struggle to trim to get it to squeeze in under 100 and would much rather have 150. It's a FIGHT I tell ya! That's the hard part, keeping it short enough to sell.
And for that I am ever so thankful. After Dubric, I honestly never thought I'd enjoy writing, but I do.
Since I'm tall, and 'extra cuddly' sized, that's saying a lot.
Other than sinus allergies and Rosacea, I've always been healthy, despite being heavy. My brother had his stomach done a few years ago, my sister has lost more than 100 lbs with the help of TOPS, but I remained basically the same weight, at least within 10 lbs or so, for more than twenty years. I also have extreme self confidence issues, part due to the introversion, part not. They all tend to compound and reflect back on one another. Overweight, introverted, depressed, fearful, avoidant, self loathing! Welcome to the family ferris wheel! Round and round we go!
 |
| Me, 2012, before I decided to wrestle the weight tiger. |
 |
| I like funky reading glasses. :) |
In 2010, I wrote an amazing, twisty, hopeful novel called Morgan's Run. Almost everyone who's read it has gushed and raved about it, but it was, supposedly, 'unsellable'. I'm not exactly sure why. My only theory is it's because the MC (a child abuse survivor suffering with extreme PTSD) and her situation are rather nuts. Morgan's crazy, yes, but that's why I like her so much.
There's still hope for Morgan - YAY!! - and I'm trying to figure out how to tweak her into a NA book instead of a mainstream psycho-thriller. I'm so excited she still has hope. :)
While working on Morgan's Run, writing once again became a compulsion, but not a painful one. I considered this to be great progress. Unlike the Dubric books, she wasn't an endless trudge of pain and suffering and cutting my psyche open to slap the bloody mess onto the page while it lay there twitching and screaming. There was blood, yes, and pain and tears, but none of it was forced, and none hurt more than it helped. Morgan's Run was incredibly cathartic. And short. I think it's about 95,000 words which for me isn't much longer than a short story. lol
Anyway, I adore Morgan and I'm so, so glad she might yet find a home.
While working on Morgan, I kind of forced myself to become more outgoing. I served as Treasurer for our quilt guild, I worked part-part time at a quilt shop (talking to real people!! Aaack!!), I got onto FaceBook, I self published three short stories (all of the proceeds go to charity), and I joined the Des Moines chapter of Sisters In Crime.
I've cut back some on my responsibilities (SinC especially since time and gas are at a premium) but I'm still making myself be involved in things outside of my head and home. But, anyway, Morgan wasn't selling and I really, really wanted to get back to work as a writer, so I asked my agent what he thought I should write next. I gave him short synopses/concepts of several ideas I had. He picked SPORE, a book about a haunted comic book artist and people who are no longer dead, so in 2012, I began.
Also, around that time, I noticed my knees were becoming increasingly problematic, my feet hurt all of the time, and my energy level... Frankly it sucked. All of my medical particulars were still just fine, but I really needed to deal with the excess weight. I wrestled a long, long time with this because I was hiding behind my weight. It was just one more barrier. I knew it, my husband knew it, my physician knew it. Shit, everyone who knew me knew it. I, however, was reluctant to lose that last bastion of safety. But I needed to. Having been overweight for nearly my entire life, I'd tried losing weight before, with almost every possible plan under the sun. Nothing had ever worked, or more accurately, nothing had ever 'stuck' because I'd slip up and throw in the towel. So, what to do?? My friends Jean and Wendy had found a good deal of success with Weight Watchers, and while I'd tried them decades ago (I think I was still in high school) my research showed that they were highly rated on successes, especially in the long term. I liked the idea of structure with flexibility, and I liked that going to meetings meant you weren't doing it all alone.
I kind of need some sort of real accountability.
So I talked it over with Bill and, despite the cost (oy, the cost!!!) I joined up in September, with meetings plus online. Also, contrary to my natural cheap nature, I'm all in. I buy the smoothies, I buy the fiber bars, I have the exercise DVDs, the whole shebang, even the ActiveLink fitness monitor, which has been a godsend at keeping me from sitting on my ass all day.
 |
| Me, today. |
SPORE is done - it was a frustrating pleasure to write and I finished it right before Thanksgiving last year - and I'm currently awaiting another batch of changes from The Agent. It will, with luck, sell to a major publisher sometime this year. I hope it does. I hope he can find a publisher for Morgan too, assuming I can nudge her into the New Adult realm.
I need another book to work on, but so far my brain keeps downshifting back to Morgan and SPORE. I'm not sure why, exactly, maybe because they're still 'unfinished business', maybe because the true concept of the next great twisty story hasn't yet taken root in my brain (I have a few seedlings, but nothing strong enough to pull on yet). I'm not sure, but I'm also not worried. Frustration with writing is no longer about facing the pain, it's about trying to cram a pissed off bobcat into a gallon ziplock bag. Length. Good golly, I fight LENGTH. How the hell does anyone write a coherent book under 90k?? I struggle to trim to get it to squeeze in under 100 and would much rather have 150. It's a FIGHT I tell ya! That's the hard part, keeping it short enough to sell.
And for that I am ever so thankful. After Dubric, I honestly never thought I'd enjoy writing, but I do.
03 June, 2013
Three months
That's apparently how long it takes me to make myself write a blog post.
Too long, I know, but even after a decade of doing this, I'm still not a comfortable blogger.
I have a rather mundane, quiet, non-eventful life, and that's just fine with me. It does, however, make blog topics tougher to root up, since I doubt anyone cares about folding laundry, yelling at the dog to quit barking his fool head off because some other dog has dared to pee in his yard, or cooking porkchops. Which we had for supper tonight, mostly because they were in the front part of the freezer and Bill loves porky chops.
I'd asked a few friends yesterday about potential blog topics, and have decided today to talk about where we live. In June of 2008, we moved from the 'Des Moines Metro' (which in our case meant unincorporated almost rural dead-end dirt road nowhere a few miles outside of Des Moines) to a small town in Northwest Iowa, because of Bill's job. He works for the post office and he used to fix the mechanical parts of the mail sorting machines (belts, hoses, chains, etc) but the move came with a promotion to fixing the electronic parts (wiring, computery bits, switches, etc) and a pretty hefty pay increase.
To say we 'jumped on that puppy' would be an understatement.
So, anyway, we moved up here, and bought a pretty cool Victorian house on a large lot near the middle of a very small town. We went from an acreage to 'in town', and it's something all of us still struggle with, but for different reasons. For Bill, there's Not. Enough. Outdoor. Space. and he feels kind of fenced in and claustrophobic even though we have one of the largest lots in town. For our daughter, who grew up 10 minutes from movies, shopping, restaurants, and countless buildings taller than 2 stories, it's 'too country'. For me, it's just about right, other than All. The. People. which I'll get to in a moment.
Plus there's no good barbeque up here. The closest is more than an hour away. Seriously, that bites.
Anyway, there are less than 600 people here in our little community and it's, roughly, seven streets running East/West crisscrossed by seven streets running North/South in a sort of cockeyed, jaggedy-edged fashion. I walk the outskirts most evenings around dusk, and, including walking from my house to the west edge, then back to the house again after making the complete circuit, Google Maps says it's a 2 mile trek. So it's less than 1/2 mile on a side. Ish. That's pretty small. We have the stereotypical one church and one bar (plus a gas station/convenience store that sells chips, pop, candy and a few non-perishable staples at slightly higher prices than the grocery store 10-12 miles away) a feed store, a grain co-op, a post office (only open a few hours a day), a fire station, and a very small library which doesn't carry my books. The town is bisected by a N/S highway (in Iowa that means 2 lane blacktop) and an E/W highway. The next closest town is about 8 miles straight East and they have a quilt shop. I'm there quite a lot. Between us and any of the surrounding towns are miles and miles of corn and soybean fields. Oh, there are a few farm houses and a stream or two (and the occasional grazing cow or horse) but it's pretty much all crops. This time of year, and after our lengthy and very wet spring, the fields are pretty much all mud. Normally, everything would be planted, but not this year. Not yet, at least. And there's worry there may be no soybean crop at all.
You get the idea.
Our house backs up to the largest of three city parks - no close by neighbors that way - but we had single, retired women on each side of us, until one of them moved to Western Arkansas last year. Or maybe it was Eastern Oklahoma. I honestly don't remember. The gal on the one side is still here, and she's very much into lawn work and has a GORGEOUS yard. Manicured lawn, flower beds, decorative do-dah's. It's just lovely. She has a little Westie named Mookie. Mookie is quite cool, but he and our Gozer (big, gruff lab mix) do not get along. She has a friend a couple of blocks away who picked apples from our tree the fall after we moved here and is super nice. The other single gal's house was put on the market last year and had a renter, then a contract buyer, but it just sold this past week. I think the new owner and his teenage daughter mowed yesterday. We all nodded hello, but didn't talk.
Across the street is a couple about our age with grown children and a lot of dogs. They both work and aren't home much. They're on a corner. Across that street from them is the Lions' Club secretary and his family (I think he works at a lab. I think). Beyond him, I have no idea. Next to the gal who has moved's house (and across our street from the Lion's Secretary) was an older guy and his adult daughter. I believe he was an over the road truck driver, and she came back home after a divorce/breakup/job loss, but no one's seen them for a long time so I guess they've moved. They had a couple of big mixed breed dogs.
It's weird, I know people by their dogs. lol
On the other side of the middle aged couple with all of the dogs is an elderly man (pretty sure he used to work for the grain co-op because the trucks always honk as they pass his house) and his middle aged daughter. She works at the community gas station. They don't have a dog. Past them on that side of the street... I don't know anyone, but I know their neighbors let their dogs loose to potty and of course they cross the street and come over here to pee on our maple tree and drive Gozer bugshit insane. They are friendly dogs, tho.
Past the lady beside us with the Westie and the gorgeous lawn is an older couple with 2 Daschunds. He is a semi-retired teacher, and I have no idea what she does. We've actually only talked to them because last summer he fell off a ladder and she knew I was home so she ran over here asking for help. That's how we met. Really. Otherwise I'd have no idea. Their dogs are cool though and every time we walk up the alley they rush at the fence, barking, and we laugh about the attack of the ferocious wiener dogs. They're not ferocious at all, just wiggly and waggly and barking. Very cute. Our cats like to tease them. The house past them (on the corner) has two old retriever mixes and a wire haired fox terrier looking mutt dog. And a gorgeous calico cat. Across the alley from them (toward the park behind our house) has a LOT of kids, a different calico cat, and a friendly mixed breed dog. Across the street from the folks with the retrievers and wire-haired mix is a younger family with two gorgeous Dalmatians. I dunno what he does, but she works at the lab and is on the city council.
On the far side of the park, at the corner, is the Lions club president and his family. He's the only one we've ever met. A block or so west of the park is the city maintenance guy and his family. His son just became and Eagle Scout. A couple of blocks north and one block west of us is the mayor's house. He and his wife have two daughters (they frequently come to our door selling stuff for church, school, girl scouts, etc) and they have great danes plus foster cats for the humane society.
Oh! Right next to the park (across the street from the big house with lots of kids and the friendly mixed breed dog) is the house with the camper and two Boston Terriers, both of which are sometimes loose and running the town and have tried to bite us as we take walks. We do not like the Boston Terriers much. Gozer chooses to pee on them instead of opening the can of whup-ass like he does with little Mookie next door. It's actually kind of funny in a twisted kind of way to see the PITA terriers frozen in fear and getting peed on. But Mookie does talk a lot of smack while the Boston Terriers are pretty much silent, so I guess it makes sense in doggy logic.
That's pretty much everyone we know, usually via their pets, other than the other city council members and a couple of firemen, who we know on sight, but have no idea where they live in town. Oh! I've spoken a couple of times with the local Pastor, who is an incredibly nice man, and there's a house across from the library who have cut a hole in their garage to help feed and shelter the local stray cats, plus the couple across from the fire station who make a point to keep cat food out for the strays (we do too) so we sort of but not really know a few cat people too. And the gal who babysits and brings the kids to the park behind our house. My granddaughter and I go over to play with them most mornings.
So we've lived her five years this month and know only a handful of people. Which, frankly, was just fine with me. I am incredibly introverted, but, um, well, I'm also political. And apparently personable or friendly or something. Because in March I was, sort of appointed to the City Council, much to my introversion's terror.
Two people had just left the council, one in retirement, one because of moving to follow a job, and the council needed two more members, pronto. I was approached by our city clerk (she lives in a town about 10 miles north of us) asking if I'd be interested in taking a seat until the elections this November. I agreed, mostly because I am rather political (I go to caucus, I vote, and I try to pay attention to issues) and because I feel that as a citizen, there are certain things that, when asked, are duties and responsibilities. So I said okay.
Five of us apparently said okay, because five of us showed up for the two open seats and the mayor decided to put our names in a hat (actually it was a coffee cup) and draw them. I was drawn first, then the other new councilman (who I think, but am not certain, owns the troublesome Boston Terriers).
Then, at Easter, the Lions Club had their annual Easter Egg Hunt and, with the candy, included a note explaining they were down to a scant few members and if they didn't get more members they'd have to disband. I'm pretty much pro Easter Egg Hunting, and Halloween Parties, and Christmas Parties and, well, generally Pro Kid Activities, so now Bill and I both are also Lions.
While I'm delighted to help, I'm not sure I like all of this Public Exposure stuff very much. Just this past week, I found myself in the middle of an issue between the local bar, fire department, and Lions simply because I agreed to do someone a favor.
Sigh. I do not like drama.
Anyway, I love our little town, it's the perfect size for me, but I'm not sure yet if I'll run for reelection this fall, or how long I will be a Lion. Guess it'll depend on how much socializing I can take. When I walk into the gas station for a pop and people there greet my arrival with 'Hey Tammy!', it's a bit much.
So we'll see.
Too long, I know, but even after a decade of doing this, I'm still not a comfortable blogger.
I have a rather mundane, quiet, non-eventful life, and that's just fine with me. It does, however, make blog topics tougher to root up, since I doubt anyone cares about folding laundry, yelling at the dog to quit barking his fool head off because some other dog has dared to pee in his yard, or cooking porkchops. Which we had for supper tonight, mostly because they were in the front part of the freezer and Bill loves porky chops.
I'd asked a few friends yesterday about potential blog topics, and have decided today to talk about where we live. In June of 2008, we moved from the 'Des Moines Metro' (which in our case meant unincorporated almost rural dead-end dirt road nowhere a few miles outside of Des Moines) to a small town in Northwest Iowa, because of Bill's job. He works for the post office and he used to fix the mechanical parts of the mail sorting machines (belts, hoses, chains, etc) but the move came with a promotion to fixing the electronic parts (wiring, computery bits, switches, etc) and a pretty hefty pay increase.
To say we 'jumped on that puppy' would be an understatement.
So, anyway, we moved up here, and bought a pretty cool Victorian house on a large lot near the middle of a very small town. We went from an acreage to 'in town', and it's something all of us still struggle with, but for different reasons. For Bill, there's Not. Enough. Outdoor. Space. and he feels kind of fenced in and claustrophobic even though we have one of the largest lots in town. For our daughter, who grew up 10 minutes from movies, shopping, restaurants, and countless buildings taller than 2 stories, it's 'too country'. For me, it's just about right, other than All. The. People. which I'll get to in a moment.
Plus there's no good barbeque up here. The closest is more than an hour away. Seriously, that bites.
Anyway, there are less than 600 people here in our little community and it's, roughly, seven streets running East/West crisscrossed by seven streets running North/South in a sort of cockeyed, jaggedy-edged fashion. I walk the outskirts most evenings around dusk, and, including walking from my house to the west edge, then back to the house again after making the complete circuit, Google Maps says it's a 2 mile trek. So it's less than 1/2 mile on a side. Ish. That's pretty small. We have the stereotypical one church and one bar (plus a gas station/convenience store that sells chips, pop, candy and a few non-perishable staples at slightly higher prices than the grocery store 10-12 miles away) a feed store, a grain co-op, a post office (only open a few hours a day), a fire station, and a very small library which doesn't carry my books. The town is bisected by a N/S highway (in Iowa that means 2 lane blacktop) and an E/W highway. The next closest town is about 8 miles straight East and they have a quilt shop. I'm there quite a lot. Between us and any of the surrounding towns are miles and miles of corn and soybean fields. Oh, there are a few farm houses and a stream or two (and the occasional grazing cow or horse) but it's pretty much all crops. This time of year, and after our lengthy and very wet spring, the fields are pretty much all mud. Normally, everything would be planted, but not this year. Not yet, at least. And there's worry there may be no soybean crop at all.
You get the idea.
Our house backs up to the largest of three city parks - no close by neighbors that way - but we had single, retired women on each side of us, until one of them moved to Western Arkansas last year. Or maybe it was Eastern Oklahoma. I honestly don't remember. The gal on the one side is still here, and she's very much into lawn work and has a GORGEOUS yard. Manicured lawn, flower beds, decorative do-dah's. It's just lovely. She has a little Westie named Mookie. Mookie is quite cool, but he and our Gozer (big, gruff lab mix) do not get along. She has a friend a couple of blocks away who picked apples from our tree the fall after we moved here and is super nice. The other single gal's house was put on the market last year and had a renter, then a contract buyer, but it just sold this past week. I think the new owner and his teenage daughter mowed yesterday. We all nodded hello, but didn't talk.
Across the street is a couple about our age with grown children and a lot of dogs. They both work and aren't home much. They're on a corner. Across that street from them is the Lions' Club secretary and his family (I think he works at a lab. I think). Beyond him, I have no idea. Next to the gal who has moved's house (and across our street from the Lion's Secretary) was an older guy and his adult daughter. I believe he was an over the road truck driver, and she came back home after a divorce/breakup/job loss, but no one's seen them for a long time so I guess they've moved. They had a couple of big mixed breed dogs.
It's weird, I know people by their dogs. lol
On the other side of the middle aged couple with all of the dogs is an elderly man (pretty sure he used to work for the grain co-op because the trucks always honk as they pass his house) and his middle aged daughter. She works at the community gas station. They don't have a dog. Past them on that side of the street... I don't know anyone, but I know their neighbors let their dogs loose to potty and of course they cross the street and come over here to pee on our maple tree and drive Gozer bugshit insane. They are friendly dogs, tho.
Past the lady beside us with the Westie and the gorgeous lawn is an older couple with 2 Daschunds. He is a semi-retired teacher, and I have no idea what she does. We've actually only talked to them because last summer he fell off a ladder and she knew I was home so she ran over here asking for help. That's how we met. Really. Otherwise I'd have no idea. Their dogs are cool though and every time we walk up the alley they rush at the fence, barking, and we laugh about the attack of the ferocious wiener dogs. They're not ferocious at all, just wiggly and waggly and barking. Very cute. Our cats like to tease them. The house past them (on the corner) has two old retriever mixes and a wire haired fox terrier looking mutt dog. And a gorgeous calico cat. Across the alley from them (toward the park behind our house) has a LOT of kids, a different calico cat, and a friendly mixed breed dog. Across the street from the folks with the retrievers and wire-haired mix is a younger family with two gorgeous Dalmatians. I dunno what he does, but she works at the lab and is on the city council.
On the far side of the park, at the corner, is the Lions club president and his family. He's the only one we've ever met. A block or so west of the park is the city maintenance guy and his family. His son just became and Eagle Scout. A couple of blocks north and one block west of us is the mayor's house. He and his wife have two daughters (they frequently come to our door selling stuff for church, school, girl scouts, etc) and they have great danes plus foster cats for the humane society.
Oh! Right next to the park (across the street from the big house with lots of kids and the friendly mixed breed dog) is the house with the camper and two Boston Terriers, both of which are sometimes loose and running the town and have tried to bite us as we take walks. We do not like the Boston Terriers much. Gozer chooses to pee on them instead of opening the can of whup-ass like he does with little Mookie next door. It's actually kind of funny in a twisted kind of way to see the PITA terriers frozen in fear and getting peed on. But Mookie does talk a lot of smack while the Boston Terriers are pretty much silent, so I guess it makes sense in doggy logic.
That's pretty much everyone we know, usually via their pets, other than the other city council members and a couple of firemen, who we know on sight, but have no idea where they live in town. Oh! I've spoken a couple of times with the local Pastor, who is an incredibly nice man, and there's a house across from the library who have cut a hole in their garage to help feed and shelter the local stray cats, plus the couple across from the fire station who make a point to keep cat food out for the strays (we do too) so we sort of but not really know a few cat people too. And the gal who babysits and brings the kids to the park behind our house. My granddaughter and I go over to play with them most mornings.
So we've lived her five years this month and know only a handful of people. Which, frankly, was just fine with me. I am incredibly introverted, but, um, well, I'm also political. And apparently personable or friendly or something. Because in March I was, sort of appointed to the City Council, much to my introversion's terror.
Two people had just left the council, one in retirement, one because of moving to follow a job, and the council needed two more members, pronto. I was approached by our city clerk (she lives in a town about 10 miles north of us) asking if I'd be interested in taking a seat until the elections this November. I agreed, mostly because I am rather political (I go to caucus, I vote, and I try to pay attention to issues) and because I feel that as a citizen, there are certain things that, when asked, are duties and responsibilities. So I said okay.
Five of us apparently said okay, because five of us showed up for the two open seats and the mayor decided to put our names in a hat (actually it was a coffee cup) and draw them. I was drawn first, then the other new councilman (who I think, but am not certain, owns the troublesome Boston Terriers).
Then, at Easter, the Lions Club had their annual Easter Egg Hunt and, with the candy, included a note explaining they were down to a scant few members and if they didn't get more members they'd have to disband. I'm pretty much pro Easter Egg Hunting, and Halloween Parties, and Christmas Parties and, well, generally Pro Kid Activities, so now Bill and I both are also Lions.
While I'm delighted to help, I'm not sure I like all of this Public Exposure stuff very much. Just this past week, I found myself in the middle of an issue between the local bar, fire department, and Lions simply because I agreed to do someone a favor.
Sigh. I do not like drama.
Anyway, I love our little town, it's the perfect size for me, but I'm not sure yet if I'll run for reelection this fall, or how long I will be a Lion. Guess it'll depend on how much socializing I can take. When I walk into the gas station for a pop and people there greet my arrival with 'Hey Tammy!', it's a bit much.
So we'll see.
03 March, 2013
Money
Yeah, I titled this Money.
Many of you might know that Amanda Palmer (aka AFP or Amanda Fucking Palmer), she who makes music, breathes art, and smooches Neil Gaiman on a regular basis, recently put out a TED Talk.
I love TED Talks. Just want to clarify that.
Anyway, AFP, in her Talk, explained how, to her, it's about connections. It's about trust. It's about believing the fans will be there, will help you, will let you sleep on their couch, and how they will support you (the artist) in all possible ways, including financially, even if (maybe especially if) you put the work out there for free.
Frankly, I believe this too.
Sort of.
Today, Chuck Wendig wrote an awesome blogpost (btw, it's actually very light on his usual conversational profanity) about AFP's TED talk and his own uncertain take on the whole trust/free concept.
Read it. Please. I'll wait. :)
Okay, y'all with me so far? TED talk about trust and connection, writery art versus musicy art, keeping food in your kid's belly, believing in fans, and so forth.
I am right there, in all of it. The good, the bad, the WTF is the answer?!? But my reasons and methodology (and internal issues) are, sadly, my own.
I, too, was raised to 'have a job' in a lower-income rural midwestern home. I absolutely am not saying I was ever told to put the art part aside. Heavens no, although while I was working as a graphic designer I was asked several times when I was gonna grow up and get a 'real job' as if dealing with clients and creating art on demand wasn't real work, but I digress. My dad was a professional musician on the weekends (weekdays he was a machinist) almost until his death, and my mother worked mostly in bookkeeping (the kind like accounting, not taking bets, ha ha) and other officey work until she finally retired a few years ago. My family is crammed tight with artists and musicians, even a comic. Some are professional (as in regularly getting paid), most are hobbyists (as in mostly not getting paid). I am, as far as I know, the only working writer, although my niece may have also been bitten by that particular bug. Time will tell. I do know that my daughter could be a far better writer than I am - she totally kicks my ass at storytelling - but has zero desire to sling words, just as I have zero desire to be a musician. Seen it, grew up with it. Thanks anyway, I'm not that crazy.
Ever meet my daughter, feel free to ask her if she wants to be a writer. That's pretty much exactly what she'll tell you. Hell no, I'm not that crazy.
Anyway, I came into this job - and it IS a job - knowing full well the pay sucks. Generally speaking, novelists put in months and months of work for little to no pay. Most books lose money, and few find an audience at all beyond close family and a few indulgent friends. It's a rarity to get the 'big advance' and rarer still to be a bestseller, let alone a consistently working, consistently paid writer.
I am blessed. I am. I've done the impossible, gone from rural nobody to published novelist. It can be done! But the being published part isn't why my work keeps showing me I'm blessed.
I'm blessed because my home life and my family is intact and flourishing, despite the madness of the job. I'm blessed because my husband makes enough for us to live on so I can chase this writing beast in my own oddball way. I'm blessed because I have fans and many - an astounding number - have become friends. I'm blessed because I'm working again (GoSpore!!) and it's looking pretty golden up ahead. I'm blessed that lots of people read and love my books. I'm blessed because I know that while plenty of folks have downloaded the free .pdf versions of my short stories (linky here) plenty more have paid a buck apiece so I can donate that money to charity. I've gone places and done things I never would have or could have done without writing the novels first. Made friends. Grew as a person. And on and on and on.
It's a grand thing. Truly. But - ain't there always a 'but'? - I struggle all the time with money issues. Not the money itself - shit, it's only money - but with, well, the morality of it all, especially me, my demons, and getting paid to slap them onto the page.
I listened to AFP's TED Talk misty eyed yet terrified because in some ways she's exactly like me, and in others totally opposite. I'm much closer aligned with Chuck overall, but I don't have his drive. I - through instinct or upbringing - find the concept of a KickStarter abhorrent. To me, it *is* like begging, but also slimy and untrustworthy, like the character Wimpy in the Popeye cartoon: I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today. My experience says, for most people, Tuesday never comes. Or it's like buying the 'mystery box', $30 value, for only $19.95. Yeah, the pile of lug nuts, disposable lighters, and clothesline rope might be worth $30, but if I don't need or want those things, you've swindled me out of twenty bucks.
It's like paying up front for a home repair only to be left high and dry with your kitchen gutted, or sending money to some guy from Nigeria, or that ever popular deed to the Brooklyn Bridge. That's how kickstarter feels to me. Always. Skeevy and just plain wrong, especially since my own output is often flaky, especially near a project's beginning.
That's not to say I haven't 'supported' a crowdfunding project or three - I have, for people I know, and only because I love them and want to help. I am a master at donations, got a PayPal button, count me in!!
But is that the way to run a writing business?
But, then again, when the pay is so craptastic and the chances of making a dime so low, why not? But what if the kickstarter doesn't produce the promised product? Or what if the project explodes and makes a crap-ton of money and everyone's thrilled? But it's gross and... eeew. But it's grasping the current social media fueled marketplace!
Round and round we go.
I don't write for the money, but it's nice when it comes. I fully intend to sell SPORE (under whatever title it ends up with) to a traditional publisher and I will do whatever I can to help it sell for enough to 'pay off' something. Anything. Shit, my Kohl's account even. I joke about Kohl's, but, still. The car. I'd love to pay off the car. Or my student loan (graduated owing more than I ever made in a single year as a graphic designer at a job I haven't worked in for a decade! Yay apparently endless student loan debt! Woot! You're awesome!!) Or even - gasp! - the house. OMG! Wouldn't that be amazing?!?
But, see, the book is done. I'm selling something that's finished, not a slippery concept I'm passing around like a vaporous collection plate at a fundraiser. It's a real thing that actually exists right now. Here it is! If you like it, make an offer! If you don't like it, that's cool, I'll schlep it across town for someone else to look at! Okthxbai! Sale or not, I would have written it regardless. The money comes after, not before.
Maybe that's my real problem with crowdfunding. Taking a bet the person on the other side will produce precisely what they promise to. Unlike the shady kitchen remodeler or the $20 bag of lighters and clothesline rope. Or me who still struggles to write the next Dubric book after seven freaking years.
I have to admit I have considered sort-of crowdfunding Stain of Corruption (should I ever get past the tangle in the !*@&$^% middle) but can you even do that with something that's finished? Hey, look, I have this thing and if you'd like to be one of the first to see - with maybe some special stuff tossed in before it's out for full release 2 months from now!! - here ya go, toss some coinage in my digital hat, okthxbai! Shit, I dunno, I just do know I cannot fathom the regular crowdfunding way. At least not for me.
I totally understand why folks do it, why it works, and why it's a good thing. I do, so please don't send me hate mail. I just can't get myself past the 'eew' factor.
But, on the other side, I do give away the short stories and, frankly, I've given away gobs of books. I give away quilts. I share freely of my time and talents, which completely astounds and disgusts some people. I get that, too. We all have our quirks and requirements, I guess. We also have our own motivators and money is waaaaay down my list. In fact, it's likely to not even be on my list at all.
And, maybe, that's where I fail. I am much more prone to giving than asking.
So much to ponder as the marketplace - and distribution methods - rapidly change.
So how about you? How do you feel about asking for the money?
Many of you might know that Amanda Palmer (aka AFP or Amanda Fucking Palmer), she who makes music, breathes art, and smooches Neil Gaiman on a regular basis, recently put out a TED Talk.
I love TED Talks. Just want to clarify that.
Anyway, AFP, in her Talk, explained how, to her, it's about connections. It's about trust. It's about believing the fans will be there, will help you, will let you sleep on their couch, and how they will support you (the artist) in all possible ways, including financially, even if (maybe especially if) you put the work out there for free.
Frankly, I believe this too.
Sort of.
Today, Chuck Wendig wrote an awesome blogpost (btw, it's actually very light on his usual conversational profanity) about AFP's TED talk and his own uncertain take on the whole trust/free concept.
Read it. Please. I'll wait. :)
Okay, y'all with me so far? TED talk about trust and connection, writery art versus musicy art, keeping food in your kid's belly, believing in fans, and so forth.
I am right there, in all of it. The good, the bad, the WTF is the answer?!? But my reasons and methodology (and internal issues) are, sadly, my own.
I, too, was raised to 'have a job' in a lower-income rural midwestern home. I absolutely am not saying I was ever told to put the art part aside. Heavens no, although while I was working as a graphic designer I was asked several times when I was gonna grow up and get a 'real job' as if dealing with clients and creating art on demand wasn't real work, but I digress. My dad was a professional musician on the weekends (weekdays he was a machinist) almost until his death, and my mother worked mostly in bookkeeping (the kind like accounting, not taking bets, ha ha) and other officey work until she finally retired a few years ago. My family is crammed tight with artists and musicians, even a comic. Some are professional (as in regularly getting paid), most are hobbyists (as in mostly not getting paid). I am, as far as I know, the only working writer, although my niece may have also been bitten by that particular bug. Time will tell. I do know that my daughter could be a far better writer than I am - she totally kicks my ass at storytelling - but has zero desire to sling words, just as I have zero desire to be a musician. Seen it, grew up with it. Thanks anyway, I'm not that crazy.
Ever meet my daughter, feel free to ask her if she wants to be a writer. That's pretty much exactly what she'll tell you. Hell no, I'm not that crazy.
Anyway, I came into this job - and it IS a job - knowing full well the pay sucks. Generally speaking, novelists put in months and months of work for little to no pay. Most books lose money, and few find an audience at all beyond close family and a few indulgent friends. It's a rarity to get the 'big advance' and rarer still to be a bestseller, let alone a consistently working, consistently paid writer.
I am blessed. I am. I've done the impossible, gone from rural nobody to published novelist. It can be done! But the being published part isn't why my work keeps showing me I'm blessed.
I'm blessed because my home life and my family is intact and flourishing, despite the madness of the job. I'm blessed because my husband makes enough for us to live on so I can chase this writing beast in my own oddball way. I'm blessed because I have fans and many - an astounding number - have become friends. I'm blessed because I'm working again (GoSpore!!) and it's looking pretty golden up ahead. I'm blessed that lots of people read and love my books. I'm blessed because I know that while plenty of folks have downloaded the free .pdf versions of my short stories (linky here) plenty more have paid a buck apiece so I can donate that money to charity. I've gone places and done things I never would have or could have done without writing the novels first. Made friends. Grew as a person. And on and on and on.
It's a grand thing. Truly. But - ain't there always a 'but'? - I struggle all the time with money issues. Not the money itself - shit, it's only money - but with, well, the morality of it all, especially me, my demons, and getting paid to slap them onto the page.
I listened to AFP's TED Talk misty eyed yet terrified because in some ways she's exactly like me, and in others totally opposite. I'm much closer aligned with Chuck overall, but I don't have his drive. I - through instinct or upbringing - find the concept of a KickStarter abhorrent. To me, it *is* like begging, but also slimy and untrustworthy, like the character Wimpy in the Popeye cartoon: I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today. My experience says, for most people, Tuesday never comes. Or it's like buying the 'mystery box', $30 value, for only $19.95. Yeah, the pile of lug nuts, disposable lighters, and clothesline rope might be worth $30, but if I don't need or want those things, you've swindled me out of twenty bucks.
It's like paying up front for a home repair only to be left high and dry with your kitchen gutted, or sending money to some guy from Nigeria, or that ever popular deed to the Brooklyn Bridge. That's how kickstarter feels to me. Always. Skeevy and just plain wrong, especially since my own output is often flaky, especially near a project's beginning.
That's not to say I haven't 'supported' a crowdfunding project or three - I have, for people I know, and only because I love them and want to help. I am a master at donations, got a PayPal button, count me in!!
But is that the way to run a writing business?
But, then again, when the pay is so craptastic and the chances of making a dime so low, why not? But what if the kickstarter doesn't produce the promised product? Or what if the project explodes and makes a crap-ton of money and everyone's thrilled? But it's gross and... eeew. But it's grasping the current social media fueled marketplace!
Round and round we go.
I don't write for the money, but it's nice when it comes. I fully intend to sell SPORE (under whatever title it ends up with) to a traditional publisher and I will do whatever I can to help it sell for enough to 'pay off' something. Anything. Shit, my Kohl's account even. I joke about Kohl's, but, still. The car. I'd love to pay off the car. Or my student loan (graduated owing more than I ever made in a single year as a graphic designer at a job I haven't worked in for a decade! Yay apparently endless student loan debt! Woot! You're awesome!!) Or even - gasp! - the house. OMG! Wouldn't that be amazing?!?
But, see, the book is done. I'm selling something that's finished, not a slippery concept I'm passing around like a vaporous collection plate at a fundraiser. It's a real thing that actually exists right now. Here it is! If you like it, make an offer! If you don't like it, that's cool, I'll schlep it across town for someone else to look at! Okthxbai! Sale or not, I would have written it regardless. The money comes after, not before.
Maybe that's my real problem with crowdfunding. Taking a bet the person on the other side will produce precisely what they promise to. Unlike the shady kitchen remodeler or the $20 bag of lighters and clothesline rope. Or me who still struggles to write the next Dubric book after seven freaking years.
I have to admit I have considered sort-of crowdfunding Stain of Corruption (should I ever get past the tangle in the !*@&$^% middle) but can you even do that with something that's finished? Hey, look, I have this thing and if you'd like to be one of the first to see - with maybe some special stuff tossed in before it's out for full release 2 months from now!! - here ya go, toss some coinage in my digital hat, okthxbai! Shit, I dunno, I just do know I cannot fathom the regular crowdfunding way. At least not for me.
I totally understand why folks do it, why it works, and why it's a good thing. I do, so please don't send me hate mail. I just can't get myself past the 'eew' factor.
But, on the other side, I do give away the short stories and, frankly, I've given away gobs of books. I give away quilts. I share freely of my time and talents, which completely astounds and disgusts some people. I get that, too. We all have our quirks and requirements, I guess. We also have our own motivators and money is waaaaay down my list. In fact, it's likely to not even be on my list at all.
And, maybe, that's where I fail. I am much more prone to giving than asking.
So much to ponder as the marketplace - and distribution methods - rapidly change.
So how about you? How do you feel about asking for the money?
22 February, 2013
Ch-ch-ch-changes!
Just wanted to give a quick update on SPORE.
Things are going great!
I've had some input from NY and I'm very pleased with the direction the book's taking. Most of the suggested changes have been minor (there's a setting issue, a deployment of the spores issue, stuff like that, and I even get to add another character!! OMG!! YAY!!!! Do you have any idea how HARD it is for me to write tightly cast books?!? I LOVE writing lots of characters!!) and while I have to admit I felt a momentary 'I'm not perfect! My book isn't perfect! Waaah!' sting (frankly who is perfect? It certainly isn't me or my books! lol) I'm absolutely on board with all of it. In fact, I'm excited!
Even including apotential likely title change.
Why?
There are a handful of reasons ranging from 'out here in the sticks I know jack-diddly about the market or what publishers are buying' to the knowledge that the book is really a product I create and my job is simply to write the best product I can, and all sorts of business-related reasons between. But the real reason is I know what few aspects of the book are really, truly important to me, and what grows behind Sean's house frankly isn't on that list. How the spores erupt isn't on that list. Even the title isn't on that list. Nope. Not even close. All of that stuff's just writer ego, and if I've learned anything it's to leave my ego at the door and do the damned job.
I've discussed my vital needs for this book with my husband and a couple of close friends and, so far, those few things are still included in the book. They will remain included because one character relationship issue and two story concepts are absolutely vital to the story I want to tell. Yup, just three things.
The rest is window dressing.
I'm thankful that the agent seems to love those things too - yay!! - but, really, his suggestions and questions just mean more typing, more thinking, and more research. So what? Fix it, make the story the best, shiniest, most profitable product it can be. That is a writer's job, after all: to tell a damned good story.
This weekend I'm researching ideas and brainstorming not only one more important character but a few other things that'll scuff off the remaining snags and make this book scream.
I'm so excited! So thrilled!
This is freaking awesome and I'm awed that it's going so well. {{hugs}}
Things are going great!
I've had some input from NY and I'm very pleased with the direction the book's taking. Most of the suggested changes have been minor (there's a setting issue, a deployment of the spores issue, stuff like that, and I even get to add another character!! OMG!! YAY!!!! Do you have any idea how HARD it is for me to write tightly cast books?!? I LOVE writing lots of characters!!) and while I have to admit I felt a momentary 'I'm not perfect! My book isn't perfect! Waaah!' sting (frankly who is perfect? It certainly isn't me or my books! lol) I'm absolutely on board with all of it. In fact, I'm excited!
Even including a
Why?
There are a handful of reasons ranging from 'out here in the sticks I know jack-diddly about the market or what publishers are buying' to the knowledge that the book is really a product I create and my job is simply to write the best product I can, and all sorts of business-related reasons between. But the real reason is I know what few aspects of the book are really, truly important to me, and what grows behind Sean's house frankly isn't on that list. How the spores erupt isn't on that list. Even the title isn't on that list. Nope. Not even close. All of that stuff's just writer ego, and if I've learned anything it's to leave my ego at the door and do the damned job.
I've discussed my vital needs for this book with my husband and a couple of close friends and, so far, those few things are still included in the book. They will remain included because one character relationship issue and two story concepts are absolutely vital to the story I want to tell. Yup, just three things.
The rest is window dressing.
I'm thankful that the agent seems to love those things too - yay!! - but, really, his suggestions and questions just mean more typing, more thinking, and more research. So what? Fix it, make the story the best, shiniest, most profitable product it can be. That is a writer's job, after all: to tell a damned good story.
This weekend I'm researching ideas and brainstorming not only one more important character but a few other things that'll scuff off the remaining snags and make this book scream.
I'm so excited! So thrilled!
This is freaking awesome and I'm awed that it's going so well. {{hugs}}
10 December, 2012
Let's meet Katarinne and Oriana
Here's the opening scene for the 'other half' of the story in Stain of Corruption. It starts with Oriana and Katarinne during an incredibly pivotal point in the Mage War, 40 some years before the start of Ghosts in the Snow. :)
(scene below the cut)
(scene below the cut)
02 December, 2012
An update and a glimpse
I'm not a good blogger, I know. It's been an incredibly crazy autumn for me and I have a gazillion distractions dragging me this way and that, but I've been working on my fiction, even if I haven't been blabbering here on the blog.
SPORE is done and out the door, and hopefully it'll be acceptable. I think it's a quirky, twisty kick ass book. While not as overtly violent and depraved as the Dubric novels, it has its moments of dark surprises, and I'm pretty enamored with Ghoulie, especially. Not sure why - a vengeful ghoul isn't exactly an intriguing, multi-faceted character - but I do like him gobs. And Sean. And Mare and Mindy and, well, pretty much all of the characters. I am very happy with the book. Other than one sex scene that I'd intended but couldn't find a way to squeeze in, it's pretty much exactly how I envisioned it. Yay!!
Anyway, as news occurs I will blog about it, so stay tuned for SPORE's journey to a bookstore near you. Go SPORE!! ;)
Tonight, though, I've delved back into the Dubric universe with my current incarnation of Stain of Corruption. Dubric and his burdens have never been easy for me to write, but here I am, looking at where the story stands, where I want it to go, and how I need it to get there.
SPORE is done and out the door, and hopefully it'll be acceptable. I think it's a quirky, twisty kick ass book. While not as overtly violent and depraved as the Dubric novels, it has its moments of dark surprises, and I'm pretty enamored with Ghoulie, especially. Not sure why - a vengeful ghoul isn't exactly an intriguing, multi-faceted character - but I do like him gobs. And Sean. And Mare and Mindy and, well, pretty much all of the characters. I am very happy with the book. Other than one sex scene that I'd intended but couldn't find a way to squeeze in, it's pretty much exactly how I envisioned it. Yay!!
Anyway, as news occurs I will blog about it, so stay tuned for SPORE's journey to a bookstore near you. Go SPORE!! ;)
Tonight, though, I've delved back into the Dubric universe with my current incarnation of Stain of Corruption. Dubric and his burdens have never been easy for me to write, but here I am, looking at where the story stands, where I want it to go, and how I need it to get there.
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