The End of Reading is at hand...*

*or so they want you to think.


Someone over on Absolute Write posted an announcement that Annie Sprinkle's long-running erotic anthology series, The Best American Erotica, is ending. It seems sales have been dropping, etc. Ms. Sprinkle--whom I respect and admire, just want to get that out of the way--has written a long blog post about her feeling about this, and why she thinks it's happened.

It's a good post. But I think it's wrong. Just like I think those five-times-a-year articles by some AP stringer about how books don't ever make money anymore and the book industry is collapsing are wrong, and I'm tired of seeing them.

Nobody is denying people might read less now than they once did. And certainly I see things like the recent financial troubles of Borders Bookstores and get nervous. Nobody wants to see bookstores disappear, least of all me.

But I don't think a lack of reading is necessarily at fault for Borders--I think it's stores like Sam's Club or Amazon that create problems for bookstores. I would even go so far as to guess that some people are buying more books now because of the discounts offered by those places.

I have a few problems with Ms. Sprinkle's post in particular. I certainly don't appreciate her assertion that modern writers of erotica are simply bandwagon-jumpers with no style. I don't agree with her that independent bookstores were king in 1993 and it's their death that has lead to the death of reading, short stories in particular. I'd certainly been to quite a few Barnes & Nobles at that time--in fact, they bought out B. Dalton in 1987 and so went national then. I know that any independent bookstores I went to as a kid were likely used bookstores--we had Waldenbooks and B. Dalton nearby, and that's where we shopped. Granted I was a kid, but I don't even remember seeing any independent bookstores anywhere.

I also don't agree that people no longer discuss books and/or reading. Yes, she's correct when she says newspapers are shutting down their book review sections, but I think, as I have always thought, that those pages don't attract attention because they're not reviewing books people want to read.

All I have to do is look online to see hundreds, if not thousands, of people who care about books and reading. Are we the only ones in the country? Somehow I doubt it. I just think people are buying different books now, and they're buying them from other places. They're buying them online. They're buying ebooks (I absolutely and strongly disagree with her assertion that file-sharing isn't a threat to authors.)

If anything, I think readers--at least in some genres--have grown more intelligent. Ms. Sprinkle mentions how in the beginning there was a "sense of urgency and movement,of this type of writing being on the edge of social change..." and how that's missing now.

To which I say, so what? Maybe I don't want to read erotica With A Message. Maybe I don't want political or sociological opinions force-fed me when I sit down to read a sexy story. Maybe that's why collections of erotic romance sell so well--nobody is Making A Statement. Maybe the American public--and the greater world public--is Message Fatigued, and would rather read fun books and enjoy themselves. If we have less leisure time than we used to for reading, is it any wonder we're choosing lighter books to read?

Yes, the short story seems to be doing the way of the dodobird. But maybe people these days simply like longer works. The assumption that only short stories are truly literary bugs me. Personally, if I'm reading something erotic I like it to be longer. I want to know the characters better. I want a stronger story to go with it. I want to spend some time there. I'm not good at writing short stories and never have been, because to me an erotic short feels a little like a quick anonymous hump in a back alley--over too soon and not as emotionally satisfying as it could have been. I don't agree that the short story is the foundation of storytelling. That doesn't mean I never enjoy them or that I think they're inferior to anything else, it just means I don't agree they're the foundation.

Basically, I just don't agree that the book industry is dying, and I'm tired of being told it is. As long as there are people who read, and pass that on to their children, there will be books.

I agree people are reading less. But maybe they're enjoying it more. And I absolutely agree that we need to take steps to encourage more people to read. But I'm tired of seeing stories of doom all over the place about how nobody makes a living writing books anymore unless they're Stephen King, and 99% of books only sell two copies (never mentioning that they're including textbooks and every self-published book and every academic micropress book about Cow-Tipping in the Eighteenth Century [which I would totally read, btw] in their statistics.)

It may be hard to make a living as a writer, yes--especially depending on your version of "a living". But I'm tired of reading that it's impossible so we just shouldn't try. How many articles do you see about how nobody goes to the doctor anymore, so going to med school is a waste? How nobody goes to see plays so don't bother acting? Why is it only writers and writing that get picked on with such frequency?

Don't sell the public short. They're still reading. At least that's what I think.

My Top Ten

Top Ten Signs that a book was written by me:


1. Third person. I'm not a fan of first person and don't write in it. My romances are, of course, written from third omniscient, but my urban fantasy is strictly from the heroine's POV.

2. Absent Families. Either they're dead or they're just a bunch of jerks, but not one heroine I've ever written has had a warm family relationship. Fathers often sell their kids out. Mothers are cruel and distant.

3. Everybody drinks like they're trying to keep up with Dean Martin. And they drink all sorts of things. The heroes might have a preference for Scotch, but basically, if you show a bottle of booze to a character in one of my books they'll drink it.

4. Twist endings. Not all of my books have them, but the large majority does. Either the villain's motives aren't what they seemed, or the guy we thought was the bad guy isn't. Even if it isn't a major plot point (it usually is), at some point we're going to be surprised.

5. Smoking. Yeah, I know. Not everyone smokes, but enough people do that it's safe to say if you pick up one of my books chances are somebody, some time, is going to smoke a cigarette.

6. Smooth dialogue, everybody is smart. Nobody is stupid (at least nobody we're supposed to like), not even the characters who never had an education. They may not know algebra but they have agile minds, and their dialogue tends to be quick and clean.


7. Manners/the man pays. Oh, yes. My characters use each others' last names regularly and often wait to be invited to use firsts. My men open doors, believe in "ladies first", prepare drinks, and always pay for meals (unless the heroine specifically does the inviting.) They get a little anal about it, too, sometimes. Even my poor uneducated men know how to treat a lady, and that's how they see them, too--as ladies.

8. Everybody has great sex. Like I said, my heroes believe in ladies first.

9. Heroes are dark/heroines are slim. Both personally and physically. I'm another one who just doesn't find blond men terribly appealing as a rule, so my heroes have dark hair and dark eyes. Most of them have Deep Secrets too, or if they don't they're just plain criminals. Also, my heroines tend not to be curvy. They're slim, small-breasted, probably not particularly tall, and average pretty.

10. Violence/stuff explodes/car chases/infernos. Oh how I love action. People in my books are always running, away from the crazy guy with the knife or the evil spirit they don't yet know how to defeat. They're in the car breaking laws as bad guys shoot at them or hordes or vampires chase them. Fire is everywhere. Houses catch fire, warehouses, corpses, heroes are fire demons who can burn stuff to a crisp just by thinking of it--now that I'm thinking of it, if something isn't burning yet in one of my books it's probably at least been foreshadowed. Just give it time. Everything burns.


I have also done a preliminary Stacia Kane website. It's here. If you have a minute, check it out. I think it's pretty blah, but as I said on livejournal last night, I really find GoDaddy's "Web Site Tonight" web builder to be difficult and painful to use. It's slow, it's not very customizeable...argh. Just a pain in the butt. So please be kind. :-)

The Elvis Edition

My subject at the League of Reluctant Adults blog today is my Top Ten favorite Elvis songs, in honor of Elvis' birthday.

My love of Elvis is not ironic. It is not post-modern or post-punk or tongue-in-cheek or any of the above. It comes in part from the same place as my adoration of macho men, from my childhood spent at the racetrack while my Dad ran quarter miles or spending most of my summers playing baseball in the street or travelling extensively throughout the South.

Even the excesses of Elvis love don't bother me, the glittery pillows or bad embroidery or black velvet paintings. I don't smirk a superior smirk or laugh at the tackiness (okay, sometimes I do, but I'm laughing at myself too, the little girl who wrote her crush's name all over her notebooks in lurid glitter inks or Outliner metallic markers and put Duran Duran posters on every available surface of her bedroom).

Because when we see greatness we want to honor it. We know something has walked among us that never will again, and we mourn its passing--worship its absent presence--with the intensity and devotion we reserve for all gods in no matter what arena.

I'm not getting into Elvis as a person, the drug addiction or apparently kinky sexual preferences or the was-he-racist-or-a-product-of-his-upbringing-and-shouldn't-he-have-overcome-it debate. I'm talking exclusively about the performer, the voice that crashed over our heads and wrenched emotions from the depths of our souls. The man who even at his overweight worst, when he had to read lyrics to songs he'd sung hundreds of times from a sheet of paper, could still make us cry, all of us, together. My adoration for that man comes from my earliest childhood, and is implacable. I will never stop loving that voice, those songs, and I will never stop wishing it had not been silenced so soon.


(Note, this is how I get when I'm homesick. Feel free to make fun of me, but don't you make fun of the King, lol.)

Hi-larious!

This is probably not work safe, as it requires audio and repeatedly uses the word "fuck".




And while I'm at it, this one is specially for Mark Henry, and I need to add a disclaimer, which is that this video is in no way a political statement or a commentary about anything political. I just thought it was funny, and I would think it was funny no matter what politician was being spoofed, I promise (and those of you who know me well KNOW how true that is):

*Hope nobody hates me*

I have some things to say. Some things which I would normally shy away from saying but I'm seriously reaching a breaking point here.

Okay, first. I am so incredibly sick and tired of hearing any sort of sentence which begins with "Americans are so..." and ends with any of the following: "hung up about sex/Puritanical/repressed."

First of all, I really genuinely have to wonder where the people who say such things get that idea, considering how thriving the pornography industry in the US is. Considering how raunchy the humor in US TV shows and movies can get. Look at our magazines or newspapers, listen to our radio shows. You'll find sex, I promise. Hell, look at me and what I write for EC.

Second, will someone please explain to me what exactly is so wrong with believing that maybe, just maybe, we should keep our genital urges private? That perhaps it isn't a good idea for young children to be exposed to explicit sexual images? That, to use the most common example of American's Terrible Puritanism, some people don't want their kids seeing, in the middle of a sporting match, a white man tearing off a black woman's clothing and exposing her nudity in a humiliating and aggressive fashion before thousands of people? Did anyone else wonder why the racial issue wasn't discussed, why the uncomfortable allusion to slavery implicit in that little moment was never an issue? Why wasn't Janet Jackson allowed to be the aggressor? Why wasn't she allowed to rip off JT's shirt and make him her bitch? Why was the power in that moment placed explicitly in the white man's hands? (Perhaps I'm wrong for seeing the racial side of this. Perhaps I'm way off base. And I do see the other side of that coin, where it's a good thing nobody discussed it because it means the idea of interracial sex wasn't even an issue, which is great. But I always found that interesting and wondered why more people didn't discuss that as another reason people had issues, even subconsciously, with that moment. Hell, even if they'd both been white or both been black I would have had an issue with the way the woman in question was forced to be the sexual submissive while the man stayed calm and fully clothed. I find that hot in books, but in public I think it might be better not to have our impressionable children think The Way It's Done is the man tears at the woman's clothing apropos of nothing.)

But honestly, (and I can't believe I'm digressing into this incident so far when it's years old) I believe the biggest problem with that wasn't the Wardrobe Malfunction. Heck, Lucy Lawless fell out of her top one night singing the National Anthem and treated everyone in attendance to a view of her own Ramparts, and nobody said a word.

I think the difference is, the intense sexualizaton our children are exposed to and the pressure we put on our daughters, girls as young as ten, to be "sexy". And this is why I get angry when the US is derided as being Puritanical or Hung Up or Prudish.

What's wrong with wondering, and debating, whether or not it's a good thing for kids to be exposed to such things? What's wrong with questioning our direction? With talking about what we do and do not value, and what sorts of values we want to pass on to our children?

Isn't it better that we do that, instead of just saying, "Ah, they'll be okay," while we show them pornography at age seven (or whatever)? Isn't it better to examine our changing values and our society as a whole than to just shrug and say "Whatever"? Isn't that sort of debate what a responsible society does?

Here's a prime example (this is where the whole rant comes from). Britney Spears. A sixteen-year-old girl paraded around by her own mother in tiny halter tops and mini-skirts behaving in an overtly sexual manner (yes, I realize I'm skating dangerously close to sounding like the Church Lady here). A GIRL. A GIRL who could barely drive a car, being told over and over again that the most interesting and valuable thing about her was her (admittedly fabulous) body and to what degree she flaunted it. A GIRL thrown into an adult world at an age when most girls are still confused about just about everything, when the slightest bit of criticism is incredibly painful.

Is it any wonder the poor thing is having a nervous breakdown, stage by stage? Is it any wonder she was so desperate to really feel like the grown-up everyone kept pushing her to be that she jumped into two ill-advised marriages at age twenty (does anyone else wonder if she got pregnant so quickly and consecutively in an attempt to finally NOT have to be sexy all the time)? That when her parents should have been guiding her into real womanhood they instead urged her into tighter and shorter outfits and left her to fend for herself? That being young, beautiful, and wealthy, and thus able to do whatever she wanted, was too much for a girl barely out of her teens? That her own parenting skills are appalling? Are we surprised by any of this?

Is it so prudish and narrow-minded to say, I'd rather my daughter be valued for something other than their breasts and flat stomachs when they hit their early teens, and to that end maybe we could step back on the intense emphasis on sex and sexuality that seems to be everywhere? Is it so prudish and narrow minded just to say, hey, maybe this isn't good for our kids, and maybe we should think about how our actions affect them?

I'll say one thing about those Chastity Balls everyone was discussing a while ago--at least the girls attending those parties knew their fathers cared how they comported themselves, and valued them as people and not as sexual objects, and most importantly wanted the girls to value themselves as more than that. I'm not saying the Balls didn't squick me out or that I didn't find it creepily vagocentric. But how many girls out there might be glad to know that at least somebody wants them to value their bodies as more than some hormonal teenage boy's sex toy? That someone will think they're good and honorable for saying no to sex, instead of an idiot, because sex is No Big Deal? Sex is a Big Deal, it's a big huge deal, as any girl who's waited in vain by the phone after letting some guy into her body can attest, and I don't see what's wrong with acknowledging that and trying to teach our kids that.

I don't want to sound like some "Turn back the clock to 1955!" incendiary. And I don't want to imply that such incendiaries don't exist, or that there aren't people out there who hold dangerously backward views on a lot of issues.

But I don't think the majority of Americans are like that. And I don't believe that simply wanting to make sure that our progress is positive and not precipitous is a dangerous and reactionary thing, but a good and responsible thing. I'm tired of hearing Americans described as stupid, homophobic, puritanical, racist, etc. Some of them are, sure, and it's a terrible shame, but no more than I've seen in any other place.

I am certainly not for censorship, or outlawing porn, or anything of that nature. I like my adult things and want to keep them, and I don't want children to think sex is dirty or bad or anything either. I just like the idea of balance. I think they should know about birth control and protecting themselves but would also prefer to teach my own daughters to wait (at least until they're in a long-term relationship, and by long-term I mean more than a few months), rather than have them be told "Everybody's doing it, it's great!" and pushed into the world of adult sexuality before they're ready. I think adults should be able to do whatever adults want to do with each other but would prefer they do it where I don't have to watch, and find it interesting that while we refuse to allow people to smoke in public because a child might be in the vicinity it's considered horribly backward to worry at all about children when, say, people are having oral sex in a park. Isn't that a bit odd?


So there you go. I guess I'm all fired up politically because of the primaries happening. I used to love politics, especially election years. I used to stay up late to watch returns, I'd take the day off to watch the Inauguration, have parties, all kinds of things. So much hate has crept into politics over the last eight years I've been weary of the whole thing. But the primaries so far have been fun, the debates have been fun, and I'm hoping it stays that way. I'll even go so far as to say there is one candidate in each party who I'd vote for in a minute, and if they both end up on the ticket, as pundits are predicting they will, I will have a very hard time making a decision (this based on what I've seen so far, of course.) It feels good to think, "Boy, that would be a hard choice." It's been a long time since I've thought that.

And that is the last political post you'll see here, btw.

*Flabbergasted*

Blood Will Tell has been nominated for Preditors & Editors "Best Romance 2007". (Scroll down to the Bs.)

WOW!! Thank you, whoever nominated me!


Of course I don't stand a snowball's chance of winning. But that's pretty cool.

Just like the poltergeist...

We-re ba-ack!




The League is up and running again, blogging for your delight and edification five days a week (and posting interviews at weekends!)


And I'm back too.

I was thinking earlier about cookbooks and such, and cooking in general. I love cookbooks. I read them like literature, and they're the only books whose pages I dog-ear (so if I'm looking for something to cook one night I don't have to page through recipes that don't interest me.)

But I tend to dislike modern cookbooks (with one exception, which I'll get to later.) Most modern cookbooks are for hobbyists; people who have money to spend on exotic ingredients and cook once a week, or do a special brunch sometimes, or whatever. All attractive and often looks great, but not very practical for someone who has to get dinner on the table at least six nights a week (assuming the hubs takes pity and we go to McD's or something once.)

(Actually, "takes pity" sounds bad, because I genuinely enjoy cooking. I just don't always want to do it by the end of the week.)

I simply don't have the time or the inclination to faff about the kitchen for hours julienning vegetables or infusing things (unless it's a special occasion, in which case I am happy to faff), and we certainly can't afford to buy a whole shelf full of exotic foods.

That's why I like old cookbooks.

In Ft. Lauderdale there was a used bookshop that had a whole section of old cookbooks, mostly from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and I used to clean that place out when I went. They usually only cost a couple of dollars each at the most, and are great. Fun to read (I have recipes for sweetebreads and whole roast suckling pig, y'all, right at my fingertips). They have a lot of basic information that's useful--a lot of these books assume you're a SAHM looking to branch out or looking for new ideas, so it's all non-fussy and with detailed instructions. Lots of casseroles. Lots of stuff you can freeze (I hardly ever do, but you get the point). I have a pasta cookbook from the mid-70s that is one of my favorites of all time, though it's missing two pages which irks me. Best of all for someone with a sensitive stomach like mine, there is very little emphasis placed on "International" (which usually means spicy) cuisine.

I have an "Antoinette Pope School" cookbook that uses MSG in almost every recipe (I omit it) and explains how to can foods and make jelly (I have never tried it, nor will I. Are you kidding? Me, with my pathological fear of food-borne bacteria?) I have an entire cookbook of fish recipes--good ones, with fish you can get at any supermarket instead of exotic ones you have to find a fishmonger for. I believe I literally have recipes for just about anything. Steak tartare? Got it. Tripe? Got it. Brains? Head cheese? Oh, yeah.

I also adore those cheap pamphlet-y cookbooks you can buy at the checkout lane in grocery stores. "Cooking With Beer" is my favorite (like I wouldn't buy a cookbook titled that) but I have some fun Halloween ones and local cuisine-type ones too.

I use those all the time. My modern books? Not so much. Except Nigella Lawson's "How to Eat", although I usually have to adapt her recipes because she's overly fond of peppers (to which I am violently allergic) and spices like cumin which I just plain don't like.

I actually started writing a cookbook once. It's got about thirty recipes in it but I never finished--I keep telling myself I need to keep going, so I can offer it as a free download or something. That's one of the reasons I post recipes at the Overflow blog, too, just in case someone cares. Nobody seems to, but that doesn't stop me! Oh no!

What do you cook from, if you cook? Do you like to cook? Got any recipes to share? How do you feel about modern cookbooks? Have any cooking tips? Bring 'em on!

New Year's, etc.

I was supposed to do a better NY post, but I just can't think of anything to say. Resolutions? Yes, blah blah, I want an agent and a multi-book deal, blah blah blah. What else is new? I'm going to try to be better at doing the vacuuming. I'm going to try to do more promo. Have more fun. Go places and do things instead of sitting around all weekend every weekend (of course, my lack of adventure in the past year wasn't entirely my fault, seeing as how it rained, um, almost every fucking day). Sticking to my diet isn't really a resolution, it's just something I'm going to keep doing. Maybe I'll try to get more sleep, too. That would be good.
I want to write at least three full-length novels, which shouldn't be a problem. Four would be better.



Tagged by my sweet friend yeyo_x:

* 8 Things I’m passionate about
1. My family
2. Writing
3. My friends
4. History
5. Booze
6. Movies
7. Shoes
8. The need to keep non-cigarette trash out of ashtrays, particularly food items

* 8 Things I want to do before I die
1. Agent/contract/blah blah
2. Become fluent in a foreign language
3. Go to Vegas
4. Own a nice home with more than two bedrooms
5. Own a convertible
6. Climb a mountain
7. Road trip across the US (again)
8. Top of the Empire State Building

* 8 Things I often say
1. Fuck
2. Like I said
3. Girls, be quiet!
4. Blah blah blah
5. I said be quiet!
6. Clean up in here
7. Because I said so
8. Girls, please be quiet!

* 8 Books I’ve recently or currently reading
1. The Hell-Fire Clubs: Sex, Rakes, and Libertines by Geoffrey Ashe
2. English Society in the 18th Century by Roy Porter
3. Flood by Andrew Vachss
4. Hard Candy by Andrew Vachss
5. Happy Hour of the Damned by Mark Henry
6. The Word Museum by Jeffrey Kacirk
7. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
8. Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan

* 8 Songs I could listen to over and over
1. Ruby Baby by Dion
2. Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
3. NYC Tonight by GG Allin
4. Let It Be by the Beatles
5. Born With A Tail by the Supersuckers
6. Baby I'm a King by the Devil Dogs
7. Sound System by Operation Ivy
8. Drift Away by Dobie Gray (the original one, not that wierdo cover whoever-it-was did a little while ago)
(and a bonus: Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult. Because everybody needs more cowbell.)

* 8 Things that attract me to my best friends
1. Sense of humor
2. Brains
3. Similar outlook to mine
4. Understanding
5. People who just "click" with me
6. Common interests
7. Kind to me, cruel to others (that's sort of a joke but not entirely, but my friendship-seeking process really doesn't include this many steps))
8. See? Can't think of any others.

Posting from the future

It's 2008 here, while it is still 2007 in the US. Therefore, I am posting...from the future!!!

Wooooooooo!


*shrug* It's okay so far. Buzz helps. More tomorrow.


Happy New Year!

I'm...so bo-o-ored with the hol-i-days

Are they over yet?

I really like having the girlies home, because not having to take them to school means not having to get up early, which is nice. But damn am I sick of everything else. Especially all the eating. And nobody being around. It's like a ghost town here in Blogland. No emails. Everyone's busy with their families and stuff, la de freakin da.

Okay, I'm not really that grumpy. But I am ready for the holidays to end. I think part of my grump is that I'm between projects and debating what I want to do next. Well, okay, not entirely. I owe EC a novella and I'm going to start it next week. But that shouldn't take more than two weeks or so and then I need a new project, unless Something Big happens which, let's face it, is not going to happen in a day. (I would make a resolution not to constantly think I suck and be more positive but, c'mon, what fun is that? And really, who wants that? Would anyone come here to read My Big Fat Egotistical Blog? Here's a sample, so you can tell me:

Today I put the finishing touches on what is surely the Next Big Huge Bestseller, which I am convinced agents will fall at my feet to represent. Man, I am constantly amazed by how awesomely skilled I am as a writer, not to mention being such a fabulous and witty person. Seriously. All those famous writers? They have nothing on me. I won't take anything less than a million, though, because I deserve it. Later today I'm going to admire myself in a mirror for a while and then compose a poem dedicated to my everlasting glory, which I will post here for your edifiction. You'll want to come back, as my words are not to be missed, even in iambic pentameter.

See? Sucks, right?)

The actual holiday was pretty good. Seriously, my kids? Awesome. Didn't wake us up until 9 am to open presents, and even then were happy to crawl into bed for a cuddle first. And I got a Mystery Science Theatre DVD box set, yay! Unfortunately it contained two Pod People discs instead of one Pod People and one Cave Dwellers, so it will have to be returned. Even more unfortunately we will probably have to pay Customs duties on it again when it's reshipped. But hey, it's worth it.

Also, the hubs shaved off his facial hair, which made me happy. More fun to kiss now.

What else? Um. I guess that's it, really. See why I want the holidays to end? I have been sitting on my butt watching tv and doing very little else for days now. Plus, my living room is an absolute pigsty what with all the new Little People and Playmobil toys lying around. I swear those little plastic fuckers multiply in the night like bizarre shoemaker's elves. Only instead of making shoes they make more sharp pieces of plastic with which to impale human feet.

Anyway. Now we have the drama of New Year's Eve--always fun here in the UK, where they put on incredibly strange ice-dancing displays and sing depressing hymns at New Year. Seriously, you want to party it up, get somebody in to sing "Amazing Grace". Now THAT is fun. Maybe they'll have someone come in for a rousing rendition of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald or that perennial favorite, Gloomy Sunday. (Maybe they'll get "the English Elvis", Sir Cliff Richard, in to sing it. I love that. "The English Elvis". Yeah, you know who our Elvis is? ELVIS. But that's a different post.)

So there we go. Probably my last rant of the year.

Something about goals and words written and blah blah blah

So what did I accomplish this year?

By conservative estimate I wrote over half a million words on finished projects. Not counting blogs. Most of my words sold. A few I'm still waiting to hear on. One short I'm fairly certain is a no-go but I may revamp it to send elsewhere, as I'm pretty confident that if it doesn't sell it's because the voice was wrong for that particular house/project and not because the story itself sucks (I'm actually quite proud of the story.)

And one set of words I am of course still waiting for a little time to pass so I can do more editing and start subbing, fingers crossed.

I'm hoping 2008 will be a better year for me. Even-numbered years usually are better, don't know why. 2007 wasn't bad, it just wasn't great. Lots of personal stuff going on. Some disappointments and general ennui. Might have been nice to see the sun more than two days in a row throughout the year as well. I love clouds and I love rain but even I got a little sick of it this year, what with the nine solid weeks of rain we got back in June and the total lack of summer. I didn't leave the house without at least a jacket on once all year.

Projects sold this year (not necessarily written this year, but sold):

Demon's Triad (with Anna J. Evans)
Personal Demons
Eighth Wand
Day of the Dead
Black Dragon (with new material and a bunch of stuff edited out)


So, not a bad year. Let's hpe '08 is the year we all finally reach our ultimate goals.

Well...I did promise

I honestly have no idea why I photograph so badly. My features all seem to mush together oddly in pictures. I swear, I look normal in person. Even attractive. I looked very pretty that night. But on film...sigh.

Not much else happening. Gearing up for the holidays. Lots to do, work work work. The kids are both home now for the next 2 weeks--no more school. It's nice because I don't have to get up so early, but sucky because I have to fetch juice and snacks all day for two instead of just one. Oh well.

UGH!!

My neighbors are vaccuming. And yelling over the noise of the vaccum. At 9:30 pm. On a school night. When they have three small children.

They are the loudest people on the planet, I swear.

I'm trying to watch House, ffs!

Feeling Festive?

I am so not.

I've been looking forward to the holidays this year but now they're here I'm just meh.

The party was good. I was hoping to have pics by now but it looks like they might have to wait. The hubs and I brought our phones to take pics but of course didn't, so we're waiting to get everyone else's in. (I've seen one so far of myself, blurry and from an awkward angle so it looks like my huge rubber face is melting. Won't be sharing that one, sorry.)

But the big thing about the party was, none of the other women dressed up. The men were all in tuxes. The women? Plain dresses. The type you'd wear for a regular night out to dinner. I, in my floor-length, corset-bodiced, crinolined burgundy gown felt rather out of place, and seriously disappointed in my fellow women. No sense of occasion, I guess. If the men are in tuxes it's a formal affair, ladies, not Business Dressy.

I just don't understand why you might not want to dress up, once a year. It really put a damper on the evening, especially when some of the women sneered at me like "Who does she think she is?" Last year a few of us were dressy. This year just me. I'm considering what I want to do for next year, but I hate the idea of letting the Lowest Casual Denominator turn a special occasion into a bland one.

But oh well. The important thing is, I got to have a nice night out with no kids, with my hubby looking all dashing in a tuxedo, and I'd lost enough weight to fit into the dress (fourteen pounds since September, go me!)

Also got a great review (4.5 stars!) for As the Lady Wishes, the Torrid Tarot story Anna J. Evans and I wrote. Suni from Just Erotic Romance Reviews said, in part:

"Torrid Tarot: As the Lady Wishes is by far one of the sexiest novels I've read in a long time... Ms. Evans and Ms. Quinn did a marvelous job of writing an enjoyable erotic tale that I won't forget for a long time to come. A definite must read."

And that's it. My blogging will probably be spotty until after the New Year (here, but spotty), but hopefully I'll be able to visit more.

Hairy Men and Testosterone

I'm totally stealing this topic from Veinglory over at EREC, so hopefully she'll forgive me.

See, she did a post about hairy chests. And whether we like hairy chests or not. (My comments is there, I'm just expanding it and making it actually about writing, gasp.)

For years I didn't. Hairy chests=yuck. Perhaps some of this stemmed from a man I saw in high school, when I worked at a movie theatre. He was wearing a tank top and the man was not hairy. The man was furry. Literally. Back and front. It tufted out above the straps of his shirt and over the neckline. Supergross.

But as I age (ech), I realize...hairy chests mean something to me. And maybe they always did.

I want to preface this by saying two things: One, my husband is not a hairy man and is, of course, incredibly handsome and sexy and everything. And two, these are simply my thoughts and theories, and are not meant to reflect on anyone else in any way. I'm not a sociologist, guys, I only have a GED (damned algebra).

I think a hairy chest is aggressively masculine. Hairy men are aggressively masculine. It's why the stubble-y look never really goes out of style. All that body hair denotes something, in the deep ex-cavegirl pure instinct hormonal part of myself. A throwback, maybe. An evolutionary impulse. But a hairy man is a man. One who can win a fistfight and impregnate you at the same time, you know what I mean?

And when I was younger--and remember, this is just me--perhaps all that rampant masculinity was threatening. I saw it as gross because it was part of a scary grown-up world that I wasn't really ready to be a part of, that made me nervous and uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong. I like a smooth chest as much as the next girl, and I'm certainly not implying that women who don't like hairy chests are immature in some way. I'm just saying what this meant and does mean to me. My physical tastes in men have changed as I aged because what I look for in a man is different now than it was, and I wonder if that isn't the case for a lot of women.

This also got me thinking about characterization, and heroes. Most--okay, pretty much all until now--of my heroes are hairless. I didn't even think about it. I just assumed, basically, that heroes and bare chests go together like Bombay Sapphire and tonic.

But I wonder if by automatically doing that I don't lose out on an opportunity to expand characterization. If hair color and eye color are part of characterization, hairstyle, tattoos, etc...if we use those to show what sort of person the reader is dealing with, why not body hair? What sort of character can we denote simply by adding a hairy chest? Does it make a difference in the way we see him? Would that suit a more emo-type hero, or a beta male?

What do you think?

**Apologies for the late hour. What a day.

***I will not be blogging on Friday, I don't think, because Friday is the Xmas party and I'll be away all day, all night, and into Saturday. But I will hopefully have a photo to post on Monday.

****We're doing a book club at the League of Reluctant Adults blog!! Go vote on which book you'd like to read!

That Jerk Named Santa

But first...

Doing edits now, a first pass to shore up the issues I had, so I can print out a full copy later.

I do love this part, discovering the book isn't as bad as you thought it was when you were writing it.

Of course, that doesn't mean anyone else will think so...

And we had quite the weekend, as I'm sure you can imagine, what with the birthday and the pox. This is just about the first chance I've had today to use both hands on the computer, but I believe the worst is ending. My poor baby's little face and body is covered in spots (although not her legs, oddly), but there seems to be a lot less itching today and her mood is much improved.

We also put up the tree and all our decorations on Saturday, always nice, while watching the Patrick Stewart "A Christmas Carol".

And we have a box set of those old Christmas specials they used to show when we were kids, the old Rankin-Bass ones. Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. (The set also includes an excrebale Frosty sequel, which sucks just a little worse than the original Frosty cartoon sucks.)

I never liked Frosty, to be honest. I remember hitting maybe six or seven before I realized that Frosty was a moron, for one thing. And there are huge plot holes. And the magic hat? Was in fact stolen. The magician didn't throw it away, his rabbit stole it, and the hat blew off its head and floated to the kids. So Frosty, far from being a charming tale for children, is in fact about a snowman of questionable intelligence and a gang of young thieves, plotting to steal someone else's rightful belongings.

And they are aided by Santa. Santa, who when he appears, never even asks the kids how they came by the hat, never even listens to Professor Hinkle when he tries to explain that the hat belongs to him. Instead he tells Hinkle that if he doesn't give up the hat, he'll never get another gift from Santa for the rest of his life. Apparently Santa doesn't even think Hinkle deserves some sort of compensation for the loss of something he needs to earn a living--his magaician's hat.

So, left with a bad tase in our mouths and viewing Santa as some sort of fat, red-suited Fagin, we watched the terrible Frosty Returns--which is too stupid and bland and irritating to even describe--and put in Rudolph.

And once again, came face to face with Santa the dick. Santa the cruel. Santa who sides with the reindeer who shun Rudolph, Santa who doesn't even consider allowing Rudolph to work for him once he sees his red nose. Imagine for a minute just how charitable and good Santa's heart might truthfully be, when he dismisses someone who's a little different without a second thought. He even says it's too bad Rudolph is mildly deformed, because he was a good flyer! Merit means nothing in Santa's world; it's all based on looks. (Don't even get me started on his blatant enforcement of slavery in refusing to even consider allowing an elf to be anything but a toymaker.)

Don't even get me started on my favorite Xmas special, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. Now, I genuinely love this one--it was on again last year--but here again. Santa? Big asshole. One person in a town says something nasty about The Fat Man, so he decides nobody in Junctionville deserves a present? And they have to spend huge amounts of taxpayer dollars to build a clock to bribe him to return. Santa apparently believes he is a god who needs be appeased with sacrifice.

And yet, when we were kids, we all thought having this greedy, megalomaniacal mercenery invade our homes was a good thing. Sigh.

A Pox on My House

Faerie has chicken pox.


UGH! My poor baby is covered in spots. And tomorrow is her birthday.


Plus, my MIL is now reconsidering coming down here to watch the girls for the Big Formal Christmas Party next Friday. She's had chicken pox but isn't convinced she's immune. So we're kind of frantic and hoping Faerie gets over it quickly so she isn't contagious anymore by then. Grr!

But...I finished Unholy Ghosts last night. Of course I think the entire ending is a study in suck, but then I would, wouldn't I? We have a final word count of 81,135. A bit short, but I know I have some stuff to add, so I expect it to roll in around 83k.

I'm pleased about one thing, though. This seems to be a pretty clean draft. Obviously it needs editing but at least I've advanced beyond the "write numerous unnecessary scenes" stage. Although only going back and rereading will tell me that for sure.

So it's done. I believe it took 9 weeks total, but in actuality 8 due to kiddie conflicts. I would say now I can relax, but c'mon. We all know I'm going to be editing and thinking obsessively about the book at least a few more weeks.


Super Finished Metrics

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 4,438
Total wordcount: 81,135
The Good: We all lived, and now we get to do drugs and have sex!
The Bad:Ghost planes, earthquakes, horde of black magicians, superevil entity
The Gross:Worms under baddie’s skin make it move
The rampant drug use:Generic pills
Location: Haunted airport
Downspeech:“ Ain’t a usual kind of night, leastaways.”
I Hate My Work: People are going to think you can’t properly finish a book, because this is so dumb. Way to ruin a great story, lame-o.

Piers Got it Wrong

You all know that I have recommended Piers Anthony's Internet Publishing site in the past, as a good source for writers trying to determine whether or not a publisher is ethical.

I want to say that, although I know some people don't agree, I do still recommend it. I said in my publishing series that you must use your head, and use Piers as one source of many, and that hasn't changed. Smoke doesn't always mean fire, but a LOT of smoke, or certain types of smoke, are still warning signs. I feel and have always felt that we are too often forced to keep quiet and let other writers leap into doom because to go public is to invite a shitstorm, and I think that's wrong (but what do we do, when it's our careers on the line).

Anyway. I still like Piers and still think his site has value.

But he got something very, very wrong in his December update, and I want to correct it here in case any of my readers saw it.

Under the listing for Ellora's Cave, he wrote the following:

"December 2007 update: they will no longer accept historicals, and I am told they are yanking them from their lineup."

This is NOT TRUE.

I have a statement from Ellora's Cave Publisher (and onetime guest here), the lovely and charming Raelene Gorlinsky, which she has kindly given me permission to pass on to you all:

"I assure you this is completely untrue. We continue to accept and publish historicals of all time periods and settings, from sweet traditional Regencies to extremely erotic historical romances. We do, however, reject a vast quantity of historical submissions because the authors clearly failed to do their research and the stories are glaringly lacking in historical accuracy."

In fact, the new EC editors' blog (which is really a great blog, btw) Redlines and Deadlines, just did a post on historicals and historical accuracy on Monday. (And I have a medieval releasing from Cerridwen in February, don't forget!)

I have no idea why someone would report such a thing to Piers, and I have to be honest--I've always thought, from reading his site in the past, that on an issue like this he would take the time to check.

It's disappointing. I wouldn't go so far as to remove him from my list of sources to check, but I wouldn't look to him for submission information, and I am (as I said) disappointed.



Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 4,675
Total wordcount: 76,697
The Good: Mystery solved. Two almost sweet moments interrupted.
The Bad: All hell is breaking loose. Bad guys everywhere. Evil spirits abound.
The Gross: Bad guy gets throat cut, that mutilated body makes another appearance.
The rampant drug use: Gotta do speed to stay alive.
Location: Haunted airport
Downspeech:““Ay, lookie be my ladybird.”
I Hate My Work: Is this actually exciting, or is it too easy and lame?

Addicted to IMDB

Somebody has to stop me. I'm actually finding excuses to look things up on IMDB. And I'm seriously wasting entire afternoons (like, um, this one) just wandering around there. Reading Trivia. Reading the discussion boards. Hopping from one entry to the next, stuffing myself full of useless facts when I should be working. (In my defense, early this morning I scrapped the 2k I wrote last night and rewrote it, so while I haven't advanced my word count past 74k [where it is currently] I have actually worked. But still. That's a pretty weak defense.)

I can't seem to stop. Hubs and I will watch a movie, or a TV show. We'll idly wonder who someone is. I'll leap for the computer...and there I'll stay, long after answering the original (trumped-up) question, reading interesting tidbits about Saffron Burrows (bisexual; who knew?) or the guy who played Carlo in The Godfather (has a crush on Victoria Gotti). Long after the hubs has finally gone to his nightly rest I'm still here, my eyes aching as I obsessively read about old movies, new movies, who's married to who...

In fact, this is a short post because I have IMDB open in another tab, and I'm in the middle of something there, it's very important research I swear, I mean, you never know what might come in handy right? Right? *bites nails, gives unhinged laugh* So I, uh, I have to go now, because, um, the Faerie needs me! Yes she needs me so...tell me about your time wasters and...I'll be back later or something.

You don't bring me lotion...anymore

And that's a good thing.


They're all out there now, you see. The magazines loaded with "holiday gift ideas". I've been avoiding them, for the most part, because I rarely bother to read magazines of any kind anymore. (And even when I did, the only one I bothered with regularly was Maxim, and the British Maxim sucks. Seriously. Take out all the ironic humor and fun, add a bunch of naked women and some seriously shitty attitudes).

But yesterday I was thumbing through Skye magazine, which comes free every month with our cable and is usually tossed unread. They had a little article about the Dr. Who Christmas episode though so I took it out of its plastic wrapping and opened it.

And there it was. The "Buy for Her!" article. And what were half of those gifts?

Frigging lotion. Bath kits. Environmentally correct body salves made from guano and recycled tea leaves or whatever. Make-up kits. Excuse me, but anyone who buys me any of those (who buys someone else make-up? How do you know what colors to get? Maybe they're like me and have sensitive skin?) will get a polite thank-you and my undying secret contempt.

Okay, maybe not that harsh. It is the thought that counts, after all, and people who know me will tell you, honestly, that I have more fun buying gifts for others than I do getting them. Foreals. But seriously, lotion? Why don't you just hand me a card that says, "I don't know you at all"?

I blame a lot of this on the idea that gift cards are somehow impersonal. I can tell you, though, a bookstore or Amazon gift card tells me you know me a lot better than a basket full of Jean Nate, because being able to get some free books=my idea of Best Holiday Ever. Gift cards may be impersonal, but let's face it; so are those "What to buy for Her/Him/the Boss/your neighbor" articles. Just like a few years ago when Amazon promised overnight shipping for Father's Day gifts so they'd be there in time--but only offered it on the items Amazon apparently thought were appropriate Father's Day gifts, which included golf equipment but did not include Wolverine graphic novels. And nothing I could do would get those gifts in time, because they'd set the days before FD aside just to ship golfing equipment, plaster ducks, ties, coffee table books about sports, etc.

Lotion is a bad gift. Most women already have a ton of it, because every year somebody forks it over for some holiday. Women who use it have a brand they already like. Women who don't aren't going to change because somebody gave it to them for free. And honestly, although I am probably the least easily offended person I know when it comes to matters of gender, I think it is a little offensive, because the implication is there's nothing I--or any other woman--enjoy more than spending hours in the bathroom. When in fact I enjoy quite a lot of things more.

I'm tired of being told pampering myself involves bubble baths and cloying fragrances. When for men pampering themselves means playing golf or doing cool stuff with their car or reading or whatever. You want to pamper me? Cook. Or, y'know, diamonds are always good too. :-)

Um.

Um. Um um um.

I am stuck.

I don't even have a blog post for the day, so let's do this again. You suggest a topic. Give me something to write about.

I do have a few little things to share though. Remember a while ago, when I blogged about chandeliers etc. made from human bones? Someone over on Livejournal payed a visit to an ossuary in the Czech Republic and posted some pictures. Amazing. Check them out here.

One of my favorite books from my teen years, Pamela Des Barres' I'm With the Band, was apparently reissued a couple of years ago, and I had no idea. The hubs and I went to Bristol yesterday and I found it at Forbidden Planet, so yay! Just as much fun as I remember it being, too.

Because I was away all day and struggling mightily with Unholy Ghosts (groan), I failed to respond to any comments on my last post. But really, what could I say? You're all geniuses, with all sorts of nifty info right at your fingertips. I am proud you bother to read my blog.

What else? Hubs and I rewatched season one of Monk while he was off work (Thurs-yesterday, today was his first day back) and really enjoyed ourselves. I am tired. We've had a couple of dr. appointments because of Princess' flat feet (inherited from the other side of the family, ahem, as everyone on MY side has aristocratically high arches) and they are giving her some prescription insoles to help strengthen the muscles in her ankles. It won't change her feet but it will hopefully help her ankles to stop wobbling.

And that's it. You see how dull I am. Sorry. Hopefully by Friday the floodgates will have reopened.

Tuesday...

And that's my day at the League of Reluctant Adults blog. We're talking about cliches.

What do you know?

A response to my metrics over on livejournal got me thinking.

The comment alluded to the famous "horse-head-in-the-bed" Godfather scene, but didn't menton names. It occurred to me then, not only do I know the owner of the bed's name--Jack Woltz--I know the horse's name. It was Khartoum.

Just like I know Ashley Wilkes' real first name was George. Just like I know Doc Brown's time machine needed 1.21 gigowatts of energy for the flux capacitor to work.

I also know the name of Nick and Nora Charles' dog (Asta--perennial crossword puzzle favorite). I know Captain Queeg's full name was Philip Francis Queeg. I know the Millenium Falcon made the kessel run in less than 12 parsecs. I know the man who shot President Garfield was named Charles Guitaeu, and that he said in court, "Your Honor, I confess to the shooting of the President but not the killing." Typhoid Mary's last name was Mallon. The Beatle's first drummer was Stu Sutcliffe. Amylase is a digestive enzyme in saliva. There are almost 300 different germs which cause the "common cold", which is why there's no cure for it--it's not one cold, it's hundreds with the same symptoms.

And I'm boring you with all of this because I find it interesting, how we remember things. Test me on some of the stuff I learned in high school and I have no idea, but I can tell you that defenestration means falling out of a window or triskadekaphobia is fear of the number 13 without batting an eyelash.

Why do we hold on to some bits of knowledge and lose others? Not even always more interesting bits of information. But some things seem to stick in our heads, and stay there.

What bits are you holding on to?

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 5,641
Total wordcount: 64,649
The Good: Oooh, men getting all protective and angry! New information makes pieces get closer to fitting together!
The Bad: We might have caught a bad guy! And we’re about to watch him get the living shit kicked out of himself.
The Gross: None at the moment.
The rampant drug use: Just regular addictions.
Location: Drug den, car, behind a messy desk, on a lawn
Downspeech: “Ain’t gonna see me, sweets. You just keep him by the building.”
I Hate My Work: This is going to be way too long, or way too short, you couldn’t pace a book properly to save your life, you talentless hack.

This should have gone in yesterday's post

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 9k or so, throughout the week
Total wordcount: 59,008
The Good: Woo-HOOO! Big makeout scene! A sex scene (they made me do it, knew I wouldn’t be able to resist)
The Bad: Oh, dear. We’ve totally hurt someone we care about. Also, bad guys hitting people and killing people.
The Gross: Dead person left in Chess’ bed.
The rampant drug use: a banned pill found in a tunnel full of dead people.
Location: Bar, rainy streets, Lex’s place, Chess’ place
Downspeech: “You ain’t count on no rules to save you, Chess. You oughta know that. Don’t know where your head was.”
I Hate My Work: You’re never going to get all this tied up, you’ve written yourself into a corner, you suck.

Just a short one

and very late. Both girls were in school this morning, and the hubs is off work for a few days, so we headed off into a nearby town to do a little shopping. Of course we bought nothing but it was nice to be out on our own anyway.

Had an okay Thanksgiving. Being sick didn't help. But we had turkey and all the trimmings, I made pumpkin pie, and we watched our Thanskgiving movies.

First was Planes, Trains and Automobiles, after which we had a long discussion of the genius that was John Candy, with analysis of our favorite Candy films.

And then...L.A. Confidential, which is one of the greatest films ever made. There is no limit to how much I adore this movie. Every performance in it is perfect. The plot is amazing. The look of it, the dialogue, everything. And freaking Titanic beat it for Best Picture. I'd love to know if that movie still holds up as well as this one. I bet it doesn't.

And now we're watching Raiders of the Lost Ark.

What are your Thanksgiving movies? Which John Candy film is your favorite?

I never do this, and I hope I'm not jinxing myself...

But since I did a longer post yesterday than I planned (stupid woman!!! I saw her car this morning--she'd back in to her spot. HA!), and I'm reaching a pivotal scene in Unholy Ghosts so really want to get back to it, so...

I'm going to post a snippet.

I'll probably remove it after a day or two, but here it is. Keep in mind this is a first draft, please! :-)


****Sorry...you missed it.****



Oh, and...Tionna has done it again.

In Which my Bad Mood leads me to behave in a most unmannerly fashion

First, I posted at the League of Reluctant Adults blog, about what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.

So here's what happened.

It's raining today. So after I picked Princess up from school we're walking along the gravel road that serves as a parking lot, and we're sticking fairly close to the cars because there's a lot of puddles and I'd rather the girls not get their legs and feet wet (we're all wearing raincoats.)

There are two cars left to pass before we get to ours. The first is a red minivan kind of thing, and the woman who owns it is loading her kids in. All her kids are standing in the fairly narrow space between her car and the blue car next to it, beyond which is mine.

We wait, but she sees us and steps back a bit so we can pass. At which point, Blue Car Woman starts backing up and almost runs over Princess.

I yank Princess back. Blue Car Woman has stopped. I yell, "Hey! You almost hit my child!"

She sits there another minute, then rolls down her window. So I say it again. "You almost hit my child, were you even looking where you were going?"

She says, snippily, "Yes, I was."

Me: "Well, you weren't doing a very good job of it, because you almost hit my child."

She: "Do you drive a car?"

Me (who knows good and damn well what inspired THAT little comment, and it has to do with me not pronouncing "can't" as "cahn't": "Yes, I do, I drive every day, and I certainly know how to use my mirrors. This is a school, you fucking moron, you need to be more careful."

She starts to say something else, but I say, "Oh, fuck off," and turn away. So she pulls back into her spot. I wait for her to pull out. She is apparently waiting for me to walk behind her, as if I'd give her another shot at my kids. Finally she rolls down her window and I say, "Are you going to go, or what?"

And she--I still can't believe this--crinkles up her snotty little face and says, "Are you going to stand there, or what?" Yes, that's right. I was mimicked by a grown woman.

It goes a little hazy there. I'm sure I told her she should go because I wouldn't walk behind her car again. I suspect I called her a fucking bitch. I know I told her all she'd needed to do was apologize, and she should be more careful in future.

She started to pull away, yelling something unintelligble about how I should wash my car because it "looks disgusting" (it's RAINING and has for days), to which I gave her the finger.

I'm not proud of it...but if I had to do it again I probably would have been even nastier. I cannot believe she almost hit MY child with HER car and had the nerve to act as though something was wrong with ME for saying something to her about it. What if she had hit her? Should I have let that go too? It's a school parking lot, you need to be careful. My daughter was in a white raincoat.

Grrrrrr...



Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 5,205 (in three days or so again)
Total wordcount: 50,002
The Good: Remembering someone else thinks we’re brave gives us the strength to be brave, aaaw.
The Bad: Library stalkers, terrified in pitch darkness.
The Gross: Decaying bodies in a tunnel
The rampant drug use: a little speed, a pill or two
Location: Library, platform of the train to the City of the Dead, tunnels under the regular city
Downspeech: Hardly any speech at all—I’m a little worried about that
I Hate My Work: You’ve tried to make this taut and scary, but everyone’s going to hate it, aren’t they?

I Should Not be Blogging Today

Seriously, I shouldn't. Because I am in such a bad mood. I mean, the kind of bad mood where you start to not care what people think.

I'm in a bad mood because both the kids are sick now.

I'm in a bad mood because I'm getting sick now.

I'm in a bad mood because it's Monday.

I'm in a bad mood because I got no new words made yesterday.

I'm in a bad mood because it's cold.

I'm in a REALLY bad mood because nobody's beaten the fucking New England Patriots yet, which is a huge pile of shit, and yes, videotaping other teams' practices IS cheating, you shitheads.

Mostly, I'm in a bad mood because there are some people on this planet who fucking refuse to think, speak, or write logically about anything, who refuse to use their brains, who insist they know everything about places they haven't even been or industries they haven't worked in or whatever the fucking topic of the day happens to be, and I've had enough of it, and I should seriously probably get offline before I start cussing them out.

You know what? Some things relating to your life, are not my fucking responsibility. If you fuck up your life, that's your problem, and I resent that I'm supposed to step in and help you or hold your widdle hand and tell you yes, it's awful those big bad people are being so darn meeean to you. When if you'd just done what you were supposed to do in the first place, you wouldn't be having this problem.

Today's post was supposed to be about art, and creative arts specifically. This stems from a conversation my husband and I had, ages ago, which I believe related to the whole "Hannibal" movie Jodie Foster refused to be in, which I know I've mentioned here before. Because Jodie Foster said Clarice would never do what she did in that book, and I got all irritated, because how the fuck would she know? She didn't create that character. She interpeted it.

Actors may be artists. I suppose they would be, in the same way that a dancer is an artist. But not quite. Because while I consider dancers to be creative artists, I consider actors to be reactive artists--they interpret what is already there. They didn't write anything. They didn't create a world in their head. They simply took someone else's work and added a face and voice to it.

In other words--and this was supposed to be a longer post but let's just get to the fucking point--without writers, there would be no movies. No TV shows. No plays. Nothing for actors to do but sit around, improv, and irritate people with their childish demands for attention and their self-created drama.

Behind every award-winning performance in a film or play or tv show, there is award-winning writing. Or at least, writing of such a caliber that the interpreter of it can win an award. Without those words to say, the actor wouldn't know what sort of person they were being. Without that speech being written, there is no performance of it.

So sign the petition, because without writers the world would be a much less rich and interesting place.

New Release!

"As the Lady Wishes", the first of (so far) two EC novels my lovely cp/wp Anna J. Evans and I wrote together, is released!

Here's the blurb:

After escaping an abusive marriage, Lila Hayes never dreamed she'd fall into bed with a tall, dark and domineering man like Arthur. He's a stranger, he's cocky as hell, and…he seems to have emerged from the painting on her wall. From the second she feels his touch, Lila knows she's found the lover of her wildest fantasies.

Arthur of Sefyll is an ancient Druid, a man cursed for thousands of years to grant the wishes of those who summon him from his enchanted rest. He's had enough of serving mortal whims, until he spends a night satisfying Lila's every carnal fantasy and losing his heart in the process.

But soon, the new lovers' happiness is threatened by a monster from Lila's past and a horror from beyond the grave.

Now Arthur and Lila must convince sexy Sheriff Sam Walker to succumb to his desire for them both and help them form a mystical threesome. Wishes are no longer enough to keep Lila safe. Only the love of two special men can save her life — or maybe just as importantly, mend her heart.

Very exciting, especially as this book was actually my very first EC sale, and tons of fun to write.

Buy it here.

What else? The edits load is lightening a little bit--the first round is done on Personal Demons, and Megan is not a therapist anymore! She is now a Counselor, with a PhD in Counseling Psychology instead of the MA she had before. Lookie there.

Everything else, still editing. I've only managed a little over a thousand words on Unholy Ghosts (as you will see by the pitiful metrics), which is grr but hopefully by tonight I'll be able to get cracking again.

Princess woke up at 4 this morning sobbing because her ear hurt. Oh yes, the Ear Infection Fairy decided to pay a visit to our house last night. Poor little thing, I gave her some Calpol (baby aspirin, basically) and tucked her back into bed, only to learn around 7 that the ear hadn't stopped hurting and she hadn't gone back to sleep. I feel like the Worst Mother Alive, despite the fact that Wednesday night Faery woke up at 1 with a cough, and I stayed on the couch with her all night, propped up so she could lay on me in a more upright position (and woke up with a crick in my neck for my troubles). So Princess stayed home from school today and we went to the doctor and the bookstore, because little girls with ear infections get a new book. It's a law.

Tomorrow I will be posting an incredibly amusing interview with Caitlin Kittredge over at the League of Reluctant Adults blog, you should be sure to check it out.

And Monday we will be discussing writing and art here. Which sounds boring but will hopefully be fun.

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 1,121 (in three days, thanks to being slammed with edits)
Total wordcount: 46,797
The Good: Oops, looks like somebody has a real heart!
The Bad: Still the bad, bad evil magic man.
The rampant drug use: Speed
Location: on the beach
Downspeech: None, really, but there is some idiosyncratic Puritanesque speech: “Thou saw things thou did not want to see again.”
I Hate My Work: Why can’t you write the next scene? Why are you so dull and unimaginative? You’ve done this whole thing all wrong, haven’t you, you idiot.

Some small joy in Mudville

Not a lot, but not none at all.

I had a lovely post planned for today about art, and writing as, and whether it is, and what it is, and the difference between creative and reactive art.

But I have suddenly been slammed with edits on three different projects at once, so I am going to have to work, because not only do I like to get edits OUT and away from me as soon as possible, this is putting me well behind on Unholy Ghosts.

So. Here's some random stuff instead.

This is the new, Cerridwen Press cover for Black Dragon. Isn't it so much better than that other thing? I'm pretty pleased with it, all together. It's not exactly what I had in mind but I think it's very nice, I love the dragon in the background, I love that they at least made an attempt with Gruffydd's scars, I like that the setting looks natural and not forced. So yeah, I am pretty happy.


As I dropped Princess off at her school this morning, I saw the following posted outside her classroom: This year's Nativity is about a disgruntled snowman. It made me smile.

Karl Lagerfeld apparently has a sign over his toilet that reads: Pissing everywhere isn't very Chanel. Which is the awesomest.

And that's basically it.

Tuesday...

And that's my day at the League of Reluctant Adults blog. We're talking about critiques this week!



Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 3,239
Total wordcount: 45,676
The Good: Aaaw…those little glimpses
The Bad: Bad, bad magic man, all evil and shit.
The Gross: The book! You feed it pain and it bleeds and the blood forms words and symbols…
The rampant drug use: Speed
Location: Muscle car, cave-like house on the beach
Downspeech: “Just we don’t know the man. You don’t know him, and I don’t know him, and he maybe knows too much himself about some shit nobody want to be involved in if they got their sanity working right.”
I Hate My Work: Is that showing or telling? Are you being lazy?

Awww...it's the book of my heart

Ugh.

There are a few things--a few phrases--I really hate. General stuff, like "We can't afford that" or "We don't carry half sizes" (stupid English shoe stores, what the fuck is your problem with half sizes? Do all English women have perfect-size feet?). More specialized phrases, like "Don't go there."

But the one that really gets on my nerves these days is "The book of [my, her, his, their, our] heart."
Why? Because it sounds sappy. Because it's redundant. All my books come from my heart (and I just gagged, even having to type that, but I had to make the point). And because...it just...it reeks of the Harriet Carter catalog, the home decorated entirely in calico fabric stuffed cats and potpourri, the appliqued sweater and bejeweled eyeglasses. Of women who think Beanie Babies are just darlin' and wear a lot of Black Hills gold.

Now, there's nothing inherently wrong with those things (well, except the Black Hills gold, but then I don't like gold in general). But neither are they really professional.

And therein lies the problem. When I see someone online talking about "the book of their heart" I immediately assume two things: One, that the person is a bit pretentious, because frankly I don't think what's in my heart (hate, lust, rage, the occasional urge for some fries) is all that special that people would be lining up to examine it; and two, that the person is a beginner. Because all of our books come from inside us. If you think there's something special about yours coming from there, you're not really familiar with this process.

Worse, denying that your book came from your heart then makes you sound cold and clinical. Like those "book of the heart" people are artistes; you're just some hack spitting out words in a calculated attempt to make some money. It's kind of like how in '97 everybody loved Titanic, and if you said you didn't even bother to see the film they eyed you with suspicion. (Yes, I speak from experience. Never saw it, never will.) It was as though I'd admitted I liked to slaughter babies on my off-hours, rather than simply choosing not to see a schmaltzy tragedy film with a soundtrack that registered just above Bryan Adams on the Irritating Scale, when I could have been watching Hard Boiled instead.

Even more bothersome is the idea that because a book came "from the heart" that automatically gives it more merit than other books. Hey, Mein Kampf came from the heart too. That doesn't mean it's a worthy book. (It's not. I've read parts of it, don't ask why it's a long story. It sucked. Obviously.) (Okay this is going to bug me. I had a rommate for a while, and one day her boyfriend "found" [so he claimed] a copy of the book, and he brought it to our place and left it there, and I was curious, and then I threw it away.)

Just because the book is "from your heart" doesn't mean the rest of us have to give a shit, and ultimately, I feel like that's what people are trying to force me to do when they say "This is the book of my heart." It feels like I'm being manipulated. It feels like someone plucking at my sleeve and demanding I care about them, then following me around with big mournful Keane painting eyes until I want to murder them with an axe.

So please, let's just avoid it from now on, okay?

Oh, and one other quick thing, just for my own benefit: a publisher that sends you edits when they do not have your signed contract or even the promise that they will get your signed contract is probably not a publisher who has their shit together enough to be worth your time. Thank you; I had to get it out, it was killing me.


Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 2,430
Total wordcount: 42,437
The Good: Yeah! Violence and sexiness!
The Bad: Oooh, bad guys breaking and entering and threatening…
The Gross: Well, injecting someone with WD-40 is pretty gross I guess.
The rampant drug use: Lines, pills.
Location: Chess’s apartment, Lex’s place
Downspeech: “Chess? Damn, baby, where you at? Terrible ripping this town apart looking for you, said your door open and your place all scraped? You alive?”
I Hate My Work: Oh, why do you suck so bad? This isn’t good. This is taking forever, because you are a hack.

The Squick Factor

(St. Audries Bay, North Somerset. I'm not sure if you can see it, but the white blur on the horizon is the very south coast of Wales.)

An Anonymous commenter on a previous post said the following the other day, which I believe is one of the nicest compliments I have ever been given:

Your ability to maintain a website, blog and discussion about erotic romance without sliding into the licentious or sensationalistic is one of the main reasons I read here.

So now I'm going to tramp all over it. Well, hopefully not. But I've been thinking a lot about that comment since I read it, because it is something I try to do: keep it clean.

Odd as it sounds.

I do use all sorts of c-words in my work (don't know if y'all remember, but last year I wrote an entire essay on the word "cunt" and why we shouldn't be afraid to use it in erotic romance, and what a useful word it is and how its origins are attractive.) So, not afraid to get a little dirty.

But I walk a fine line. I read a lot. I read a lot of erotic romance. And I have to be honest. Notwithstanding how talented my fellow authors are, there are a lot of things I read that just turn me off.

I want to make it clear this is MY problem, me me me. It's not that what they're writing isn't sexy or appealing. It's not that I think they write disgusting lowbrow crap. That is not it at all, nononono. It's my own strange interior line, one I actually think makes ME an outsider.

Take dialogue as an example. My characters don't tend to talk a lot in sex scenes. Because dialogue at that particular time usually feels to me like a mood killer. I put myself in the heroine's place and think, "Are you gonna do it, or are you gonna just talk about it all day?" Some dialogue is fine, but let's not go overboard. As Miranda said on Sex and the City, sex is the one time in life it's okay to not talk. This isn't to say they don't talk at all, or even that they don't ever talk dirty. But I do keep it minimal, and I try to keep it down to stuff that wouldn't make me laugh or squick if someone said it to me. Grown men should not, for example, refer to their Manbits as "him". If you consider that part of you to be an entirely separate person, doesn't that indicate (aside from a certain silliness) that you are unwilling then to take responsibility for "his" actions?

(BTW, this very subject led to a particularly amusing conversation this morning between the hubs and myself, based on the scary sci-fi idea that "he" might actually develop a mind of "his" own, and control the rest of the body, and how would you explain that to your wife? What if it decided to up and leave the rest of the body and strike out on its own? Hilarity ensues.)

Anyway. The point is, some things just squick me out, so I try not to go there.

What squicks you out? What in a book, specifically in a sex or love scene, turns you off? Comment anon if you want, but let's see if we can have some fun on this bleak Friday!

PS

If you are on Livejournal, you must go join the community What was that book. SO awesome the awesomeness cannot be quantified.


Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 3,384
Total wordcount: 40,007
The Good: Hoo hoo, guess who sees somebody’s death wish?
The Bad: Big Bad follows us around, scaaaary!
The Gross: None, I guess. Hmm. A spilled milkshake?
The rampant drug use: Lines, pills, a joint
Location: Smelly alley, safe warehouse for street kids, diner, Chess’s bathroom
Research: WWI aviation uniforms
Downspeech: “Some of us needs an edge on things make us feel right, else we don’t like feeling at all, aye?”
I Hate My Work: You are so boring and obvious and dumb, and you suck like a starving leech.

Naughty-Sexy Contest!!

To celebrate the launch of our redesigned website (done by our own Sierra Dafoe, and the upcoming holidays, and, um, some other stuff I think, we Deliciously Naughty Writers have teamed up with the ladies of Six Degrees of Sexy to do a big old contest, with lots of prizes! That's right, FREE STUFF.

To read the rules and how to enter click here.

To read an interview the Sexy ladies did with us, in which I come across as a sort of unimaginative, monosyllabic nerd (thanks, lack of sleep), click here.

I will be checking in at the Sexy blog all day, so if you want to make fun of me you can go ahead and do it there. :-)

Have fun!

That Old Black Magic

You know, I might have titled a post this already, some time ago? This is how dull I've become. I'm copying myself.

I'm writing about magic. The new WIP is largely about magic, and ghosts, and all that good stuff. And drugs and drug dealers, but for the purposes of this post, we're talking about magic.

Now, I'm happy to suspend disbelief. I'm happy--nay, thrilled--to read books where characters can levitate, shoot lightning bolts, make fire materialize from nowhere (uh, duh, since I have characters in Personal Demons who can do some of the above), etc.

But what I hate is when they're lazy about it. Or obvious. Or just plain irritating.

I read a paranormal romance not long ago that was...eh, okay. Not great, not terrible, although the "they fell onto the bed and he made her feel like woman, then the next morning" one-line sex scenes irritated me (I know, big surprise, right?) But what really bugged me, more than anything else, was that not one of the characters in the damned book ever used a fucking match. They lived almost exclusively by candlelight, but magically starting a flame wasn't a reflex; they had to "mutter an incantation" in order to light one.

Which meant they were constantly wandering around talking to themselves.

Now, okay, I do understand part of this. If I could make a candle flare just by talking under my breath, you bet I'd do it. Several characters in PD can start fires with a wave of the hand, and they do it. But seriously. Is it necessary every time? If I had to physically hold the candle to light the fire, I'd be tempted to just use a lighter at some point. Wouldn't you get used to it at some point, so it was no longer a cool trick and more just a "Hell, I'll just flick my thumb and light this thing, save my breath." I don't want to talk all the time, me.

Not to mention, the author had to clarify for us, every single time, that her characters were PARANORMAL FOLK by telling us they muttered said incantation. Phrased just that way. Every time. Dozens of times. They couldn't just light the candle, oh no. They had to mutter an incantation to do so. You know, we get it. They are Teh Magikal, okay? Why else would they even use all those candles all the time? I love candles and light them whever I can, but let's face it, my vision is shit. If I'm reading a book, I ain't doing it by candlelight, not if I don't want to go completely blind. Which I don't. Hence the bright electric lights in my home.

It's just something I'm getting sick of, just like I grew tired of historical heroines who spent every free moment making poultices and administering to sick children. I still love paranormals, but I do wish we could stop with all the mutterings. Wouldn't it be fun if magic had to be loud? Like, the louder you spoke, the more powerful it was? Hee.

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 2,602
Total wordcount: 36,623
The Good: Hey, you’re ugly but HOT!
The Bad: Baddie cleverly misleading Chess
The Gross: Ha! A character being artistically scarred, complete with gunpowder lit in the wound
The rampant drug use: None
Location: Tattoo parlor, warehouse
Research: WWI aviation insignia, unforms
Downspeech:“Goan, take it. I ain’t hurt you. Lookin all starved.Hunchback, you start feeding them kids, hear me?”
I Hate My Work: Ugh, any fool can figure out these clues. Lame, lame loser.

Career Advice from Me?

Okay, Blogger is being all wierd (is anyone else having trouble?) so I can't post my little picture AND it took several hours for my League blog post to show up.

We're blogging about helping your writing career here.

Without a Net

(We went for a long drive on Saturday through Exmoor Forest. This is just a pretty picture from it. Don't say I never gave you anything.)

Wow. This feels so odd to write, and I'm not even sure I should because something could very well change...

But I'm not sure there will be a sex scene in Unholy Ghosts.

I've had a couple of kisses happen already, and I have one big makeout scene planned for later that I'm very excited about. But I'm not sure any relationships will actually be consummated in this book.

Here's my problem. I like writing sex scenes. I have fun writing them. I like writing sexy books.

So, because I know there will be sex at some point in the series (assuming it becomes a series pleasepleaseplease) I hesitate to put no sex in the first book, because I don't want to mislead people.

Don't get me wrong. The books will never become a pure sex-fest. But I have a very inricate relationship set-up happening, and I fully expect a lot more actual sex as it continues.

At the same time, I'm not going to put any old sex scene in this book if it isn't going to flow organically, just a scene stuck in there so it's there.

I'm only just about to hit 35k words, so there's plenty of time. I'll see what happens. But it feels very odd.

What do you think? If there's no sex in Book 1, do you get irritated if sex starts appearing in later books? Or are you glad, if the relationships grow to that point?

Also, my terrible dry skin problem from last year has returned with a vengeance. My cheeks and over my eyebrows are all pink and scratchy. Ech!

Also, editing The Demon Inside. The first few chapters are SUCK. Seriously. I hate them.

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 3,275
Total wordcount: 34,397
The Good: A hot kiss from an Asian drug lord
The Bad: Evil accomplice shows up
The rampant drug use: Giving beer to a thirteen-year-old boy
Location: Street at dawn, Chess’s apartment
Downspeech:“Ain’t suppose you got some eats? Only my belly getting tight. Can’t remember last food I put in.”
I Hate My Work: Blah blah blah planting clues in conversations. BORING! Why do you write boring shit like this?

Guess Again...and again...

Sigh.

As I have now hit the 30k mark (slightly over it!) in the new book, I am reaching that terrible Second Guess point. The point where everything I've written feels like crap, where I'm convinced I've blown my wad early and given too much info on some thing, but not enough on others (I still haven't explained why a particular entity is in charge in this world, because I thought it made sense to wait, but now I'm wondering if people won't have given up at this point, but it's not like it's really important to the story, blah blah blah), and my characters are dull, and why would anyone want to read this shit, and since I don't have any guarantee the book will even sell or go anywhere why am I wasting my time, etc.

I honestly believe this is where people give up.

I'm not giving up. Because I know myself and my insecurities. I know that when the book is done I'll be pleased with it. My cp says it's awesome and that's enough for me. I want to finish it.

But if I didn't know this about myself...if this was my first real attempt...I could see giving up, and deciding to try something else. And falling into that trap. Because the 30k curse will hit with the next book too, and the next, and the next. Until all I have is a huge stack of unfinished ms and nothing else.

I see the second guessing a lot online, too. People constantly asking for advice on what their people should do next. How should they kiss? Is it okay if they do this or that? What about if they do that? Would that be good? And I just want to bury my head in my hands because if you are trying to write a book based on what other people tell you to do, it's not going to work. I mean, okay, in my opinion it won't work. I suppose it's possible half the books out there were written by people who constantly called their friends to ask what should happen next or if Scene X would be okay here or there.

This is my story. I know what it is. I know most of what happens (this is actually one of the only, if not the only, books I've written where so much of it is in my head. I don't know exactly how it ends but I have a good idea, and I know almost everything that leads up to it, which is very rare for me as I'm a pantser.) And it's because I know what happens later ad who these people are that I'm the one who can write it and make those kinds of decisions. The sooner you learn to stop replying on others, the better your work will be.


I'm trying something new, inspired by Caitlin Kittredge: metrics, a little chart for my books. Hopefully it will be fun.

Unholy Ghosts

New Words: 2,620
Total wordcount: 31,122
The Good: A faintly sweet “getting to know you” moment
The Bad: Evil ghost stalking Chess in a dark house while a family sleeps
The Gross: Mutilated corpse’s heart beats
The rampant drug use: Snorting crushed amphetamine pills off a hairpin in a church stairway
Location: Abandoned haunted airport
Downspeech:“What you see, ladybird? You think witchy?”
I Hate My Work: I don’t think the scary scene is as scary as it should be. I think it’s stupid and pointless.