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.