I'm Not Done (or, Time to Vent)

I was going to bed, but I'm waiting for the nighttime cold medicine to kick in, so I may as well finish what I started.

I loved my first car. It was a 1983 Subaru GL-10, and it belonged first to my grandfather and then to my dad. He used to drive me to school in it. We'd listen to Larry Burkette, and I tell him I loved him, and he'd go off to work.

I had to sell that car because it was 13 years old and the engine was going out. If I knew then what I know now, I would have rebuilt the engine. Instead, I bought a red Pontiac I hated. I paid it off and drove it until it almost died, and I bought a white Suzuki I hated. I paid it off and drove it until the engine seals starting leaking.

Three years before that happened, I started praying for a new car. "Lord, I'm gonna need a car eventually. I'm gonna pay cash for it, so I know it won't be great, but I'd like as nice a one as I can get, please."

I've prayed that for 6 years. All I wanted was a dependable car I didn't hate. I wouldn't go over my budget. I would take my time. I would listen hard for God's leading. I'd listen to the counsel of God-fearing people who knew more about cars than I did.

Twenty-four days ago, I thought God answered my prayers. I found a mini-van. I even liked the color. I wasn't pushy. I didn't demand that God give me that van. I was willing to drive away and keep looking because I knew God would answer my prayer for the right car for me. If that wasn't it, I didn't want it.

Circumstances unfolded in such a way as to convince me this was the vehicle God meant for me to have. The price came down further. The two men who went with me (one a mechanic) gave the green light. There was a cd of a sermon from a guy with my brother's name stuck in the visor, for heaven's sake. And I liked it. I really liked it. I handed over the cash, and I drove home happy. I had plans to vacuum it and pay for car washes and drive it for years and years. I didn't care that it had a little rust on the bumper. I was my Lavender Squeak, and she was beautiful.

Four days later, I ran the van into a retaining wall in the parking garage at work.

God gave me a beautiful gift, and I broke it. I didn't mean to, but it was broken, and it was broken badly enough the insurance adjuster gave me the choice to total it.

What does that mean? Does that mean this wasn't the van I was supposed to have? Does this mean I can't have a nice vehicle that I love the way I loved my Subaru? Does it mean nothing at all? And what would that mean? That God would give me the car I wanted and not care that I would break it? Why would He do that? Yes, it was an accident, but He could have prevented it. I would rather He'd given me a POC car if He knew I was going to break it. What am I supposed to learn from this? That God is too stupid to grant the request I don't know I should make, like "Lord, please don't let me run my new van into a retaining wall"? He's the creator of the universe. Shouldn't He know I don't want to do that?

Do you think it sad that smashing my 14 year old van would rock my world view? It took me by surprise, I can tell you.

But how do I run to the same Guy who could have prevented all of this and ask Him to fix it when He knew it was going to happen and did nothing? That says to me it was supposed to happen. My beautiful gift was supposed to be smashed. Why? To teach me some lesson? To provide an opportunity for growth? To reinforce that life sucks? I'm pretty sure I don't need that reinforced. Besides, the God who knows me knows how thoroughly I learn a lesson and how rarely it is the lesson the teacher intended.

My only conclusion at this point is God hit me with a 2x4 for no particular reason at all other than He can. I won't say He doesn't care about me. He made it quite clear that He does. But He doesn't seem to care about this, and I can't quite forgive Him for that.

I keep trying. I keep trying to humble myself and look on the bright side and be the happy little disciple and all I can manage is the fatalism of "none of it matters, so I'll decide not to care." I keep thinking I've made it, too, until something else comes up.

Such as...

6 Things To Know When Buying a Vehicle

1. No matter how careful you are when choosing a vehicle to buy, you will get screwed.

2. No matter whether you buy it outright or with a loan, you will get screwed.

3. When you try to do the right and legal thing when registering your new vehicle, you will get screwed.

4. When you ask God to help you navigate the ins and outs of dealing with your new vehicle, you will get screwed because either He isn't answering or you can't interpret His answers, which amounts to the same thing.

5. Even if you had the ability to sell the lemon you just bought to another sucker or the money to buy a vehicle to replace it, you would still get screwed, so you may as well learn to live with the vehicle you just bought.

6. When you are unable to cope with the reality of getting screwed at every turn, you really have no options except to tough it out and stay away from other living things until your soul dies and you become a hard, empty shell that honestly doesn't care anymore.

Therefore, you won't be hearing from me for a while.

Yes, I'm upset. I don't want to talk about it and I only wrote this down hoping it would help to see it in black and white. I see that it's pretty much how I feel and now I'm going to bed in the slim hope that tomorrow will better, but the likelihood that it will be exactly the same. I do not expect to sleep.

Good night, readers. Happy Hump Day.

Dirty, Little Secret

I don't read much.

That's like a cardinal sin for a writer. We're told to read, read, read all the time.

I read pre-college. A lot. Not library books, usually, but my brothers' books and my mom's books and books from my grandparents' library in The Big Room and books I bought with my allowance. I read books I like over and over, so I want them close.

I stopped reading when I hit college. I'd like to say I stopped reading anything but textbooks, but that would be a lie. I read just enough of most of my textbooks to make A's, not to master the material.

I really didn't have a clue what college was for. I should post about that.

I learned two unexpected things in college: some people are more interesting than books, and college students can't afford to buy books.

Those truths have followed me around for the last 20 years. Only since the quest for publication began have I once again budgeted money for books. It helps that most ebooks cost about the same as a full-sized paperback from my pre-college days. $2.99 appears to be the magic price point for me.

Ooooo! Reminder: Star of Justice on sale at Amazon for another 9 days. If you haven't bought the ebook yet, go do it!

I've been reading a bit more this year, easing in, as it were, but that leads to other problems. Problems I'll have to discuss tomorrow, 'cause I am out of time today.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Go buy my book.

Not So Bad

When I started this road to publication three years ago, I started hanging out with writers.

I knew a bit about writing before that. Most of it was untrained talent from birth, apparently. One of my classmates from elementary school commented at my launch party that I tended to set the class bar too high. "Didn't matter what we wrote, Robynn was gonna do something prettier and better." Or something like that.

Frankly I was so startled by the observation, I didn't pay much attention to the actual words. Bad Turtle.

Elementary school? Did it really go that far back?

During high school, mom and I studied writing. Went to conferences, hung out with local published authors, bought books on writing, that sort of thing. Didn't go anywhere at the time for either of us, but it did provide a nice, realistic base for what the publishing industry was like twenty years ago.

Hasn't changed all that much, folks, FYI. 

As I've said before, though, I was a big turtle in a small pond. When none of your associates care about writing as a skill past the grade on the next test, it's easy to think you're big stuff. You find out how small you are when you seek out other writers.

It's good to have a healthy appreciation of your skill level. Somebody will always be better than you at writing and somebody will always be worse and many will be about the same. Sometimes, though, it's disheartening to see how many are the same or better.

For the last few weeks, I've been helping a normal person with a paper for class. Not a huge paper and way outside my genre, but I've done what I can. Don't know the grade yet. Curious about that.

It reminded me that, small turtle in an ocean of writers that I am, I do know more than the average schooling fish. Considering how severely my current WIP is kicking my tail, I needed that.

23 Adult Truths

Got this in an email. Had to share.

23 Adult Truths

 

1. Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

 

2. Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

 

3. I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

4. There is great need for a sarcasm font.

5. How the heck are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

6. Was learning cursive really necessary?

 

7. Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

8. Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

9. I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind-of tired.

10. Bad decisions make good stories.

11. You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

12. Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.

13. I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.

14. I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

15. I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

16. I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Light than Kay.

 

17. I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

 

18. I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

 

19. How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?

 

20. I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!

 

21. Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

 

22. Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time.

 

23. The first testicular guard, the "Cup," was used in Hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. That means it only took 100 years for men to realize that their brain is also important.

 

Which Way Do You Want To Go

Remember that scene from Labyrinth when Sarah is suspended in the shaft of the oubliette by all those Helping Hands and they ask her to choose up or down?

I'm kinda there.

With Star of Justice, the second half of the book was easy. I'd been writing toward it for two months. My favorite scene was clear in my mind's eye, and after that happened, "what happened next" was obvious.

Elementals was harder, but, again, the ending was clear. For that story, I just had to figure out how to get everybody at that crucial end point. Yes, I nearly went bald working that out, but I did it.

I don't have a favorite scene in Price of Justice. Not one I'm writing toward anyway. This time around, I find out I like a scene after I write it. That's nice for me, but no good when it comes to deciding "what happens next."

I'm at that point when the roller coaster officially starts to climb. I have to have some great climax, but I can't see what it is, mostly because I can't see a happy ending. I hate that.

This is why I haven't been writing. I don't know what happens next. I'm not sure how to get that vision. I guess I just write on and hope I like what comes out.

I'm starting to think I'm the one paying the price of justice, not my characters. Yes, Elder Brother, that's whining. I'm not sorry, either. :P

Focus, Turtle-san

Been having trouble putting my shell in the chair and my claws on the keyboard. Maybe I need a plan.

Find out what it is over at

The New Authors' Fellowship

Excerpt from Devil's Hit List by Frank Creed

On the first floor, Vanderleer picked up Bernard, threw him over a shoulder, and hurried through the lower level bars. Bernard still grasped the briefcase.

I rushed into the holding cell area and jumped over the handrail. The bars began sliding shut.

With a burst of speed, and a slide on my knees on the slick cement floor I got my body into the electric eye that kept the steel barred gate from crushing anyone.

As I squeezed through the re-opening gate, pain exploded in my leg and I was nearly deafened by gunshots—only my reformed hearing kept my ears from ringing. Bullets from above hit my coat, and one struck me in the shin—it did not hit bone, and I thanked the Boss for a clean through-and-through shot. Apex Predator stood in the doorway holding a big ugly automatic pistol.

I limped around the corner and found the switch in the lower control office to close the bars. I pushed it in hopes it would slow those who followed. They had another switch upstairs so I knew it wouldn’t stop them. I also left a trail of blood, making finding me easy for them as a paint-by-numbers set.

After my prey I jogged, pain in every step as my reformed healing knit tissue, too slowly for my taste, but dozens of times faster than a normal person heals.

The open double doors to this control office led into an L-shaped hallway. I could go straight or right. I stood silent a moment, listening over my thumping heart. I picked up footfalls—rushing down steps—straight ahead. But I also heard breathing less than a meter around the corner.

Moving like running water, I leaned into the hall and reached out.

A sec-man waited there holding a revolver in a two handed grip.

I touched the pistol and discharged my shock glove.

I left him to his impression of spilled jelly on the floor, and ran straight. The left side of the hallway opened in an atrium to showcase a large wide stair of shallow steps that descended in a large square. Tall green plants grew upward in the square’s center from the basement level, and vines hung from flowerboxes around the ground floor.

I’d have hopped a railing here, but landing on my injured leg would hurt so bad that only my mindware would keep me from blacking out, and coming down on the granite steps could further damage me. So I limped down the square stairs, falling further and further behind my quarry, hoping nobody would appear from behind me and that nobody would pop up from below. This course put me in the basement level; considering the skills of those who chased me, a scary thought. I put off thoughts about being trapped and anxiety slipped out of its cage in my soul’s dungeon.

At the bottom of the stairs I passed through a locker room with benches and sinks. Though the room had seen use, it still smelled like new construction.

At the room’s far end, double doors swung slightly. Staccato automatic gunfire sounded from their far side. I still had my pistols out.

I cracked one of the doors open. From here I could see the elevator, again. Boot steps rushed toward me and I backed around the corner. A six-man squad burst through the double doors like the Devil was behind them.

Wherever I saw skin—the backs of hands, foreheads, necks—my targeting system went to work. Pop, pop, pop, I gunned them down before they even realized I was there.

I reloaded fresh clips into my pistols and eased the door open, scanning for more targets. There were none.

In front of the elevator lay Bernard’s briefcase. Thrill also escaped its cage and I scooped up the treasure. The CV Frankenstein might get away from me, but this was a nice score.

The station’s underground parking area was mostly filled with new security vans. An overhead door trundled open, and my prey, in a van, sped toward it… escaping.

Full automatic machine-gun fire, roared a long burst.

A tiny tank shot at the vehicle’s tires, but the bullets had no effect. The bulletproof sec-vans must run solid rubber on their wheels.

Then the thirty-caliber Browning turret turned slowly toward me. I stepped slightly to the side of its aim. Howdy partner, I said, not really able to guess if it was Legacy or Barren inside.

Hey, CK, need a set of wheels? asked Barren.

What are your contact links: web sites, blogs, Facebook, Twitter links, your book's page, etc.?

Hang out with Frank:

Homepage: http://frankcreed.com/

Blog: http://blog.frankcreed.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/frankcreed

Twitter: https://twitter.com/frankcreed

Devil's Hit List Amazon link (print):

 http://www.amazon.com/Devils-Hit-List-Frank-Creed/dp/1927154316

Devil's Hit List Amazon link (kindle): http://tinyurl.com/92j7amx 

Join the Lost Genre Guild: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lost_genre_guild/

My publisher has other great Christian spec-fic: http://www.splashdownbooks.com/

Blog Tour Links:

R. L. Copple   

Ryan Grabow 

Grace Bridges 

Caprice Hokstad         

Travis Perry    

Jennifer Rogers   

Greg Mitchell 

Paul Baines     

Keven Newsome   

Kat Heckenbach      

Fred Warren   

 

Checking In

So, a few hours after telling you all how much I love Lavender Squeak, I suffered what Elder Brother calls "an error in perception" and ran her into a retaining wall.

The world has since melted and reformed.

I don't have time to say more. I accidentally starting doing actual work that isn't work related and I've been running my tail off since then.

Between fixing the van, putting up pictures for my best friend, editing a big college paper for the friend of a friend, designing a blog site for a political group and celebrating my financial freedom with other mutual fund investors, I'm exhausted and run off my feet. Add in the bone-crushing despair of the loss of a dream and the questioning of reality as I know it, and I've been a little busy.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow's forecast of severe weather because I want to lock myself in the basement with the critters and not interact with the world for a while.

Keep your eye on the sky, dear readers. I'll be asleep.

October Sale on Star of Justice

This being the month that brought the Turtle into the world so, so many years ago, Grace has lived up to her name and allowed me to drop Star of Justice's ebook price to $2.99 through October.

That's a steal, folks. Go take advantage of me. Use the picture link in the left corner to go to the Splashdown Bookshop or jump to Amazon directly and type in my name.

$2.99.

That's about all I have time to say this morning.

Happy Monday.

Bad Wreck and Great Launch

What a weird week this has been.

First, I wrecked Lavender Squeak on Tuesday. Yes, the same Tuesday that I crowed over her on this blog. It's too painful to discuss, so I won't. I'm fine. Insurance has agreed to fix the van. I'm talking to God again. Let's just put it behind us, shall we?

Last night's launch party for Star of Justice was as much fun for me as I hoped, and I hope it was fun for everybody who came, too.

I read an except from Price of Justice. I saw old friends. I made a new friend who overheard the fuss (like she couldn't have; I was making enough noise for several coffeehouses). I ate a blueberry muffin because they were out of scones. I took pictures WGR won't let me put on FB. Finally, I stayed up past midnight because my college buddy from Wichita, Monica Swift, drove up with her sister Angie to surprise me and we'd only have that night to see each other.

Scone, Monica! Best surprise ever!

Seriously, though, drive careful on your way home. The road is a dangerous place.

I may be going to Wichita in the future to speak at Monica's school. Did I mention she teaches high school English, including honors English? Did I mention I mentioned she should teach my book and she got a little gleam in her eye?

I didn't mention that? Must be the lack of sleep.

Anyhoo, thanks to everybody who came to wish me well. I love you all, and I promise I won't take 20 years to finish Price of Justice.

We're talking 10. Tops.

Lavender Squeak

Wow. I have been noticeably absent of late. Forgive me.

I bought a new car. Not a new car, actually, but a new-to-me car. She's a 1998 Chrysler Town & Country (I guess that's a minivan, not a car) of questionable color. 

No kidding. No one seems able to describe this color. My car guy said "pale purple." Elder Brother and WGR said "blue" and "gray" respectively when they saw it at twilight. Big Brother called it "gunmetal purple." The highway patrol officer who checked the title wrote down "gray" because "it'll look gray at night."

Sigh.

I call it "lavender gray" and what I say is all that matters.

Her name is Lavender Squeak, because there's a little squeak coming from one of the wheels. I'll be having my mechanic double-check that when I take her in for her first oil change. I don't mind the squeak because it reminds me of my first car, Cricket, a 1983 Subaru GL10 that also had a mysterious, undiagnosable squeak only I could hear.

While I'm driving, I find myself humming "Lavender blue, dilly dilly, lavender green." I notice how perfectly the steering wheel fits in my hand and how smoothly the van responds to my every whim. I look in the rear view mirror and grin at how much cargo space is back there. I think about how this time I will vacuum the interior more than once a decade. In short, I'm tickled lavender with my new van, and I hope God gives us many, many years together.

I got the out-of-State title registration done yesterday. Now I have to update my insurance, pay the sales tax (still trying to figure out how to do that), pay the tags and taxes and sell my old SUV, apparently all within the next 30 days. That makes my stomach roil a bit, but I'll get it done.

And I'll hum while I do it.

Thanks, Lord. I love my new van.

Looming

Star of Justice's launch party happens in 11 days.

I've been able to ignore that less and less as the days tick off the calendar.

It's just a party. It's not a book signing, or a class, or an interview on national television. It's a party. There's no reason to be nervous.

Yet I am. A little knot has formed in my stomach and clunks around enough to awaken me in the wee hours of pre-dawn as I toss and turn.

I'm not very good at parties. I'm often over-bearing, less than gracious, and occasionally down-right rude when I'm the center of undivided attention. Ask anyone who came to any of my birthday parties before I stopped having them about 10 years ago because of the above-mentioned reasons. That's one of the reasons I put off the launch.

You'd think a grown woman would be above that, but once a Brat always a Brat when the pressure's on. 

I am also a little nervous about reading aloud. Will I get Merritt's accent right? Does it matter? These are Kansans. They won't know Scottish from Kiwi. Doesn't mean I shouldn't try. And what passage of Price of Justice is right for a sneak preview? The best parts so far involve new characters; they wouldn't make sense to normal people. This is assuming I have the guts to read anything aloud.

So far, about 25 people tell me they're coming. I've invited lots more, so we'll have to see what the final tally is. It's one of those moments when I don't know if I'll be excited or relieved to see who shows up.

Doesn't matter. It's a party. We're all going to have a good time. Every single one of us.

If nothing else, the Melted Snowballs will be delicious. 

Swoon-worthy

I've been following a discussion at one of my on-line writer groups about what makes a male character "swoon-worthy." The initial questioner wanted examples, too, and Vaulter was kind enough to throw Merritt into the fray.

Thanks, Vaulter, but I don't see it.

Weird, I know, to write a male protagonist that doesn't make me shiver, but Merritt is just a guy. A "man's man," if you will, but not what I consider my type. He's Caissa's complement. Fearless, intuitive, well-fed, competent with weapons - you know, the stuff she isn't. A savage man with a thin veneer of civility. Frankly, I've been surprised by how many people like him. He's a bit of a brute, although his heart is in the right place.

Don't get me wrong. Merritt is shaggy head and shoulders above many men in my estimation. His loyalty, integrity, and survival skills make him an admirable companion in almost any situation not involving white gloves and ballroom dances. He's just not my type.

None of the males in Star of Justice are my type, actually. I tend to go for the George Francisco's (Alien Nation, if the name isn't familiar) of the world: the husband/father provider that excels at his job yet makes time for his family. Or the weight-of-the-world carrier that takes responsibility seriously and follows the hard right, like Hank Hill. Yes, he's a cartoon character, but he's got the right stuff. 

The writers group seemed to conclude "swoon-worthy" depends on the swooner. Wise words. Since my goal has never been world-wide fame, I'll stick with "interesting" as my goal. If they turn out "swoon-worthy," as well, bonus.

Resistance is Right

The Lioness posted at NAF about the difference between resistance and procrastination. I'll understand if you want to take a moment to check that out. It's a short post. I'll wait.

Well, last night was the first time in about five days that I've had the time or energy to write on my WIP. I turned everything off but the computer and settled in to solve my most recent plot issues.

Forty minutes of resistance later, I was ready to give procrastination total control at the Turtle household. I added 100 words apparently ripped out of my own flesh, considering how hard they were to form, but can't tell that I've made any headway.

This is version...I don't know...twelve? for some of these scenes. I can't remember what I've kept and what I've chucked. My notes are spotty at best and missing at worst. I just read and wrote some of this a week ago and I can't remember what I did or where I am. Re-reading it last night showed I forgot what the characters were doing within two pages.

TT: Is this senility? Would I know?

I'm writing toward a climax I can barely envision, let alone resolve. That's not been fun.

It's not that the story sucks. Looking back over what I have, I'm pleased. I just can't see where I'm going and that makes it very hard to navigate. Sometimes I see clearly where I'm going and it scares the tar out of me. I have no idea how to write some of what may happen.

Part of me wants to flip a coin whenever I hit one of these junctures. What would that story be like, I wonder?

On the plus side, I'm halfway through the Lioness' most recent project and loving it. Would you believe I'm most fascinated by the part where they're setting up an LLC? Since my job for the past year has been filing business entity paperwork in Kansas, I guess it's understandable. Can't tell if that makes me an uber-geek or just the most boring person on the planet.

Probably the latter. Anyway, big thumbs up from me so far, Kristen. Good job.

About the Nudity...

It took two days and four naps to recover from my trip to the Hutchinson State Fair last week. Had a great time, but, man, it wears me out. Not sure it does the cats any good, either. Simon has been on my lap or in my face more this weekend than this previous year. I had no idea he cared.

TT: I'm hoping I'm recovered, anyway. Gotta go to work.

I wanted to take a moment to address an issue mentioned in a couple of Star of Justice reviews.

The nudity.

I am a prude. I dare you to find an American, non-Muslim woman more likely to cover up when heading outside. I don't wear shorts, swimsuits or halter tops. Or clingy dresses, shirts or skirts. Or plunging necklines. Or anything that might cause my brother to stumble. I am a jeans and heavy t-shirts, calf-length skirts and loose blouses kind of gal. Ask my mom. It seems to annoy her.

However, I have no control whatsoever over how my MCs behave.

It is not my fault that Merritt's clan is traditionalist. I'm not going to tell you how long they've clung to those traditions, but I will say only Scots would be stubborn enough to do it. They still speak Gaelic, too, and that's nothing short of a miracle.

It is not my fault that Raven doesn't want to get her hand-knitted dresses dirty or ripped when she shape-shifts into full druid and runs off to slaughter people. Do you know how long it takes to hand-knit a long dress? Or how hard it is to remove blood stains or mend holes, even with magic? Not to mention how stretched out of shape that dress would get if she transformed while wearing it. Her druid form is taller and thicker than her human form.

Would I behave that way? Absolutely not. I'm one of those people who shares the common nightmare of being naked without my homework. But my MCs are another story entirely.

Their story. I'm just the storyteller.

*evil grin*

TT: Dear Reviewers: Please do not think I disagree with any of you. All SOJ reviews I've read so far have been spot-on as far as I'm concerned, and I'm grateful for them and you.

Kat Heckenbach Interviews Angel Mason of The Toch Island Chronicles

Book 1: Finding Angel (Sept. 2011)

ISBN: 978-1927154137

Hi. My name is, um, Angel. Yeah, I know, odd name. I get that a lot. But it’s what my charm bracelet says, and since that’s the only thing I have from the past that I couldn’t remember when I was found by Mr. and Mrs. Mason when I was six…

Oh, sorry. That’s not why I’m here. I mean it is—my story is why I’m here. But I’m not here to tell you that story. The whole thing is written out in a book. Yep, Kat Heckenbach wrote a book all about me. And today I’m going to ask her some questions about it. I bet you’d have questions for someone if they wrote a whole book about your life, wouldn’t you? Yeah. So, here we go.

A: Miss Kat, I—

K: You can just call me Kat, Angel. “Miss Kat” makes me feel like a preschool teacher. ;)

A: Oh, okay then. Kat…what made you decide to write a book? And did you know it would be about me when you started?

K: Let me answer those the other way around, if that’s okay. I definitely didn’t know it would be about you, specifically. I knew it would be about a girl, somewhere around your age, but I didn’t have all the details. I remember that age well (although junior high feels like a long time ago!) and it was a time in my life when I really started getting into reading fantasy.

A: Ooh! I love fantasy! It’s my favorite genre!

K: Yeah, mine, too. I loved the whole idea of being magic and finding a hidden world or something.

(Angel gives Kat a strange look.)

K: You okay, Angel?

A: Yeah…it’s just that….well…for me, that pretty much came true.

(Kat smiles.) K: Yeah, I know. I, um, wrote it.

A: Oh, right. Duh. Go ahead.

K: Anyway, your name came from my daughter. She was on this kick about naming all her stuffed animals and such “Angel.” It was literally the first thing that popped into my head. So I started there.

A: Cool! But you still haven’t answered about what made you want to write.

K: Right. Sorry. Like I said, I really got into reading fantasy when I was your age. I read all the time. My favorite place was in this tree in my back yard.

A: A tree? Really? Mine too!

K: Well, mine was this cool tree that was kind of knocked over, so it stuck out of the ground at an angle. I could actually walk up it, and sit at the top where a big branch stuck straight up. I would lean against the branch like a chair back.

(Angel’s eyes widen.) A: That sounds just like my tree!

(Kat smiles again.) K: That’s an odd coincidence. Is yours way in the back? Like by the back fence?

A: Yeah!

K: I bet you like to look out across the neighbor’s yard, too. My neighbor had this big, open field—

A: Mine too! Whoa, that’s so cool! I wonder if we have anything else in common! Do you have any brothers? I have three! My youngest brother is really cool and loves bugs.

K: Well, I do have one brother, but he’s not very into bugs. My son is, though. He loves them. We even count his bug-hunting as part of his homeschooling sometimes.

A: My little brother, Zack, homeschools, too. Wow…I bet they’d get along great.

(Kat stifles a chuckle.) K: I bet they would.

Book 2: Seeking Unseen (Sept. 2012)

ISBN: 978-1927154298

(Angel nods and bites her lip.) A: So, Mis—I mean, Kat. What else do you like to do beside write and read fantasy?

K: I draw. Mostly with charcoal pencil.

(Angel gapes.) A: No. Way. I draw, too! And charcoal is totally my favorite medium. That’s just weird…

K: Yep, pretty weird.

A: But we can’t have everything in common. (*arches one eyebrow*)

K: Oh, surely not.

A: I mean, like…I bet you weren’t a nerd in school like me. And I bet you don’t like science, do you? Not many artsy types are into science. (*crosses arms and looks confidently*)

K: Total nerd. And my college degree is in Biology. 

(Angel shakes her head as if to clear it.) A: How tall are you?

K: Five-foot-nine.

A: Five-eight! Hah!

K: I was five-eight at your age, too, Angel.

(Angel eyes Kat’s hair and points.) A: You’re not a redhead. 

K: Nope...not anymore. My hair has gotten darker as I got older.

A: Oh…this is just too bizarre. Even weirder than finding out magic is real…

(Kat smiles and leans forward, lowers her voice.) K: Maybe it is magic…

Kat Heckenbach grew up in the small town of Riverview, Florida, where she spent most of her time either drawing or sitting in her "reading tree" with her nose buried in a fantasy novel...except for the hours pretending her back yard was an enchanted forest that could only be reached through the secret passage in her closet...

She never could give up on the idea that maybe she really was magic, mistakenly placed in a world not her own...but as the years passed, and no elves or fairies carted her away...she realized she was just going to have to create the life of her fantasies.

Now she shares that life with her husband and two kids. Ok, maybe "share" isn't the right word--more like lives that life in her writing and tries her best to be normal the rest of the time...

Kat is a graduate of the University of Tampa, Magna Cum Laude, B.S. in Biology. She spent several years teaching, but never in a traditional classroom—everything from Art to Algebra II—and now homeschools her children.

Author Website: http://www.katheckenbach.com/

Blog Tour Links: 

Grace Bridges 

R. L. Copple  

Ryan Grabow    

Travis Perry     

Paul Baines   

Caprice Hokstad

Keven Newsome 

Greg Mitchell      

Frank Creed   
Fred Warren 

Guest Post at Magical Ink

Heather Titus was kind enough to read Star of Justice and review, and even kinder to offer me a guest spot at her blog.

I hope I didn't embarrass her.

Read my post at Magical Ink. Then bookmark her page, because she usually discusses people way more interesting than me.

Thank you for the honor, Heather.

A New Review by Heather A. Titus

Hey, I missed this in all the not-paying attention I've been doing.

Heather A. Titus, one of our NAF contributors and the winner of one of my book giveaways earlier this year, reviewed Star of Justice on Monday.

Read it here.

Glad you liked it, Heather. Your review is spot-on. No complaints here.

Sorry about Merritt. I can't do a thing with him.

Busy, Busy

Sorry about the absence, but I've been catching up on all those little tasks I mentioned last week.

I've added a second Bible study to my schedule, an eight-week inductive study of 2 Peter. That requires brain time so "good-bye" to some other brain activities while I'm doing it.

TT: Have you noticed you only have so much energy to expend? Adding something to your life necessitates cutting something else. It's the penalty for being merely human.

I've also hit one of those chapters in my WIP where things need to get cut or combined. Those tend to slow me down. I also realized I'd given the mirror way too many abilities, so I'll have to rewrite those scenes, too.

"Why does that matter?" My Dear Friend asked. It matters quite a bit. The mirror is a powerful magical item, but it's not all-powerful. It can't do everything, and it shouldn't. Overcoming limitations is a key ingredient in a good story, even for magic mirrors.

One good thing I did unconsciously was provide myself with a plausible reason for the current timeline. Took me a while to figure that out, too, but I've got it now.

TT: It's weird when the submerged part of your brain does stuff and forgets to tell the other part. Don't think it's diagnosable, but it is weird.

I'm also going through some changes at work. Good ones, I hope, but all change causes the Turtle to freeze before adapting. I've been a bit distracted overall.

Lastly, I've started reading Lioness's newest WIP about an accountant. She's been talking about it for a year or so, and the first draft is finally done. Yea! Loving it, btw, Lioness. It's got a nice flow to it, and the description rocks. I'm four chapters in on my Kindle and going strong.

So, I'm still here, just doing some stuff in the real world at the moment. I'll be back on track shortly.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Remember to put the trash out.

Lessons From a TV Cable Repairman

I'm back at NAF and still learning valuable life lessons at my age. Read about one of them over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Hangover

Aren't hangovers what people have the day after a three day weekend? I don't drink, so I don't actually know what one feels like, but I awoke with a headache, neckache, backache and a new kind of ache in my left jaw joint - can't think of what that's called at the moment - that is giving me an earache, too.

I have scheduled that mouthpiece adjustment, but it's two weeks away yet. I can make it. I'm tough.

The search for a new car has begun. I went to look at the first candidate late last night, a Subaru Outback just over my price point. It was a lovely car, but as I thought about how much I have to spend and how long it took me to get that money and how long it will be before I'll have that much money again to spend on another car, I've decided to keep looking.

Dave Ramsey is right. Buying with cash makes you think twice. And three times. Or more. It's a whole different feeling handing over dollars than signing papers, even if those papers place you in indentured servitude.

I'm thinking some of the aching this morning is due to the stress of looking at that beautiful car and making a grown up decision. Why else would I notice my jaw clamped tight while I was still awake?

Anyway, after a weekend of procrastinating that included buying a printer, a refrigerator and dismantling my entire living room, I finished that guest blog post, answered some survey questions to submit to some ACFW project, and wrote my post for my return to NAF on Wednesday. I also created a Launch Party poster that I need to put up in various places, all in a space of about 60 minutes while waiting for a call about the car, which means I was trying to avoid thinking about that.

Coming to the conclusion that weekends are not my best "writing work" time. They're just for recovery.

Anyway, full week ahead, for all that it's a short work week, so I'd better go lie down and let the aspirin kick in.

Happy Tuesday, folks.

Piling Up

Is August taking an extremely long time or is it just me?

I seem to be caught in some kind of temporal loop where each day not only drags like a zombie with no legs, it speeds by at the same time. I have a growing list of little tasks that I can't find the time or motivation to tackle, yet must be tackled.

Without the clamoring human family, some things can be put off. Turns out a person can survive on Doritos for a week, especially if she keeps forgetting to thaw the chicken. That same person cannot survive without kitty litter. No way.

So, in the spirit of getting things done, I'm finishing this post and doing five or six little things before work that will allow me to do five or six things afterwards. I hope a good start will lead to a solid finish.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Say a prayer for those in Isaac's path. Iguana is one of them.

I'm Not Upset

Finally got around to asking my publisher about online sales figures. Not glowing, dear readers. Not glowing.

TT: Adding in my personal sales make it look a little better. 

She sent some kind words along with them of the "don't worry, slow starts can build" sort, but I admit, I was surprised at the smallness of the whole thing. Were I the sort who cared about numbers, I would be disheartened. On the other hand, I am convinced slow and steady is the only way to build a real fan base. If those who read my book now like it enough to buy the next, I'm good, provided I produce a next. My plan has always been to saturate the market with "me" until a reader can't turn around without bumping into a Turtle egg. If I live to 111, I have almost 70 years to achieve that goal.

I've said from the beginning, for me, this isn't about selling or being published or any kind of ego trip whatsoever. My goal was to finish a book, and I did that. Publication was more of a symptom of finishing. However, for the sake of my publisher and small fan group and the world in general, I will try to promote my book a bit more. I have one advantage over the average writer: I'm not afraid of people.

My launch party will commence Oct 5, 6 - 8 PM at World Cup Cafe.

I'm heading south in a couple weeks. I should contact that bookstore near Wichita and see about dropping in and hosting a book signing or something.

I have a contact name for my old high school. I want to donate a book to their library, but, frankly, I suspect I'll need board approval and a PG 16 rating. I'll get on that.

And, I have one ace-in-the-hole I've been too nervous to play. Thinking it's time to play it. More about that later, I suspect.

Happy Tuesday, everybody.

Of Backaches and Cavities

I am prone to cavities. Have been all my life. I brush, I floss, I go to the dentist every six months for cleaning, but I continue to get cavities. Such is my life.

I got two fillings about two weeks ago, and I'm supposed to get another one this week. The cavities are on opposite sides of my mouth, you see, so filling all of them at once would not only cause my numbed face to slide right off my skull, it would make eating impossible.

I was warned that one of the filling replacements - yes, fillings can wear out - was close to the nerve and would be tender for a while. She wasn't kidding.

After two weeks, I can't chew chips on that side. No, I don't need to chew chips, but I do eat granola, and broccoli, and other things that require some pressure on the molars. The second filling to be replaced - I mentioned fillings wear out, didn't I? - is also a molar and also close to a nerve. What happens if it freaks out, too? I'll be eating my steak through a straw.

Just kidding. I rarely eat steak. It would be ground turkey through a straw.

Here's the second half of the story. Replacing fillings causes the mouthpiece I wear to go out of alignment. When it goes out of alignment, I can't sleep, I get horrible back and neck aches, and I lose feeling in my left arm. These symptoms started this weekend. I currently have a stabbing pain in my neck that extends to the base of my spine, and it won't get better until several days after a mouthpiece alignment.

TT: I do wonder if the nightly chewing is what's causing these fillings to wear out so quickly. They're not more than 10 years old, I'm sure. The mouthpiece protects me somewhat, but pressure is pressure. Don't think that doesn't give me something to chew on. Sigh.

I want to reschedule my next dental appointment to give my new filling a little more time to calm down so I can eat on that side, but I don't want to wait to adjust my mouthpiece or spend $85 to adjust my mouthpiece between fillings. I doubt I could get in to do so even if I wanted to on such short notice. My orthodontist is quite popular.

So, do I go ahead with the filling and plan to eat oatmeal for the foreseeable future, or do I reschedule the dentist and live with the backaches for a month or more? It's also possible the filling won't calm down and will require a crown, but it could be the first crown that's giving trouble instead of the new filling, in which case my next option is a root canal and that leads to a whole new set of problems.

I hoped laying it out here would make the correct decision obvious, but I fear no "correct" decision exists. It's all "what-ifs" and wishes. I guess I'll schedule the mouthpiece alignment and plan to go ahead with the new filling. I have three days in which to cancel. We'll see if they make the difference.

Behind the Scenes

I've been asked to guest post on another author's blog, soooooo, awesome. Deeply honored. I'll keep you up to date on that.

Another co-worker started reading Star of Justice. She's gotten to the walking forest (ch 3). Her face lit up while she was explaining her reactions to the whole scene and she ended with "They're settling in for the night, but I just know something interesting is going to happen next."

Well, that's a pretty intense compliment, I'm thinking.

She's not the first to mention the walking forest as a favorite part. Even Big Brother, who prefers books where someone's head explodes in the first 500 words and gave me endless grief over using the word "trencher," made the off-hand comment that "the forest is pretty cool."

Huh.

Shall I confess?

The forest wasn't planned. I needed something to happen, and that was the first thing that sprang to mind.

When I directed puppets, one of the things we did as an encore was perform one of our songs with the curtains down. I wanted the audience to understand the kind of gyrations and coordination required to use signs, two-handed puppets, two-people puppets and puppets that move from back stage to front in a group of ten people in a confined space. It is something to behold.

I wonder if readers want to know those kinds of behind-the-scenes info on books? I always watch the "Making Of" segments of movies I like. Would I do the same for books? Or does that spoil the fun?

Let me know. I have reasons for almost everything I wrote. I'm willing to share many of them.

Titles Are Hard

After three years of blogging, I'm having trouble coming up with titles for my posts. Or my books.

TT: What about Elementary for Elementals? Make any more sense? I think I'm done worrying about it. The book is Elementals and that's that. 

I've stopped numbering or titling the chapter headings for Price of Justice. Asterisks will have to do the job until I've finished. Since I'm not 100% sure where the book is heading, and the same issues (you know, life and death, consequences for stupidity, power grabs, that sort of thing) keep coming up in every chapter for every POV character, the titles so far could all be "The Price."

Sounds utterly boring, doesn't it? I so don't want it to be boring. I don't want it to be depressing, either. Gotta find that happy ending.

I am writing, though. About an hour a night, which is all the stamina I seem to have at the moment, but an hour a night is better than nothing and it will get it done eventually. I'm back to writing on the laptop in the bedroom, away from the TV and the Internet. It's harder to edit using the fingerpad mouse, but it's easier to write new stuff. New stuff is what I need.

I'm also tentatively scheduling Star of Justice's book launch for Thursday, Oct 5, 6 PM at World Cup Cafe. I have to check with the owner that nothing else is happening that night, but I'm fairly confident that's the time.

TT: My Best Friend gave me a blank look when I told her about it. "Don't book launches happen when a book is published?" Yeah, yeah. I'm a Turtle. I do things in my own time. 

Just occurred to me I could do a reading of some portion of Price of Justice. That might be fun.

Why Canada?

I was thinking about zombie movies - I do that sometimes - and noticed a theme. The survivors want to flee to Canada.

Granted, I may not have an extensive familiarity with the genre, but the movies I have watched - Resident Evil et al., Night of the Living Dead et al., a rather well-made low-budget film on Syfy this weekend (although it claimed to be about vampires, but they acted more like zombies to me), um, that's all I can think of at the moment, but I'm sure I've watched more - show people trying to get to some mythical colony of survivors in Canada.

Why Canada?

Are zombies immune to cold? They're dead, so that doesn't seem likely. Zombies can cover any terrain humans can cover, so that's not a hindrance. Does Canada's smaller population figure into this? Fewer people means fewer potential zombies? Canada has fairly open borders. It's not like a hoard of zombies couldn't overwhelm a few mounties and hello, brothers to the north, welcome to the feast.

In case of zombie attack, I'd go toward South America. It's way easier to survive in a tropical climate than an arctic one. Unless animals also get zombified, but if that happens, a grizzly or wolf pack or family of beavers will kill you just as dead as a leopard or tapir. Granted, I might run into groups of armed non-zombified humans on the way, but isn't that a good thing? If the movies are accurate, maybe not, but human survivors also figure into the "fleeing to Canada" equation. Who knows? Maybe with everyone going north, south will be a wide-open straight shot to relative safety.

Seems the safest place to go is water. If it's a land-based attack, get off the land and wait the thing out. Unless you're a chemist, waiting for nature to restore balance is really the only option in the zombie apocalypse anyway, other than suicide.

Just something to think about on a Tuesday.

Gardens In Babylon

So glad I had the foresight (for once) to schedule Saturday's post last Monday. After six weeks of spotty service, my Internet went out for good Thursday morning and stayed out until my new service provider installed a cable Saturday around 7 PM. That's an eternity in Farmville time.

I must now cancel the old service and move on with my new life of NOT watching FX and Syfy 24/7. Speaking of which, what idiot changed Scifi to Syfy? Was that a hooked-on-phonics marketing ploy? It looks ridiculous. Of course, so do many of the shows, so maybe I'm overreacting.

Anyhoo, now that I'm caught up a bit on my Farmville fix, I'll be tweaking Faith Awakened's blog tour post to connect for real to all the other Splashdown authors who previewed stuff.

I've read the book. It was a little slow in places, but by the end, it all came together in a satisfyingly DOS-programmer kind of way. You'll have to read it to figure that out. I won't explain more here because of spoilers.

On to today's real topic. I think I'm finished with the book of Jeremiah. Can't be entirely sure since the chronological Bible I'm reading this year rearranges stuff and I haven't checked how many chapters Jeremiah has.

Allow me to set the stage. The northern kingdom of Israel has been scattered, and it's Judah's turn to face judgment for idolatry. The Babylonians relocate the majority of Judah's citizens throughout the kingdom of Babylon. Judah's false prophets are telling everybody this is a temporary setback and they'll be home shortly.

God gives Jeremiah a different story. He tells the Israelites to plant gardens, have kids and settle in for the long haul because they'll be captive for 70 years and they have some repopulating to do in the meanwhile. Naturally, God is right.

What I take from this (especially considering one of my recent posts) is the command to get on with life. Yes, things are difficult. Yes, I'm in an alien land facing unknown dangers. However, life goes on until it stops. Plant my garden and live.

I'm not saying I'll be having children any time soon (or at all, for that matter), but I want to take this as a new resolution to occupy until Christ's return. I will write because I don't know the future. I will save for retirement because I don't know the future. I will hope in Christ, my only hope, because He's the only future that matters.

The garden is planted, Lord. Now to tend it.

The Faith Awakened Video Campaign

Having seen a number of other authors’ successes with viral video collections, I decided to give it a go myself. The videos didn’t need to have anything much to do with the book – as long as they were funny, watchable and shareable and included the book details somewhere. I lived in Germany at the time and roped in lots of my friends to play parts. So you have a bunch of people holding my book who don’t even understand English. They were pretty good sports about it! Remember this was way back in 2007, with my first video camera, and judge accordingly...

Book Causes Spy to Change Sides

Find Grace:

http://grace.splashdownbooks.com

http://www.facebook.com/gracebridges1

http://pinterest.com/splashdown

Info on Faith Awakened

 

Blog Tour Sites:

R. L. Copple                      

Kat Heckenbach               

Diane M. Graham          

Travis Perry                       

Caprice Hokstad         

Keven Newsome    

Frank Creed                       

Fred Warren      
Ryan Grabow     

Greg Mitchell   

The Silver Key

"When Randolph Carter was thirty he lost the key of the gate of dreams." The Silver Key, H.P. Lovecraft

Do you ever read an interview by an author who sounds so excited about writing? He just can't spend enough time at the computer. She can't wait to get up and blurt out that next chapter.

I occasionally hate those people.

I remember being excited about writing. In college, I wrote all the time. If I wasn't in class or getting a frozen yogurt from the gas station across the street, I was writing. It was mostly melodramatic garbage, but some fun ideas came from it. Elementals. A Star To Sail By (you all don't know about that one, but if the Earth continues to exist, I will write it). Past Ties, which laid the groundwork for Star of Justice and future forays into that world. Several really goofy romances that may or may not see the light of day. I couldn't write enough.

I hit thirty and something happened. I grew up. I looked around. I saw the world for the near-the-end place I believe it to be and nothing mattered anymore. Why write a book no one will have money to buy or energy to read? I became a fatalist, and the key to dreams slipped out of my hands.

"He had read much of things as they are, and talked with too many people. Well-meaning philosophers had taught him to look into the logical relations of things, and analyse the processes which shaped his thoughts and fancies."

Oh, Mr. Carter, I understand. That's the greatest horror of all. The horror of too much understanding.

"They had chained him down to things that are, and had then explained the working of those things till mystery had gone out of the world.

How do you write fanciful stories when you don't believe in fairy tales anymore? It is hard, dear reader. Very hard.

Doubt creeps in. Every typed word is over-analyzed and sterilized to correctness. Have I provided enough motivation? Am I missing some new scientific discovery that makes my storyline obsolete and ridiculous? When will I read that final comment that shatters any desire I have to share the stories I've dredged from the looming cynicism my life threatens to become?

I'm not depressed at the moment. I wish I were. I wish I could blame this on some chemical imbalance, but to do that, I'd have to say I've been mildly depressed for 10 years. Maybe I have. Reality can do that.

I keep hoping going through the motions will revive that excitement. One day I'll wake early to rush to my keyboard and spew out my next epiphany. Since the sun keeps rising and electricity keeps flowing, I'll keep trying. I have enough hope left for that.

Happy Friday, everybody. We have the day. Make the best of it. 

Horror According to Lovecraft

I've never felt an inclination to write horror. Well, except for that time I read the spaceship chapter of How To Survive A Horror Movie. Part of me really, really wants to write a space horror spoof, but it would so NOT be glorifying to God I'm not sure I can justify it, even for the funny.

Lovecraft knows horror, and his early works managed creepy crawly without even describing the creepy crawly too much. That is my biggest gripe with some of his early stuff. There's only so much "unnameable hideousness" and "indescribable horror" I can tolerate before I want him to try to describe it.

He gets more graphic in the 1920's, so I won't dwell overlong on that criticism.

Here's what's scary according to Lovecraft:

Murky water (swamps, sludge-covered oceans, bogs) that eventually erupts with corrosive smells and blobby or gigantic figures from hell.

Ancient, abandoned cities visible only in unnatural moonlight that echo with weird screams and either suggest or disgorge blobby or gigantic figures from hell.

Cellars found in old houses or ancient, abandoned cities that lead to hell and often involve glimpses of or encounters with blobby or gigantic figures.

Caverns that lead to hell and... yeah, you get the idea about the creatures, right? The blobby or disproportionally large non-human creatures made the more hideous by a small resemblance to humanity in an otherwise completely alien life form?

Stars that glow with reddish light and cause hysterical dreaming and the occasional parallel dimension traveling. 

Parallel dimensions visible in drug-induced states that reveal glimpses of hellish, other-worldly creatures that would destroy us all if they bothered to notice we're here.

Swarthy, low-browed subhumans of far-below animal intelligence who somehow manage to exist in otherwise civilized cities.

Anything that pre-dates human civilization, especially savage rites involving human sacrifice.

Funny thing. He's right about the water and the cellars/caverns, and I'm willing to give him a nod on the abandoned cities. I've never been creeped out by a star before, and I won't be trying any consciousness altering drugs stronger than a Melted Snowball, but I've gotta admit, the man knows horror. 

Thinking should I ever write that space horror story, I'll have to work a blobby giant in somewhere.

Nightmares and H.P. Lovecraft

I won't be reading Lovecraft right before bed anymore.

Although I have been chewing on The Complete Collection of H.P. Lovecraft as compiled by cthuluchic from Amazon for Kindle at the ridiculously reasonable price of .99 for approximately 4 months like a ghoul gnawing on a freshly dug corpse, I have yet to pass the 25% mark.The man was prolific.

I've seriously enjoyed most of the stories and been completely creeped out by several of them (The Outsider and The Picture In The House being two I remember clearly). The Rats in the Walls gave me shudders, but Pickman's Model was apparently too much.

Yes, after reading that story, I succumbed to a terror so intense that after waking, I couldn't decide if I wanted to turn on the light to assure myself that all was well or leave it off in case it wasn't. The last time I had a nightmare that intense was following the debut of The Grudge.

This particular nightmare involved siblings Ivy and Isaiah, the basement level of a concrete parking garage and a child's toy whose unnatural proportions spoke of eldritch planes of existence. Yep. Been reading too much Lovecraft.

I won't stop reading, but I will be doing it earlier in the day. With all the lights on. And the curtains open. And a cat or two nearby. And maybe a neighbor.

Where's that nightlight?

Plumping Up on Bubbly Pies

If you've read any of Anne McCaffrey's dragons of Pern books, you know what a "bubbly pie" is. You know it has crystallized sugar around the edges and bubbles in the middle when it comes out of the oven and remains delicious even when cooled. You suspect it's about the size of a personal pot pie and contains some kind of berry filling. It's a special treat and when they're made, you stuff yourself. Oh, you don't know how to make one. You don't have a chance in Hades of ever eating one. But you want one.

You also know the people drink klah, some kind of hot beverage made from bark that to my mind is a hot chocolate-cinnamon hybrid. You know they use numbweed to anesthetize wounds - a salve distilled at great effort from aloe-like plants harvested on the Southern Continent. You've slurped into a redfruit and saddled a runnerbeast and oiled a fire lizard.

You know how you've done these things? Through description.

Creating a world is a complicated process, but showing that world to your readers takes work. It takes description. It takes you the author presenting your case to the reader in an interesting way that engages their senses through that most amazing sense organ - the brain.

I'm all for stories moving forward. I resent useless description as much as the next LOTR-fan who's slogged through three pages of hills to get to the "point." However, stories that move forward by sacrificing sensory details and world-setting descriptors leave me flat.

If you don't want to get rain in your eye, or stuff a sausage in your mouth, or dodge spatter from a sword fight, don't pick up my book. Go to those mainstream authors who write so fast you're panting by the time you turn the last page. I have no problem with that.

I'll be here trying to make bubbly pies.