Challenging

I have this tendency to tackle the hardest thing first. Seems that's not normal. Most people do the easiest thing first and move up to progressively harder tasks.

The Turtle is not most people.

When learning a new skill, I choose the project most professionals would hesitate to tackle (because they know what's involved) because that's the one that looks fun.

First time I built a dollhouse, or anything out of wood, for that matter, I chose the three story row house instead of the one room cabin. When learning to crochet, I made a blanket instead of a potholder. When starting cross stitch, I picked the two by two foot flaming dragon picture with no guidelines instead of the dish towel with the smiley face. 

Problem with this tendency is two-fold. One, if I've bitten off more than I can chew, I don't finish. The blanket got crocheted, along with several more, but the dragon and the dollhouse rest dusty and half-done because I banged into the place where I need mentoring and I have no mentor. Two, if I do finish, I tend to stop using the skill. I mean, I've done the hardest thing, right? Why continue?

I fight this with writing. The first book was challenging because of size and storyline. I hadn't finished a novel before. It was new.

The first book was so easy, I had to make the second more challenging. Two MCs, four viewpoints, and two separate story lines that converge at the end. Months of hair-pulling and head-banging saw it done. Yes, I had some rough spots, but I did it.

Book three wants to play rough. Without realizing it, I've created at least two MCs, five viewpoints, four potential story lines and a definite failure to converge at the end.

Part of this stems from how I started the book, with a non-MC viewpoint to set the stage and get me "started." Part of it stems from the fact that due to certain issues, I can't stay in the main MC's head like I normally would. You'd have to read the book to understand why. Since she changes surroundings so frequently, I have to change POV characters to keep the focus on her and that complicates things since each POV character has his or her own motivations. Just writing it down this way makes me want to bang head on keyboard. This is the story I want to tell. I'm just having trouble telling it. 

My goal today is to write down these extra story lines and see whether I can make them play nice or remove them for later short story fodder. 'Cause they're driving me crazy.

I have only today to do this because "in earnest" edits on Star of Justice start tomorrow. The official release date is May 1, the unofficial release date is April 15, and the Turtle needs to get moving.

Digging Rocks

Should have titled this better, but I was a little brain-dead at the time. Find out why over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Unexpected

I sat down to write a brief post comparing my garden to my writing and accidentally wrote Monday's NAF post. Meaning, I can't publish it here and now. Meaning, I wanted to let you know why I didn't write something this morning.

Since I've not been blogging consistently for a while, I don't know why I think you'd care, but I do, so I did, so you know.

Later.

Refresh

Sitting here on a Wednesday, trying to dispel the foul mood I went to bed with and woke up with, realizing I haven't read any of the "Blogs I Follow" in I don't know how long and trying to make up for it.

NAF Newbie Heather Titus takes on literary vs genre fiction with a middle-of-the-road take and a wonderful reference to 7 layer cookies. 

I took the F-Score The Lioness recommended over at Factotum Rostrum. Pretty sure I answered something wrong because I completely disagree with my dormant trigger, but I may not know enough about it yet to judge.

Enjoyed Kat's take on cover art and fairies. You're right, Kat. There are way too many girls in flowery dresses on book covers at the moment. That's all I saw in my last walk through the Barns of Nobles.

Shook my head at Vaulter hunched over her computer screen clicking "refresh" at Amazon to see the most current book sales results. I never, never, never, never want to do that. I probably will.

In case you haven't heard, dear readers, Vaulter's book I Am Ocilla is now out and proud of it. I helped edit, and I am happy to say it's worth money, so go buy a copy, either print or ebook version. Both are available.

Vaulter says I may claim that if she gave birth to Ocilla, I slapped her butt and made her cry. I intend to claim it at every opportunity. 

Happy Wednesday, people. I need chocolate.

Shying Away

Had one of those conversations with a co-worker that results in the surprised query, "There's blood in your book? You write bloody stuff?"

Yeah. Yeah I do. Love doing it, in fact, as I've mentioned before.

What I seem to have trouble writing is torture. Not deliberate torture scenes. I've never tried writing one of those and I don't see me doing so in the near (or distant) future.

TT: I guess there is that scene in the furnace room of Manarot in Star of Justice but that wasn't torture for torture's sake, so I'm not counting it.

No, I'm talking about the sort of heartless experimentation on living things that ultimately qualifies as torture. Think the Alchemist's laboratory in The Dark Crystal. It bothers me. I don't mind outright killing in battle. I don't mind dismemberment that results in swift death. What I seem to mind is dismemberment that doesn't result in death.

Not sure why I draw this distinction. Perhaps it's my middle-American upbringing. I'm not used to interacting with maimed creatures. You won't find them in Ah'rahk simply because most people have access to magical herbs or spells that negate crippling injuries. About the only things not curable are death and stupidity, and they're working on death.

Perhaps I've stumbled across one of my own phobias. Watch me scramble to get away from it!

I can't get away from it. This WIP has a villain with an interest in biology and it leads to nasty, heartless experimentation that makes my skin crawl and gives me nightmares. I can't shy away, no matter how much I want to, or the book doesn't get written. I will limit it, though. I've already cut way down on scene-setting because I don't want to imagine what it would look like. I should take a hint from H.P. Lovecraft's early works and stick with "unimaginable horror." 

The non-writers out there are saying, "Just make up another villain."

My dear readers. If only it were that simple.

The Price of Justice is becoming a much different book than I imagined it would be. Internal demons are far nastier than external ones and far harder to battle. Never fear. I will provide that happy ending I demand from my books. You'll just want it to happen sooner than it will. 

Beava

I'm not a diva. I'm a "beava." Find out what that means over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Spring Fever

Why does it always hit too early?

It's February! I can't go outside and work in the yard. Not most years, anyway. This is not most years.

It's supposed to be the upper 50s today. Unable to help myself, I went out last night - in a dress and dress shoes, no less - and dug around the maple stump just to see if I could.

There's a very real chance I'll be out in the yard tonight, tomorrow and Sunday, moving dirt from the top of the yard to the bottom one wheelbarrow load at a time.

The probability of bringing in a load of dirt presses on my brain. At this point, my dirt is so compacted and ground in with clay (thanks to the first arborist's misuse of a slipskid), I don't know that I'll ever get it back to what could be called "level" without some outside assistance.

I placed my first online plant order last night, too. Sometime in April, I'll come home to a dwarf peach tree, blueberry bushes, sedum ground covers, hosta and a bi-colored butterfly bush, among other things, for under $100. I'll be posting pics on FB, no doubt. This is by no means the end of the plant orders, but the very, very beginning of a long process of transformation.

I hope my enthusiasm is up to the task.

Homeostasis

Yep. It's me, freaking out again, over at

The New Authors' Fellowship. 

You'd think I'd get tired of it, wouldn't you? Not yet.

Impatience

The old saying is "Patience is a virtue."

Nah-unh. Patience is a muscle. You have to develop it. You have to practice it. Sometimes, you just have to lump it.

Winter has finally arrived in Kansas and I'm resenting it just a little bit. It would be one thing if The Swamp were blanketed in snow and I couldn't see all the work needing to be done for years to come.
Alas, in typical Kansas fashion, we are cold and dry, or cold and just wet enough to prevent me from going outside to move mud around. I can't plant. I can't dig. I can't even really lay bricks because I need the ground level and that involves the digging I can't do.

So I stand at my kitchen window, sip hot tea and practice patience. When I can't stand anymore, I go write on The Price of Justice.

Frustration fuels the muse on this book. Good thing. I have plenty to spare.

It's Your Story

Had me a little epiphany over the weekend. Read all about it over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Changing Times

Will this turn into a rant? I hope not. "Positive" is my word for 2012. It may turn into "positively horrible," but January isn't even over. I'm not going there yet.

A co-worker introduced me to her daughter as Pollyanna yesterday. I explained I'm a cynic the rest of the time.

"That's kind of the opposite," she said.

"I know. It takes a lot of energy to be positive 8 hours a day. Have to recoup the loss somewhere."

So I changed to the new FB timeline. Welcome to way TMI. I'm so grateful The Machine will now publish every second of my life from conception to death for the entire world to see. Makes me feel special. High price to pay for my FV addiction, but I'm paying it.

Anyone else seeing us turning into Aldous Huxley's Brave New World? Little bit chilling, me thinkin'. 

I changed to the "new" Blogger interface. I was encouraged to change months ago but I just couldn't handle one more thing, you know? I hate it, of course, but I'll adapt. Or die.

After doing some sketch work for a friend, it occurred to me this morning I might want to do some sketch work for myself. Splashdown likes to use symbols as chapter headings. I could go with the obvious "star of justice," but maybe Merritt's kilt clasp is more interesting. Or Radiac's symbol. Or something else I haven't thought of. April sounds far away but it really isn't. I need to focus, write stuff down and get to work.

I'll be starting what I'm calling "final edits" on Star of Justice next week. This really means I'll read it for consistency and smooth out any remaining rough spots. Will rabbits be rabbits or erguk? They're kind of both. Does hafmet officially replace paces or hands as a unit of measurement? I say yes, even if it does sound funny when halved. It really does. Try it.

Just how big is Aidan? I have no idea. Not knowing how fast a horse can travel, I kind of guessed most of the time issues. It is magical. I suppose distance could change due to intermittent spacial anomalies of a magical nature. Yeah. Cheating. I agree.

I need to put final touches on the map, too. Yes, I have a map, which officially makes it a "high fantasy." I think Kat wrote a blog about defining high fantasy. Maybe it was Jill Williamson and I got to it from Kat's blog. I can't find it now, which is too bad, because it was hilarious and totally appropriate. Help me out, people. Give me the link.

That's enough. Day job calls and I have breakfast to make.

Hey! No rant! Good on me.

Gethsemane

A little more info on the house issues over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

That's Not Food

So I'm going to lunch yesterday, and I mention I'll be eating "fake spaghetti."

"Spaghettios?" asks a co-worker.

It wasn't spaghettios, but it did get me thinking.

What are spaghettios made of? I know they list ingredients on the back, but what other item we label "food" has the texture and consistency of canned pasta?

Take raviolis. What is that stuffing? Post-processed meat product? Have you looked at it? Have you tried to peel back the outer covering to take a peek? You can't, by the way. It may as well be glued together. Except for that one ravioli in every can that didn't get glued and comes apart when you slide the whole gelatinous mass onto your plate with a gloopy plop.

Don't get me wrong. I've eaten my fair share of canned pastas, even as an adult.
I guess it finally hit me how truly gross they are.

Good thing they're packed with sugar or I might have to swear off.

In Case You Missed It...

God willing, my first novel will be published this year. I signed the contract last week.

April 15, 2012 marks the public debut of Star of Justice (date subject to change *grin*).

I'm pretty calm at the moment. Except for those two nights of staring at the ceiling wondering why I was doing this and what ducks remained to be lined up, and where the line was and did I have all my ducks in the first place or had one been eaten during that Thanksgiving food binge where I briefly blacked out after bolting an entire pot of stuffing?

You know, normal thought processes for the turtle.

Here's some tentative snippets of what's to come.

Cover design: Gungho Iguana, aka Keven Newsome, will revisit his initial envisioning and...do something. I hear I get final approval but the way Iguana works, I might not realize the cover is done until it's been published. He's pretty quick.

Headshots: little referenced but always loved "third brother" Brian Cowen. Yes, mom and I played around with my phone camera, my concrete turtle and a couple cats this weekend, but I intend to have something slightly more professional for the book. Of course, we all know where good intentions lead.

Editing: mostly done. My thanks to the Lioness and Vaulter for their official comments, and Grace for the final say, but after eight years, the book is well past ready to go. I know I'm sick of looking at it. Yes, yes, you'll find the one typo we miss. More power to you. Be sure to mention it on Amazon.

Reviews: I'm absolutely not going to read ANY of these, so, should the muse goose you, feel free to unload without fear of hurting my feelings. I can't handle FB chatter; I certainly can't handle waiting for Galadriel's Daughter to tell me how hackneyed my plot is.

Dedication: I thought I had this one, but I don't. The way the world is tilting, this may be my only shot and I'm not quite arrogant enough to thank myself for writing a book. We'll see.

OK. I'm cold and hungry and I need to figure out what to wear to my day job.
Thank you for your support, dear readers.

Let the game begin.

A Tiny Special Egg

Hey! Did you hear? Excellent news over at

The New Authors' Fellowship. 

P.S. Spread it around.

O My Trees

I look out on a barren wasteland this morning. My broken maple, my dying redbud and, as of yesterday, my power line-entangled elm are gone. I have an unobstructed view of my neighbors. What's worse - they have a view of me.

I didn't understand how much those trees concealed until they came down. All the ugliness of low-income rental housing is revealed.

That's a bit unfair. To my knowledge, all the houses within my direct line of sight have actual owners living in them. However, they are smaller houses and tend to suffer a lot of turnover without a lot of upgrading.

I have no real room to complain. Thanks to the oddness of my current neighbors staring at me whenever I go outside, the previous thickness of mosquito swarms sheltering under my now-vanished trees and a general lack of funds, my yard has little to boast of late.

This is the year of change. God willing, they'll be good changes, and I plan to start with the backyard.

I dug out my garden magazines and spent an afternoon last weekend watching Pride & Prejudice (the Colin Firth/Jennifer Ehle version) and marking interesting plans and plants in all of them. I intend to spend this weekend starting a planting plan, including smaller trees (I've always wanted a Japanese maple), a cutting garden (I can finally grow zinnias!) and a vegetable plot (never grown those before).

Rather than mourn my dear departed woody friends (the squirrels will mourn enough, I'm sure), I'll anticipate the blueberries, serviceberries, asparagus, scabiosa, lavender, basil and peas to come.

After all, gardening is very beneficial exercise. Why should an idiot like Mr. Collins get it all?

Unexpected Pain

In case you missed it yesterday, here's a reminder, over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

I Miss the 80's

Not much of the 80's, mind you. Mostly Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel power ballads and nifty color schemes.

My sock drawer contains the only remaining evidence that the 80's existed. Bright blue, lemon yellow, florescent orange, lime green, royal purple, real red: they're all there. All the colors I used to wear but cannot for the life of me find since 1991 and George Clooney's ER Roman head shave showed up and changed fashion forever.

In the 80's, if you wanted a hot pink dress suit complete with hot pink tights and hot pink heels, you could find it. I know. I had one.

Not all of us want to wear puce, oatmeal and sienna, but those have been my choices since Counselor Troi put on her first cat suit in STNG. That's 20 years ago, people! Isn't it time for the wheel to turn back to fun colors?

I need a spotlight to search my closet full of black and dark brown for another shirt I don't want to wear but must because the current version of red gives me a five o'clock shadow a Jewish rabbi would envy.

I'm a Spring, people. I need bright, clear colors. Stop giving me this Summer and Autumn crap. I can't wear it.

Of course, the difference may be I now shop in Women's instead of Juniors. I don't even want to go there.

Ah, D&D, I Do Miss You

Saw this last night by accident on The Mary Sue and just had to share. Pretty sure I've gamed with these guys, although I knew them by different names. Elf and dwarf names.

Dungeons & Dragons Slam Poetry

My favorite part (a hard choice, even in only 2 minutes, 19 seconds)? When the nerds try to high five and can't. So been there. 

Elder Brother, you and I should memorize this and perform it at every family gathering until one of us dies, and then the other would continue to perform it alone as tribute. 

Yes, I find it that funny.

I also find it nostalgic, so, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go play with my 2d20 and roll a few for old times' sake.

Sick Equals Sucks

The Tickle turned ugly within 24 hours. Went home sick Thursday afternoon and have spent most of the time since either in bed or sitting in a chair wishing my back would stop hurting so I could go back to bed. The worst part about being sick is I can't be anything else. I can't write, or read, or even watch TV because I'm just too miserable. All I can really do is lie there and wish for death. I didn't, because, frankly, I've been sicker, but I came close.

I did keep up with Farmville, through one slitted eye and with kleenex stuffed up my nose, but we all know how addicts are. Gotta get my fix, right?

Even though left nostril continues to dribble, I'm going to work. I can't stay in this house any longer.
That's not true. I have no problem with the house. It's the cess pit the arborists left of my backyard that I can't look at anymore.

Yes, the tree-trimmers came Friday and left total destruction in their wake. They churned up my yard, turning black soil into clay clumps. Still not sure how they managed that. The plumbers had a 20 foot backhoe out there for two days and dug up 90% of my yard, and yet did less damage than four arborists with one tiny backhoe who left cigarette butts, fallen branches, broken paving stones, a downed phone line and a hole in my neighbor's siding.

So, in between bouts of cold medicine, I suffer crying jags and waffle between suicidal and homicidal urges.

That's not true. I've not had a single suicidal urge.

I have had serious concerns about my sanity. I need the cold to go away or snow to come and hide the backyard. 'Cause I can't handle both.