Writing Process Blog Hop

Jill Domschot tagged me to take part in this weeks ago. I completely spaced out/ dropped the ball/ moved on with my life/ dissed the honor. It wasn't quite my fault because since getting my blog URL issues solved, I created the unintended issue of "losing" all my Blogs I Follow. I would normally be reminded of such a tagging when Jill's blog changed places on my blog, but that didn't happen. Hopefully, I've fixed that, too, as of tonight.

The only reason I'm remembering to do this tonight is because I seriously don't want to edit the next chapter in my soon-to-be published book Daughter of Anasca. I wrote it years ago, it needs some tweaking, but I wove the whole thing so tight I'm afraid if I pull on any bits, it will unravel into a complete mess, and I just don't have the mental energy to deal with that this evening. 

Where was I?

Right. Four questions.

1) What am I working on?

Daughter of Anasca. A YA fantasy coming of age story of two sisters. Idea conceived 20+ years ago, written five or six years ago, and finally about to see the light of day. My non-writing beta readers liked it better than Star of Justice. I worked really hard to keep it at a PG rating so homeschoolers would have a chance to read it before their parents picked it up and freaked out at the first chapter. I promise, it gets better and worse if you keep going, but I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised at the end.

2) How does it differ from others in its genre?

It's a little more complicated than the YA I've read, which isn't much, let me tell ya. I like "coming of age" stories, but I hate stories about tweens and teens grappling with hormone issues. My girls are growing up fast, and it has nothing to do with who takes whom to the prom, although, being me, I had to throw some romance in there. It's fairly brutal, but The Flash's favorite series at 12 was about a girl with a meth head boyfriend, so... Is it worse? You be the judge. The adults aren't idiots. Coming of age is about entrance into the adult world. You wouldn't want that if everybody there is a drooling moron.

3) Why do I write what I do?

I write what I want to read. I like good vs. evil stories, but I'm old enough to know "good" and "evil" aren't always easy to recognize. I like "princess and bodyguard" stories, and, boy, will it show the more I produce. I like in-your-face fight scenes, both physical and emotional, and those are easier to justify in fantasy. I like consistency in world creation, and stretching "reality" without breaking it. I like knowing a book will end well, and I only really know that when I've written it.

4) How does my writing process work?

I wish I knew. It used to be obsessive. Then it was passive-aggressive. Currently, it's thwarted by cats. I'm going to have to train myself to write in the hour between putting them to bed and myself to bed, like I did with this post. For once, the dog left me alone, too.

I might have just enough brain power to go stare at that chapter some more, so I'll end here.

Look for Daughter of Anasca, coming soon. If the cats cooperate. 

Bias

I was recently asked how a fiction author avoids bias. The simple answer: she doesn't.

The questioner, who reads political spy thrillers, was irritated with a certain author because the author appeared to have an agenda in some books.

We all know authors write from their own worldviews. We all know authors write about topics that interest them (unless they have a specific reason that they can't, like "need money now so must accept boring freelance work"). Unless the author is a journalist devoted to giving just the facts (and how many journalists are encouraged to do that, nowadays?), bias will be present. I would argue bias is present even for the journalist, based on what facts are presented and in what order.

For the reader, it's not a question of avoiding bias. It's a question of which biases agree with your worldview, or, which biases stretch your worldview. I suspect a reader's favorite authors will demonstrate a close approximation of how the reader views the world, and, contrarywise, his least favorite authors will clash with his worldview in a manner too disconcerting to accept. 

For the author, the question could be "will this presentation of the universe as I understand it enthrall or disgust a reader?" Or, in Christian fiction, "will the CBA/ God/ secular worldview" be OK with my story? You know. The old "who's my audience" question.

Biases will present themselves on paper. A variety of good beta readers will help illuminate them. One or two reviews will illustrate them immediately, if you can stomach reading reviews. The best advice I can give to an author who wants to consistently sell her writing is "know your audience," write to their biases and don't worry about the rest of the world.

Happy Monday, dear readers. New week, fresh start. Enjoy.

Turtle in GIMPland

Grace has been and gone a week now, and the Turtle household has settled back into its regularly scheduled programming. With one difference. GIMP has joined the family.

Part of the Turtle's plan for this visit was instruction in GIMP, a free photoshop-like design program. Grace and Iguana use this program with great success on a regular basis. I should be able to do the same, correct?

I used to think so, but the program has other ideas.

GIMP is like a four story house with a basement, attic and wraparound porch, planned by a dozen culturally diverse architects and one alien who never spoke to each other, built by blind hermit crabs. All the cupboards, closets and drawers are mislabeled, upside down or actually dimensional portals to another universe. I do not exaggerate.

Grace says she thinks the GIMP designers went out of their way to avoid imitating Photoshop to avoid lawsuits. I don't know Photoshop, but I guess they succeeded. I don't know what the heck is going on half the time, and the other half I'm sitting there, paralyzed like Alice, thinking "It should be able to do this. Do I drink the potion or eat the mushroom to make it work?"

Grace also says sometimes the program really does go a little insane for whatever reason and refuses to do things it normally does. Good to know.

I have made some progress. This is the current cover, and perfectly OK to be the final cover, but I want to try to add some glowing eyes to the hoard in the back.

This is the current imprint and publishing name. I googled a lot of names I liked, but they were all taken. I'm still partial to "Grave Snapper Books," but I got voted down.

GIMP and I will continue to circle each other like feral cats, but we've found an uneasy truce for the moment that may blossom into consensual apathy.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Watch your step. Never know where the next GIMP portal will open.

Grace Is Coming

Doesn't have quite the auditory impact as "Dawn is coming" from the season four finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but the potential is there.

A few things came home to me this week. I wrote Daughter of Anasca six years ago. That's when Caleb walked into my life, and became a character in that book. Six years. I've had a completed book (for the most part) sitting on my hard drive for six years. That's the time it takes a human to be born and start school.

That is waaaaay too long to do nothing with a finished manuscript.

If I remember correctly, and that's a big if considering six years have passed between then and now, I planned to produce a book every two years. I'm OK with slow and steady, but I've passed into imperceptible as far as movement goes. Part of me knew this, but seeing it there in black and white on the vet appt. reminder card put it all in perspective.

Time to get moving. Past time.

Grace knows things I want to learn. She seems amenable to teaching me. I have seven days to absorb how to format print and ebooks, the basics of GIMP and cover design, where and how to choose fonts, and how to make a book through CreateSpace. Oh, and how to hook my url to this blog so www.robynntolbert.com starts working again.

I doubt I can learn everything in that amount of time and still get some fun things in, like visiting cemeteries and hellmouths -mwahahahahahahaha!- but I intend to try.

Once Daughter of Anasca is out of the way, according to Orson Scott Card, I will have removed the primary block to writing my next book, Dangling Participles. We'll see.

Yes, I talk big. I've talked big in the past. But I've hit that "fish or cut bait" moment where I really do have to write...or stop. I don't believe I want to stop. That means I have to write.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Take a moment to review. Grace is coming.

Covers, Fonts and Pen Names

I've flailed around for a cover idea for Daughter of Anasca for years. I have only one experience with cover creation, but it had me in tears and nearly puking on a regular basis. Praise God it lasted no longer than a typical bout of flu, or I would have died of dehydration.

No offense, Grace and Iguana. I blame myself for overreacting. I'm sure I couldn't plan a wedding, either.

As of yesterday, I have a solid cover idea to pursue. I may need to snap some pics of my own to make it work, but I'll do it.

Rick Copple shared an interesting (to me) post about how indie authors shoot themselves in the foot when it comes to cover design. I don't know who Dean Wesley Smith is, but he makes some sense, so I'm taking his advice seriously, including the part about using a different name.

Daughter of Anasca is YA. I deliberately kept it at a PG rating. I had no such restraints in Star of Justice because I wrote it for adults. Younger people read it at their own risk (not that I wrote anything you couldn't see on basic cable after 5 PM). The blog author, Dean Wesley Smith, points out that folks who like one of my books may be startled or turned off by reading something of mine in a different style or genre. Worse, a younger reader may like Daughter of Anasca and pick up Star of Justice or its potentially rougher sequels (once they're written) and freak out the parents.

I don't like the idea of a pen name, but I am thinking of using initials: R.C. Tolbert. That, plus a different cover style, which must happen because I don't have the same skill as Newsome Creative, will help differentiate my YA from my adult. Of course, since I'm thinking of publishing as Graveyard Publications, I don't know why I'm bothering to differentiate anything. You read the Turtle, you get the Turtle, guts and all.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Enjoy the weather. It won't last.

That Money Thing

I recently took a walk on the dreamy side imagining life where money isn't an issue. Came home this weekend.

I took the holiday to build that shelter for my blueberry plants in The Swamp. I had planned, measured, sketched and calculated until I was certain I couldn't fail. On the DIY scale, this was a 1. I bought materials and went at it.

Well, it's done, but in the process I made three trips to the hardware store, failed to anticipate the effect of the PVC elbows on the overall dimensions, and even though I thought I'd left plenty of overage, underestimated the amount of fabric I needed for the shade. So much so that I will need to make a new one that takes into account the southern exposure. In short, I made mistakes. Lots of them.

Mistakes happen. I'm not going to kill myself because my blueberry shelter isn't perfect. What I have figured out as an adult is that certain mistakes cost money. Sometimes a lot of money. If I'm not willing or able to deal with losing money to mistakes, I won't take the risks.

This is why I stopped drawing. Somewhere in college I subconsciously did the math of supplies + time = massive waste unless I'm selling or gifting the stuff, and I did neither. I can't afford piles of artwork lying around or boxes of pens and brushes that don't pay for themselves. Therefore, I don't create art (It was so simple when the folks paid for everything).

It's sad, and kinda pathetic, but there it is. I don't try more things because I can't afford the inevitable mistakes. I want that loft bed with desk, but after this weekend and my 1 that turned -1, I don't know that I can afford it. Back to the calculator.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Take your risks, if you can afford them.

If Money Weren't An Issue

Would my life be different if money weren't an issue? I wouldn't have to be as rich as the Queen or Col. Sanders, but, you know, wealthy enough to not have that immediate dollar-shaped "stop" sign when an idea pops into my head.

1) I'd still work. I enjoy work, and I'd enjoy it a lot if I didn't have to think about how cheap my special brand of enthusiastic slave labor is. I might not work 40 hours a week, but I probably would. I get oddly upset on extended weekends.

2) I'd have a similarly sized house. Maybe a little bigger (900-1200 square feet) but nothing huge. Even the plot wouldn't be outrageous. Maybe an acre or three. Enough that my nearest neighbor can't hear my toilet flushing. I would have a different house, though, an Earthship with a cistern and solar power. Maybe some of those solar freakin' roadway panels. I could pay workmen to do stuff, so I'd have lots of built-ins, catwalks, a solarium and an atrium. Skylights would be nice. And rounded edges instead of square. Oooh, and one of those endless pool things. Those look neat.

3) I'd buy used cars. I might splurge on a work truck as a second vehicle, but it would be used. Through a dealer. I learned that lesson.

4) I'd have more cats. OK, maybe not more, but the current ones would have the best of everything. I could afford the exploratory surgery I suspect Skuttle needs because I have back-seat diagnosed her with some kind of colon issue after reading a Catnip article. I could leave food out for everybody instead of the current four feedings a day because I could afford every cat eating the same prescription cat food all the time.

5) I'd help more friends. I have so many people I wish I could slip a $100 or $500 just because they could use it. Or a $20,000 investment in a good idea (like solar freakin' roadways). They're trying so hard, but life doesn't always respect effort. It would be nice to be the generous friend. I mean, I buy a coffee now and then, but it's not the same.

6) I could support more causes. I give currently (more than 99% of Americans, apparently), but I wish I could give more to more. I have three charities I regularly support, but I wish it were five or six. I bet I could find a few more if money weren't an issue.

7) I would never get upset over money again. I hate worrying about money. It's a family habit, but when I think I won't have enough to cover whatever needs covering, I get very upset. More upset than need be, considering I'm a person who learned this year (through testimony, not experience) that utility bills come in different colors depending on how late your payment is. I didn't even know a utility payment could be late (Hate me if you must. I'm a Princess Turtle, but I do pay my own way).

8) I'd go back to school. Not for a degree. I don't ever want to do that again. But I'd love to take some vo-tech classes on electrical wiring, or woodworking, or oil painting. Or Photoshop. Maybe welding. To have money to learn something just because I want to learn it? That would be awesome.

I find these musings following me around this year. They distract me while I'm driving. They follow me into my dreams. Is this a mid-life crisis? It's a little early.

Anyhoo, now that I've written it down, I should stop thinking about it. I bet you won't. How would your life be different?

My Best Advice

This is another post I should save for NAF, but I hate finding pics to go with topics.

Finish what you start writing. It's that simple.

I should have taken the time and energy 23 years ago to finish the stories I am trying to write today. I didn't have the discipline back then, but that would have been an excellent thing to practice, too.

When you're 19 years old, and you come up with a story idea, odds are it's going to be fairly simple. Doesn't mean it's bad. Just means it's not going to have the same kind of complexity that a writer with more life experiences can add (nothing like a job, a mortgage, and 8 mouths to feed to teach you about layers of conflict). Fewer characters. More direct, obvious plot ideas. A thick, black Sharpie line of a story. That's fine when you're 19 years old. You earn your million words of practice, so you may as well earn it finishing such ideas as jumping from idea to idea and only writing the "interesting" parts, which is what I did. That's why I have a bunch of story "fragments" I used to consider book-worthy.

Problem is, when a writer tries to take those 23 year old ideas and mold them into what she now considers "book-worthy," more often than not, they don't fit. There are some good ideas, and a dollop of passion or conflict, but she's learned that's not all that goes into a good book. They might make novellas. They might make fine short stories or chapters, but they aren't going to carry 100K words into the hearts of her fans. "A closet nerd takes an unexpected trip through time with a robot assassin" is a good elevator pitch, but if you don't have more than that to back it up, you're humped.

But what if you want your older self experience to make something great out of those old ideas? Well, good luck. I suspect if you finish them when you're young, you'll clear the way for bigger, better, more complex ideas that grow with you. Like Aslan. 

I have a lot of 23 year old story ideas, but those may not a book make. Dangling Justice is about that closet nerd, but my 19 year old self didn't know about Ah'rahk, or Caissa, or Rhami when she thought of that idea with the robot assassin. Now my 42 year old self has the job of turning a simple idea into something worth writing, and hopefully, worth reading.


Happy Thursday, dear readers.  Finish what you start writing. Words to live by.

Embrace the Angst

I should type this up for NAF, but I'm just too lazy.

I've railed for a while (two years?) about how hard writing is, how I don't know where the plot is going, how I have too many choices, blah, blah. "It's not like Star of Justice!" I whine. "Even with Elementals, I had a final scene." Boo hoo.

I want my writing process to be all clinical and rational and easily contained in my current schedule. I don't want to get obsessive, like with Star of Justice, or painful, like Elementals. I just want to sit down and write a nice, complicated, thought-provoking, rollicking ride of hilarity and bittersweet depth in an hour a day without any hitches or interruption of regularly scheduled programming.

That isn't too much to ask.

Except I don't think that's how it works for me. I think all my books will be therapy books. They will emerge from chaos, frustration and inconvenience. Creation is hard. Ask a mom in labor, if you can get that close without bodily harm.

It's like trying to garden without breaking a sweat. Rarely happens. Most times I come in looking like Sasquatch.



So I'm not going to fight it anymore. I will embrace the self-loathing, the false starts, the wrong turns and rewrites. I will stomp around and snarl at the cats. I will even stay up past 9 (gasp!) if the words start flowing at 8:30. Yeah, I might be snappy at work, but I'm back in the corner, so who cares? 

Have I resolved this before? I don't think so. This feels like a moment of clarity. Which is good, 'cause it may be the last I have for a while.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. May your day be as easy as you make it.

Not Much On Stamina

Endurance is not my thing. I'm great with quick projects I can start and finish in an hour, or a night. Occasionally a week. I don't have the patience for long-term investments of time and energy (which is a real problem where writing is concerned).

This is a devolution of character. I used to blame Farmville, but I suspect it's more a factor of age and environment. I rarely need to keep going, so I don't. I tend so many cats just so I have a reason to get up most days.

The garage sale pile grows, but it should have grown even more last night. Problem was, I got home, I sat down, and I didn't want to get up again. I know the laws of thermodynamics. If I want to stay in motion, I need to be in motion.

Or, I need to break it down into tasks I can finish in one night. Clear this closet. Go through that bin of bedding. I have 10 ten days. Surely I can force myself to clean house for 20 hours over 10 days. I'm already liking the more open feel of the basement, and seeing the bottom of the guest closet. Isn't that enough reason?

We'll see.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. What's in your closet?

Back to Faith

This was one of those "anxious" weekends, where the little issues of life log-jammed against a wall of "what will I do now?" I don't know about you, but I can carry a bit of that before I identify the nausea as "worry."

I'm buying new glasses. I want a new mattress. I want to renovate the Guest Room before the next guest gets here. All that costs money, and we know the Turtle doesn't like being reminded of her limited resources.

I have a book to publish. I have a rose bed to transplant from one suburb to another. I have Summer in The Swamp to contend with. I have no zucchini sprouts. I have a front room full of garage sale stuff that, God willing, will leave in two weeks, but what if it doesn't? I'm stepping over a houseguest for the next 9 days, who isn't really a problem, but he's a pea-sized difference in schedule that this Princess does notice, especially when he gets underfoot as I'm carrying boxes.

My dreams this weekend (when I was able to sleep) were endless pruning of rose bushes and searching for lumber and losing cats in warehouse-sized mazes. That's not good. 

It's time to pray. Some people love to quote that "God helps those that help themselves" maxim, but it's a load of compost and, as far as I can tell, completely unBiblical. God helps those who cannot help themselves. None of us are adequate to any task without Him, except possibly rebellion. I need to bring the Big Guy in on the plan, and then hand it over to Him to solve as He has done time and again for me. All that worry time needs to become prayer and trust time.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Hand God your problems today. He's ready for them.

Procrastination Makes the World Go 'Round

It never ceases to amaze me what I will do in an effort to avoid doing something.

I have a book to prepare. What have I been doing instead? Rearranging the house. The Guest Room, specifically.

Part of it is Grace's advent. Part of it is the rainy weather that prevents me from working off my daily stress outside. But part of it is absolutely procrastination about the next book.

I rationalize this by telling myself the Guest Room will become The Writing Room. The place where my laptop and I go to "get away" from the cats and the TV so I can hunker down and be all productive. It might even be true. That was my intent with the porch.

I just dropped a huge wad of cash on new glasses because I now need bifocals, and I'm starting to seriously notice the fact. I've been having problems with headaches and tired eyes, and I hope the new glasses will help (I also use artificial tears to combat dryness and that helps a bit).

I would like to buy a new mattress, but the one I'm considering costs $1200. The salesman called it $1199 to make it more palatable, but I worked retail and I know that trick. With sales tax, I'm looking at $1317, which is steep. Maybe too steep, now that I write it out.

I should look at book production as a way to afford that mattress, and perhaps I should mentally tie the purchase of the mattress to book sales. As in, I won't buy a mattress with anything other than book money.

Yeah, right. 

Anyway, this sudden outpouring of cash has made me reconsider the Guest Room renovations in terms of steps: what I can afford now vs. what can wait, and what I can likely do by myself vs. what I would want help with.

Building requires planning, so I sit in the guest room and plan a pipe dream instead of executing another pipe dream, thus achieving a state of perfect procrastination.

Happy Friday, dear readers. May you be as productive as you wish to be.

Favors

I mentioned on FB that I might have to call in the "guilt chip" on The Brothers in regards to my Guest Room plans. That led to the comment from a cousin that brothers are generally willing to help if the guilt chip isn't used too often. That led to counting, which is odd, because I don't like math.

I've lived here 14 years. Big Brother has, in order,
1) built my library stacks in the basement
2) replaced all my kitchen cabinets and counter tops with leftovers from a nursing home contracting job (and it's SO BEAUTIFUL!)
3) built a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit for my bedroom that replaces a chest of drawers and provides sleeping cubbies for the cats.
4) replaced my bathroom vanity and toilet
5) built the front room catwalk

That rounds up to 1 project every three years. Is that excessive?

I have 3 more projects, though:
1) new deck stairs. The current ones are...not good.
2) replacing windowsills, although the foam insulation filler I sprayed in this winter is currently doing a fine job of keeping the birds from nesting.
2) Guest Room plans, which might take a couple of weekends, although he's pretty quick.

That's 3 projects in one year, which means I couldn't ask for another thing from him for 9 years.

He might be amenable to that deal.

Of course, I keep forgetting to mention that while Big Brother is a former contractor, Elder Brother is an excellent hobbiest woodworker, and has built all manner of shelves and desks and whatnot for his home. I could get a two-for-one if I play my cards right and buy enough steak.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Be nice today. 

Change of Plan

Over at Virtual Buttercups, I posted about some screened-in porch plans I kicked around. I've changed my mind. I'll tell you why over there (eventually), but since the plans evolved to inside the house and The Swamp is outside, I'll give you the new plan over here.

I've mentioned how small my house is: 823 square feet upstairs, according to the mortgage. While I generally consider this a comfortable size for the Turtle, I see many opportunities for better utilization of space.

One of these opportunities is what I call The Guest Room. It's a 10' x 11' foot "second bedroom." I assume it was intended for a nursery that a normal family would grow out of with the advent of Child Two and move on to another house. The biggest problem with The Guest Room is the set of double wide windows (like 80 x 80 inches, if you're buying curtains) that form the wall facing the street. Hardly evokes a sense of privacy, and causes all manner of heating, decorating and security issues.

TT: If I really had my druthers, I'd remove those windows and replace them with a solid wall and a small bank of windows or acrylic blocks at eye-level. That's a pipe-dream that will only see fulfillment if Mom wins the lottery and shares the wealth.

In the fourteen years I've lived here, The Guest Room has served to house ferrets, a fish tank, a make-shift solarium, all the clothes that don't fit in the master closet, one Kiwi, and currently the upstairs litter box. It tends to be the room all "stuff not currently in use" goes to collect dust. This is a complete waste of 121 square feet (did I do that math right?) out of 823.

I'd love to use it as an office, or an art room, or an upstairs library or a real guest room with an actual bed, but I've never sat down and done the planning. Until last night.

I pulled out my tape measure, graph paper and all the pent-up, not-playing-Farmville-at-night-anymore energy I could muster and started planning.

I'm pretty happy with the results. Not only do I think this can be done for far less money and effort than building a screened-in porch, I believe it will finally allow me to use a space I've avoided for 14 years and give the cats and I an almost-screened-in porch feel.

I'll be posting about this more in the next few weeks, I'm sure, especially if the current rainy weather pattern that is keeping me inside continues.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Enjoy your not-Monday.

Farmville Isn't the Problem

I knew it wasn't anymore. These two weeks proved it. My problem is addiction to mindless activity.

I didn't want to quit FV only to take up another game, but that is what has happened. Instead of watching TV and planting and harvesting, I've been watching TV and playing solitaire or Bubble-spinner. That's no improvement.

I can tell the FV addiction is gone. I'm fine doing something else when the TV isn't on. I'm relieved that I'm not tackling tasks or vulturing feeds or waiting for harvest time. It's liberating.

But as any good therapist (or Jesus) will tell you, you can't just stop doing something. You have to do something else as well. The goal is to make the "something else" worthwhile. Ultimately, we're all exchanging one addiction for another. My addiction used to be writing. During The Depression, it turned to FV. I'm trying to turn it back to writing, but my brain has atrophied.

I've repurposed Virtual Buttercups for recording the ups and downs of life out in The Swamp. That will get me back into writing regular posts about a topic I enjoy in a place I like, and playing with media (videos), as Grace Bridges once recommended. The Turtle is best appreciated in 3D surround-sound, but it's a start. Slow and steady, right? Maybe I'll attract a following of fellow swamp-dwellers.

Happy Friday, dear readers. May you use your brain well today.

My Idea of Heaven

A couple months ago, I was musing about eternity. I want to spend it in a small house in the middle of a huge garden (I'm talking Rhode Island-sized), taking care of all the cats, squirrels, rabbits, turtles, frogs, etc. that were abused or destroyed by thoughtless, careless humans on Earth. I see myself alone in this scenario, other than the animals, and Jesus' daily stop-in.

TT: Jesus is incarnate now, so I constantly wrestle with how He can be everywhere at once. It seems clear to me that after the resurrection, He is a "new creation," both fully God and fully man, transfigured. God the Father and the Holy Spirit remain spirits only, but Jesus is something else.  I don't see His return to Heaven means He shed His new body, which the gospels go to great lengths to show was physical, which also means Heaven is a physical place, even if it exists in another dimension. But this is another post.

This realization surprised me. I have a lot of loved on The Other Side, and I'd like to see them again, but it seems I don't want to spend all eternity living in their pockets. Why should I? They don't want to live with me now, why should they share my comfortable hole in the hill forever? Get your own hole. It's Heaven. There's plenty of room.

Now I've read Revelation. I know all about New Jerusalem, but I also know it "comes down out of Heaven," meaning it isn't Heaven. It's a city in Heaven/on Earth, whatever. I'm totally willing to visit, but I don't want to live in a city for all eternity, and I don't care what it's made of. I hate the city. I only live in a city because I'm unwilling to kill my own meat. And because I don't want to star in a horror film about a cabin in the woods.

Jesus knows me. If He's preparing a place, it's going to be someplace I will love. I guess I'm just surprised at what that definition currently is.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Put your galoshes on. Gonna be a wet morning in Kansas.

Elementals To-Do List

If I want Elementals out to "the public" this August, I have a few things to do.

1. Read it. Again. For final edits. This is the hardest part. I don't feel any urge to read this book one more time. I'm a little sick of it. That's why I haven't looked at it for two years. On the other hand, it may as well be out there potentially earning money while I ignore it instead of waiting on my hard drive.

2. Choose a cover image. I have something I like, but it's not my original pic, so I either need to draw/create something close myself or find a similar pic I can buy. Frankly, after the complaints with Star of Justice, my cover concept excellently rendered by Keven and DeAnna Newsome of Newsome Creative and completely trashed by nearly every reviewer, I just don't care as much as I used to.

3. Choose a font. I'm really hoping Grace will latch on to this item. I hate font-choosing.

4. Read up on formatting for ebooks. Caprice Hokstad, Terri Main, R.L. Copple and maybe even Grace have all written on this topic, and I saved every email. I'll need a week, probably, to go through all of them, but it sounds fairly easy once you get the hang of it.

5. Read up on CreateSpace. This seems to be the vehicle of choice for printing books. I like physical books, and I am willing to put up the money to create them.

6. Buy ISBNs. I hear the price has gone up. Not too much, I hope. I want a few, just in case I get back in the habit of this writing thing.
    An ISBN costs $55?! Holy crap! Gonna need to figure that into the break-even cost. Sheesh.

7. Write some cover copy. I'm not nearly as concerned about this as I should be. My goal is simply to maximize searchability while trying to keep it slightly interesting to a potential reader. How hard can that be?

That's all I can think of at the moment, but I'm sure I'll be adding to it. I may even blog about the journey.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Keep an eye to the sky. Today could get rowdy for some of us.

Helping by Shel Silverstein

Although I've sung this song since third grade (when I first saw Free to Be You and Me in music class), I had no idea until this morning that Shel Silverstein wrote this poem.

In honor of all the people in my life...

Help - Free to Be

I love you all, although some of you are more useful than others. 

Aquasynthesis...Again

Have I mentioned Grace published a short story of mine in an anthology? I know I said it on FB, but I can't remember if I blogged about it, and, frankly, this morning I'm too lazy to look it up.

If you want to know about Caissa Ocren's Test of Water, get Aquasynthesis...Again. Print version is $4.99; ebook $2.99. I've finally put the link over there to the left. Splashdown Books has all the ways and places the book is available, so the link goes there.

I need to order some for myself. Makes a great deal at speaking engagements. "Get autographed copies of Star of Justice and Aquasynthesis...Again for $20." That comes out to $1 for the autograph, so it's hardly a great deal, but people love the appearance of a bargain.

I've hesitated to tout Star of Justice for the simple reason that I'm currently a one-hit wonder. Yes, I could make money on the one, but then I breed ill-will by not providing a second. Worse, I build unreasonable expectations for the second, which only makes me squirm.

Once Elementals is available, I'll have two books and an anthology. I'm willing to shill for that. The second book barrier is broken by a book that has nothing to do with the world of the first, and a third book should be, God willing, on the way in a year or so. With my new knowledge of self-publishing, I'll be able to make my own anthologies of short stories when and if the mood takes me, and the inventory builds.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Is it really Thursday? Wow.

Goodbye, Farmville?

I've played Farmville, on average, three hours a day almost every day for about three and a half years. That's a lot of time, most of it enjoyable for me. So enjoyable, I used to blog daily about the game at Virtual Buttercups.

Farmville fit easily into my daily routine. I played while the cats ate. I played while I did laundry. I played while I watched TV. It provided a satisfying illusion of multi-tasking and mastery. At worst, it passed the time while I waited for something else to happen.

I've tried to be a helpful Neighbor to those who play and a considerate Friend to those who don't (I've always said I'm an addict, not a dealer). Last year, Zynga and I had our final falling out when customer service failed resoundingly to solve a problem to my satisfaction. Knowing that I will never again spend money on the game, that I will never get more farmcash as a result, has taken most of the joy out of playing.

Three hours a day (at least) is a lot of time I could be using for something else (spell that W-R-I-T-I-N-G). I suspect, it's also time that dulls my brain. I don't have to think while playing Farmville, and I don't. But the not thinking seems to extend to other areas, and I can't have that anymore. It is far easier to plant a crop than write a scene, but the scene is more important.

So, I'm quitting. I've limited play this week to half an hour in the morning while the cats eat and I listen to Focus on the Family. I'm emptying my giftbox. I'm putting my fields in order. I'm not feeling any withdrawal yet, but it's early. We'll see.

I have a book to publish this August. I'll need the time to prepare. Then I have a book to finish this year. I'll need brain power for that.

I'm not deleting the app. I'm not going cold turkey. I need the option to resume play to make sure I don't resume play. Call it immaturity. As long as it works.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. May you find the strength to overcome your addictions. When you're ready, of course. No judgment here.