Strange fascinations

I feel for my physiotherapist.  I am incapable of silence when in the company of others.  This is a bit of a surprise to me.  Regardless, I ask him tons of questions about physiotherapy, ultrasound, treatments, changes in medicine over the last twenty years and how they affect his practice. I ask about patient patterns, industry growth and improved understanding of the human body when it comes to physiology, kinesiology and psychiatry.

I have always been curious about science and medicine. Both of my grandmothers were nurses, my brother and nephew were both born with a malabsorption issue and my family has had all sorts of life-altering diseases.  The more I've understood the better equipped I've been to helping them out whenever possible.

Books have been the gateway to knowledge for as long as I can remember.  Fairy tales and nursery rhymes hid life lessons from an earlier times.  My dad encouraged me to understand the symbolism and parable in each.

The thing is that no matter how much I learn, it's the tip of the iceberg to what I can still learn. Books tell me so much but trained professionals and experts can teach me so much more.  I ask a few questions then listen to the answers.

It's not just my physiotherapist I subject to my interrogations.  Friends, family, strangers on the Internet are all fascinating subjects for me to interview.  I explore the vastness of space and the microcosm of biology, the complexities of human behaviour and the simplicity of faith, the cruelty of fate and the kindness of whimsy.

I don't think fascination with life and all it holds is limited to me. I think it's a very strong foundation of most writer personalities. It gives depth and interest to our characters, our worlds and our stories.

What's your strange fascination?

Ch-changes

I've been busy working on the business side of writing. That's not my skill set. I write.  However, I've consulted with several people who are in total control of their writing careers, as well as people who excel in the various departments.

There are some changes coming to the blog. Some changes coming to my writing routine.  Most importantly, there are some changes coming to the story-in-hand process.  I am torn between terror and excitement. Fitting as I write both romance and horror.

As soon as the new stuff is up, I'll let you all know.  Excuse me while I go freak out.  Change is scary. But vital.

#WhyIWrite

A friend recently asked why I write fiction - like it's a choice.  There are stories in my head at all times. Like two people getting seats at a hockey game, each wearing jerseys from the opposing team. If they are teams that have been rivals since the  beginning of the league even better. My brain automatically writes  the rest of the story. Maybe there's a mutual attraction. Maybe they agree to let the children choose a team for themselves.

Or a wedding photographer meets a bridesmaid at several different weddings. To him it's just a lucrative job. He's divorced and determined to never risk his heart again.  She's a hopeless romantic.

The stockboy has been stalking the cheerleader for weeks. One night he approaches her behind the store where they both work. She stabs him in the eye with her car key.

I could probably think of twenty more scenarios without even trying.  Better on the page than rolling around inside my head.

Why do you read fiction?

Community

The good news is we're reasonably sure we know why I was dizzy all summer - migraine. Apparently there's a migraine who's only symptom is dizziness. Figures. I now have four types of migraine on any given day.

This is interfering with my writing - and may account for my fascination with horror.

I've been reading a lot of non-fiction as well as fiction these days.  Losing myself in the worlds of others is a good way to actually find what's important to me, or answers to my own world. Dolphin research, missing indigenous women, depression lies and wonderful romances where the heroes rescue animals and the heroines catch the bad guys reaffirm how fortunate I am in the life I chose. When having a bad day, like putting the car in the wrong gear and moving the garage back two feet as a result, perspective is much appreciated. Things can always be worse. Sometimes, they can be a bit better but honestly, it's a good life.

That's been the primary takeaway from all that reading.  No matter how horrible the tragedies most of those people have faced, they have this amazing spirit, a determination to make their lives better as well as the lives of those around them.  Even the dolphins who seem to have wonderful lives swimming in the seven seas can teach us about community and supporting one another.  They assist each other in times of crisis and of joy.

I have a strong community of friends both online and in my daily existence.  Several suffer with migraines and have been helpful with tips for preventing them. Others live with depression and have given me a great deal of insight into what they experience so that I can support rather than judge their choices.  My insurance adjuster is funny as hell so that's helped, as have all the people I've dealt with throughout the process.

My writing buddy insists all of the above is fodder for the mill and she's right.  You just know I'm going to use some of it in a story somewhere.

Light and shadow

My friend and I abandoned an awesome art show for a few hours on Sunday to go play at Edwards Gardens.  It's not exactly Central Park but it is an oasis in the city.  We were a tad disappointed that so many other people felt the same way.  We had a creepy photo shoot in mind.  Not exactly something you can do without an explanation - or a plethora of horrified looks.

Exhibit A

There's a nice little gazebo. Dark and spider filled, it suited our needs nicely. We took a couple shots but the headless one is my favourite.  I think it was helped by the bulky white sweater I was wearing. It tricked the camera's aperature. Yay!

Exhibit B

I love shadows and all the wonderful things you can do with them. I particularly enjoyed the irony of using lush green grass as our back drop.  I call it Norman Bates meets Whistler's Mother.  The purse over my shoulder changed my shape so that I looked considerably older and wider than normal.  Still, I like it.

Exhibit C

Hmmm, I don't seem to have any photos of the tree that fascinated me with the way the leaves and light played together.  I do have one dark photo of me watching it all.I'm in shadow and holding my hair out of my eyes so I can see better.  Check out the creepy shadow on my arm. The tree is eating me!

In the end I decided against the committment it would require to lie at the bottom of the broken stairs beneath the police tape.  Besides, I prefer to throw the bodies down there, not be one myself.

Autumn

I had a good conversation on Twitter about writer's inspiration.  I realized that I'm drawn towards horror stories in the Autumn. The obvious correlation to Halloween isn't the only reason. Most of it comes from the scent of decay in the air.  Leaves turn to mould, apples rot on the ground, the by-product of wine grapes presses down on the air with its sour notes.  Mildew permeates everything.

It's also the time of Fall fairs with their carnivals and clowns.  "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."  I always associated that quote with Road Dahl and Ray Bradbury because they had such wicked observations of the nature of man.  I missed out on MacBeth by moving to another province midway through high school.

Yet, Autumn is my favourite season. The smell of wood smoke riding the cool breeze reminds me of Hansel and Gretel. Cotton candy and taffy apples or even apple cider to fill the blood with the sugar rush that makes me feel invincible, daring, confident I'll return unscathed from the dark basement.

It's the time of year when rats scurry from lodging to lodging for the perfect damp place to hide out the winter months.  Squirrels throw the empty walnut shells from the tree.  My yard is littered with the remnants of their gorging feasts. Claw marks decorate the outer blocks of our foundation.

Yet, I love it all. I love the smells, the colours of leaves as they age then float to the ground. I love the myriad textures of the ground as it cools and retains moisture.  Holes appear where before there was solid ground.  The rat-a-tat pop of shells hitting the deck and the angry chatter of squirrels squabbling over the late harvest.  So many flavours dance upon my tongue; pumpkin, peach, wine, fresh corn, squash, rich dark concord grapes.  Autumn is a feast for the senses.

Fear underscores it all. Fear that there won't be enough food. That we're aging faster than we like. That the ground will flood. That the crops won't return next spring.  That there are things waiting in the dark more terrifying than we can imagine.

We like the fear because it shows we care.  We are attached to the return of all we need.  And we believe it all will.  It always has.

There's no reason to think it won't again.

But we enjoy the thrill of fear, regardless.

Safety platform

Last week, I went back to the literal train bridge.  I took a break from writing, work, and other commitments. It was hard not to think of my last post.  I educated my friend about those safety platforms and we decided they would be very useful to have in all aspects of our life.

I don't like to quit. Diets are the only thing I truly abandon and even those get revisited on occasion. I do often switch up one activity for another when I'm frustrated over the lack of progress.  More often than not the progress is held up by my preconceived notions.

I'm about to start a fourth book in the previously mis-named trilogy.  My heroine has amazing conflict and arc. The hero is pretty cool but his conflict and arc are so minor in comparison. I'm trying to decide if that can be twisted to maximum advantage (how can he possibly understand her if he can't relate?) or if I should gut him somehow.

I have retreated to the safety platform, in this case creating a wedding gift, while I ponder which train to follow.  Outrunning them seems unnecessary when I can take my time and see where they're headed instead.

Which train would you follow?

PS - I feel a bit like Sheldon Cooper and his obsession with trains

Train bridge aka Not my best title

Some friends were just talking about household repairs and the lengths some vendors will go to in order to move equipment.  It made me think about all the times that we're so focused on one route that we cannot see the others.  So I wrote "Sometimes it's better to get off the tracks rather than try to out-run the train".

That made me think about my writing. Over the years I've become more flexible about changing genders or characters to better suit the story. I've re-written plots because characters solved the entire issue on page three (sometimes they are much smarter than I am).  I've changed titles repeatedly to get the exact sense in three words or less.  As a writer I am considerably more flexible than I am as a person. Mind you, that took a lot of time. My critique partners will tell you I clung to my ideas even when the entire group thought I'd gone off in the wrong direction.  My paths are rarely direct.  In writing or life.

As a business person, I know nothing. My instinct tells me one thing but my experience is the opposite.  I have enlisted the advice and guidance of business people from other fields. My former accountant thought writing was an absolute waste of my time from a financial point of view. That opinion has been repeated by everyone I've consulted. None of their opinion has anything to do with my writing quality but everything to do with the competition and business model for publishing.  Indie or self-publishing has made the above both better and worse. There are a lot more options for the writer to take control of their career.  No one I've talked to who is doing it is able to support themselves financially from writing alone.

I have a good job doing something I love. I also love writing. I jumped off the tracks for two years and didn't write much. I definitely didn't pursue it as a career.  But the manuscripts have stacked up.  Their stories want to be heard.  So I'm running down the track again.  The train behind me is gaining speed.  Fortunately, there is a bump out alongside the track, a safe place to stand when the train barrels past.

I'm going to stand there and read up on more options. I'm sure another train will  be along any minute if I want to run in front of it. Or I could wait until the track is quiet and sprint down the bridge then.

If you're not sure where I mean, look straight above the left swan's head and you'll see the little cut-out on the top of the train bridge.

When is a kiss sexual assault?

I primarily write romance. It may have some paranormal elements to it but at the end of the day it is a romance that ends on a happy note.

When my characters meet they are invariably strangers.  Their first kiss is monumental. It is part of both character and plot.  It rarely follows the "Can I kiss you?" scenario.  They read each other's signals.

Then I read this article about a reporter who was kissed on-air by a strange man.  Full disclosure, the author of the article, Michael Hollett, is my cousin, not that our relationship has any bearing on the discussion.  I am aware of the backlash he encountered because he posted about it on Facebook. Michael has always stood behind his beliefs, solidly and without wavering. I know that because we're family and it's been a part of his personality from before I was born.

All the family stuff aside, the article, and Michael's stance, made me think about how easy it is to justify assault through non-verbal cues.  I read far more romance than I write. I interact with human beings every day at work and at home. I've been witness to, and experienced, sexual assault. In most of the cases I can personally attest to, both literary and actual, the aggressor "mis-read" the victim's body language. In a lot of cases, they didn't care.

Is the skin flushed from fear or arousal? Are the eyes dilated from apprehension or pleasure? Is the breathing ragged from panic or anticipation?  Those are the cues we use to determine whether our physical attention is wanted.  It is so easy to read those signals based on our own desires and expectations.

Honestly, I've never considered the first kiss scene where the hero, or heroine, suddenly presses their lips against the heroine's, or hero's, lips to be sexual assault. You know going into the story that these people are going to meet, fall in love, triumph over conflict and live happily ever after. In real life, that is most definitely not the case.

Are romance novels at fault for that mis-communication? Not any more than video games are responsible for the increase in gun crimes at movie theatres.  There are correlations but most of us know the difference between reality and fiction.

Still, I've given the kiss as sexual assault a lot of thought.  A lot of thought. Just because we never viewed something a specific way before doesn't mean we shouldn't start.

Random thoughts because it's a Wednesday

I have a notebook full of story ideas and half scenes.  Anything on television from news to game shows is fodder for story.  I had a brilliant idea the other day based on a science show my nephew and I were watching. We discussed it briefly but I failed to write it down.  I asked him about it yesterday.  His response, "You said what if something like that was really true and the thing did another thing and that happened." Really?  "Yes. It was a good idea." Except neither one of us remembers anything specific.

Notebooks. They can save you from hours of speculation that never leads anywhere.

Or maybe it was just the idea that people thought their house was haunted because things went missing or reappeared in the wrong places.  Turns out it's just a cat. No real twist to anyone who has ever shared space with a cat. They're brutal for stealing items and hiding them. I lived with a crow who was tidier than a cat. Crows store all their treasure in their nest, not beneath the fridge or inside your shoe. And why on earth do they think a shoe is excellent cache for a mouse.  We use those shoes every day.

My mind makes weird connections. I might just write a story that puts several of them together. But first the pseudonym.  And remembering the idea where the news was true and the thing did another thing and that happened. Then the parrot laughed. Because he knows how foolish human brains can be.

Names

Greetings, my friends.  The trilogy has a name - The Tiger's Eye series. Yes, series. Because while brainstorming the three books I kept coming back to one character from the third in the trilogy that was never planned. The first was a standalone.  Then a character caught my attention. Then another one. And now a fourth. She got short-thrift in the third book and the goddess noticed. So she issued a challenge that the shy character is going to have to steel her spine in order to meet.

I have to finish two origin stories first. One for a secret project (who knew I could keep a secret?) and one for the horror story. It's the epilogue that shows how the painting became so disturbing.  Because the final scene was so horrific, I have to make the creation scene compelling but also equally intense.  The research has been too much for me to stomach so my nephew approached a neighbour who is also a hunter.  It's always good to have help.

I need a pseudonym for the horror story.  It's not like anything else I write.  I don't want to confuse readers who are used to the voice you read over here.  DNe suggested I look at contemporaries of Edgar Allen Poe and see what tweaks my creative radar.  Of course, I immediately thought of Raven. It's a good name. It's not creepy though the poem is suspenseful.

What really holds me back though is an excellent short story writer I follow on Twitter - Jesse Raven  His writing style is so tight and suspenseful.  I look forward to his upcoming compilation.  Go check out his website. You'll see why I need a different name. Ravens may flock together but one usually stands out and Jesse is it.

So the search for pseudonym continues.  I could possibly keep one half of Keziah Fenton. I'm not sure which half.  It's a quest. I love those.

What says horror name to you?  Remember, Stephen King is already taken.

Trilogy title

Woohoo! I just finished the revisions on the NC paranormal romance, Putting Down Roots. It now joins Heaven Coming Down and Hell to Pay in the complete trilogy. 

It's exciting to finally be down a project that's taken ten years from the original sentence in the first book to the final sentence in the third. I had no idea I was starting a trilogy when the idea came to me.  And all because a cocky man I knew at the time said that he could solve all of the world's problems if he had the same time and resources as God.  

I need a name for the trilogy. The first is a quest to save the world, features gods and demons. The second is a challenge to save one man’s soul from the demon’s daughter and the third is about nymphs and humans curing cancer while falling in love. The central theme in all three books is man's interference with nature. All the characters from the first two appear in the final showdown with the evil nymph at the end of the third book. 

Do you have any ideas on what I can call the trilogy?

PS - I am doubly proud of myself for finishing it while still suffering from vertigo.  If something means enough to you, you will find a way

Still spinning

Being dizzy 75% of the day makes one cranky. That's my experience, at least.  I miss reading and writing.  I've jotted things in my notebook when the world isn't going by quite so quickly but the days of spending hours at my desk seem but a distant memory.  Steps are being taken to resolve this.

In the meantime, I've learned the following:

Sitting on the ground is a good position for not only weeding but throwing a ball. Be sure to sit on the grass so that when you fall over, it's a cushy landing.

The reason the wild petunia isn't doing so well is the neighbour's volunteer black walnut. If you lie on your back and stare up between the leaves, the sky looks like it's been serrated.  Also, that tree grew very tall very fast.

Mulberries hold fast to the tree branches during a wind storm but leap from their stems if you're trying to pick them. Also, a robin can ride out the wind if the berries are plentiful.

Cats like to sleep in the window.  They also like to chirp at the foraging squirrel.  A closed window is best at these times.

Every manner of vegetation will grow in the cracks of the sidewalk.

If you lie on the floor, the birds will fly from their cage to walk all over you.  The cat stands back as beaks are sharp.  Also, freckles look a lot like seeds. Beaks are very sharp when the freckle holds fast to the skin.  Beak wounds heal quickly with the aid of coconut oil.

Closing your eyes to slow the spinning of the earth occasionally results in naps.

Reading a printed page is much easier on the senses than a screen.  No new book scent on the screen.

All of the above can be used as research in one capacity or another. It's all fodder. Fodder!

Stay balanced, my friends

It's always something

Vertigo, my friends. It's my second go-around in as many months. I'm am tired of the world spinning past me.  I've been moving my body to minimize the speed at which things fly past my fast when I am no longer in motion.

That is not conducive to writing. Or reading, for that matter. Hence, the complete and total lack of creativity. That made the writing retreat an odd experience. Fortunately, I am blessed and was able to have many conversations and brainstorming sessions.  I have notes made in the moments when the spinning was less severe.

Do you suppose the fact that the new project is about spinning wool had any bearing on my inability to stand still? Spinning, spun, fell.  At least, I have some great ideas. And sheep photos. We were staying in a town whose university mascot is a ram. Lots and lots of ram paraphanalia. So my mind was definitely on the new project.

What do you do when you are unable to work on a project?

May updates

Rootless Trees is done its first draft!! I've been sitting on it waiting for feedback from my critique partner. I really struggled with the last two scenes.  There were a lot of loose ends to tidy.  Even in sewing or knitting, I hate doing the loose ends.  You have to take time to ensure they are woven in well enough that they don't unravel, nor are seen by the eye (untrained or expert).

I'm very pleased with the horror story. It needed about five sentences for revisions. Unfortunately, that leaves it at novella length. My plan for that manuscript needed another 20,000 words. That would destroy the rhythm of the story. More pondering.

So on to the Icelandic sweater story.  I need a reason the two friends will fall out. It needs to be big enough and real enough to cause a rift that can only be mended by some serious growth on the part of the two heroines.  No one dies. No one gets divorced. Those are my two rules.  These women have been friends for over twenty years. They can say anything to each other.  But one of them has to cross a line, no matter how unreasonable it is, for the other to fall out with her. I'm just not sure which line or which one crosses it.  Other than that, I have an outline and am pleased.

At this point, I can write the opening as well as get to know the characters. I'm sure the break will reveal itself. In the meantime, the feedback for Rootless Trees was good so I can take it from there.

In other news, my beautiful mulberry tree has been cut back drastically. Two gutters and a house corner were pummeled by the two main branches that curved over the porch. I don't have pictures of the handsome man on my roof taking care to damage the tree as little as possible. He managed to save three main branches, enough for a couple of jars of mulberry jam.   I'll spare you the photos.  It hurts my heart to stand at my desk and look out the window.  One thin branch continues to reach up towards my office and occasionally wave.

Letting go

Just two scenes left to write. Two scenes.  I know exactly what's going to happen. So why is it taking so long to actually write all the words that are needed?

One theory is that I don't want the book to end. It's the third in a trilogy and I really like these characters. They've all been with me in one form or another for seventeen years.  The original idea came out of a conversation with a male friend who thought he knew everything.  Once the characters showed themselves they became as real to me as any imaginary friends. They're independent of my will. I know that sounds a little bit nuts but other writers feel the same way about their characters.

Another theory as to my delay in finishing these two scenes is the need to send them off in a really big way.  I keep trying to improve on the grandiosity of the final scene. That's in conflict with the tone of the story. Yes, there's magic. Yes, they're changing the world and curing cancer. But their personalities would dwell on the moment rather than the larger picture. They are intimate scenes about two characters and how their interaction affects each other.  Saving the world is the by-product.

Do you ever hold off finishing a story (reading or writing) because you're not quite ready to let the characters go off into the world without you?

Musical inspiration

The current manuscript is tentatively Season of Renewal which doesn't have earth in it either. I originally called it Rootless Trees.  I like that title as they both are floundering without connections other than the ones they make together in this new land.  That is a very angry song by Damien Rice.   It's come in handy a few times as I worked on various scenes.

There are multiple versions of this song. The most haunting is the one with Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan.  I won't post a link as I cannot find the official version that used to be on Damien's website.  The angry version is much faster and full of power.  Google them on youtube.

What I like most about this song is the varied nuances in each and every rendition.  And I use them all in the story.  Because sometimes being a rootless tree can free you up to find your heart's true home.

Titles - not as easy as one would suppose.

Titles

I'm wrapping up the third book in a trilogy.  The first was titled Heaven Coming Down, followed by Hell to Pay.  The last one should have Earth in the title. It was called Rootless Trees because both hero and heroine are transplanted but the truth is the book is about regrowth after the forest fire sweeps through and razes everything to the ground.  I like Earth's Renewal but it doesn't have the same rhythm of the other two titles.

I've spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at quotes and sayings about trees.  This is one of my favourites -

What did the tree learn from the earth
to be able to talk with the sky? 
- Pablo Neruda

It won't work for my title so I need your help.  Do you have any suggestions?

Welcome, Spring

Yikes, over a month since my last post. Things have been busy.

My nieces took part in a Bear Bear photo shoot. We had so much fun it was ridiculous. Then it was decided that Bear Bear had to be returned to the Lost and Found and could not be played with by us. His brief taste of fame was over. I am still compiling the stories. I'm looking into a way to illustrate them.

After five months of living beside each other, Amadala moved into Yoda's cage yesterday. I had nothing to do with it. They decided on their own that they were ready for cohabitation. It is a nice big dwelling and the cage door is open most of the time. Neither bird is afraid to peck the cat. He has the wounds to prove it. Regardless, they are not left unsupervised.

My plan to finish Bracken's story by the end of March was knocked off course by external forces. Now that I have a handle on those, back to writing. I'm pleased with how it's coming along.

One last thing - the end of winter does not mean it's short weather. Not yet. Soon.

Writing and knitting and bears, oh my

I've been busy with Bear Bear and nieces and editing and finishing projects. I should have photos and stories to share shortly.  The only thing I've actually completed is the sweater I started knitting during the Winter Olympics a year ago. I had to stop because of the elbow injury.  Now that's as good as it's going to get(considerably better than it was) I'm incorporating more of my activities back into my life.

I've also done a fair amount of shoveling. Not Boston marathons of shoveling but enough every day that my upper body is starting to look good. Mother Nature is a very effective trainer, and less expensive than a gym membership.  I am one of the happy minority enjoying this winter.

What's new in your neck of the woods? (and why do we call it that?)

#How librarians spend their breaks

This is the short story I wrote when we found a little bear in the lost and found at work.  It is the first in a series of adventure for the lost bear my coworker named.

We're promoting it every where in the hope that his family sees his photo and claims him.  

Bear Bear was scared. His family was lost. This place was nice. Bright. Smelled like books.

He liked books. But his family wasn't here. The lady behind the counter picked him up from the couch and put him on the cabinet. He could see everyone who came into this sunny place. The lady talked to him. She was nice. She petted him and told him she would help him find his family.

But first he needed a bath.

Not a bath! A bath would ruin his stuffing. He didn't have much stuffing left. His family had loved it right out of him.

The nice lady said bears had to be clean to stay at the library.

He was at the library! His family loved the library. There were stories and games and movies and lots of fun things to do while he waited for them to come back.

Bear Bear decided a bath would be okay. He would have a bath and sit on the cabinet and wait. His family would come back and see him up there.

The library was a safe place to wait. Maybe he could read a good book while he waited.

Switching things up

They say if you're stuck writing one thing you should dive into something completely out of your comfort zone.  I didn't write for almost two years. I futzed at stuff but nothing that moved stories forward.  It was a bleak time.

Then I wrote a horror story and words flowed. The images that flickered behind my eyes were so powerful I had to record them.  It was cathartic in a lot of ways.  I'd been processing so much grief and rage that it was easy to understand not only the motivation but emotions of those characters.

When I was done that story I felt better about myself as both a writer and a human being.  It's a good piece. It needs some tweaking and I'll get to that sooner rather than later.

The horror story made it possible for me to go back to writing romance. I not only believed in the power of love again,but that I had something interesting to say about it.  The demons that had held me back from writing had been exorcised as part of writing the horror story.

Last week, someone left their little stuffed bear at work.  So far I've written three stories about that little bear. More importantly, I've finished the rough draft of the novel-in-progress and am on track to finish the Hit by a Truck edits by the end of the month.  I've been writing so much I've neglected the blog. Most of what I'm doing is the old pen and paper edits.  I even took them to the doctor's office yesterday and worked away on the exam table.  Why do they make you change into a thin cotton gown then wait 20 minutes for the doctor to appear?  No problem, that was 20 minutes I put to good use.

What's the most interesting way you've heard of people switching gears for a project?

Synchronicity

Hozier. Great music and wonderfully inspirational.  I am on the penultimate scene of the first draft.  I warm up with a bit of singing along, then dance around till the ideas starting flowing and away I go.

I've been reading a lot the last couple of weeks. We always gift each other with books for the holidays. For some reason this year mine were science based.  Then yesterday we went to see Imitation Game about Alan Turing. It was heart-breaking, brilliant and incredible to realize how much the world has changed, how much it has not and how fortunate we are to recognize both facts.

My friends and I went out afterwards to discuss the movie and life.  Again, a bit of science discussion that helped me realize that despite it being a subject in which I did not do well at school, my brain absorbs so much more than for which it's given credit.  While describing something completely unrelated to the movie or my story, it hit me.  The end of my book was right there in front of my face all this time.

I went to sleep with the ending in mind. I work up with it still there. When I came home from work today, Hozier and I made beautiful music together and I wrote.

Sometimes you need something unrelated to show you what you already know.

I hope this year is full of wonderful surprises, scientific or otherwise, for all of us.

Music!

This past year I discovered several new-to-me artists.  I also used my standing desk more often than not.You put the two elements together and voila - happy writer. Or productive writer.But if one of those elements is missing, I struggle to put words on the page.

I let a lot of stuff get in my own way.  My responsibilities and obligations are more than some people's and less than others. It was more a matter of putting it all first. Now my stuff is a priority as well.  (You'll get the hang of it, Susan, I slowly am)

Music is a distraction for some but it motivates me.  Right now, I'm listening to Hozier while typing at my standing desk. I'm further into the current scene than I have been in weeks.  Partly because I remembered to just let the story out instead of worrying about how it all fits together. But also because I can lose myself in the music.  It keeps one part of my brain busy while another part creates.
May you find the things in life that bring you pleasure.  There's always something that will block that if you allow it but it's okay to put yourself and your needs first once in a while. Crank up the music and dance or turn it on low and let it mellow you out. Whatever suits your current mood and need.

Happy New Year, Friends!

Merry Christmas

I don't send cards, I wrap with gift bags and I find that I buy less and less stuff every year. I bake. A lot. And I share enough of it to feel like I'm not overindulging. It's good to have illusions this time of year.

My favourite gift - to give as well as receive - is the gift of presence.  The nieces and nephew get to pick one day out of the year that is devoted to them and them alone. We eat what they want to eat, spend the time however they most wish to spend it. They don't have to share with their siblings or parents. The day is theirs and we build memories. It's difficult to wrap so I occasionally hand out gift certificates or make a little toy or item of clothing.

I had tea with a dear friend yesterday and neither one of us could remember the presents from our childhood, apart some big earth-shattering gifts, but we remember family, goofy moments and food.

Boy, do we ever remember food. Oranges, apples, Toblerone and those sticky ribbon candies. Shortbread, Hello Dollys, and fudge. Tortieres, stuffing, and turkey basted with scotch. Cooking disasters like gravy made with baking soda instead of corn starch, scorched potatoes, raw turkey because the oven died on Christmas Day (the only time we grilled a turkey on the BBQ) .

What's your favourite Christmas memory?

Surprise!

I'd love to say that I finished the rough draft of the wip but that would be a lie. It's close though.

I've just been overwhelmed with a restless feeling for the last five or six weeks. I've scrubbed my house, finished up lots of little projects, started some others and focused on purging stuff.

A lot of it was mental. Somewhere over the last few years my self-image had eroded. Chipped at by other people's needs, it lost all semblance of familiarity.  My identity had been reduced to that of other people's context.  I let go of the things important to me in order to do what desperately needed to be done for those I love. My time was spent on their stuff instead of my own. I saw myself in terms of other people instead of myself (except for when I was feeling sorry for myself)

About two weeks ago, I ran face first into my past and the life I thought I always wanted. It hurt. Holy smokes, the pain reverberated throughout my body.  A giant Toblerone and smaller chocolate cake later, I took a good hard look at what I'd done to myself. I was fixated on what I didn't achieve instead of all that I have accomplished.

I like who I am now, at the life I've built for myself over the years. Yeah, there are some things that need tweaking and my self-image was terribly skewed.

As I've rebuilt it, I've been reminded how much I like my own company. Odd, that. I won't list all the things that are admirable or amazing about me. Some of you have been telling me those things for years and I've ignored you.  Suffice it to say that I do like who I am and the choices I've made.  Some of them were shaky but made for the right reasons and that's important.

Intent counts.

All the reflection and re-evaluating has made me a better writer. I looked at my characters, at my scenes and realized that they were all moving towards a goal they didn't really want but thought they should.  That breakthrough is a game changer for this story and the reason I can say I'm close to the end of the rough draft.

Art and life are interconnected. You can have one without the other but it is so much better when you have both.

Little things

Because there have been so many overwhelming things demanding my attention, I've focused on little things.

Emptying the sewing basket of items in need of mending

Reclaiming a cast iron pan

Replacing the clasp on my bracelet

And adding sentences one or three at a time to the wip.

How do you cope with large demands?

come hither

I've been problem solving some serious RL issues. There wasn't anything left in my brain between that and work. Yesterday, I got some excellent solutions in place. And last night, my brain played with the penultimate scene in my story. I have some heavy commitments over the next two days but my notebook will be with me. The imagination beckons. What a relief!

Dufferin Islands

I was sitting in the sun, waiting for a good friend and her wonderful husband to stroll through the Autumn leaves. This tiny flower was beneath my hand.

This was my view.

Breathe deep, my friends, the air is restorative.

George

This is a piece of fleece I brought home from Rotmell Farm where Granny was born almost 150 years ago.

He got a bit felted in my luggage so I put him on top of Granny's cabinet filled with yarn. The pictures over him are from the Visitor Center in Dunkeld, just down the road from the farm.

cutwork

I've enjoyed seeing things anew in my home. They're all there because I like them but I don't always see them.

This is one of the end tables. The photo is one of Jon Gustafsson's, the rock is from Iceland and the cloth reminds me of Grandma Fenton's lace work. It isn't hers but I do like it.

I'm a big fan of cutwork.

Whats the story?

My great-uncle (he really was great) made these two boxes. He used them in his workshop. The top one has hinges to hold pages down so they don't get caught when you close the drawers.

Yet, with all the care and precision  that went into the chests, the handles are slapdash. That's not like him at all and I really want to hear that story.

sheep

This arrangement sits on my vanity. The rocks and thistle are from Dunfermline, the sheep is from Edinburgh. He was supposed to be a souvenir toy for Ky but I like him.

Look at that face

Horseman

I've had this guy sitting on my dresser for years. Sadly, his head won't stay on not matter what kind of glue I use. He really is the headless horseman. Ba dum bum.

Imagine my surprise when I went to Scotland, to the home where my great-grandmother was born, and saw a headed copy of my horseman. Freaked me out, but tickled me too.

More often than not he has one of my bracelets  draped around his neck.

Houses

I've kept this picture in my kitchen for years. I used to want to live here.

Now I want to live here

Kyanite

I walk by these three specimens repeatedly throughout the day. This stone is how my dog got his name. His legs reminded me of the black kyanite in the front. The blue is easier to find. The big piece was from a good friend. A Welcome Puppy gift. His grey had a hint of blue when he was young so it was appropriate.

Pretty blue

I walk past this weed every day. It lurks at the edge of the garden and brushes everyone on the sidewalk.  I think it actually helped the tomatoes grow so I don't pull it. It's very pretty. Chickory?

Right in front of our eyes

The biggest note I have on the wip is DETAILS.  All those little things involving the senses that flesh out a story and give insight to a character's emotional, physical, mental state are vital.

It occurred to me this morning that there are hundreds of details right at hand, part of my everyday life, that I ignore or take little notice of.  Every day this week, I'm going to post a picture of something that I either walk by, sit beside, use every day that gets next to no thought from me.  It's my way of remembering to include the details and small touches in the story.

This is the sleeve I put on my cup of tea every morning at work.  I bought it in Whistler in 2010 a few weeks after the Winter Olympics left town.  I likely paid a third of the peak season asking price. It's pretty and I love the swirls of ice from one activity to another.

Change of pace

Two and a half weeks since I lasted posted.  Hard to believe that much time has gone by.  Nothing weird or exciting happened but nothing bad either so that's good.

I spent one long afternoon walking along the Niagara Parkway from Dufferin Islands to the Tesla statue by the Victoria restaurant (or whatever it is called these days).  It was a week day so the tourists were minimal.  The air was crisp and clear, little wind to blow the mist around and the bright sun to dry out the clothes.  There were a few spots I stood where the rush of the river was so loud it drowned out all thoughts.  That alone made the day perfect.

I sat under the tree right here, my favourite tree, and actually wrote for a while.  There were lots of problems with the story but that day I remembered some key elements about my characters.  I let the fresh air and scent of the water fill my soul while my brain absorbed everything around me. I made two pages of notes on the setting.  Silly, really, because this story never goes near the falls but the connection to nature is very strong, elemental.

It is good to take yourself out of the routine, hie off to a change of scenery.  While it might be familiar, you never know what you might find. I found peace, the germ of an idea, and wild yarrow growing at the edge of the falls.

One GREAT thing

Another rough week. Ky ate grapes which are incredibly toxic to dogs.  48 ours on IV to flush his kidneys, lots of drugs and time spent running between the emergency vet clinic and his regular vet.  Honestly, it's been a rough four weeks for pets around here.  The great news is that he not only survived but seems fully recovered. He also got over his aversion to being crated. As he typically destroys every crate/cage he's entered, this is a very good thing.  All of the human food has now been hung from the ceiling or cupboards like we're cacheing for bears.Whatever works.

I have a great reason for low word count this week. There wasn't a lot of sleep happening here until Friday.

Today, I printed off the document, settled on the couch with Ky under one hand and Eliot on the other.  With the race on in the background I fleshed out two scenes, about eight pages.  More importantly, I was able to see, and fix, the problem that's been staring me in the face for the last couple of weeks. Let's hope the solution lasts.  As the distraction is gone, I imagine productivity will return.

I've had to cancel my vacation and next week's kayaking tour of the harbor but listening to Ky breathe, feeling his soft fur beneath my fingers, even smelling the clinic smell on him makes it all worth it.  One look at the shaved forearms and I know how blessed I am to still have him in my life.

Grapes bad.
Emergency vet clinics very good.
End of story.

Sports writing

I'm not sure why I'm surprised to see my Twitter full of authors watching sports.  My first year of college, we were required to cover the local hockey team for the cable station.  First year students were cable runners.  I argued that I knew more about the sport than the guy on camera two.  He didn't know where the blue line was or why it was important. Aside from the fact that it's a giant line of blue painted right onto the ice, I was offended.  It took months for me to convince anyone that my point was valid. I showed up, pulled cables and discussed team strategy in the pre-game meeting. Because I had paid that much attention to the game, I was pretty good at anticipating what certain players would do with the puck once they got it.

Eventually, I challenged the guy on camera two (who went on to be a brilliant cameraman in LA so it was only hockey that failed him) to a quiz about the game. I managed to convince the teacher that IF I was  the winner, I could take over camera two. I won. Hands down. Then I set my sights on colour commentary.  Part of it was the challenge, part of it was true interest.  Of course, I ended up in the booth.  Feedback to the station was remarkably positive.  I say remarkable because my voice is not suited to on-air.  There was no disputing my knowledge.

None of that would be necessary today. Women have come a long way when it comes to sports broadcasts.  It was always ridiculous to assume gender had anything to do with knowledge in any field.

So why does it surprise me that so many romance authors love sports?  Few of them write them.  The bias still exists in publishing.  But I've been tweeting back and forth with a NASCAR team during the races lately and my head is spinning with a story idea as a result.That tends to happen no matter what subject I'm interested in - stories are everywhere. It doesn't mean that I'll do anything with that idea. Although...I do have NASCAR story started in the older files on my computer.

How do you feel about sports in romance novels?

Cars going through inspection at Indy 2013

Hiccups

I got stuck a lot longer than I expected. For every two words I threw on the page, I erased three.  It was ridiculous.  I knew it was temporary but something really hasn't worked the past couple of weeks.  Some of it has been external, some of it has been medication but some of it was internal.  Every night I lie in bed and think about my characters. I think about where they're going and how they're getting there.  I'm not stuck in that regard.

Two things trigger writing for me.  Music and water.  Water in a glass to drink or water outside my window for me to stare at.  Water clears my mind. Music fills it with other stuff so that I can focus on the scenes I need to write.

Today, I realized that my solution for the external story conflict was really good but possibly not the best one.  The other thing is the isolation in which both characters live. It''s important in the beginning but as the story and characters progress they are getting out more, interacting more and the external conflict would be a lot stronger if they pulled on all their new connections to defeat the antagonist. They are not the only ones affected by it.

The good news is that writing happens - even when words don't reach the page every day.

In other news, I've been watching a live feed from Iceland.  I tend to check it out to get a feel for the country but have been fascinated by the view of the volcano.  Bardarbunga2 shows the magma and ash plumes.

Creativity

It seems I'm always doing something creative.  I'm not a big rule follower so that hampers my productivity at times.  I write in layers. I sew by hand.  I mesh patterns together to knit a sweater.  I use multiple media when painting. I mess around with depth of field when out with my camera.  I'm not sure any of that creativity would support me (hence the library job that I love) but for the most part they make me happy.  

I'm struggling with layers of writing right now. Yes, I do put butt in the chair every day.  I throw a lot of words on the page but I'm most effective when I step away from the story and work at something else. My brain often needs the distraction of other colours and textures in order to work through sticking points.  

One good thing about feeling sub-par is that I've spent a lot of time reading and watching television.  Storytelling is storytelling regardless of medium.  The best way to become better at one's own craft is to study the best.  I've recognized the emotional punch that facial expressions can convey.  Those are easier to pull off in picture but the right words in a specific order can make me cry.  I'm a big fan of great dialogue.

Right now, I'm stuck on "The first face this face saw."  I'm up to date on Doctor Who thanks to a dress that needed to be finished for my niece's birthday party tomorrow. I hope she likes it. (it's scrunched for photography purposes)

What's your favourite dialogue?

Imaginary friends

Eight years ago, two writers got together to write outside their genres. They wrote a blog every day for a year talking about creating a fictional world that gave equal weight to romance as well as adventure. He wrote military thrillers. She wrote romantic comedy.  Their collaboration was fascinating. People followed their journey, commented on it all  - even the accidental blank post. Great friendships were born in those odd little comment blocks.

It started benign enough.  "Oh, my dad was in the armed forces too."  Moved up to "I'll be at the conference the week the book drops" and culminated in "Want to all meet at a hotel before the book signing?"  It's not that unusual.  People meet through the Internet all the time.  Blogs, forums, Facebook and Twitter all unite people over a common theme. Sometimes, despite the kid's fear of you meeting people who would harvest your kidneys, they meet in person.

It's not a good idea to tell the border guards that's where you met your friend. It's inconceivable to them that Americans and Canadians can be friends. I'm not lying when I say I met them at a writer's conference.  But I knew them all well long before we met.  Now they are some of my closest friends.  In fact, those friendships weren't without precedence.  I met Elen through Joann Ross' writing group on Yahoo.  And that turned out beautifully.

All of these wonderful people have enriched my life immeasurably.  In the beginning, we were relentlessly silly. Then real life encroached and we shared all that entailed.  When one of us bought her first house, twenty of us flew west, drove north (or south) and threw a big housewarming party.  We even hung a picture over the fireplace, identified trees in the yard, bought a grill and cleaned up after ourselves before we left.  We've attended funerals, cheered grandbabies, told silly stories and awful jokes as we took turnings by the bedside of one who had fallen ill.  When one of us didn't show up virtually long past the usual routine, one of us even called the police from her home in the South to check on the friend in California.  And that's how we found out one of our family had been rushed by ambulance to hospital.  We made sure she didn't go home to an empty house but ensured she had food for her and the critters throughout her convalescence.

But the group is more than doing nice things for each other. Like any family we have our differences. We have agreed to disagree on many things but I love the amount of respect we have for each other's opinions.  One of our big gatherings was around the time of a presidential election.  There were some generalizations about opposing candidates and their supporters. But then we realized we had a microcosm of that in the room and the generalizations fell away. No one switched allegiance but understanding the why of choices and decisions went a long way towards working together on issues.  It never ceases to amaze me how much common ground there is between all that opposition.

When we first met, we ranged from a high school student to an octogenarian.  Our social spectrum has always been broad.  Children grew up, went to school in foreign lands, got married, had babies of their own.  New people still find us.  We're not exclusive though it takes a bit of time to understand some of the jokes and how most of us got our call signs (or whatever you call your Internet name).  A lot of our shorthand dates back to the early days from the original site.

As a group, we've moved twice.  The authors disbanded their collaboration, their website no longer exists.  Then we lost the ability to comment on the new home.  It's also no longer online.  Somehow the spam monkeys still managed.  We gave them a band and found our current home. It suits us well. We built it ourselves with rooms for all the private conversations, the ones about meeting places, passages and plans.  We have a barn for the menagerie filled with critters that have become part of our folklore. We have everything you could need to decorate a blog or throw a party.  We are silly, kind and supportive.

They know how much I appreciate each and every one of them.  I know that it is mutual. People have wandered off over the years but most of them come back.  We're just too entertaining to leave behind forever.  Those who have left through no choice of their own wrench a little piece of me.  They leave a hole in our family.

One of the beauty's of the Internet is that things are rarely lost in cyberspace.  So they live on not just in our hearts and minds but also the comments.  We are left with her smile, his silliness, her recipe, his poetry.  And the knowledge that they touched someone far outside their usual circle of friends. We may not have all met in person but their friendship was far from imaginary. It was real, tangible and treasured.

I know that most of you reading this have imaginary friends, people you've met on the Internet. People who fill your life with wisdom, gladness, advice, criticism, challenges, support and celebration.

Today I raise my glass in a toast to the people who created the Internet and those of us who have filled it with life.

The importance of good things

This past week has highlighted to me the value of taking stock of good things. It's not that they magically make the pain go away or alter the course of life. But they give me something else to focus on when the challenges feel like too much to bear.

Most of you know that I lost Milo on Thursday. It was a long day and I'm still not used to the silence when I enter my bedroom. He'd been living there for the past year as Eliot was keen to challenge him at every turn.  He always greeted me with a quiet little meow.  My niece came over and helped me rearrange the bedroom.  It's weird.  My room has looked like that for seven years. Milo just had his nineteenth birthday.  We had a good run together.  No matter how badly he wanted to eat Yoda he never did because he knew how much it would upset me. His body quivered with the effort of subduing his natural extent but he did it - for me.  One minute he'd be purring and the next moment I would pull back a bloody stump because he'd had enough touching.  He chewed his own nails rather than let me cut them.  I've been cleaning out drawers and boxes looking for my favourite photo of him.  He's sitting beside the pond watching the fish.  He often sat out in the garden but only if I was there with him.  He wasn't interested in roaming.

Milo was a stray who lived at the shelter for several months. I was in there one Saturday after hours counting money from a charity car wash I'd organized.  My neighbour had killed my cat a couple weeks previously and the staff was determined to send someone home with me. I was resistant.  I wasn't ready. But Milo had stopped eating and drinking, was curled up at the back of the cage just waiting for the Big Needle he was scheduled to receive on the Monday. When I went to meet him, he ran from the back of the cage and flung himself onto me.  Both paws went around my neck.  When I went back to get the dog, the two of them fell asleep side by side. All of my objections were pointless. We never looked back. 


While the news has been full of sadness, there have been some great moments of people reaching out to each other sharing good memories, funny anecdotes and ensuring their friends are okay.  The kids and I have shared our favourite movie clips, belted out the soundtrack from Guardians of the Galaxy and eaten too much popcorn for dinner.

I have no great words of wisdom, no insight or advice.  I'm doing my best to focus on the good in my life. That's what works for me.  That, and belly rubs with the dogs.  If you don't have a dog, I will share my pup.  He's wonderful.  If you're allergic, find a warm body you adore and engage in full body hugs.  It won't fix everything but it sure doesn't hurt.

Interview with Brenda Harlen

Full disclosure - I've been friends with Brenda Harlen for a long time. Our friendship predates her writing success. She is one of my critique partners and a brilliant motivator.  The woman's production and ability to focus is incredible. Whenever I flounder I picture her hunched over her laptop and get back to the process. We may root for opposing hockey teams but our friendship is definitely a good thing.

Whether you've been a fan of hers for years, or are just new to the wit and romance that Brenda writes, I hope you enjoy the following interview to promote her latest offering in the Engaging Garretts series.

You've written thirty books for Harlequin.  There have been a lot of changes over the years.  What's had the most impact on your career?
I’m not even sure I can answer that question. The publishing industry has changed so much in the past ten years with more and bigger changes coming, including the recent acquisition of Harlequin by HarperCollins Publishers. However, I’ve been fortunate in that, despite all of the changes, I’ve been able to work with the same fabulous editor (Susan Litman) for each one of those thirty books, the first five under the “Silhouette Intimate Moments” imprint before I started writing for Special Edition.

How does writing continuity series like the Montana Mavericks affect writing your own series? 
Sometimes participating in a continuity can pull me out of the flow of another story, because the deadlines for writing a continuity are much more inflexible. Also, there is regular communication between the authors and editors, particularly in the beginning when we’re trying to polish our story ideas and development of characters. On the other hand, it’s sometimes a nice break to focus on something completely different and outside the parameters of my own fictional world. Either way, I absolutely love participating in continuity series and “meeting” and working with other authors. This year, Montana Mavericks is celebrating “20 Years in the Saddle” and I’m thrilled to be part of it. (My book—THE MAVERICK’S THANKSGIVING BABY—is 5^th in the series, coming in November.)

There was a really good interview with you at The Reading Frenzy recently about the witty dialogue you write.  It's something you do well.  Does it come naturally to you or is dialogue something you struggle with?
 It’s always flattering to hear that something about my writing resonates with a reader/reviewer, and I guess I’m lucky that dialogue does come fairly naturally to me—the rest of the writing, not always so much J

What's your typical writing day like?  Do you have routines that need to be met in order to produce words?
I’m not sure any writing day is typical . . . however, my usual routine is morning coffee, checking email, Facebook, Twitter, more coffee, then settling down to write. Working from home can be distracting (and often non-writer friends and family don’t think of writing as work), but I’ve learned to treat it as a job and assign myself daily deadlines to ensure that I stay on track toward my real deadlines.

You've created these wonderful little towns like Pinehurt, NY and Charisma, NC where the characters have formed real communities that interact and overlap.  It's wonderful to see previous characters living out their happily ever afters.  What prompted the move to NC? 
The answer to this question is a little embarrassing, because the truth is that it was a lack of planning that prompted the move. When I wrote ONCE AND AGAIN, my very first Special Edition, I made up the fictional town of Pinehurst, New York. The next few books had some connected characters, so I stayed in Pinehurst. But by the time I wrote the first three “Those Engaging Garretts!” books, I found that I had to go back through all of the previous books set in Pinehurst to remember the location of the hardware store or the name of the street that a character lived on. For my own sanity, I needed to move on—and this time, I started with a town map.

In A WIFE FOR ONE YEAR, Daniel marries his best friend in order to access his trust fund to buy into a stock car racing team.  Your Facebook followers know you're a big hockey fan, is the same true for motorsports?  What kind of research did you do to prepare for Daniel's career as a car owner?
 When I was a kid, my family used to go to Merrittville Speedway every Saturday night to watch my cousin race his stock car, but I was never a fan of professional racing. However, when I decided to set the new Garrett stories in North Carolina, I knew that stock car racing could not be ignored, so I decided to do some research. I started with books and websites, but a friend of mine (thank you, Keziah!) suggested that I should do primary research and, when we were in North Carolina recently, we visited the front office and shop of an actual NASCAR team. It was an amazing and informative experience—and a ton of fun. (Thank you, Becky, for the tour and the answers to so many questions!)  

Is that a world we'll see again?
 For sure! Now that my editors have approve an extension of the series, I can assure you that Josh Slater (Daniel Garrett’s partner in Garrett/Slater Racing) will have his own story with the stock car racing world as an integral part of the background.

Wife for One Year is available now at the bookseller of your choice. Or you can post a comment to win your own autographed copy

Lots of good things

Milo is still around. Just when I think he's done, he perks up, starts eating and drinking again. He and Eliot have managed to tolerate each other. Ky doesn't care care as long as he gets his belly rubbed.

Writing has been a slog but I've stuck with it. I figured out how to trick my printer so it's all printed out. It's been easier to work with that way. The words are less pedestrian.

Creativity is flowing fast and free around the house. We scored a great deal on spray paint today. My car will look fantastic when it's done.

What's your week been like?