I Hate Dieting. And Editing. Passionately.

I may be the slowest editor on the planet. I am STILL working on the first edit of the Second Seal. I started this epic journey in February. It is almost August. I just keep digging myself in deeper. Things are progressing slowly because I am not only adding new stuff, I keep needing to rewrite the old stuff. Okay. I promise not to whine about that anymore (in this post, anyway). I am now less than 100 pages from the end. I did ten today and, if I can keep up that pace, I’ll be done soon. Then I can start again. :-/

This weekend, I started dieting once again. All was going well until I was thwarted by my husband. He brought home a bottle of wine. We all know it’s not a good idea to drink on an empty stomach. That can only lead to dancing in you underwear on the kitchen table, sending drunken emails to your entire address book, and buying Captain Kirk’s chair off of e-Bay.

This isn’t the first time he’s thwarted my efforts. The following is a true story:

My husband and I were at the grocery store one evening and I was feeling all warm and fuzzy toward him.
“I have a confession to make,” I said.
“What?”
“Whenever you diet, I sabotage you so that you will remain unattractive to other women and I won’t have to worry about competition.”
He laughed.
“What?” I asked.
“I do the same thing to you.”

So I probably should have expected it.

Now, back to work.

More Summertime Blahs

My summertime blahs may have disappeared but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m being productive. I’m trying, but it’s just not happening. I am currently working on a little short story about time travel. Sci-fi isn’t usually my thing, but this one was my hubby’s idea. It was a story idea he came up with years ago, but every time he tried to write it, it came out “sounding like it had been written by an engineer.” His words, not mine. I think that means it was as about as riveting as a computer manual. So, he asked me to give it a go and I told him I would.

It goes but not all that well.

The first problem I have with this story is sitting behind me right now. Directly behind me. In fact it is sitting on my back, playing with my hair as I type. It’s my oldest son. Summer is almost over and he is bored. Now the baby is playing with my mouse and deleting part of this post. I just keep telling myself that distractions make me stronger.

The second problem is my computer. It is currently nothing more than a large paper weight. Some time in the past few months, a nasty little Trojan sneaked past my firewall and made itself at home. I have switched to our other computer, but I don’t like the keyboard and my files are still on the paper weight. Fortunately, I backup my writing constantly and had a good version of everything saved. But, my music is all gone. All my Tori Amos (sob!) is gone.

Sad panda. :(

Hitchhikers, Love and Totally-Free Checking

I have been married for a very long time (we’ll celebrate our tenth anniversary in a couple of weeks). If I didn’t love my husband very much I would never have put up with him for this long. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great guy. Funny, smart, good-looking and, most importantly, he puts up with me.



But, sometimes, he goes a little crazy.

What do you mean you

lost the checkbook?

Not like that guy in The Shining kind of crazy. He gets paranoid. Like the Ozzy/Black Sabbath song.

PARANOID!!

This always happens based on things I do. He, apparently, is above reproach. Allow me an obligatory eyeroll, if you will. And I promise not to mention the time he stopped to help the two guys (who had obviously been drinking) with car problems on a mountain pass in Colorado. At midnight. Or the scruffy guy we picked up in a mountain pass just outside of Anchorage. No, I will be fair and not mention those things.



This happened today. I wrote a check. He went paranoid. Then he went to dig up information at the one source paranoid people should never, ever use.



The Internet.



After his research stint, he tracked me down and breathlessly told me:
“If people have the number on your check, THEY CAN STEAL ALL OF YOUR MONEY!!!!!!” (emphasis in original)



I replied: “And you think all of those people who spend their lives sitting around thinking up new ways to steal money haven’t thought of this? Nor have the banks? You’re the first? If this were true, criminals would just back up their trucks and celebrate Free Money Day in Tahiti. Think, idiot!”



He admitted that I might be right (gasp!), but it was not enough to quell his paranoia. Cue the Ozzy song.

THEY"LL STEAL YOUR MONEY!!!

He called the bank and explained his concerns to the customer service person. She assured him that while it is possible, it doesn’t happen a whole lot. And even if it did, the bank is liable for the money.



Partial vindication.



This would not be the time for me to mention the occasion when one of those door-to-door magazine subscription people came to our house. We were just getting ready to leave and just gave the guy a total NO. As we pulled out of our driveway, the guy was still walking through the neighborhood, looking for other people to bother sell magazines to.



“You know, that would be a really good way to case a house,” says my husband.



Cue Ozzy, again.

Does this font make

my butt look big?

We had to drive around the block until the guy left. He waved every time we passed.



Like I said, if I didn’t love my husband so much I would never have put up with this for ten freaking years.



And don’t even get me started about Y2K.

(Note: My husband insisted that he get to read this before I posted. I had to take out all of my account numbers, social security numbers and passwords that I’d planned on posting. Dang it.)

Summertime Blahs

It is summer.
In the shade of an apple tree,
you relax with a mint julep or nine.
Summer is no time for stress.
--Red Green

Ah, summertime. I am so ready for it to be over. For the past week, I have had a severe case of summertime blahs. Don’t want to write. Don’t want to work. Hell, I haven’t even felt like answering e-mail. All I have really felt like doing is swimming with my boys and watching “Garfield” with my oldest. Quality ways to spend a day, let me tell you.

But, I think I am recovering. Time to get back to work.

Editing on the Second Seal has come to a screeching halt. Not that it was going badly. Quite the opposite, in fact. But, Big Things may be in the works and I need to set that project aside for now and focus on the things at hand. They may be very good things. Or they may be nothing. Or maybe something. Time will tell. I dying to say what it is, but I can’t. I might jinx it.

Alaska, a short story

Here is a short story I wrote late one night while listening to one of my favorite Tori Amos songs. The song always made me feel kind of sad and in denial, but nothing I could ever put my finger on. Until this popped out. Enjoy.


I stared at the paper for minutes, not fully prepared for what I was reading. It could have been hours. It certainly felt like it. When I read the words in front of me, it was as if time stopped and there was nothing in existence save for myself and those ugly words before me. Slowly, though, time began again. The clock ticked again. The fire crackled. And I crumpled the paper in my hand and flung it angrily across the room. It bounced harmlessly off of the wall and landed softly near the television. It wasn’t the paper’s fault. It wasn’t responsible for the foul message it carried. But the rage engulfed me and I felt I had to lash out. Killing the messenger, I suppose.

It wasn’t fair.

I’d been so careful. Led my life with my grand plan in mind and never deviating from it because to do so might jeopardize my final goal. Granted, I didn’t really know what that was yet, but that didn’t keep me from wanting to make sure I didn’t do something stupid and screw it up.
I’d always been careful for the same reason. Wasn’t that what everyone told you when you were growing up? You have to think about your future. Don’t live for right now. Think about what things will be like in ten years. Do you really want to have to live with the repercussions of something you did now, then?

Well, I bought it. No, I wouldn’t want to live with those repercussions. I’d do things the right way and everything would turn out okay for me. Better than okay. I’d win life’s lottery and get everything I wanted. Sort of the grand prize for doing what I was told.

What a crock!

I’d done everything I was supposed to. I’d planned so carefully and cautiously for my future, but now my future was gone. Stolen in a heartbeat by some stupid test that said I was going to die. I was only thirty. Fuck.

I was ready to go back and do it all again, to throw caution to the wind and perhaps get a second chance at the life I had never bothered to lead. I knew that wouldn’t work though. It’s amazing how quickly one can move from one emotion to the next when confronted by the inevitable. Of course we’re all going to die. I just hadn’t planned on doing it so soon.

I sighed and ran my shaking hand through my hair. Behind me, I heard the thump of the burning wood shifting inside the woodstove. I turned to look at it, the heat causing my skin to tighten across my face. I took a step toward it and held out my hand. It hovered only a few inches above the surface of the stove and I had to snatch it away quickly to avoid a burn. Briefly, I considered pressing my palm against the dark, scarred surface of the stove. To feel my flesh burn. To experience something not many others had. To do something different. Then I thought about how it would feel to yank my injured hand away and pull the injured skin from my hand. The thought of that prompted me to change my mind.

Instead I walked to the door and placed my forehead against the cold glass. Looking out, I could see that it was snowing again. It had warmed up again. The thermometer read minus twenty and that was warm enough for snow. It fell silently in large, fat flakes. No wind here to blow it off course. It fell straight, from cloud to ground, with nothing to impede its course. The way my life was supposed to be. Until today.

Then, as I watched the flakes drift slowly to the ground, something occurred to me. I opened the door and felt the bitter cold sting my face, causing an instant burning sensation in my cheeks. I stepped out onto the snow-packed patio and my bare feet complained instantly about the cold. I wiggled my toes in the snow, heard the door close behind me and the lock click. I’d stepped through. It was too late to go back now, even if I’d wanted to.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the frozen air and smelling the scent of the snow. Around me stood the thick growth of trees, mostly birch and aspen, that shielded me from the rest of the world. I turned my face toward the dark sky, only partially clouded, despite the snowfall. To the north, the aurora danced in the distance, a subtle and changing mixture of reds and greens, moving like a sine wave across the sky. It was like a private light show just for me. The full moon hung low on the horizon, its reflected light causing the snow to sparkle. My teeth began to chatter. In the woods, something moved.

I could do it, I thought. I could be free. Maybe this was what I needed.

I looked at the woods. They weren’t far. I bet I could make it.
With one final glance behind me, I tore off my clothes, jumped into the powdery snow and ran for the trees.

The Great Self-Publishing Debate

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost

You know what they say about advice … everyone has some to give and it is generally as useful as snow shoes for a Chihuahua. Or is that opinions? Hmm, it may very well be. Nevertheless, advice is often the worst when it a) is unsolicited b). doesn’t jive with what you’ve already decided to do or c). is contradictory to other advice you received.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.

I was chatting with one of my author friends the other day about book stuff. She mentioned something about deadlines and I responded that one of the best things about self-publishing is that all of my deadlines are self-imposed. Plus, as soon as I am ready to publish, I am about three weeks from holding a hard copy of my book in my hot little hands. My friend was somewhat astonished to discover that I was planning to self-publish my second book and strongly encouraged me to pursue a royalty publisher. Her reasoning was that books are a tough business and it is difficult to find ways to get your book noticed and sold without the benefit of a publisher behind you.

She is correct about this. Self-publishing is a tough road to travel. But here is where the contradictory advice comes in.

I have several other author friends who have a made a pretty decent career out of self-publishing. They have a strong Internet presence and that’s how they make most of their sales.

Here is the comparison between the two as I understand it:

• Self-published (SP) authors retain all rights to their work. Not so with royalty publishers.
  
• SP means no deadlines to meet or contractual obligations to fulfill.
  
• SP gives you complete creative control. Royalty publishers won’t print poor quality work (that can be a pro or a con, depending on how you look at it)
  
• SP (at least with my publisher) authors make 25% of the sale price per book. With royalty publishers, it is around 7%.
  
• SP are responsible for all of their own marketing and promotion. However, small royalty publishers may not have the budget to market your book, so you may be on your own with them as well.
  
• SP requires an outlay of capital to get started. You have to spend your own money. You can get your work published for a reasonable sum (between $500-$1000) but there are a lot of shady characters out there who just want to take your money. There are even self-publishers who pretend to be royalty publishers. Choose carefully. A royalty publisher won’t ask you for money. However, many small publishers may or may not offer advances.
  
• If you sign a contract with a small publisher, it may improve your chances of being picked up by a larger one.

If there is one thing I’ve learned from talking with authors at different rungs on the career ladder, it is this: There is more than one way to get there, it seems that everyone takes a road less traveled. I have never spoken to two people who have done things the same way. This is a difficult business, but I firmly believe that if you have the talent and believe in yourself, you’ll get there, despite all of the potholes and forks in the road.

Water, Water, Everywhere!

In the past month, every time I talk to my dad on the phone, he tells me how much it has been raining. I chalked it up to his great love of the weather since he has been known just to sit and watch the Weather Channel for hours on end. That is, until I received the following message from one of my friends who still lives in my hometown.

Row, row, row your boat and come get my ass out!

When I asked what she meant by that, she told me that Independence (located in the southeast corner of Kansas) was flooded in. All of the highways into were closed. And the waters were still rising.

She put some pictures up on her website, which I borrowed and posted here. That’s a lot of water.




This is about a mile from my folks house and right next to where my grandpa's house is used to be. The trees mark the place where the river should be. The water here is most likely 10-15 feet deep.



My parents live very close to one of the rivers that runs near Independence, so I called to make sure they and my grandpa were okay. Fortunately, and because their house sits on high ground, they are all fine. My grandpa and his dog have moved in with them and with most likely be there for a while. His house is gone. So is his car. It’s all under water. Be he is okay and that’s the important part. I am reasonably certain that my dad and grandpa can co-exist without killing each other. At least for a little while.



Here is a picture of the softball fields along Park Street. Notice that the water level is just under the basketball goals in the middle of the picture.


What bothers me about the situation my family is in, is that I have no way to help. I can’t get there because of all the water between here and there (here is a link to a story in the Houston Chronicle about the flooding). What angers me is the way local media is handling it. My parents told me that they can’t get any information about what is happening. They don’t even know when the rivers are supposed to crest. The reason: It is a small town and the local radio station is completely automated. So, it continues to churn out today’s pop favorites while the town washes away around it.

Hopefully, the rain will stop soon. Until it does, please keep all of the people in the flooded areas in Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri and Texas in your thoughts.