25 June 2011

Doggone It!


Hello, my name is Cujo. Really. I’m a long haired dachshund. The other dog in the picture is my adopted sister Sugar. She's not as sweet as her name. She tries to tell me what to do. And she steals my blankie--that's what's beside her on the floor. She says it's ugly, but I love to lie on it and lick it.

My two-legged parents thought my name would be funny. And hey, I liked the sound. When I was a puppy. Now, not so much. Anyway sometimes I do try to live up to my name, but that just gets me in trouble. I ask you, why would my two-legged parents name me Cujo, then be so surprised when I growl?

I’ll bet you’re wondering why a dog is blogging. Well, it’s like this. My two-legged mom is supposed to blog, but she just couldn’t think of anything to say. She was upset, so I told her that I would blog for her. she was sooooo happy she scratched my head for an extra long time. I was hoping she’d give me food treat, but she says I’m fat. Excuse me, I’m fluffy.

My two-legged parents adopted me when I was a puppy. I was cute then, I’m handsome now. We live in a nice home that the two-legs complain about being too small. I don’t understand. There’s plenty of room to run around in here. And a nice floor to sleep on. What more do you need? Have I told you that I don’t understand the two-leggers? Strange creatures, if you ask me.

I’m getting off here now, and you should go and scratch the head of your four-legged friend. If you don’t have one, maybe your neighbor does. If you can’t find a four-legger, then maybe give another two-legger a scratch, or hug, or whatever.

I gotta get off here, my two-legged mom says it would freak people out if they see me typing. I think she’s wrong, but it’s time for my late morning nap anyway. Have a great weekend!

Cujo
For Cheryel

15 June 2011

13 Things I'm Not Blogging About Today

I am not blogging about....

1) What I had for dinner. No, seriously, I won't tell you. I'm not talking about dinner-type food today, although mine was quite delicious. But that's all the information you get.

2) My cat. She blogged Monday and I may post something on her behalf tomorrow, but not today. Nope.

3) The publishing industry.

4) What in the heck my husband is doing in the kitchen when he's supposed to be making popcorn so we can watch a movie now that the kids are finally asleep. We've already had the dinner I'm not going to talk about, and now it's OUR time together, so what the HECK is he doing instead?

5) My schedule for tomorrow. Which may or may not include a post about Meankitty. I cannot confirm or deny it, because I'm not blogging about it today. It may have to include watching a certain movie alone, though.

6) My work in progress, which may or may not be about a fake apocalypse. Just...not going there. That slippery slope leads straight into a blarrrrr about the publishing industry, and since I already decided not to blog about the publishing industry, my WIP is offlimits too.

7) All the laundry that piled up during vacation last week. I could have been doing some of it today, but instead of laundry, I was working on that thing I can't mention, then the other thing, and I can't do laundry now because I'm supposed to watch a movie with SOMEBODY who has DISAPPEARED into the kitchen, and what the heck is going on in there? What is that mysterious ticking noise?

8) This is the mysterious ticking noise, btw:



9) I'm not going to blog about The Mysterious Ticking Noise, I'm going to just let it speak for itself.

****WHERE was I? Right. I am not going to blog about...

10) Politics.

11) The RWA Conference preparations and how excited I am about going. Because I'm not going. I thought I might stay home and spend time with SOMEBODY who has this sudden need to disappear into the kitchen and not make popcorn. What's in there, an alternate dimension? A comic book he's never seen before? Boatloads of laundry?

12) The movie I'm not watching, because of that disappearing SOMEBODY. I mean, is this some kind of trick? A disappearing trick? Is he studying to be a magician, and this is his homework? Or is he a spy, like Perry the Platypus, and he's jumped through the front door of the dryer to disappear into his secret spy hideout before going on a mission that apparently does not include popcorn for me?

13) The excellent news that... Oh, the popcorn's ready. Gotta go.

Jody W.
www.jodywallace.com  * www.meankitty.com

13 June 2011

What's New on The D'Arc Side...

Hello BtV! Long time, no see! It's been a rough couple of months for me both personally and professionally, but I'm trying to get things back on track and I actually have some new books in the pipeline for publication that I can talk about. That hasn't been the case in a long time, so all in all, it's a positive move.

If I've learned nothing else since embarking on my career as a writer, it's that this biz is full of ups and downs. High highs and low lows. Often they come fast and furious, one right after the other. This continues to be true and it's kind of a trial to ride the roller coaster over and over. But I chose to write and I wouldn't trade the comparative freedom of this lifestyle for anything at this point.

So here's what's been going on with me writing-wise:

- DEAD ALERT, the last of my military paranormal series from Kensington Brava will be out on July 26th. You can pre-order it on Amazon now and get a discounted price on the print book that is actually LOWER than what they're charging for the ebook. Weird, huh?

- HIDDEN TALENT is a new (Red Hot!) futuristic that will be coming out from Samhain in ebook, probably in October. It's the start of a new trilogy based around the idea that in the future, when humans have colonized space, people with psychic talents are either hunted or revered for their abilities. This book follows one young woman who has escaped her unforgiving homeworld, only to be found by a powerful man who can show her the stars and give her the world. *sigh*

- I just finished writing a new book in my ongoing paranormal series. I haven't finalized the title yet, but hopefully with some input from my editor, that will be nailed down shortly. It is Sally and Jason's story. Sally is the last of the study group friends, featured in several of my other books (Lissa in ONE & ONLY, Kelly in RARE VINTAGE, Carly in PHANTOM DESIRES, Christy in SWEETER THAN WINE, and Jenna in FOREVER VALENTINE). Jason is the werewolf Alpha we first met in PHANTOM DESIRES. Frankly, it even surprised me that they ended up together. ;-) Sometimes my characters like to surprise me. LOL. :)

That's the news so far on the book release front. I'll be working on new material and hope to do some updating to my website in the next few weeks. But mostly, I'm going to try to be a better blogger both here and on my own blog. Thanks for bearing with me while I continue to get my act together. :)

09 June 2011

Thursday Thirteen: A Month in Thirteen Pictures

I'm a bad blogger. I missed my Saturday blog. But if a picture's really worth a thousand words, here's thirteen pictures I hope will make up for my delay.


Buzzy Multimedia recently asked me to shift from print to video interviews. Not being entirely sure of myself I decided to start with a friend, fantasy and mystery writer Carole Nelson Douglas, who happened to be this year's guest of honor at our local mystery convention, Malice Domestic. The video is posted on the Buzzy blog.



I'd barely finished editing Carole's interview when I learned the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) were holding the 2011 Nebula Awards Weekend a few Metro stops away on May 20-22. So I hauled my trusty camera to Dupont Circle and taped five interviews: Chris Claremont (of Marvel Comics fame), Mary Robinette Kowal, Joe Haldeman, John Scalzi and this year's Nebula Award winner for best novel, Connie Willis (above). I may be mistaken, but I think this year's win makes Connie the all-time Nebula champion, which tickles me no end, since I totally love her fiction. Who says women can't write REAL science fiction?



One of the more interesting aspects of the filming was discovering things I never knew about the interview subjects. For example, I knew Joe Haldeman was an accomplished poet. In fact, he published his first poem (in The Washington Post, no less) before he was ten. But I didn't know he was an amazing artist. The photo above gives you just one example of his work. There will be more in the video. I promise.



One thing I missed was Mary Robinette Kowal's presentation at the Awards Banquet...in a Regency dress she stitched entirely by hand. (I couldn't make it because I was helping out with a Civil War celebration in Alexandria.) But she was kind enough to show me the dress and accessories when I interviewed her the following day.



But I didn't have much time work on all those lovely videos. The very next Friday, May 27, I was off to Balticon 45. As always, the Memorial Day weekend con was a whirl of panels, friends and parties. The Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading was all three. This year's readers were (from left to right) Gail Z. Martin, Vonnie Winslow Crist, Roberta Rogow, yours truly, Phoebe Wray and fellow Samhain writer D. Renee Bagby. The party came courtesy of Vonnie, who brought the most amazing cupcakes from her book launch The Greener Forest, which took place the hour before the RFR. You can see them (but alas, not taste them) in the bottom of the shot.



Balticon also offered great interview opportunities, including romantic fantasy and young adult writer Maria V. Snyder (left). As befits a party con, Maria and I caught up with each other in the bar, where she was relaxing with her friend and fellow writer Judi Fleming (right). My other Balticon interviews included Michael Swanwick and Paolo Bacigalupi.



This year's Balticon boasted an amazing number of book launches including the launch of one of my most anticipated books of 2011, The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences: Phoenix Rising by Philippa Ballantine and Tee Morris (shown here at right). As befits a book described as a Steampunk Avengers (as in the old TV show), the launch was a Victorian tea, complete with ginger biscuits and a raffle with prizes drawn by a fetching member of the audience in full 19th century dress.



Steampunk was everywhere at Balticon 45, and it really upped the ante on Masquerade costumes, as evidenced by this year's League of Extraordinary Family. Check out the young Captain Nemo's pet Kraken.



But the prize for Best in Show went to writer J.F. Bibeau's The Cat from Red Dwarf. Speaking of steam, I missed seeing his iron. No, not that kind of iron! The kind of steam presser Cat used to for wardrobe emergencies. Really!



A week later I was reveling in a special tour of what I consider the most beautiful building in all of Washington, D.C.--the Library of Congress. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a writer and I love books. Take a look at the Grand Hall. All that white marble, the bronze statues and the paintings peeking through the columns are just a taste of its splendor.



The Library is the nation's great temple of learning, so it's only fitting it has a resident goddess: the Minerva of Peace, a mosaic by Elihu Vedder. Like this depiction of Minerva, the Library celebrates all the arts. In addition to books, it boasts one of the world's great collections of musical instruments, maps and movies.



The library also celebrates all kinds of literature. Although Sappho is the only woman writer celebrated by name in its murals (sorry Jane Austen, Marie de France and George Sand), the branches of literature are all depicted as classical muses, including Romance and (ta da!) Erotica.



But I think my favorite part of the Library is its whimsy. Where else would you find a mosaic of late 19th century football?

That about covers it, for now. But if these photos have only whetted your appetite, please, check out the relevant galleries:

Nebula Awards Weekend 2011

Balticon 45

Library of Congress

'Til next month!

06 June 2011

DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT (PsiCorps Volume Two) Excerpt

Greetings Kittens,

I just got cover art on my next Therian World Novel coming out in October and it reminded me that my next PsiCorps Novel DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT (PsiCorps #2) is coming out in less than a month. I thought I'd share another excerpt here and since I'm late getting this in, offer a copy of GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST (PsiCorp #1) to a lucky commenter or two.

Enjoy.




Mackenzie flipped the back row of French toast on the griddle and pretended to ignore the conversation going on across the dark green granite island from him. He schooled his smile and tried to consider the two men nothing more but extra stainless steel appliances in the opulent Italian-inspired kitchen.

“That’s just cold!”

Kincaid nodded and snagged the piece of toast in Torrin’s hand. “I know, right? I snapped awake so quickly, I think I might have whiplash.”

“Well, you have to admire his results. But honestly, even Sky and I don’t play around with that kind of threat this last trimester.” Torrin picked up another piece. “Getting between our wife and food right now could cost someone a limb. If he’d told her you were holding up breakfast we’d need another marshal, no doubt about it.”

Mackenzie transferred the front row of French toast from the griddle to a warming plate. “I’m not particularly concerned as to the ongoing state of your individual health profiles from a personal standpoint; but as a Partner and on-duty Marshal, there’s likely an obligation to inform you both when Riley’s within hearing distance.” Riley walked into the kitchen and hit both men with the cushion in her hand. Mackenzie smiled. “She was within hearing distance thirty seconds ago, gentlemen.”

Riley walked over and kissed Mackenzie’s cheek. His smile grew and she kissed the corner of his eye. “You’re my favorite today.”

He laughed and returned the kiss. “That’s why we all compete for breakfast privileges. It improves our chances for the rest of the day.” He transferred a half slice from the warming plate to a saucer. “Let me know if I have the right amount of vanilla or if I should start over.”

Torrin leaned across the island. “You don’t have to make everything over. None of us would care.”

“Good, I wasn’t offering to remake any for the rest of you.” He looked to Riley. “How is it?”

“Perfect, frighteningly so to be exact, thank you, Mac. The babies are appreciative.”

“That’s what I work for.” He touched the high swell of her belly, stretching his Intuition and Insight towards the babies. Something pulled at him as it had the last six months, but he found nothing wrong. Healthy, pre-formed consciousness touched him back and they moved beneath his hand. He and Riley both laughed.

“I will point out again; the two of you freak the rest of us out when you do that.” Kincaid offered. He walked over and put his arm around her. “Come on, get off your feet and get comfortable. Torrin and I will bring everything over in an attempt to make amends for our ill-timed, if accurate, humor.” She hit him again and Kincaid smiled, guiding her to a kitchen chair. “You know it’s cuz we love you.”

Riley shook her head. “It’s because you all aren’t properly afraid of me anymore. You know I can’t chase you down.”

Kincaid exchanged a look with the other two men. “I don’t know what you’re remembering, but none of us are foolish enough to think you’d need to chase someone down.”

She wiped her eyes. Torrin walked to her while Kincaid froze. Mackenzie covered his smile behind a sip of orange juice as Kincaid spoke. “What did I say? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No.” She shook her head. “That was very sweet.”

Kincaid let out a breath of relief and Mackenzie turned completely away before he lost it. He wasn’t without sympathy, like any man he didn’t like seeing women cry in general, it made him feel like he’d failed. But it held humor whenever it happened to someone else, especially to Kincaid. Watching his Partner navigate the ever shifting labyrinth of Riley’s emotional state just did his heart good; a petty revenge perhaps for Kincaid’s enjoyment of Mackenzie’s own stumblings in the beginning, but entertaining nonetheless. He looked back to the table. “Didn’t you obligate yourself to transporting food? There’s plenty awaiting your attention, Marshal Ides.”

“I’m coming.” Kincaid crossed to the island. “And let’s cut the Marshal Ides. I get enough of that from Quintus.”

Quintus walked into the kitchen, hand in hand with Sky. “Have I done something of questionable intent from which you have had enough, Marshal Ides? If so, I do apologize. I meant not offense.”

Kincaid glared at Mackenzie. “You knew.”

Mackenzie didn’t bother to hide his laughter. He had indeed known Quintus could hear them and had intentionally provoked Kincaid to mention him. Riley is a bad influence.

She smiled over at him from Torrin’s arms. “I am not.” Everyone looked at her. “What? He said I was a bad influence.”

The men all turned to look at Mackenzie. He shook his head, and a small, strange smile took him. “I stand by the premise, but I in fact, did not say a word. I thought it, from well over here.”

“Oh.” She said quickly. “Never mind, there was food coming, right? We should all eat.”

Mackenzie walked over to the table. “Has your ability to pick up thoughts moved completely beyond needing direct touch?”

The way she shook her head made him smile. “Does getting them at a distance happen often?”

“No.” She took a mouthful of juice and moved out of Torrin’s lap. It took all of her attention to adjust herself on the cushioned window-seat banquette. She looked up into the silence and took another mouthful of juice.

“Has it happened before?” Mackenzie sat beside her, careful not to touch her. “Has it happened with me before?”

Riley shrugged. “It’s not unusual. Sometimes it happens in non-telepathic Circles when one of the Circle is pregnant.”

“But we’re talking about with me.”

She looked at him. “I know that. I just explained how it works in Circles. Active Psi pregnancies are your specialty, you must know this stuff.”

Mackenzie didn’t know what to do with that. He looked to her husbands.

Sky held a hand up and walked over. “Riley, baby, we’re just curious, did you actually hear exactly what you just said?”

She gave them a soft glare. “I’m pregnant, not deaf. I’m also not wrong, it’s right in the baby books. Didn’t anyone else read them, or were you just paging through them to get laid? I know I didn’t score above median on the telepathy placement test, but it happens in pregnancy. It does, I know what I’m talking about.”

Mackenzie nodded and gave a reassuring smile. “Of course you do.” What page is it on? Somewhere in the mid-hundred’s right?

She nodded to him. “Yeah, page one-forty-nine.” They all fell silent again. “What? You’re ruining my French toast high, people!”

“It’s okay.” He ran a hand down her arm. “Let’s leave it alone and get on to the food part.” He glanced at the others. “I cooked; the rest of you can carry.”

He stood and helped Torrin move the table closer to the window seat while Quintus adjusted the cushions behind Riley’s back. Compliments on the scent of the food were sung to the melody of plates and silverware clinking against the table. The harmony of laughter and genuine warmth filled the kitchen and a bee sting of guilt pierced Mackenzie. Criminal trials could linger for years, and in moments like these, he prayed he’d been assigned to one that would. What god would answer such a prayer eluded him. To look at the four of them and want their lives on permanent hold, under direct guard in WitSecPsi indefinitely, it came to little more than holding everyone hostage to his own happiness. That didn’t change the fact that he never wanted any of this to end. And any god to make that happen could happily have his tithe and bended knee.

Everyone sat down and reached for the different platters in front of them. Riley sat silent. Her hands smoothed the thin cotton baby doll cami over her abdomen, framing the babies in sheer, silken amethyst. Torrin reached across the table. She took his hand without looking up.

“What is it?” He asked. His smile said he knew.

She didn’t look up. “They’re in the wrong seats.”

Mackenzie stood with Quintus, Sky and Kincaid. Only Torrin kept his place. He was the only one of them with a long enough reach to be able to touch her across the table. When not in his lap, she always placed him across from her. The rest of them moved from day to day, sometimes hour to hour as the fluid psychic field of the twins shifted and altered; more sensitive to certain configurations than others. She directed Mackenzie to her left side, Quintus to her right, and Kincaid and Sky a seat closer to Torrin. The table lifted a millimeter and turned to the right, the place-settings rose and maneuvered to follow the new seating arrangement. The table, plates and glasses settled again without so much as sloshing a juice cup.

“We can eat now.” She announced.

“Damn!” Kincaid pulled out his chair and sat down with a smile. “That just never stops being impressive and hot; I’m too distracted to eat.”

Torrin reached out and bumped the back of his closed fist to the back of Kincaid’s. “Right? That’s what I keep saying. You should see her when she’s distracted and just reaches for stuff across the room, it’s this dizzying display of subtleties that shames and arouses you at the same time.”

“Oh, so it’s like being back in the boy’s locker room at Catholic school. Good to know.”

Everyone laughed but a special timber resonated in Torrin and Kincaid, a harmony learned very young, and one that Mackenzie knew he’d never share with either man. He’d be denied the deeper, matured rhythms that rang between Torrin, Sky and Riley, or even the occult baseline that was Quintus running through his three lovers. He was the outside presence at the table, the stranger, the guest.

“Mackenzie?” Riley touched his face.

A moment of panic gripped him. He couldn’t recall the exact nature of the thought’s he’d lost himself to. Riley’s gaze revealed nothing of what she might of heard. “Yes?”

Some decision passed behind her eyes and she flashed a grin. “Am I not supposed to tell them that you think they’d be less impressed with my abilities if they hadn’t scored a zero on the TK test--combined and rounded up?”

Mackenzie got a face full of linen napkin from Kincaid. He didn’t bother to defend himself. It was a good save. “It seems it would have been better if you hadn’t, but here we are.”

“For the record I was a point five on the test and Torrin,” Kincaid looked at Torrin and nodded. “Yeah, he hit a zero, but that shouldn’t tarnish my reputation by association.”

“You must have been distracted.” Riley reached for Mackenzie's throat. “You remembered to take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves, but you forget your tie. You’re going to get syrup on it.” Her hands moved in an efficient flutter. “I like the color, it’s my favorite. You and Kincaid look very nice this morning. How did the briefing go?” She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, took a moment, and undid a second. “There, that’s better.”

He put his hand over hers as she fingered his collar. “Do I meet breakfast table standards now?”

She looked at their hands. “Is this why everyone is looking at me?”

Mackenzie smiled. “I’m looking at you because you’re touching me. You always have a reason when you touch me; it seems prudent to pay attention.”

“The babies like you, that’s reason enough.” She turned to her plate and picked up the silverware. “So without everyone looking around and avoiding answering me, could one of you tell me why hearing you is a big deal? I’ve heard everyone a little at one point or another. It’s the pregnancy and the abilities of the babies developing, that’s all. It would be a concern if I didn’t hear my Circle.”

Everyone exchanged glances and looked at her again. “See, that, could you not do that? That’s making--“ She swayed forward and gripped the table. The objects on every kitchen surface rattled. “It’s making me tense.”

He didn’t stop to think, Mackenzie just moved behind her, settling his legs on either side of her. “It’s all right, Riley. We’re all sorry; no one meant to upset you. Just breathe and grow still.” He placed one hand on her belly and laid his other arm across her shoulders. “Just breathe with me, it’s okay.” Their auras blended and he pulled her chakras back into alignment. The dishes and other object grew still.

Torrin gave a nervous laugh. “I still don’t understand why an obstetrics and pediatrics Psi would give up that kind of pay to become a Marshal, but I’m grateful that you did every time you do that.”

He nodded at the Empath, but kept his attention on the woman in his arms. “This instance is less impressive, it was just another form of anchoring like Sky does. I can be easily replaced, I was just closer.”

“You’re not easily replaced.” Riley whispered.

Pomegranate and mango scented curls brushed his cheek and he turned his face into them and inhaled. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Riley laughed. “My shampoo is making you hungry.”

“That wasn’t a thought, but yes.” Mackenzie leaned to the side to see her profile. “Are you feeling better? I can stay here for a bit.”

“You can come eat, we’ll change the subject. You, Kincaid and Quintus can tell us about the briefing.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Since, as you know, I can’t go anymore; as if being pregnant has impacted my ability to process a Psi-briefing.”

He laughed and pressed his cheek to her hair. “I know you hate being part of the detail now, but even you can’t argue the strategy. So play all fifty-two sympathy cards in the deck, I’m not going to recommend you come to the next three day meeting, or the one after that, just like I didn’t suggest it three days ago.”

She took a bite of bacon. “It’s seventy-eight cards actually, a sympathy tarot deck. And I do plan to play them all, twice if necessary until you change your mind.”

He looked at Quintus. “Do I take this to mean she’s already convinced you to suggest it?”

“She has yet to ask me, Marshal Matthews.”

Mackenzie’s heart fluttered and Riley made a non-committal sound in his arms. “Is there something you need to say, Riley?”

“Nope, I’m just eating my breakfast like you should. Come tell me about the briefing, you’re stalling.”

He was, he didn’t want to move. Moments like this let him pretend this was more than an assignment and his place in things more than circumstance of having the right skills, in need at the right time.

“I requested you personally for the initial assignment.”

It took him a second to process her words. “You did what?”

She held a piece of bacon back to him. “Open.” He took it and she nodded. “I personally requested you for lead marshal at the cabin and I fixed the records at dispatch so that they wouldn’t offer lead to anyone else when it was time to move us to long term protection. I went through a lot of trouble to get you and keep you. The least you can do is let me go to the briefing. It’s not like I’m asking for a shift securing the perimeter. I just want to hear what’s going on first-hand.”

Mackenzie felt kicked in the chest. She’d requested him? Would she make that up? He hid his face in her hair and tried to catch his breath.

In his peripheral, Quintus took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Perhaps it would be prudent to go over the exact explanation and expectations of the process known as maternity leave. There seems to be some lingering confusing these last two weeks. As your Handler I feel it’s my responsibility to clarify.”

Sky turned and faced Quintus fully. “I didn’t realize breakfast came with a show this morning. I have got to see this. If you pull this off and I finally get peace of mind that she’s going to relax and take this break for what it is, there are carnal delights in your future to make the gods weep. Please, proceed.”

01 June 2011

A Journey of a Thousand Miles

Last Saturday, my son comes up to me, a book in hand.

"Mommy, I want to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone".

We've tried this before, with me reading it to him. We never get far, but he was younger then. He's eight and a half now, just about the right age for this book. And he is a good reader, though usually getting him to put down the Wii controller and pick up a book takes an act of Congress. But, wanting to encourage him, I said okay.

That was last Saturday. He's past the first 100 pages already.

I think since he's seen the movies it may be easier for him to follow along - though he's already picked up on some of the differences. But he's totally been captured by this book. My cousin said to me - "wouldn't it be great, to be able to pick them up and have them all be new again?" I love that he's discovering this series in print rather than just the movies, which he loves (yes, he has a wand and can remember any spell you ask. But he also wants to be Matt Smith's Doctor for Halloween, so I know I have a weird kid.).

I AM so excited for him, for this to be new for him, because I hope it leads him to a life full of reading, of finding books that capture his imagination.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

30 May 2011

Blessings on Memorial Day

To the brave men and women in the US Military:
Thank you for all that you do for us. I wish I could hug each and every one of you. Stay safe and come home soon.

To my American friends far and wide:
I hope you have a restful, peaceful day off.

For the rest of the international community, I borrowed this information from Wikipedia about the holiday:

"Memorial Day is a United States federal holiday that honors soldiers and is observed on the last Monday of May (May 30 in 2011). Formerly known as Decoration Day, it commemorates U.S. soldiers who died while in the military service. First enacted to honor Union and Confederate soldiers following the American Civil War, it was extended after World War I to honor Americans who have died in all wars..."


May we never forget the sacrifices made for our freedoms,
may we never have to repeat them,
and may you all have a glorious day.

If you are in the U.S. Military (past or present), or if you have relatives and loved ones who are, please chime in. I would love to honor you personally.

Kimberley Troutte

28 May 2011

Creativity, Resistance, and Fear

Writers are creative people. Of course, we aren’t the only ones. People are creative people. Except we aren’t always as creative as we want to be; as we feel, deep down, that we can be. There are as many reasons for this as there have been people. Probably more. There are many books, movies, articles, and art about getting past the fear that stops us. Two of the books are by Steven Pressfield. I got Do the Work as a free Kindle edition, then went out and the hard copies of both Do the Work and The War of Art. Why? Because these books are life changing.

We’ve all experienced some type of creative block. We have all ducked our creative natures for TV, housework, sleep. Procrastination has killed more cat stories than curiosity ever thought about. We all know we procrastinate, we joke about it. But it’s easier to stop a speeding locomotive than to get ourselves past that to the stuff that we want to do.

Pressfield calls this block “resistance,” and that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the resistance against movement in a swimming pool, or the resistance when you try to push together the same poles of a magnet. His books name this enemy and tells us, all creative people, how to fight resistance and do “our work”—the thing that is creative or that will advance us physically, spiritually, morally, ethically, etc.

Some memorable quotes, for me at least, from Do the Work are:

“Resistance is a repelling force. It’s negative. Its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work.”

“Everyone who has a body experiences Resistance.”

“Resistance’s goal is not to wound or disable. Resistance aims to kill.”

How to get past resistance?

“Forget rational thought. Play. Play like a child.”

And the opposite of resistance? Assistance.

“Assistance is the universal, immutable force of creative manifestation, whose role since the Big Bang has been to translate potential into being to convert dreams into reality.”

Finally,

“When we experience panic it means we’re about to cross a threshold. We’re posed on the doorstep of a higher plane.”

And before you start thinking of me as a Pressfield fanatic (OK, a little), let me point out that he is far from the only person with a book about blocked creativity. There are many. Another life changing one for me is Ralph Keyes’s The Courage to Write. This book is in large part responsible for my being a published author. Some of my favorite quotes from this book are:

“Writers by definition talk behind other people’s backs.”

“Before they can convey honest feeling to others, writers must be honest with themselves.”

“Its psychic demands make writing an exercise in courage little different from climbing a sheer granite cliff or skiing down a steep slope.”

And my absolute favorite”

“If you’re not scared, you’re not writing.”

Have a great, creative weekend!

Cheryel
www.cheryelhutton.com

25 May 2011

Sgt. John Cullen & Family Benefit

Beyond the Veil fans, if you'd like to contribute something to help defray the cost of John Cullen's medical expenses:

In the Cincinnati, Ohio area, go to any Fifth/Third bank and drop off a check made out to "Friends of John Cullen." The check will be deposited into the 5/3 account.

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Outside the Cincinnati area, mail a check made out to "Friends of John Cullen" to the City of Mason Police Department, 6000 Mason-Montgomery Road, Mason, OH 45040. Note on the outside of the envelope that it is for the John Cullen account.

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Sgt. John Cullen & Family Fundraising Event:

All families and supporters are invited to participate in the Sgt. John Cullen & Family Fundraising Event on Wednesday, June 15th, 2011.

Everyone is invited to gather at Buffalo Wild Wings (6050 Snider Rd. Mason, OH) for lunch, dinner or a snack.

On this day, 10% of ALL food purchases accompanied by the Sgt. John Cullen Benefit certificate (click the image below and print) will be donated to Sgt. John Cullen & Family.

** Sponsored by The Friends of John Cullen**

Only valid at 6050 Snider Rd, Mason. 513.398.2999.
*Alcohol purchases not included. Valid on dine-in only.


Please Note: You must present the certificate (click the image below and print) with your food purchase for BW3 to donate 10% to the benefit. Please email Jamie Van Wagner (jvanwagner@masonoh.org), Pattie Connor (pconnor@masonoh.org) or Kelli Kline (kkline@masonoh.org) for an emailed copy of the certificate. You can also pick up a hard copy at the Mason Police Department anytime BEFORE the event. These flyers cannot be passed out on BW3 property the day of the event.

***************************************

They are accepting GIFT CARD donations and other items to create Raffle Baskets...If you would like to donate items for raffle baskets or door prizes, please email one of the ladies mentioned in the above paragraph. Thanks!


Carolan

Life Changes--Wear a Helmet


On May 9, 2011 my husband left our house to go on a bicycle ride with our dog. It's something he does all the time. He holds the leash and the dog, a black Labrador named Winston, runs alongside him. He does not wear a helmet. My last words to John were, "Come back in one piece." Said jokingly, not realizing how prophetic those words would be.

At 6:45pm I received a call on my cell phone from an EMT telling me my husband fell off his bike and wasn't able to give them his name, then asking if I could please come down. I hopped in the car and drove less than a half a mile. The EMT's told me he probably had a concussion and were taking him to the nearest hospital. I followed after dropping the dog off at home (who was uninjured) and picking up my oldest daughter.

By the time I made it to the hospital--about a ten minute drive--I was told my husband had fractured his skull and had blood on his brain. The medi-flight helicopter was already on its way. I hopped back in the car and drove downtown to one of the best brain trauma hospitals in the country. By the time I got there, John's condition had deteriorated. He had trouble breathing and had to be put on a ventilator. Emergency surgery was performed to remove part of his skull to allow the brain to swell.

John is a police officer--a sergeant with a nearby community who worked the 3pm-11pm shift. As word spread and his fellow officers heard the news, they started appearing at the hospital. When the trauma surgeon came out to the waiting room to update us, John's entire shift suddenly appeared behind the surgeon. My first thought that these were John's warriors, ready to do battle for their friend and co-worker. They were like angels, materializing from nowhere. These warriors filled the waiting room, sitting with me until 4am when I finally got to see John. They have been by my side ever since. If I'm at the hospital late, a cruiser appears and an on-duty officer waits with me until I'm ready to leave then escorts me to my car. They appear at my front door and cut my grass. They call and text me every day. They sit by John's side if I can't be there.

John spent nine days in a drug induced coma and fourteen days in neuro ICU. He contracted a nasty case of pneumonia and pancreatitis that threatened his already teetering condition.

He has far exceeded the doctors' expectations. His nurses call him a miracle. He is awake. He is talking. He's moving all of his limbs and following simple commands. There is no way to know what the future holds for him. He could recover 100% and return to the career he loved so much. He could have mental disabilities. I prefer to believe he will return to us 100% the John that left on that fateful bike ride. I see him in there struggling to break free. He is a fighter, strong-willed and stubborn--all traits that will help him recover.

Yesterday he hugged me for the first time since May 9th and he whispered in my ear, "We will be okay."

23 May 2011

This Is What A Romantic Novelist Looks Like

Alleged journalist Claudia Connell of the Daily Mail apparently had on her granny goggles when she recently attended a RNA conference in London to report on it for the paper. All she could see, when she looked around at a room full of women of varied ages and appearances, was grannies, grannies, everywhere. "All around me," she remarks in the article, "are middle-aged and elderly women in their pearls and support tights."

Other attendees of the same conference were a little baffled by Ms. Connell's characterization. Like author Kate Johnson, age 20-something, who was also at that RNA conference, wearing a tiara and gold high heels, which Ms. Connell's granny goggles kindly re-envisioned for her so as to retain the article's wonky stereotype.

Ms. Connell went on to refer to RNA attendees as "sex-obsessed pensioners", while confessing that she found herself kind of liking them -- although she'd really rather HER mum take up a traditional old-lady pastime of gardening.

Interesting question: if Ms. Connell had attended a conference of mostly male writers and worn grandpa goggles, do you think she'd have been as snide about their careers and their talents, or would she have noted that it must be a tough field, this genre writing thing, since the average age of the attendees spoke of years to one's hone skills and business savvy? Or would she have eschewed the grandpa goggles entirely and looked around her to see the vast assortment of faces, bodies and ages that exists at every writer's conference I've ever attended?

After further contemplation of the article, author Johnson decided to follow up her original post with a social media campaign to show the Daily Mail what a romantic novelist looks like.
http://etaknosnhoj.blogspot.com/2011/05/this-is-what-romantic-novelist-looks_23.html

You can find the Twitter hashtag of participants here: http://twitter.com/#search?q=%23thisiswhataromanticnovelistlookslike

And you can find some pictures of romantic novelists below from various members of Beyond the Veil. Let's start with me since I have that photo ready to go:



I TOTALLY fit the stereotype, right? Never mind that I was dressed as Mary Poppins for a rather vigorous tap recital I was in. I have pearls on (in my ears), a daffy hat, and "support hose" (aka dance tights). Alas, my hair has no blue rinse and that's not exactly a twinset. But close enough.

However, I usually look a lot more like this:


I had taken off my maroon steampunk jacket since it was kind of warm at the booksigning, but that is a sweater vest. That's kind of like a twinset, right?

Now let's take BTVer Carolan Ivey. She's got several splits in her romantic novelist personality as well. Sometimes she rides a Harley:


But sometimes she goes to Rennaissance Faires:


Just depends on which side of the bed she wakes up on, I guess--whether she dons the leather and chaps or the brocade and bodice. I left out the picture of her with her dogs because they're probably on both sides of the bed. Now let's have a gander at author JM Ward:


JM is on the left with the blonde hair, which she sometimes ripples with some red flame dye (sorry, no blue rinse!). Wouldn't you love a granny like that? She was busy hanging out with her friend Jen Jawidzik, keyboardist for the Cruxshadows, backstage and stuff.

Next let's peep at author Kimberly Troutte.


She's got to be, I don't know, a great grandmother with that face...a great grandmother of ideas that birth ideas that birth ideas. She probably has twenty idea grandbabies running around in her head at any time, waiting for their stories to make it to paper.

To be fair, I know a bunch of authors who are grandmothers, who have lovely grey or white hair, who can maybe afford a nice strand of pearls, and who appreciate the massaging benefits of support socks (probably not so much with the support hose since those are too much like Spanx). Some of them have been publishing for years, so their career longevity is to be worshipped -- not mocked -- while some are newer to publishing. Nobody ever said a person can't follow her dreams later in life, or earlier!

The fact is, I know a lot of romantic novelists -- and readers -- of all ages and appearances and colors, living in all parts of the world, with jobs and hobbies and families and senses of self that make every one of them unique. It would take some mighty powerful granny goggles to boil them all into a single stereotype, but Ms. Connell managed it. Perhaps the Daily Mail hands out stereotype goggles to its writers as a matter of course? After all, if you don't do much research because everything you see looks the same, you can avoid pesky things like "facts" and "truth" and instead save on money and time.

So, what do you think a romantic novelist looks like?

Jody W.
www.jodywallace.com * www.meankitty.com

20 May 2011

Things I've learned lately...

Honestly, I really didn't know what to blog about today -- hence the late hour of this post. Do take my midnight-four a.m. work schedule into account, as well. But I have been thinking about different things recently. Yes, thinking. Dangerous? I agree. ;)

Thinking and learning seem to go hand in hand, whether I'm up the challenge or not. So now, I'll share some things I've learned... conclusions I've come to... insights I've gained, over recent months.

1. The only certain things in life are death, taxes and change. Everything changes, from the weather patterns of the world to what music makes me happy. Very few things in life are constant -- but I am truly growing to appreciate those things, and people, who are.

2. Pneumonia is contagious. Yes, I'm slow, but I always heard this illness was a result of some other illness going untreated. I didn't know it was an illness in and of itself. Now I do. I also understand why it can be so dangerous to the elderly, young children and those with other health problems. It's no fun, whatsoever. :(

3. Doing whatever you want, whenever you want, is NOT the key to lasting happiness. You must utilize a healthy dose of self-control in the process or life winds up in ruins.

4. Trust and mutual respect are absolutely necessary for any relationship to last.

5. In politics, no one is ever happy and the other guy is never right. Yes, I am definitely guilty of thinking the latter. :)

6. When we have a problem -- a real problem that needs to be addressed and resolved, such as, oh, I don't know... budgets? Ahem. Then everyone... EVERYONE needs to be willing to make some type of sacrifice and work together without back-biting, name-calling and fear-mongering.

7. I despise bumper stickers, t-shirts, etc. that tell me what to do. No, I don't want to "Have a Nice Day" or "Save the Blue-bearded Guppies". Leave me alone!

8. Sexy shoes are for the very young. Unfortunately.

9. If you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. Teach him to fish, and he'll eat for a lifetime... or stay out in the boat and drink beer all day. (GGG) Seriously, though, whenever something is too easy, it's rarely worth it. Self-reliance can give us the greatest satisfaction in life.

10. The biggest realization I've come to over the last few months? I have a pretty good life, and it's time I stop whining about what I don't have and enjoy what I do. :)

Hope you're still thinking and learning, too.

~~Meg

Indulge your senses...
http://www.megallisonauthor.com

11 May 2011

Raising positive energy...

...for one of BtV's resident authors, Sharon Cullen. Her husband has been seriously injured in a bike accident and at last report was in a medically induced coma. Prayers and positive energies would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!

09 May 2011

Happy Dances!

Greetings, Kittens!

I'm waist deep in edits right now and would have normally passed this day on to someone else to keep going, but I couldn't lose the chance to share a {{{Happy Dance}}} with you all over my latest contract for A WAY TO A DRAGON'S HEART.  I signed the contract yesterday and officially have a release that's coming out around Halloween.

I think every contract will come with a sigh of relief, but waiting for this one in particular held me anxious and unproductive until the day it came through. It's a story that started years ago and has been through four incarnations in total. The last version I felt strongly about. It was the story I wanted to tell and I believed I'd pulled it off. I was met with disagreement, and although I appreciated the feedback, I couldn't accept the idea that the story wasn't exactly what it's supposed to be. I looked it over and sent it out again and began the endless waiting. The day the contact offer arrived in my inbox, I was finally able to breathe again. I'd known it was ready and it meant the world for someone else to see it too. I only wish it had arrived two weeks sooner, as now I'm behind in everything I couldn't quite bring myself to progress on while the fate of this story hung in the balance.

Here is an entirely unofficial peek at the story. The cover is just a place holder that I made and the excerpt is directly from chapter one, unedited and likely comma deficient, but a lovely glimpse into the tone of the story. Enjoy.



A WAY TO A DRAGON'S HEART

Chapter One

“So, you like, get scaly, and big, and stuff?”

Kryssa Drake gritted her teeth and counted to five. What she wanted to do was get scaly, and big, and stuff, and eat the annoying young woman following her around the office loft, but Human Resources had warned her about doing that again. Not that she’d actually eaten the other temps, but the way that last one had hollered you’d have thought she had him half swallowed when security showed up. It’s what they got for sending irritating, yet crunchy and salty-good humans during her period. It was a conspiracy.

Firmly ignoring the too-cute, too-blond, too-perky, Barbie clone, Kryssa continued the tour to the break room, explaining the shelving and territorial marking of foodstuffs. Just when she thought the dedicated over-talking of the girl had imparted a clue to the temp, it—she—took Kryssa’s arm.

“You’re like, warm and stuff.”

Large chocolate eyes gave a slow blink as she looked at the girl. Taking that extra breath before speaking, just like they’d taught in anger management, Kryssa tucked a glossy black spiral curl behind her ear and sighed.

“The air conditioner is on low and it’s eighty-nine degrees outside, not to mention I’m Therian and run hot. What exactly is the mystery?”

The bubbly twit smiled, tilted her head, and gave an affectionate squeeze, confirming the suspicion she had indeed originated from the head cheerleading rung of hell.

“Well the whole cold-blooded thing, silly. Dragons are reptiles, right?”

Kryssa stared at the porcelain hand on her arm. It stood out against skin the color of gingersnaps, its paleness making it seem delicate and outright fragile. With that in mind, along with a clinched jaw, mental counting exercise, and thoughts of sitting through yet another Anger Management and You course, Kryssa managed not to crush the thin wrist as she removed the offensive touch.

“Regardless of what we shift into, Therians are mammals. We’re all hot-blooded.”

And hot-tempered and just plain hot when in a thriving environment, but that wasn’t here or there. Kryssa needed something to calm her nerves before she forgot herself and a simple orientation became a full blown situation. A quick rooting through the fridge produced a large tub of raw vegetables. Almost before the top was fully off, several baby carrots disappeared into her mouth.

“Ooo, you eat vegetables too?” A slow continual nodding of the head followed the question, a trait that took the temp all morning whenever something challenged her to think too hard.

Kryssa crunched louder and groaned. “We’re omnivores you idiot.” The last two words came out a mumbled wreck that bought her a little extra time for decorum.

“Oh yeah, okay, right. So, um, just between us girls, have you ever eaten anyone, Chrissie?”

Time’s up. “No, but give me a minute.”

Big blue Bambi eyes blinked over at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.”

I’m not the only thing she doesn’t understand by a long shot. “I said give me a minute. I have to take care of something.” Kryssa backed away slowly, the way you escape from a dog you think might be rabid. Or in this case, severely mentally stunted, and therefore dangerous to your dry cleaning bill with the slobbering and the pawing.  “Get familiar with the cabinets and snack machine and I’ll be back.”

Broccoli florets, raw cauliflower, and more carrots disappeared in the hundred yard dash to a neutral corner. An open concept conference room became her refuge as she ducked through the glass double doors and hopped up on the conference table. She considered the meeting going on at the time just a minor inconvenience she could generously overlook.

“Kryssa, can we help you?”

She looked to the company’s CEO and shook her head.

“Nope. I’m good. Nice suit.” She reached out and fondled the material. “Did I buy you this one?”

The handsome, regal, professional air collapsed in on itself as he looked at her. She reached up and brushed a dark lock of hair from his forehead. It was the same glossy jet black, but had the barest wave to it, unlike the tight curls pinned back off her face and spilling down her back. She couldn’t help but smile at the face, several shades lighter with its olive hue, yet otherwise incredibly similar to her own.

“Yes you did, Kryssa. Nice jeans.”

Funny, it didn’t sound like a compliment. She looked down at the black tailored jeans, matching cropped three-quarter sleeve blazer and white lace cami, unable to find anything wrong. “What? I’m still in head to toe Armani. Classic black and white, down to the Italian ankle boots, business casual at its finest. How can you complain, Nicky?”

Dominic Drake sat back and shook his head. “My baby sister just came in eating the equivalent of an entire salad bar and sat on my conference table to crunch her way through the middle of my business negotiations. Where should my list of complaints begin?”

That didn’t leave a lot of room to argue with him but with family such a thing is hardly a deterrent to trying. She popped another carrot and looked to the oval table. “First, this is my conference table. Your conference table would be two floors above, up the hall from your office. You came to my floor, and for the next two months until my sabbatical starts and I escape this place for a while, it’ll be run my way. As Chief Liaison Officer I like to liaise in comfort so we do things rather informal here.”

She leaned across the table, smiling at the childhood friend on its other end. “You’re going to accept the merger right, Jimmy? You always were. Your sister told me last week. This is just a bit of show in order to ensure you get the east coast offices; which let me tell you, Nicky is completely prepared to give to you. So you all may as well take an early lunch, business done.”

Dominic stood abruptly and picked her up, carrying her from the room without another word. As distractions went it worked and she munched contently as he strode down the hall, giving the smallest grunt when he finally plopped her down on the receptionist desk in her outer office.

“Where’s your assistant?”

The contentment vanished and more vegetables disappeared. She muttered around the mouthful. “She’s on maternity leave, remember?”

She watched Dominic look around the office like he expected the object of his question to materialize out of nowhere. “Where’s the temp they sent over this morning?”

When she didn’t answer right away he grabbed the plastic tub. After a bit of a wrestling match, he secured it and held it out and above her reach in ransom.

“Where is the temp, Kryssa? Tell me now if we need someone from Clinic to come up.”

She graced her brother with a begrudging grin. “No, we don’t need medical personnel. I left her in the break room. She’s probably trying to figure out if the screen on the microwave gets cable.”