Anny Cook's Blog, page 70

Because I Can

Why do I get up in the morning? Because I can. Not everyone has that privilege, but I do. So when I'm feeling grumpy and stiff and angsty, I remind myself of days when I couldn't make it out of bed...and I shut up.

Why do I climb the stairs? Because I can. I admit there are some days it takes longer. Some days I have to stop midway up and take a little breather. But there you are. Life is what it is.

Why do I read so much? Because I can. There are places in this world where reading is impossible. I have the right to read and a library full of books. Someday the government may come in and confiscate them, but they can't erase the things I've learned, the ideas I've thought, no they can't erase those.

Why do I protest bad decisions by my representatives? BECAUSE I CAN. Of course, pretty soon that might not be so. At least, I might have to pay a price for that privilege because not enough people understood what we had to lose.

Why do I lift my voice against injustice? Because I can. Many across the world pay the ultimate price. Many have died already. Who will cry out, if not me?

Why do I vote? Because I can.

For now.

anny[image error]

Know Your Target!

I received an e-mail from one of my publishers this morning informing me the first book in my series would be "selling" in early February for free. This is a marketing tactic that's proved successful in the past, apparently, especially for older series. There is a constant turnover in the reader arena and many just might not be aware of a particular series so offering the first book as a freebie encourages the reader to try something new-to-them.

It will be interesting to see if it works. With so many books available, it's harder and harder to stand out, let alone sell. It's not enough to declare in ringing tones that your books receive FIVE stars from reviewers. There's a perception that ALL books receive five stars...probably because nobody brags about receiving two stars. After a while the five star declaration loses some of it's power and punch.

This particular series is about blue people in a closed valley. At one time, that idea was highly unusual and mysterious. Then AVATAR burst on the movie screen and now when I talk about my Mystic Valley series, I receive sly knowing looks and comments like, "Ah...it's like Avatar."

Well, no. It's the other way around. Avatar is like the Mystic Valley books. A friend called me up when Avatar came out. "Did you know they stole your blue people?" she yelled. "They look exactly how you described them in your books!"

No idea is unique. No character description. No plot. Just...no. And while I admit the blue people in Avatar bear a striking likeness to my blue people, that's where the resemblance ends. I believe my own stories have value and merit and a certain uniqueness of character.

When the free Mystic Valley book is offered, check it out. Blue people are cool. Mine are definitely cool. And they don't die...

anny

Trash or Treasure?

Since I'm at a stand-still on my current works in progress, I decided to do an "audit" of my other wips in the hopes I would find a previously unperceived treasure. After the first five or six, it was obvious I would need a list. The list consists of title, current length, and possible target publisher. I ended up with twenty two works ranging from a mere jumpstart of 1K to a twelve chapter story of 40K. That last one is book two of the series I'm currently working on and I estimate it will top out at 65K.

I have three others that are over 20k. And the rest are a middling bunch of story starts between 5K and 10K. As part of the audit, I read every wip (except for the 40K jobby). My intent was to scrap some of them. Unfortunately, that's not what happened.

Instead, I grabbed a notepad and started scribbling ideas and notes for each story. Seems I'm not quite ready to give them up after all. By the time the house hunk interupted me for the eighty-seventh time, I had several sheets of possibilities. Clearly, I can't work on them all at the same time. So the real problem is picking an alternate wip to work on when I'm stalled on Sinister Spear.

Which one will it be? Something short I can market as a quick little read? Or something longer? I don't know. Likely I'll sleep on it tonight and choose in the morning when one of them bubbles to the top of the pot.

What about you? Do you have more than one work in progress in your trunk? How do you decide which one you'll work on next?

anny

Win or Fail?

Win. Fail. It all depends on how you look at it. How often has something gone wrong that actually turned out for the better? Isn't it all a matter of perspective?
Humans tend to remain in their same stodgy path of least resistance until some incident demands change. We take the same route to work. Eat the same foods. Carry out our boring routines until pushed in a new direction. A bridge that is out forces us to take a new route. The doctor tells us we can no longer have caffeine or sugar. Our job schedule changes and we discover the joys of a dawn or sunset.
Every year millions of people contemplate changes in their lives as the new year rolls around. Some actually carry out those changes, but most fail to fight the entropy of human life for one simple reason. We don't have a compelling reason.
Oh, in our minds, the reason is valid or reasonable. For instance, I know I need to lose several pounds. Everyone agrees this would be a good thing. My doctor, my friends, my family all agree. But until I have a compelling reason, it won't happen. That's the true reason most people aren't successful in their weight loss programs. They're not on board with the changes required. The commitment isn't there.
It's easier to maintain the status quo. 
I read a line once in a romance..."he's like an aircraft carrier--hard to turn around". Yeah. That's us. Changing direction is difficult. Unless we take a lesson from that ship and change direction bit by bit. So today (and maybe for several days until it's part of my new routine) I'll spend more time on my feet. That's all I will require of my new routine. 
It seems simple enough, but I expect it won't work out that way. Probably I'll have to set a timer to remind me. Get up! Walk around. Bend over and stretch. How long do you suppose I should commit to my new routine? Ten minutes per hour? Yeah, ten minutes. So. This is my new commitment for the rest of January. Let's see if I can manage this small change for the next two weeks. Who knows? I may find I like it. 
It might just turn out to be a win!
anny

Potty Manners

What is it with people? Were they all raised in barns? Today's pet peeves...

Women who "sprinkle" on the toilet seat--and don't clean up after themselves. Ladies, (and I use that term very loosely) if you can't wipe the seat, wait until you go home where you're free to pee on your own seat! But I bet you don't do that.

Men who leave the toilet seat up. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it that you're half the world's population and you get to stand up to pee. Nice for you. The rest of us don't have that advantage. And there is NOTHING as cruddy as stumbling into the bathroom in the middle of the night and dunking your ass in a cold water bath because the last jerk didn't put the seat down. Drop it!

Men--or women--who use the last bit of toilet paper and don't replace the roll! How tough can that be? I especially get annoyed at people who don't take the time to notify management when a public restroom needs attention. It takes a few seconds to stop someone and say, "Your restroom needs attention." That's it. Five seconds.

Whiskers in the sink. Come on, guys. A quick whisk and rinse is all that's required. Same for everyone who leaves gobs of toothpaste in the sink. People! You're not the only ones who have to use the porcelain bowl. Clean up, I say!

That will be all. Y'all have a nice day!

anny

Friday Snippet

His hand dived in the pocket, curling around in dangerously tight spacebefore reappearing with the key ring dangling from his meaty fist. Momentslater we were standing in the cabin's tiny kitchen/living room. "Nice place,"he observed before pushing me down on the lumpy couch. "How did you find me?" I really needed to know what mistake I'd made thatallowed him to track me down."Just a hunch." "A hunch?" I stared at him in appalled disbelief. "How could you findsomeone with a hunch?"He opened the old-fashioned icebox and helped himself to one of my sodas.Twisting the cap off, he took a hefty swallow before turning to face me. "Istudied your file. You seem to alternate the types of locations you choose.Your last one was urban so the next would be rural. Then I drew a circle thatcovered the territory you could travel in two days. After that, I eliminatedplaces that were too similar to other locations you've chosen in the past." Hetook another long drink. "You were too well prepared to run so I reasoned youprobably had somewhere to run to.""Bullshit.""Nope. Everyone in the world has a pattern to their lives. Even the oneswho deliberately try to eliminate patterns. It was just a matter of figuringout what your pattern was." He squatted in front of me, caught my chin in hishand and stared deep in my eyes. "I found you once. I can find you again. Soyou might as well tell me what the hell this is all about. No one spends theirlife scrambling from one place to another without good reason."Impatience and irritation rose up within me. "I told you. There arepeople after me. They want me dead.""Yeah. According to you they want your blood first, though. What arethey? Vampires?" I didn't like the way he was looking at me."They're one of those neo-supremist groups," I snarled. "And they nodoubt followed you here. Now I'll have to leave my gardening stuff behind andall my plants will die. Thanks a lot!""That's what you're worried about? A few plants?""When you don't have much, every little bit counts." Something—a shift in light, a change in the insect hummingoutside—something tipped me off and I dove off the couch taking him to thefloor as the window exploded. The whine of shots whistled overhead. "Staydown," I yelled as I rolled across the floor toward the tiny bedroom, steadilycursing under my breath at the hand cuffs. In the doorway I paused long enoughto wriggle and hunch until I wrenched my arms over my feet so they were atleast in front of me. Then I was up and running bent over for my bugout bag. The cop was right behind me as more shots and the sound of tinkling glassfilled the air. "You don't follow directions very well." I jerked my shotgun from thebag, as the front door slammed against the wall. "Down!"He dropped to the floor as I pulled the trigger.   
©Anny Cook 2012

Good Old Days

In the last few days, there have been a rash of "the good old days" posts on various Facebook walls. You know the ones about playing outside until the street lights came on and so forth. Like all things we view through the nostalgic prism of time, we choose to remember the good and forget the bad.

I don't think that's selective memory. It's just a yearning for a time when things were simpler. At least that's our perception. But if you take a man or woman out of their familiar surroundings and place them back...oh about fifty years, most wouldn't have a clue how to accomplish some of the most basic tasks.

Then food preparation took place in the kitchen--on a stove. The proliferation of kitchen appliances was barely beginning. A few kitchens had mixers, big heavy machines you used to make cake and cookie batters. The overall machine was durable enough for my two year old daughter to use it when she need a stepping stone from the kitchen counter to the top of the refrigerator. You don't want to know the rest of that story...

Other than the mixer, there were no other appliances. No microwave. No George Foreman grill. Nothing. We (the hunk and I) acquired our first microwave when our oldest child was ten. He's forty-one now. You do the math. It was a tiny little box we didn't really use much for another five years. And dishes? Dishes were washed by hand.

Laundry...laundry was an all day process--usually performed on Monday. We had a wringer washer. The process went something like this: Fill the washer with the hottest water you could get. Add bluing. Wash the "white" clothes. Run them through the wringer. Soak in a big washtub/sink to rinse. Run them through the wringer again one piece at a time. Hang on the line outside to dry. Wash the sheets. Repeat the wringer/rinse process. Wash the "colored" clothes. Repeat. Wash the towels. Wash the "dark" clothes. Wash the "dirty/muddy" clothes. Empty washer and sink. Clean any residue from washer. Repeat next week.

Notice. You used the same water for the entire washing process. By the time you reached the last load, the water was cool and...dirty.

Tuesday. Ironing day. Some of you probably don't know what an iron is, but when I was growing up, everything was ironed. Everything, including the sheets and pillowcases. You got a free pass on the underwear and bras, but not slips. (That's probably another item most women don't remember.) All the clothes were sprinkled with starch water, rolled up in little logs to keep them damp, and if you didn't plan to iron them immediately, they were kept in the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator.

Ironing was an art. A woman (or man) who ironed well could actually make a living at it. It was also hot (no air conditioners back then), rough on your back and legs, and if you were careless, you could end up with singed fingers.

In the summer, you prayed for a cool rainy day when you had to iron. There were no air conditioners. If you were fortunate your family owned a couple "box" fans. They were set in the window (blowing out) on the sunny side of the house/apartment to draw in the supposedly cool breezes from the shady side of the house. Sometimes it even worked.

Cars didn't have seat belts or door locks. I know. I opened the back door the Easter I was about five and rolled my oldest brother (who was around two) out the back door. While we were moving. He ended up in an irrigation ditch by the side of the road.

When I brought my first baby home from the hospital, I held him in my arms--in the front seat. We didn't have car seats until my third child was born. Try traveling anywhere with a bunch of little kids riding unrestrained in the back seat.

Of course we weren't distracted by telephones or texting. When I was small, we had a "wind-up" box on the wall. First you cranked the box. Then you asked the operator to connect you to the person you wanted. It was a party-line (which just means more that one family shared the line). Any one could listen in to the conversation at anytime--and did so frequently. The operator knew everybody's business in the entire town.

By the time I was around ten, you could pay extra to have a private line. It was easy for others to determine your financial state simply by knowing whether or not you had a party-line.

The phone was generally on the wall in the kitchen. When I was engaged I was permitted to speak to the hunk for twenty minutes twice a week. While my parents listened to the conversation.

Yep. Those were the good old days.

anny

Indecisions, Indecisions...

One of the questions I'm asked frequently is, "Where do you get your ideas?" The better query might be, "How do you decide which idea to work on?"

It's hard settling on a story idea. I have a proliferation of plot bunnies. But most of them--the vast majority--don't go anywhere. They just huddle in the corners, twitching their noses and wiggling their ears. Unfortunately, I might have to write as much as three or four chapters before I concede that particular rabbit is just not gonna run.

Then it's back to the corner to pick out a new bunny.

Once in a while, I'm seized with a terrific idea that leads to more than one story. Once in a while. Usually, there's an intriguing world attached and that is what makes the ideas come alive.

I've noticed that fewer and fewer books I read really have well developed worlds. They're wallpaper worlds so all the action takes place in a room or two (mostly the bedroom!) so the author really doesn't have to answer simple questions like "What kind of clothes do they wear?" or "What do they eat?"

I digress.

At this moment, I have ten or twelve stories started. One of the difficulties is sex. The market is changing. Publishing is changing. And what publishers wanted six months ago--or a year ago--is not what they apparently want now. Some of the stories were originally aimed at the erotic romance market. Now I need to "scale them back" before I can finish them for a more restrained romance market. And that's just fine. I'm tired of gratuitous sex.

I want a romance. I want commitment. And then I want sex. Love? Yeah, that would be nice, too. But I've also noticed that in many stories the h/h fall in love and suddenly everything is wonderful. All problems are solved. They walk hand in hand into the sunset. Except love doesn't necessarily solve all problems. It might make it more pleasurable to be together. But give me an iron clad commitment that will last through thick or thin and will be a firm foundation to build on. Then we'll talk about love.

Anyway. I'm currently working on book two of the Tuatha Treasures series. Yesterday I edited the first eleven chapters and intended to start chapter twelve today. But in the night, some changes came to me so I suspect I'll delve back into those first eleven chapters. And maybe...maybe I'll end up with enough extra words to make a couple more chapters.

Maybe.

anny

Faith and Hope

Hope is the only thing that keeps us going when chaos swirls all around us. But what about when hope is gone? In the past year or so, there has been a disheartening rash of family murder-suicides. At some point in each case one member of each family has reached that point of no hope.
Now I certainly don't advocate killing your family! I don't advocate suicide. My point here is the increasing number of people who feel there is no other solution. What is the final tipping point?
I wonder why so many people choose this solution? Do they really believe their family is better off dead? Really? It seems to me we are not as resilient as we once were. There is less cushion against our inevitable stumbles. We have less hope in the future.
I think...we have less faith. People pray less. Whatever concept people have of God or a Higher Power, they've shoved him/her/it to the side.
Most humans need something to worship. In the absence of organized religion they worship celebrities or sports figures or political figures. Because the new gods are human they inevitably fail. Each new failure of the worship object leads to a new cycle of depression. And less hope.
So. Perhaps its time to go back to worshiping a deity. I'm not talking about religion. On the whole, organized religion is less than satisfactory. Religion is simply another place for people to go when they don't want to think for themselves.
This is about faith. Faith in a higher power, a creator, a plan for the universe. 
In our insistence on an either/or explanation for the universe, we've discarded the creator in favor of a random development of life. Why must it be either/or? Why do we limit our vision of God? And why do we rush to blame our higher power when things go wrong?
If we have the self-autonomy to choose our actions, why do we then blame God when we--or our fellow man makes bad choices? We can't have it both ways.
Prayer--communication with the creator--was never meant to be a group activity. From the beginning it was a one-on-one conversation. For me, it is continual speech with someone I respect and believe in. I have a feeling most people don't really have anyone they respect or believe in at a bone deep level. Most people expect everyone around them to fail. Ultimately, it is that expectation that breeds despair. 
anny

He has my vote...

It's scary when you find voting for a dog a viable option. What has our country come to?

In the last few months our congress has passed laws that have effectively stripped the constitution of all our rights. The President signed the latest into law last week. The voting for the latest law took place in the middle of the night--during the month of December. And no one noticed.

No media reported it. No journalist stood up in protest. And few citizen's voices were heard over the clamor of football, Christmas/New Years, the Kardashians, and whatever else was on TV to distract the sleeping public.

Did you know the House of Representatives are considering a bill that would allow the government to strip your citizenship? Does that concern you?

Have you listened closely to any of the candidates and the nonsense they are proposing? Has anyone really considered what our country would be like if any of them become President?

There are no viable choices. Perhaps by design?

Think about this. Why aren't more people asking questions?

anny