Lilith Saintcrow's Blog, page 143

Tossing Branches

The wind’s up today, the cedars along the back fence dancing. The deep drilling pain in my sinuses has gone down somewhat, and the crick in my neck from sleeping all tangled up (B does not like the sound of branches hitting the roof, and tries to crawl into me when that happens) is easing with stretches and ibuprofen.

It’s funny how the world can begin to seem a brighter place when you make the decision to not care about toxic people, or to direct everything from them into the jaws of the spamblocker. It’s so intensely liberating. By “not caring” I simply mean letting go of any idea that they can be reasonable, or that their opinion should have any impact on how one lives one’s life. Letting go of any idea that one is required to interact in any way, or give any credence, even internally, to their views.

It takes a lot for me to get to that point, but once I do, it’s liberating. To just drop the baggage and walk away.

My ex-husband used to say “in every problem, there’s a gift. What’s the gift here?” Once, as I was panicked over something a particularly toxic relative of mine had sent to the house, I called him. He listened patiently, as always. (There were reasons we lasted a decade or so.)

“Well,” he said, “in every problem, there’s a gift. What…wait. Hang on.”

A long pause. I thought he was checking on something at work, but when he spoke again, it was with some surprise and no little amusement.

“You know what, babe? There’s no fucking gift in that. That’s bazonko-nuts. Just get rid of it. Throw it in the trash.” Another short pause. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting how crazy [that certain relative] is.”

I can barely describe the deep, intense consolation I felt at hearing that, or at tipping said box of emotional bombs into the rubbish bin. So often, toxic people play divide-and-conquer, engage in gaslighting, and isolate their targets. The salutary application of a friend’s sense of proportion and perspective is galvanizing. It can make one break down weeping in sheer relief, and give one all sorts of strength.

So today is for letting the wind sweep all the detritus out, one way or another. Also, to give thanks for spamblockers.

photo by:


fdtate

Skittish Creatures

Today, it’s the little things: chimney repair, laundry, copyedits, serial chapter revisions. I am only responsible for the last three; the first is (thankfully) contracted out. We’ll see how successful I am working with the dogs going crazy from PEOPLE ON THE ROOF! DOING THINGS! NOISY THINGS! When it’s over, we’ll have a practically new chimney. Considering that I haven’t lit a fire since I bought this place, this might not be as awesome as it sounds. The awesomeness will all come from the damn thing not leaking.

Of course, the long to-do list going to be made a smidgen more difficult by the fact that my head is full of snot and cottonwool, and I ache all over. I was coughing all yesterday, but that seems to have faded. All of that means no running this morning, which fills me with the sort of antsy dread Miss B shares when she’s not exercised enough. Skittish creatures are we, my Miss B and me. I also missed attending the opera yesterday. It was a comic opera, which really isn’t my thing, so I don’t feel too bad about it.

I will tell you who is NOT skittish: Odd Trundles. He is snoring in his accustomed place half-under the table holding the cavy cage, blissfully unaware of any impending change to his serene surroundings. All the schnorgling he did over breakfast and at my ankles while I absorbed morning coffee must have worn him out.

It is gray and cold, and I just had to put the shields over the outside faucets. Winter has truly arrived. Whatever trees aren’t bare are getting there, which makes it, oddly, a little brighter on a daily basis, since the leaves aren’t soaking up what manages to get through the cloud cover. I find myself in a state of low-grade irritation with everything, which probably is not the best state to approach CEs in, but oh well.

*buckles helmet on* Pip pip cheerio, into the breach, devil take the hindmost, and all that. Monday, here I come.

photo by:


Jonathan Kos-Read

Value Added

Having a story engine in your head is weird. Even when you’re dreaming about helping the Longbeards defend Moria, you’re trying to solve the problem of an elf’s never-empty quiver. Five different types of arrows, and each time I pulled one out, I whispered a charm to replace it. Tiring work, since even in dreams, the energy for magic had to come from somewhere. Plus, there were Ents to talk to, and all sorts of sneaking around in the dark to figure out what the orcs were going to do next, and to top it all off, there was no Richard Armitage as Thorin.

I feel sort of cheated. But then, well, I was just on the outside approaches to Moria, with the orcs coming from outside, so I suppose it was more Second Age, Thorin probably hadn’t even been born yet. I missed Durin, too, which sucks. I would have liked to talk with him, even just in a dream.

Yesterday was a bit bizarre, between the icky stuff and the sudden layoff of a beloved editor that I had just sold two books to. Publishing is a funny business, and the tone-deaf way this particular layoff was handled makes me very nervous about the future for those two books, or indeed, submitting to that particular publisher again. Especially since I suspect the reasoning was cost-cutting, without consideration of the value a well-respected, well-loved editor brings to any publisher. Extremely shortsighted and handled very badly–but at least the editor in question will almost certainly find work elsewhere, and I intend to keep submitting to her. Once one finds an editor one likes and respects, one tends to follow them from publisher to publisher, if one can. I wonder if this particular dynamic was why the layoff was handled the way it was–to stave off author flight, maybe?

Of course, when a publisher achieves a certain size, there tends to be a myopic idea that writers are easily replaceable, given the vast amounts of slush and dreck that pour in. The numbers are so large–anyone can submit, and the lists of self-published offerings at Amazon and elsewhere will convince one that indeed, anyone does–that it seems an economy of scale question, when it isn’t. It takes time, diligence, and craft to consistently produce a readable product, and none of those are cheap.

But perhaps I’m biased.

Today: fog, wordcount, another five-mile run. More listening to Joan Osborne, who I just found out has another album out. She’s doing good things for Rattlesnake Wind, even though most of that book’s soundtrack is turning out to be Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. I’ve been having good luck with a speaker placed behind me, so the music isn’t coming from the front–as my writing partner often remarks, music coming from the front makes one want to stop and listen or analyze it, and that takes energy that should be spent on the writing.

Happy Friday, chickadees. May it be everything a Friday should be.

photo by:


huntz

Icky Icky

I’ve switched over to Safari instead of Firefox, which upsets me a great deal. This is why. At least they’re admitting it was a mistake, so maybe at some point I’ll go back. It irks me, because a lot of the things I love about Firefox, Safari doesn’t do so well, even though it’s native to Mac. Oh well.

I’ve been reading up this morning on a nasty bit of business in SFF fandom. Yes, it’s Requires Hate, and if you’re interested, . Ten years is a long time for someone to run rampant with trollage and hatred. I’m just glad it’s come to light now, and that it’s over. I never had a brush with the person in question, but I saw some of the ancillary damage caused. Icky.

You know what else is icky? Thinking someone is perfectly nice, liking them a lot, but then when things don’t work out quite the way they want, having them develop a virulent case of Nice Guy Syndrome. Pro tip: when I say I’ll speak to you when I’m ready, pressuring me will not work. The only thing it does is make me withdraw. Just because I don’t respond in someone else’s timeframe doesn’t mean I don’t care–but trying to guilt me into working on your emotional schedule will never end well. And when I’ve blocked you on my various social media feeds and you text me something from one feed that you imagine is ALL ABOUT YOU? That’s, well, creepy. Also, sending me this snotty link after I tell you to leave me the fuck alone just makes me want to send you this one in return, and noting #5 is particularly applicable.

*dusts hands together* There. That, indeed, is that.

So this morning is for listening to the Beatles (still on my Fab Four kick) and moving on with the Red Clan having kidnapped Gallow and Robin, and the consequences of that. There’s also one scene closer to the end of Rattlesnake to get through. The book is eating my head, for God’s sake, and I just want to kick every other project away for a little while so I can finish it. Alas, that’s a luxury I don’t have. So once more into the breach, dear friends.

Over and out.

New Watchers!

Well, not quite new. More like, re-edited and re-released with a BRAND NEW COVER. Yep, that’s right–all my old ImaJinn books are getting brushed up (it’s every writer’s dream, to be able to go back and edit something after it’s been published, right?) and given fresh new covers to boot.

How did this happen? Well, BelleBooks acquired ImaJinn, and I was offered a the chance to revise and get lovely new covers. (If I keep going on and on about the covers, it’s because that’s one of the many things authors have little to no control over, and it’s really, really nice to get old ones, well, fixed.)

Dark Watcher was the first book I ever sold, over a decade ago. Getting a chance to revisit it was pretty marvelous. After weeping vigorously about the number of sins I committed in text (if you’re not looking at stuff you wrote even six months ago and cringing a little, you’re not growing as a writer, I always say) I set to work, and the result is respectable, if I do say so myself. If you like my earlier paranormal romance work, with my trademark blood and violence, this might be right up your alley.

Right now the new e-edition of Dark Watcher is available through Amazon (oh, the irony) and Barnes & Noble, but the changes should propagate out to other platforms as the year winds down. I’m told all four of the initial books will be released again by the end of the year, and I’ll announce each one here. That means Storm Watcher, Fire Watcher, and Cloud Watcher will be out by the end of the year, all shiny and new again. Next year is for the Society series, and everyone’s favourite (demon’s) librarian. Again, I’ll be announcing the new editions here, and please, if you want to buy them, make sure you’re getting the ones with the new covers! Getting the paper ones in stock might take a little longer. Sorry about that.

This bit of news has been long in the offing, and I’m so excited to finally be able to announce it I’m wriggling in my chair. (I know, that’s a mental image you didn’t need. You’re welcome!) And now I have to get back to work, making more words for you. Best job in the world, more days than not.

And Winning

Today is the day to watch V for Vendetta one more time, and fall in love with Hugo Weaving’s voice again. I’m reminded of a particular meme–“Badassery is bringing knives to a gunfight. And winning.”

Another day, another five-mile run, though I suspect Miss B, getting on in years, will be forced to stay home. Another round of the Prince dragging his feet, too. Middle school is much harder than elementary, and the poor kid has a bit of adjustment shock. It’s not helped by several of his coevals using the loosened restrictions to act like little savages. All of a sudden the behaviour of the parents in the parking lot starts to be visible in their little darlings. *eyeroll* Why is it so difficult for people to wait their turn and behave reasonably?

I have about ten more scenes to write in Rattlesnake Wind, and the second Gallow book is heating up; we’re about to have the earth open up and the double-crossing of everyone by everyone else begin. I’ll probably finish Rattlesnake first, since it’s the one currently eating my brain, but daily wordcount on Gallow 2 is the order of business. There’s revisions for She Wolf and Cub serial chapters as well, and CEs for the first Gallow book landed in my inbox.

No rest for the wicked, even on the fifth of November. There’s chili to make, too. I’m trying cranberry beans this time, we’ll see how they stack up against the black bean variety. All hail chili experimentation.

Now, back to work. The revolution ain’t gonna write its own stories, man.

photo by:


Anonymous9000

It Never Does

This morning, running behind the Little Prince’s old school, a dragonfly kept pace with me and Miss B for a long while. I would have thought it too cold for such a companion, but there he was, buzzing along.

Miss B, of course, didn’t care that we were accompanied. She was too busy tripping over her own paws, craning her neck to see if anyone else had brought their canine to the park for walkies. The lure of another furry four-legs is impossible for her to resist; it’s right up there with schoolbuses and potentially sticking her nose up the UPS guy’s shorts. Yesterday she launched herself towards the front door from the stairs, a banner event that ended with an inglorious splat and me scolding her roundly because she could have broken a leg, for God’s sake. She, of course, hung her head, but none of the scolding penetrated. *sigh* It never does.

Today’s Election Day, I sent in my ballot last week, like a good little civics-trained monkey. Even if you disagree with me on politics, please vote. Like the Rude Pundit, I dream of voter turnout some day reaching two-thirds, and I further dream of the rampant disenfranchisement of college kids and people of color sinking into the stream of history as an embarrassing, deservedly failed gambit by silly plutocrats.

Hey, everyone can have a dream, right?

I’m considering dusting off the old podcast. I have the microphone, and some royalty-free music to put on there, but god damn it if I hate editing soundclips together to make it sound halfway decent. Maybe I’ll just do a reading of a chapter? I wonder…if I was to do a reading, which book would you guys like to hear a chapter from?

There, that’s my intense question for the day. Now I get to go make tea, then get Gallow and Robin into a whole heap of trouble involving the Wild Hunt. Also, I need to figure out when a character in another book drowns. Choices, choices.

And that, I suppose, is all I have to say this morning.

photo by:


linh.ngan

Not Unambitious

It’s NaNo time again! This year I’ll be focusing on finishing Gallow 2 and Rattlesnake Wind (thank you to everyone who contributed through Patreon for a sneak peek, if you haven’t received it please let me know) during November. Lest that seem unambitious, there’s two other books–Gallow 1 and Agent Zero–that I’m in the revisions and edits process for, too. It’s the song that never ends–and I’m damn glad about that.

The winter rains have started in earnest. I’ve already forgotten summer. Watching the leaves change is now a season of profound relief for me, spurred by the thought that I will never again have to rake until my hands bleed because I am an adult, dammit, and nobody can make me. Except myself. While I don’t mind forcing myself to do things, I very much mind being forced by someone else. This was a feature of my personality several people tried to beat out of me growing up. It just made me more stubborn. Which is a good thing, because I wouldn’t have survived said beatings or the assorted other “punishments” if I hadn’t been tenaciously clinging to life and some degree of psychic wholeness.

I suppose I go through a phase of taking stock every year about this time. Finding things to be, if not happy about, then at least moderately pleased by. This is the first year since buying the house that I’ve actually managed to take a deep breath and settle into thinking okay, things are good. Bouncing back after years of panic attacks and stress is a long process, I guess. Maybe it’s just that I’m lucky to have the luxury of recovery. As it is, I feel like I’ve finally caught up on sleep after years of persistent insomnia. Blinking, peering out of a cave, rubbing the frowstiness out of my eyes.

And now, it’s time to start on my very ambitious Monday. Between bread-making, the chicken stock to attend to, milk to pick up, and wordcount (as well as copyedits) to take a look at, it promises to be a doozy.

At least I don’t have to rake leaves. Because I don’t want to.

Over and out.

photo by:

Another Witch’s Year

And a very happy Samhain to you, my dears. May the year be full of happy peace and plenty. Calling the kids’ schools to tell them the Prince and Princess will be absent for a religious observance each Samhain is one of the highlights of my year, I can tell you that.

It’s a quiet morning, full of the sound of rain. When I glance out my window I can see splashes of bright-painted leaves. There’s fairy rings all over–mushrooms, springing up in circles. Given that I’m writing about the Folk, it gives me a shiver every once in a while.

Of course, there are other groups of fungi, and solitary ones, but they don’t make for as good a story, now do they? (Episodes of Hannibal aside, that is.)

Today we’ll carve pumpkins, tonight we’ll burn joss paper wishes, the kids will have a marvelous time, and we’ll go over the Candy Rules one more time: none before breakfast, none after brushing your teeth at night. It only took eating themselves sick on it once before they learned to self-regulate, thank goodness. Just like it only took them one tantrum to discover that will never get you what you want from me. Smart kids.

Be safe out there tonight, chickadees. See you in a bit.

photo by:


istolethetv

Shoplifting Dream Assassins

I dreamed I got a job at a drugstore attached to a mall. A friend and I were hired at the same time, and our first few days went smoothly…until the manager had a day off and the assistant manager, a petty tyrant, took over. He was so nasty-tempered and insistent that my friend and I not speak to each other I outright quit that day and walked out, but had to stay in the area because I was my friend’s ride home. Which led to me wandering through crowds at a mall, never my favourite thing. I walked behind a group of kids–I think, in the dream, I was barely sixteen myself–and one of them bitched so loudly I said, “Oh, look, it’s Cher,” and they didn’t get it.

As I wandered, gradually recognizing that I was lost and couldn’t find the store to pick my friend up as the time to drive her home approached, I realized there were two groups of people using the crowd as cover–a team of shoplifting assassins and another team responsible for catching them. (Exactly how I knew the shoplifters were assassins is a mystery.) I got a text from someone I didn’t know, and was trying to text back that it was a wrong number, when my phone turned into a dishrag. So I put it back in my pocket, and I was having a type of fun positioning myself to watch the two teams without them seeing me when I suddenly thought, it’s time to pick her up, all you have to do is go outside and follow the building around and you’ll find her and the car.

Which led to me waking up, with a cold, sweat-gush feeling of relief that I’d figured something out. I felt a little guilty for leaving the friend working there when I had decided to quit, but relieved that I could just walk away from a bad situation and wasn’t trapped, trying to make it better.

My brain, honestly. Now I’m absorbing my morning coffee and wondering if a team of shoplifting assassins is a story idea or just one of those weird misfires the dreaming mind is prone to. Probably the latter, because why would assassins shoplift?

photo by:


Frozen Hell.