Lilith Saintcrow's Blog, page 152

Less Traveled By

Some days a ramble in the park is enough to restore one.

On Snow Leopards

Let me tell you a story. It involves my ex, but it’s not that kind of story. He’s not a bad person, and there were several years of things working as they should in our relationship.

During one of those years, we had a conversation about snow leopards.

“In Tibet,” he told me, “there’s snow leopards, and there’s dogs. The difference is when you throw a rock at them.”

“You shouldn’t throw rocks at animals anyway,” I objected.

“Shhh, this is about why I love you. So they say, you throw a rock at a dog, it runs away.”

“You still shouldn’t throw–” I was getting a little miffed on behalf of these poor animals.

“I know, bear with me, okay? A dog runs away. But you throw a rock at a snow leopard, you know what it does? It vectors the trajectory and comes for where the rock originated, figuring there’s food there one way or another.”

“As well they should. People shouldn’t throw rocks at animals.”

“See, THIS is why I love you.”

Which just puzzled me more. “Because I don’t throw rocks?”

“Because you’re a snow leopard. People can’t tell that from a distance, but if they throw a rock, they fucking find out.”

“…that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

He grinned. “I aim to please.”

Yeah, there were reasons I married him, even if things ended up where they did.

Anyway, the whole point of this trip down Memory Lane: be a snow leopard, chickadees. When a rock hits you, figure out where where it comes from, and if there’s food there, kill it and eat its still-steaming body…

Crap. I think the metaphor broke down. I need more coffee.

Over and out.

photo by:


Land Rover Our Planet

Help and Living

I think I’m finally ready to write this post. Bear with me.

Some days–not very often now, thank the gods–I feel frozen. (No, not that Disney movie.) Just…encased in a block of ice, so cold-numb it burns. Afterwards I’m always glad for habit and giri, because they carry me through. During the freeze, though, I feel almost-nothing. The temptation to physically hurt myself just so I can feel something is overwhelming.

And then, the other thoughts arrive, the way they have since I was about ten years old and realized this is hell, and I can leave if I plan it very carefully. I can just go. That was a revelation, one which gave me a desperately needed illusion of some kind of control.

Yes, I’m talking about suicide. Have I attempted it? Yes, privately, telling no-one. I’m not sure whether to feel grateful those attempts didn’t work, or embarrassed to be admitting to them now, or both.

I’ll be thirty-eight this year. I never thought I’d live this long. What ended up saving me was the Princess–the instant I knew of her existence, my life wasn’t my own anymore, and all my plans to step out of this world became null and void.

But oh, sometimes I longed to, and I suspected all the love and duty in the world might not be enough to stop me.

One of the reasons I went to therapy was the urge to just leave the planet was beginning to reach parity with my fierce desire and obligation to remain for those I love. The pain, anxiety, and panic attacks were bad enough to seep through protective numbness, and I needed help before I did something irrevocable. When I eventually caved and went on medication, both Calm Therapist and Frau Doktor were very clear that if the thoughts of offing myself grew more intense, I was to call either of them, my emergency phone tree, or 911, and keep going down the list until I found someone to talk to.

Fortunately, that particular side effect didn’t hit me. Just nausea.

I still think about it. They’re passing thoughts, usually when I’m stressed. It’s a “last best card” thing, the idea that I at least have control over that most basic of decisions–whether or not to keep breathing. Like those experiments where dogs and monkeys get better when they have some type of control over being shocked–the ones who can’t escape the random shocks just get apathetic and don’t even try to work free anymore.

Frau Doktor nodded thoughtfully when I told her about this recently. (We’re still fine-tuning my dosages.) “Very common, with trauma,” she said, carefully. “The time to be worried is if those thoughts suddenly become more intense. Any change in them–more frequent, more intense–is a cause for concern.”

It eased my worry to know those passing thoughts are natural, if not normal. It’s sobering to think about how close it was–that even my absolute devotion to those I love, those I have to survive for, those who depend on me, might not have been enough.

Why am I writing about this?

Simple. To tell you, if you’re in that position, if you’re keeping it as a last best card…don’t beat yourself up over feeling that way. That feeling, that thought, is something that happens. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, or weak, or inadequate. It probably means you’re exerting some kind of control over a hellish situation, that your brain and body are attempting desperately to cope. I’ve been there: in the numbness so huge nothing matters, in the pain so intense you’ll do anything to get out of it. In the place where calmly considering how to end your physical existence is logical and even appetizing. Believe me, I understand.

But please, please, try for help before you make any move. Call someone, anyone. (I want to add: who might not have an agenda to make it worse, because in your position, you know best about that.) If all else fails, please listen to me: you will be missed. I will miss you, even if I don’t know you. Even if we’ve never met. You are precious. You matter to me. Please, try for help. Please don’t hurt yourself.

That’s all I wanted to say.

photo by:


Moyan_Brenn (back soon & sorry for not commenting)

Soundtrack Monday: To Hell And Back

And Soundtrack Mondays are BACK! Today it’s the track list for To Hell And Back.

I was exhausted physically and emotionally by the end of the Valentine series. It was an incredible ride, but I was so tightly locked into Danny’s POV that it took me some time to recover. Not to mention, my marriage was well and truly on the rocks but the divorce was a ship on the horizon, I was almost killing myself trying to save the relationship on my own. (Pro tip: that never works.)

Fun fact: this book was supposed to be titled The Devil In Love, after Jacques Cazotte, but I was overruled. This was one of the few times I’ve bowed to an editor’s insistence on something that really mattered to me, because said editor had cogent reasons and a track record of not pushing me unless it was hella important. Given the number of The Club Dumas and Ninth Gate references and Easter eggs all through the series, I felt really insistently that Devil in Love was the right title. To me, the book remains DIL, but the editor had the final say. Maybe she was right.

Dante Valentine Won’t Back Down, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers This was, is, and will always be the theme song Danny and I share–the one thing we agree on, as it were.

A’tai, hetairae A’nankimel’iin. Diriin. Virtue, Jesse Cook

My Word Is Broken The Road To Hell, Chris Rea

Not Anubis, But Sekhmet Fallen, Sarah McLachlan

You Betrayed Me First Here Is Gone, Goo Goo Dolls

There Is No Mirror It’s No Good, Depeche Mode

I Am Your Fallen Savin’ Me, Nickelback This one veers between Danny and Japh’s viewpoints. Guess which is which.

Konstans-Stamboul Gypsy Rhapsody, Bond

Sephrimel’s Agony, Japhrimel’s Strength Born Yesterday, Rob Dougan Japh’s frustration with Dante reaches epic proportions. One imagines Sephrimel and Inhana had similar issues.

The White-Walled City All That I Am, Rob Thomas

It Was Burned Away In Hell Special, Garbage

Or Learn To Leave Them Unsaid It Doesn’t Matter, Alison Krauss

Throw The Dice You Can’t Lose-A Me Cholly, Leadbelly

Paradisse Run For It, Delerium

The Vegas Waste Head Like A Hole, Nine Inch Nails

Not All The Hosts of Hell, Just One Living Dead Girl, Rob Zombie

A Promise I’ll Keep Nothing At All, Rob Dougan

And that about wraps that up. Yes, I didn’t put the Saint City Sinners soundtrack up. I don’t think I’m ready to yet. That book still makes me cry. Next up: the Kismet series!

photo by:


arquera

Delayed Gratification Success

The book launch for Latimer’s Law was a roaring success. I made plenty of coffees, my writing partner read from the first chapter of her book, and I got to see so many old friends–former writing students, and poets, and people familiar from all the community events Cover to Cover hosts. I was also called “the evil little voice that sits on Mel’s shoulder,” which is one of the higher compliments I’ve ever received.

I should mention here: part of the reason for the success is the grunt work Mel’s done over the years, both as Cover to Cover and personally. As a bookstore owner, she’s gone in early and stayed late to host poetry open mics, book launches, signings, NaNoWriMo write-ins, and a thousand other things. She encourages local authors, and also gently tells the business reasons why their books won’t work in some stores. She’s endlessly patient with even the prima donnas–something I don’t think I could ever be, and one of the reasons why I’m the evil voice in our partnership.

As a writer, she’s a community builder too–not just as my writing partner, beta, and support system, but also for a wide circle of far-flung wordsmiths (like Grace Draven, frex) that rely on her wisdom, support, and wonderful sense of humor.

This is why, when she modestly credited other people for a large part of her success, I immediately jumped in to point out the work she’s done for YEARS as a facilitator, bookstore owner, crit partner, editor, networker, friend and confidant not just to me but to literally hundreds of people. All that work, those late nights and that patience, pays off. It’s delayed gratification, true, but it prepares the ground so that any luck falls on rich soil.

Which brings me to my Monday Lesson, chickadees. Being invested in, and proud of, other peoples’ success is a good strategy. This is not a zero-sum game, where the more success a fellow author has means less for YOU. The more success other authors have, the better it is for everyone, and reciprocity and community-building makes you luckier, and makes your own success that much more robust. It really does pay to be kind to each other. Not being an asshole is a great business strategy, and one I wish certain other people would practice…

…but that’s, say it with me, another blog post.

Latimer’s Law Launch!

Tomorrow (Saturday, May 10, 2-2:30PM) I’ll be at Cover to Cover Books for a Latimer’s Law launch party! I’ll be running the espresso machine, so if you want coffee made by me and a good time, not to mention a fun celebration of my writing partner’s first trad-published book, come on by! Here’s the map. There will be snacks and a reading, and a whole lot of fun. Please visit if you can, and help make it a smash!

Cover to Cover orders and ships books for people, too, including signed or signed and personalised copies of all my backlist. With Amazon acting like an asshole again[1], it’s probably good to throw a little love at some indie bookstores. Just sayin’.

[1](And yes, I know I have Amazon links in this very post. It’s for Reader convenience and in the service of my writing partner’s numbers, and I’m conscious of the irony.)

A Loaf of Trundles

Last night, despite sleeping heavily to ward off a cold, I woke up in a panic because Odd Trundles had stopped breathing for longer than usual. (Bulldogs, with their compromised passages, often have sleep apnea.) It reminds me of when he was a puppy and every night was an odyssey of worry. Several times we didn’t know if he’d make it. But he has, and his sweet dopey little self is well worth all the trouble. So here’s a picture of him as a pup, just when he’d turned the corner and was out of the danger zone.

I am pleased to report he started breathing again, and the resultant loud snoring lulled me back into much-needed rest.

Other people can’t sleep through the noise. Apparently I can’t sleep when it’s too quiet.

Selene Paperback Now Available

Well, that was quick. Amazon’s the first out the gate with the Selene paperback; I’ll add other buy links on the book page when they go live.

Thank you all for making this possible. I would never have been willing to resurrect the serial without help from my dear Readers, and a big shout out to Skyla Dawn Cameron, whose services in formatting and cover design have been invaluable. Thanks are also due to Brian White, whose proofing services are well worth the price–and who can now put “vampires boning” on his resume. (You’re welcome, Brian!)

Now I think I need to go have some breakfast. Whew.

ETA: If you’d like a SIGNED copy of Selene, be sure to ask Cover to Cover Books.

The Selkie’s First!

GUESS WHAT.

My writing partner and best friend (Mel Sterling, known as the Selkie ’round these parts for lo these many years) has a book birthday today!

Not just any book birthday. This is Latimer's Law, the book she won in the Harlequin So You Think You Can Write contest with, her first trad-published book EVER.

Stealing a pickup truck, newly widowed Abby McMurray hopes to escape her abusive brother-in-law. But the vehicle’s owner and his attack dog halt her plans. She knows she’s made a terrible mistake. Yet there’s something tender about the stranger that makes her feel safe.

K-9 deputy Cade Latimer senses Abby isn’t a criminal. And when he sees her bruises, he knows she’s running from someone. Physically and emotionally scarred from a botched investigation, Cade has his own demons. Yet he can’t resist protecting the gentle woman who’s capturing his heart. But little do they know, Abby’s brother-in-law will go to any lengths to track Abby down….

Originally the book was titled Grand Theft Auto, and there were many dinners and wine-soaked hours at Niche while she hashed out the characters and our long looping conversations wandered through everything from just how an abusive predator will worm his way in to what a K9 dog must think of human smexxors (now THAT was hilarious, though not as hilarious as the napkin-folding incident in the German restaurant) and just what exactly Cade’s problem is–we covered it all.

I’m pleased as punch, and so happy for my bestie. If suspense is your thing, if you like romance with a brain, danger, and incredible heat, please think about giving Latimer’s Law a try.

On Growing Up

Today’s going to be furiously active. There’s a tempo run, a call with the agent, the dogs need kibble, the cats probably do too because I don’t want any of them eating my face, editing to get out the door, and buckling down to revising Gallow and the first three chapters of the upcoming Fireside serial. Plus piano practice, cleaning the fridge, leftover laundry from the weekend…Christ, I often need a day or two to recover from the damn weekend, things go so quickly.

This particular weekend was nerve-wracking. The Princess went to her first Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was a birthday celebration for one of her friends, and there was plenty of adult supervision, but I still had a very restless night, all told. You spend so long watching over their every breath, anticipating their needs before they can speak, waiting and worrying…and then, as they grow up and individuate, it’s hard, so hard to work against that habit. Years and years of safeguarding every breath these little people take, and then one day you realize…well, it’s time to start fighting that habit a little in order to give them the room they need to test their wings.

It’s hard to know where that line is, because it changes on a day to day basis. Some days they need to bump their noses on the wall of Mum’s Rules just to reassure themselves that in a big scary world there are some certainties. Other days they need to fall and get their knees scraped, because it’s far, far better that they learn about disappointment and consequences now when the stakes are small and mistakes are easily rectified rather than later when they can be life-changing, not to mention life-threatening. The endgame is not to have a child dependent on you for the rest of their life, the endgame is a person who has the tools to function in the real world and who knows they always have your love and support. It’s a difficult job, the most difficult job ever.

I try, every time they go to school or anywhere, to have the last thing they hear from me be “I love you.” Just in case. I work hard to be reliable for them, especially since my ex is, to put it kindly, out of the picture by his own choice and has been for years now.

So far it seems to be working. The Princess is sixteen and contrary to what one might see on the telly, things are actually very calm. There are no screaming fights or slamming doors. If a rule is unreasonable we talk about it; if there’s something she wants to do we discuss any safety concerns and I make a decision. The Prince is twelve (dear God, how did that happen?) and, while hormones are starting to rear their ugly head, he’s still the same sweet compassionate kid he’s always been. They fight with each other, of course, but largely where I can’t hear them, and it’s just normal sibling stuff. The only thing more constant than their poking at each other is the united front they present in times of trouble. “Nobody but ME can mess with my sibling!” is the order of the day.

I’m cautiously beginning to hope that the huge teenage explosions I hear so much about are going to mostly pass us by. Of course, the universe could just be wanting me to relax so it can fling explosive poo at me, because the universe is a monkey with a strange sense of humor.

So while she was throwing rice and laughing at callbacks, I woke up every hour on the hour, and at 3am there was a text from the Princess. “Safely back.” Which meant they had returned all in one piece from Rocky Horror. I could finally turn over and go to real sleep, and when I picked her up the next day I thanked her for Being Responsible.

“Oh, no problem,” she cheerfully replied. “I just didn’t want to have you show up at 6am looking for me. You need your sleep.”

They are so funny, and so sweet. They come out with distinct personalities–hell, the personalities are there in the womb, and they only unfold into more and more complexity as time goes by. They’re damn fine people, and I love them to pieces. My life does not belong to me, and it hasn’t since the moment I found out I was pregnant with the Princess.

No, it belongs to them; I do my best never to forget that for a moment. It’s a funny thing, how that can end up saving you. Honestly, I never thought I’d live this long. I never thought I’d have a reason to.

I am very lucky to have two.

photo by:


Moyan_Brenn