Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 172

And in Book News...

Wow-- talk about shit sneaking up on you!

Becoming is out TODAY--available at Torquere Books and All-Romance e-books and, of course, coming in the next couple of days from amazon.com.  (For those of you who are sort of addicted to amazon.com, I will tell you that ARe has better deals, and they do offer stuff in Kindle format--or .prc, if you're looking at the list.  I mention this only because I know what it's like to go, "Aw, geez... but I HATE getting out my credit card to buy something."  They can set you up to send stuff to your Kindle, and that's sort of cool.)

Anyway, Becoming is the fifth installment in the Jack & Teague & Katy series, aka the Green's Hill Werewolves, and it's one of the most painful.  (For those of you along for the ride, you're probably wondering how ANYTHING can be more painful than Changing.  Uhm, trust me.  The angst only goes deeper.)  The thing I really loved about this one is that editing it had me writing on Quickening again, in the dark of the night, because Green and Cory and Bracken really do have some nice moments here.  And, of course, Teague...

What can I say?  Teague and Jack were (as many of you know) inspired by the guys on Supernatural.  But then, as inspirations go, my two guys quickly became something totally and completely different than the seeds of their creation may have indicated, and Teague is a prime example.  I'm working on a character now who has layers and layers to his pain, and every time I wonder if I've got the chops to peel another layer, I look at Teague and think, "Oh yeah.  I wrote THAT guy--I can do this."  Teague is just so complex, so flawed, so noble, so damned damaged and so worth the pain.  Yeah--he's my guy.  He's my Captain Kirk, bleeding from a stomach wound and captaining the Enterprise through a battle, my Dean Winchester, cracking wise when he's bleeding out, and my Sir Galahad, serving self-lessly and without reservation, all rolled up into one.  Every time I read this (and remember--three edits to prep it for publication!) the guy just sort of stabs me in the heart, and oh, how I enjoy the pain.

I REALLY hope you enjoy it as well.

(And family anecdote for the day-- it was a really shitty morning in general.  Mom wasn't focusing on all four cylinders, and NOBODY was organized.  Anyway, Squish decided it was a day she had to wear something blue, or something close to blue, so the outfit I gave her was fiddled with behind my back, and we didn't have time to fix it.  She left the house in a red and black plaid shirt/dress and purple-heart-dotted leggings.  And bright neon green Halloween socks.  Where's that badge absolving me from the blame for that mess?  The "I swear my kid dressed herself!" badge?  Because that outfit made my eyes water!)

Really?

Okay, it's that time of year again when I whine.  And what time of year would that be, Amy?  Any time?  Yes.  Any time of the year, I whine.  We all know it.  Let the whining commence!

'kay.  Mate's soccer coaching has had a setback.  Not a huge setback, but my husband did lose his temper (in a faintly passive aggressive way that I must completely blame on myself, because I think I taught him this) and the parents who have known him from anywhere from three to ten years all said, "Wow.  I've never seen him mad."

I have.  We're lucky things weren't worse.

On Friday night (after a series of errands that would make the hardened veteran housewife pale--well, maybe not Julie--she was a Navy wife, the military toughens you up!) we gathered at the soccer park to watch our assorted team of 3, 4, & 5 year old girls and boys face down against the Teutonic Youth Incorporated boys team.  Okay, so that wasn't their official title, but most of them were somehow related--you could tell by the blond hair, blue eyes, and bowl hair cuts of at least five of the boys.  And yes--they were ALL boys.  There was something disheartening about watching our kids--the four year olds that Mate has to coax on the field (or order off of it because they're clinging to his leg), the small, timid boys, the frolicsome, competitive girls, and Squish, team mascot/player, face off against a little line of boys who were, to the one, at LEAST two inches taller than our TALLEST boy.

We got slaughtered.  The coach had no idea how to play his kids back, and to top it off, there was that REALLY obnoxious soccer parent screaming for blood with every goal.  (And that team made a lot of them.  They were all big, all in sync, and all SIX.  And did I mention the all boys?)

My two favorite moments of that game?  Twice, Squish had the ball roll OVER HER FOOT, then she looked up and saw that massive pack of kids running directly AT HER, and proceeded to scream and bolt in the opposite direction.  Twice.  Yup, folks, that one has my athletic ability, there is no question about it.

And that was Friday.

Saturday, Mate's birthday, we lost 15-1.

Mate's team this year is young.  The U10s needed a coach, and he said he'd do it, but he was bringing Zoomboy (another team mascot/player, don't let the uniform fool you) onto the team.  He wanted to coach his own kid.  (God knows why.  So far, ladybug catching, cloud counting, and dirt exploration have yet to contribute a single goal to that kids four year soccer career.)  The team he got was mostly eight year olds and first year players.  There is one other kid besides Zoomboy who is into his fourth year in soccer, but I think I've already explained that Zoomboy doesn't really count.

Something weird has happened in the seeding.  There is one other team in our division that is as... well, let's say young and inexperienced, and leave it at that.  We have yet to play them.  We've spent the first four games of the season watching coaches with really excellent players put those players on the bench so our kids could find their own squirrel tails with both hands and not feel like crap as they were getting played into the ground.  Mate has been very grateful--and very complimentary of these coaches.  "Thanks for not beating the crap out of us, my guys had a good game."  He's felt bad--the really good kids aren't getting any playing time, and his team isn't going to win.  It's hard--he gets excited during practice because his kids are LEARNING HOW TO PLAY--they're executing plays, they're understanding the game, they're excited about what they're doing--but when they get to the field, they're facing teams who have known what they were doing since they were five years old--which was half their lifetime ago.  He's been patiently gritting his teeth, telling his players they're doing a good job and to go out and have fun, and praying they can make it to the time when the teams get re-seeded and his team actually gets to play against other teams of the SAME ability.  He doesn't care if they lose 2-0 when they're playing their hearts out.  It's when they lose 15-1, and they've given up at the end that kills him.

Well, that's what happened Saturday, while the other coach screamed at his kids to punch up their defense and the other parents screamed for blood with every goal.

And one of his kids-- we still don't know which one--likes to punch kids on the shoulder--it's a "good game" sort of thing.  A little boy sort of thing.  Mate didn't see it as he was leading the kids through the high fives, but the little boy socked the other kids on the shoulder instead of high fiving while he said "Good game."

He socked the coaches daughter (who played like a champion) on the shoulder, and she cried.  The coach came over with the ref, and Mate said, "I'm sorry about that, did you see who did it?"  The little girl didn't.  Mate said, "I can talk to the team, but I can't call the player out right now unless you saw who did it."  The little girl still couldn't name the kid who had socked her in the shoulder, and Mate promised again to talk to the team and try to get an apology, when the other coach--remember, the one who was coaching his players to slaughter us and screaming across the field?  That one?  Said, "Yeah, coach, you go ahead and talk to your team!"

And Mate said, "Maybe my kids were just pissed because they lost 15-1."

And he turned away and walked off, while his assistant coach talked about how punching was bad and the other coach stared at him like bad sportsmanship starts and ends with the high-fives at the end of the game.

Mate would tell you it's not his finest moment and he's not proud of it.  I know he's probably thinking of sixteen other ways he could have handled that moment--hey, I've been there, I know the feeling.  But sportsmanship can not simply be a one way street.  It cannot just be something shown by the losers when there's dirt all over their faces, it has to be shown by the winners who are helping them up off the ground.  (Actually, I hope this is sort of the lesson they're learning in New York and Washington with this whole "Take Over Wall Street" thing--all the non-taxable rich people are the absolute pinnacle of bad sportsmanship, and those of us getting knocked in the dirt are not always going to remember our manners when we're fishing ourselves out.)

Now one of the things that probably made this other coach angry was that the one girl on his team was his daughter, and he felt it very personally when she was disrespected.  I wonder if he realized that the little lost soul on the field, the one who kept losing his shoe and didn't know which way to run, was our son, and that he spent the least amount of time on the field as anyone else on our team?  Yes, he's our son, but he's also a member of a collective for this moment, and in this case, the collective needs outweighed his need to wander in the mud puddle and lose his shoe.  Did the other coach put that together with the fact that, yes, he may want his daughter's team to win, but his team wasn't the only set of little kids on the field, and that sometimes some folks need to sit out so that the collective can benefit?    I'm thinking not.  I'm thinking that he feels terribly, terribly wronged.  But our little boys treated his team respectfully when they were playing--and probably one of them didn't realize the terrible disrespect in that playful sock on the arm.  (I'm thinking it was playful-- these aren't the kids that roughhouse when they're at rest, and there's not a lot of competition and violence in them.  I can't imagine that they just go around smashing on other kids for the hell of it, because they don't do it during practice.)

What I do know is it took a birthday dinner (my parents took us out), three hours at the computer, one John Wayne movie, a trip to the park and three Buffy episodes for Mate to finally, finally let it go, and when I woke him up this morning, (twenty minutes late) he didn't believe it was Monday.  Apparently he lost his entire Sunday to brooding about those two games and how he had failed his teams.

And I'm thinking that to me, he's probably the best coach in creation, because soccer really is just a game to him, and it's all that other stuff that comes first.

Saturday Snark

Marie Sexton is doing Saturday Snark again, and although I missed it last Saturday (Chicken's b-day) I thought I could make it today before running off into the maelstrom of what is Mate's b-day today:-)

This one's from The Locker Room and it wasn't until I tried to do this that I realized how very many of this book's best moments are tied up with some real sad moments as well:





"Xander!"

Was that in his dream?  He couldn't decide for a moment.

"Xander!"


He kept his eyes and his mouth clamped shut and screamed, and then one of the dogs half-whuufed and he was startled into looking into the dark of his room.  He flailed for Chris, but Chris wasn't there, but Chris's voice screamed, "Xander!" and suddenly he was bolt upright in bed and wide awake.

"Fuck," he muttered, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.  "Oh, Jesus fuck me, Chris?"

"Jesus better not be fucking you, genius--that's my job!"

Chris's voice was faintly disembodied, and Xander turned toward the brightened computer screen to see Chris, in a nice looking hotel room, looking back at him.

"Oh."  Suddenly what Chris had said penetrated, and Xander's inner fifth grader (never far from the surface) reared his head, and Xander choked on a smirk.  "Oh, geez, Chris, we're going to hell for that!"

"Hey, you swore first!"

Art Begets Art

Okay, I've said this forever.  And ever and ever.  And it seems like the simplest of ideas, but very often our politicians or our education systems or whatever don't get it.  But it's true.  Our art is what is remembered, and Art Begets Art.

I loved being the docent for the Kindergarten and the 3rd grade classes.  I learned VERY much about Renoir, Degas, Lautrec, and not telling 3rd graders when an artist dies of alcoholism, no matter WHAT the curriculum says about it being part of the presentation.  (Damn Lautrec anyway-- it's not like his name wasn't hilarious as well...)

So I'm proud of being a part of that--and today, when I met Sam and his mother and family (loveliest people ON the planet, bar none!) at the park with my children, I was also pleased that two different children knew me.  I was the "art lady" and Zoomboy and Squish were considered VERY lucky.

And then Chicken showed me her project from art (pictured above) which was inspired from this song and this show, and I thought that there is something to be said for passing on this value, that art is important and that our civilization is marked by our art and our literature and by the things that we are passionate about...



And that our idiot politicians can bicker about the rights of man all they want, but the rest of us?  We know that responding to art is one thing those morons can NEVER take away.

Uhm, yeah... I don't know where to go with that...

Okay... Squish was home sick yesterday which was... awkward.

She's apparently accustomed herself to the breakneck cosmopolitan pace of Kindergarten and the simple pleasure of sitting on Mom's lap was reduced to a clingy, whiny mopefest of how bored she was--at the same time she could barely move without seal-coughing loud enough to attract big bull sea-lions from the nearest bay.   I was going to send her to school this morning so I didn't kill her (or at least yell at her again!) and also because I'm the art docent today (and tomorrow) and I really sort of don't want to make Mate come home to watch the kids so I can go to their school, because there is just something fundamentally and karmically wrong with that, we all know it!


So, there we were, rooting for her cough to go away and her fever to not return (it didn't) and then, at two o'clock in the morning, Zoomboy did an unexpected thing:  He requested permission (I am not lying about this) to throw up.

"What?" I asked, unaware that he had even crawled into bed with us.

"I think I'm going to throw up.  Can I go into the bathroom and use the toilet?"

"By all means!"  Mate barked, horrified (and not sure if he could race to the end of the hallway in time, as he has during pukies past!)

This morning?  He was fine.  Seriously.  No bullshit fine.  Jumped up, went and picked out a shirt for him and a complementing shirt for Squish.  We were thrilled.  And he gets to be there when I come into his class and talk about Degas and Lautrec and Renoir and Carnival, and then make little paper figures connected with brads to show movement, and I'm really pleased and I really hope I don't foul this up.

And, uhm, speaking of foul.

See, I wrote a story about this object to the right.  It's funny.  It's cute.  Roxie can vouch that the sex is not gratuitous, and that the romantic payoff is worth the abuse of knitwear.  And then I put the pattern for the object to the right in the story.  And knitted up a sample.  And my editor wanted a picture.  So there I was, outside, trying to take a picture of the object to the right in front of my house, when the mail lady came by to deliver the mail.

She really had no comeback, explanation, or comprehension when I explained that I had written a pattern and I needed a picture to go with it.  She literally didn't know where to go with that.

And there is a sort of war going on for the space on my phone--with three participants trying to outdo the other.  See, my friend Mary Calmes who loves me keeps sending me texts full of eye-candy... the picture of my favorite Winchester boys here is only one, and it's really one of the few that might not have some sort of artistic licensing thing to it (because I've been DYING to post the others because they're PRETTY!) and, well, they really do make my day.

And then  Chicken realized what was going on, and SHE started sending me pictures that SHE found on line. This demotivator poster cracks me up every time, but trust me-- she finds PLENTY of free pictures of boys kissing, just to crowd up my phone.  She and Mary have been having a war--they will randomly send me hot pictures of pretty boys and I will pass them along, but in the meantime, the picture card on my phone is getting FULL!


And then, probably without realizing it, Elizabeth got in on the deal.  She sent me some motivating pretties from God-with-a-camera, Dan Skinner, who did the cover for Clear Water, and whose tasteful, non-nekkid pictures just got BANNED FROM FACEBOOK because of the two-guy content.  Which is why I put the Dan Skinner picture up top.  Because it's beautiful, and, well, I sort of wanted the world to know that there MUCH WORSE THINGS on frickin' Facebook than that.

And also because Elizabeth said it reminded her of Green's Hill.  And I miss Green's Hill.  Quickening is not coming along quickly at all--I keep having to make way for things that pay the rent, and my Little Goddess is languishing in her pregnancy.  I will get there... but in the meantime, it's lovely to have a picture that reminds me of someplace I really love.

And I think that's all... because seriously, I don't really know where to go with that....

Happy Birthday, Chicken

On Chicken's 17th Birthday we...

1.  Picked up her gifrickinnormous birthday cookie
2.  Dropped her brother off at the Sac Horror Con
3.  Went to a soccer game where her team had no subs
4.  Watched Chicken almost score twice and walk off a sprained ankle-- no subs, remember?
5.  Sang happy birthday to her and shared the cookie at soccer
6.  Went back to join Big T at Sac Horror
7.  Met Tad Williams.  (SQQQUUUEEEEEE!)
8.  Met Nicholas Brennan (SSSSSSSQQQQQQQUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!)
9.  Took Chicken's picture.  (It's not as beautiful as the moment:-)
10.  Got a picture of a swamp monster too.
11.  Bought an impossibly beautiful ink and pencil drawing.
12.  Got In N Out on the way home because we were STARVING
13.  Came home and met Mate & the short people who had spent the day at soccer and sunsplash.
14.  Took care of Squish--she was sick.
15.  Watched DVR'd television until Chicken reluctantly showered and said goodbye to her beauty parlor straight, soft, & fluffy hair from Senior Portrait day.
16.  Agreed that it was a very good day.

Bullet Points

Someone told me that bullet points were the best invention of the eighties--I'll take their word for it, but I do have to admit they come in handy, especially when there is all sorts of random information someone has to share.  To wit:

*  Squish has actually PLAYED soccer for her last few practices.  Mostly because we told her we wouldn't put her in soccer, and Dad CERTAINLY wouldn't coach if she didn't show some effort.  Okay, yeah, it sounds like blackmail, but, well, it worked!

*  Chicken got the spa treatment today-- hair, nails, make-up--all so she could have her Senior portraits taken.  Funny thing?  I told her to wear her black jacquard Chinese lounging jacket, and she did--and I put up her straightened, polished soft and shiny hair in chopsticks and she came into the photo room, and the guy went, "I have to admit, I've never seen this before.  What do I do with this?"  We were like, "Uhm, give her a book or a pad of paper and a pen!"  I think the picture will look lovely, and Chicken overcame her mortification at being pressed, polished, pureed, and generally prodded into the role of being a real girl, and was able to claim some benign rebellion over the entire process which, she is quick to say, was NEVER her idea in the first place.

Me?  I'm thinking of paying them to dye my hair next time.  Considering how bad I am at it?  Hell-- couldn't hurt!

*  We forgot Zoomboy's Little Brown Pill for two days running.  We have the feeling that once again, Mate and I just flunked homework.

*  Big T has survived another week getting under mom's feet.  I almost MADE him go up to Oregon to be trained at Roxie's husband's machine shop, but I don't want to sit on his hopes to be a screenwriter.



*  Me?  I've got a WICKED WIP going on--it's called Chasing Shadows, and I'm going to keep this one close to the vest, just like Alpha, because it threatens to razorblade my heart and let it fall out of my chest and thump-splud on the floor at your feet.

*   I've got two releases in October--one for the 5th Jack & Teague and one for the third Talker, called Talker's Graduation.

*Speaking of Talker's Graduation, my publisher told me that they were going to consolidate the three stories and release them in a paperbound volume (YAY!)

*  And speaking of Jack & Teague, my editor told me that they REALLY wanted to see some more menage from me--which means more writing in the Cory-verse, which means that even though Quickening is not coming along NEARLY as fast as I hoped, I'll still be in the Cory-verse, which makes me VERY happy.

*  And back to me and kids?  I've volunteered to be the Art Docent for two of my children's classes.  This means I have to put together a presentation and a lesson plan and then cut out and prepare materials and basically?  It's a lot of work, and it's due next week, both the Kindergarten AND the third grade presentations.  I'm REALLY excited--I think I'll learn a WHOLE lot--and I'm also REALLY nervous, because little kids are SUCH  a different kettle of fish.  But I think it will be a good thing--even though it will steal some of my writing time that I really can't afford to let go.

A Brief Meditation on Messy

I went to Squish and Zoomboy's Back To School night tonight--I covered both kids because Mate was doing soccer pictures as Coach.  I spoke briefly to both of Zoomboy's teachers--I mentioned his open 504, and that if he happens to miss his meds, they'll know it, but that he very much wants to do well.  His social studies teacher agreed, and then said, "Oh, I'm so sorry I made him cry."
"How'd you make him cry?"  (She seemed like such a nice woman, too!)
"Well, my cat passed away this week, and I was telling the kids that it made me sad, but that we buried him and now he's part of the earth, and suddenly Zoomboy started to cry, and he told us about Dennis Quaid, your orange cat?  And then the little girl next to HIM started to cry, because she remembered when HER cat died, and then the little boy sitting with us started to cry because he remembered when his dog died.  I felt so bad.  Everyone else went off to recess and we stayed in having a group hug."
"Oh my God!"  (Seriously-- I was torn between cracking up and apologizing!)  "I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, don't be.  It was a really lovely moment.  I felt like we'd really shared an experience."
That's why it's okay to be messy.  Group hugs, people who hurt with you, a shared experience instead of a lonely one.  That's what messy gives you sometimes.  
***
And speaking of messy?  Squish had a big messy meltdown when she realized that tonight she was supposed to sing the Pizza Hut song to her parents and she missed it because she was getting her soccer picture taken.  I helped her feel better by singing it with her... "Pizza Hut, Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, McDonalds McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Pizza Hut!"  I swear, if it hadn't been 105 degrees, I would have been STARVING.  
--And that's it-- a brief moment contemplating messy!

(And this one's for Chicken--who loves this song!)

Further on Up the Road

Two wheels, will travel!We were on our way to drop Big T off at my parents on Sunday, when we we saw this weird and ingenious contraption.  Look at that!  It's a motorcycle with a bicycle rack!  Apparently, if it's got two wheels, this guy is obsessed!  We thought it was awesome--and let me say, I'm proud of that picture.  A phone camera from a moving car... dude!  

Can I pet?Anyway, at my folks house, there are kittens.  I only got a picture of one, but there are two babies and a teenaged mama, and my mom is very happy to have kittens in the house again.  So were my kids, who, of course, were absolutely sure that they had never petted a kitten, ever.  The whole world seems to assume that we got Steve just as fat and happy as she is now, and I assure them that is not the case.  If Steve hadn't been a kitten when we got her, she wouldn't keep thinking she could jump places she really can't, and then falling on her fat Steve ass to the general hilarity of all!

And in other news... lemme see lemme see...
Oh yes-- Superheroes!  
First of all--there are a lot of superheroes out there.  Some of the responses I got here and at goodreads.com made me aware that people are strong and amazing, and I am so impressed with you all.  Bringing my kids ice water or juice when I go to pick them up seems sort of pansy assed compared to all the shit you all do.  I'm proud to know you.  
Second of all-- Saturday Snark!  That was fun!  Let's do it again!  And, of course, if there's a line or a moment you'd like to see in Saturday Snark, let me know.  It's funny how many lines I want to throw up there!  ("Jesus, Sparky!  Stop touching my cat!"  or "Yeah, three's a scary number.  We don't linger on three."  were both runner ups for Saturday.)  Anyway, let me know, and maybe it'll make it up and we can help make Marvelous Marie Sexton's latest brainchild a total success.  

And as for the title?  Well, besides the fact that Season 7 is starting on Friday!  (EEEEEEE!!)  There is also this sort of melancholy realization that there are folks out there I haven't seen in almost a year, and that I miss them, and our shared purpose.  Not all of them, and not every part of what it was we were, but I miss them.  Maybe I'll meet them further on up the road.

And KnitTech?  This one's for us:-)

Saturday Snark

Okay, my friend Marie Sexton who has this whole blog-promotion thing down WAY better than I ever will, has this thing called Saturday Snark, where you post your characters saying something snarky.  I figure my characters have snark to spare, so I thought I'd participate.  Patrick and Whiskey have been making a lot of friends recently, so I figured I'd start there, although I've got some Deacon lines I'd REALLY like to throw in, because he's got some rather hidden snark in there that he doesn't get a lot of credit for.  That's okay.  I think Marie's going to be doing this for a while.  

If you follow the link above, you will find a bunch of other authors, posting THEIR snark, and basically, it's supposed to be a very fun, snarky tour through other people's books!  Thanks, Marie, for the opportunity to snark!


So this is Patrick, explaining how Ritalin effects his widdo cortex:


Whiskey shook his head.  "Uhm, what's gonna be different about you?"


"With the LBP?"  (Little Brown Pill)


"Yeah.  what's it do to you?"


Patrick pretended to think.  "Well, first I get hella horny, and then I start humping the furniture."