Kathy L. Salt's Blog, page 7

G is for Good

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… or bad.

Yesterday I was lying in bed with my wife (that’s her hands and legs up there by the way). We were tired and silly and just talking and laughing. I can’t remember anymore how we got there but I decided to tell her about the most sensual part of a novel. I like stories that make me bleed. Stories that make me cry and ache. I just like feeling a lot. I like sadness. I don’t like vanilla stories were everything just falls into place.

Whenever I think of aching moments in stories, I often think about Radclyffe’s “Passion’s Bright Fury”. I love this book (And not just because I have a little crush on Saxon Sinclair). There is one specific scene that always destroys me.

This is the excerpt of that part (the scene is that Sax (the doctor) and Jude (the director) are going upstairs to the roof of the hospital before Sax’s shift starts. They talk a bit, make out a bit, and then the following happens) :

Jude pressed her fingers to Sax’s lips. “Stop. Right. There.” She felt Sax’s smile curve under her fingertips. “Hold that thought…”

“Which one?”

“The one that just made your eyes go purple,” Jude breathed.

“That would be the one where your mouth was on me and -”

“Enough,” Jude groaned. “I mean it, I’ll have a stroke.”

“That’s okay. I’m a doctor.”

“I want you,” Jude said very clearly, her gaze locked on Sax’s. “I want you so much I can’t think. But even if it’s quick, it won’t be enough. I won’t be able to stop if we start.”

“When?” Sax asked urgently. “This morning, this afternoon? Forget lunch, we’ll…”

I don’t know what it is but that last sentence, “Forget lunch, we’ll…” stuck to my brain like a bad pop song, I’ll never know why but the first time I read it, I got goosebumps and now as I read it all again, almost the same thing happened.

BUT when I was going to explain this scene to my wife last night it sounded like this:

Well, they are upstairs, on top of the hospital and they are playing basketball. Then the doctor says to the director: “Do you want to have lunch with me?” But the director can’t because she has to break up with her girlfriend. Then the doctor gets sad because she thinks the director is seeing other people. Then they start wanting each other and the doctor says she wants her and that they should skip lunch and just do it instead.

I don’t even know where I got the basketball from. Anyway, it didn’t impress the wife at all and she’s not about to read the book based on this description of my favorite scene.

Seriously though, go and read “Passion’s Bright Fury” by Radclyffe if you haven’t. It’s beautiful and sexy and heart wrenching in the best kind of way.

What this blog post was really going to be about was my inability to write when I’m alone. My wife has been back in Sweden for a week but she’s working long hours and going back to Cape Town on Sunday. This means I’ve been home alone most days since coming home from the boat.

At first I thought it would be great. I could finish the first draft of “A Tale of Spiders and Canned Soup”, I could start planning my next one while AToSaCS was with my beta readers. ….aaaaand then I hit a wall. I write maybe 200 -300 words at most. With people around it’s more around 1000-2000 (some crazy days 3000-4000).

I’m not good at writing in a quiet flat at all. It’s as if I need a distraction but TV is too distracting. As it turns out, I need human contact. Doesn’t even need to be in the same room. I can write well when my best friend Marco is home and chatting with me on Skype.

Anyone having the same problem?

Today I was going to have lunch with my parents and I purposely arrived literally in the morning so I can spend my day writing here instead of home. No wonder there is such a stereotype of authors hanging in cafes.

I think I’m going to go back to writing now and stop being distracted by the internet. I’m trying to figure out if getting an Instax mini would be worth it but writing is definitely more important (although if anyone reading has any experience with the Instax of any type or other polaroid cameras, please leave a comment on what you think?)

F is for Freedom

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Before I get into this blog post I want to thank Lynn over at Lynn Lawler’s blog who has written a lovely review of Stargazing, my new novel. You can find the review here or here.

Thank you to everyone who has purchased a copy of “State of Emergency”, “Out of Hand” or “Stargazing” – please don’t hesitate to leave reviews on amazon or goodreads if you liked them. Leaving reviews is a simple way to give some love to your favorite author.

When I planned this blog post it was the day before my vacation started. As a teacher I get something of around six and a half weeks every summer. Of course, some days I do work on, planning and looking through new material but otherwise I’m free. I was looking forward to continue learning the piano, finishing ”A tale of Spiders and Canned Soup” (my next novel) without a couple of days. I wanted to go running and swimming etc. Instead I have re-organized at home, donated books and clothes. I have gone back and forth to my wife’s work, helping to prepare for her work trip to South Africa. She’s works in IT and she’s going down there to help with… something. She’s been doing insane hours and haven’t even had a day off during the weekend for a couple of weeks. This morning she left.

I’m such a silly woman. When I said bye to her at the airport, my tears came and I clung to her even if I know we’re going to see each other agian in just half a month. We just need each other so much, it’s a little bit crazy to still be this way after an entire decade.

I’m not into being alone so I’ve gone with my parents to their boat. I figured two weeks of fresh air, sea water, book reading and sun would do me good. I brought more books than clothes, plus my kindle. A book of soduko I want to work on. Also some horse magazines.

When I was a child I loved horses. I took every opportunity to go horseback riding or even just brush one or muck out. I wouldn’t say I’m good AT ALL. I just know basics like brushing, tacking, walking, trotting, cantering… I’ve done a little bit of jumping. That’s it. I realise now that I want to pick it up again. I want to be good. I would be happy if I could just do a bit of show jumping within the next twelve years, you know?

It’s a crazy dream so far. I have as a goal to just go riding at a local stable two times this summer and then wait and see how that felt. We kinda sorta hoping that I’ll get pregnant some time this year too and if that happens I’ll have to put the riding on hold for a couple of years. But I’m in it for the long haul, I don’t mind waiting. I like working towards goals even if it takes me years to meet them.

I still can’t believe I’m a published author, I have two books at home with ”my” name on it. Physical books. That I can touch. I can tell myself to sit down and write a book and it’s something I can do. Surely if I have the discipline to do that, I can learn to be a good rider?

Time to walk the dogs again, then I’m going to drink copious amounts of tea and try to get some writing done.

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Stargazing is out!

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I can hardly contain my excitement!

Get your copy here.

If you get it and like it please consider leaving a review on amazon and goodreads.

Announcement

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Tomorrow on the 22 of June, “Stargazing” comes out. It’s a lesbian romance about Star and Lissa who, even though the like each other, one fundamental difference. Lissa is a work-a-holic virgin and Star is a somewhat laid-back pornactress.

Here is the blurb:

“Lissa stared open-mouthed at the GIF that played over and over on the screen in front of her. Heat flushed to her face, igniting her skin. Her heart started pounding in her chest. Stupid internet, it should really come with a warning label. She swallowed once. Twice. Just scroll past it. Of course she was going to scroll past it. She wasn’t going to sit there and stare at… Star.

Lissa is a twenty-something party-planner. She’s never been interested in relationships or sex and as the years have gone by she has retreated more and more into her work. Everything changes when she meets Star, an porn actress with a heart of gold and a troubled childhood.

They say that opposites attract, but how much of that is true? What chance do they have when one of them is a virgin and the other one star in pornography?”

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E is for Exhausted

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I’m not really exhausted. Honestly. But part of me wants a vacation. I know this from last year – there comes a time in April where my brain stops functioning and I just can’t anymore. Can’t write. Can’t be active on Twitter or Instagram or Facebook (I’m trying honestly). Can’t read books. I guess it’s normal for teachers. Summer is coming, it’s been a long year of texts about body parts, countries and flowers. Lessons about punctuation (ever tried to teach someone where a sentence ends? It’s harder than it looks.) Lessons about 15+15 and 8-3-5, not to mention countless fights, drama among my girls, booboos and actual wounds and that time one my student got a “butterflycomb” (who sends a butterflycomb with their kid to school?) thrown into his eye. Don’t worry, he was fine even though we didn’t think so first. It’s been a year of angry (and not-so-angry) e-mails from parents. Of hugs. And pieces of art from my students that I want to spread all around me. Of meetings. Of tears from me when it’s just too much pressure to do this stupid, wonderful, lovely job.

My brain has shut down a little bit. It’s on hiatus. It’s just trying to survive until June when I finally can breathe again. Be myself again. Be a writer again.

Right now I just want to be alone. Do my job. Work on miniatures that don’t require brain-power the same way (current dollhouse pictured above). Maybe write a short story. Cook. Walk with my dogs. Cuddle with my wife.

That’s all there is left of me.

I’m sorry I can’t do better.

D is for Dragons

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Reaching blindly in front of me, stuck in a cave.

Ferling the shape of a head larger than my body and wings.

Are those fangs? Is that a crooked spine? Have I found a dinosaur?

Not a fossil. A skeleton.

When I reach between your ribs between four inflated lungs and squeeze the soft lump of a heart I found there, you roar.

I have found a sleeping dragon.

Your breath smells like ashes and your newly awake gaze – without coffee – is thunderous orange.

Angry.

Why did I wake you?

I squeak. Like a mouse. I didn’t mean to. I thought I had found a dinosaur. A real one.

You scoff. Shake your head and explain that if dragons are horses, dinos are donkeys and I’m lucky to have found you. One in a million.

My life by a thread I cannot climb, my heart a captive bird, my limbs trembling with fear.

Not brave. Pathetic.

Please don’t eat me! I’m ready to plead and beg. Ready to give the dragon anything. Riches. Beautiful virgin daughters from the village. A Samsung Galaxy S5. Anything.

You shake your head. Your black scales glistening in the dark.

Just leave me alone you imbecile. Worthless maggot. I just want to sleep and forget that the world is no longer mine. 

I bow my head, not daring to say anything else. I close my eyes staying bent forward, hot breath washing over me again and again. They taper off after thirty minutes and I dare to look up again.

You’re not there. Just a pile of bones. No volcano breath. No halloween-colored eyes.

Did I dream it?

My heart beat slows down to normal and I can breathe again. I laugh at myself and my mouth curls into a grin.

I was just spooked. It can’t have been that bad, right?

Let’s see if I can wake her again….

Author note: I just like dragons, okay?

C is for Courage

Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made off

– Bethany Hamilton.

I slept in a bit today, prioritised rest over a proper breakfast and so I had to eat my breakfast walking to the bus station. It was a peanutbutter and jam sandwich and as I chewed away I had three thoughts.

1. Raspberry jam isn’t as good as strawberry jam.

2. I’m bad at evenly spreading peanutbutter.

3. Tram and train tunnels really remind me of The Walking Dead.

As I threw away the crust in the trash like a child and could finally stick my cold fingers in gloves, I started thinking about courage and freedom.

I can do whatever I want. No, really. I’m an independent adult and I have so much freedom it’s dizzying. If I want to eat ice cream for breakfast I can. If I want to stay up all night I can. If I want to quit my job I can. If I want to move city or country I can (and have several times). I can do whatever I want. There are no ties on me that I can’t break (not counting marriage because that’s not a tie that I’d want to break). I know of societal expectations and financial codes of conduct. I know that I need money to pay for mortgage and groceries and surely if I quit my job to eat chocolate every morning and read Radclyffe novels all through the day and play Skyrim every night my near and dear would stage an intervention.  And I know that I need to, have to tidy and organise my home because next week my sister and her family are visiting. And when family comes to visit you can’t really say no because they only come once a year. I know all of this and yet…

I am free.

The bonds that I place on myself are just that, placed on myself by me. The only limit I have is my own imagination (and I guess to a large extent my wallet).

I sometimes think when I’m playing Skyrim (I recently picked up Skyrim again after having played the same playthrough on and off for the past six years) and I was struck by the thought that I could do that. No, not joining an assassin’s league or fighting dragons or prevail against giant spiders or collecting large wheels of cheese (my character has a cheese obsession). But the rest? I’ve been blessed with two feet and a sense of wanderlust. I could pack water, blanket, sandwiches, bandaids and stuff for the dogs. I could take my family and just leave. Find hiking trails. Walk until I’m tired, rest and then walk again. What would I see? Who would I meet? What would I experience? I’m not brave enough to go backpacking. I spent my fair share of my late teens and early twenties travelling, moving, sleeping in airports. I don’t think I want to do that anymore. Walking around with a backpack in nature however, that I would love.  I simply don’t excercise my freedom enough. And I’m sure that some of this is due to a lack of courage. Maybe it has to do with comfort zone but my comfort zone is rather large and leaving it would lead me to extremes I’m not interested in so maybe I’ll just stay put for now.

Surely we have all done couragous things? Let’s say it’s more of a verb than an adjective. I think I’d like that. It’s easier to think of it that way and ask oneself: what can I do today? What can I do to feel alive and free and couragous?

If I can answer that, all will be well.

P.S. I was interviewed by Lynn Lawler and the interview is now up on her blog. Go check it out!

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B is for Books

I took an embarrassing amount of time to think of a word for the letter B. I thought of babies, but I don’t have much to say about that right now. I thought of bananas, but even though I don’t eat them I’m not a banana hating extremist and I don’t have much to say about that either. It could be B for blog but I’ve already talked about my lack of blogging enough times. For some reason the word “books” didn’t cross my mind until last week.

I generally don’t say that I’m a book nerd. I write them and read them (neither as much as I should) but I’m more of a stories-nerd than a book nerd. Sure, books are pretty and having a personal library would be cool but I rather store books on my kindle and being able to access them anytime than fill my house with paper-books. The only lesfic novel I actually own a physical copy of is “Backwards to Oregon” by Jae simply because I felt a terrible need to hold it (Not to mention that the first copy I ever got of “Backwards to Oregon” was a pirated “gift” from a friend about six years ago and I felt so guilty about it I had to buy it afterwards). Actually scratch that. I love books too, pretty ones. (like the cover of “Just physical” – have you seen it?! It’s so gorgeous. Or what about “The Book jumper“? The whole cover is beautiful. Not to mention “Wrecked” by Sydney Canyon. It’s also so pretty in its own way.) Maybe I would like to fill my house with books but find the whole idea so impractical. Probably I’m just boring.

I also worry about filling my house with boring books. Should I just buy books that I’ve already read and know that I like? With kindle it feels less permanent, easier to forget about than a pretty book that will stay in my bookshelf forever.

I have always loved stories and I’ve always had a need to reread books. When I was young, six or seven, I wasn’t a good reader but my mother would borrow audiobooks from the library. I remember one that I found really scary. So scary that I had to hide under the kitchen table while I listened and yet I would listen to it over and over. Now in adulthood, I continue. I don’t feel I have properly read a book until I’ve read it a couple of times and a bad book I will read only once (actually, sometimes twice, there is always a chance I like it better the second time).

Some examples:

Departure from the Script by Jae (read two times).
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (read two times).
Taking Fire by Radcliffe (read three times approx.)
Sword of the Guardian by Merry Shannon (read two times).
Conflict of Interest by Jae (read four times approx.)
Backwards to Oregon by Jae (read five million times approx. Okay fine, probably six or seven times).
Above all, Honor by Radclyffe and most of the sequels (also five million times approx. I think I might love this series more than Backwards to Oregon actually. Go check them out, the series and the characters have a hold of my heart that no man can asunder) (I’m actually rereading them right now, on the second novel currently.)
Passion’s Bright Fury by Radclyffe (read five times approx.)
The Harry Potter Books (probably ten times all through my youth and I think I should reread them again soon).
Dark Horizons by Rae D Magdon (three times approx.)

There are more of course, those are just some examples. Some I reread for comfort, some I reread because I want something easy and some I reread simply because I want to discover more nuances.

Speaking of books one of my kids (students I mean) said his mom owns my book. I said I don’t think so because I don’t give out my author name at all at work (except for my friends who actually bought Out of Hand! ) My kids knows I’m an author because I want to inspire them to write stories and they do think it’s cool. Maybe he wanted to impress the others that his mom has my books? I’d rather die (okay, that was too strong) than give my author name to my kids’ parents. Let them see me as only teacher.

The last thing I have to say about books before I finish this rambling post about rereading and kindle vs physical is that when I was a child I thought that adults didn’t read fiction and only non-fiction. And I was very sad about that. Thank God that isn’t the case, right?

Happy reading everyone!

 

 

 

A is for Anniversaries

A few days ago I got a notification that I started this blog three years ago, I would have written the post then but flu hit me hard. A few nights ago I woke up with a forty degree C fever, I was convinced every shadow on the floor was a spider and couldn’t go back to sleep until it went down a bit. Either way, I’m on the mend now and really want to start my new blogging project.

It’s been three years years since I started this blog. I started it with the hope of sharing short stories and writing about writing. As time went on, I lost creative energy to writing lesson plans and teaching. Whatever I had left I needed to use for my novels. So I stopped  posting short stories. (And after signing with my publisher, I need to send any short story over 5k words to them first anyway.)

I could talk about teaching on my blog, I could, I have plenty to say, but I don’t want to. I don’t want my day job to take over that way.  Apart from mentioning it occasionally, I don’t want to make blog posts about it.

Instead I’m starting a blogging project, going alphabetically through different topics. Today was A, next letter will be B etc. Who knows if it’ll help me blog more, but I have to try. Otherwise all my readers will get, are posts like this one.

So A is for Anniversaries, it’s been three years since I started this blog. It’s been almost five years since I went from writing fan fiction to starting to work on my first novel. It’s about three (four?) months since I signed with Triplicity Publishing, it’s been about a month and a half since Out of Hand came out. Soon it’ll be two years since I got married. Ten and a half years since L and I started dating.

I can’t believe that it’s only been five years, maybe a bit less, since I started working towards my dream of being a published author. Five years is nothing in the scheme of things. Yes I was rejected six times on different projects and yes I self-published my first one but still. It’s not an impossible dream. It was never an impossible dream. Everything that I did, every piece of writing, everything I read, all of it helped me closer to my goal.

I think the main difficulty is writing. When I did my A-levels in Britain (British “high school” if you will) and I told my sociology teacher that I wanted to write books she smiled, laughed and said “oh don’t we all.” Her words have stayed with me a lot. At the time I wanted to answer “no, but I really, really, REALLY, want to.” It wasn’t just a momental fancy. I wanted to tell her that I was going to. And now I want to tell her that I did. Of course I won’t seek her out just to do that, but a girl can dream.

Like I said, the main difficulty is writing. In our digital age, publishing is easy but writing is hard. If I didn’t want to “bother” with a publisher I could just self-publish all my writing through amazon or somewhere else, but even then I’d still have to write. I’d need to write my 40-70k words and then edit them, re-write stuff, move it around, have beta readers read it, then again, edit, re-write stuff and move it around. Of course with self-publishing I could just skip all of that, write something bad, do no edit and just self-publish and hope for the best. But what’s the fun in that?

The main difficulty is writing. How many people out there want to write, but don’t? It’s even a joke sometimes (example: Ted in How I met Your Mother Saying “I’ll finally be able to write some short stories” when facing the prospect of going to prison.”) Writing is lovely. It’s cathartic. Some writing is like playing with dolls but as an adult (to me anyway). I think more people would benefit from writing more, just journalling would be good. Like a wise person once told me “less impression in, more expression out” (meaning less TV, less social media, less stuff in, more writing, more singing or playing instruments etc, more stuff out).

The second difficulty is getting people to read your stuff. I don’t have the answer to this yet. Sure, be active on social media and write blog posts. But I think (and hope!) that if you write well, and often, and publish many books (self-published or not, after all, there are MANY well-written self-published novels) your readers will eventually find you and learn who you are.

I needed just under five years to reach one of my dreams. I can call myself an author now, no matter how small and insignificant. And the word means a lot to me. It motivates me to write more and put more effort in. Like with my blog.

I think I’m going to go and lie down again. I’m not at a 100 % yet and I’m getting tired.

What dreams do you guys have? Would it help or hurt if you knew that  you would only need five years to reach them? Would it make you work harder or put it off?

Stargazing-teaser

I sent my newest novel, “Stargazing”, to my publisher yesterday. It was originally a short story that ran away from me, about Star, a lesbian pornstar and Lissa, a virgin.

Here is a short teaser:

 Lissa stared open mouthed at the GIF that played over and over on the screen in front of her. Heat flushed to her face, igniting her skin. Her heart started pounding in her chest. Stupid internet, it should really come with a warning label. She swallowed once. Twice. Just scroll past it. Of course she was going to scroll past it. She wasn’t going to sit there and stare at—

 “Liss?”

 With a small gasp, Lissa closed her screen just before her sister Dea stuck her head through the doorway. She kept her hand on the lid, terrified that Dea would ask to check something or even come closer when Lissa still hadn’t scrolled past the GIF of two women doing… well.

“What is it?” She sounded a bit more annoyed than she felt. “Sorry. I was just in the middle of… something.” She shook her head and tried to smile casually but knew that she was still blushing. She hoped that Dea wouldn’t notice. Or at least wouldn’t comment on it.

 “You work too much.” Dea made a face, ever the caring older sister. “I was wondering if you wanted lunch, I brought some Caesar Salad, I thought—” she fell silent. “Are you okay? You look… ill.”

“I’m fine,” she hurried to say. “I’ll be right downstairs. Just give me a minute.” She sighed with relief when Dea just nodded and her head disappeared from her doorway.

Lissa opened her laptop again and stared at the GIF with wide eyes. She didn’t even know what it was about the two women— no, just the one on top—that was so captivating to her. There was something tantalizing about her. Something primal. She had short dark brown hair and her body was—

 “Lissa! I’m hungry!” Dea called out.

“Start without me.” Lissa wasn’t ready to stop looking yet.

The women were kissing now, but the black-haired one turned her face away from the camera, opening her mouth as if gasping for air. At the same time, the brunette on top started biting at her neck with fervor. Neither ceased their other movement either. The one on top was strapped and it was clear what they were doing.

More than anything, Lissa couldn’t stop staring at the brunette woman’s face. Her face was rather round, but not in a soft or delicate way, just round. Her hair was short, cut close to her skull and her olive skin created a nice contrast to the much darker skin of the woman underneath. Her mouth was curled into a possessive grin but her eyes were gentle as she looked down upon the woman at her mercy. At a later frame her grin became a surprised laugh as if she couldn’t believe the pleasure she was feeling.

 That laugh sent a surprised jolt all the way to Lissa’s clit. She took a deep breath and made the conscious choice to click ‘x’ up on the right and closed her laptop.

Now go and play nice with Dea, she told herself, then maybe after work today you go out or something. Can’t stay cooped up inside like this. It’s driving you insane.