Renee Miller's Blog, page 20

The Old In and Out: Penetrating the Writer Brain: Courtney Farrell

Author Courtney Farrell was once a molecular biologist, and she had me at molecular. How cool is that? She turned her habit of daydreaming, which tends to destroy molecular-type experiments, into a serious book writing passion. Writing down the movies behind her eyes was more fun than lab work. Courtney is the author of fourteen nonfiction books for young people, mostly on social and environmental topics. Courtney lives with her family on a Colorado ranch where they support a barn full of freeloading animals, including a fat draft horse and a bunch of crazy chickens. Who doesn’t like crazy chickens?

I met Courtney through our publisher, Crescent Moon Press, and I immediately liked her because she has one of my favorite names, and she was brave enough to sign up for some brain penetrating, so let’s see what we uncovered.

 

 

Renee: I firmly believe that every author has a character she’s secretly in love with, whether it’s one of your own, or one created by another author. Give us a name, and what makes him/her so fantastic?

Courtney: I’d have to pick Dillon, the hero from Enhanced. He’s a tall strawberry-blond street kid with a lot of attitude. I like that he’s got his own moral compass, but he succumbs to temptation too, especially if that temptation comes in the form of a pretty girl. Dillon was so much fun to write that chapters in his POV make up almost half of the sequel to Enhanced. That sequel is tentatively titled Run from Iron Torr, and I’m hoping it’ll be off to my editor before the year is out.

I have this thing for Eric Northman from the Sookie Stackhouse novels. **Spoiler Alert** I wonder if anyone thinks Charlaine Harris totally shafted his fine self at the end of her series. Have you ever written a love triangle (or square, or pentagon, or hell, even an octagon) and wondered if your happily ever after couple was the best decision?

Yes! I totally agree about Eric. He’s swoon-worthy for sure. I did write a love triangle in my YA novel, Enhanced, between the gorgeous, genetically enhanced teen Michelle, another enhanced boy, and a half-normal boy named Dillon. Book two continues the tension, and I still can’t decide who she should end up with at the conclusion of the trilogy. Maybe I should toss it out on my website and let my readers vote. I wouldn’t mind seeing “Team Dillon” or “Team Brian” badges for sale in bookstores!

**You should totally do that! Based on names alone, I’ll sign up for team Dillon. I don’t know why, but the name Brian makes me twitchy.**

You find yourself stranded in a dark alley at night. Doesn’t matter how you got there, because it’s too late. You’re there. Shit’s happening. Focus! Okay, you have to make a decision. There is no escape. If you don’t decide, one of your loved ones gets it bad. Okay? We’re clear? Good. So, you’re confronted by a werewolf, a zombie, a god and a vampire. The only way out is to let one of these bad boys (or girls) turn you. Which do you choose? Why?

Oh, absolutely the god. What woman wouldn’t want to be a goddess, or a demi-goddess, or even a nymph or a sexy water sprite? And then I could smite the nasties with my new divine powers. Ha! Take that!

**She earns points for knowing all the things a god could turn a girl into, and also, she said smite. I love that word.**

Writers are often labeled as weird, crazy or slightly strange, but we all know that’s not true. Still, it’s hard not to have some eccentricities when you spend so much time in your head. What’s one strange fact about yourself that readers might find a little crazy or odd?

My sons tell me that, when I think nobody’s watching, I walk around the house mouthing words. What I’m really doing is trying out dialog to see if it sounds natural, but I’m sure I look like a complete psycho.

**I mouth the words as I write, so it’s not crazy, because I’m not crazy.**

Writing routines are recommended by the “experts.” I have some things I always do before and while writing that help me focus. For example, there must be coffee and an ugly housecoat involved. Music is also important. What’s the most important (or strangest) part of your writing routine?

I got this from Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art (which I highly recommend) and it works for me. When I’m feeling blocked, I light a candle and deliberately invoke my muse. I know it’s weird, but after a minute or two I begin to feel centered, and then the words start to flow. My muse is my co-author, but I keep all the royalties. It’s a sweet deal if you can get it

Indeed it is. Thanks for playing along, Courtney. I’ve got your book on my To-Read List. For the rest of you nuts, Courtney’s book, ENHANCED (I’ve included the awesome cover below) is available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble or from the publisher, Crescent Moon Press.  

 

Care to know more about Courtney Farrell? You can follow her around online at her blog, on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads. 

 

Tagged: Courtney Farrell, Crescent Moon Press, Enhanced, humor, interviews, the old in and out, YA fiction

The Old In & Out: Penetrating the Writer Brain

If Hanna Elizabeth doesn’t have her nose in a book or a pen in her hand, then she’s probably pondering life’s more serious questions. Questions like, is the answer to the meaning of life really 42? Is time relative and a relative of who exactly? A health nut (and proud of it, thank you very much) she enjoys adventuring into the unknowns of cooking with local organics and has recently conquered baking breads from scratch (not really, but she can bake the heck out of a cake). An avid nature lover, she loves taking long strolls in the midnight air, mediating by moonlight and writing stuff down.

Hanna wrote that bio, and since it’s better than any bio I’ve ever written, I’m totally leaving it alone. Last week I announced a regular interview feature, and we’re back. This time we’re doing the old in and out of Hanna’s head.

 

Renee: Fantasy is a vast genre, so authors have a lot of inspiration for stories and characters. My personal favorites are gods and (yes, I’ll admit it) vampires. I could never write about werewolves and be perfectly happy, because I just don’t get the allure. If you were told you could never write about one type of character again (under penalty of torture, dismemberment and then death), which one would you throw off the cliff?

Hanna: I’m with you. Werewolves suck. Actually, Vampires suck, but I’m not fond of hairy guys with, you know, fangs and claws. So I’m sticking with Werewolves. Or maybe Zombies. I think the Zombie thing has been done to death.

Writing routines are recommended by the “experts.” I have some things I always do before and while writing that help me focus. For example, there must be coffee and an ugly housecoat involved. Music is also important. What’s the most important (or strangest) part of your writing routine?

I absolutely must be doing laundry while I write. I don’t know how that got started, but it just sorta worked out that way. My most productive days writing are when I’m waiting to flip laundry. So, yeah, I tend to do a lot of laundry.

You find yourself stranded in a dark alley at night. Doesn’t matter how you got there, because it’s too late. You’re there. Shit’s happening. Focus! Okay, you have to make a decision. There is no escape. If you don’t decide, one of your loved ones gets it bad. Okay? We’re clear? Good. So, you’re confronted by a werewolf, a zombie, a demon, and a vampire. The only way out is to let one of these bad boys (or girls) turn you. Which do you choose? Why?

Well, I think I’ve already established where I stand on the Werewolf thing. Zombies are totally overrated, they move too slow to be any real threat. Demons have a bad wrap but I’m not sure I’d want to be one. So, I guess that leaves the Vampire. Although, the whole drinking blood thing is really gross but they have awesome speed and agility and usually, they’re pretty damned smart. So probably a Vampire. Heck, I already prefer staying up all night and sleeping all day, so not much would change for me, except my feeding habits.

**Maybe you could be like the vegan vamps of Twilight. Giggle.**

Let’s pretend we live in a utopia, where everything’s awesome and we’re all perfect. How would we communicate in a perfect society?

Telepathically.

Dexter Morgan, Edward Cullen, Dr. Seuss and Stephen King walk into a bar. What happens next?

Who’s Dexter Morgan?

**Gasp! We’re going to have to break up, Hanna.**

Writers are often labeled as weird, crazy or slightly strange, but we all know that’s not true. Still, it’s hard not to have some eccentricities when you spend so much time in your head. What’s one strange fact about yourself that readers might find a little crazy or odd?

I consistently watch the entire Star Trek franchise over and over again. Seriously, I’m just finishing up Deep Space 9 for like the millionth time. It never gets old and I never get tired of it. Oh and I believe that someday, The Doctor (Doctor Who) will pop into my life and tell me to RUN!

A strange man walks into your house. (It might happen) He’s wearing a wedding dress, which is covered in dirt and a mystery material that looks kind of like snot, but it’s blue, and he’s carrying a shovel with a bloody handle. What happens next?

I ask The Doctor where we’re going? Sorry, I got caught up in the last question. Focus, Hanna, Focus. So, I would ask him where he buried the alien because we all know that blue snot is alien blood.

**Yes, all bluebloods are aliens. It all makes sense now.**

What genre do you prefer to write? Why? Is it different from the genre you enjoy reading?

I just realized this about my writing the other day, and I think it’s caused more than a little confusion for people. I tend to write mysteries no matter what genre I’m actually writing, so there’s always some mystery to be solved or some bit of info you don’t get until the very end of my stories. Then, hopefully, you’ll have one of those “Ah hah” moments that make it all gel. But I also don’t want to get pigeon-holed into one genre. By the end of my life, I hope I’ve given every genre a shot. Or at least most of them. Maybe not the ones that require Purple Prose.

**Purple prose is an art. Sniff. **

What’s the worst piece of advice you’ve ever been given about writing?

I think writing advice is overrated because every author is different, so what works for one, might not work for another. Thinking we all need to do this one particular thing in order to write effectively or be a success, just isn’t realistic. So yeah, I listen carefully to any advice given and then take away what works for me and file the rest away. It might work for me one day.

When I create a character, I usually have a notebook where I jot down details about his or her personality and appearance. For example, when I was working on Thanatos, god of Death, I had things like “socially retarded” and “tall, dark and delicious” (yes, seriously) jotted in my notes. Imagine yourself as a character you’ve created.  How would you write your description? Would you be a hero or a villain?

Oooh, can I be both, hero and villain? My character description would read something like this: Smart, sexy, redhead-full of fuel (probably gas), so sweet your teeth ache from being near her, but in the dark recesses of her being she’s crafty, devious, and sharp-tongued.

She’s fascinating, right? Check out her book, Visions of Wool, (look at the gorgeous cover below), and you’ll find even more awesomeness. You can also find Hanna on Twitter and Facebook (and also on this FB Page and this one, she’s all over the FB).

Tune in next week for another fun-filled journey inside someone’s head. If you’re interested in letting me penetrate your brain, say the word. I’ll pencil you in somewhere.

Tagged: cool books, Dr. Who, fiction, Hanna Elizabeth, humor, interview, the old in and out, Visions of Wool, writing

Just in Case You Needed Reasons to Stay Inside…

It’s not like I need any reason to stay inside and write, but some of you might think outside is good. I mean, the sun is shining and there might be nice people out there, so I guess I can see why you might go out. But bad things lurk outside. Let’s just stop these rumblings about taking a break and socializing. You need to remember why you came inside in the first place, and why you should stay there.

Let’s start with the obvious: Winter is coming. And it’s cold. Who in their right mind would go out in the cold? You have to put on the layers and the ugly boots, and your nose will run, then the boogers will freeze, and no one wants to see that shit.

I also have it on good authority that germs come from outside. Seriously, there are more germs out there than there are in your writing cave. It just takes one nasty spore in your lungs to kill you. So really, staying inside and writing could save your life. You’re welcome.

What’s that? You’re not afraid of germs? Think about the people then. People are assholes.

And of course, if you go outside, you walk in dirt. That shit’s everywhere man. Then you track it back inside. Who’s cleaning it up? That’s right, you are. So, in going outside, not only did you take time away from writing to do so, but even more time will be wasted sweeping.  Does that seem at all productive to you?

Perhaps you enjoy cleaning. I’m not judging. Whatever floats your boat is fine with me. But I think you’re taking this outside stuff too lightly. If germs, snow and assholes won’t keep you inside, think about the crime. I hear it’s on the rise, and it almost always happens on the street.

And then there are the bears. Bears!! They live outside. Sometimes they come into town to eat garbage. Why take the risk? Even if the bears don’t get you, it’s loud out there, what with the cars and the wind and the stuff. No peace anywhere. People talk a lot, and they expect you to answer. This disrupts your chi. A disrupted chi is bad for us creative types. And it’s really hard to fix a chi. Hell, does anyone even know how to find it?

As if a messed up chi weren’t enough, dog shit. Yes, I said dog shit. It’s there, everywhere, just waiting for you to step in it. Why? I told you, people are assholes. Poop ‘n scoop? Oh no. Outside, it’s shit and run. Even if you avoid the shit, going out costs money. Writers have no money.  

Actually, none of this matters because the apocalypse is coming. I don’t know about you, but I’m not wasting bunker-digging time out there with the assholes and the bears and their shit. I’m going to be ready.

Tagged: apocalypse, bears, chi, humor, outside, writing

An Apocalypse Could Happen, and a Good Writer is Prepared for Such Things

I was thinking about the whole apocalypse thing the other day because in a future novel, I plan to use something apocalypse-like. And I thought, you know, it’s a possibility. I mean there are a number of ways that an apocalypse could TOTALLY happen. There might be a major political shift that affects the stability of world super powers, leading to widespread panic, riots, homicidal maniacs, economic instability and worldwide famine (deep breath), or a worldwide pandemic (that’s when an infectious virus/disease spreads over a large area, for those who ride the short bus). There could be a nuclear war. We all say “nah” but you KNOW everyone’s hiding a frigging nuclear weapon, so let’s move on. What if ALL THE VOLCANOES erupted at once? Eh? Right? Shudder. I guess an asteroid is more likely to happen. Hello tsunamis. And of course, there’s zombies.

So yeah, after thinking about all this, I thought, “Renee, you should have a plan ready just in case those whack jobs are right and this shit happens.” You don’t have a plan? Good thing you all have me to watch your backs. If you’re one of the unlucky bastards who make it out alive, I think you should try to stay that way, so here’s your apocalypse survival guide, courtesy of me. You’re welcome.

First, get yourself a sturdy, well-made backpack. None of that designer assholes shit. Go for solid, ugly as the creepy post office guy, canvas, lots of zippers and pockets, goes to your knees packs.

And never take it off. Not even if you’re having nasty, bugs-in-your-ass sex with the hottie a few dead zones over. NEVER take it off. Got it? Good. You’ll need this backpack to carry all the shit I’m going to tell you to have ready. And don’t forget condoms. We can’t have no apocalypse babies happening. Look what happened to Rick’s wife. Don’t be that girl…the one who is dead, because she gave birth in an abandoned prison and went zombie so her son had to shoot her in the face. No one wants to be that girl.

Next, gather some warm clothes. The apocalypse conditions we see in movies and television are NOT what a real apocalypse will be like. I’ve researched this stuff, folks. Think nuclear winter, which means “cold as fuck.” But don’t go too bulky. Your bag has more important things to carry than your favorite sweater. Go with lightweight items like long johns (should that be one word? I don’t know.), gloves, hats, a few t-shirts, underwear, and a couple of thin wool blankets and such.

Food is more important than blankets. So I guess you should put food in your pack before the clothes. You might think living in the city or an urban area negates the need for food. Hello? Scavenging. No. How many apocalypse movies do you need to watch before you get that end of the world riots are no joke. People will kill you for a cracker. If you’ve got your own shit, you won’t be all desperate like the rest. You can sit back and watch the show. Pick up what you can, of course, but have water, non-perishables that are lightweight and easy to carry, and a couple rolls of toilet paper stashed away. No, toilet paper is not food, but you’ll thank me later. Oh and you want high calorie foods like Cheetos, cookies, and beans. And chocolate. You can jam a lot of chocolate bars in the bottom of a backpack. And coffee beans. Even if you can’t make coffee, you can chew those bad boys.

Bonus tip: Save your pets. Don’t think of them as one more mouth to feed. I mean, Jesus, they’ve been your loyal companions for, like, ever; chewers of the shoes, shitters in the closet, bringers of the fleas…dinner when times get tough.

Okay, next you’ll need first aid and miscellaneous supplies. If the apocalypse is zombie related, covering those bloody wounds is a wise idea. No need to tempt the natives, am I right? First aid supplies won’t do shit if you get bit though. So there’s that. Think positive. Okay, so you’ll need a small pack of Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol and such to treat minor wounds. Oh! Solar powered flashlights. Batteries suck ass. You want something that can recharge. A survival knife with all those handy gadgets will be useful too…and a lighter. Hell, ten lighters. They’re small, right? Pack some soap and Listerine too. Soap because, cleanliness is next to godliness, and Listerine because it kills lice. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be damned if those little fuckers outlast me.

So you’ve got your bits and pieces to stay alive, warm and whatnot, now you need to think of self-defence. No matter what caused the apocalypse, folks are gonna lose their shit. The most important supply you’ll pack, aside from the condoms, will be weaponry. Some fool will die at some point. Don’t be that fool. When it comes down to you or them, always choose you. So, let’s see, maybe a good knife. You know what? Pack all the knives. Big ones, short ones, whatever, as long as the end is pointy. And a gun. But learn how to use it first. The end with the hole in it? That points away from you. If you don’t have access to guns and sharp knives (Because you’re what? In prison or whatever?), pack a hammer, or anything sharp and/or blunt you find in your garage. Don’t go with bats. Baseball bats are hard to conceal in your bag and, as has been proven in many movies, carrying a bat only invites trouble.

Now, you’re full, warm and defended, let’s discuss drugs. Cigarettes and drugs are must-haves even if you never indulge in such things. Now, we’re not talking about cocaine or anything. You want drugs that will help you survive, like antibiotics and pain killers. Getting all cracked out will just get you dead, but pot and mushrooms are probably okay. Those and cigarettes are handy for trading for food and your life. While you’re at it, if you have enough room, stow some booze in there. Not only is it good for relaxing, booze can serve as a disinfectant and a fire starter. How handy is that?

So, we’ve got food, warmth, weapons, and drugs. Now, you need to have shelter prepared. You won’t need a bomb shelter or anything. You just need a room that’s on the ground floor or below ground with no windows. Let’s be clear: if there’s like a nuclear blast or the sun collides with Earth, no amount of concrete and dirt is going to save your ass. However, if you survive those things, or something else causes the end of the world, you need something the other assholes can’t get into.

Finally, your team. Yes, real people. Face it; surviving an apocalypse is easier if someone’s watching your back. If you don’t have (or would rather not keep) family around, pick a group of friends who have some survival skills, moderate intelligence levels, or at least one that is fatter than you are. When the chips are down—or gone, it’s good to have a chubby buddy. And your team needs to have a plan so you’re not running around screaming like idiots when the shit hits the fan. Decide what you’re all going to do if your neighbor comes looking for a cup of brains. Pick two meeting places to go to if you all get split up. One should be close to home, the other a little further away. Make it clear that if anyone forgets where these places are, they’re on their own. It’s two places for crying out loud. If you can’t remember that, you don’t deserve to live. And if you’re not crazy about your team, make a third meeting place that only you know about, just in case they get on your nerves.

And that’s it. That’s how you survive the first couple of days. After that, I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far, but I will. Stay tuned.

Tagged: apocalypse, deep thoughts, disaster preparedness, humor, planning ahead

The Old In & Out: Penetrating the Writer Brain

 

So, I usually post my shit on the Edge. My thoughts, my feelings, my books, blah, blah, blah. But I know a shit ton of great writers who sometimes have better thoughts, feelings and books. So, I said to myself, how can I include their shit with my shit?

Interviews!

Every week (as long as I have victims—er—writers willing to participate) I’ll feature a new author as part of “The Old In & Out.” If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll pencil you in.

The first subject in this experiment is author, Katrina Monroe, whose debut novel, REAPER, will be published by Melange Books sometime in the near future. I beta read for Katrina, and this book is fantastic. Keep your eye out for it.

She was very cool about Clive helping me grill her, even though she has mixed feelings about his hotness. She’s never said anything, but I can tell. She secretly likes him as much as I do. Anyway, sit back and enjoy the ride as we go in and out of Katrina’s brain.

 

 

Renee: I firmly believe that every author has a character she’s secretly in love with, whether it’s one of your own, or one created by another author. Give us a name, and what makes him/her so fantastic?

Katrina: Lisbeth Salander, hands down. She’s hot, a total badass, and smart as hell. I didn’t even like the Millennium series but pushed through anyway just to read about Salander. Just say that name – Lisbeth – really let it roll around in your mouth. Hot.

R: Purple prose is kind of annoying. All those heaving bosoms, moist caves, and gloriously pulsating love clubs can overwhelm a reader. Some authors can add purple and create a pretty cool effect, though. Describe your favorite food in a purple way.

K: Pulsating love club? Seriously?

Ok. Hmm.

The fat shaft is hot in my hand. Steam billows from the tear I nibble in its head. It burns my tongue, but the desire to taste, to swallow, is more than I can handle. I delicately slide it over my tongue and take a big, squirting bite.

Ten points if you can guess what my favorite food is. Hint: Not a hot dog.

**I can’t even…I can’t guess. Anyone?**

R: Fantasy is a vast genre, so authors have a lot of inspiration for stories and characters. My personal favorites are gods and (yes, I’ll admit it) vampires. I could never write about werewolves and be perfectly happy, because I just don’t get the allure. If you were told you could never write about one type of fantastical character again (under penalty of torture, dismemberment and then death), which one would you throw off the cliff?

K: I’d be okay with never writing fairies. I’ve only written one which is still trapped in the black hole of a WIP, but she is more of a mob boss than a pixie. No glitter for her, thank you very much.

R: This one is easy: What author would you most like to spend time with (for whatever reason and no you don’t have to share the reason) and what would you ask him/her?

K: This one is so not easy, you liar. There are at least five names that jump into my head right away. Since you’re forcing me to choose, I’d have to say: Neil Gaiman.

This guy is the unofficial King of fairytale fantasy and my personal hero. I’m sure I would bombard him with typical fangirl questions about my favorite characters first, but then I would ask him: Does it ever get any easier? Then I’d steal a lock of his hair for my shrine. Err. I mean…

**It’s not weird to have a shrine. Right? Right!!??**

R: You find yourself stranded in a dark alley at night. Doesn’t matter how you got there, because it’s too late. You’re there. Shit’s happening. Focus! Okay, you have to make a decision. There is no escape. If you don’t decide, one of your loved ones gets it bad. Okay? We’re clear? Good. So, you’re confronted by a werewolf, a zombie, a god and a vampire. The only way out is to let one of these bad boys (or girls) turn you. Which do you choose? Why?

K: Vampire. I’m already a dark creature of the night, why not add a pair of fangs to the mix? Might get my kids to listen to me more often.

R: What sentence best describes your work ethic? Seriously. Yes, I want to know. Mine? “It’s all fun and games until you get an email.” Because I’m easily distracted. Okay, now it’s your turn.

K: I don’t wanna – okay, fine.

I bargain with myself every day: Make your word count and you’ll get Doctor Who and vodka as a reward. K? Cool.

R; Let’s pretend we live in a utopia, where everything’s awesome and we’re all perfect. How would we communicate in a perfect society?

K: Whose Utopia? Mine? If so, then we would all speak entirely in sarcasm and bad puns.

**I thought that’s the world we’re living in now, or is that just ours?**

R: Pennywise the Clown, Edward Cullen, Jessica Rabbit and the Fates walk into a bar. What happens next?

K: Edward takes two in the head and Pennywise laughs his creepy as fuck clown laugh. Then he gets a shot in the neck. Jessica Rabbit rushes to me for protection – which is smart because I’m the one wielding the gun. As we leave, engrossed in our twisted cartoon love, the Fates turn to each other and say, “I knew that was going to happen.”

**Gigglesnort**

R: Do you have a writing routine? What is it?

K: 9:15am Drop the little monsters off at school.

9:30am COFFEE AND WRITING – I go to the same Caribou Coffee shop adjoining a Half Price Books Store (because duh) and sit at the same table every weekday. I spend the first few minutes reading whatever I wrote the day before, then get on with the writing. I strive for at least 1k words.

11:00am Pack it up and go get the smaller monster because our school district SUCKS ASS and only offers half-day kindergarten for those of us who aren’t filthy rich.

After Kiddo Bedtime – VODKA (or whiskey, whatever was on sale) AND WRITING. Half of this always gets cut the next day, but I can usually salvage about 300-400 words of it.

Next day: AGAIN! (Ugh, fine).

R: Tell us one odd fact that people may now know (or want to know but we’re telling them anyway) about you.

K: I’m a picker; meaning whenever I see a pimple on my daughters or my girlfriend I HAVE TO POP IT. It’s a disgusting compulsion but I can’t help myself. It’s a disorder, really. They ought to drug me.

 

Thanks for playing along, Katrina. You’re awesomesauce. And I don’t judge on the picking. Ask my kids. They hate me.

Anyway, the rest of you hooligans can follow Katrina on Twitter for news on her new book, and she’s really just good entertainment. I’d say she’s almost funnier than me.  

Tune in next week when we torture—did I say torture? Silly me, I meant when we meet Hanna Elizabeth, author of a cool little story titled “ Visions of Wool.” Her book is FREE tomorrow and Saturday (Sept. 20-21) so check it out. Seriously, it’s getting amazing reviews and how can you go wrong with FREE?

Tagged: authors, books, brain picking, freebies, fun, humor, interviews, Katrina Monroe, Reaper, Visions of Wool

Fun Facts You Don’t Need to Know About Greek Mythology, But I’ll Tell You Anyway

As many of you know, I bit the bullet last year during NaNoWriMo and combined my fascination with Greek mythology with my love of writing. That decision produced the first book in what I plan to be a series called FOR THE LOVE OF GODS. The first installation is LUCKY, and it is schedule to be published by Crescent Moon Press in 2014.

So, because I’m excited and neck deep in mythology as I write the second book, which features Dionysus and a few of his friends, I thought, “Hey, why don’t I share this shit with others?” I’d share it with Kurt or my kids, but their eyes glaze over pretty fast. I don’t have to watch you guys get bored.

For this installment (Oh yes, there will be more), I’ll tell you about the gods of LUCKY. The next installment we’ll look at the gods of Dionysus’s story, which include Aphrodite, Eros, Eris, Zeus, and a gaggle of others.

Artemis

Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, wild animals, childbirth, virginity and the protector of young girls. Her purity is revered, although some believe her to be quite…lusty.

It is said that Artemis is the daughter of Zeus and Leto, and the twin sister of Apollo. Around the age of three, Artemis is said to have sat on her father’s lap and asked him to grant her six wishes:

To remain a virgin forever
To have many names so no one would mistake her for her brother, Apollo
To have a bow and arrow and a knee-length tunic so she could hunt, and twenty Amnisides Nymphs as handmaidens to watch her shit while she rested
To have sixty “daughters of Okeanos”, all nine years of age, to be her choir
That no city be dedicated to her, but to be able to rule the mountains
To have the ability to help women during childbirth

Some say Artemis only loved Orion, who was killed before she could rethink the eternal virgin wish. Others claim she’s the only deity who is immune to Aphrodite’s love powers. I see her as a snarky, intelligent woman who knows how to get what she wants sexually while sticking to that virgin thing.

Dionysus

Dionysus is the god of the vine. Like the wine he created, Dionysus has a dual nature: On one hand he can bring about joy and ecstasy, on the other he inspires brutal, mindless rage. Sounds like most of the male population, no? Anyway, women who refuse his charms are driven mad. Women who don’t refuse are driven mad too. Basically, he can drive everyone insane if he so chooses. He is the son of Zeus and a human named Semele, and that’s where his batshit craziness was born. Are you fascinated yet? He’s really an awesome character.

The bulk of his history is shared in LUCKY, because he’s a bit of a whiner, so we won’t get into too much detail here. Basically, as he tried to hide from Hera, Dionysus gathered a shit-ton of followers on Earth. His fame and massive following, and his parentage, bought him a place among the gods on Mount Olympus.

Dionysus is one of the most important gods among us regular folks because, unlike the other gods, he was not only outside his followers but also within them. That’s how he makes us lose our shit. To be honest, I’m kind of turned on by his bad self, so I’m glad the editor suggested he have his own story.

Hades

Hades is the brother of Zeus and he’s an uncle to most of the other gods on Olympus. Zeus is a slut. What? Anyway, after the overthrow of their father, Cronus, he drew lots with Zeus and Poseidon, another brother, for shares of the world. Hades got the short straw, and was made lord of the underworld, ruling over the dead. He is a greedy god who likes to have lots of souls. He only views those who increase the number of dead favorably, and loathes to let any of his subjects leave. I guess he figures since he rarely leaves his home in the underworld, why should anyone else?

Although he is unpitying and can be cruel, Hades is rarely impulsive. One exception to this might be his romancing of Persephone, whom he abducted and tricked into marriage.

While he can be easygoing to a point, Hades’ wrath is something you’d be wise to avoid. He is feared and loathed due to his association with Death and the underworld, but Hades is not Death itself. He’s Death’s boss. The actual embodiment of Death is Thanatos.

Sometimes people refer to the underworld as Hades, but as Thanatos explains to Caerus, Hades is a god. In LUCKY, he has a sense of humor, because I believe the man in charge of “Hell” would be hilarious.

Thanatos

LUCKY’s protagonist, Thanatos, is a dark character in Greek mythology who screamed for a love story. He is a god known for non-violent death, or saving men from the misery of life and he’s the twin brother of Hypnos, god of sleep.

I read somewhere that he “has a heart of iron and a spirit as pitiless as bronze…” whatever that means. Basically, the life he is fated to take, he takes. No begging, no deals. Sadly, Thanatos is hated by (and hateful towards) mortals and most of the gods are said to steer clear of him too. While he rarely lets anyone free from the Underworld once he’s taken them, he has been outwitted once or twice. For example, when it came time for King Sisyphus to die, Sisyphus tricked Thanatos into his own shackles. This turned into a disaster of course, because with Thanatos tied up, no one could die. But then Ares got his panties in a bunch when human battles just went on and on because neither side could be killed. I mean, imagine being the god of war. You get out there, jonesing for some good old fashioned bloody dying, and the bastards just keep getting up and carrying on. That’d suck. So Ares freed Thanatos and handed King Sisyphus over to the god of Death. King Sisyphus was sentenced to an eternity in Tartarus, where he rolled a boulder up a hill, just to have it roll back down when he neared the top. Don’t you love a man with a sense of humor?

Tartarus

Tartarus plays an influential role in many Greek legends. In my world it’s the deep abyss in the underworld that is where souls go for judgment after death, and it’s a dungeon for the wicked. According to legend, it’s also a prison for the godly villains, including the Titans. Uranus threw his own children down there because he worried they might overthrow him. Oh, the paranoia of the mighty. It’s good stuff.

Some sources claim that Tartarus is both a deity and a place in the underworld. In the Greek poet Hesiod’s Theogony(c. 700 BC), Tartarus was the third of the primordial deities, after Chaos and Gaia. 

The Fates

I had the most fun developing the characters for The Fates, who are Thanatos’s sisters. These ladies are a scary trio with the subtle but awesome power of deciding a man’s destiny.

Clotho is the spinner of the life thread, and the youngest. She has a very suckish sense of humor. Actually, they all do.

Lachesis is the measurer. She determines your lot in life and just how long you’re stuck with it. In other words, if you’re life sucks, she’s probably made it that way.

Atropos, the oldest, is the one that cuts the thread. She’s kind of a hard-ass about most things and is sometimes referred to as “the inevitable.” She chooses how you will die too, so it’s best to keep on her good side.

The Fates are said to pre-date the gods. Some believe they decide the fate of the gods as well as humans. Not even the most powerful being is willing to fuck with them. Gods and man must submit to them, with Zeus being the only exception. (But even Zeus is careful about messing with their shit).

In Greek mythology, the Fates are also referred to as Morai. Some believe they’re the daughters of Zeus and Themis (who was the embodiment of divine order and law), but others believe Nyx is their mother, sans Daddy. That makes the most sense to me.

And there you have it. Some fun facts and an introduction to some of the characters in LUCKY. Anyone else use fictional or historical characters for their stories? Do you use the information already recorded or make up your own facts? I like to do a combination of the two. I use basic information that is considered common knowledge, but the personalities and appearance are my own.

Now, I’m supposed to be working on articles so my kids can eat this week.

Tagged: fiction, fun shit, greek mythology, Lucky, paranormal, writing

Because I Know You’re All Dying of Curiosity, Here’s What I’ve Been Up To

I had big plans for the fall. But we all know what happens to such things, right? I was going to edit LUCKY and publish DIRTY TRUTHS by the end of the year, and I totally though I could do it. I was all “Yeah, I don’t need sleep. Fuck it, let’s do this shit.”

But then I remembered that I am human.

The amount of time required to prepare LUCKY for publication next year, and also edit, publish and market DIRTY TRUTHS, prepare pre-marketing shit for LUCKY, work so I can feed my kids, and you know, have at least a slight resemblance to a life, required more hours than actually occur in a day. So DIRTY TRUTHS is temporarily on hold. I might even query it again. I’m not sure. Probably. Maybe. I’ll let you know. My query letter and synopsis suck ass, so it may never happen due to my ineptitude at such things.

Yes, I use big words like “ineptitude.” Hot, right?

I’ve been quiet over the past week or so, because I’ve been working on the first round of edits for LUCKY. Yes, I said first round. I nearly fainted when the editor tagged the email “Lucky, first round edits.” I was all, “Is this like boxing? I can’t go 12 rounds or however many rounds boxers have to go. Can we quit if I lose consciousness? What are the parameters exactly?” Apparently there will be three. The editor assured me that the first is usually the worst. It involved story and characterization, and she suggested a subplot I hadn’t considered. It meant adding 10,000 words and going through line by line to add tiny details to weave the subplot through the main plot, and I swore and cried and might have chanted a few curses, but you know what? The changes are fantastic. I am so glad she suggested them. The book is 100 times better after the changes.

Also, I wrote “that” over 900 times. 900. Let that sink in for a minute. Okay? I cut those down to about 200. You really can remove “that” from most of your sentences and not lose meaning.

And I have a book two. Well, I already had a book two. It was supposed to be Nefarious, which features Gavin, the demigod bastard child of Dionysus and a human, who gets Eris, sister to god of war, Ares, all hot and bothered, and who pisses off Tisiphone, one of the furies, but it was suggested by the editor that Dionysus should have his own story first. You know, the story that resulted in Gavin’s birth.

Duh.

Why didn’t I think of that? I don’t know. Anyway, I’ve written about a third of Nefarious. It’ll have to wait as I plan to write Dionysus’s story, which is not yet titled. I’m thinking of “Magnetic” or “Beguiling” or even “Seductive.” No? I don’t know. It’ll come. The titles relate to a trait belonging to one of the main characters. Not sure if I’ll use Dionysus or his love interest, Sarah. What’s a word that describes a person who out-charms a charmer? I do not know. That’s why I ask.

So, that’s almost done and then it’s on to round two edits. My fingers are crossed I’ll see a cover soon. I’m really anxious to see what the publisher comes up with. I trust they won’t give me Fabio, but there’s always that chance. Thanatos is not Fabio-ish. He’s more… he’s just not Fabio.

Other than that… Kurt came home last weekend. While I missed him, I kind of became set in my reclusive ways, and his presence this week (he didn’t start back to work right away) has been an adjustment. Okay, I’m cranky and he just has to breath to annoy me. The other night, he was doing something with his mouth when he should have been sleeping. I didn’t say anything for at least ten minutes, but then I snapped. He was all “Fuck, it’s a free country. I can do what I want in my bed.” I was all, “Just stop making noises.” The next day he bought me shoes and a giant box of tampons. I needed the shoes, so that’s good, and a girl can never have too many tampons I suppose. I’m ignoring the implication that I might be hormonal. It’s not that he does anything wrong, he’s just… in the way. Also, sometimes he irritates me on purpose. I don’t like that.

But everything’s getting back to normal, or as normal as shit can be in this house. I’m eager to get cracking on the second novel in the gods series. I also have this old manuscript to rewrite. I stopped mid-way through that when the edits for LUCKY arrived. It’s bugging me that I haven’t finished because I think I came up with a brilliant way to rewrite the story. I’ll get to it. Soonish I hope.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to. You may all go back to your lives. I know it was horrible waiting and wondering.

 

Tagged: editing, life, Lucky, mood swings, Nefarious, publishing, writing

If You’re Suffering for Your Art Intentionally, You Should Probably Get a Grip

I’ve read countless blogs, articles, and discussions where writers go on and on about how they suffer for their art. They rant, weep and whine over how shitty their lives are, and gleefully exclaim how wonderful it is to have such a shitty life, because they can put that pain into their writing. They don’t say this exactly, but the message is there. For some reason we feel like the more misery we experience, the better writers we’ll be as a result.

Get a fucking grip if you believe any of that shit.

Writing believable stories and three-dimensional characters is about more than pain. It’s about more than sadness, misfortune, anger and whatever other negative emotion you’re currently wallowing in so that you can really shove that shit up the reader’s ass. While it’s true, we’re more expressive sometimes when we’re emotional; this is not what makes good writing. Good writing can only come from time, practice, and one very important thing:

Experience.

Good and bad, experiences are what allow us to write any character in any situation. But it’s not just about doing this or that or going here and there. It’s truly living life. It’s trying to understand the experiences of others. It’s watching the news, no matter how awful it is (and I have to force myself to do this because the media sickens me), and trying to get inside the minds of the folks featured or trying to put yourself into the events described. It’s putting yourself in another’s shoes, particularly the shoes that feel too tight or swallow you whole with their massive size. It’s about feeling joy right down to the tiniest cells in your body. It’s smiling, laughing, crying, screaming; all of it.

You can feel all you want, but until you dissect the emotions and understand the motivations behind actions and the cause and effect of every reaction, you can’t write better. You can’t make the reader feel those emotions.

And why would you only want to make her feel the negative so intensely? What if you could make her laugh so hard her sides hurt? What if you could bring a smile to her face even if she’s having a fucktastic day? Do you realize how priceless it is to find a ray of light when you’re smothering in darkness?

Be the writer that brings it all to the table. Make your reader run the gambit of emotions. Force her to examine every facet of your characters; the good as well as the bad and the ugly. But more importantly, force yourself to do the same and stop being such a drama queen.

Tagged: character, emotion, fiction, tips and tricks, writing

Sometimes You Gotta Dance When Everyone’s Watching

Any of you who’ve followed this blog for a while know that the past year has been rough for my family. When my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer in May, 2012, on his birthday, our world was turned upside down. He fought hard, because that’s what Dad did, but we lost him on December 11, 2012. It was fast, which for him was a merciful thing, but for us it was an exercise in accepting that we control nothing.

Since December I think most of my family has felt like we’ve been moving around under water. Every triumph is shadowed by the fact that he’s not here to share it. Every joy is marred by the fact that his laughter isn’t joining ours. Every heartbreak is a little more painful because we already grieve over his absence. It’s sucked basically.

Despite this, we’ve been given so many things to be grateful for this year. My oldest brother and his girlfriend welcomed a baby boy, Angus, in January. A grandchild Dad hoped he could hang on long enough to see, but couldn’t.

My youngest brother and his girlfriend are FINALLY expecting a baby, something he vowed would never happen. We’re all very excited. “Our” baby is having a baby and we couldn’t be happier. (Don’t worry, he’s since revised his views on fatherhood and is very excited) I think of Dad and smile because he’d be laughing his ass off at how Mother Nature basically said “Screw you guys, you’re having a baby.”

I’ve also had some success with my books. IN THE BONES and THE LEGEND OF JACKSON MURPHY are selling better than I expected and Crescent Moon Press offered me a contract for LUCKY, the first in my For the Love of Gods series. I’m ecstatic, but the happiness feels a little hollow. I know Dad was proud of me no matter what I did, but I’d have liked for him to “see” that I’m achieving all the things I’ve worked so hard to achieve.

But every time I smile, my heart aches, because I wish Dad was here.

I don’t want pity. I’ve got it pretty good. My mom, on the other hand, feels all of these things much more intensely. She feels his absence 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s constant for her. I have kids and work and all that to help me forget from time to time. Mom doesn’t have that luxury. She feels guilty for any bit of happiness she feels, but wants to desperately to swim to the top of this watery grave we’re all in and begin living her life again.

Her birthday was on Friday, and we decided “Fuck it” we’re going out. Mom and I have avoided going out or drinking alcohol for the most part because we were worried we’d end up a snotty mess on the floor of some bar. That’s embarrassing. I don’t care who you are. I think my mom was afraid there was something wrong with doing such a thing when you’d just buried your husband a few months before. But we did it anyway, because that’s how we roll.

And I’m so glad we did.

This weekend was also the Tweed Elvis Festival. The entire town is decorated in Elvis memorabilia and the impersonators have invaded.

We began the night by getting married at the Bank of Montreal.

I had to wear the pants, but Holly made a beautiful bride, yes? That’s me, with my big head that wouldn’t fit the damn hole.

 

And then we hit the Tweedsmuir, aka: The Heartbreak Hotel (yes, it’s spelled wrong).

 

And then my mom started dancing.

 

And she didn’t stop for much.

 

“Young Elvis” even danced with her.

Then we made her do the required birthday shooter, affectionately called “The Muff-Diver” which my mom refused to participate in until we reassured her it was a shot and not at all related to vaginas.

 

Me and Holly made out with an Elvis too. We figure the alcohol sterilized the face sweat on our mouths. Right? Right?!

 

And my mom kept dancing. She danced so much and smiled so widely that strangers were taking pictures of her with their camera phones. Of course, we had to join in, because it’s dancing! The DJ’s equipment fucked up, leaving us in silence for a few minutes, but Holly saved the day with a fantastic rendition of “The Gambler.” She even found a few fans.

 

A really drunk young man, whom we’ll call “The Golfer,” danced with my mom all night, after informing me that I had Cleveland hair and Cleveland is forbidden. I don’t know.

The next day, I realized that my body hurt, and I’m too old for this shit, but also that I REALLY needed that. Not the booze. I needed to see my mom smiling like she used to. I needed to see her let go and enjoy being alive. I needed to get up and dance with her like we used to do. Something about dancing like a fool is just so… healing. How can you be miserable when you’re dancing? You can’t. Not even if you suck, which we pretty much do.

We still miss my dad and we’re still sad, but my mom needed to give herself permission to move on; to live her life. I think this night of drinking, Elvises and dancing was the first step in that journey. I’m grateful I was there to take it with her. She needed to dance, but I needed to see that joy in her face again.

I’ve also unleashed a fountain of creative energy as a result. I was a little…I don’t want to call it blocked… perhaps stunted, with my writing. I could write and I have lots of ideas, but getting it out was really difficult. It’s flowing freely now and that’s awesome.

So, if you’re ever feeling down, for whatever reason, I highly recommend dancing like a fool, even if EVERYONE is watching. Also, a muff-dive or two brings a smile to everyone’s face. The shot you pervs, not the other one. But you can do whatever floats your boat.

Tagged: dancing, Elvis, fun, grief, inspiration, writing

The Day the Internet Went Down… And I Almost Died

On Wednesday I was happily puttering along on articles for my major clients (aka: the highest paying ones). I’d written a handful of them, confident I’d finish in time to meet the cut-off time for this pay period. I have a schedule of sorts, and I usually save heavy “work” writing for Wednesdays because that’s deadline day for my Friday paycheck. It’s all very complicated and shit, but I have a system and it worked.

Until the Internet said, “Fuck you, sister.”

Just as I finished revising the last article, the Internet went down. I did all the things you’re supposed to do when the Internet goes wonky. I restarted the modem, did a troubleshooting thing on my computer. It didn’t work.

So I called my IP, and they were all “I don’t know why you’re Internet isn’t working” because that’s what they always say. An hour or so on the phone and I was no further ahead. They transferred me to this person and that and then I finally got put through to a technician. He was very pleasant and you’ll all be pleased to know I didn’t once swear at anyone. I know, right! It’s amazing. Anyway, he’s all, “I’m going to put you on hold while I test your line.”

30 minutes later… “I don’t know why your Internet isn’t working.”

Sigh. So he says it must be my modem. Fantastic! We arrange for a technician to come the next day “between 12 and 6” and I hate those “all day” appointments, by the way. Really a pain in the ass.

So, by the time I got off the phone, and realized I should go to my mom’s house to submit the articles, I looked at the clock and realized it was too late anyway. The articles wouldn’t go through and my next paycheck will suck ass. (Yesterday I realized I’d written two of those articles in the wrong format anyway, so I wouldn’t have had them done in time anyway after the rewrite.)

Oh well, right? It happens. My problem then became what to do with the rest of my evening. I worked on the massive rewrite for False Prophet for a while. I’m now 1/3 of the way through, which is awesome. I’d only rewritten two chapters before this because I never focused long enough to really dig in. So this is good. It’s taking shape and it’s so much better than the original angle I took, keeping everyone in the dark until the end. It’s sometimes better when the reader knows what’s going on so she can be all “WTF?! Don’t do that!” Or “How can you not see what’s going on??!!” That’s fun, right?

I also cleaned. The floors are all swept, mopped and what not, and laundry is done and dishes, and I cooked a real supper and I even watched Supernatural. I love that show mostly because of Dean and Sam. Also because of Castiel. He’s pretty. And funny.

Anyway, my kids were like “God, I wish we had Internet,” mostly because they wanted me to leave them alone. I’ve trained them well, eh?

We went to bed early that night, because I couldn’t work, couldn’t write because I hit a wall with a particular scene and got all frustrated, and I couldn’t piss around on Facebook and such, so what else was I going to do? Thursday morning I woke early and was all “I’m so going to get cracking on Nefarious” which is the second book in the For the Love of Gods series. I managed a paragraph and realized I didn’t make coffee. The horror! So I went in and started that and turned. Something was different about the modem.

It worked!!

Nefarious was temporarily forgotten as I called my IP. They were all “Oh yeah, there was a line problem in your area.” And I asked why the folks I talked to last night didn’t know that and told me it was my modem and the guy was all, “I don’t know.” And I said “Of course you don’t.” So I canceled the tech appointment and went on my merry way.

On Thursdays I usually clean and take a break from work. I write a bit, but nothing heavy. It’s my “me” day. But I had these articles and I already cleaned the night before, so I was like “Woohoo! Writing time.” But then my sister-in-law texted me to remind me of my mother’s birthday (today), which for some reason I thought was farther away. I mean, I knew her birthday was today, but I thought I had more days in between.

So we went shopping and planned a birthday breakfast, got soaked, and I came home. I was actually suffering withdrawal at this point I think. I’m not sure, but I think I have a problem. It’s like my connection to the world was gone and I don’t go outside, so this was catastrophic.

Then, just a few minutes before the canceled tech appointment deadline of 6pm, the Internet guy showed up. I’m all “I canceled you.” And he’s all “I didn’t know that.” And I’m all “Of course you didn’t.” We both silently agreed that the company he works for is full of assholes. No, we didn’t need words. It was a moment. So he left and I’m kind of afraid it’ll crash again. I should’ve let him in.

This morning I go out with my kids to meet my mom for her birthday breakfast and there’s a Bell Canada truck at the neighbor’s house. The guy is on the ladder fiddling with the phone lines, and my neighbor is supervising and I’m all “Do. No. Fuck. Up. My. Internet.” I didn’t say that, but it was totally what I was thinking. The neighbor waved and said, “My phone’s been out since yesterday.” I replied, “That sucks.” And I moved along in case my presence tempted Fate into fucking me over again. The Bell guy looked like he might be in cahoots with Fate, so I gave him a look that said “I will find you and kill you if my Internet isn’t working when I get home.” He got it. I could tell.

Tagged: addictions, humor, Internet, panic, writing