Linda Welch's Blog, page 14

Dream On.

It was one of those dreams in which I could almost taste and feel  the atmosphere of my surroundings.

I am walking along an unpaved lane. I think it's the countryside. Hills and tall trees rise behind me. It is dusk. On my left, a low brick wall separates the lane from what looks like a village. The wall is old, the bricks worn and moss grows on top. The land gently slopes downward beyond the wall, and I see the upper floors and rooftops of houses. The houses are made of brick, with steeply pitched roofs of slate tiles. The houses look old, too, and they huddle together.

A procession of small animals swarm toward me. There is a male and female of each species. Some I recognize, some I don't. My mum (suddenly with me) bends over to look at the animals as they pass us. Two of the creatures, like small, fat brown goats the size of cats, perhaps similar to tiny deer, fuss around my ankles. In the dream, I remember seeing them before. I tell them, "I know you, don't I."

I look down at a railway station. A teen boy and girl sit in a carriage. Another teen boy and girl stand on the platform. The train pulls out of the station.

I look down at the rooftops to see the teen boy and girl from the platform are now lying on a roof, but they are older now, and gray-haired. My gaze pans over the rooftops until I am looking down into a small courtyard. A woman comes into the courtyard from a covered doorway. She is middle-aged, plump, with long gray hair, and wears a cloak over a floor-length dress. She crosses the courtyard to an archway. As she walks beneath the arch, she turns to look back and bumps into a man. As they touch each other, a pair of filmy wings pops out and unfurl from the woman's shoulders. The man is middle-aged with gray hair and a gray beard and he also has wings. I think, "Oh, isn't that nice. Now she has someone, too."

I remember there is two of everything in the dream. Two animals, two teens, two older people, and I think, "There is two of everything. I like that."

I've read that we always dream but don't always remember dreaming. In that case, I only remember my dreams when I've been taxing my mind to the extreme, either obsessing over a problem or so deep into writing that when I don't have my fingers on the keyboard, I'm thinking about the plot or characters every waking moment.

Sometimes I can look at aspects of a dream and identify them as being the result of something which happened, or was heard or seen, in real life. Other times, there doesn't seem to be a logical explanation. A friend, a dream therapist, says the mind pulls things from our memories and uses them to send us a message, but even she admits that sometimes a dream is just a dream. I think this dream was that, only a dream.

Perhaps, one day, I will write a book based on that dream.

I wonder, is what I write dredged from the same place my dreams come from? Because, very often, I surely don't know how I came up with an idea. When, years ago, I thought about a character who interacted with ghosts as if they were real people, I had not heard of Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz (which a reviewer mentioned in an early review of Along Came a Demon) and still have not read the book. I don't know where the Demons came from. I don't know where Dark Cousins came from―actually, I do: a novella I wrote but never published ten years ago. But where did they come from ten years ago!?!?! With each novel, I start with a beginning, an end, and a few plot points in between, then have to figure out how to get from point A to B to C, etc. Sometimes it doesn't come easy, but I know it WILL come eventually. When it does, it bursts into life, the ideas popping out of nowhere; but they have to come from somewhere, don't they?

What is the mind? Wikipedia says it is "the aspect of intellect and consciousness experienced as combinations of thought, perception, memory, emotion, will and imagination, including all unconscious cognitive processes. The term is often used to refer, by implication, to the thought processes of reason. Mind manifests itself subjectively as a stream of consciousness." Is the mind a product of the brain? Modern scientists believe it is, chiefly because damage to the brain compromises the functions of the mind.

If my dreams, my ideas, my imagination, come from a mass of squishy jelly-like substance that physically resembles a large wrinkly walnut, so be it. All I can say is, bring it on.

A New Game Plan

I should have announced it months ago, but I was reluctant to do so because I feel some readers will be disappointed. I also tried to think of a way in which I could gently ease into the announcement, but I'm no good at easing into anything. So here goes:

Whisperings book three will not be Demon on a Distant Shore.

I enjoyed writing Demon on a Distant Shore. It has a great plot, new fun characters, humor, mystery and some sexy interaction between Tiff and Royal. But, it takes the reader away from the themes I've been building in the series: the mystery of the Gelpha and Dark Cousins, and of Tiff herself. I would rather see everything brought to light and those mysteries resolved in four consecutive novels. I am, therefore, working on a new book three, tentatively titled Dead Demon Walking. After those four novels, I would like to write "adventures," which continue Tiff and Royal's life and work together, but which can be read as independent stories. Demon on a Distant Shore will be one of them.

Don't worry―Jack's past and his relationship with Dale Jericho will be revealed in book three!

When will the new book be published? I can't give an exact date but I estimate late summer 2011. I know some readers think an author zips out a book and hey presto it's up on Amazon, but the process is actually lengthy and involved. First comes the first draft, and as not all writers are alike in the speed with which they create, I can't put a timeline to that. Then they go through it again, editing, expanding, adding. When they think it's as good as it can get, they send it to an editor or beta readers. Who send it back and tell the writer they were sadly mistaken if they thought they had a finished product. More editing, more amending, more critiques. And if they're like me, they have "resting" periods in between where they let the manuscript sit, because reading it over and over again, you tend to see what you think you should, not what you actually typed. Getting away from the manuscript freshens your eye. Finally, the manuscript is ready, but the book is not. If you're an Indie author you either pay someone to create your cover, or create it yourself. For me, from the first typed word to the finished product normally takes about a year, and I started Dead Demon Walking in August.

On the home front, I'm preparing for winter. Lawns are green and flowers bloom down in the Salt Lake Valley, but up here the trees have already shed half their leaves and my plants have given up the ghost. After a lovely Indian summer, gray clouds hang low in the sky and we've had three inches of rain in the past week. Snow mottles the highest mountain peaks. The lawnmower and snow-blower have reversed position; the lawnmower is in the shed, the snow-blower in the garage. We'll store the deck furniture this weekend, take the air conditioners out the windows, and attach the blade to one of our ATVs to use as a snowplow. Next weekend the Christmas lights will go up on the eaves, because when you live in the mountains you want them up before the first snowstorm.

When everything outside is covered in five feet of snow, I'll be in the living room in front of a blazing fire, laptop on my knees, working on Whisperings. I'm not a fan of winter, but it is the perfect season in which to write.

Admission of Guilt

My name is Linda Welch and I'm an addict.

It started harmlessly enough. A few minutes here, a few minutes there, but before I knew, I was using every day, and now, when I'm not at work, I can't stay away from it. I wake in the middle of the night, needing it. Sometimes I go back to sleep but more often than not, I creep out of bed, because I know if I don't give in, the craving will keep me up all night anyway.

My husband knows because I don't try to hide: in the kitchen, the living room, the office, the den; I'll do it anywhere, in plain sight. But still, I don't think he truly comprehends the depth of my addiction. He thinks it's a harmless diversion.

Every year at my annual check-up, my doctor asks if I'm still using, and how often. Then he tells me that much could be bad for my eyesight, and I could give it up if I want to. "But I don't want to!" I tell him.

Why aren't there support groups for people with my addiction? Perhaps being among people who say, "There, there, we know what you're going through. We've been there. We're with you now and you can lean on us," would do the trick? But, probably, that wouldn't work either. I'm in too deep.

I think only my day-job keeps me from entirely sinking into the morass. If not for that twice-a-week break, I would be at it all the time. But, oh, how those days seems to last an eternity. And the first thing I do when I get home is satisfy the craving which threatens to engulf me.

Excuse me, I have to go now. My manuscript calls to me.

Fall and Felines

A tide of color is sweeping over tree by tree: crimson, copper, bronze, salmon, yellow, brown. We see young grass snakes and baby mice on the road where they go for the heat of sun-warmed asphalt. Last week we saw a rattler on the road, the squashed-by-a-car kind I'm glad to say. Dragonflies swarm, zooming around our heads but always just missing us. The raccoons are getting bolder when they come after the cat food. I've tried scaring them with a starting pistol, a pellet gun, yelling, chasing, but they come right back. They look at me with soulful eyes and I feel mean, the little blighters. A few hummingbirds are hanging on, the younger birds who need to fill up more for the strength required to fly to warmer climes. In another month, only the chickadees, juncos, robins and woodpeckers will still be here. And not to forget the magpie and jay. September, and the year is already winding down.

Our neighbor told us he planned to take some cats to No More Homeless Pets in Orem. He's lucky – he managed to make friends with the feral cats on his property, no mean feat, done with more patience than I possess. He can scoop them up and off they go. NMHP will spay/neuter and immunize the kitties for only $5 a piece, then they can be released with no risk they will breed and add to the colony. I have my own small colony, so I decided to trap the mommy cat and her six kittens so Terry could take them to Orem. Easier said than done. My kitties are completely wild. They won't even come up on the deck when I'm out there. I wonder, hey, don't you realize who's giving you all that yummy kitty kibble? Show a little gratitude, will ya!

Anyway, on Wednesday I put my biggest dog crate on the deck, put the food inside, and tied a cord to the door, the other end through the window. I tried it; it worked a treat. One yank and the door closed. Wednesday evening: no kitties. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday: no kitties. Then, on Monday, momma and five kittens turned up, and they were hungry. I figure the sixth kitten had a mishap, which is sad but happens. They went back and forth all day, in and out of the dog crate, chowing down on kibble and drinking water. Problem: the kits would only go in the crate with momma, and they were never all in there at the same time. I couldn't shut the door to trap momma and some of her kits and leave others alone, mommy-less. I went to bed a failure.

Tuesday morning I looked out the window before taking out the cat food. Six kittens. Inside the crate. Mom wasn't around, but I was sure she would be out there somewhere when the kittens came back Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately, I had to take the cord out the window Monday evening, so I could close it. The end was just outside. I carefully eased up the window. The kittens looked at me. I reached my hand through the gap for the cord, and they scattered. I waited half an hour but they didn't come back. I had to go to work. I'll get them eventually.

Before long, I'll be feeling isolated as I look out my windows at a white landscape, but winter is the perfect time to sit in our cozy den, in front of the fire, and write.

Living Dangerously

I admired the way in which Terry casually mentioned a bear on Big Sky Drive, like it's an everyday occurrence, nothing to be worried about. That's just above our house! After telling my husband we will never, ever walk Big Sky again, I researched what to do if attacked by a bear:

There are things to do if the bear does attack that might save your life.  The current wisdom is: If a bear attacks, fall to the ground and play dead.  Try to lie flat on your stomach or curl into a ball and try to keep your hands behind your neck. Lying flat and still make the bear think you are no longer a threat and often they will stop the attack and leave. Stay motionless as long as you can since if you move and the bear is still within sight or hearing it may attack again. If a bear thinks you are food and continues biting after you have taken a defensive posture fight back as best you can.

Well, God forbid the poor thing should feel threatened. I don't see any mention of pain, so I guess I can keep still while a big old bear chomps down on me, till it realizes I mean it no harm and goes on its merry way. But what if it's plain hungry? Fight back as best you can? Are they joking? How are you supposed to fight a massive mountain of claws and teeth with your bare hands?

Then there are the mountain lions. They are here all the time, higher up the mountain and seldom seen. But they have been seen, and do come down lower during winter. I've seen their prints myself in the snow alongside the roads and at the base of hiking trails.

Be sure to always make eye contact with the lion and stand up as tall as possible. Open your jacket and flap it about, yell, throw stones but make sure you react so that it knows that you are the one in control, not him. Never turn your back on a lion, never squat or bend over at anytime. If you are attacked, fight back. Never succumb or roll into a ball. Hit as hard as possible especially to the head area. If you can retrieve a stick or large rock, use it as a weapon. If face to face with the cat, go for the eyes by clawing or throwing sand in the face of the cat. Mountain lions will usually strike the back of the head and especially the neck so be vigilant to protect these areas and if at all possible remain standing or face to face with the animal once it is attacking. Under no circumstances fall to the ground and roll into a fetal position.

What if I faint and just naturally fall into a fetal position? Huh? Tell me that? What if I'm not wearing a jacket to flap, or a jacket that's not flappable? What if there are no rocks or sand about to throw? Am I really supposed to dig my fingers into a mountain lion's eyes? Well yuk!

We get bobcats here too. A bobcat can kill prey that weights ten times its own weight. Bobcat attacks on people are rare but do happen. I couldn't find anything about how to defend against a bobcat attack, but an article mentioned a man who strangled a rabid bobcat with his bare hands. Rabid bobcats! It gets better and better. . . .

Moose. I see moose all the time, they come through our property and have even been on our deck, and they eat our trees, but I've never been attacked by one. I think if that happened, my only option would be to run like hell and get behind something, or climb a tree. When I'm driving and come upon a moose in the middle of the road, or even on the side of the road, I turn the car and go the other way. In a moose/automobile collision, nobody wins.

Skunk? When I meet a skunk, I run the other way. Don't laugh – I was sprayed by a skunk once and hope never the repeat the experience.

But you know what? I'm not really that concerned about meeting up with a bear, or a mountain lion, or a bobcat. I like seeing the moose ambling through our property. I would rather face all of the above than tangle with the worse danger to be encountered in our mountain valley, a creature so evil, its behavior so insidious, we lose several tourists to it every year. It lurks on the side of the road, looking harmless enough, until you approach it. Very often it creeps further into the road, encouraging the unsuspecting motorist to move it out the way. Failing that, it falls over and lays there looking pathetic. Never, EVER take pity, go over there and help it up, because if you do, the lid will come down and take off your hand, or your head.

Ours are blue. What color are your garbage cans?

The Adventure Begins

There I was, an innocent little Indie author minding her own business, happily writing and self-publishing, watching my Kindle book sales go through the ceiling, when I got an email from the Chairman of a top Literary Agency in New York. He said he wanted to represent me and my Whisperings series. Ha ha, I thought, who are you and who do you think you're kidding?

Turns out, he's legit, the chairman of a premier NY Literary Agency: Robert Gottlieb of  Trident Media Group, no less.

Well, you could have knocked me down with the proverbial feather.

I feel kind of guilty. I didn't seek an agent. I didn't sweat over query letters in which you have to squeeze your soul into a few paragraphs (if they allow you even that much.) All I did was open up an email which I found in my spam box. I could just as well have deleted the thing.

After negotiating with my attorney, the agreement was signed. I am now, officially, a client of TMG. With Robert's help I've expanded Along Came a Demon to a novel-length book. Next up will be The Demon Hunters. Robert will present Along Came a Demon in September. In October, it will be on TMG's "hot list" at the Frankfurt Book Fair.

What does this mean for Whisperings? At the moment, Along Came a Demon and The Demon Hunters will remain for sale as is. If a publisher picks up the series, the present versions will disappear and new versions will eventually sell in bookstores and online.

I'm both excited and terrified. Giving up my Indie status and putting my writing career in the hands of  others was one of the most difficult decisions I've had to make, but I could not pass up this opportunity.

So remember, my Indie author friends –  always check your spam mail!

Me and Murphy's Law

You know his law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. That isn't always bad –  when someone comes up with a brilliant idea and everyone enthuses over it, I'm the one who says, "Yes, but. . . ." That can actually be a good thing. I blame Murphy for my negativity and pessimism – why be optimistic when Murphy's waiting in the wings, ready to leap out and spoil my mood?

Last night, while walking the Scotties, Muphy hovered at my shoulder when we ran into a skunk. Coincidently, I was thinking to myself, "I hope we don't run into the skunk I've smelled around here this past week." Luckily I saw the little blighter before the Scotties did. Ha – you didn't get me that time, Murphy!

But back to my negative attitude: I searched the mountainside for signs of approaching fall as we walked. It comes early up here. When the valley below is still blooming with flowers, lawns are verdantly green and people spend the afternoon tanning, up here the trees are beginning to turn color and there is a nip in the air come evening. I thought of the coming winter and all I dreaded: the perilous roads which the snow narrows down to the width of one lane, ice forming on the inside of the living room window, shoveling and blowing and plowing the driveway.

Anyone who knows me knows I loathe chill of winter, and neither am I fond of the high heat of summer. They've given up on pointing out I have a no-win attitude; now they just roll their eyes and ignore me.

But a friend of mine gave me a good lecture on my attitude, so I decided I will be positive this year! And to prove it, I've made a list of the good things about both winter and summer in the mountains:

 Summer                                                                              

It's not freezing cold.

I don't have to spend hours shoveling the deck and blowing/plowing the driveway.

The Scotties don't return from their walks pasted with sand, salt and sludge from the roads.

I don't have to drive 20 miles on a slick road through a blizzard to get to work.

I don't have to constantly refill the bird feeders.

I don't have to wear three layers to clothing and a blanket while working in my home office.

Our tiny market is not crowded with skiers.

 Winter

It's not baking hot.

I don't have to spend hours pulling weeds and watering the garden.

The Scotties don't return from their walks thick with dust.

I don't have to drive 20 miles inside an oven with the sun dazzling my eyes to get to work.

I don't have to chase raccoons away from the bird feeders.

I don't pour a river of sweat while working in my home office.

Our tiny market is not crowded with hikers, bikers, canoers, etc.

Hm. There are a lot of "don'ts" up there. Somehow, I don't think positiveness should work that way. Where am I going wrong? Let's try again:

Summer

Grilling just about everything that can cook on a barbecue.

Long, lazy hours relaxing on the deck, watching the birds and butterflies.

Evenings unsullied by street lights and traffic noise.

Visitors from overseas.

Picnics, street festivals, fireworks and fetes.

Fresh raspberry shakes from Chris' Cafe.

Winter

Using the oven and not overheating the kitchen.

Watching the skiers fall over on the slopes across from my house. Hee hee.

The magic of snowflakes falling from the sky.

Hot chocolate from the Mad Moose.

Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

There. I feel much better now. Back atcha, Murphy!

Hello Goodreads readers!

My first Goodreads blog, and I must warn any who chance upon it that I am the worse blogger in the world, but I'll occasionally try to say something deep, meaningful and world-shattering. And pigs might fly.

Listing and rating all the books I've read would be an exhausting undertaking, so I will do that a bit at a time And, as most of the over-1000 novels in my library are series by favorite authors who seldom let me down, ratings will probably be 4 or 5 stars.

I enjoy looking at my Goodreads friends' book recommendations. I don't put a lot of time into browsing Amazon, and I've already seen some books on your lists that I would have otherwise missed. Thanks for that.

I look forward to a long, happy association with Goodreads!