Janet Fogg's Blog, page 41

The Lost Hours

I recently spent the day fighting a computer virus on one of our computers, and remained fairly calm most of the morning, but by afternoon, when I realized this virus would likely defeat my somewhat limited abilities, I became quite angry. First, I was heated over the time I lost, but then, I became enraged for the lost potential of whoever engineered this particular worm. 
As a thunderstorm grumbled through, I fear my (somewhat colorful) language provided a poignant counter-tempo to the growling overhead. Then, after a particularly virulent crash from on high, I laughed.

The jerk-savant who created the malware or virus, whatever the heck it was, wanted my rage. Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but if you happen to read this, my anger was short lived. Instead, as the growling storm swept past our home and a rainbow crested over the eastern plains, I found myself pitying you. Someday, when you look back on your life, and your child gazes at you with adoring eyes, what story will you relate? How can you ever explain this part of your life? Worse yet, what happens much later, when the end of your life is near?

Let me explain a few things. First of all, you are not Neo, saving mankind from evil. I know that’s hard to accept, but trust me, you’re not a hero, and soon I hope you realize how you can fruitfully spend your time, efforts, and your undoubted brilliance. There’s so much to be accomplished in this world, and instead you choose to lurk in the sewer. I hope the stench soon drives you out and you find not only a new life, but some way to make amends, to ask forgiveness. I realize that is optimistic, but you see, writers have to be optimistic. We work in an incredibly tough profession, where rejection is the norm.

Ah, but those hours I lost playing your game, that does hurt. I’d planned on editing a manuscript, and instead, accomplished nothing. But here is my gift to you, along with this blog. I give you those hours I lost, to claim as your own. That way, since I give them to you freely, you cannot take any pleasure in thinking that you took them from me.

I’ve already delivered the computer to a geek to have your thumbprint removed. Poof! It shall be gone. Now, I’ll edit and spend time outside, enjoying the kiss of fall weather and high skies. I’ll consider my next chapter and that brings me great joy. Oh, and I might spend another moment or two pitying you. But I should caution you about that pity. You see, over the decades speculative fiction writers have predicted the future with an amazing rate of success, and I don’t foresee joy in your future, or any true satisfaction. Alas for you. Alas.

The lost hours

I recently spent the day fighting a computer virus on one of our computers, and remained fairly calm most of the morning, but by afternoon, when I realized this virus would likely defeat my somewhat limited abilities, I became quite angry. First, I was heated over the time I lost, but then, I became enraged for the lost potential of whoever engineered this particular worm. 
As a thunderstorm grumbled through, I fear my (somewhat colorful) language provided a poignant counter-tempo to the growling overhead. Then, after a particularly virulent crash from on high, I laughed.

The jerk-savant who created the malware or virus, whatever the heck it was, wanted my rage. Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but if you happen to read this, my anger was short lived. Instead, as the growling storm swept past our home and a rainbow crested over the eastern plains, I found myself pitying you. Someday, when you look back on your life, and your child gazes at you with adoring eyes, what story will you relate? How can you ever explain this part of your life? Worse yet, what happens much later, when the end of your life is near?

Let me explain a few things. First of all, you are not Neo, saving mankind from evil. I know that’s hard to accept, but trust me, you’re not a hero, and soon I hope you realize how you can fruitfully spend your time, efforts, and your undoubted brilliance. There’s so much to be accomplished in this world, and instead you choose to lurk in the sewer. I hope the stench soon drives you out and you find not only a new life, but some way to make amends, to ask forgiveness. I realize that is optimistic, but you see, writers have to be optimistic. We work in an incredibly tough profession, where rejection is the norm.

Ah, but those hours I lost playing your game, that does hurt. I’d planned on editing a manuscript, and instead, accomplished nothing. But here is my gift to you, along with this blog. I give you those hours I lost, to claim as your own. That way, since I give them to you freely, you cannot take any pleasure in thinking that you took them from me.

I’ve already delivered the computer to a geek to have your thumbprint removed. Poof! It shall be gone. Now, I’ll edit and spend time outside, enjoying the kiss of fall weather and high skies. I’ll consider my next chapter and that brings me great joy. Oh, and I might spend another moment or two pitying you. But I should caution you about that pity. You see, over the decades speculative fiction writers have predicted the future with an amazing rate of success, and I don’t foresee joy in your future, or any true satisfaction. Alas for you. Alas.

2010 HOLT Medallion Contest

Soliloquy received an Award of Merit in the HOLT Medallion contest - Best First Book category!

Braggin' (not really bloggin')

A Four Star Review for Soliloquy! Just have to share it!

“You’ll be hooked from page one of this mesmerizing tale, which uses a beguiling method of transport to the past. The prose is smooth and satisfying, and the characters come alive. Passion and promise fill the pages, as well as fear and deception.” Donna M. Brown, RT Book Reviews, May 2010

Signing in the Snow!

To be sung to the tune of "Singin' in the Rain!"

I’m just signin’ in the snow
Just signin’ in the snow
What a glorious feeling,
I’m signing my books!
I’m laughing at roads
So slick up ahead,
My pen’s in my hand and I’m ready to sign!
Let the stormy winds fly
Let the ice up and try
Come on with your snow,
I’ve a coat and I’m dry!
I’ll slip down the lane
With a plow up ahead
Just signin’, signin’ in the snow!

Despite snowing during three of the four signing events I just shared with Shannon Baker and Carol Berg, we had such fun! Thanks to everyone who braved the terrible roads and weather to celebrate with us. And if you're humming Singin' in the Rain all day, well, I take full responsibility!

Three Adventures; Three Women; Three Books

Fantasy, thriller, and time-travel romance do have much in common, including three friends who create thrilling adventures, are members of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and Pikes Peak Writers, and hope to see you at our shared Colorado events!

Feb 17, 2010, 6:30PM, Old Firehouse Books, 232 Walnut Street, Fort Collins
Feb 18, 2010, 7:30PM, Boulder Book Store, 1107 Pearl St., Boulder
Feb 20, 2010, 3:00PM, Who Else! Books, 200 S. Broadway, Denver
Feb 21, 2010, 2:30PM, Black Cat Books, 720 Manitou Avenue, Manitou Springs

Carol Berg is a former software engineer whose hobby of writing fantasy novels has taken her in directions she never expected. Since her first novel Transformation was published in 2000, she has garnered international acclaim for her intelligent stories, complex characters, and lyrical prose. In 2009 her Breath and Bone won the Mythopoeic Fantasy Award for Adult Literature as well as the 2009 Colorado Book Award. Her new book, The Spirit Lens, is a tale of mystery, magic, and murder, and is available in trade paperback, the first of a new three-book series from NAL/Roc Books.

Shannon Baker has a right brain/left brain conflict. While the left brain focuses on her career as an accountant for The Grand Canyon Trust, her right brain concocts thrillers, including her 2010 release, Ashes of the Red Heifer. Earning several contest awards, Ashes of the Red Heifer reveals an ancient prophecy, a terrible secret, and a deadly conspiracy. Shannon’s writing can be found in a number of anthologies, including Leaning into the Wind and Crazy Woman Creek. Her new book will be released by L&L Dreamspell in trade paperback and eformats.


Janet Fogg’s focus on novel-length fiction began while CFO for OZ Architecture, one of the largest architectural firms in Colorado, and in 2008 writing became her full-time vocation. Soliloquy, released by The Wild Rose Press, is a tale of passion; of heroes, hope and the consequences of creating extraordinary music amidst the dark nights of World War II. Janet has received over 15 writing awards including 1st Place awards for Soliloquy from RMFW’s Colorado Gold, Pikes Peak Writers, Authorlink!, and Southwest Writers. Janet is Published Author Liaison for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers.

Ashes of the Red Heifer

From my friend and fabulous author, Shannon Baker...

Soliloquy

Alone she creates
Extraordinary music
Aching for love
Never found
An irreplaceable gift
Shattered
A perilous wish
Fulfilled
Thrust backward in time
She shields the heroes
In the dark nights of war
Surrendering her heart
Risking her life
For a promise
Remembered through time

Soliloquy by Janet Fogg

Let's Do Launch!

Forever

“Wish we could hold these moments in our hands forever.... “

I wrote this phrase just yesterday in an email to a friend. We were discussing the reaction of her partner to a joyous event, but as I sent the email it occurred to me that in my books, I have the opportunity to create moments that might endure forever. Forever. That’s a really long word. But I take the lives of my characters quite seriously, analyzing every reaction, considering character strengths and flaws, carefully allocating each word they speak. If I’m then able to capture the joy and pain and hidden emotion in their lives, well, I will have succeeded, forever.

Every writer I know spends hours, days, probably weeks, delving into the backgrounds of their characters, to create a true reaction to every obstacle while trimming the cadence of their voice to match an upbringing that is only imagined, yet so very real. So our characters live and breathe. Their goals are ours; their beliefs and love and family, all of it, forever.

And then there’s world building. Whether based on reality or fantasy, that world we create has its own rules, bureaucracy, construction, inhabitants, flora, and physical reality. Our characters live there. For them, that world is as real as it is for me, forever.

Now I’m suddenly feeling a bit intimidated. I’ve never considered whether my books will be pulled off a dusty shelf 40 or 50 years from now to be read or re-read. But they might be, and having my words impact someone’s life 40 years from now feels like forever, to me. Forever! What an unreasonably long word!