Cherie Noel's Blog, page 39
September 30, 2011
NOW you can get nekkid--It's Friday Flash Time.
Fire & Ice #9
A bitter taste filled Ryan's mouth. Jagged disappointment unfurled in his chest. Without Simeon he and Joshua would soon fall apart. The prospect of eternity with neither man at his side was—unfathomable.Ryan closed his eyes.He couldn't allow such a terrible thing to come to pass.Pulling his arm out from underneath Simeon, Ryan brought both hands to frame the smaller man's face. Simeon's eyes turned to him, wide and wary, the pupils blown open so far they nearly swallowed all trace of color. Ryan drew upon every angelic power he possessed to infuse his words with an unquestionable stamp of believability."Simeon. We—Josh and I? We've been waiting for you. You're the glue that holds us together. I know you may not see time the same way that we do. Elementals are sort of outside time, aren't you? We haven't had anyone else, not ever."Here his voice broke. Ryan pulled in a sharp breath before continuing. The sound of his words was lower now, tattered and rough. "Please Simeon. Give us a chance."Over Simeon's shoulder Ryan could see Joshua's face go slack for an instant before his brows drew together in a fierce frown."Stop it Rye. Don't you ever beg. Not me, not even Simeon. You're too good to beg anyone for anything. He-you. I. Damn it—"A buzzing noise interrupted. Ryan knew that ringtone.He shuddered, then extended his upper wing again, enfolding Simeon in it."Go on Josh. Answer it. He'll get angry if you ignore him."Simeon's forehead crinkled up, and his eyes squinted slightly. Josh folded the soft velvet of his wing against his back, and Simeon made a barely perceptible noise of distress. Josh exhaled shakily."Yeah. About that. Dad heard Simeon volunteer to take my place earlier. And he says if I don't find the stuff on this crazy list he sent earlier he's gonna call his marker in. I can't stop him Rye."Joshua's gold and amber eyes pleaded for understanding. There was no other word for it. Ryan gasped. "No, Josh. He'd never survive."Ryan folded his wing more tightly around Simeon."No, Josh. We have to find the things for his list. Show us."Josh held his phone out to Ryan. The incubus's hand trembled just before Ryan grasped the phone. Ryan set the device down and the latched onto Joshua's hand. He caressed the silky skin at the base of Joshua's wrist, and then pressed the other eternal's hand back against Simeon's hip, placing his own over the top."Together, Josh. We'll keep him safe whatever it takes, and he'll hold us together. The three of us were destined by the Fates. Nothing can change that. It'll be okay. I promise."Simeon reached up, placing his hand over both of theirs. "I haven't got a single clue what either of you is talking about. Could someone kindly let me in on what in the world is going on?"
A bitter taste filled Ryan's mouth. Jagged disappointment unfurled in his chest. Without Simeon he and Joshua would soon fall apart. The prospect of eternity with neither man at his side was—unfathomable.Ryan closed his eyes.He couldn't allow such a terrible thing to come to pass.Pulling his arm out from underneath Simeon, Ryan brought both hands to frame the smaller man's face. Simeon's eyes turned to him, wide and wary, the pupils blown open so far they nearly swallowed all trace of color. Ryan drew upon every angelic power he possessed to infuse his words with an unquestionable stamp of believability."Simeon. We—Josh and I? We've been waiting for you. You're the glue that holds us together. I know you may not see time the same way that we do. Elementals are sort of outside time, aren't you? We haven't had anyone else, not ever."Here his voice broke. Ryan pulled in a sharp breath before continuing. The sound of his words was lower now, tattered and rough. "Please Simeon. Give us a chance."Over Simeon's shoulder Ryan could see Joshua's face go slack for an instant before his brows drew together in a fierce frown."Stop it Rye. Don't you ever beg. Not me, not even Simeon. You're too good to beg anyone for anything. He-you. I. Damn it—"A buzzing noise interrupted. Ryan knew that ringtone.He shuddered, then extended his upper wing again, enfolding Simeon in it."Go on Josh. Answer it. He'll get angry if you ignore him."Simeon's forehead crinkled up, and his eyes squinted slightly. Josh folded the soft velvet of his wing against his back, and Simeon made a barely perceptible noise of distress. Josh exhaled shakily."Yeah. About that. Dad heard Simeon volunteer to take my place earlier. And he says if I don't find the stuff on this crazy list he sent earlier he's gonna call his marker in. I can't stop him Rye."Joshua's gold and amber eyes pleaded for understanding. There was no other word for it. Ryan gasped. "No, Josh. He'd never survive."Ryan folded his wing more tightly around Simeon."No, Josh. We have to find the things for his list. Show us."Josh held his phone out to Ryan. The incubus's hand trembled just before Ryan grasped the phone. Ryan set the device down and the latched onto Joshua's hand. He caressed the silky skin at the base of Joshua's wrist, and then pressed the other eternal's hand back against Simeon's hip, placing his own over the top."Together, Josh. We'll keep him safe whatever it takes, and he'll hold us together. The three of us were destined by the Fates. Nothing can change that. It'll be okay. I promise."Simeon reached up, placing his hand over both of theirs. "I haven't got a single clue what either of you is talking about. Could someone kindly let me in on what in the world is going on?"
Keep Your Shirt ON!!
Heh.
Just for a little while longer.
The Friday Flash is coming to a writing cave near you...in about 1 hour.
*giggles*
Just for a little while longer.
The Friday Flash is coming to a writing cave near you...in about 1 hour.
*giggles*
September 29, 2011
Thursday Think Tank: On Losing Your Grip
Today, I knocked my favorite mug off the top of the entertainment center. The cup, my beloved "Mom" cup, is ringed with a poem printed in a rainbow of colors. The poem is all about the varying states, struggles, and sheer overwhelmingness of Mommydom.
So, when it fell, I of course hollered out --Fuck--Fuck--Fuck--in a loud voice.
Eh, so sue me.
It's my fave mug, and I saw it heading straight for an early demise.
Miraculously, the cup itself did not break.
Well, not the part that makes the cup a cup. The hot/cold beverage holder part is fine, the wonderfully humorous and at times touching poem is unscathed.
But the flippin' handle broke off.
Which led me to think about the nature of things, and how we are (almost always) afforded the opportunity to look at things from more than one perspective.
So my choices were to view this as losing my grip, or as a unique chance to hold the thing I love more closely.
Develop a tighter connection. With whatever it is about the silly mug that I love so much.
I realized I love the silly thing because it makes me remember all the good things about being a mom, while I'm lovin' on myself by drinking a hot cuppa.
Heh.
So, my cup's not broken.
Instead I have a coffee mug that always warms my hands while the words on it warm my heart. I know, total cheese fest. Still, I gotta call 'em like I see 'em.
My cup's better now, cause I'm closer to the action.
Yep.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
So, as you giggle over that, also ruminate on this.
What in your life has been broken in some manner?
And, how can that bring you closer to what you loved about that thing in the first place?
Just something to think about.
So, when it fell, I of course hollered out --Fuck--Fuck--Fuck--in a loud voice.
Eh, so sue me.
It's my fave mug, and I saw it heading straight for an early demise.
Miraculously, the cup itself did not break.
Well, not the part that makes the cup a cup. The hot/cold beverage holder part is fine, the wonderfully humorous and at times touching poem is unscathed.
But the flippin' handle broke off.
Which led me to think about the nature of things, and how we are (almost always) afforded the opportunity to look at things from more than one perspective.
So my choices were to view this as losing my grip, or as a unique chance to hold the thing I love more closely.
Develop a tighter connection. With whatever it is about the silly mug that I love so much.
I realized I love the silly thing because it makes me remember all the good things about being a mom, while I'm lovin' on myself by drinking a hot cuppa.
Heh.
So, my cup's not broken.
Instead I have a coffee mug that always warms my hands while the words on it warm my heart. I know, total cheese fest. Still, I gotta call 'em like I see 'em.
My cup's better now, cause I'm closer to the action.
Yep.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
So, as you giggle over that, also ruminate on this.
What in your life has been broken in some manner?
And, how can that bring you closer to what you loved about that thing in the first place?
Just something to think about.
September 28, 2011
Christie's Comrade: The Secrets Evans Keeps
An Unedited Excerpt from The Soldier, the Shaman, and the Siren:
By the time dinner was over Mrs. Tarans had fed him half a peach cobbler. Then Sgt. Tarans had insisted on driving him back to the barracks—Evans wasn't fooled, he knew the old man wanted his cigarettes back. On the way they'd had a surprisingly coherent discussion on the merits of Ethan Day's writing between the three of them because Mrs. Tarans had insisted on coming along—and again, Evans wasn't fooled, Mrs. Tarans had no intention of letting her husband get his hands on those cigarettes again. He said his goodbyes, and started across the quad towards his barracks, and instead ended up sitting in his car. If it starts, it's a sign, and I'll drive back out there.Naturally it didn't start. Not the first time. It was still a sign even if it took twenty-four tries and shanghai-ing two guys to give him a push start to get it going, right? Well, that's what Evans was going with as he drove back out toward Ryan's house at eleven o'clock at night. He had a bad moment at a flashing red light intersection about half-way there when the engine stalled. Fortunately it was on a hill, so with a little muscle thrown in he ran and jumped back behind the wheel to pop the clutch and bang, the car was running again.The lights were shining from the kitchen windows when he pulled into the drive. Evans parked carefully, mindful of the fact that his car might not start the next time he tried it. Either Pretty or Ryan could get called away at a moment's notice. He shut his car off and got out. Walking up to the door, he felt the itch starting up again. I won't get any answers if I run away again.At the door he laid his palm against the weathered wood. It felt oddly as though the house welcomed him, even invited him in. He moved to lay his forehead against the door as well but the added weight pushed the door slightly ajar. Evans pushed the door further open and stepped back into the house he'd left—run from in fact—only hours before.Voices spilled across the living room with the splash of light from the kitchen's doorway, one low and resonant, the other light and mellifluous. Evans's heart started to pound as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. I can do this. I can. Half-way across the living room he started to pant. The air felt thick and his breaths became uneven.I want to know what he's dreamed with me since that first time.A low, rumbling laugh sounded in the kitchen. Evans froze for a moment, glancing wildly around. His eyes followed the warm yellow fall of light from above the kitchen table to where it ended aslant the wall directly in front of him. It fell across the Henry Avignon print like a purposely placed accent light.I want to know why he didn't come for me. A higher laugh followed, tinkling gently, brushing against his skin like butterfly wings. He could almost feel the silken residue of their touch.I want to know why I can feel Pretty's anger and her joy.He drew in a shaky breath and took a last step. Standing in the doorway, unable to move any farther forward, he hungrily drank in the sight before him. Pretty was sitting at the table, a ceramic mug the same shade of blue as her incredible eyes clasped in her hands. Little tendrils of steam wisped up from where she held it close to her face to curl around the high rounds of her cheeks in the dimly lit kitchen. Ryan's broad back and shoulders were directly in front of Evans, their outline highlighted by the play of light and shadow. The rich red of his tee-shirt was a perfect foil for the gleaming, waist length ebony hair that lay in tangles down his back."Someone should brush your hair out, before those snarls get any worse."
By the time dinner was over Mrs. Tarans had fed him half a peach cobbler. Then Sgt. Tarans had insisted on driving him back to the barracks—Evans wasn't fooled, he knew the old man wanted his cigarettes back. On the way they'd had a surprisingly coherent discussion on the merits of Ethan Day's writing between the three of them because Mrs. Tarans had insisted on coming along—and again, Evans wasn't fooled, Mrs. Tarans had no intention of letting her husband get his hands on those cigarettes again. He said his goodbyes, and started across the quad towards his barracks, and instead ended up sitting in his car. If it starts, it's a sign, and I'll drive back out there.Naturally it didn't start. Not the first time. It was still a sign even if it took twenty-four tries and shanghai-ing two guys to give him a push start to get it going, right? Well, that's what Evans was going with as he drove back out toward Ryan's house at eleven o'clock at night. He had a bad moment at a flashing red light intersection about half-way there when the engine stalled. Fortunately it was on a hill, so with a little muscle thrown in he ran and jumped back behind the wheel to pop the clutch and bang, the car was running again.The lights were shining from the kitchen windows when he pulled into the drive. Evans parked carefully, mindful of the fact that his car might not start the next time he tried it. Either Pretty or Ryan could get called away at a moment's notice. He shut his car off and got out. Walking up to the door, he felt the itch starting up again. I won't get any answers if I run away again.At the door he laid his palm against the weathered wood. It felt oddly as though the house welcomed him, even invited him in. He moved to lay his forehead against the door as well but the added weight pushed the door slightly ajar. Evans pushed the door further open and stepped back into the house he'd left—run from in fact—only hours before.Voices spilled across the living room with the splash of light from the kitchen's doorway, one low and resonant, the other light and mellifluous. Evans's heart started to pound as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. I can do this. I can. Half-way across the living room he started to pant. The air felt thick and his breaths became uneven.I want to know what he's dreamed with me since that first time.A low, rumbling laugh sounded in the kitchen. Evans froze for a moment, glancing wildly around. His eyes followed the warm yellow fall of light from above the kitchen table to where it ended aslant the wall directly in front of him. It fell across the Henry Avignon print like a purposely placed accent light.I want to know why he didn't come for me. A higher laugh followed, tinkling gently, brushing against his skin like butterfly wings. He could almost feel the silken residue of their touch.I want to know why I can feel Pretty's anger and her joy.He drew in a shaky breath and took a last step. Standing in the doorway, unable to move any farther forward, he hungrily drank in the sight before him. Pretty was sitting at the table, a ceramic mug the same shade of blue as her incredible eyes clasped in her hands. Little tendrils of steam wisped up from where she held it close to her face to curl around the high rounds of her cheeks in the dimly lit kitchen. Ryan's broad back and shoulders were directly in front of Evans, their outline highlighted by the play of light and shadow. The rich red of his tee-shirt was a perfect foil for the gleaming, waist length ebony hair that lay in tangles down his back."Someone should brush your hair out, before those snarls get any worse."
Psst. Don't forget about today being Silver Flash Day all over the Internet
Hey, don't forget to get yourself a little Silver Flash action today too.
Start at West Thornhill's blog (just click on the name) and make your way from there!
Start at West Thornhill's blog (just click on the name) and make your way from there!
Work in Progress Wednesday-Another Installment of Fire & Ice
Fire & Ice #8
Simeon shivered as the low rough tone of Joshua's voice slid into his ears. The vibrations rolled against the elemental's skin in a warm rush of sound. Another layer of comforting warmth wrapped around Simeon. He gasped, unaccustomed to the deluge of sensation, hips jerking upward as his level of pleasure ramped up another notch. Ryan fluttered his wings against Simeon's hands. "Just like that. Oh. Yes."Ryan's voice broke off into another wordless murmur. Then, apparently in response to Joshua's statement about wanting Simeon on his side, Ryan folded the wing furthest from Joshua against his back, insinuated one strong arm under Simeon's back with fingers splayed between the elemental's shoulder blades, and grasped Simeon's jaw with the other hand. Ryan kissed Simeon. And while he sweetly poured what felt like an eon's worth of feeling into the press of lips, he rolled to his side. Joshua's hands grasped Simeon's hip, lifting and pushing at the same moment. The whole movement, slick, sure and so very synchronized, gave birth to a niggling doubt in Simeon's head. Had they done this before?Found some other lonely fool, whispered charming lies until they got the man naked, and plundered his flesh thoroughly before leaving him behind like a discarded toy?A frisson of cold slid up Simeon's spine. His gut clenched, the muscles at his center winding tighter and tighter as they attempted to draw away from the bleak, frozen despair of that thought. Joshua's grip on his hip tightened."Simeon? What's going on in that head of yours? I sweartagod—"Ryan pulled back abruptly."Josh! You have got to stop using JC and his dad's names in vain. How many times do I have to tell you?"The air around Simeon crackled with tension. He felt hot waves of feeling beating at his back."Rye, we are not getting into that right now. Got it? The more important issue here is the way every muscle in Simeon's back just tightened down so far it's a wonder you can't hear his bones creaking in protest."Ryan's tiny frown and pursed lips softened as he turned his eyes from looking over Simeon's shoulder to stare straight at the smaller man."Simeon? Are you okay? Do you need some more tea? A blanket?"The angel's hands moved as he spoke, one pressing even more firmly against Simeon's back, fingers caressing the cool, pale skin beneath them. The other hand roamed up and down Simeon's side. Simeon looked into Ryan's eyes. Their silvery hazel depths beckoned him. Searching diligently, Simeon found no hint of malice in the warmth they offered him."I-I just. You were so smooth. When you moved me. Like you'd done it before. It—"A harsh noise sounded behind Simeon. Like gravel on glass, the noise scraped across Simeon's nerves, abrading them. "He thinks we're using him."The hand on his hip clutched him hard enough to bruise. With a snapping sound, a huge velvety wing curved up over Simeon. He was instantly enclosed in a magical cavern. The wing covered Ryan as well. Simeon turned his head up, reached up to touch the enticing surface of Joshua's wing. "So different…"The texture, color and size of the wing was very different from the sleek, feathered appendages of purest white that Ryan sported. Joshua's was more like something a bat would sport, softest leather covered in a thick layer of velvet. Simeon rubbed his fingertips over the rich texture, marveling at the color. The brown was dark enough to be mistaken for black at a quick glance."Never, little frost man, never. Rye and I just—things are easy with you. You fit us."
Simeon shivered as the low rough tone of Joshua's voice slid into his ears. The vibrations rolled against the elemental's skin in a warm rush of sound. Another layer of comforting warmth wrapped around Simeon. He gasped, unaccustomed to the deluge of sensation, hips jerking upward as his level of pleasure ramped up another notch. Ryan fluttered his wings against Simeon's hands. "Just like that. Oh. Yes."Ryan's voice broke off into another wordless murmur. Then, apparently in response to Joshua's statement about wanting Simeon on his side, Ryan folded the wing furthest from Joshua against his back, insinuated one strong arm under Simeon's back with fingers splayed between the elemental's shoulder blades, and grasped Simeon's jaw with the other hand. Ryan kissed Simeon. And while he sweetly poured what felt like an eon's worth of feeling into the press of lips, he rolled to his side. Joshua's hands grasped Simeon's hip, lifting and pushing at the same moment. The whole movement, slick, sure and so very synchronized, gave birth to a niggling doubt in Simeon's head. Had they done this before?Found some other lonely fool, whispered charming lies until they got the man naked, and plundered his flesh thoroughly before leaving him behind like a discarded toy?A frisson of cold slid up Simeon's spine. His gut clenched, the muscles at his center winding tighter and tighter as they attempted to draw away from the bleak, frozen despair of that thought. Joshua's grip on his hip tightened."Simeon? What's going on in that head of yours? I sweartagod—"Ryan pulled back abruptly."Josh! You have got to stop using JC and his dad's names in vain. How many times do I have to tell you?"The air around Simeon crackled with tension. He felt hot waves of feeling beating at his back."Rye, we are not getting into that right now. Got it? The more important issue here is the way every muscle in Simeon's back just tightened down so far it's a wonder you can't hear his bones creaking in protest."Ryan's tiny frown and pursed lips softened as he turned his eyes from looking over Simeon's shoulder to stare straight at the smaller man."Simeon? Are you okay? Do you need some more tea? A blanket?"The angel's hands moved as he spoke, one pressing even more firmly against Simeon's back, fingers caressing the cool, pale skin beneath them. The other hand roamed up and down Simeon's side. Simeon looked into Ryan's eyes. Their silvery hazel depths beckoned him. Searching diligently, Simeon found no hint of malice in the warmth they offered him."I-I just. You were so smooth. When you moved me. Like you'd done it before. It—"A harsh noise sounded behind Simeon. Like gravel on glass, the noise scraped across Simeon's nerves, abrading them. "He thinks we're using him."The hand on his hip clutched him hard enough to bruise. With a snapping sound, a huge velvety wing curved up over Simeon. He was instantly enclosed in a magical cavern. The wing covered Ryan as well. Simeon turned his head up, reached up to touch the enticing surface of Joshua's wing. "So different…"The texture, color and size of the wing was very different from the sleek, feathered appendages of purest white that Ryan sported. Joshua's was more like something a bat would sport, softest leather covered in a thick layer of velvet. Simeon rubbed his fingertips over the rich texture, marveling at the color. The brown was dark enough to be mistaken for black at a quick glance."Never, little frost man, never. Rye and I just—things are easy with you. You fit us."
September 27, 2011
Tuesday Triumph's and Tasks
Today had a lot of triumphs.
The sun shone.
My daughter smiled at me before she got on the bus. I got the release party date I wanted from my publicist over at Author Island...but it also had a whole lot of sadness.
Because I was thinking about September 21st. My daughter came home from school talking about bullying, and how some kid had just killed himself in Buffalo. I went online and found Jamey Rodemeyer's story. I listened to the whole thing.
And I cried.
Then I got mad, and started asking myself some hard questions.
Why are kids killing themselves?
Because they don't fit in. And they feel shitty about themselves.
Sadly, it's fairly common for any kid that is perceived as different to be bullied, and while part of that has to do with a developmental stage kids go through, where they all want to fit into their peer group, the bullying has gotten ridiculous.
And GLBTQ kids are especially at risk. So, that being said, I'm putting a spot in my calendar each month for the next twelve months to write a short story for those kids. Either one they can read, or one whose proceeds can go towards helping there be places they can turn to. Cause for sure this shit needs to stop. I'm going to call the series Twelve Tales of Rue.
Anyone who wants to join me is welcome.
Why are we as adults allowing an environment to flourish that this can happen in?
Are we really that freaking lazy? That...indifferent?
The answer seems to be, in far too many cases, a resounding yes.
Which--cliched as it sounds--just brakes my heart.
And I'm going to do something about it.
Starting next month I'll be posting one free read on my YA site, Tales of Rue and Woe.
The stories I post there will be for the kids who get bullied. And they will be free.
I'll also be writing a twelve installment serial to sell, that will tell the tale of Rue and Woe from an adult's perspective.
And 50% of the author royalties from that project will go to help fund crisis intervention for kids like Jamey, and preventative training for the adults who work with them.
It's a little drop in the bucket.
But if you'll join me, and spread the word, we might just get something amazing started. Something that could mean a lot less kids would end their lives simply because they feel they don't fit.
Because that?
Is just shitty.
And if I don't do something, I'll feel like it's my fault.
I'm gonna stand right here (well, over at Tales of Rue and Woe anyway)
and do my part. You can help in so many ways.
Donate stories for the kids.
Send me links to sites they can contact.
Volunteer to mentor at risk kids.
I'm betting there's a way for everyone to help.
A little bit.
One drop at a time, until this ocean of tears is no more.
Cause being a kid?
Is tough enough without anybody telling you that you suck.
Yeah.
The sun shone.
My daughter smiled at me before she got on the bus. I got the release party date I wanted from my publicist over at Author Island...but it also had a whole lot of sadness.
Because I was thinking about September 21st. My daughter came home from school talking about bullying, and how some kid had just killed himself in Buffalo. I went online and found Jamey Rodemeyer's story. I listened to the whole thing.
And I cried.
Then I got mad, and started asking myself some hard questions.
Why are kids killing themselves?
Because they don't fit in. And they feel shitty about themselves.
Sadly, it's fairly common for any kid that is perceived as different to be bullied, and while part of that has to do with a developmental stage kids go through, where they all want to fit into their peer group, the bullying has gotten ridiculous.
And GLBTQ kids are especially at risk. So, that being said, I'm putting a spot in my calendar each month for the next twelve months to write a short story for those kids. Either one they can read, or one whose proceeds can go towards helping there be places they can turn to. Cause for sure this shit needs to stop. I'm going to call the series Twelve Tales of Rue.
Anyone who wants to join me is welcome.
Why are we as adults allowing an environment to flourish that this can happen in?
Are we really that freaking lazy? That...indifferent?
The answer seems to be, in far too many cases, a resounding yes.
Which--cliched as it sounds--just brakes my heart.
And I'm going to do something about it.
Starting next month I'll be posting one free read on my YA site, Tales of Rue and Woe.
The stories I post there will be for the kids who get bullied. And they will be free.
I'll also be writing a twelve installment serial to sell, that will tell the tale of Rue and Woe from an adult's perspective.
And 50% of the author royalties from that project will go to help fund crisis intervention for kids like Jamey, and preventative training for the adults who work with them.
It's a little drop in the bucket.
But if you'll join me, and spread the word, we might just get something amazing started. Something that could mean a lot less kids would end their lives simply because they feel they don't fit.
Because that?
Is just shitty.
And if I don't do something, I'll feel like it's my fault.
I'm gonna stand right here (well, over at Tales of Rue and Woe anyway)
and do my part. You can help in so many ways.
Donate stories for the kids.
Send me links to sites they can contact.
Volunteer to mentor at risk kids.
I'm betting there's a way for everyone to help.
A little bit.
One drop at a time, until this ocean of tears is no more.
Cause being a kid?
Is tough enough without anybody telling you that you suck.
Yeah.
September 26, 2011
Manic Monday Update
LOL.
Is it some kind of unwritten rule that Mondays have to be filled with all sorts of craziness?
I dunno, maybe that's just what I expect, so that's what I find.
This week I'm trying to get a minimum of 2,500 words a day. Gearing up for NaNo.
I know, color me crazy. But, I want the enforced discipline of writing a set amount each and every day, so I'm going to start with the 2,500 and try to work my way up to 5,000 a day during the work week. I'll feel a lot better about taking weekends off that way.
So, for the week?
Goal : 17,500 new words written in one of my WIPs.
Goal : Finish (finally) unpacking the house
Goal : Finish The sequel to the Soldier & the State Trooper. I need to get it sent to beta readers and then off to my editor.
Goal : Write more. And more. And More.
Squeeze the budget a bit more. Just to make it holler.
Right, there's also the regularly scheduled chores, and other stuff.
For now, I'm off to write.
And drink coffee.
Is it some kind of unwritten rule that Mondays have to be filled with all sorts of craziness?
I dunno, maybe that's just what I expect, so that's what I find.
This week I'm trying to get a minimum of 2,500 words a day. Gearing up for NaNo.
I know, color me crazy. But, I want the enforced discipline of writing a set amount each and every day, so I'm going to start with the 2,500 and try to work my way up to 5,000 a day during the work week. I'll feel a lot better about taking weekends off that way.
So, for the week?
Goal : 17,500 new words written in one of my WIPs.
Goal : Finish (finally) unpacking the house
Goal : Finish The sequel to the Soldier & the State Trooper. I need to get it sent to beta readers and then off to my editor.
Goal : Write more. And more. And More.
Squeeze the budget a bit more. Just to make it holler.
Right, there's also the regularly scheduled chores, and other stuff.
For now, I'm off to write.
And drink coffee.
September 25, 2011
A Little Tidbit
Questions I was asked at an awesome LRC chat:
Among your own books, have you a favorite? Hmm. I think my favorite so far is Tian's Hero, my upcoming Silver Publishing release. A favorite hero or heroine? This is why the story is my favorite. Lewell'yn. Sexy, scary assassin/spy/reluctant hero/anti-heroI love his sarcasm. Lewell'yn cracks me up. He's just so off his rocker.Tell us about your latest or upcoming release. What is this masterpiece all about?The first story I'll have coming out with Silver is a Christmas story. It's actually a sequel to the short I wrote for the M/M Romance Group's Hot July Day's event, and is called A Kiss & Tell Interlude: Christmas Rum Balls The story is another little slice of Tony, Neil and Kevin's lives as they grow in their relationship which began in Kiss & Tell.Which of your books has been the easiest to write? The Soldier & the State Trooper. Or the one I'm working on now, cause I swear the thing is writing itself.The hardest? Tian's Hero, the first of my Akanti series. Because it was the first one, and writing it was scary.The most fun? Hmm. Either The Soldier & the State Trooper or Christmas Rum Balls. Which comes first, the story, the characters or the setting? For me it varies. Usually it's the characters first, and then they tell their story. I'm just taking dictation. Sometimes a setting sparks off an idea, or (most rare) the story will come to me in it's entirety and I just have to try to not muck it up to badly as I get it put into my trusty laptop.
What part of a book has been the easiest to write? Hmm. Once, when I was writing Tian's Hero, I wrote over 6,ooo words in a day. It was like the story was just pouring out of me and the characters were just patiently waiting their turns to tell their bits of the story. Yum. I love it when that happens. The hardest?The ending always kicks my ass. I just hate to say goodbye to the characters.What are the elements of a great romance for you?Sexy with and underlying sweetness. Tension. Real interactions (sex that isn't always perfect but still scorches) and of course a HEA. I'm all about the Hea. I don't mind putting my characters through the wringer to get there, but I figure real life can be harsh enough. I want my paper people to be spared that.
What is the hardest/the easiest part of writing for you? Writing on a time schedule. I need to get in the right head space to write, and Real Life dictates I have to do that on a schedule. That's tough for me.Are you in control of your characters or do they control you?I'm just telling their stories. If I listen hard enough, and write with enough skill their stories can be everyone's story.
The Sunday After...
Last week I was felled by a beast of a headache.
Meh.
Haven't had a migraine like that in nearly fifteen years. I know, I must have been a child, right?
*waggles eyebrows*
I spent Sunday through Friday in bed.
Yes, sadly alone.
I wrote nothing, because the screen of my trusty laptop was stabbing me with white-hot shards of pain every time I did something on it.
So, basically, it sucked. Big Time.
Today, however, does not suck. Not even a little. The migraine has been gone for over twenty-four hours, I finished my pre-edits for the Christmas Story I'm publishing with Silver Publishing, and ...yah, life is good again. Non-headachy even.
Ohh.
Plus?
The kidlet had a birthday yesterday, and my sister racked up an Epic Auntie Win by sending flowers. Every little girl should get flowers delivered at least once.
Sadly, I've nothing prepped for the Sweet Sunday Excerpt...so, perhaps I put up another snippet of The Soldier & the State Trooper...hmmm.
Nah. I'm gonna go unpack some more. I swear the boxes are breeding. LOL.
You guys have a fabulous Sunday, and I'll get back to the regularly scheduled program first thing Monday.
Ta, luvs.
Cherie
Meh.
Haven't had a migraine like that in nearly fifteen years. I know, I must have been a child, right?
*waggles eyebrows*
I spent Sunday through Friday in bed.
Yes, sadly alone.
I wrote nothing, because the screen of my trusty laptop was stabbing me with white-hot shards of pain every time I did something on it.
So, basically, it sucked. Big Time.
Today, however, does not suck. Not even a little. The migraine has been gone for over twenty-four hours, I finished my pre-edits for the Christmas Story I'm publishing with Silver Publishing, and ...yah, life is good again. Non-headachy even.
Ohh.
Plus?
The kidlet had a birthday yesterday, and my sister racked up an Epic Auntie Win by sending flowers. Every little girl should get flowers delivered at least once.
Sadly, I've nothing prepped for the Sweet Sunday Excerpt...so, perhaps I put up another snippet of The Soldier & the State Trooper...hmmm.
Nah. I'm gonna go unpack some more. I swear the boxes are breeding. LOL.
You guys have a fabulous Sunday, and I'll get back to the regularly scheduled program first thing Monday.
Ta, luvs.
Cherie
