Delilah S. Dawson's Blog, page 22

the beauty of alone

So all of my pics from the last three days look about like this one: part of my face, badly focused. It's hard to take pics of yourself with a phone, even with the camera turned around.

See, I grew up an only child, but I never really liked being alone. Didn't like staying home alone, didn't like eating meals alone, definitely hated sleeping alone. But now, as an adult, I cherish my alone time, especially when traveling.

Maybe it has something to do with not having siblings, but I like not having to ask someone else's opinion. Say, for example, I found myself at Walt Disney World with a Park Hopper pass and a magic Fast Pass and an open schedule. I might have an omelet in the restaurant at 8:30, be at Animal Kingdom when it opens at 9am, ride four rides, skip over to a press event at the Animal Kingdom Lodge, get dropped off at Magic Kingdom, ride all the roller coasters, then zip over to Epcot to hang with a friend and attend a giant party. You can't do that with a caucus. And you can't do it with your kids in tow, either.

I have these little moments, when I'm alone. Because I'm alone. Like the other night, when I was engulfed by a crowd in the Epcot exit area and ended up in the middle of a high school chorus singing Gloria in Excelsis Deo as they walked to the parking lot under the stars. It was magical and beautiful, and I was totally lost and nearly ended up on a bus back to Indiana with the cast of Glee 2. But it wouldn't have happened if I'd been in a group.

Sometimes, I feel like I don't create as many memories as I used to, like time is moving too fast. Then I get away, alone, and realize that it's easier to make memories when you're focused on yourself and the moment. Taking care of children, especially, seems to break up my consciousness such that I barely remember anything. Having some mental space is so refreshing. I need to feel things.

I'm sick and on Nyquil and rambling, but I guess what I'm saying is this: if you have small children, please consider it a mental health imperative to get away from them and have adventures of your own. Move bravely through the world, considering no one's interests but yours. Follow your mind, your heart, your nose, your curiosity. As important as family and parenthood are, there's still a value to personhood and experiencing new things.

So... go have an adventure or something.

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housekeeping and the giant mouse

1. I'm currently at Disneyworld on behalf of Cool Mom Tech and Chevy, enjoying the new Test Track at Epcot and the new Fantasyland at Magic Kingdom. They gave me mouse ears. Did you know mouse ears go with everything? I am the happiest girl on earth, especially since today I got to ride all sorts of roller coasters, flying pachyderms, and towers of terror. To see more pics including one of me in an angry wompa hat, check my Twitter feed.

2. Sorry I haven't posted much. I've been busy with deadlines. That's probably not going to slow down for a while, if ever. Which is awesome. But kind of crazy. More and more, it seems like Twitter is performing the function of my blog, and I'm not sure yet how I feel about that.

3. We should have a cover for THE PECULIAR PETS OF MISS PLEASANCE soon. That's the 3nd Blud e-novella, due March 2013 from Pocket Star. The dude is kinda like Thor as a firefighter in a kilt.

4. Just a big ol' thank you to everyone who liked my books on Amazon, reviewed them anywhere, added them on Goodreads, or mentioned them to a friend. It means so much!

5. If you'd like a signed book for the holidays, please contact FoxTale Book Shoppe in Woodstock, GA, my hometown indie. I'm happy to personalize, including drawing pretty much any blud animal you want inside or giving Criminy a dapper shirt and waistcoat in case you'd like to give it to a friend without a glistening chest and glaring nipples.

Anything else? I don't know. I ate a lot of macarons. Ask, and I'll answer.

love, d.

2nd books are like 2nd children... incorrigible.

Why is this taking so long?
Why does this draft feel so unpolished?
What is another synonym for "darkly"?
How many times can you idiots smile, smirk, and nod?
What if my readers hate it and come after me with pitchforks?
WHEN WILL THE LINE EDITS EVER END?

I've asked myself these questions every day this week. I carry the red binder under my arm, a purple pen holding my place and a mini comic of Axe Cop marking my husband's place. He's not done yet. And neither am I.

Your first book is like your first child: it's your world, the sun around which you orbit. You pamper it, watch it sleep, joyfully clean up after it again and again, pass it around proudly to everyone you know. If you're lucky enough to get an agent, it goes back and forth for cuts, revisions, more cuts, further polishing. In short, until your first book sells, it's the only thing that matters.

But once you're under contract, the process changes.

Your second book? It's like your second child.

The deadline sneaks up faster than anticipated. You go into labor early, wishing for one more week as you expel it forcefully. And then you stare at it. Was the first one prettier? Mine was.

The second book is important, but it's not the sun. It's just another moon you tug around with you. You still have to take care of the first book, plus all those other responsibilities that have developed. Marketing, social media, blog posts, interviews, spreadsheets, conferences, possibly some e-novellas, which are basically the new puppies of your family. Not as important as the children, of course, but if you neglect them, they'll destroy everything you love.

My first book was written in three months and polished for a year before selling. It went through two major revisions with my agent-- the kind where you cry, fight it, throw the manuscript, slash things with your red pen, and murder characters you thought were imperative. And then we did two rounds of line edits. And that's before it went out on sub and sold and landed in the editor's capable hands for further fussing.

My second book... did not get to learn baby sign language and go to music classes. It's lucky if I'm carrying it right side up. I wrote it in a month and a half. Didn't have time to send it to betas. The agent gave it a quick read and said, "It'll get fixed in edits." The editor asked for one big revision with no major changes and one secondary revision.

And now I'm carrying it around like a frachetty toddler, trying desperately to dab all the applesauce out of its neck folds before anyone can see it and judge me. The first book made me proud; the second book is still a bit of a hot mess, and it's taking longer to clean it up.

Second Book Slump is a thing. A real thing. A thing authors fear.

If people liked your first book, you want them to like your second book. It needs to have enough in common with the first book to inspire the same love, but is has to be different enough to give them a new experience, one they'll keep coming back to for your third book. So the same, but different, and preferably of a higher caliber, stylistically, because you've grown as a writer since then.

Easy right?

Uh, hopefully. I'll tell you next April.

So my advice to you is this: Enjoy the first book. Give yourself more time than you need on the second book. Start early. Love it, no matter how it looks and acts compared to your first book, because it'll be with you forever. And take a risk, because there's nothing worse than a boring second book that's clearly intimidated by its big sister.

And be kind to yourself. It's easy to forget those tearful moments with your first book, when you cradled it close and thought, "I'm not up to this. Who handed me this gift, and why did they think I was capable of helping it reach its potential? I should probably have gotten a hamster. Or, um, written a haiku."

You did it once. You'll do it again. It's going to take time and hard work, but it's going to be worth it.

Because if you think the second one is tough, just wait for the third. Books, like children, don't get any easier. But we love them, even if they're impossible.

Because they're impossible.

* * *

a day in the life of a writer

So, yes, I write.

It's who I am and what I do. But I persist in being fascinated by how other writers work. Do they plot or just hang on for dear life? Do they write in the morning or late at night? Do they lean heavily on stimulants and depressants and chocolates? Are they constantly the deadline's bitch?

In case you're also nosy, here's what I did today:

6:14am - Wake up and realize I forgot to set the alarm for 5:18. Cuss.

6:50am - Arrive to my workout an hour late. Struggle. Sweat. Kick ass.

8:10am - Arrive home. Check email. Shower. Get dressed. Coffee. Skip breakfast. BAD GIRL.

9:30am - Drop youngest child off at preschool; husband got oldest child on bus at 6:45. Do you still call it THE CHEESE? I do.

9:45am - Arrive at fav French cafe. Indulge in a chai latte with almond milk in my favorite travel cup. Stare longingly at cupcakes and pastries but resist their siren call. Promise myself that if I reach my goal of 20 pages in a very intense first pass line edit, I can have the barbecue I'm craving for lunch. Answer emails. Get fun news from editor. Occasionally entertain myself on Twitter so that I don't go mad.

11:35am - Hit page 102 and pack up. Head to fav BBQ place, where I've been eating since I was a little kid and they got shut down for putting squirrel in the Q. Again. Eat 1/2 a sandwich and 2 slices of fried green tomato while reading BLOOD AND SILVER by my friend James R. Tuck.

12:25pm - Pick up youngest child from preschool and kiss my sanity goodbye for a while. Go home, feed the lad. Do dishes and laundry. Take 100 pounds of books off 2 downstairs bookshelves, drag them upstairs (with help), and secure them to the walls of each child's room. Vacuum and clean the empty places. Move couch, chair, and side table. Move coffee table, TV, and various gaming systems. The downstairs is now prepared for the Christmas tree. My back hurts.

2:45pm - Pick oldest child up from the bus stop. Pick up husband's dry cleaning. Go select the perfect Christmas tree. Banter with Home Depot boys as they tie it on top of my Cube. Drive very carefully. Take it inside, set it up, fluff that puppy. Discover that all but one string of lights are dead. Put those on. Add tinsely things, ornaments. Oldest child breaks a glass keepsake, commences crying. I cut myself cleaning it up and bleed all over Christmas. Things are tragical and magical, and we rejoice around the Charlie Brown tree, promising that we'll buy more lights, etc., tomorrow.

6pm - Feed children and clean up the unholy mess. Declare that I am out of blinking red bars, tag out, and close the doors of my art studio/office. Sneak upstairs for goodnight hugs and kisses.

6:30pm - Begin work on The Big Post for Cool Mom Picks. Totally rock that thang.

8:32pm - Finish Big Post and realize I haven't eaten since lunch and should probably do something about that. Fix up some fancy cheeses, the last Harry & David honeycrisp apple, a square of sea salt dark chocolate, and the next to last bit of my favorite Roussanne. Write this blog post. Put up the grown-up books I found hidden among the children's books this afternoon, including my cephalopod books, some Neil Gaiman, and the fairy tales of Herman Hess.

9:36pm - Concoct great plans about convincing every writer I know to make a post like this so I can go all voyeur on their days. Realize how much work that would be and compare it to the three deadlines currently on my plate. Quietly sigh. Finish this post. Pick up the line edits, promising myself I can sleep after 20 more pages. Do the math and realize that I have 260 more pages to do by next Wednesday, before I head out of town on a work trip. Bid farewell, again, to sanity.

12pm - Probably when I'll head upstairs for nightly ablutions, a quiet episode of Arrested Development, and sleep.

* * *
So, what's your day like?

this is how I study history

That's a pic of me straddling a huge cannon.
It's my gift to you.
Will you use it for good... or evil?
* * *

welcome to the future

So that's a picture of me with my new MacBook Air, taken with my new smartphone.

Someone on Facebook thought it was a weird new pregnancy test, and... yeah, no.

If you're thinking that me + smartphone + Mac is probably a sign of the apocalypse, all I can do is shrug and urge you to start saving canned food.

I've never been a first adopter. Not even a second wave grabbyhands. I've always waited until the last possible moment to let go of my betamax Tarzan vine and grab onto the shiny new vine and swing into the unknown. But there comes a time in a girl's life when she simply has to step into the future, where everyone else is waiting. And pointing and laughing at her flip phone.

Ahem.

And, yes. You guys were right. I adore that stupid, dainty phone that only stays charged for 24 hours. I love taking pictures of seagulls and fried crab claws and my eyes in the hotel mirror and splattering Twitter with them instantaneously. I love knowing when emails arrive. I love the buzz I get when someone says something on Facebook-- especially when the phone is in my pocket. And now, in the past twelve hours, I've already learned to love this stupid laptop.

Going from a supacheap MSI laptop that weighs 7 pounds to a MacBook Air that weighs less than 3 pounds is a lot like the time I drove home from college and fell out of my max 55mph, manual Isuzu Amigo and slid into my mom's shiny red Firebird. Suddenly, I sat up straighter. I leaned forward. I smiled. Everything changed. And soon I was ignoring things like rules and speed limits and just enjoying the black leather gently cupping my butt as the car purred effortlessly around me.

Much like the smooth glide of a slithery touchpad under my fingertips.

I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot to cook dinner. My husband walked in, did a double take, and declared that I looked younger, thinner, and hotter, just because I was using a new laptop. That's a diet I can believe in.

The point is... change is good. I like change. And I really like Lando, my new Mac.

Here's to new adventures. With Lando.



* * *

a T-day message

From me to y'all.

In other news, I found the Edit/Doodle part of my phone today.
Hope you had a marvelous Thanksgiving!
* * *

travelog: Savannah

This was my day.



















It was wonderful.
* * *

achtung!

You can now pre-order BLUTLAND in Germany via Amazon.de. Release date is May 17. It's really just WICKED AS THEY COME but, you know. In German.

And here, thanks to Google Translate, is the description:
As Letitia aufwacht in a strange place, the middle of nowhere and completely naked, she is sure to dream about. Even the attractive stranger, whom she met there, she can not convince them otherwise. Finally, he claims to have brought it by magic in his world, a world that is ruled by blood and magic, and in the things themselves, as it may deem harmless, can be fatal. Letitia is caught in a dream or a nightmare? Find them here in love? Or death?
In my dearest, most narcissistic dreams, I get big in Germany and get to go on a book tour, because I really, really dug Germany. The people. The views. The food. THE FOOD.
Ahem.
But I mainly put up the cover because I like it. So there.
* * *

There Will Be More Blud...

...in April.
Here's proof:

I'm working on line edits for Blud book 2.
I just love seeing the pages lined up with my little cog at every chapter heading.
One day, I'll be signing Wicked as She Wants, drawing the next bludcritter right here, next to Gertrude the Pocket kangaroo.
If you thought the bludbunnies were dangerous...
Well, no spoilers.
It's almost April, right?
* * *