Cairn Rodrigues's Blog: The Light Stealers Song, page 4

To Live And (Not) Die In Hawaii

 

When Arnold Schwarzenegger ran for Governor of California a while back, it provided a large boon to my personal economy.  His campaign headquarters took up several offices in the shabby building housing my lively cafe.  There was a large staff always in need of food, plus we catered many meetings up the War Room.

We made a fair pile of money off the Governator, enough to close up the cafe for a couple of weeks and take the kids to Hawaii.  It was one of the few vacations we could ever afford with the whole family and certainly the grandest destination up to that point.

And it was a family affair, since my husband’s parents also came along.  They’d been to the islands many times already and let us take the lead in deciding what to do.

One Sunday, we decided to drive around the east coast of Oahu.  It was an excruciating trip due to the lack of available food on Sundays and the ever present bad mood of the stepdaughter.  I couldn’t get back to the hotel fast enough, I wanted to dump off those ingrate, spoiled children and ENJOY MYSELF IN HAWAII.

(FYI, both kids were in college at the time.  Too old to be such brats and too old for babysitters.  I felt not a whiff of guilt offloading them.)

By then, it was getting late in the day so my husband and I drove around to the west side of the island to watch the sun set.  It was beautiful.  We stopped at several beaches, drove slowly when no one was behind us and generally let the Aloha spirit settle into our pores.

There’s a large chunk of military land on the northwest side of Oahu.  It’s why you can’t drive all the way around the island and why we stopped at the northernmost public beach.  By then, the sun was getting close to the horizon and the tide was coming in.  There was a large lava flow between the parking lot and the ocean, we picked our way over the pitted surface and stood at the very rim watching the waves pummel the lava.

My husband and I aren’t dumb, but we were inexperienced.  We stood at the edge and those vicious waves were striking the base of the lava flow, at least 20 feet down.  Seriously, it was a long way down.  We didn’t even conceive of the notion we could be in great danger.

 

Far off in the distance, I saw a whale breaching.  Husband and I watched with delight as we tracked the whale’s northward progress, watching the sunset make its expelled water dance like crystals in the air.  We stopped looking at the waves crashing below us, we could hear them of course, but did I mention the whale?

Until that moment, the term “rogue wave” was only something I’d heard of on TV disaster shows.

All I remember is that one second we were oohing and aahing over a whale, the next moment a wave so high I had to crane my head up to see the top loomed over us.  I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes, only my certain death.  We were standing on the very edge of the lava, that wave was going to drag us over the side.

In that brief moment, I finally understood the raw and unpredictable power of nature.  Every cell in my body understood the force of that wave, I felt its sheer strength through osmosis.  The wave was a perfect machine, consuming all, excreting the leftovers and constantly powering forward.

 

I am not, by any means, a nimble mountain goat.  Poise, grace and balance are things I must concentrate on to achieve.  I have a proud tradition of falling on my ass for every vacation and/or day trip.  I look forward to toppling over in more exotic locales in the future.  Some people collect postcards, I collect bruises.

There wasn’t much time for thinking in that split second as the wave piled up over our heads but before it fell back into the sea.  Our bodies are hardwired for a flight response and that’s what I did.  The rapid, backwards hopping over the rutted lava must surely have been comical to the casual viewer, but I remember each footfall vividly.  With each step in new flip flops, my internal voice was screaming, “DON’T FALL!  DON’T FALL!  DO NOT FALL!!!”

If I had lost my balance, even for a second, the wave would have won.  My legs were soaked from the leading edge of the water as it chased us over the lava.  Miraculously, I didn’t fall.  I didn’t even wobble.  Husband and I stopped about 10 feet back from the edge, gaping at the size of the unexpected wave and taking stock of how far inland it came.

Naturally, we both broke out in hysterical giggles.  Both of our chests were heaving from the terror of near death and the giddiness of escape.  As we stood there, giggling and gasping for breath, we didn’t retreat any further.  Because, you know, what were the odds of that happening again?

It happened again, almost immediately.  The next wave was bigger and I’m pretty sure it screamed out, “I’m gonna get you suckers!”

There was no hopping that time.  Vaulting is more like it.  We ran like thieves from a bank robbery, skimming over uneven lava like it was smooth grass.  I have never before or since been so agile.  It’s good to know it’s inside me somewhere.

Honestly, it was one of the most exhilarating days of my life.  It’s my favorite memory of that vacation because I learned so much about myself in those few life-changing moments.  Now I know to trust my body in times of danger, now I know I can fly if I have to.  Now I know NOT to stand on the very rim of the world at high tide.

AND, I saw a whale

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Lack Of Zaz

Books are like lives and each chapter is a day in that life.  Just like the days of our lives, some are good, some are bad, some are exciting and some are just plain boring.

Telling a story, especially a story filled with exotic locales and magicks, is a lot of fun most of the time.  But to tell a whole and complete story, a writer has to go to the mundane places too.  The hum-drum mechanics of life have to be addressed.

I’ve reached a chapter that is wholly necessary, one that’s been set up since book three, and not very entertaining.  I’ve been trying and trying to think of a way to add more pizzazz.  Tragically, this entire chapter is devoid of zaz.  It’s zaz  repellent.

There’s no cool magicks, no new wondrous thing to describe and none of the really fun characters in this chapter.  It’s not something I’m anxious to write, it’s something that has to be done before I can move on.

After a great deal of thinking, I realized there’s not much that can be done to this chapter.  Things can be livened up a bit with extra good descriptions and one or two really great lines, but this is a legal proceeding and must have some gravitas.

Maybe it’s good to have a few slower chapters.  There’s a great deal of upheaval in book four, lots of drama, lots of magicks, lots of spectacular scenery overall.  Perhaps it’s good to give the reader a bit of quiet between outbreaks of drama.

I’m curious about how other writers handle the chapters lacking in zaz.  Surely, we all have them, but there has to be a nifty trick out there somewhere.  Anyone care to share?

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Tears of a Prospector

Available on Amazon.com

 

 

When I make Prospector cry, it feels like kicking a puppy.  He’s such a kind and dear man, he rarely has a bad word for anyone.  Prospector is reliably big-hearted and takes his mission as guardian of Solstice very seriously.  He has his faults, of course.  He isn’t perfect, but he is the perfect last Prospector.

Yesterday, out of the blue, I knew it was time to get back to writing Flood in the Desert, the fourth book in the Song of Solstice series.  I tried going back to it a couple of months ago, wrote a couple chapters and then found myself wanting to go no further.

I’d reached a pivotal chapter involving the death of a minor character.  Killing a character is hard enough on its own, but killing someone Prospector loves is a thousand times harder.  Our boy finds himself in a world of hurt in book four, it’s a time of great upheaval in Solstice.  Bad news is everywhere, secrets come to light and families get ripped apart, no one gets out unharmed.

After all the real life death and upheaval, I couldn’t bring myself to write that chapter.  Lately, I haven’t even been thinking about the series much.  Lots of projects have consumed my attention, I set myself to those projects and accomplished a lot.

So it was rather a big surprise yesterday when my little writing voice spoke up and told me it was time.  I tried arguing, but the writer voice was adamant.  I was afraid of starting and not being able to finish, afraid that I would chicken out and not give the chapter the emotional heft it deserved.

It took me all damned day, almost eight hours.  And there were tears, both literal and literary.  But we got through it, Prospector and I, we made a pact to see it through together.

It’s a gigantic relief, being done with that chapter, I’m very proud of myself.  There’s more bad news to come, Prospector will suffer more, I’m sorry to say.  But he’s a strong man and I owe it to him to stay strong on my end.

If you don’t hear from me much in the coming weeks, look for me in Solstice.  We’ll keep the cats warm for you.

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Squirelly-Whirly

 

 

I haven’t had much blogging inspiration lately.  Pretty much all my creative endeavor of late has been thrown at figuring out what color to paint the fireplace.  Seriously, I keep going back to Home Depot for paint samples.  The guy behind the paint counter recognizes me now, he repeats his advice to have faith in the process.

Uh huh.  What I have is a plethora of paint samples, none of which I like on the fireplace.

With that situation still unresolved, it was good to have a distraction in the form of a challenge.  My friend Alicia Anderson formed a GISHWES team for August.  It’s a huge scavenger hunt that I found out too late about last time around.  I immediately joined team Squirrelicorn – I wasn’t asked when naming time came round, so Squirrelicorn it is.

Anyway, there’s been a playful back and forth on the internet of Germans attempting to say the English word squirrel.  When team naming time came, a real life squirrel trapped in a real life chimney was causing real life mayhem for one of the team members.  Alicia also recently challenged other team member, and real life German, Ollie Crusoe, to  shout out for the tree rodents.

Ollie graciously obliged and answered her challenge with a challenge:  To say eichhornchen, the German word for squirrel.  Because Ollie knows I’m lacking in blog inspiration lately (probably because I broadcast said sentiment to all of Twitter, but he could just be really intuitive), the Eichhornchen Initiative was lobbed my way too.

So here it is.  No challenge is too silly for the light stealer.

 

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How To Spoil Your Cat Without Breaking The Bank

 

A while back on Twitter, I saw a picture of a family’s elaborate cat tree.  It was a huge multi-level affair with platforms, tunnels and plenty of places to climb.  The picture showed the entirety of the structure in a corner of their home next to some boxes.  Their cat was sleeping on an adjoining box and totally ignoring the cat tree.

I know what you’re thinking now.  Bah, cats!  They are intransigent creatures!  Which is true, there’s no figuring out a cat.

What I didn’t tell you about the fancy cat tree was that it was all black and white.  It looks good to us humans, but how does it look to a cat?

Regular readers know that I adopted a rescue kitten last December.  Viva Diva was abused early in her life, but she’s been with us since she was about two months old and has recovered beautifully.

 

Regular readers also know that I prefer to make stuff with materials on hand rather than go out and buy something.  Like most households, we have a fair amount of junk laying around.  It’s only natural for us to re-purpose those things into something usable.

Mount Diva

 

Mount Diva was the first big piece and still V’s favorite.  Also known as her jungle gym, it stands over five feet tall and features a climbing pole, a cushioned perch at the top and a “secret” hidey-hole at the bottom.  Please notice that it’s festooned with a riot of dangling objects.  There’s some Christmas garland, a lei, several pieces of old cat toys strung together and a bit of old carpeting.

 

It’s not pretty.  It’s not a designer piece by any means.  But she loves it and it only cost the time to put it together.  Every piece of it was stuff we already had but didn’t have a use for.  We even recycled the toys from our previous cat, Charles Howard.

The Viva complex

 

The next big piece came courtesy of my dad’s garage.  It’s just a six foot wooden ladder, but Viva is a climber so I brought it home.  My husband designed and installed a small carpeted platform that fits at the top.  The platform is removable so we can fold up the ladder and put it away if necessary.

 

As you can see, the ladder is similarly festooned with stuff.  It’s still a work in progress though, I hear news of a cat hammock strung between the legs.  For the longest time, V didn’t climb the ladder, she preferred to jump from her easy chair to the platform.

That all changed when the mini-trampoline came home.  Set up at the base of the ladder, she now loves to launch herself up the ladder and is exceedingly proud when she claims the top step.  The trampoline is also a great pedestal if you wish to display your fat, fuzzy cat belly to an adoring public.  It also bounces, that trampoline, especially if you jump from one the higher steps of the ladder.

Viva is still figuring out the wonders of the bouncy trampoline.  I fully expect some adorable bouncing cat antics in the future.

That easy chair is our one bone of contention.  Viva likes to sleep on the top of it and that’s all it’s used for.  I want to get rid of it and buy a better chair, husband is preventing it so far.  As usual, Viva wins.

 

This last piece is the newest in the cat collection.  Made from old couch springs rolled into a cylinder, it’s basically just a metal tube.  The cylinder is lined with very crunchy packing paper and covered with an old sheet.  V loves the sound of the paper and is obsessed with sheets, naturally she loves the tube.  There’s even a sheet tail at the back for better camouflage.

She loves to be chased into the tunnel and loves hiding inside it so she can spring out and attack unsuspecting feet.  Also, it’s a great place to get a ride.  Viva gets comfortable inside and one of her people picks it up and takes her across the house or merely swings the tube from side to side.  It’s first class travel, feline style.

Not all of V’s toys are big pieces.  An old, dilapidated rag rug is among her favorite things.  There are plenty of loose strings to play with and, if you get a running start, the rug slides pretty far on the hardwood floor.  Also, there’s a plain piece of the crunchy packing paper just laying on the floor of our bedroom.  Simply rolling around on it makes a noise that is delightful to kitty ears.

 

The point I’m trying to make is that the cat sees life differently than we do.  She cares not for fancy, color-coordinated decor.  Such things are not important to a cat.  She cares about textures and sounds, comfort and play-ability, not how it looks.

I’m all about spoiling my animals.  Being able to spoil a furry creature rotten is one of the few unfettered joys in the world, one many of us indulge in.  It doesn’t take a lot of money to allow a cat to live in grand style, just some imagination.  Let your kitty tell you what she wants, be it a big ladder of just a pile of old newspapers.

I call our genre of homemade pieces “catpunk”.  It’s like steampunk but with much less metal   I just know there are plenty of you out there with some fantastical objets de chat and I want to see them!  Post them to the interwebz and share the links here.  

Because we’re crazy about our cats.

 

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The Fat Chick’s Guide To Promoting Books

Welcome Travellers!

Isn’t this a wonderful day?  When I awoke this morning, a flock of plump bluebirds circled merrily around me and cute enchanted mice fetched my morning slippers.  Metaphorically speaking of course.  There are no bluebirds in California, we have raucous scrub jays instead, and Viva doesn’t allow mice in the home.

Even a lack of enchanted mice can’t dim my fantastic mood, because NOW I KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO HAVE A SUCCESSFUL BOOK!  And it feels great.  Sublime and satisfying.

Last weekend I published a non-fiction ebook based on a recent blog post.  The Fat Chick’s Guide To Physical Fitness was a hit and my good friend Anne-Rae Vasquez encouraged me to expand upon it and publish.  I’ve never viewed myself as a non-fiction writer, at first I was reluctant.  But Anne-Rae made many good and valid points so I decided to experiment.

You know how I love experiments.  All science would languish without my incessant meddling.

Quietly, I published last weekend.  It was so quiet that even Holly Jahangiri didn’t know of my plans.  Frankly, I didn’t want to make a big thing of it because I was pretty sure nothing would come of it.

Happily, I was wrong.  Yesterday, for the first time in my publishing career, I was actually on some top seller lists on Amazon!!  Let me give a big bunch of credit to Anne-Rae for that too.  After she saw the really crappy cover I put together, she generously made this:

Available on Amazon!

Isn’t that beautiful?  Sales took off the next day, another lesson learned about the value of a good book cover.

The response to my book has been phenomenal.  Apparently fit and fat is an idea whose time has come.  Many people reached out to tell me how much they liked the book, how you don’t have to be fat to embrace the ideas I put forth.  In fact, tonight I’m being interviewed on Lette’s Chat, an internet radio show.

This is the first interview I’ll be doing with someone I don’t know, it’s slightly nerve wracking.  Still, it’s good experience for  the inevitable Barbara Walters Oscar night special

Bookmark this link to Lette’s Chat for the interview tonight at 8 p.m. Eastern time.

As excited and delighted as I am for this unexpected success, what I feel most today is gratitude.  A big thank you again to Anne-Rae, because none of this would have happened without her.  Thanks to Holly Jahangiri because I wouldn’t have gotten this far in my online life without her guidance.  Thanks to my husband for letting me pursue this crazy dream of writing.  The hugest thanks go to my readers, all of you who bought the book and have said such nice things about it.

Plus, there are two honorable mentions today.  First is to Ollie Creutzner.  If he hadn’t thought up the title for today’s blog post, I’d still be sitting in front of a flashing cursor.  Please visit his blog, because the internet needs more blogs and that one is his.  The other is for S.E. Lehenbauer, because she names stray blog posts Bob and that pleases me.  She also has a blog, where she posts blogs potentially named Bob.  

As always, a big thank you to the Travellers for visiting my little home on the ‘net and supporting me.  You are all fine people who deserve only great things.

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Book Review: The Widow’s Son by R. A. Williamson

 

The Widow’s Son by R.A. Williamson

 

Recently, I got one of those rare opportunities, a free pass if you will.  One of my long-time Twitter confederates sent me an advanced reading copy of his newest book with instructions to rake him over the coals. R. A. Williamson has finally added his first full story, the Widow’s Son, to the Whiskey & Wheelguns canon and it was a huge disappointment.

Trust that this is the opportunity I’ve been salivating over for a good long while.  Our Twitter relationship is unfettered by social niceties – we argue a whole bunch and never ever manage to sway the other, but that doesn’t stop us from arguing some more.  So a personal request from him to preview his work, then pack his literary guts into a sausage grinder and start cranking was a request I jumped at.

Let me tell you what a huge jerk Ryan is:  The book is damned good and I didn’t have hardly any complaints.

Whiskey & Wheelguns is a series of stories springing from the collaboration of manliness known as Prose Before Ho Hos.  It’s a compendium of tales from the Weird West with many supernatural elements.  Featuring five different stories from five authors, there’s a little something for everyone.

Today, The Widow’s Son debuts and it’s a fun ride.  The protagonist, Zarahemla Two Crows, is an agent of the U.S. Office of Psychical Inquiry.  His territory is the west and his mission is to recover the abducted infant son of the widow Henry.  Set among the ruins of the Anasazi, Zarahemla battles angry skin changers, banters with a god and unsuccessfully tries to get the widow to stop helping over the course is this slim story.

R.A. Williamson clearly has knowledge of and deep affection for the history of the American southwest.  Weaving Native American story elements with icons of the Old West and a dash of the supernatural, this story leaves you wanting to know what happens next.

There is a Saturday afternoon serial quality to Whiskey & Wheelguns that makes me nostalgic for the 70s.  Each story gives you a free wheeling ride through the Old West with just enough teasing at the end to keep you coming back for more.  The Widow’s Son is a stand alone story for now, but I encourage you to read Foreshadows, the springboard book for the entire series.

I have reviewed Whiskey & Wheelguns: Foreshadows on my brand new newsletter that debuts today.  Please sign up to read that and other Askew Reviews twice monthly.

Regular readers know that I’ve been contributing videos to Fiction Frenzy TV.  I think it would be spectacular fun to see what kind of video the Prose Before Ho Hos can come up with.  After all, if I can get them to do this:

#ColanderSelfie @CairnRodrigues pic.twitter.com/r6bM4uwogT

— R.A. Williamson (@wryson) June 27, 2014

 

I should be able to get a video.  So this is me throwing down the gauntlet to the entire Prose Before Ho Hos posse.  Make us a two minute, G rated, entertaining video!!

@ProseB4HoHos You have been dared, double dared and triple dog dared by @CairnRodrigues
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Please, with your help we can challenge the manliness of these men.  It’s not sporting to walk away from a dare, you know.

BUY THE WIDOW’S SON ON AMAZON.

FOLLOW R.A. WILLIAMSON ON TWITTER

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The Dis-Orient

 

I can’t do it, just can’t.  I tried very hard to do it.  Like, really really hard because I was totally serious about the plan.  But it’s just not in me, I can no longer deny who and what I am.

Cairn Ann Rodrigues is goal oriented.  She cannot exist feasibly without lists, targets or yardsticks.

If you will remember, I posted a blog titled The Orient a short while back.  At the time, I was breaking under the burden of too many chores and my own self-imposed mandates.  After a lifetime of cracking a whip across my own back, this slave staged a revolt.

I threw off the shackles of my oppression and told that purpose driven task harpy to shove it.  For a short while, things were okay.  It was nice not to have that constant dialogue in my head, that I should be doing more, that I needed to get organized.  For a short while, it was easy not too listen.

The problem with not having goals is that nothing gets done.  The other problem is that simple maintenance tasks also do not get done.  The mail piles up, the kitchen table gets buried beneath assorted flotsam, the cupboards slowly empty.  For a brief interlude, it was easy to just ignore all of it.

Isn’t it funny how fast the infrastructure of your life deteriorates if you aren’t constantly maintaining it?

Yeah, I can’t live like that.  I’m hard wired for order.  I want things to be tidy, I want the machine to run smoothly.  Capitulating to the natural order of things, I went back to making morning lists.

It was such a relief too, it actually made me happy!

There were many valuable lessons learned in the slack time though, there are no regrets.  I’m much kinder with myself now.  I don’t set too many tasks before myself on any one day, nor do I heap on the recriminations if they don’t all get done. 

It’s much less fractious inside my head now.  The house is still untidy, but it’s slowly coming back together.  There is also some food in the larder, just in case I get a notion to actually cook.  It was a much needed break, a vacation from myself, but this nose requires some sort of grindstone.

It was one of those drastic actions I’m so fond of.  And it was necessary for a while, but there’s no shame in going back.  This time I understand how to be nice to me, how not to get tangled up in all the dangling threads.  Drastic actions are disconcerting, but often they are the only way to effect true change.

Have you ever done something drastic that changed your life?

 

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Mis En Place

Available on Amazon.com

 

Boy, is my face red.  A while back, I was tagged in a blog post by Jason Cantrell about my writing process.  So I wrote this blog post in response.

I didn’t read the fine print and therefore didn’t realize it was a literary chain letter.  I was supposed to tag three more bloggists about their writing processes.  Didn’t.

Yesterday I was tagged again, this time by Anne-Rae Vasquez.  But this time I understand the rules, so I’m calling a do-over! Let’s call that last post a warm up  :lol: 

What I didn’t acknowledge as the most important part of my writing process last time is the focus today.  Upon reflection, I did realize that I do the most important writing without actually writing.

Before I sat down to write The Last Prospector, I just sat down.  For days, I sat around thinking about the story I wanted to tell.  Didn’t write anything down for almost a week, in truth.

I thought about the story non-stop.  Sitting for long periods staring off into space, I thought about Prospector and Solstice.  I thought about the purpose of each tier and the destiny of each character  while I pulled weeds and washed dishes, bought groceries and made small talk with the neighbors.  

Prospector and the story consumed and obsessed me in a very familiar way.  The same way the creation of flavors did.  It’s the exact same process of creation for me, it all starts in my brain.  I would taste and sample Solstice the same way I tasted flavors in my imagination, combining and recombining them until a new recipe was born.

I rarely do trial and error in the kitchen since all the variables are tried in my head before I even slip on an apron.  It’s exactly the same when I write, the same obsession for detail, the same thorough examination of all the details.  It all happens away from my fingers, away from my tools.

In cooking, we call that kind of preparation mis en place.  It’s a mellifluous French term meaning things in place.  The soul of great cooking is in the preparation, the attention to all the details before you set to work.  Mis en place can be as simple as setting out all the tools you’ll need for the recipe and it can be as complex as foraging your ingredients from the Earth before going to the kitchen.

It almost never happens that I sit down to write without knowing exactly what words I’ll be typing, without all my things in place.  The very last thing I want is a blank page with a blinking cursor giving me the stink-eye while I sit dithering about where to go from here.  If I don’t have a beginning and ending for the chapter at hand already worked out, then I don’t type at all.

I’ve written about this before, about the importance of knowing how your story ends before you start writing.  I stick by that.  Knowing where you ultimately want the story to end, a cooking analogy would be knowing what the finished plate will look like, will keep you on your course.  Trying all the variables out in your head helps you maintain the course, steers you truly towards the end.

Until writing this blog post, I didn’t truly understand my reliance on mis en place.  It was a concept drilled into me by chef instructors at culinary school and became a guiding principle of my life.  It’s so ingrained that I rarely even think about it.

Thanks to Anne-Rae Vasquez for making me think about it!

OKAY!  This time I won’t overlook my obligations and am tagging three wonderful writers.

Holly Jahangiri of It’s All A Matter Of Perspective

Marian Allen of Marian Allen, Author Lady

Maryann Miller of It’s Not All Gravy

…Tag, you are it.

 

 

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Video Roundup

Available on Amazon.com

 

Happy Monday, Travellers.

Today there is another collection of videos.  I’ve been making my own videos for a few months now and am really getting in the groove of it.  My good friends at Fiction Frenzy TV like the skydiving video and asked me to be a regular contributor.  

Yesterday, the newest episode went live.  Please watch to see the five cheeky reasons I’d love to stay in obscurity.

 

Mitch Mitchell of the blog I’m Just Sharing interviewed me about the triumphs and travails of indie publishing.  We had a blast together and I’d like to thank him again for inviting me.

 

And lastly for your viewing pleasure, the latest video of my carnival ride loving cat.

 

 

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