Barbara Garren's Blog, page 5

Cover Reveal Coming!!!

YAY!
I mean, really, YAY!
You're supposed to be jumping up and down with me. Come on, jump!

Oh, wait - I forgot to tell you what we're jumping for...
My Cover Reveal Date has been set! Yup - I get to share the totally awesome cover for 
Phasms: Infinite Potential
with you guys on November 18th!!! 
So, mark your calendar...

Oh, so you want to help? I would LOVE that so much! 
Here's how: Send an email to my publicist, Misty Williams, at:Misty (at) EntrancedPublishing (dot) com
She'll send you all the details - she's really good at this stuff.Which is really good, cuz I'm not. 
And yes, I know I owe you guys a really good post. Something worth reading like the one about AT&T (here)But I'm feeling kind of "Meh" today. I promise to give you something snort-worthy in the next week. Honest. And you know I keep my promises. 

52 is just a number, right?

I've been thinking a lot  about my age lately, and I'm not sure why. I'm not overly concerned by the fact that I'll be 52 in November. I don't feel 52. Most people who know me say that I don't act or look 52. It's not the kind of milestone that makes most of us reflect inward on our lives. You would think that would come at age 50, or 55. 

But for me it's 52. 

What is it about this number that has me doing all this naval-gazing?

It's difficult to define. I'm not unhappy. I'm not disappointed in myself or my life. I've accomplished the goals I've set for myself thus far, and am in a better place - emotionally and professionally - than I've ever been before. 

52. It's just a number, right?

Certainly, a small part of this hesitation to fully embrace my coming birthday is the acceptance of a few markers of times passage. I'm not as limber as I used to be. It takes me a little longer to loosen up in the morning and I ache a little more at the end of the day. My left knee doesn't cooperate the way it used to, though I still find myself sitting cross-legged on the couch, like a teenager. And strange thoughts pass through my mind, like "I don't remember ever seeing my mother sit cross-legged." 

I see other women who I know are my age, some a few years younger even, and I think they look or act so much older than me. It's not just maturity, not about being responsible or sedate. I may be many things in my life, but I don't see being sedate as one of them. And I am responsible - to myself, my family and my work. I make and keep the commitments that most mature adults keep. I get my teeth cleaned, pay my taxes, check on sick loved ones and return library books on time. 

So what is it that has my thoughts stuck on this merry-go-round?

Perhaps, a small part is that I'm no longer the youngest one in the crowd. I always used to be the youngest. Always hung out with people a few years older than me. Maybe that's a factor of marrying or dating older men. But that theory doesn't hold water. All of my husbands accept No. 1 and my current, forever-love, have been younger than me. So, I guess it was just a function of being prematurely mature. Because, in all honesty, I feel like I've been in my mid-thirties for my entire adult life.

That's not a bad thing. Those were wonderful years - all of them thus far! I did things, went places, met people and loved lovers like nobody's business. It was extremely gratifying, enjoyable and full. Not that it's stopped - with the exception of the lovers, of course. The Man Behind The Curtain has kept me blissfully monogamous for over a dozen years. But now, I'm one of, if not THE, oldest member. I don't try to behave or dress or act like the Thirty-something's I tend to socialize with, but I really do enjoy and prefer their company.

There's an energy, a vibe around this group of friends, whether on-line or in-person, that I want to soak up and bathe in every day. They're past the pretentious, unabashed, unaware pursuits of their twenties. A little more grounded, a little more tolerant and aware of the uglier truths in life, they still have a verve and zest for the world outside their door. It's tinged with the hues of disappointment, sometimes even cynicism, but they still hope. They still dream and reach for stars outside their windows. 

As do I. 

And maybe that's the crux of the matter. It's not the number "52." It's not the reality of my slowly slowing body. It's the fact that, at a point in my life when I see many of my peers "settling" for what the fates have dealt them, I'm still reaching. I'm still stretching my arm up, trying to grab the twinkling light of a star hanging high above my head. I'm still seeking goals and pursuits and dreams that may or may not come true. And I probably always will. 

I will live, until life has left me. I will heed the words of Dylan Thomas, and hope to shape the lives I touch to do the same:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas

I've been a bad, bad blogger...

Ah, my precious peeps - I've been so bad lately. Neglecting you for other pursuits, leaving you to wile away the lonely hours and days with mindless drivel - other than my own mindless drivel which you, inexplicably, seem to find amusing.

I beg your forgiveness and offer no excuses. Well, maybe one or two.

It's been a bit of the usual chaotic churn around here - working on the edits for Book 1 of my Phasms trilogy, trying to get Book 2 written and of course, swatting that pesky MUSE who likes to carpet bomb my brain with new story ideas at the exact time I need to be focused on existing WIPs.

Yeah - my muse teamed up with Kat Daemon's muse (you can follow Kat on twitter HERE - and you really should, she's hilarious) and the raunchy Valkyrie's brought home all sorts of distractions like:


And this:



And lot's of this:


So - can you really blame me from being distracted? Trying to keep her out of trouble is a full time job. And I already have TWO of those! Yeah! The writing thing and the other one. The one that actually requires my concentration and pays the bills. The one that makes me feel like:




But Prue (that Valkyrie muse of mine) doesn't care. She's just a hedonistic little tramp, looking to cause trouble. She even tried cornering the Norse God of Winter, Ull Myhr, and his friend Gunnar. Check it out on twitter HERE . Thanks to her antics, I've been officially labelled one of his Twitter Tormentors. At this rate, he may not make it to the wedding!

But - overall - it's been a pretty good couple of weeks. Nothing to rant about (like AT&T) and nothing to go all Glee! songbird about  (like Whiskey). Just a good, solid, end of summer.

So - what have you been up to? Did you do anything special to mark the end of the season? Does it feel like fall where you are? Are your WIPS and other projects moving along?

To wrap things up, here's a little Sunday toonage to help your day. This song just makes my fingers twitch, ready to pound out some major WERDS!

We all DO it... some of us even like LIKE to do it...

Clicky here - IWSG -Cuz, ya know?
We all do it. Some of us do it really well. Some of us LOVE to do it. Some of us find it more of a chore and only do it when we have to. Or out of a sense of duty. Or because we're guilted into it. 
Git yer mind out of the gutter! I'm talking about editing! Geeze. Been hanging out with my Valkyrie again, have you? 
I hate editing. I mean, I really, really, REALLY hate it. It's not that I don't think it's important, because I know it is. It's just so - repetitive. 
Every time I'm faced with edits, I'm all...



I never really thought about editing as a progressive process, until I signed my book deal. Now, I'm learning about developmental edits, content edits, line edits. Oh, and galleys too of course. 
I just finished a combo round of developmental and content edits for book 1 of the Phasms trilogy. God bless my editor. No, really; God bless her. She has the patience of a saint, the fortitude of a mastodon and the tenacity of a ... okay. An editor. 
And she sent me color coded notes so I'd know what to do where. Of course, she sent me a whole 'nother  page of basic "do's and don'ts" that made me wonder why I even HAD a contract. But I digress, and, you know, I love to digress.
So, I sat, staring at the stupid manuscript for a week, not sure how to tackle it. Sort of like...

Then, realizing I had a deadline (Yes, I have deadlines now), I started editing my little heart out, like...
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But that wasn't working. I was just driving myself nuts, making the entire manuscript red and ugly. It sort of matched my face, but I don't have a GIF for that, so you'll have to use your imagination. 
After about three days of that madness, I called my friend Justine. Jus-teeee-ine! (sorry, had the grandkids. It reminded me of calling Toodles on Mickey's Playhouse.)
Thank God for Justine. Thank God for friends in general. She calmed my ass down, told me to tackle the major content changes first, and then clean up the little stuff like the dread "as" conundrum. I'll get to that in a minute. She also reminded me to ACTUALLY read what I was revising - so, you know, it would  jive with the rest of the story. Man, she's one smart cookie. 
So I started with a fresh copy of the previously marked up, annotated and color coded manuscript. 
And I read it. 
And I was like...
Yeah. Ever re-read stuff you wrote a while ago and wonder not only WHY you wrote it, but how? 
And I still got a contract. Go figure?
So, I started making the changes my editor suggested. Those editors, their pretty smart, ya know? And I cut. And I re-arranged. And I added. And I had to keep going back and re-reading and re-revising. And I finally got it done. Late Friday night, I saved it, nice and secure, and sent it to my editor. And I went to bed. And I woke up in a cold sweat.
The dreaded "as" conundrum.
Apparently, I have a tendency to overuse the verb "as" when joining two sentences which really should be separate and distinct sentences. Yup. I like those run-on sentences and thought I was sneaky, using "as" to hide them. Doesn't work. And the nightmare I had that made me weak up in a cold sweat?I dreamed I hadn't touched the "as" issue. And I hadn't.
I woke up early Saturday morning, checked my nice safe little manuscript where it was sleeping in a file on my desk top and there they were. All 682,901. And I only wrote 87,000 words to begin with.
Lovely.
So, I had humble pie for breakfast, emailed my editor and told her to trash the email I'd sent her the night before and dug right back in. It only took a day and a half, thanks to the magic of "find." Of course, when you "find" for "as," you get all the "has" and "was" issues to take care of at the same time.
Which explains the next set of nightmares. 
I did finally get the whole thing edited. And I added content that, I believe, actually makes the entire book better. Which is really the point, right? 
But I still hate editing.
And when it was all said and done, I felt like...


So - how do you feel about EDITING? Do you like it? Is it the worst chore imaginable similar to a root canal without novacaine? 
HEY! Speaking of contracts and good stuff like that, make sure you read this post: POST  and you might get your own chance in editing hell. I mean - get a publishing contract of your own. Smile. No, really, that's a smile. See, the little eyes are shining and the face is pointing up as in...
Oh, never mind. 

Tweet your pitch, and magic may be yours!

The agony of the perfect pitch is a slow death. You write, revise, write some more and finally work up the nerve to send a Query. Who do you send it to? How long does it take to get a response?

Wouldn't it be nice to skip the slush pile and get a direct response, maybe a request for a partial, or even better, a full manuscript?

Guess what? You can. Yes - you!  I did - and ended up with a three-book publishing contract, remember?

#pitmad At 22 Kelsi lost her husband & maybe her mind. Is the dark haired man frm her dreams real? Y dz he look like her new neighbor?
— Barbara Garren (@bak229) May 28, 2013

(click here for the full story)

Want to know more?

Next Friday, September 6th, Entranced Publishing is hosting  #FridayRomance, an adult romance pitch party, live on Twitter. 

The rules are simple:

-First, make sure you FOLLOW @EntrancedPub 

-Tweet your Pitch with the #FridayRomance hashtag. No Hashtag, no pitch

-Only tweet COMPLETED manuscripts

-No YA/NA please

-Post your Tweet in the comments section of my blog, giving you two chances to be heard and earning feedback from me (disclaimer: I won't be replying until late Friday due to previous commitments).

That's it. Entranced Editors will be standing by, reviewing and responding to the Tweets that interest them. 

And don't forget - to check these posts for prizes, great new books and more:







Awakenings            









1,000 Sleepless Nights            










Until Next Time