Heaven Help Bay City

You know I don't do this very often. Abner Sinires is a buddy of mine on Absolute Write. His book came out yesterday, Kat and Mouse. I think the blurb speaks for itself. Enjoy.

2042. Bay City, California Free State.

Kat and Mouse are ronin--street mercenaries--who like cake runs. Simple jobs with quick and large payouts.

That's what these were supposed to be. Cake runs.

But when the Duo sign on, they suddenly find themselves targeted by a biker gang, a team of corporate commandos, a cybernetically-enhanced special ops agent, a stalker, a band of kidnappers, and a Japanese crime syndicate.

And they all want the Duo out of the way. Permanently.

Now these sassy sisters-in-arms must survive the onslaught and still get the jobs done. Because in the Biz, it's get paid or get dead.

As usual, Kat and Mouse are going to do things their way.

Heaven help Bay City.

I will pimp the hell out of a book with a blurb like that. And if you wanna sweet, sweet, little taste, you can check out his blog http://www.katandmouseserial.com/ There is a little linky for new readers to click on, so you know where to start. Pulp is not dead.

Another link to the book:
http://www.abnersenires.com/katandmousebook

Bookity booksbooksbooks!

Greetings, Fearless Readers! I know it’s been awhile. I reorganized the studio (apartment) this weekend. I used to always call it that - “the studio (apartment)” but I’ve fallen into calling it “the apartment”. Boring. I like calling it the studio… as it is a studio, a single room of shame, the bastion of the barely employed…

The online dictionary gave me “atelier” as a synonym for studio. I looked that up and got this:

atelier

1.

artist's studio: a studio or workshop where an artist works

There has been way too little “atelier-ing” in this L shaped space. I haven’t completed a novel in too long – but I’ve started three. *Groan* I don’t want to be one of those. You know, those people who call themselves writers but who never finish a book. The one good thing: I know what is “wrong “ with the current one, but as I can’t seem to go in and fix it (not knowing where to start) I’ve decided to lump it and start over in the best place. At the beginning.

For some reason, that led to getting rid of some other obstacles. Namely: the clutter and mess choking the studio (apartment). And to do that, I got it in my head that it was time for a change all the way around. I moved everything! That meant going through the monster entertainment center, the one so filled to bursting with books that it creaks and pops at night. I got about three boxes worth in the closet now – and found many many delights. At some point, The Han Solo Adventures had fallen back behind the tv! And of course, there’s the novelization of all three Star Wars movies, in one handy volume, that I haven’t read in at least ten or fifteen years. I also had some Mercedes Lackey from my days in the SF&F bookclub. Other lost gems: The Firebringer Trilogy!! The Last Unicorn. Lost among the clutter. I really pared it down to just my favorites or unread books that are out and visible. There is actually ROOM left on every shelf, and if I went looking for a book, I think I could find it! Miracle of miracles!

I also put everything loosely together by author and/or genre. Stephen King takes up the huge shelf on the bottom, and I had to put the Dark Tower Series on the shelf above. All my most favorite, die-before-I-let-them-leave-my-grip books are nestled on one shelf (excluding King and Rowling – who are down below) This includes The Lord of the Rings books, Watership Down and Tales From Watership Down. Other Voices, Other Rooms and The Grass Harp by Capote. To Kill a Mockingbird. A slim poetry volume of Sylvia Plath’s – Across the Water, I think. Xenogenesis by Octavia Butler. Bleak House by Dickens. A couple books from my youth like The Littlest Witch, Bunnicula and Sad Day, Glad Day, which I've had since I was about 5 years old. There are no Austen books, as I never bought them, but I did download them for free from Gutenburg, along with everything Dickens, Woolf, Alcott, Bronte (all of them!) and Lovecraft. They are only on the shelf, metaphorically, along with many more, of course. It did get me thinking about what is on the shelf and what is not. I don’t regret the lack of physical volumes, because if I had every book I have ever loved, I would need a bigger apartment. I always had the feeling that all that ancient stuff would always be there, whenever I wanted it.

Of course, what it comes down to is this: if I want my own books up on a bookshelf someday, I need to start writing again… now….

1108 written today - for a grand total of ... 1108. Ah. Starting fresh!

The Casting Couch of the Mind

Greetings, Fearless Readers. I have a lot to do in this blog post - so let’s get to it. First off, I have another blog. Yes. Another blog to keep up with. Yay. It’s about Urban Fantasy, but it’s not your average review blog. Check it out if you have a minute. Flights of Urban Fantasy.

Second: I’ve had a revelation! I realize I need to restructure Darklight. Sigh. I need to get my kid sidekick in a lot earlier, shake things up and bump up the tension. I knew something was wrong with the story and kept futtering about, not doing anything. Now I know what’s wrong, and I’m gonna try and fix it.

Thirdly: Let’s talk about dream casting. One of the best things about writing your own stories is casting the movie in your head. Imagine: the A list, the B list, all at your disposal! I only do this on occasion. I usually pick random, regular human faces, but when I started Darklight, I knew I wanted to give Richard Armitage a job.

Yes, he is/has been my current crush, but he’s a cutie, and I like him in the cop role. Wilkins is my main character's love interest. He is and isn’t the type of cop Richard has played before. The typical cop profile: a go-getter, in charge, alpha male, leader type, “brilliant” as the Brits say, in terms of doing his job. Wilkins is different in that he’s more sensitive than your typical cop guy who stands around and looks tough with a great jawline. I wanted a strong guy with a good heart. Wilkins never takes a cheap shot in an argument, he sees the truth of a situation… and he doesn’t mind passing on that truth, even if our love-challenged leading lady doesn’t want to hear it. Oh, and he dresses really well. Wilkins does, I mean. I don’t care what Richard Armitage wears

Now for the main female character, I imagine Miranda Raison from Spooks, one of Richard’s co-stars.

In an ironic twist, in Darklight she would be more like Richard’s character in Spooks than like Jo, the one she actually played. I cast her for the cute pixie haircut and the big blue eyes. I don’t know if she would be willing to revisit it again if this was actually, by some miracle as yet unseen, made into a movie in real life and offered to her. Not to mention, she’d have to dye her hair brown.That is what is so fun about the casting couch of the mind.

A whole lotta links goin' on, or Dithering 101

Before we begin our regularly scheduled program, I just want to mention: I was interviewed by Dan Straka and it is currently up on his blog. He has some great posts about writing, so despite my numerous attractions , I hope you will check out his other musings! Thank you, Dan, for letting me ramble on.

Richard Armitage on a laptop is my screen saver.

Your argument is invalid.

These are some of the undisciplined thoughts that ramble through my head when I sit down without a serious focus for the night. Let me explain. No, no time to explain, let me sum up.

Good nights: Enter apartment, pet cat, remove coat, put down purse and keys. Warm up barely edible sustenance and consume. Make black substance in coffee pot, sans caffeine. Get cup of black substance with fancy creamer. Sit down. Turn on computer and write two thousand words. Done by 7:30 at the latest. Shazam.

The last few nights: Enter apt, chase cat, finally throw coat over cat and inflict love on said feline for many minutes longer than is necessary. At some point I’ve lost my purse and keys. Shamble to fridge. Open fridge and then freezer numerous times, talking about how there is nothing to eat. Finally decide I’m hungry enough to consume the food that is there, instead of ignoring it and hoping the money fairy is going to leave me some cash for take out. No money fairy. Throw together whatever remains edible into some sort of recognizable, glop. Perform various gyrations, singing “I can bring home the bacon... dunn nun nun nuh... fry it up in the pan...” Consume glop. Make pyramid of dirty dishes in sink. Make pot of coffee... oh fuck. Wrong can. Now I’m gonna be up all night. Might as well check out the Fail Blog. Ohh kitteh! I Can Has Cheezburger. Suddenly decide to run after my own kitteh some more and inflict more luv upon her, which I tell myself she really likes, amidst screams and complaints to the contrary. Return to desk, bleeding and swearing with cup of cold black substance with creamer. Open pages document. Go to AW and complain about treatment said cat inflicts upon me. Stare at screen. Check Richard Armitage blog. OOOH! Link! Spend twenty minutes clicking to Lord of the Rings merchandise sights. Go to AW. Is Orlando married or just a dad now? Wonder what AW would think of me not being sure of Orlando Bloom’s marital/parental status. Go back to Richard Armitage blog. Go back to Cheezburger. Go to M thru F blog and realize I wanna kill myself because my life is just like that blog. Sans the great Star Wars References. Go back to AW and tell SF&F Cantina I wanna kill myself cuz my life is like a Cheezburger blog. Derail. Have virtual candy in Susie’s House of Fun. Facebook. Get mad at Facebook ads. Think about writing a blog post. Open pages document. Stare at screen. Decide to write everything I just wasted my time doing. Looks at clock. Fucking 7:15. Glances over at still open manuscript. Feels deep abiding sense of shame.... shakes head incredulously and wonders what cat is doing....

Ok. I’m going to funnel my shame into writing now.

Writing Exercises

You know ‘em. You love ‘em. Some of them are suggested by your friends or favorite authors, fellow writers or teachers. Some of them just pop up... because you can’t fuckin’ take it anymore.

Such is the case in my one woman diatribe against The Facebook. I heard that in the commercial for Social Network - not that I give half a rat hair to see the movie, but ever since, I been callin’ it The Facebook and callin’ it good. I mean, The Facebook is clearly not good, it is an evil overlord that someday will rise up and crush us all, but until then, I can share my witty repartee with the world. What I will no longer abide, however, are these frickin’ obnoxious and stupid ads that run along one side of my wall!!!

They were innocuous at first. A pile of delicious donuts, with the offer of coupons for goods and services in the San Francisco Bay Area. A link to websites selling fairy gear. An offer to “Like” The One Ring Dot Net. Notices when Stevie Nicks would be playing in my area, all this culled from my profile. But then.... offers to enlarge my breasts. Ads promising the services of hunky cowboys in chaps. Suggestions that perhaps my teenage daughter had an eating disorder. At first, I threw up my hands shouting omgwtfbbq! These can’t be aimed at ME! Then, I noticed the little X near the ad. You can click it to remove the ad... and they ask you why this ad was inappropriate for you.

Ask and you shall receive, Facebook. Thus was my current writing exercise born.

Well, The Facebook, my boobs are just fine. I mean, they could be a little higher, but I just turned 40, and thank you for reminding me of that. And no, I’m not looking for a cowboy. I’m a little more the suburban, studious, well-groomed type. And yes, I may be alone, but who are you to suggest that somehow my life is lacking? Or that I am so desperate as to turn to the ads on The Facebook to find me my studious, well-groomed reader of Poe and Tolkien? And as for my daughter??? I don’t have a daughter,Facebook! What the hell? It’s like you don’t know me at all! You don’t listen! You don’t pay attention! It’s like we’re not even in a relationship at all! All you do is take and take and take, despite the fact my profile is right there for you to cull from. And cull from it you have.

And this is what you come up with. Boob doctors, cowboys and anorexic emos.

Well, fuck you, Facebook, and your little ads, too!

I admit that I was hoping this might cause a bit of a stir with The Facebook, or improve the quality of the ads. I have not been banned, and now they want to send me to Guatamala to meet hot singles. Meh. At least it gives me something to do. And it’s the only writing I’ve done in the last month, besides this witty blog post.

You’re welcome.

Down, Maybe, but not out!

Well, I've been knocked down by a mighty foe.

Insomnia. It sucks.

I haven't written hardly anything in almost a week, I'm just been dragging myself back and forth to work, trying to stay awake until its time to go to bed, then going to bed and staring up at the cieling, trying to remember ever having been tired. Last night I got a few hundred clumsy words, but not enough to mention. I really need to do a read through - something I had tried to avoid while writing, going a hundred miles a minute, only looking forward, not back. However, I've lost momentum and fallen out of the story, not to mention my poor fiction machine being set in "zombie" mode. The main problem is, that I don't know what happens next. So I'm going to go back and try and get caught up again. I'm not at all despondent about the story, only this damn zombie mode I'm in. Which is a very good thing, or at least, I assume it is, throught this fog of incomprehension. I just gotta hold on till the weekend and get caught up on the zzzz's. *crosses fingers*

Day Three: No Outline Yet

I guess I'm not out of story yet. Yesterday, I had no idea what needed to happen next, but then I didn't realize I hadn't finished writing what I started. I have a tendency to write... up to a certain point. It's weird, and probably not a good habit, but I prefer to only write one big happening a day. And I like to jump right into it when I start for the day. I don't know how that works... as I require a certain number of words be written a day. How is it that that 2k will stop before the big shootout, or the hole to the other side being ripped open? I don't know. Sometimes, I feel like a tourist in my own head.

Of course, I strongly hold to the Stephen King Theory, which is that stories are found things. They are all there, in the earth, and like a plodding archeologist, you have to chip away and dig it out, being careful not to destroy anything.

And where did the gypsies come from?! When I was in tenth grade, I lived way out in the boonies and had to take the bus to school. For a few months, we drove by this caravan type wagon parked on the side of the road. There was a family there, and I thought they were wearing costumes. Very early nineteenth century pioneer type clothes. It was all cow pasture out there and not a house in sight. I thought it was a strange place for a roadside attraction. Then one day, they were gone, and someone said "The gypsies have moved on." I was like... whu? And somehow, BLAM! Just driving down the street, they show up in my urban fantasy when it goes rural. Found things indeed... who knows what else is buried down there.