Category: Life and Other Fun

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about time

We’re almost to the end of June already! Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re barreling through this year at breakneck speed? Are we making up for the dragging pace of last year? Are we trying to outrun the virus?

Time is such an odd thing at times. It messes with my head!

How is it that the week can be dragging and speeding at the same time? Like yesterday and Tuesday seemed to go on forever and ever, and yet today feels like it should only be Tuesday.

Life is crazy busy at this time of year, though this year, without SF Pride eating up a chunk of my time, it’s not quite as busy as usual. I guess that contributes to the strangeness of time these days.

My big work project eats up a lot of time during the day, and I have writing time and editing on the Sirens anthology, and I have a crochet project I need to finish.

Speaking of which, I should pour that last cup of coffee and get back to the day job. Happy Thursday, Readers! Make it a good one!

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consider juneteenth

A new federal holiday was signed into law this week, a holiday that calls us to remember our history. Ironically, it comes at the same time that some states are declaring it illegal to teach that history.

Look, I am as white as they come, and I’m talking to my fellow white people when I say that we MUST do better. Consider the significance of the fact that June 19th 1865 was two and a half years after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, and two months after Lee surrendered to end the Civil War.

Consider the fact that we, as a people, kidnapped, enslaved, tortured, raped and killed black people for no reason other than the fact that they were black. Consider the audacity of that. Consider that we had to send troops into Texas to enforce the ending of slavery.

Sure, it was a long time ago and none of us was there, but that does not mean that we aren’t culpable for the sins of our forebears, particularly not when so much of the attitude that got us into slavery in the first place is still evident in so many of us today.

Racism is baked deep into our soil, into our bodies. It built the education system, the government. It permeates every aspect of our society and it does not go away by denying it exists. It can only be fought by identifying it, calling it out and trampling it beneath our feet.

To my BIPOC friends and family, I’m here to support you in whatever way I can. I know that the naming of Juneteenth as a federal holiday does nothing in the grander scheme of things and there is so very much work to do. It is a pebble in the stream.

Let’s throw a couple boulders in next.

Happy Saturday, Readers. May the day be educational for you.

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drop it like it’s hot

Summer has definitely arrived. We’re supposed to be at or near 100 today and over that tomorrow. Can I just say “ugh”? My body is not built for that kind of heat!

It’s a good thing I have air conditioning in at least one room!

I guess those thirteen years in El Paso, Texas burned my love of that high heat right out of me. Fortunately our summers here don’t stay over 100 degrees for months at a time like they did in El Paso.

It’s almost enough to make me want to go to the beach. Almost. But, seeing as California dropped all restrictions yesterday, and people in mass will be swarming the beaches, I think I’ll just hide away from it in my dark little home with my AC and my fans.

I can see it being salads for dinners for the next few days. Hope you’re able to stay cool, Readers!

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the creative spark

I am a creative person. I’m pretty sure anyone who has read much of my blog realizes that. I’ve been thinking lately about that creative drive and how it affects my entire life. I see my life in creative turns…whether it’s cooking a meal or caring for my garden, writing, painting, crochet…it is a huge part of who I am.

I can not go long without craving creativity. I’m currently feeling drawn back to old loves, things I’m not necessarily good at, but love doing: wood working and painting.

At the same time, I have three crochet projects that I’m in the middle of, a trilogy of novels I’m working on, and a short story anthology to edit. I work in a profession that feeds my creative needs as well. If only I had more hours in the day!

I need to spend some of today in the garden, as I have some plants to get into the dirt, and I need to thin out my succulents and transplant a few to new homes. If I am very lucky, I’ll find a little time to make something pretty with yarn or paint or clay.

First up though, is the words. Today I need to finish polishing up a short story and start edits on the stories submitted for the anthology.

I hope today sparks some creativity for you too, Readers! Make something wonderful!

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the enemy of good

I am a perfectionist (…somewhat recovered). I hate making mistakes. Even more so when those mistakes are visible to the greater public. This is a reason why my first novel took me so many years to finish, and why every crochet project gets ripped back at least once.

In my day job I often have to balance my desire for perfection with the truth that good + fast is often more important than perfect.

It’s a lesson that’s taken me years to learn, and when I’m working on a huge project (as I am right now) that gets built behind the scenes, it is easy to fall back into the idea that it must all be perfect before I throw it into the public arena.

Fortunately, this current project also plays into my obsession with organizing information, clarifying language and teaching, and it is all going on where most of my company won’t see it until I show it to them. That means I can keep tweaking it and perfecting it as I go along, so long as I meet my deadlines.

But, now, Readers, my coffee cup is empty and I have a meeting to prep for. I hope your Wednesday is wonderful!

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and some gave all

I read a lot of books that involve loyalty to a leader or to a country. It’s a prevalent thing in most fantasy and sci fi stories. The deep devotion to a beloved king or queen, the drive to protect the homeland, is a big part of the human experience.

In the real world, that devotion isn’t quite as poetic, but still as moving.

We’re in a phase of recovery here in the US, where we still have a large swath of citizens who’s devotion is not to the country, but to a man, which is problematic since we are not a monarchy. That kind of allegiance belongs in the books, not in our reality, at least not here in a democratic republic.

However, today is a day we have set aside to look to those who put their loyalty into the defense, not of a person, but of our nation, those whose service freed our nation from tyranny, those who defended our nation from outside aggression, even those who fought and died to keep our nation from severing into two.

Whether or not I agree with the direction our military has taken in the last decades, I have the utmost respect for those who put themselves in harms way, and paid the ultimate price.

There are many, because our wars have been numerous. Men and women who died somewhere far from home, who suddenly stopped writing home, who may still lie in some forest grave, unmarked and forgotten…men and women killed by gunshot or missile strike, by bayonet and sniper, roadside bombs and musket…all in the name of the country we call home.

Today is a day that we remember, “All gave some, and some gave all” and we remember those who fell. We may not know their names or faces, but we can hold them in our hearts all the same.

It is time for us to remember that in the USA the feelings of national devotion should be directed, not at a person or even a flag, but at our country, this democratic republic that promises us a government by the people, for the people.

I hope your day is filled with hope and love and kindness, Readers.

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the fear of success

As an author, you have to get used to rejection. I’ve gotten enough “no thank you” emails and letters to have adapted pretty well to them. And despite the fact that I approach every single submission with heart-palpitations and great trepidation (and no small amount of imposter syndrome), I’ve come to realize something about that feeling.

It isn’t about rejection. Instead, it’s a fear of success. It’s the fear of “what if”…what if they want to see the full manuscript? What if this agent wants to sign me? What if this editor wants to help me polish the rough edges? What if this publisher actually wants to publish this book?

There’s a fear that comes with the hope that this time someone on the receiving end of that submittal is going to take you from the pile and pass you down the pipeline…and all that comes after it.

I don’t necessarily write to sell books. I mean, if they sell, that’s great, but for me it is about the story telling, about the journey I’m able to take with these characters, in this world I built out of images in my head and the words I use to describe them.

Sometimes a rejection is just a reason to take a good look at the work and find the places that need polish. I guess the same holds true for a rejection that doesn’t come in the form of an email or letter, but rather it rides on the back of silence. When an agent or editor or publisher doesn’t even bother to respond. That is its own form of rejection.

It stings a little more, maybe, but I get it. These people must look at hundreds of books in a year. They don’t have time to hold the hands of the people who didn’t make the cut.

I got one of those non-reply rejections this week. I only know because I happened to see a tweet from the agency I submitted to stating that they had cleared out their to-be-read pile and were declining to extend an offer to any of them.

I guess that’s as good as I can expect in today’s climate. It means I need to dive back into the work of querying, but it’s also affording me a chance to revisit my draft, smooth out some corners, build in some back story that becomes necessary for the sequels and make the book stronger and better.

Not that it doesn’t sting. It does. But there’s no better medicine than dropping myself back into the world I created and sticking my hands back into the mess.

So I now have all three Blood Witch stories in a single file so I can make sure that the continuity issues and plot holes get sorted out and filled in and the trilogy can become a cohesive whole.

That’s how I’m spending my long weekend, Readers. That and laundry. Because there is always laundry.

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…for the love of words…

I love words.

I love long words, short words, weird words. I love unusual words and common words. I love combinations of words that absolutely, perfectly describe something or someone.

I love twisting words around until they come out just right.

I’ve been drawn to words and how we use them to communicate since I was a child. I learned to read rather young and I loved to immerse myself into the worlds of the books I read. Then I learned that I could write my own worlds, create my own stories with the words that I loved.

As is true of anyone, my first attempts at that were…shall we say, not good. From my juvenile poetry to my first attempts at short stories and even novels, my love of words only grew, and fortunately, my use of them improved over time.

Today, I hold in my hands a book of poetry…my poetry. Words that I wrestled with, slept with, scribbled out onto loose leaf paper or the back of receipts, words that I typed out in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep until I got them down.

There is a satisfaction in this project that is a little different to any of the novels I have published. It is more intimate, because these words often come from deep within my understanding of who I am.

And, I love who I am. I hope you will join me on this journey. Find your copy at Amazon or other online retailers. May this Tuesday serve you well and bestow kindness upon you, Readers.

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to office or not to office, I’ll just stay home, thanks

This has been a tough week, and I’m not even really sure why. But the good news is that we have made it to the Friday and there is only about 6.5 work hours between me and the weekend. I’ll admit to a certain amount of anxiousness about this whole “returning to normal” thing that is starting to happen.

To be fair, I really love the whole working from home dynamic, and would not welcome a return to the office even in “normal” times. It suits my agoraphobic, introverted self quite well. But I’ve noticed an increase in bedtime anxiousness, an inability to turn my brain off and put my phone down, almost as if I’m expecting some disaster to befall us while I’m asleep.

I’m happy to have found a company that values me and has no issues with the working from home forever dynamic. There are so many companies out there that treat their employees like high school kids who need to be controlled. Worse even, because even in high school they trust you to do your homework at home.

I get that working from home isn’t for everyone and some people need the daily interaction/schedule to do their best work, but I will never understand why people whose work can be done at home aren’t allowed by so many to do that.

In my experience, I get more done in less time at home than I ever do in the office, and I’m not burning my batteries with the commute and being social, so I have more me left over at the end of the work day.

Another thing I’ve noticed about working from home this last year is that it helps me treat my non-work writing as I treat my job, which means that I have times set aside to do that work, and I don’t see it as eating into my “free time” anymore. I don’t have to choose between writing and all the other things. There is this “this is writing time” and “this is time for other things” dynamic to my entire week, not just Monday through Friday.

It is, however, as I said, Friday. That means another cup of Death Wish Coffee and writing time that is on the horizon. I hope the day is good to you, Readers, and that your weekend is filled with love.

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what goes around, comes around

At the risk of alienating some of you, I’m going to talk about being a woman of a certain age, with all the attendant drama and bodily functions. If this might bother you, please just keep going about your day and ignore me.

I find it interesting that here, on the approach to fifty-three and entering the twilight of dawning menopause, my “monthly” cycle seems to have come back around to what it was like as I entered through the door labeled “puberty” all those years ago.

Back then, my cycle was a bit erratic, and it meant not really being able to predict when it was coming, as well as hormonal swings that could give you whiplash, zits everywhere (and not just on my face), and pain that I was told was “normal” for whatever that’s worth.

Here today, my cycle is a bit erratic, and I never really know for sure whether I’m going to have one or not. My hormonal swings are not as dramatic as they were at fourteen or fifteen, but they are deeper and last longer. My face is full of zits. The “normal” pain stopped being normal years ago and now can knock me off my feet for at least three days.

Getting old is not for the weak, I suppose.

And maybe, if this is me circling back to the beginning, and that means an end to the semi-regular torture that comes of having a uterus, I can only beg it to move a little faster.

On that note, I should wipe my eyes (yes, I am crying over nothing, why do you ask?), drink my coffee and kick this day into gear.

My love to you all, Readers. And may the Friday be kind.

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