Day's End

 

Sunset out the back tonight. We don't normally get vibrant sunrises or sunsets in Florida. It's a land, sea, and sky of pastels. Colors washed out and faded by the sun, mostly. And then, this.

Most of us enjoy sunsets. We'll pause to marvel at the exuberant color and texture brought on by the day's death. Some of us make a ritual of stopping for the sunset, taking a seat to watch the show with a beverage at hand.

Why then do so many of us falter when faced with our loved ones' final days? 

An uncle on my mother's side of the family lays in an ICU not all that far from here. Pneumonia. (Not Covid, not that it matters at this point.) The prognosis is grim. No one is allowed in to see him or sit with him or hold his hand. Not even his wife, my aunt. This is the part that Covid has stolen from us - the comfort and distraction of loved ones at a dying man's side. And you'd think that at this moment, that would be my aunt's sole occupation - worrying over her dying husband. 

It isn't. It isn't, because it can't be. Not here. Not now. Not in this world where our lives have been forever altered by pandemic. No, at this moment, my aunt's worries are the business of dying. Who will pay the hospital bills. Where are the living will documents the doctors need should someone have to make the decision to pull life support. It's all lists and hurry and busy work.

There's no time (or safety) to sit at my uncle's bedside and pause of the final exuberant flush of life. Even without Covid, while we could sit at bedsides, most of us did so as a means of talking over death. We made timid small talk and watched shitty hospital TV to avoid the specter of death, no matter how close it hovered.

I don't say any of this to propose any kind of solution. Other than to maybe pause for a moment at endings of all kinds because sometimes there's breathtaking beauty to be found there.

Life doesn't need a filter...only Peace

 Happy October 1st! Here in Minnesota it smells like fall and I love it! 

I also love our topic of the week: what’s on your mind. Frankly, there’s a lot on my mind, as I'm sure it is with you since our world's on fire...literally and figuratively. And it's October which means I’ll be hiding out in my editing cave—busy busy—but with so much uncertainty it’s difficult to concentrate. Maybe the post should be what isn’t on my mind…hmm.

C’est la vie, and so the most important thing on my mind right now is finding peace. 

I did a brain retraining class in the spring and one of the key points that stuck was the need to settle/calm the mind each day. Step one was breathing. Breathing! Easy…right?

Take one hand and place it on your chest and place the other hand on your belly. And breathe.

Which hand moves? My chest hand was the one going up and down…and it should be the hand on your belly. Chest breathing happens when your body’d limbic system is stuck and keeps you in stress-mode = not good.

Ever watch a baby sleep? Their bellies move, not their rib cage. Babies don’t stress, they sleep…like a baby. 

Seriously, who breathes wrong?! Me, that’s who. I had to consciously breathe from my belly, and it wasn’t easy to consciously breath differently, but after a week or so I’d only catch myself chest breathing here and there. And it definitely made me more calm which made that whole calming the mind easier and also helps with yoga. 

One step at a time. Now that I’ve done my yoga for the day it’s time to EDIT!

For those a step ahead of us chest breathers, coffee cheers to you! And tell me—how do you relax?

The World Needs Hope

Let’s see…let’s see, what’s been on my mind? Honestly, not a lot because the world’s a dumpster fire and I’ve been fighting a bug. Naps and tea are my friend. 

Since writing’s difficult right now I’ve been trying to get some reading in. There are a lot of books out that were written to shed light on the misdeeds of mankind, the horrors we commit against one another, the real, honest side of life. And while I agree that it’s important to have stories that reflect our pain and suffering, I believe it’s even more important for our stories to have hope. 

I believe you reap what you sow, that you get back what you put in, and that every story changes a person. 

In real life it’s not always easy to choose kindness and positivity. I fail at times, and when I fall short I tell myself to do better next time. But what about our writing? What are we saying with our words?

I want to both read and write about the kind of hope that’s prevalent in the Lord of the Rings and Salvation Day by Kali Wallace. In LotR, Frodo’s surrounded by a group of varied individuals that come together because they share the same hope; to free Middle Earth from Sauron’s rule and therefore ensure freewill for all. In Salvation Day, enemies must come together because they know if they fail, space won’t be big enough to protect mankind. 

Fantasy, sci-fi, it doesn’t matter what genre, what matters is the message we put out there. Is there hope for the present? Is there hope for the future? Is there faith in something bigger than ourselves?

Hope can surprise you, can be stronger than first appears, and can redeem us. That’s what I want to put out into the world, hope.  

I want people to look up to the sun. I want people to see the beautiful fighting for space between the darkness. I want people to read my stories and be uplifted…by hope. 

Books to the rescue!

(from my backyard)

The day started off like any other day; the sun rose and the coffee brewed as the household began to wake. But that’s where the normalcy ended. There weren’t any eggs for breakfast which meant a trip to the store…which meant disinfecting wipes and hand sanitizer…which meant venturing out into the pandemic.

Our world has changed. 

Science fiction writers imagine countless possibilities to countless disasters, but, at least for me, we never expect to live out one of those possibilities. And now we’re living one, COVID-19, that had been written by some and predicted by few. 

Our world has changed, and it’s dumping stats, announcements, warnings, and news stories on us. Schools are moving to distance learning for months, social distancing is our reality, stores are closed, restaurants and cafes are curb-side only. We’re overloaded. 

(overloaded is never good, even if it's just flour)

Though, it’s not all negative. There are clips of Italian opera being sung from balconies, choruses of neighbors joining their voices together from safe distances, and instrumental solos serenading the evening air. We’re human, and we’re defiant. 

We’re fighting back, together. We’re learning how to take care of one another and I believe we’ll be better because of it. That’s the heart of science fiction, battling against the odds and clinging to the aspects that make us human. Together. 

(Ullr standing on the edge of the bank)

If you feel as if you’re standing on the edge, know that you’re not alone, even if no one if physically at your side. And if your walls are closing in and you need an escape…books can be a rescue. They can take you far, far away, or they can take you back in time. Books can take you anywhere you want to go.

Right now, epic fantasy is really hitting the spot for me. Take me away into the trees and mountains where the fearsome are giant trolls or dark mages and not invisible viruses. Do you need a book rescue? Drop a comment and I can make some suggestions.

Remember, you're not alone. Narnia’s in the wardrobe, Hogwarts is just a letter away, and you can spin the Wheel of Time for hours on end!  

On My Mind: Let the Process Break

This week, what's on my mind is change. Large, sweeping, long-overdue change. The kind that comes from the complete and total failure of an administration, an industry, and a national individualistic mind-set.

Once upon a corporate life, in the heyday of "do more with less," I had my weekly status meeting with my boss. We were dusting off the ashes of surviving the latest layoffs and trying to squeeze everybody else's "Priority 1" into our already overbooked schedules. I showed her my "escalations" list and her face went blank. Two heartbeats later, she took my hand, looked me dead in the eye and said,

"Let the process break."

Wut? My overworked brain didn't grok what she was saying. Was she setting me up to fail? Was she putting me on the firing list? (She wasn't.)

"No one knows how badly things are broken if you keep bending over backwards to fix them. 

Stop. 

Let things break. 

Projects will either get scrapped because they weren't really that important

 or they'll be properly resourced."

Twenty-ish years later and I still think of that moment, that lesson, that sanity-saving insight.

This week, I'm wondering if we, as a nation, can see how continuously and consistently screwed over we are by industry and politics that real change, beneficial change, will come from it. For example, is our healthcare industry broken enough now that for-profit health will be replaced by actual care? We're good, sort of, with the actual care providers: the nurses, the doctors, the orderlies, the environmental services. But the insurers? The administrators? The bloated bureaucracy feeding off our human problems? Have we learned our lessons yet? Or will we have to see the tens of thousands of dollars charged by insurance companies for a COVID-19 patient being treated by an "out of network" ER doc? How about the privilege of being charged a couple grand for being denied a test? Oh, then there are the lab bills because the tests are being processed by facilities who didn't pre-negotiate a contract with the insurer. And don't think for one moment the inflated cost of the PPEs that are in such staggering short supply isn't going to show up a patient's bill. Hospital stays are over $15k/night before beds ran out; tack on ICU, ventilator, and the battery of drugs they hope will work and you're over $20k/night, easy. That's if you're lucky enough to be "chosen to live." Better hope your insurer allows the doctor to sedate you if you draw the short straw, since you can't breathe and are drowning in your own blood and fluids.

Gods forbid you survive the worst of this because now you have a pre-existing condition and a government that's bound and determined to make sure you aren't entitled to healthcare because someone will actually have to treat you...which means less money in the pockets of the industry CEOs and stockholders. You can get in line behind the mass shooting survivors, coal miners, cancer patients, military, civilian DOD injured in the line of duty, and 50% of the non-senior citizenry.

And if you don't have insurance? Bankruptcy is your only option. (No, suicide won't help you; your bills get passed on to your family.) Congrats, you get to lose everything! Hope you're not looking to the government to help with that homelessness problem. What's that? Scar tissue on your lungs? Can't breathe without aid? You want welfare? Are you kidding? You think you're some multinational corporation entitled to government bailouts? Bootstraps, boyo!

Is 30k dead from a pandemic enough to prove that the healthcare industry is broken? Will it take 300k dead to make the shift? 3 million? 30 million? What's the magic number that makes us as a nation say, "enough"? What is the number that finally frightens the politicians into doing what's right for the people instead of the corporations? The motivation has got to be fear because ethics isn't working and neither is shame.

Sadly, I don't think we've reached the tipping point. I don't think the tragedy is real to enough of us to affect change. Not yet. Not enough to last through November, certainly.

Don't let this screed make you horribly depressed, I hope it makes you angry. Angry enough that whenever you can push for change, you push. HARD.

What’s on my mind? Resisting the dark side.

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. 

Anger leads to hate. 

Hate leads to suffering.” 

~Yoda

There’s always a certain level of fear present when you live with a chronic disease. There will always be days when pain, fatigue, or any number of other symptoms become debilitating. And there will always be some bad days that make you angry, make you want to lash out, make you hate. 

But, as Yoda said, the fear, anger, and hate are all a path to the dark side and they can steal your joy and ability to create. If I can’t concentrate and my energy is zapped, writing doesn’t happen. It’s frustrating, but it’s incredibly frustrating when the lack of writing is because I let myself get stuck on negativity.

Which means I face a daily choice; choose to find happiness and offer kindness or choose to wallow in pain and anger. A daily choice, walk on the light side…or the dark side. 

Like in Star Wars, it’s a fine line, and one that’s not restricted to people with illnesses. It’s easy to get wrapped up in anger, the RWA crisis is an example of that. While there are valid reasons for anger, I believe that many have forgotten that words are weapons and that we as authors are word Jedi.

I know I can’t make people act a certain way or do certain things. But, as I look ahead at 2020, I know that I can choose kindness and happiness. I can choose the light side. And maybe by adding a few more rays to the universe, I’ll help make the world brighter. 

Why I'm Sticking with RWA

I'm getting back into the groove following a lovely Christmas holiday in Tucson with my family. I didn't take my laptop, and even read a paper book, staying pretty much offline except for the occasional Instagram post.

It was relaxing and restorative.

When I returned online Friday morning, 12/26, I fell face-first into the the RWA crisis. Since our topic at the SFF Seven this week is whatever is on our minds... well, I don't have much on my mind besides this.

There's a great deal online about it. If you don't know anything, this is a good run-down of the timeline. It's the best I've seen, though I hesitated to link to it because I don't like how Claire frames the situation with words like "implosion," "collapse," and "dinosaurs."

I don't think RWA is coming to an end, despite the almost gleeful predictions of it.

I do think this situation has exposed a number of massive problems. Not to be glib or pollyanna, I see this as a crisis/opportunity.

Yes, systemic racism is, has been, and continues to be a major issue within RWA. Despite concerted strides to correct the problems - with recent significant progress being made - it seems that policies and embedded practices in the organization have allowed a racist, exclusionary mindset to persist. In this particular situation, we've also run afoul of a cult of personality and a personal feud that led to Policies & Procedures being altered and bypassed to pursue a particular vendetta.

Former president (and all-around amazing person) Helen Kay Dimon laid out recommended steps in this tweet thread. I fully support those steps. I think that, if we are brutally thorough, we can get the ship cleaned up and back on course.

RWA has been very good to me. I know it hasn't been for everyone, but I owe a great deal to the organization When I joined as a newbie fiction author in 2007, RWA gave me all the tools to help me in my new career. I want RWA to be that for everyone. That's why I'm not abandoning ship. I'm offering my help to do whatever needs to be done - and I think the next few weeks will be key - so I really hope we can succeed. I don't believe RWA is a dinosaur. I think the organization can be better and do better.

I'm staying as long as there's hope.

Slipping Sideways into Death

Black bellied whistling ducks line the opposite shore of the pond behind the house. They're chatty birds who like to fuss and argue amongst themselves. They often lose track of the pair of alligators eyeing them from the deeper water. One of the ducks is supposed to always be on watch, but when hierarchy fights erupt, the look-out bird gets involved. Once in a great while, a gator gets duck for breakfast.

It's lightning fast and terrible to witness. Dreadful to hear. The caught bird is killed instantly, but there's a lot of snapping and crunching involved while the remainder of the flock screams.

On this side of the pond, the alligators take a different form. They wear white coats and read numbers from gleaming computer screens. Stage three this. Acute that. Denial feels like a flimsy shield, but who among us dares to point that out? So we keep busy on our side of the pond, where we watch the ducks and they watch us. We acknowledge that one of our party keeps drifting closer to death's pointy-toothed grin. But we keep busy. Maybe if we keep moving we can confuse the specter creeping up on us and death, when he comes calling, will miss his grab and leave empty-handed and resentful yet again.

Or maybe, this harvest season, he won't.

Accuracy in Fiction - Where to Draw the Line

One of the most fun things about having a book release these days is the #bookstagram world. So many book lovers make gorgeous collages with my book cover - like this one from Reading Between the Wines Book Club - and then tag me on Instagram. With THE ORCHID THRONE, I'm getting all kinds of beautiful orchids and it rocks so hard!

The hubs and I have been watching Reign on Netflix - from the beginning as we'd never seen it - and we're a few episodes into Season One. I realize I'm late to the game on this, as the show ran from 2013 to 2017. But I've seen so many people - like my editor Jennie Conway at St Martins - who just LOVE this show, that I wanted to check it out. 

And I get the appeal. 

This is the story of Mary, Queen of Scots, starting with her arrival as a fifteen year old to the French Court, where she's to marry Prince Francis. The history is familiar to most of us, kind of like watching an extended show about the Titanic - we know where this is going. And, of course, they take liberties with the narrative. Mary has her four ladies-in-waiting, making for a group of lovely, randy, and ambitious young women in the French Court. But where in history the four young women were all also named "Mary," modern viewers are spared the headache and they all have different names. They all have various love affairs, too, including with the French King Henry. 

It's basically a soap opera, a teen love and angst fest only historical. Which means gorgeous clothes! And swords! And cool political machinations. (I love Queen Catherine of Medici.)

There are also a LOT of historical inaccuracies, as one must expect. Characters have been created out of whole cloth. (Amusingly enough, some commenters list them as "goofs," and I want to ask them if they know that the show is fiction.) For the most part, I'm fine with the fictionalizing.

The ones that get under my particular skin are the ways Mary's ladies in waiting are snarky to her. The dynamic is solidly high school and the hubs and I are forever pausing and saying "No way she'd say that to her queen." But it lends to the dynamic and the drama, which makes it fun to watch.

The thing is, in telling historical and historical-feeling fantasy, we have to make choices. We want to create an accurate-feeling world, but also be true to the demands of Story. In my Twelve Kingdoms and Uncharted Realms books, I deliberately blur the lines with my High Queen Ursula. With her sisters, then her lover, and then a few friends, she begins to unbend. But she's always and ultimately High Queen - and that affects everything in her life.  

In THE ORCHID THRONE, I went to great effort to separate Queen Euthalia from even her closest ladies. That's part of who she is. She's been raised to be a queen and that weight of responsibility - and the formality her position brings - never leaves her. Though part of her character arc is peeling away her mask and exposing the vulnerable person beneath. 

In writing about the lives of rulers - whether created characters or fictionalizing historical ones - we want to create credible pressures, while still satisfying that story itch. Grace Draven and I were chatting about this and she mentioned something interesting. She said, "I did have some readers who thought Ildiko was being unnecessarily cruel to Brishen [in EIDOLON] by suggesting he put her aside in favor of a Kai consort. I was like 'Folks, that's how this kind of thing works. Look into history. It happened. Harold and Edith Swan Neck are a great example of a monarch having to set aside a beloved consort in favor of a political marriage to save a kingdom.'" 

I encountered this, too, with THE MARK OF THE TALA, where some readers felt my heroine Andi was forced into having sex with her new husband, where I felt she made the choice consciously. Yes, she wed her enemy, but she did it with the full intention of being his wife, because that was part of her responsibility as a princess and then a queen. (Besides, she was totally into him ;-) ) 

In the end, I think we all make choices to balance story drama with enough real-life truth to make the characters feel true. 

Release Day on My Mind

On my mind this week is the ramp up to the release of Enemy Within  on July 17. I'll attach preorder links below. The sharp-eyed among you will note that this cover is NOT Enemy Within. No. It is the *other* thing on my mind - Enemy Mine is a hot novella in the same world as Enemy Within, in fact you briefly meet the hero of this story in Enemy Within. It's on my mind because it went live in serialization on Radish this week. New episodes will release for the next 19 weeks. 

This is pure experiment. I have no idea if the story will interest a new age bracket of readers or not. I hope it will, but the last time I checked, the only click on the first episode was mine, checking to make sure it had indeed published. But hey! If you Radish, you'll find this easily by searching on either the title or my name. 

This novella was originally published in e-format by Berkley. So you may have seen it before. 

Interesting tidbit. It was written on a dare issued by none other than our very own Jeffe Kennedy, who, it turned out, had to assist me with some of the psychology. But that's another story. 

What's really on my mind? The lovely and uplifting community of writers to which I so gratefully belong. 

Preorder links! These are for e-versions only. I understand Amazon is working on the link to the paper copy of the book (y'all I have serious sticker shock on that - but it wasn't my call) but I do not yet have that link for the physical copy. 

Amazon    Barnes and Noble     Itunes

On My Mind: Concept Fermentation

On my mind this week is the time an idea needs to stew before it is ready to become a compelling story. It's such an ambiguous yet necessary part of my process that refuses to be predictable or rushed. The most recent books in my Immortal Spy series I attempted to write on a schedule that allowed two weeks for concept fermentation. Two weeks. That should've been enough, right? Plenty of time for pondering and playing what-if. I already had the top-level concepts for all books in the series long before I released the first book.

So why wasn't two weeks enough to hash out a story?

Yet two weeks wasn't even close to enough time. We're talking months before the concepts really blossomed into something that resembled a layered plot that could carry a novel. Thank the Powers That Be that I'm not contractually obligated to deliver a completed book to a publisher on a set date; I'd be royally screwed. I'd be in breach, and I'd be persona non grata in the industry (deservedly so). As it is, I've earned no fair regard from my readers for the delay, which I truly regret.

Just this past week, the fog surrounding the fifth and sixth books finally faded. I'm 85% clear on how the characters will develop, what specific challenges they will fail and what challenges they'll ace, who will bear the brunt of which consequences and how that will manifest. I'm also clear on which tertiary characters will move them from beginning to end and which open threads from the previous books will be resolved as the series approaches the seventh and final book.

I have thirteen (incomplete) versions of the current WiP saved; thirteen versions of a story I tried to force into existence. Thirteen versions that petered out in the second arc because the concept wasn't fully baked. I tried to "write my way to right," to stimulate my imagination to conceive on the fly, to convince myself that what I had was workable, redeemable, fixable in edits, [insert platitude here]. I have months of arguably wasted effort sitting on my hard drive as some sort reassurance that because I wrote something I'm still working, I'm still a writer.

Being the sort of person who likes a plan and who thrives on ticking checkboxes on a list as a means of reinforcing my personal discipline, I find the unpredictability of how long it will take for a concept to fully ferment utterly aggravating. Once the story becomes clear, once I have jotted down all the pertinent points from beginning to end and completed something vaguely resembling an outline, I celebrate. I celebrate more at that moment than I do upon releasing the book.

Yes, I'm aware everybody has their own process, their own schedule, and their own methods of making it to The End. Yes, for this reason and so many others, it's sage advice to not compare your process or yourself to others as means of measuring success in a creative field. Still, I could do without the frustrations of waiting on a concept to fully ferment.

Rejuvenation and Goal-Setting

The pattern of frost-filigreed wisteria vines is so lovely. The winter holidays are such a great season for rest and rejuvenation - and our weather in the high desert of New Mexico has obliged with lots of snow and freezing temperatures. All the better to keep me cozied indoors and focusing on both relaxing and giving my mind the room to mull thoughts for the coming year.

I did something a little different this year. Not on purpose, but because in those last few days before guests arrived for the holidays, I just couldn't keep my attention on work.

Instead of fighting that - I let it go.

I spent those couple of days baking, wrapping gifts - and even tandem watching schlocky Christmas movies with a long-distance friend. The upshot is I went into the actual holidays feeling rested and calm, instead of stressed. I'm going to do this every year.

In fact, front-loading rejuvenation time rather than relying on post-effort recovery time is going to be my compass concept for 2019.

The other thing that's happened is that I relaxed and rested enough that I started to get a little bored - which meant I was excited to take on some business tasks, yay! - and my mind wandered quite a bit, of its own accord, to ideas for the coming year. A big part of that is going to be reducing back log and lists.

Some of those things:

Maintain Inbox Zero

Some people can live with full email inboxes. I just can't. I tend to treat my inbox like a To Do list, which means the emails in there weigh on me as tasks that remain unfinished. Worse, emails that are more important, and thus require more effort, tend to languish in there for months, growing hopelessly stale or often forgotten entirely.

To change this up:

• I already emptied all of my email inboxes and will start the new year with Inbox Zero
• I will treat email with the one-touch principle - each email gets touched once and dealt with
• to do this I will either reply immediately or
• file emails and add any reply tasks to my To Do List instead
• I'll also continue to check email only a couple of times each day, and then only after I get wordcount

Revivify To Do List

Related to the above, I'm going to make my running To Do List, which I keep on an Excel spreadsheet, more relevant and active. I have that same syndrome where some tasks tend to linger on it for MUCH too long, sliding from one day to the next, until they build up so much inertia from Dread & Procrastination that they feel like insurmountable obstacles.

To change this up:

• I will minimize tasks that float for a long time by
• distributing tasks instead of clumping (i.e., if I have a list of things to do for SFWA, I'll put them over several days or weeks instead of all on one day, then moving them as I don't finish them.
• And if I do move a task, I'll break it up into smaller tasks, then distribute over several days
• I'll give larger, longterm tasks a category (I already have these, like Finances, Business, Errands, etc.) and subtasks until complete
• Everything gets this treatment, rather than having very large tasks on my list that float with no progress

Reduce TBR List

Back in 2015, I made a spreadsheet (of course I did!) of all the books in my possession that I hadn't yet read. It lists the format (digital or paper), date acquired, reason to read, etc. I add to it as I acquire new books. All the books that I had at the time I made the spreadsheet got a date of October 27-29, 2015, which were the dates I entered them. When I made the list, I had something like 280 books on it. Today I have 316 and 233 of those are from October of 2015. (To be fair, those represent YEARS, possibly DECADES of unread residency in my life.) This list can feel like a crushing unfinished task, however, so I'm resolved to deal with this backlog.

To change this up:

• I will read one of these 233 books for every newer book I read, alternating them.
• I'm reducing my 25% commitment (reading at least the first 25% of every book) to 10%. If I'm not wanting to continue by then, off it goes.
• In fact, I'm going to get ruthless about this decision-making. If the book isn't making me glow with delight and LONG to keep going, then it goes. 

I've got a few other goal sets on my list - on a spreadsheet, OF COURSE! - but they feel more personal. What about you all - anything you're looking to change up this year?

All or Nothing

I took a class from someone who specializes in teaching writers to play to their strengths. Which meant identifying those strengths. That work was done and those of us in the class listened to lectures, chatted amongst ourselves and with our instructor, mostly trying to grasp how far of course each of us had drifted when it came to core personality traits and/or our wiring.

Think of it like vehicles with internal combustion engines. Some of us are motorcycles - lean, agile, able to zip around obstacles that stymy others, but side swipe us with a truck, and it's game over. Some of us are econoboxes - no frills workhorses who won't set any speed records, but we get where we're headed. Some are sporty models - high output engines, speed, flashy good looks and a tendency to end up sitting in repair shops because, man, those engines are fiddly. Or maybe a rusted, dented pickup truck with a lawnmower hanging out the back and one wheel that wobbles and a top speed on the freeway for 40.

At their core, all of these vehicles are the same, right? Wheels and internal combustion engines. But after that, they are all built entirely differently.

So are writers.

And yet, we tell ourselves that if THAT author is doing were-hamster/were-guinea pig mash up romances at the blistering clip of 16 new novels a year, then by all the gods, WE SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THAT TOO. If plotting is THE way to make writing easier and faster, then let's all learn to plot! So what if the only way we discover story is literally in the writing of it? We can learn anything! Well. Yes. As a matter of fact, we can learn anything. Yay, reading, right? But then we start applying everything we've taught ourselves and over time, we bog down. So we learn more things, trying to get unstuck. It rarely works. We've loaded waaay too much stuff into the sports car and completely ignored that vehicle's great strength - drama. I may stretching the analogy far too thin.

Back to the class I took. It was a series of epiphanies centered around figuring out how we as writers (and human beings) are wired to work. No two of us in the class were the same. But our instructor did a fabulous job of explaining what drives each of the different personalities. Interesting stuff trying to peel back layers of expectation to get at the core of your writing drive. Then, in the final class, the instructor began talking about people who are what she called 'the 0-100 percenters'. When these people do a thing, they DO the thing - no one and nothing else exists for them. That's the 100%. The rest of the time, these people are 0%. They might even deny they're writers during a 0% phase. She kept talking, mostly about the challenges versus the advantages of the type and how to structure your life to take advantage of it. I kept listening, my heart sinking.

I am one of those people. How do I know? After that class, I took the weekend off. I read four novels in two days. This had been my childhood. Devouring books. Getting in trouble because I couldn't stop reading long enough to do the chores my parents assigned me.

I'd always been amazed by (and maybe deeply suspicious of) people who could just read a chapter in a book and then put it down. Then I graduated to wondering what was wrong with me that I couldn't do that. It's because I'm just wired to be something different.

So where's the benefit? The day after finishing the fourth book, I wrote an insane number of words after having been stuck in the low triple digits for months. It was easy. It was fun. It's been a long time since I said that. That's the power of stripping way all the 'shoulds' around what we do and playing to your specific strengths. Now to fun something - anything - to completion.

Faith in Humanity on My Mind

What's on my mind? This'll shock you. Not at all.

Cats. And the near mortal blow taken by my once shining faith in humanity.  Let me introduce you to Fluffy. (Don't @ me. I did not name him. I inherited this stunning lack of imagination.) Fluffy is 15 and he lives outside, among the rocks and mangroves beside Tampa Bay where he was dumped by someone years ago.

Yes. I'm back to feline rescue. I met up with a group who manages this colony of cats. All of them dumped. Because several of the dumped cats weren't fixed before being abandoned, there's now a generation of truly feral (and spectacularly gorgeous) cats on site. Someone dumped a seal point Himalayan queen. She produced a glorious long-hair tortie and a stunning short-hair calico with blue eyes. All three are fixed now. And once a day, one of the colony managers goes out to put out food and fresh water for the crew. We have about twenty cats and a group of 6 people who work with the colony.

This is where faith in humanity is restored. Because this is where these cats live: In elevated shelters built by one of the men who originally began feeding these cats. That's Rocky on the shelf. There are two of these shelters. These shelters and all of the cats weathered Irma without a hitch.

We run a constant TNR (trap, neuter, release) program at this colony, because just as we reach 100% fix rates, some git comes along and dumps a litter of kittens. This happened late last year. My co-managers had trapped three of the four kittens. Three of those kittens were taken into rescue and homed. They all have human slaves of their very own. But we had one wily panther (solid black coat) who for WEEKS avoided our efforts to trap him. I was lucky enough to get him with a drop trap last Sunday. He was neutered, vaccinated, and returned to the colony on Wednesday evening.

 But that same Wednesday evening, not a mile up the road from where these fluffs live in the rough, I was accosted by a charming 6-7 month old, solid grey kitten. Obviously male. He is ultra-friendly and charming. I was at a beach bar and the staff told me they had a bunch of cats. I identified myself as one of the managers of the colony down the road (everybody knows it because of the excellent houses) and asked for permission to get on property and trap the cats. The general manager said, 'yes please.' I'm heart-broken that someone would dump such a love-hungry kitten when there's a perfectly good Humane Society with a robust foster program in the area. Surrendering an animal isn't a death sentence here, damn it. Abandoning them IS. So if anyone near FL wants a young, handsome gun metal blue kitten, hit me up. I have no idea how many cats are at that colony. I have no idea whether any of them are fixed or sick or  . . .  But I will find out.

The thing that preserves my faith in humanity is the number of people who stop when they see us taking care of the cats and telling us how much they love the cats and appreciate that we're looking after them no matter the weather. People bring us cat food. Some offer to help defray vet bill costs. It's really heartening.

The little grey guy is every bit as friendly as my sweet peach and white friend, above right. This is the one I would take home in a heartbeat were I not contractually obligated to only have two cats (on pain of losing my place to live.) He's looking for a sofa of his own, too. But here. The star of our friendly cat show is Rocky. This guy walks up to everyone who stops, shakes hands and says, "Welcome! Skritch my chin!"

If you obey his commands and rub his chin, he'll drool all over you in reward. Yes. We're actively looking for a home for him, too. He needs a human to boss around, don't you think?

On My Mind: The Political Price of Convenience

Riding heavy in my thoughts today: the political price of convenience.

It's on my mind because we're voting today in Ohio for gubernatorial primaries, a half-assed gerrymandering fix, and a tax increase to save our county's libraries. One of those votes is a no-brainer. One is a case of three-card monte that is likely to pass so politicians on both sides can say, "be grateful you got this much." Never mind that we voted--overwhelmingly (71% For)--to fix gerrymandering three years ago with an effective date of 2021 (after the next census, which is the normal timing for redistricting and one of a thousand reasons an accurate non-partisan census is critical...and why certain political entities are actively trying to skew the 2020 census through under-resourcing, lax oversight, and biased questions).

The primaries are, well, a reflection of which puppets rise to power when the public doesn't pay attention and doesn't act. It'll be interesting to see the voter-turnout numbers come morning. November isn't that far away, and it will be a make-or-break election for equality and justice on local, state, and national levels. Yet in non-presidential election years, voter turnout is notoriously low. Zealots tend to show up, the mainstream doesn't. That's how a nation wakes up one morning to find their status as a person has been reclassified as a target or as a vessel.

Why don't most US citizens 18+ show up to vote? Because it's not convenient. Time off work, queues, parking, identification on hand, etc. It really is the little things that keep most voters away. Sure, there are the bigger issues of voter suppression, bullying/threats at the polling sites, etc., and I'm not dismissing those as very real problems in far too many communities. That said, if you ask rando on the street why they didn't vote, "too busy" is the most common answer.  A pity really.

Yes, there are those who think "my vote won't matter, it's just one vote and I've more important things to do." Things like taking care of family, meeting up with friends, going to the grocery, going to social services, waiting in the ER...Yet if voting was as convenient as taking a Facebook quiz many more citizens and communities would have their voices heard.

Let's face it, Congress really screwed the pooch when they fucked off enough that their constituents started paying attention. Making the common voter care for longer than 24 hours on an election day is the worst thing a politician can do, regardless of party. Constituents with informed opinions are inconvenient and dangerous to the longevity of a political career; particularly when that career is built on corporate interests overriding community interests. Informed constituents who have minimal barriers to voting would be revolutionaries.

The technology is there to support palm-of-your-hand convenience. Can voting be convenient and secure? Of course. The power is in the local and federal governments' hands, they just have to want to do it badly enough that they're willing to pay for it...financially and politically.

Making voting convenient, and you make politicians accountable.

To Run or Not to Run

On my mind this week and the week past: Running for public office. I can't believe I said it out loud. I hate politics. Yeah, I see you laughing and nodding. We roll our eyes and say things like 'all politicians are liars/crooks/insert accusation du jour here'. It's sort of this decade's lawyer joke. Except that's not what I'm talking about when I say I hate politics. 

You know I'm an introvert. So when I say I loathe politics, I mean that the idea of going to meetings with people wasting time, breath, and money using too many words and hours in an attempt to manipulate me into doing what they want makes me want to stab icepicks in my ears. And maybe theirs. HATES it, my precious. 

I laugh nervously about my chances of even getting voted into anything resembling an office. I'm a Wiccan living in the south. That's a tough sell. And frankly, I'm kinda left of left. So I'd expect to get laughed right out of the polls. But eh. I've had my share of unkind rejection letters. Losing would frankly be a bit of a relief. And yet I still mull the idea of filing to run. 

Why would I entertain the thought of doing something like running for public office when I claim to hate the whole process?  ESPECIALLY the fund raising part? Because I've discovered there's something I hate even more.

Dead children. Specifically, needlessly dead children. I am sick to death of 'thoughts and prayers'. I am sick to my soul of a bunch of old guys in suits wringing their hands in front of the TV cameras only to back to jacking off the NRA in the back office with one hand and eviscerating healthcare that might treat disturbed, hurting children with the other. I'm done with them. It's clear that more and more parents in this country are also done with them.

So I don't know yet. I'm still noodling. Because it's something I *really* do not want to do. It wouldn't be a step out of my comfort zone. It would be a damned drop from orbit. In just a wing suit. Still. Were I to take that leap, it would be because James wrote an excellent position paper. And I feel like plenty of parents would resonate with a platform of:

No parent should have to drop a kid at school with the parting words: May the odds be ever in your favor.

On My Mind This Week: Dogs

Huzzah! It's the Year of the Dog! Huzzah! 

For a dog-lover like me, it's a good sign. Except...well, last year I had to say goodbye to my beloved husky. He was 15, a rescue who'd put up with me and my weird for 14 of those years. He'd started life as the hot-potato dog, bouncing through four homes before landing in mine. He settled in rather quickly, leaving us birds in our slippers. In the inimical opinion of my Samoyed who'd joined the family first, the husky was...tolerable. He enjoyed long walks but was afraid of sewer covers, puddles, and thunderstorms. He routinely dug up moles then tried to convince the poor traumatized things to be his playmates (they declined as politely possible). Whenever I was on the phone, he would include himself in the conversations. He would never steal food off the table (not even the coffee table), but he would sneak it out of your hand if you happened to be distracted. He loved people. A guard dog, he was not.

Eventually, time does what it inevitably must. Not since grad school have I been without a four-footed companion. (I assure you, that's longer ago than I want to consider.) I've completed the painful parts of grieving and progressed to happy memories. For some months now, I've auditioned this strange freedom from responsibility for another life and have come to the conclusion that being dogless is no fun.

There are millions of dogs in need of homes. Their great big eyes and pleading expressions pulling at all the heartstrings. Oh aye, adoption is an option. Especially when you're looking for a dog who's aged out of his puppy years.

I came close to bringing home a big floof who'd been abandoned at the start of the winter holidays, but, darn it, I showed up at the shelter mere minutes too late. However, when a pup lands in a happy furever home, I'm happy...even if the home isn't with me.

My second attempt was a huge adoption event put on by area shelters and rescues. We're talking hundreds of dogs. Thousands of people showed up. Over 800 animals joined new families. Alas, mine was not one of them. Seeing the joy on faces young and old as they received kisses of gratitude from their new pets? Priceless.

Oh, but then, but then I found a breed-specific rescue one state over that has multiple blue-eyed shedders in need. Yes, yes, I promptly submitted my application. Yes, yes, it takes time for volunteers to vet applicants. Yes, rescue leagues are far more particular than shelters.

Now I wait...

Dear reader, I finally discovered the one thing that'll make me refresh my inbox more often than queries and submissions--rescue application approval. 

So that is why dogs are on my mind this week.