I am an associate professor of human services at a regional Midwestern university. I am also a writer of fantasy and romance, hoping to get traditionally published. I have one husband and am owned by four cats.
I have an odd definition of romantic that does not involve bouquets of roses, ornate proposals, or diamond rings. What is romantic, to me, needs to be rooted to what’s meaningful to the couple in question.
For example, if your partner likes sunflowers, giving sunflowers will be much more romantic than giving roses. A public proposal is anti-romantic, serving only to satisfy the proposer’s ego, but a private proposal where you two first met has promise. Saving a ribbon, or a playbill or other memento, is a romantic gesture saying “I will remember you.”
Context, the context of the couple, is vitally relevant. Romance is a shorthand for a set of breathless feelings that the two will hopefully remember years later with the reminder of a moment. Generic content creates bland shared language.
I have given up on my Big Audacious Goal for this year, which was having a booth at an author’s conference. I believe it the goal was too big and audacious for me, which is a hard thing to admit.
I have promoted my books at small appearances — a book fair in Maryville, MO, another in St. Joseph. I handle those fine because they’re small and local. A conference feels threatening to my somewhat introverted self. I see myself as an indie author, and I don’t enjoy comparing myself to people who get publishing contracts. This is my little hobby, as long as I’m still employed full-time in my day job.
Is the amount of sales and exposure worth a table fee and a conference visit? If Gateway Con in St. Louis was still operational, I’d say yes. That was a small and valuable conference that gave me a lot in return. I could sit a table there. A bigger conference, maybe not. I’ll be honest — I’m intimidated by ‘real authors’. I feel like an impostor in those settings.
I’m thinking of another Big Audacious Goal. In the middle of an indolent summer, none are coming to me. Little goals: Have my Loomly calendar (promotion) set up through January 1. (Done). Set up Kringle Through the Snow for October 1 publication. (Done). Prepare Reclaiming the Balance for January 1 publication (in process; still a bit chicken). Blog daily (so far, so good). Finish Carrying Light (almost done).
No Big Audacious Goals yet. Can anyone suggest one for a sleepy indie author?
It’s Monday, and I’m not feeling motivated. I spent the morning working on class-related work and got quite a bit done. I promised myself I would write on my book in the afternoon if I got my classwork done. Now it’s afternoon, I am two and a half chapters from done with this book, and I do not know where I’m going.
I’m procrastinating by reading Facebook, and by writing this (although I consider this more of a warmup than a procrastination.) What can I do to keep from procrastinating?
Break the task down into smaller tasks. I have about 1000-1500 words to write to finish this chapter. Can I break this down into three groups of 500?
Put a motivator at the end of this task. If I get done, I can … play on the Internet. Or nap. Napping sounds fun.
Start doing the task for 15 minutes, promising myself that if I am still not feeling it, I can quit.
These are my go-tos for procrastination. See you in 15 minutes.
I’m three chapters away from finishing the first draft of Carrying Light, after which I am going to put it in a dark drawer (figuratively) for three months or more before I look at it again. To be sure, I don’t need a final copy for at least two years. I have two books that would get published ahead of it, Reclaiming the Balance (hopefully Jan. 1, 2025) and The Avatar of the Maker (hopefully Jan. 1, 2026). I also have one book that would be published after it, Whose Hearts are Mountains (January 1, 2028 if all works well). What will influence the publication dates is my cover artist, because I trust her vision on the books better than anyone else’s (she’s my niece).
The next project is going to be a final edit of Reclaiming the Balance. I’m still on the fence about publishing that one. It’s a different novel about the collective known as Barn Swallows’ Dance. It centers on a relationship between a human with a vengeful Archetype ex-boyfriend and a potential, unique partner. The conflict is in her relationship and in the collective trying to prevent her kidnapping. And in the dichotomy between the collective’s progressive attitudes and their very real prejudice. There’s action, kidnapping, a battle, and an attack. I just hope it’s not too “brainy”.
Publishing the Hidden in Plain Sight pieces (all the above-named) is nerve-wracking; I have a lot more invested in those than I do the Christmas romances. The Kringle Chronicles series is fluffy and fun. The Hidden in Plain Sight series is more serious (with glimmers of humor; I can’t go without that) and sometimes even dark. It’s where I ask about the possibilities ahead.
I will publish them eventually, because what’s the good of asking about the possibilities ahead if nobody reads them?
We got up early to write this morning, having arrived at Starbucks by 6:15. I’ve written 500 words done in two and a half hours, which is slow, but I’ve had to do several searches on Google in the process. I searched mostly on the nutrition status of several wild greens. I’m happy to say that garlic mustard is high in Vitamin C, so after shipping and imports in the US have broken down, people will still be able to get Vitamin C by eating weeds.
I’m writing about the collapse of the United States, after all. How does one prepare for that? Self-sufficiency (which is impossible, it turns out) and barter arrangements. If one anticipates the worst, one can prepare. A collective with a high number of educated individuals can anticipate, so this is not the tension in the group. Instead, they struggle with the fact that they will weather the catastrophic failure of the economy. Their battle is whether to share with others vs hide within themselves. With preternatural entities and a miraculous garden, this is not a trivial matter. A value conflict, with a side of fear.
I have had to do a lot of searches to write this book. Everything Barn Swallows’ Dance does to adapt to a calamitous change, I have to research. Questions like ‘How much wheat do 65 people eat in a year?’, ‘Dry-wash media for biodiesel’, ‘Nutrition in garlic mustard’, and ‘How much tannerite needed to collapse a building?’. (The latter question is one of those that writers have nightmares about, fearing the FBI will show up on the doorstep.)
It took the Internet to entice me to write. Before, I had the same questions to answer, but no way to do it quickly. Whose Hearts are Mountains was a story I started in graduate school, but never finished because I didn’t know what life in a desert was like. Once the Internet matured to the point where I could ask questions, I could write.
I need to go back to writing, but first, I need to find a recipe for garlic mustard pesto.
Today, I got reassurance about pantsing (aka “flying by the seat of my pants”). A reminder: I’ve been pantsing Carrying Light because I didn’t like the outline I set up for it. I found the outline rather weak and not supportive of any real depth, so I’ve been writing without the outline. As I’ve said before, I hate writing like that because I feel like I’m just making things up as I go along.
I encountered something that made me feel a lot better about this method, though. A book I wrote a few years ago in the Hidden in Plain Sight series (it’s got two books or maybe three ahead of it for publication) is one of my favorites. I had to go back to it because the end of Carrying Light refers to the flashback events in Whose Hearts are Mountains. I needed to know the names of six people killed in the siege on the University of Illinois campus. (Yes, I trashed my alma mater.)
Cat hidden in plain sight.
What I discovered is that I did not empty the trash in the Scrivener program, and that I clearly edited a great deal of the book, to where I found more pages in the trash than in the book. I hadn’t remembered that until looking at all the material in the garbage.
I remember now what happened — I got a developmental editor involved, and she did not make the suggestions that led me to the drastic remodel of the book. I finished her developmental edits (which were excellent) and then realized that the story needed better flow. Then I completely gutted the story and reorganized it.
I will doubtless do the same with Carrying Light once I set it in a drawer for a while. I don’t know if it will require as much attention, because I’ve learned something about plotting from tearing apart Whose Hearts are Mountains.
I love using ProWritingAid. If you don’t know, it’s a program that helps with grammar, spelling, and word choice. It has done a lot to refine my language when writing. However, I don’t always take its advice, and this is why:
ProWritingAid asks me if I “could use a more vivid verb than this adverb.” Is ‘preternaturally’ not vivid enough? Really?
ProWritingAid consistently corrects ‘not even’ as ‘lopsided’. I’m lopsided kidding.
It just suggested replacing ‘happen to be’ with ‘are’ Here’s the sentence: “I happen to be interested in Sierra, not a nerd.” ‘I are interested?’
I’m sitting at home again today, cowering in the air conditioning because “it’s going to be another hot one,” in Midwest parlance. I’m listening to playlists that help me concentrate, hoping they’ll inspire me to finish the last three chapters of Carrying Light.
I know that talking about the weather is the smallest of small talk, the type of inoffensive speech that makes it safe to talk to total strangers. I hate small talk, preferring to talk about people’s passions, as I am passionate about mine. But look at the freaking heat index!
We’re under a heat advisory here in Northwest Missouri. The heat index (a measure of how heat and humidity get together to cause misery) is 108 degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature without the heat index will be 98 degrees F. People die of heat stroke at these temperatures. I won’t be going out today because I take medications that make me prone to the consequences of high temperatures. (Of course, human nature being what it is, I desperately want to go to Starbucks to write.)
I think about climate change a lot when the weather gets like this. It’s not just my imagination; scientists note an increase in weather incidents like this. On average, our world is getting hotter. I think about this from the viewpoint of someone sixty years old: I remember when we didn’t worry about this. I don’t want to worry, but I am worried. How will this affect the world’s people?
As a Midwesterner (United States), I’ll be far away from the flooding and some of the extremes as they come. But how will people in poverty fare? People without air conditioning? There are ways of living, but do we still know them? Do we remember how to do them? What will we have to give up of our 21st Century values to enact them?
I wonder how life will change. I wonder if I cannot change my life enough to make any difference in the slide into turbulent weather. Thinking this as I sit in my writing spot is a lonely moment, because it’s sobering to think about a future I can’t control. To think it all goes downhill from here.
I could be wrong. We are always on the brink of great innovation. Change is always possible. Maybe someday, riches will be measured in how we relate to others. I do not feel optimistic at this moment in 98 degrees F.
So far, so good. I wrote a 750-word breakup argument, which was a lot of fun. It’s a reminder that I need to get more of the relationship between Forrest and Sage into the book. Remember, I’m pantsing this book (aka “Flying by the seat of my pants”), which means I figure out what’s wrong in retrospect.
I only have four chapters after this before Carrying Light is done. I could happy cry. When I’m done, I’m going to put the novel into a figurative desk drawer to see if fresh eyes will find all the changes I need to make. And then what? I have a novel to re-edit for January 1 publication if I don’t chicken out. It’s a somewhat unusual novel with very different focus from the previous Hidden in Plain Sight novel Apocalypse. I have a couple ideas for novels, but I’m not happy with either one of them. Maybe it’s time to write more short stories. But about what?
People have suggested elven detectives in the manner of Howard the Duck, a battalion of squirrels, and a library run by sentient marmots. These will not happen.
Words Like Me 