Of the Proselytizers

Beneath the shimmer of russet leaves,
lies a cunning rabbit snare, and
entwining the trees, poison ivy 
blushes crimson. 

Beware the idyllic seeming of the tavern
nearby; the innkeeper steals souls
with a goblet of mead. 
The customers
hold knives, hiding them with smiles.
They invite you to the kirk in the grove
where they flay you with words, oaths,
and ancient spars of wood.

Best to avoid this land, despite the
enticing invitation, the siren song
pitched to the maw of your heart.
Instead, step with sure feet to your destination,
holding yourself in your thoughts. 
Make peace with the wound
in your heart. Know there are many paths
to find blessings.
Photo by Jill Burrow on Pexels.com

Soaking Up the Weekend

Mood

It’s Saturday, and we’re trying to wake up. Blasting “80’s Alternative Essentials” off Apple Music. I’m grooving on it. Not sure about whether my husband is grooving on it. His choice would have been Celtic; I needed something more wakey than that.

Another bat

Photo by Vijay R on Pexels.com

(Note: we just packed up another bat for Public Health after we caught Chloe trying to eat it. We’re awake now.)

Weekends with my husband

The big difference for me between weekdays and weekends is that on the weekends, I have my husband all day Sunday and some Saturdays. Lately I don’t see him till 9 PM because he’s practicing to perform in a local musical. Now that I have him all day today, what are we going to do?

We’re in our 50’s. We’re probably going to sit in the living room and soak up the cool, listen to music. I’m probably going to edit my latest WIP. We’ll share things we find on the Internet.

When I hang out with my husband, it’s so much better than when I hang out alone. I can bounce things off him, make faces at him, joke with him.

I’m really scattered today

I keep jumping from task to task, and it’s taken me four or five tries to get this blog finished. I guess I’ll stop here.

What’s Up

What’s on my stereo

I’m playing Rock Lobster by the B-52s, which isn’t conducive to writing but is conducive to bewildering my husband at this time of the morning. I’m using it to wake up.

What’s on my mind

I feel like the summer is slipping away from me. I have a month before fall meetings start, and I pretty much have my course sites (the difficult part for me) set up for the Fall. I assume the university will be de-masked, with those students without vaccinations at risk for getting sick, unless we get a variant more daunting than the delta version.

Photo by Karina Zhukovskaya on Pexels.com

I’m going to have to get used to not having to set up a camera and microphone, not having to stand glued in one specific place, and not having to spray the chairs and tables with disinfectant (called “Bearcat Thunder”) between classes. Thank goodness.

What’s in my heart

I’m struggling in my heart. I haven’t fallen in love with anything lately, and love is what fuels me to write. I wrote a poem the other day, though, about one of the things I hate the most: proselytizing. Specifically, the hand extended when someone says “Jesus loves you” only to pull you into a place where Jesus purportedly hates everything you are. (I believe that Jesus loves who we are regardless.) There might have been a crush involved, and an intense disappointment.

My emotions are not strong lately, and I’ve always written out of a place of strong emotions. This is not entirely true — Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Planet was written out of a sense of fun, and I’ve made it to the first edit stage.

What’s on my plate

As I mentioned above, I’m editing Kel and Brother Coyote, which if I haven’t mentioned it, is a serial novella in the space opera genre. I’m hoping to get it on Vella just to see how well Vella works. It will, of course, need edits.

I’m waiting for beta reader responses on both Gaias Hands and Kringle in the Night. These will be self-published on Amazon. Gaia’s Hands is a contemporary fantasy romance, and the first book I wrote, and thus has gone through many, many rewrites. It asks the question: what is hidden from plain sight? Kringle in the Night is the second in the Kringle Chronicles series to come out at Christmas time. Both of them have atypical protagonists — imperfect, ordinary, made extraordinary by what might be called magic.

So I have things to edit, things to re-edit, and hopefully things to publish (self-) various places. I will also keep submitting to agents, but I keep that to every six months or so.

So it’s not like I’m not busy. I’m just not creating right now, and it makes me itchy. I need to submerge me into the editing.

Hello

So jump into my comments and tell me how you’re doing!

Getting Back Into Writing

I haven’t done a lot of writing lately

I really haven’t done a lot of writing lately. I’ve been tired and dragging, taking lots of naps, doing a lot of editing of prior works. This means I have about 5 novels that I could submit today if I were in a submission cycle, two needing beta readers, and one that I will finish at Camp NaNo this year. Hopefully.

I feel like I’m losing the knack

It’s been so long since I’ve written a novel start to finish that I don’t know if I can do it again. Of course I can; it’s only been six months. But when I write that down, six months seems like such a stretch. I’ve been editing things for that long, which uses a different set of muscles, as it were.

To be fair, I have almost completed a serial space opera of novella size, so it’s not like I’m not writing. In fact, that whole last paragraph sounds stupid if I take that into account, doesn’t it? It’s not like novels are a whole different beast than novellas, is it?

Ok, never mind

There is a tend to aggrandize novel writing over other forms of writing. I’ve never had anyone ooh and ahh over short stories. Novelists are a rare breed (hint: No, they’re not) and what they do is mysterious. So non-novel writing is, indeed, writing.

I must go write. Bye!

An Excerpt of My Current Project

Arriving at Port Serenity

“I miss my new ship already,” Kel Beemer groused as the shuttle lifted off toward the Ridgeways. Her new ship, the spoils of subduing two slavers, had been detached from her former passenger/light cargo ship, the Stalwart. Before her lay Ridgeway III, restricted class beauty world. And beside her in the shuttle were two handcuffed slavers, their unharmed victims, and the man who got her into the mess. The runner in control of the shuttle sat rigidly, not looking back at his passengers. Maybe, Kel thought, he was having a rough day.

Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com


“We’ll get back to your ship,” her new partner, Brother Coyote said, his lanky height folded into the small seat. “What are you going to name your ship?”


“I don’t know yet.”


She ran her hands through her buzzed blonde hair in a characteristic gesture and scowled in her passenger seat. Kel could only imagine how she looked after a dramatic scuffle with the slavers. “Am I going to get a chance to freshen up before I meet the Prime Minister?”


“You mean the Convener of the Moot,” Coyote corrected. And smiled. “Not likely, but knowing my mom, she won’t notice. She’s never been interested in outward appearances.”


Kel grimaced. Brother Coyote looked a little rumpled in his order’s garb, yet serene, his staff across their knees as if it didn’t focus immense energies and create wormholes. His long blond hair had even fallen back into place. She looked like a shipper complete in jumpsuit and the de rigeur buzz cut. With her big brown eyes and diminuitive stature, she looked little older than the two chatting merrily across from her. She did, however, feel every hour of her 32 years, especially when about to meet the head parliamentarian of Ridgeway III, who was also Coyote’s mother. What a mess.


“I should warn you,” he smiled. “She doesn’t want me to leave Ridgeway III again, and will try to exert pressure on me to get me to stay. And on you, of course.”


Of course. This was going to be a trip to remember.

###

Kel expected a guard station at Ridgeway III’s port, which she discovered was named Port Serenity. Cute name, she thought, as the party whisked through the almost empty customs office with no difficulty.


Kel learned the reason why at the other side of the gate. A woman at the center of a small collection of people, dressed in a muumuu of deep purple shot with gold thread, held her arms out. Brother Coyote stepped away from Kel’s side and rushed toward the figure – doubtless his mother with her entourage.


Coyote’s hug enveloped his mother, who was not much taller than Kel herself, although much better dressed.


“How was your little trip?” the Convener of the Moot said in a warm alto voice as she held him at arm’s length.


“Oh, Mom,” Coyote said, “I need to introduce you to my partner.” He stepped back toward Kel, who checked escape routes only to find none.


“Partner!” Coyote’s mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d slipped your bonds for a partner!” She stepped forward to envelop Kel in a massive hug, and Kel found she couldn’t escape. The Convener of the Moot smelled like exotic flowers, and Kel smelled like – she didn’t want to think about it.


“I’m not that kind of partner –“ Kel squeaked.


“What am I thinking?” Kel’s mother exclaimed, letting Kel loose. “You need a bath and a good rest before dinner. Bojun, take Kel to the Statehouse and settle her in.”


“But Mom, where is she going to stay?” Coyote – Bojun? – pleaded.


“In your room, of course.” And she and her entourage drifted away in a cloud of frangipani, taking the twins and the prisoners with them.

Limericks

Fifth Grade:

A lion lived in a zoo

Photo by Petr Ganaj on Pexels.com

along with a hog and a gnu

“I could eat three or more,”

said the lion with a roar.

The gnu said, “shame, shame on you!”

Yesterday (47 years later)

A cannery worker named Stan

concocted a devious plan —

he threw the town mayor

onto a conveyor,

and that’s how the mayor got canned.

If a tree doesn’t fall

If a writer sits in a forest

And the tree doesn’t fall,

Does anybody hear?

Too late, skip that,

Hey there, nice hat,

How you been, good day,

Wish I had more to say.

If the bird sits in the forest,

Keeps his song to himself –

Does anybody know?

No time, too rushed,

Gotta go catch my bus,

Still don’t know why

I don’t have any time.

If a forest lives

In the heart of a writer

And nobody finds it,

Does anybody care?

Writers’ Block

I’ve been suffering from writers’ block lately

I’m trying to finish Kel and Brother Coyote Save the Planet, but I’m dealing with serious writers’ block lately. I’ve been doing marketing stuff in the morning (even if the things I have down the pipeline are stalled) and sleeping in the afternoon. This may mean I’m depressed; I don’t know. But I do know I’ve been staring at that manuscript and coming up with nothing.

This is a job for Camp NaNo

NaNoWriMo, as I’ve mentioned in these pages, is a world-wide event where people attempt to write 50k words toward a novel in the month of November. Camp NaNo occurs in May and August, and it’s a smaller, less onerous event that I like to think of as training wheels for NaNo. You can pick your word count (as long as it’s over 10k) and feel free to work on something other than word count, such as editing. (Note: you can do that for NaNo as well, keeping in mind that 1 hour editing = 1000 words).

I’m going to put Kel and Brother Coyote as my Camp project (plus editing/plotting for another project) to see if it motivates me. Given that Camp (and NaNo) are a combination of gamification and camaraderie, I think I have a fighting chance.

I need a new project

Finishing up these old projects isn’t very motivating. In fact, I would really like to start something new. I just haven’t been inspired lately. I get motivated by relationship between people, and the short story list I have doesn’t seem to do that. (It’s very clever and science fiction-y, because my husband helped me with it.)

I want to write another novel. Real absorption into a world. But I need ideas for that as well.

Give me ideas

If you have any ideas for a romantic fantasy, let me know!