I don’t know who reads this blog.
I don’t know who reads this blog.
Yes, it’s only halfway through the month of October, and southern Iowa is getting snow. We’re just getting the greyest skies imaginable, with a bit of fog and a touch of wind. I’m ready for snow — heck, I’m ready for anything with my cup of ginger tea and my cranking weather radio because I’m a Midwesterner.
I want to write about more than the weather, however. Because this blog is often a warm-up for my other writing (such as the novel I’ll be writing for NaNo), I tend to write off the top of my head, which involves:
1) Weather
2) Setting
3) Where my head is at
4) What I’ve been up to
Maybe that’s okay. I’ve put up a writers’ blog where I’m talking about more writerly stuff at lleachie.wixsite.com/laurenleachsteffens . I don’t write as often there because I don’t write writerly things every day. I will be mobilizing that as my writers’ website very soon.
But I should tell you that The Kringle Conspiracy is available for pre-order on Amazon. Type in my full name, and you should be able to find it!
Less than a month before the US presidential elections, and I am praying.
I am a pretty sanguine person for the most part. I generally don’t threaten to leave the country if my candidate doesn’t win. I believe that the US cycles between Democrat and Republican naturally and that we slowly make progress.
That was, until this last election. I knew Trump was going to be bad by his campaign, which ridiculed, scapegoated, and threatened anyone he didn’t perceive as his base. His strategy worked — although Hillary won the popular vote, Trump won the electoral vote.*
Trump has been worse for the country than even I imagined. Eroding world regard for the US, making policy decisions out of spite or self-interest, the naked and self-aggrandizing emperor parades across the golf course of his reign. He courts the extreme right while denigrating those who have served in the military, and instead of decorum he rants on social media. The stock market explodes in volatility as he makes erratic decisions. His view of the country veers ever closer to fascism, with him as the ruler for life.
I don’t want him to have four more years. I want to see my country recover and prosper. I want the white supremacy to be driven like cockroaches into dark corners where they’ll starve. I want us to become equals to Europe instead of the laughing stock we’ve become.
And so I pray, and I cry for what this country has become.
*For those of you living in true or representative democracies, the electoral vote is an arcane peculiarity of the US. For those of you in the US, the electoral vote is an arcane peculiarity of the US.
This morning, I’m listening to Parliament-Funkadelic and drinking my coffee to wake me up. If this doesn’t work, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. The mornings are pretty dark now and getting colder.
I don’t feel like I’m 57 years old until I remember and then count the years from that point: twenty-nine years from the time I got hit by a car; forty years from my first boyfriend; fifteen years from when I got tenure. Fifty-two years from when I got my tonsils out.
I remember fixtures from my life that changed in the technological revolution. I remember my speech teacher recording me with a reel-to-reel tape recorder. I remember my first transistor radio. I remember the portable tape recorder roughly the size of a package of Chips Ahoy. The computer with the grey screen and the green letters, typing in commands at the prompt.
Still, I don’t feel 57. The number seems too high; its proximity to senior-citizenhood too close. I’m not resigned to go quietly into my twilight years. Expect me to make waves. Expect me to write.
I spent yesterday getting my author’s presence on two websites that handle reviews: Goodreads and BookBub. This largely consisted of trying to figure out how to do it, which is not obvious by going to the page.
I’m discovering how much of promoting the book is learned by sitting in author’s groups on Facebook and asking questions. I don’t know what I would have done before Facebook groups. I certainly didn’t know how to find this information and my Google game is excellent.
One thing I’ve observed — I don’t think I need these connections with other professionals until I actually need information. This is a failing of mine, because it assumes that I can’t give back, and eventually I will be able to. But maybe it’s a common failing, especially for an introvert like I’ve become.
And now for a shameless self-promo moment:
This is what my author page looks like. If you want to see it bigger, look here:
So, October’s a bit warm right now. We sat on the patio at the local steakhouse for dinner last night and it was only a tiny bit cold in my shirt sleeves. Even when the cold front comes in Thursday, our highs are going to be in the seventies.
Even though the days are gloriously warm even as the leaves turn, I strangely look forward to the snap in the air, the frost, the chill rain under black skies. Especially the rain.
I had a cloak, a heavy and billowy thing of burgundy tweed with a lining of velour. There was nothing better than that for an autumn evening, especially if it was misting. The cloak had a bonnet hood with it to keep off the rain. I still have the cloak, but it desperately needs cleaning from hanging on a basement rack and there’s rips in the lining. And I feel a little self-conscious wearing it now, to be honest. It’s a quite spectacular cloak.
I look forward to the withered grasses, the brown, sere roadsides, the grey skies. I await the chill evenings, the dreary rainstorms, the crisp orange and brown mornings, the touch of frost. Summer has been with us too long.
It’s Monday, but I have a cup of marvelous, home-roasted and fresh ground coffee. I have at least seven reviewers for my book doing their reviews. I have character sheets (see yesterday’s post) for my two main characters in Kringle in the Dark.
I still don’t want to go to work today. No reason; it’s just Monday, and I’ve had too much time at home (not off; I worked Thursday and Friday and answered emails Saturday and Sunday). Class is going to be relatively simple this week, but still. It’s the idea of going back when I’ve been immersed in a couple relaxing days.
I don’t relax well, but this weekend I relaxed, probably because my brain just shut down and allowed me little more than some light reading. Maybe it will help me think.
I’ll do my work this week, masterminding some strategies for publicizing the novel this week. I want my ads to go outside the writers community (because otherwise it’s like multilevel marketing where we’re all selling to each other). I have problems to solve this week and blurbs to rewrite.
And I won’t complain about Monday.
Today I’m going to play with character sheets for the two main characters in the next Kringle book, which I will be working on during NaNo in November.
One of the characters will be Brent Oberhauser. Brent is 29 years old, tall and slender. He would have ash blond hair if he were not shaving his head bald to hide his receding hairline. He has a pale beige complexion and ice blue eyes, and black framed glasses that somewhat conceal his striking good looks. This makes him a light summer in seasonal color analysis. He is a PhD candidate in Medievalist History whose dissertation is titled “Scandal and Secret: The Sex Lives of Clergy in the 1300s”. He works as a teaching assistant in the history department at University of Colorado-Denver and as a part-time barista at the cafe, which he does in part because of the social aspects.
His father was career Army in Civil Affairs. He spent 20 years in the military and left with the rank of Colonel; he is now a freelance consultant. His mother died when he was seven.
Brent has a somewhat contentious relationship with his father, mostly because of what his father calls his spacy demeanor. In reality, Brent is an idealist who masks his disappointment in humor. He loves music, including EDM and jazz, and he participates in a local medieval reenactment group. He dresses in shirt/tie/sweater and chinos to teach, sweaters and jeans casually, and jeans/t-shirt to work as a barista.
Meanwhile, Sunshine Watson is 5’5″, athletically built, with medium brown skin and black hair; its style tends to change often. Her seasonal color is dark winter. She works as an accountant for Yes, Virginia, a nebulous non-profit funding charitable Christmas works in the Denver area. She attended University of California Berkeley, and traveled for a couple years working as an accountant before moving to Denver. She moved to Denver because she wanted to live near the mountains.
Sunshine’s Dad — was career Army, spending 20 years working as a Horizontal Construction Engineer. He retired with rank of captain. He now is a contractor. Sunshine’s mother was an accredited financial counselor working with military personnel. She has been all over the world because of the military, and her parents made sure she was given a broad cultural background.
Sunshine has a sardonic way of looking at things, unless she’s talking about what she’s passionate about, such as travel and world cultures, her family, and justice. She is extremely experiential; she became an accountant to earn money toward her travels. She lives frugally so she can do so; she dresses sharply through sales and an interchangeable, classic wardrobe.
This whole publishing thing is unnerving me.
I’m currently in the stage where I have ARC reviewers with a review copy in their hands and they’ll come back and review for me on Amazon. I’m petrified. Of course, I want honest reviews, but I want honest GOOD reviews. Don’t we all?
I’m trying to figure out what to do for a virtual book-signing party. Especially the book signing.
I find myself getting weepy and on edge. I have been blessed with what is in effect a four-day weekend so my weepiness doesn’t get in the way of my job.
Damn it, this is supposed to be fun!
So, let me remember that. This is supposed to be fun. This is an accomplishment I didn’t think would happen — both in terms of being published at all and in terms of making self-publishing work.
Deep breath.
So, would you like to come to a virtual book signing party?
I have no idea how to sign books in a virtual book signing party, or how to serve cake on Zoom. It sounds like a crazy idea to me, but it could be fun.
At the same time, I hate throwing parties. I’m afraid nobody will come. Yes, there’s a certain part of self-pity involved there, I know. I try not to indulge it.
So let me indulge something else: What would a virtual book signing party work?