Ramblings from the Desert

The Canvas Thief

2012-03-13T14:59:00.002-06:00

This being, my largely abandoned blog, I forgot to mention that my latest novel, The Canvas Thief, published by Carina Press, is now available!
*********************

Ten years ago, with two perfect drawings, Maya Stephenson accidentally did the impossible. She brought her graphic novel’s characters–Benjamin Black, a thief, and Adam Sayres, a cop–into our world.

Benjamin is tired of the real world and determined to go home to EverVerse, the land of imaginary characters. He breaks into Maya’s house, planning to force her to destroy his drawings, which will Fade him to EverVerse. The last thing he wants is a relationship, especially with the person who dragged him into this world. But when he meets Maya, his heart starts insisting he’s already home.

Maya has always suspected she’s different. But until Benjamin and Adam appear in her life, she’s been the epitome of normal. And normal girls date guys with respectable day jobs. So why are her thoughts and hormones getting sidetracked by Benjamin, the enigmatic thief? Especially when Adam, “the good guy,” is available and interested.

Except real world Adam is a crime lord masquerading as an ATF agent. From Maya, he wants an army of immortals. From Benjamin, he wants immortality independent of his drawings, which can only be achieved if Benjamin Fades to EverVerse, taking one of Adam’s drawings with him.

Benjamin and Maya fight their attraction, all the while coming up with reasons to see each other. But falling is love is the least of their troubles. Not when Adam is willing to do anything, including hurting Maya’s friends and family, to get what he wants.

******************
Buy it from Carina Press and Amazon and Audible (audio book).
Read Chapter One here.

The Music of Chaos, Free Book Contest

2011-07-22T14:21:00.008-06:00

Free urban fantasy book! Free art! That right, free.

Win a free copy of my quirky urban fantasy, The Music of Chaos. It's easy. Just click this link to go my contest page over on Romance Junkies. There, you'll see the following question:

"What is the name of ...'the brave soul who had dared the displeasure of my company'?"

The answer can easily be found in Chapter One of The Music of Chaos. (Seriously, you can just skim through the text. He is the only other person in the scene.)

The contest runs through August 31, 2011, so you have time to enter multiple times. While you're there, check out some of the other authors/books that are participating in this contest.

***The Music of Chaos***
***Back Cover Summary***

"My century long career as a Wolfe did bear a stronger resemblance to a blooper reel than a profession..."

Regan O’Connell has a PhD and a good job as a project manager with a consulting company. Unbeknownst to her human co-workers, she’s 130 years old, and has a magical pedigree that includes vampires and elven royalty.

Immature by the standards of immortals, she has little control over the magic that simmers in her blood. For more than a century, she has worked as a secret operative for the vampire syndicate the Grey Brethren. For just as long, she has hidden her magical disability, struggling with one paranormal misadventure after another. Tired of her shenanigans, the Grey Brethren station her in Albuquerque, far out-of-the-way by paranormal standards.

The arrival of a mysterious user of chaotic magic—a world destroying power—spells the end of Regan’s trouble-free existence. Soon after, her vampire employers issue an ultimatum: find and neutralize the chaotic magic user or find a new job. To make matters worse, she has inadvertently started a war and developed a surprising attraction to a human. Sorting the mess out will require a little help from her friends, some growing up, and acceptance that she will never be a practitioner of conventional magic.

*****

Available from Decadent Publishing and Amazon.

Also available in ebook format.

The Music of Chaos, Now in Print

2011-06-21T15:56:00.006-06:00

Looking for a fun summer read? The Music of Chaos, my light urban fantasy about a not-entirely competent paranormal secret agent, is now available in print.

The pitch:

"Blind dates are always a train wreck."
By day, Regan O'Connell is a highly respected project manager. By night, she's a Wolfe, a paranormal agent working for a vampire syndicate.

Her two worlds collide when a co-worker sets her up with tall, dark and sexy Jason Lake. Jason is a Holder, a member of an ancient, all-human organization dedicated to policing the activities of things that go bump in the night. Things like half-vampire Regan.

Falling for the wrong guy is the least of Regan's problems. There's a murderer on the loose, and his favorite weapon is chaotic magic, an erratic force with the power to rip holes in the fabric of the universe. And the best way to catch the killer is to get close to Jason, the man who is not only her enemy, but her prime suspect.

Set in New Mexico, The Music of Chaos features a vampire who'd rather drink beer than blood; a pacifist dark elf; and a half-vampire heroine who is better at math than magic. You can read a chapter--Free--here.

Buy it now (please) at Decadent Publishing or Amazon.

For those who want instant gratification, you can download the ebook version: Decadent Publishing, Amazon/Kindle, and B&N/Nook.

Buy a book or I'll kick this cute little greyhound.
(Kidding.)

The Music of Chaos, Read Chapter One

2011-04-13T16:53:00.003-06:00

Oops. I forgot to mention that Chapter One of The Music of Chaos is now available online. Free.

In related news, yep, I am working on the sequel. I'm about more than 2/3 of the way done. It's clocking in at about 90K words, but with revision, I should get it back down into the 80K range. This storyline is very Talis-centric, although, yep, Jason is back, as is Breas Montrose, the beer-drinking, sports-obsessed vampire. And Lex the, uh, lusty fairy.

In related news, The Canvas Thief, a paranormal romance set in the same "world" as The Music of Chaos, has been accepted by Carina Press. (This isn't the official announcement as I'm still reviewing the contract.) Breas is a character in The Canvas Thief. Here, he's in the odd role of mentor. Well, not so odd, as his "protege" is a thief.

Despite the presence of Breas, The Canvas Thief isn't a vampire paranormal romance. It's more like a retelling of Pygmalion. Like The Music of Chaos, it is set in New Mexico; this time, Santa Fe.

Anyhow, go check out Chapter One of The Music of Chaos. Please?

Another Sally Field Moment

2011-03-14T16:21:00.004-06:00

In which I say, "You like me, you really like me."

The Music of Chaos, my quirky urban fantasy novel, scored another nice review.

Regan O'Connell is a Wolfe, part of a supernatural police force. She spends her evenings killing rogue lesser vampires and her days with computers at a mundane day job. She is half vampire and the daughter of one of the most powerful vampires on earth. She struggles daily not to be a disappointment to him. Her current assignment is in Albuquerque, New Mexico, hardly a hotbed of vampire activity, which is until lately. Someone is producing lesser vampires at an alarming rate and to complicate matters, two Holders, the Wolves human counterparts have been assigned to the city as well. An old flame, Breas, an ancient and incredibly powerful vampire, suddenly comes to town as well; making her wonder what exactly is going down in her previously quiet city.

Ms. Kirby has created a vivid and exciting world that I hope to visit again soon. The characters are colorful, bizarre, and real at the same time. I had no problem picturing each and every one of them. She let us in on just enough of the back story of each of the characters; enough to picture and know them, but leaving a bit more to learn about each of them. Regan is an interesting character; a dyslexic demi-vampire who uses music and math to do her magic. Her best friend Talis helped her through school, but the cheating is starting to catch up with her on this mission. The plot of this story is exciting and has many layers, the detail is extraordinary, and I was unable to put this book down until I got to the last page, and I didn't want to put it down even then. Hopefully there will be another Regan O'Connell story soon; I can never get too much of my new favorite anti-hero Breas.

Silly "Squeee!" from me.

The Music of Chaos is available as an ebook from Decadent Publishing, Amazon, Smashwords and at other online retailers.

Ebook Publishing for the Lazy and Unethical

2011-03-14T12:35:00.007-06:00

As I noted in my posting below, my blog got plagiarized. The thieving site, is the ironically named Write (Create) Your Own Ebook (write-your-own-e-book.info/blog/judging-an-ebook-publisher-by-the-covers). I'm not including a clickable linky, because they don't deserve the linkage.

The site is selling a book on how to write a book without actually doing any of your own writing. They [site owners] demonstrate this with their blog, which steals other people's blog postings, without giving clear, attribution to the author. (Burying a link at the end, is not clear attribution.) The blog allows no comments; there is no contact information included; and their Whois information is hidden.

Some say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but, me I'd prefer cold, hard cash, or at least correct attribution--My name (P. Kirby) on the article--of my work.

Blog plagiarism is theft.

Cross posted at But It's a Dry Heat.

Judging an eBook Publisher by the Covers

2011-03-14T12:00:00.008-06:00

And by their web page.

Note: If you are reading this post anywhere but on Ramblings from the Desert or at But It's a Dry Heat (both authored by P. Kirby), the content is stolen.

These days, new epublishers are popping up like daisies on the lawn. Over at Absolute Write, someone starts a thread inquiring about a press’s bona fides almost daily.

Before you sign a contract, or for that matter, submit a manuscript to a publisher, you should always do some research. But before you bother to Google, post a question in a newsgroup, etc., there’s one simple way to gauge whether a pub is worth the mouse clicks.

Look at their web page, especially their home page.

A publisher’s page should do one thing and do it well. Sell books.

It’s easier to show than tell, so here are publishers who get it right. Samhain* and Ellora’s Cave. Even newer pubs like Dreamspinner, then their genre can be easily explained in a tag line. Sell me books, not the publisher.

So what do you see? I see books for sale, front and center. With just a click or two, I can read a blurb and a sample of the writing. (I don’t buy books without reading a sample. Do you?) The covers are attractive and professionally designed. A listing of books by genre is available and easy to use. And buying is easy.

What don’t I want to see on a publisher’s web page? First and foremost, no begging for authors.

At Happy Shiny Books, it is our goal to nurture writers. We know how hard it is to get published with the big publishers and we know great books often get overlooked. Our writers are family….

Blah, blah, blahbitty, blah. Look. I’ve got a family. They’re all I can handle. I don’t need to be nurtured (that’s my mom’s job). A publisher’s job is to acquire the best books possible, and edit and sell those books to the reading public.

Publishers who sell books don’t need to sell themselves to authors. If they do their job, authors will swarm like flies. Remember that scene from the first Harry Potter movie/book? The one where hundreds of Harry’s Hogwarts acceptance letters flooded the Dursley’s house; they spewed from the mail slot, under the door, from the fireplace.

All a good publisher has to do is squirrel a little “Submission” link somewhere on their page, and voila, a deluge of biblical proportions.

There shouldn’t be any big blocks of text on the page, including those that explain the pub’s mission.

At Shiny Happy Books we strive to provide the best books to the reading public at the best prices. Literature is our passion. Shiny Happy Books was established in 2008 by Mary Smith, a multi-published author who….

Blah, blah, blahbitty, blah. Show me da books. If it’s a niche market, like Dreamspinner, then their genre can be easily explained in a tag line. Sell me books, not the publisher.

It goes without saying that the web page should load easily, and look professional and up-to-date. No pages that look like they were designed by the owner’s twelve-year-old kid using a 2000 version of MS Frontpage. No using a free web pages service. If you can’t afford to buy a your own URL and your own little chunk of the Internet, you shouldn’t be in the business of publishing books. (I can afford it and I’m the quintessential starving artist.)

In summary, what should you demand of a publisher’s web page? Sells books. Professionally-designed, easily navigated site. Attractive, professionally-designed covers.

Otherwise, move on, there’s nothing to see there.

*I linked to Samhain’s bookstore, because they recently revamped their site to feature a blog first. Not my idea of a great plan, because blogs really don’t sell [many] books. But Samhain has the clout to do whatever they want. And their bookstore sells books and sells them well.

This post, at my other blog, But It's a Dry Heat, was plagiarized by a scrapper called Write-Your-Own-e-book. (http://write-your-own-e-book.info/blog/judging-an-ebook-publisher-by-the-covers/) The site posted my writing without my permission and without properly crediting me--Patricia Kirby--as the author. Hence, my cross posting here.

The End of Innocence

2011-03-03T15:05:00.004-07:00

Otherwise known as my first review.

The Music of Chaos got its first review.

Music of Chaos is a fast moving, well written story of sorta Good vs. really evil Evil, man vs. woman, vampire vs. anyone else. You get it. The characters are just shippy enough and just funny enough to keep this one rolling all the way to the end.

So now I have proof that someone other than my mother has read my book.

The Music of Chaos

2011-02-14T15:34:00.002-07:00

Urban fantasy set in the desert southwest.

*************
Regan O’Connell seems to have it all. She has a PhD and a good paying job as a project manager with a consulting company. Unbeknownst to her co-workers, she’s a one hundred and thirty-year-old demi-human, with a magical pedigree that includes vampires and elven royalty.

Harnessing her magical ability has never been easy. Immature by the standards of immortals, she has little-to-no control over the magic that simmers in her blood. For more than a century, she has worked as a secret operative for the vampire syndicate the Grey Brethren. For just as long, she has hidden her magical disability, struggling with one paranormal misadventure after another. Tired of her shenanigans, the Grey Brethren station her in Albuquerque, far out-of-the-way by paranormal standards.

The arrival of a mysterious user of chaotic magic—a world destroying power—spells the end of Regan’s trouble-free existence. Soon after, her vampire employers issue an ultimatum: find and neutralize the chaotic magic user or find a new job. To make matters worse, she has inadvertently started a war and developed a surprising attraction to a human. Sorting the mess out will require a little help from her friends, some growing up, and acceptance that she will never be a practitioner of conventional magic.

***************
It is available from Decadent Publishing and in Kindle format over at Amazon. You can also get it at Smashwords. (Hint: It's about a buck cheaper if you buy it directly from the publisher.)

Hot Tacos Sing Dick Cheney

2010-10-19T15:10:00.002-06:00

Need proof of evolution? Look no further than spam. (The virtual version, as the exact taxonomic classification for the edible kind remains a mystery to science.) For every innovation in spam filters, spammers evolve and adapt ways to get around said filters. Since the majority of filters rely on subject lines, the result is a bizarre array of nonsensical verbiage in the subject line.

Without further ado, I bring you today's subject lines from my spam box...

"my pic for you"

Neato. Now I have something to throw darts at.

"need to findout more about you"

I'm an evil genius with plans to take over the Universe. What else is there to know?

"The new resume is attached"

Ah, I see you are applying for the position of "minion." I trust you do windows and vacuum?

"Speaker John Boehner?"

Oh, another advert for erectile dysfunction.

"get a hug when you give her a gift from Tiffany's"

Just a hug? For some Tiffany's swag, I expect to get laid.

"Bigger is definitely better."

Not if we're talking cockroaches or asses.

"I like you"

Really? You like me? You really like me? [Does best impression of Sally Field.]

"Man gets kicked in teeth by horse"

I.e., the state of dentistry in America.

"It makes gentlemen's tool wooden"

Ouch! Splinters!

And finally, the old reliable...

"Hi."

Oh, come on! You're not even trying. Put some effort into it.

The Well-Adjusted Vampire

2010-10-05T15:19:00.006-06:00

Coming at the end of October...The Music of Chaos, my urban fantasy novel, from Decadent Publishing. With all the usual urban fantasy elements--ass-kicking heroine, magic, snappy dialogue, and cheese enchiladas--and absolutely no whiny, schmopey, mopey vampires.

My vampires like being vampires. No "Woe is me, I'm a beautiful immortal with superpowers on an all-liquid diet. I haaate myself" nonsense.

My eyebrows crawled upward. "You realize you just made a movie reference. I am rubbing off on you."

"Yeah. Like ringworm."

~Regan O'Connell and Breas Montrose, vampire, having a warm fuzzy moment.

The Panty Pest

2010-10-01T11:00:00.000-06:00

I've got him in my sights, corrosive revolver loaded and ready to fire. "The only good Crimson Lance soldier is a dead one," I mutter. My finger twitches on the XBox controller.

And then my view is obstructed. By a moth. A smallish moth, who nonetheless, chose now as the perfect time to land on the television screen.

"Ugh. Stupid, stupid panty pest," I say, with impotent rage. Squishing the moth is out of the question, since the little shit will then be smeared over the screen. So I wait until the Lance soldier moves out from under the bug, before unleashing caustic hell. (Side note: Borderland's baddies, when shot with caustic and incendiary weapons, melt, dying in a theatrical display of screaming and hand waving. It doth amuse.)

"Panty pest" is code for "flour moth" in our household. You know, those nasty moths and their worms, that feed on foodstuff flour, cookies, etc.? At Casa de Kirby, their prime habitat is birdseed, which is stored in the garage. But periodically, there is a huge population explosion, and some get in the house.

The solution is a little paper trap, loaded with pheromones. The moths, thinking they are about to meet the love of their lives, fly into the trap and are stuck on the sticky sides. The end result, moths embedded in tar-like goo, twitching pitifully, is perversely satisfying.

Once, a few years ago, I scribbled "pantry pest traps" on on the dry erase board in the kitchen.

Soon after, we had company and someone, my sister-in-law maybe, noticed, rather gleefully, that what I had written was: "PANTY PEST TRAPS."

This, of course, set off a lively discussion as to the nature of a panty pest, and whether this was actually a reference to my husband.

To this day, flour moths are synonymous with "panty pests."

Good Thing He's Cute

2010-09-20T16:24:00.000-06:00

After spending the morning staring at the computer screen at work, wondering, "What the hell is it I do I here?" I'm back home. And staring at the computer screen.

My faithful greyhound enters the office, walking carefully over the saltillo tiles. He makes it to the area rug, sighs in relief, and plops down next to my chair.

"Now this is nice," I think. "Exactly why I have a dog. Companionship."

A few seconds later he starts farting. Big dog. Big, fetid, meaty farts.

I grab a sketchpad and wave it around to clear the air every time he lets one fly. After about a dozen repetitions of this, Mr. Sensitive gets offended and leaves.

He doesn't, however, have the good grace to takes the stench with him.

Greyhounds are better seen than smelled.

Like a Dog, Only Bigger

2010-09-17T10:29:00.000-06:00

It's six-thirty am and my horse is bugling at the house. I, the antithesis of a morning person, am thinking dark thoughts about glue factories and horse steaks.

Bleary-eyed, I tromp out to to the barn, where the Wonder Horse awaits, stamping, snorting, and registering his displeasure over a marginally late breakfast. I fumble around in the barn, find his fly mask and enter the paddock. Just as I finish dressing him for another fly-ridden day, I notice something black and disheveled by the fence.

He follows, clearly pleased with himself, as I investigate. The lump turns out to be the remains of a roll of landscape fabric. My neighbor had left it by the fence, and the WH yank it through and shredded it like tissue paper.

Wonder Horse, now bored, flits off, tail in the air, toward his feeder. Hint, hint, hint. I stuff the remains back under the fence and head off to get the beast his breakfast. Hey. It's not my problem. The neighbor should know better than to leave anything within WH's reach.

Non-horse people tend to think of horses as big, dull-witted, docile creatures that stand in fields, placidly munching hay. In truth, they are a lot more like destructive dogs. Twelve-hundred pound, destructive dogs.

Brother, Can You Spare a Zucchini?

2010-09-08T15:37:00.001-06:00

In which the Casa de Kirby is struck by a case of "careful what you wish for."

Rewind several months, back to March, when a young, uh, youngish, erm, what-ever, gardener's heart warms after the winter that would not end. Me and husband critter are wandering around Lowe's. We stop by a display of seeds and gardening supplies.

"What should I try this year?" I say.

"Well, how about squash? And peppers. And tomatoes. We have to have tomatoes."

I peruse the display and take several seed packets. Frankly, I'm a little unenthusiastic about vegetables. Our official "garden," the part that is protected from marauding rabbits by an adobe wall, is at least 2500-sq ft of flowering plants and shrubs. If it's not edible, I can grow it.

Vegetables? Not so much. From seed? Fuggetaboutit.

But every year, I try.

This year I tried something new. Raised beds.

Fast forward to September. We're drowning in squash. This despite an army of squash bugs who treated my garden like a cheap hotel, spending the hot summer afternoons fornicating in the leafy shade. And spawning a whole new generation of squash bugs.

Husband critter, a.k.a., the family chef, scowls as I come in the house, another load of squash in my arms. "More squash?" he says. He's run out of squash recipes. We've both reached the point where if given the choice between starvation and squash, we'd ... well, we'd eat the damn squash, but we wouldn't be happy about it.

"Maybe we should give them to the homeless or something," says my beloved.

The notion immediately conjured up the following scene: I'm driving. I stop at an intersection, red light and all that. There's a homeless man standing by the road, holding the obligatory cardboard signage with "Hungry, please help."

I roll down the window and he hurries over. He reaches out and I plunk a huge zucchini in his hand.

I drive away, fast, before he can gets a chance to throw it at me.

I, Geek

2010-09-07T16:40:00.002-06:00

Alternate title, Lazarus, the Xbox.

Horror of horrors, about a month ago our beloved Xbox got a case of the Three Rings of Death.

In Casa de Kirby, this counts as a relationship crisis. What are a husband and wife to do, if they can't kill alien hordes together? Talk to each other? Perish the thought.

So my super, duper, handyman husband applies some mighty Google-fu to the problem and finds hope. With the proper application of leverage...screws and a soldering iron, it can be fixed. We can make it better, stronger and more heat resistant.

The fix worked. For a month. And then, Three Rings of Death, part deux. This, just as we had slaughtered the zombie horde in Dr. Ned's Zombie Island, the add-on to Borderlands, one of the bestest gamer's games ever. Or at least the best recent release. (For one, I actually get to play a female character, the ass kicking Lilith the Siren.)

After some agonizing, we decided that we were going to have to give Microsoft some more of our hard earned pesos. Crap. So we bought a new Xbox. Supposedly this version is immune to the three rings of death.

The couple that games together, stays together. Armed with a spiffy new console, we are marching across Pandora in search of General Knoxx's Secret Armory.

Equine Pedicure 101

2010-08-06T13:00:00.006-06:00

Accomplished today:

Both lawns mowed and the horse's feed are trimmed. The latter accomplished with no bloodshed on the part of human or equine.

Usually, the Wonder Horse squirms, the nippers or knife slips and somebody--me usually--bleeds.

Today when he started squirming, I said, "Keep it up and I'm painting your hooves with sparkly, purple nail polish and putting matching bows in your mane and tail."

He stopped squirming. (For a second.)

The real trick. I filled his feeder with hay, chopped carrots and alfalfa pellets. He ate. I hacked away at his feet.

Most horse trainers would probably grumble that I was bribing my horse for good behavior. Whot-evah! I could waste hours dealing with a training issue in the hot, sticky heat. Or I could do this.

Pick your battles.

Sympathetic Pains

2010-07-14T12:04:00.003-06:00

I’m in the midst of sympathetic pains. For horse colic.

Think sympathetic pregnancy pains, then cut out the cute infant at the end of the process, and substitute a really sick horse.

This morning, while I was out watering the garden and squashing squash bugs, I noticed my neighbors were walking their horse. Around and around their property.

And my own stomach is tied up in little knots.

Every horse owner knows the scenario. You come out to find your horse is down and won’t get up. Or he’s yo-yo-ing up and down, intersperses with frantic bouts of rolling. Either way, you know it’s time to call the vet. And wait.

In the meantime, you put a halter on your horse and march him around the grounds, because sometimes–rarely, really–all this continuous walking cures the colic. More likely, it was a bad case of gas colic and it cures itself. But let the forced marching begin.

The vet arrives. She listens to the horse’s stomach, sometimes shoves a gloved hand up his rear, or a tube down his nose and to his stomach. Gives the horse a shot of a pain killer. She then shrugs and hands you a bill for a few hundred bucks and leaves.

At which point, your beloved equine friend gets better quickly or things get really ugly, expensive or fatal, really fast.

I nearly lost the Wonder Horse to a bad colic several years ago. To this day, the poor beast can’t take a nap without me running out and asking, “Are you all right?"

Cloudy with Chance of Slush

2010-06-24T12:55:00.006-06:00

I really shouldn’t laugh at this. Especially considering the spate of butt-ugly query letters I recently sent out. (I don’t know what I was thinking; temporary insanity.)

But it is.

In particular, this gem:

My 318,000 word novel may seem like it starts a little slow, but after the first 100 pages or so it really picks up steam, so I hope you will be patient and not be distracted.

Hey, a SQUIRREL! Cool….Oh, hang on. what were you saying?

Reminds me of why I rarely critique/beta novels anymore. Back in the day, when I was naive, I would read anything. More often than not, the first chapters were okay, being the part on which the author lavished the most love. Later chapters getting progressively worse, meandering journeys (literally, since I read fantasy), that went nowhere fast.

Highlights included a long and lugubrious vampire novel, largely devoid of ... uh, vampires, and a religious tract masquerading as a Lord of the Rings clone. The latter featuring a screechy, self-righteous heroine who was supposed to show the hero the way to salvation. If I had been the hero, after a few minutes with that bitch, I would have gotten me hence to a titty bar for some primo debauchery.

Anyway, one exchange with a writer went like this:

Me: “There really isn’t a strong sense of plot. The characters seem to wander from one cute conversation to another, but no one has much of a goal. Or if they do, they seem to forget it rather quickly.” (The undiplomatic but true assessment would have been more like, “This reads like Grandpa Simpson tells the story of The Lord of the Rings.)

Writer: “Yes, I know the first 100 pages are a little slow. That’s because I’m trying to establish the characters and the setting. But I think you agree it gets faster by page 150, correct? Knowing what I am trying to do with this story, do you still think its slow? Perhaps you might reconsider your assessment.”

Me: ...[Thinking, “By page 150, I wanted to carve my eyeballs out with a spork.]

Seriously? What difference does it make? I’m not an editor or an agent. (Not that you should be asking them to reconsider, either.) I’m the beta reader. You asked for my opinion. I gave it.

Now shoo!

Careful What You Wish Fer

2010-06-04T09:39:00.004-06:00

"If wishes were horses, we'd be drowning in horse shit."

Me, as I was shoveling the wonder horse's daily deposit.

Actually, it's really not that bad a task, especially for just one horse. (I'd rather shovel horse shit than do laundry, especially folding laundry.) But at 7 am, everything is gloom and doom for an anti-morning person.

Curb Your Human

2010-05-18T16:01:00.007-06:00

You know the scenario. It's a lovely day and you're out for a walk with your family. You, your husband/wife/partner, the family dog (leashed) and your adorable offspring.

As you round a corner, you spot another person approaching. Like you, this person is out walking the dog. Well, sort of.

Fido is off the leash and his Idiot Owner makes no attempt to call him and put him on a leash. Instead, just as Fido spots you and rushes toward you in a flurry of snarls and bared teeth, Idiot Owner says ...

Guess.

Come on, it's easy.

Yeah. You got it.

"Don't worry. He's friendly." (Famous last words of every irresponsible dog owner.)

Translation, "You better pray he's friendly since I have neither the desire nor the ability to control Fido."

So now Fido has you and your terrorized family backed up to the edge of a cliff. Mr. Friendly is doing an Oscar-worthy impression of Cujo, snapping, snarling and white spittle flying from his mouth.

And Idiot Owner, who is very slowly approaching, unconcerned, says, "He's just saying, 'Hello.'"

Translation: "If you don't move, he won't bite."

At which point, Fido lunges and jumps on you, your partner, and your children and then starts a fight with your dog.

Idiot Owner finally arrives and drags Fido away just before he starts gnawing on your leg like it's a steak bone. Idiot then says, with a suspicious frown at your bloodied family that suggests the altercation is the victims' fault, "Well, gosh, he's never done that before."

Translation: "He's never drawn blood before."

Remember back in the day, when people would complain about ill behaved children? Back when rotten parents would let their kids run amuck in restaurants and movie theaters.

A fortunate side effect of "stranger danger," is that nowadays, most parents won't let their kids out of the house without an armed escort, so unruly children in public places are a thing of the past. (The unfortunate side effect is that kids nowadays don't have much of a childhood, since fun activities like riding your bike in the neighborhood aren't allowed.)

The rotten parents/children of yesterday are today's irresponsible dog owners and their pets.

(A very large stick is now a requirement for the greyhound's daily walk. Funny thing is that just the sight of the stick, especially if I give it a casual, but slightly threatening twirl, is enough to encourage Idiot Owner to leash Fido.)

Turn up Your Miracle Ear

2010-05-10T11:38:00.001-06:00

Five o’clock and my husband has just gotten home, grocery bags in hand. The greyhound is leaping and jumping in goofy paroxysms of joy. Glad my husband is home, and really glad about the groceries. Everything and anything we bring home must be for the greyhound. It just as to be.

I wander out of the office and my husband says, “I see the greyhound has found the bag of snakes.”

Eh? “He found what? Snakes?”

Husband continues on into the kitchen, giddy greyhound prancing at his heals. “I see the greyhound has found the bag of stakes.”

I’m standing in the living room, looking stupid, an expression which is effortless.

Stakes? As in garden? Or have we been beset with vampires?

And then, palm slap to forehead, “D’oh. Steaks, steaks.”

I’m either going deaf or senile.

The Romantic Critter

2010-04-28T14:35:00.003-06:00

After a long hiatus, I signed up for Critters Writers Workshop again. I've got a completed manuscript and I need to sharpen my critical skills.

As I've noted before, learning how to write a helpful, honest and *diplomatic critique can do wonders for your ability to assess your own work. And it's just a good writing exercise.

(*Yeah. I know that for some, it just isn't a critique unless it draws blood. But as someone who excels at "nasty," writing a diplomatic critique is much harder than shredding someone's ego.)

I'd recommend Critters even to non-Fantasy, SF or horror writers. Sign up; read the material on the site regarding critiques, and spend a few months practicing your critique skills. The great thing about Critters is that it's well organized and each week there are loads of manuscripts to pick from. Most are short stories, so reading doesn't require a huge time investment. You aren't required to submit anything.

I've found that my approach to critiquing has changed. Once upon a time, I'd critique anything. Stuff with no discernible voice, grammatically challenged, POV head hopping, bizarre characterization and "has this person ever had a real conversation with anyone?" dialogue, etc. Nowadays, I approach the Critters queue like an editor. If it's clearly a train wreck or just bland, I bail and look for another manuscript.

But I'm debating whether I should bother submitting my current completed novel to the queue. Critters has a means of getting entire novels critiqued (I'm reading someone's novel right now). The problem is my latest is a paranormal romance. Romance. With sex and relationshippy stuff.

Critters is a diverse group and chances are I can at least get some feedback on the first two chapters. Chances are I'll also get a few lectures from the genre police, or worse yet, the romance haters. "Romance is silly and not real writing." Ugh.

There are some romance critique groups out there, but as far as I can tell, nothing as well organized as Critters. Guess I'm spoiled.

On that note, I'm off to Critters. It's Wednesday, and the latest batch of manuscripts should be up.

Who Are These People?

2010-04-22T15:05:00.002-06:00

Recently, during an extended (er, perpetual?) bout of work-induced ennui, I stumbled across the Facebook page for my high school reunion.

It was more like stumbled into, made the kind of "Ew" noise that you make when you realize you've stepped in dog poo, and then stare in warped fascination at the bottom of your shoe. I hated high school, so it wasn't like I was actually looking to step back into that pile of steaming crap for the sake of nostalgia.

But as I eyed the link warily, I was reminded of something a friend said long ago regarding high school reunions. This was just a year or so out of high school. I was ranting (ranting, moi?) about how I'd never, ever go to a high school reunion. My friend, accustomed to my ranting, shrugged and said, "I'd go. Just to see who got fat."

Oh, yeah, the promise of Schadenfreude made me click that linky.

So there I was cringing, expecting some kind of horrible, twitching, frothing, PTSD fit, induced by the sight of teenage nemeses of long ago.

Instead, my reaction was, "Holy, Alzheimer's, Batman. Who are these people?"

I guess it's no surprise that the faces there are strangers, after a few--cough--decades. To be honest, while I remember hating high school and everything and everyone who walked its hallowed halls, the actual emotion, loathing, has evaporated in the passage of time.

But with the exception of one particular mean girl, who has had the decency to put on the requisite tonnage to satisfy my Schadenfreude, my high school class is a vast herd of strangers. Strangers whose only connection to me was an accident of geography.

And that's why, I won't be attending the reunion. Why spend money on what amounts to an expensive party with a bunch of strangers?

My money would be better spent on my favourite charity.

Adopt a Dog with Mileage

2010-04-13T10:51:00.002-06:00

There’s no denying the appeal of a warm, wriggling, puppy. But in my experience, pets with a little more mileage on them are less likely to eat the couch or re-landscape the yard. Muttville is a lovely charity dedicated to seeing that older dogs, homeless for no fault of their own, get good homes.