10 Questions With Lynn Viehl

I first discovered Lynn Viehl, not through her books, but through the world of art journaling, an art form that combines words and images to create an intensely personal form of expression. That led to her blog, Paperback Writer, which then led to discovering a versatile author who writes across several genres, and is generous with her expertise as well as loads of pretty things. Take a look at what Lynn is offering one lucky commenter today (click thumbnail to embiggen):



1) When did you know you were a writer?

I guess I first knew sometime around midnight on December 28th, 1974 (I was thirteen, and I'd just finished writing the last page of my first novel.)

2) What's the first thing you know for sure about a new story concept? Plot? Character? Something else?

Generally the characters come first to populate my knowledge base. Occasionally an idea shapes the story for me -- I once wrote a novel based solely on the words "carnival geek" -- but most of the time it's the characters.

3) What are the best and worst pieces of writing advice you've ever heard?

The best was "Whatever you do, protect the work" from author Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I have never once regretted following that advice.

I don't know exactly who is responsible for the worst, but it's that tiresome old adage of "Write what you know." Imagine how many fantastic books would never have been written if all writers followed that tiny-minded attitude. What rubbish.

4) How did the world of the Darkyn come to be?

I've always loved vampire fiction, and I began writing my own short stories back in 1998. The first one was a disaster because I tried following all the traditional vampire lore, which I find a little ridiculous. I trashed that story and decided to create my own mythology. It took another six years to fine-tune the Darkyn universe, but eventually I got there.

5) In one sentence, how would you define dark fantasy?

In fantasy the hero always defeats the monster; in dark fantasy sometimes the hero IS the monster.

6) The latest Lords of Darkyn novel, Nightbound (love that title, by the way,) features a supernatural stronghold disguised as a medieval theme park, a hero with secrets and a heroine with extraordinary theories. Can you give our readers a taste of why romance readers won't want to miss this one?

Glad you like the title, because it would be really hard to change now. I hope Nightbound will appeal to any reader who enjoys adventure, mystery and characters who cannot be classified as typical.

7) How does art journaling, or art in general, help or influence your writing?

Art is a great tool for a storyteller to use when you want to explore ideas beyond the boundaries of words. When I sketch a character or paint a setting, or even make a quilt in colors I've chosen as a story palette, I can better visualize those elements. The process of artwork also gives me time to think and make creative decisions that enrich the story when I do go back to the keyboard to write.

As for journaling -- something I've also been doing almost daily since 1974 -- it's a great way to work out ideas and chronicle the journey you take with every story.

8) What do you do when creatively blocked/empty/burned out?

I'm lucky in that I don't have to cope with writer's block or idea deficits, but I do frequently feel burned out, especially after I finish a novel. When that happens I try to recharge my batteries by getting some exercise and opening myself up to new sources of inspiration. That can be anything from taking a long walk and photographing nature to attending an art show and talking to the exhibitors while I admire their works. Sometimes just listening to a new CD while I clean the house from top to bottom helps, too.

9) If you could have an all expense paid trip to any time in history, where and when would you go? You may take one companion, real or fictional. How would you convince them to come with you?

If I could stay for a while, I'd go back to Galilee in 27 AD to see exactly what this carpenter from Bethlehem actually said and did during his ministry. I'd take Jorge Mario Bergoglio with me, and I don't think I'd need to say anything but "Let's go meet Jesus Christ in person" to get the new Pope to tag along.

If I couldn't stay, I'd like to visit an inn in Bavaria on April 20th, 1889, and take Simon Wiesenthal with me. I'd tell Simon that unless we do something the baby born there that day will grow up to murder 5.5 million Jews. I'm sure Simon would have some excellent ideas about how we might prevent that.

10) We've retrieved the parrot we hid in your office a while back, and now he won't stop saying "Toriana." Can you tell us more about that?

I thought I heard something chirping behind the filing cabinet. Toriana is the name of a Victorian-era America that exists in a universe parallel to our own, and in which I've set Disenchanted & Co., my new urban fantasy series. The first book, Her Ladyship's Curse, will debut in August, thanks to my publisher, Pocket Star, and my editor, Adam Wilson.

Thanks, Lynn, for stopping by. Readers, if you've been drooling over the gorgeous giveaway picture above, all you need to do is leave a comment below for a chance to win.

Happy Dance Friday #113: Right Said Fred and some rambling on writing...

We have entered that part of the year known as "butt cold." The kind of weather that is the real reason sweatshirts have hoods and is perfect for staying inside with a good sized supply of reading material...and/or computer games, hence the snowy Sims picture.

I'd first intended to post a traditional (if there is such a thing) Happy Dance Friday post, then decided I'd ramble instead, but the rambling reminded me of a bit of happy-dance-inspiring music, which ties in nicely with said rambling, so you get both. These guys have the right perspective on the creative life in today's tune:



2012 was not my best creative year, and far from the most stress-free. For 2013, I'd like to flip that coin over and have the opposite. Which takes some work, some faith, some trial, some error, and the resiliency of a SuperBall (I once dropped one out of a third story dormitory window to see if it would bounce back up all the way. It did. Many thanks to my friend, Diana R, who waited on the ground to make sure she caught any stray balls before they could meet car windows. Yes, she did, and no, they didn't.)but eventually, one gets there.

Like today. I'm reading straight through the ms formerly titled "Draperwood" which is now "Ravenwood," which makes more sense as a place name, and making revisions. You know it's a good day when you're driving your characters through a plague-decimated England and chair dancing as you do because it's fun to do so. I bought a book of stamps, earmarked for good old fashioned snail mail letters, because one dear friend gave me a fountain pen for Christmas and the lure of sitting at my antique secretary desk and writing letters the old-fashioned way is too much for a writer of historical romance to resist. Besides, who doesn't want something in one's mailbox that is not a bill or junk mail? The letter writer in me announced that she is done being quiet, and I have learned it's useless to oppose her. Hence the stamps.

Yesterday, Housemate Linda and I made purchases at two local small bookstores. Between those, the two libraries within walking distance, and my electronic reading devices, the TBR pile is shaping up quite nicely. Tomorrow's plans involve much reading, the baking of cookies, and messing about with some arty things because A) I have stamps and that means mail art, and B) the art supply store had free samples and the girls in my basement (borrowing term from Barbara Samuels, from her book, The Care and Feeding of the Girls in the Basement - highly recommended reading for writers, IMO)want to play with paint. I think I'm going to let them.

What weekend plans make you want to happy dance?

Inadvertently Awesome

Today's title comes from David-the-barista, the picture from Second Life. My original intent was to use my own photos for the post pictures this week, possibly as prompts, but that would require a camera.

Several years ago, DH surprised me on Christmas morning with a digital camera. This Christmas, our first in our new home, on a gorgeously snowy white Christmas morning, I took same camera out to get some pictures while waiting for everyone to get up (I'm the early riser in our family.) Since I love the cold, love the snow, love exploring our neighborhood, this was like a special present to myself. On with the leopard print rubber boots, on with scarf and gloves and coat and off I go.

I had the route in mind immediately. Leave house, head toward park. Since it's early and a major holiday, I'm reasonably well assured that I can get some shots of the virgin snow, especially in the park, especially park benches (I have a thing for empty park benches.) Since the best way to get to the park is along a gorgeous historic street lined with turn of the century buildings, many of them bedecked with holiday decor, I could not have asked for a better picture taking opportunity. Snow covered wrought iron. Snow covered stone steps. Snow covered bare branches on trees reaching up to the blue-grey sky that implied it wasn't yet done with the white stuff. I happily snapped pictures until the guilt over neglecting family told me it was time to turn back.

Which was exactly when the camera started acting funny. I'd snapped a few different shots of the historic promenade in the park (built in 1803, originally for military drills and parades, later the spot to see and be seen) as well as benches, sky, plaques on and doorways of buildings with historic ties as well, and then...the drag began. Something was...different...about how long it took the camera to tell me it was done doing whatever it is cameras do for that shot. I begged it. One more for mommy, okay? We're going home, really. Then you can take pictures of family members opening presents wrapped in brown paper with colored ribbons, all nice and inside and...nothing.

"Nothing doing," the camera seemed to be saying to me. "No more pictures for the crazy writer person who takes me out in the cold when all the other cameras are inside, watching adorable tots tear into the latest in hand-knitted sweaters and pink plastic minivans outfitted with laser cannons." I took it home, cradled in the warmth of my coat, telling myself it was probably the batteries. I'd try new ones.

I tried new ones. I tried newer ones. I let Housemate Linda have a look at it in case she might see some error I'd made and set things aright. Once more, nothing doing. Camera now sits on a bookshelf in my office, next to yet another set of batteries. I am surprisingly okay with this.

It's not a disaster. Either the camera can be repaired, or it cannot. In either event, the memory card is in there, and I can stick it into my printer (once that's up and running) and all those pictures will still be there. I can still have them, even if not right now. They're safe. They're waiting. They're still mine. Maybe I'll open them on a hot day in July and have myself Christmas morning all over again.

The inadvertantly awesome part? When I sat down to write this entry, I had no idea what I was going to say, and lookee here - I wrote a story. It has a protagonist (moi) and a beginning (plan to take pictures) and a middle (the picture.) and an end (camera on the shelf, dead-at-least-for-now.) It has a black moment (dead camera!) and a resolution (will try memory card in something else.) Some dialogue, and I'd have to call it extremely rough, but gussy it up some and there could be something.

What mundane experience of yours do you think could inadvertantly turn into the seeds of an awesome story?

Happy Dance Friday #78 - Back in the saddle, with Quickstep

January sixth means the holiday season is down for a long winter's nap, the new year is underway, and I know I could use a good dose of energy this morning, so we're going with the quickstep. This dance has been likened to a duck - smooth as glass on the top, paddling like mad underneath. I know that as a writer, I can relate to that. Hence writing quote in today's art piece.

First, straight out of Blackpool (2010 championships, to be exact) let's take a look at how it's done in competitive circles:

I think of that as the guidelines for one's genre. I'll use romance, since that's what I write. From RWA.org, the official definition is as follows:
A Central Love Story: The main plot centers around two individuals falling in love and struggling to make the relationship work. A writer can include as many subplots as he/she wants as long as the love story is the main focus of the novel.
An Emotionally-Satisfying and Optimistic Ending: In a romance, the lovers who risk and struggle for each other and their relationship are rewarded with emotional justice and unconditional love.

As long as those two requirements are met, the writer has a lot of room in which to move. In dance, there's competitive dance and show dance (please correct me on my terms, dance fans; I'm only working on one cup of tea here) and what entertains on TV won't always please the judges in Blackpool, but if entertaining is the whole point, I think the clips below do an admirable job. As long as the requirements of the dance are there, it's fun to see what the individual dancers and choreographers do with the same essentials.







Though I haven't seen a quickstep performed to Matchbox Twenty's "I'll Believe You When," I think it's a natural.



Why, yes, I do sometimes choreograph dance numbers in my head, usually for fictional characters...doesn't everyone? Eh, we writers are odd ducks; it's in the job description.

Happy New Year Ramblings, part the first

Happy 2012, faithful readers. The end of one year and the start of a new one always provide good excuse to ramble, and so I will. I still have a while before I need to make myself presentable for the traditional New Year's Day open house and book swap held by some friends. Not the most romance friendly environment, but the company is good, their dog is fun and I get to scarf free noms while meeting interesting people. Plus I've been to two UBSes and B&N this week, so I thnk I'm good for a while. More on that later, as the clock is ticking.

I think our Christmas decorations are trying to tell us something. A few years back, DH and I acquired a much-beloved lighted wreath, and shortly after that, a Christmas tree made of red tinsel, like so:

These two items have been mainstays of our Christmas decorating scheme, centered around the bedroom bookcase, since our apartment is what can best be termed "cozy." This year, they both went dark. I should also mention that the blinds have been replaced (the tear not being my fault, for those who keep track of these things) and same with the lamp, in favor of a nifty vintage 50s treasure. DH and I do have replacement bulbs and we are willing to do the work required to find the culprits in case our decorations are of the "if one goes down, they all go down" persuasion, which they well may be.

Due to a serious conversation we had at another of our holiday gatherings, the red tree will have to be saved, since when we are in a bigger place, we need to have a small tree in every window. We are willing to take heroic measures to save the wreath, as A) it was given to a dear friend by my dad on one of his final Christmases, B) said friend thinks it's one of the ugliest things she's ever seen, and C) DH and I recognize its inherent perfection. Our hearts will not break if the red tree can't be brought back to life; last night, I wound a spare string of clear lights around it and on with the show. That will do for now, and with the dying of the light (sorry, couldn't resist) coinciding with the January sales on all things Christmassy, this is the perfect time for me to snag a new mini tree, free of guilt.

The question then is, what kind of tree? I've seen black trees -though sadly, the last time I remember seeing one in the flesh as it were, was at dearly departed Borders- and would love to do a forest of different colored trees, but I'm getting the urge for a traditional green one as well. At lunch with writing friends, I nearly got as excited about a wayward evergreen snippet that had found its way into my gift bag as I did the gift itself. Driving around to peep at strangers' light displays always tears me in two directions; the classy all-white lights and the cacophany of colored ones. I have come to the conclusion I may eventually need two houses so I can indulge in both, but I'll need to sell a few (million?) more books first.

Though I recieved no new books at Christmas, many did come home, both novels and research tomes, over Christmas Week, and it's entirely possible more will come home today. Actually, it's a slam dunk that there will be at least one, as our hostess is extremely vigilant in that regard; all guests must leave with at least one book. Not sure at the moment what I'll be bringing to the swap (apologies to the one gal who has said she waits to see what I'll be bringing, as I don't know if I'll be hauling anything romancey in that direction, but will try) but I'm not going to sweat it. I have what I have and I'm donating what I'm donating and that's going to have to do.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying that this year is going to be the getting back to my roots/core/authentic self year, writing and otherwise. A few days ago, I sent off a paper letter to a writer friend, for the pure reason that it felt good to do so. Pretty pages are a good place to let my brain droppings spill, twirling around each other and combining into something I might not have expected when I first opened the file or put pen to paper. I do know that I owe some friends some long-promised mail art, and thanks for the patience; mail art is getting scheduled into my days, and since the most gorgeous day planner in the history of history is soon to arrive in my mailbox, sticking to my schedule is going to be a lot easier this year.

Well. No surprise here, I've taken the scenic route and time has not stopped, so I will leave this here for now and be back in the AM with part the second, wherein I ramble about reading, writing and other creative matters.

My Favorite Time of Year and Other Ramblings

This is my favorite time of year, this tucked away week between Christmas and New Year's. Maybe it's a leftover from school vacations, but I'm more inclined to think it's part of my hardwired programming, one of those things that is me, always was, always will be. Best not to fight those things, as it's a losing battle; embrace them instead and steer into the skid, as it were.

Things like how I've always known historical romance is the genre of my heart, my artistic tastes lean strongly toward maximalism and the correct answer to "how many blank books does Anna really need?" being "all of them." Of course, none of those books stay blank for very long once I know what they're for - see above mentions of writing and art.

This year's tucked-away week has no less than three gatherings of friends for the sole purpose of celebration. Four, if I can count yesterday's write-in, which I will, and two of those will involve books to some degree. Tomorrow is a gathering of the clans, as my friend, Mary, and I call the mushing together of our two families en masse, and since everybody is a reader, there will be at least one bookstore involved. Also much discussion of books. On Friday, I meet with my longterm critique partners, Melva and Michele (I really do have friends whose names begin with letters other than M, I promise) for our annual holiday feast, and then will see them again on Sunday for Michele and her hubby's annual open house and book swap. Okay, that's three gatherings that will be book related. These gatherings will also involve nonwriters, but those nonwriters are readers, so it balances out.

In an ideal world, I would spend the tucked away week in a big house, decorated inside and out, open to friends and family. Dress of the day would alternate between elegant glitz and flannel pajamas - let's say pjs until noon, regular clothes for lunch (as this might involve leaving the house, especially if there is snow to walk and play in) and then treat dinner as a red carpet event. Suits for the gents, gowns for the gals, and everybody is encouraged to accessorize as they please. I maintain a version of this in my head, alongside the real life events; call it my own alternate universe. So far, it's working.

Mornings would begin with pancake breakfasts, everyone in pajamas and robes and then mornings may be spent in repose, lain out on couches, recliners, comfy chairs and convenient patches of floor as desired. Conversation and books abound, and the four-legged members of our party would have free run of the place. This part, I've found, is the most portable - it can come from its universe into the tangible one at any time. Okay, holidays and weekends, because I do need to be gently turned about and pointed back toward the computer at some point.

Which is perfectly fine - once the well is filled, there needs to be output to balance the input. Fof this week, I'll revel in the company, gobble a few good books, as I am most assuredly in a reading mood, but more on that later, and then it's time for a firm but gentle hand to point me back to the keyboard and let me ramble.

What about you? What are you taking away from this tucked away week? Do you have a different favorite week of the year?

On the dissipation of cold brain and the art of tai ming

I still have cold brain. Waning, to be sure, but still cold brain. For those who play any of the Sims games, you'll understand an action dropping out of queue. For those who don't, well, we've all started to do something, forget what it is or why we're doing it. That happens a lot with cold brain. When cold brain starts to wane, it's not uncommon to have an action drop out of queue and then pop back in when one has started an entirely different action (Sims games don't do that - yet.)

The plan for this cold was to snuggle under some blankeys and make a dent in my TBR pile. Pause here for wild, demented laughter. Cold-influenced reading was more along the lines of A) carefully pick out book. B) Settle in for good reading session. C) Fall asleep in the middle of first page, or D) Read same page fifteen times and complain about book being repititious already. E) Give up and play Sims. F) Since laptop is on, open WIP and poke with metaphorical stick. G) Open Photoshop Elements and make inspirational graphics, as above (optional.)

All in all, not a lot of reading, when there are a heckuva lot of books. Paperbacks, both mass market and trade sized. Hardcovers. Ebooks. Novels. Research books. Other stuff. Even petted a fanzine in my search for reading material, but brain refused to latch on. Which is okay. It's a new TV season, as recent Saturday at the Movies posts detail. I caught most of Tristan and Isolde yesterday afternoon, which fulfilled some of my romance fiction yearning, but since things don't end exactly well for anybody in the Tristan/Isolde/Mark triangle, no HEA. Utterly gorgeous to watch, though, and atmosphere gets an A+++.

But reading. Yeah. I do have my default reads at the ready; Hannah Howell's Highland historicals this time. I know I'll like those, as I've read some of the earlier ones already, when they were first released, and likely out of order, so they will be like new to me again. Book three is on my desk, awaiting its call to duty, and that may be soon. Still, next to my bed, there is a small stack of started and put aside novels. Nothing wrong with them, only a brain that wouldn't track. I do believe that there is a right time to read a particular book, and something that's a "nice, but not right now" can, days or weeks (or longer) later, become "why did I wait so long to read this?"

Comedian Steve Martin once did a bit on the ancient art of Tai Ming, and I think he was onto something. Like the stack of books by my bed and the computer file of ideas that still need to simmer a while longer because I don't have all the ingredients yet, there is a right time to read or write a particular story, and forcing it isn't going to work. I've learned to embrace the "not right now" and focus on the now. Which is something that isn't that hard to do...and does not mean checking Twitter and Facebook like a maniac every five minutes. Nope, butt in chair, fingers on keyboard gets the job done.

Signs of the season

It's that time of year again. I'm at my usual seat in Panera and strongly feeling the pull toward the comfy chairs. I know in my heart this is the last week I can get away with a cold beverage in the morning and may succumb to the lure of a cup of hot chai, though I am trying hard to be good. I spent far longer than I'm proud of in front of my closet this morning - short sleeves? Long sleeves? Three-quarter sleeves? Tank and a sweater? Shawl? Capelet? These are big questions for someone who loves clothes and has a best friend who is a fabulous knitter. I did not even mention the mitts, but it's still too early for that.

Pause to don sweater (went with short sleeved scoop neck tee and crocheted sweater for those curious about this sort of thing.) Still eyeing comfy chair. Still thinking about chai.

Last night, I turned off the TV and got into bed early. Flannel pjs, flannel sheets. Could not decide between paper book (By His Majesty's Grace by Jennifer Blake) and ebook (reread the end of a friend's ms and then dipped into In the Shadow of Midnight by Marsha Canham) - all that was missing was a hot cup of tea (do we see a theme here? No, not parentheses. Tea.) but no milk in the fridge and I didn't feel like getting dressed again to make the hike down the street to CVS. I made do with some sparkling water, and woke a couple hours later to amused husband informing me I was asleep. Thanks, hon.

This weekend, I have two catsitting gigs, Which means much time for writing, reading and art in between feedings and litterbox checks. While, of course, drinking tea and wearing sweaters and all that. Definitely fall, the time of year when I get my super powers back, making up for the long, sweaty, humid summer spent dodging the sun and seeking air conditioning.

When fall arrives, my brain kicks back into gear. There's something about the crispness in the air, the changing colors on the leaves, and the tastes and scents of the season that registers as "right" to my creative center,  making up for summer doldrums. I've heard this referred to as reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder, and I do match the criteria for that very closely. It's  a short jump from "blargh" to "whee!" Less listless websurfing (and no ice packs under my shirt) and if I'm at the keyboard, and not writing, then I'm teaching myself new techniques in graphic art (as above.)

Today, that special fall 'something' came in full force. Welcome back, old friend. Let's do stuff.

Saturday at the Movies #35- To Be Seen/Oh The Pretties

Most of this weekend will be spent either playing Sims3, reading or mushing paint around, but I do plan on actually getting to the theater in the near future, because there are some gorgeous films coming out. I know some haven't gotten the best reviews, but who cares? I can freely admit to going to some movies for the sheer visual factor and there's nothing at all wrong with that. Plus I have loved fairy tales since I was a wee princess myself and if they're darker edged, all the better.

Red Riding Hood caught my attention instantly, especially since my art crush, Michelle Ward, has also been inspired by the look of this one.



Beastly: I have loved the Beauty and the Beast story since I was that wee princess, a time which overlaps with my brief love affair of horror comics. Though I honestly can't remember titles, authors or artists, I do have two all time favorite entries from such readings, one of which takes place in an abandoned skyscraper. I think that was probably the start of my ongoing love affair with things that should be full but are empty (more on that later) so when that all gets mushed together, it's pure Anna-bait, and Neil Patrick Harris seals the deal (which of course requires a "what up" from his alter ego on HIMYM.)Enough blathering. I want to see this.


Water for Elephants: I had absolutely no interest in the book, but wow, the look of this movie drew me right in. 1930s, circus, Reese Witherspoon. Happy sigh. Though I'm genre savvy enough to go into this expecting the love story to Not End Well and will have to investigate to see about possible triggers (former caregiver here, and animals being hurt/killed) but other than that, oh the eye candy and story looks promising.


Pirates of the Carribbean 4: On Stranger Tides: I have no words that will not come out like an excited fangirl squee. No Will or Elizabeth in this one, but that's okay, they're living happily ever after. We get Jack, mermaids, zombies, Bluebeard. One seat in the front row, please, with popcorn and Hot Tamales.

On finding one's voice, part the first

Screenshot here is from one of my Sims2 photoshoots. Sims are very compliant models (especially if I turn free will off) and spending a few hours setting up a shoot and taking pictures lets ideas mull about in the story part of my brain. Sometimes I'll have something in mind when I start a shoot, sometimes not.

This particular shoot starred Jacqueline, my favorite model and one of my own sculpts, and her husband, Matthew (not pictured, but he's somebody else's design, though I've customized him.) I stage the shoots to get images to use in my art, both digital and otherwise.

Current art crush is mixed media artist Michelle Ward. Her most recent blog entry on scented candles made me nearly weep with recognition. For me, this is a good thing; I'm a dramatic sort of wench. The photos included are gorgeous, and, like Michelle, I use scent association to keep my mind on task when I'm in the office. Since autumn is now in full swing, time for me to lay in some appropriate scents. Anything with cinnamon, pumpkin or cloves is automatically good, and if the candle is named anything like "fireside," I need it. Summertime is not my season, and with the changing of the leaves, I get my superpowers back.

I do my best work in the cooler months, pounding keys and scribbling my way through prettified legal pads (current one coordinates with these) with hands encased in hand-knit mitts and listening to equally ornate music; current choices can include Meat Loaf, James Blunt, Coldplay, etc. I do tend towards male singers when I choose favorite music, though Mary Chapin Carpenter has some wonderful stuff as well. With my office assistant, Miss Skye O'Malley, (who is a kitteh) positioning herself in exactly the right spot for my hand to dip down at random intervals and scritch behind her ear or under her chin, that's a perfect setup.

Over the past week, I've been digging deep into what comprises an author's voice, inspired by listening to a workshop CD by Barbara Samuels. Her worksheet for that is on her site, and can be found here. Lots of great questions on the worksheet, and I will be posting a few of my answers to those later on. The most important thing I've learned from this so far is that our voice is made up of everything we have been, seen, done, experienced, wanted, whatevered. Surrounding myself with what I am intrinsically drawn to isn't being self indulgent; it's a smart investment in honing my voice and since my voice is the only one I can write with, keeping it honed is essential.

Trends come, trends go. Nobody can please everybody, but apple trees can only grow apples and I believe there's a bumper crop coming in this year.

A bit of writerly ranting...

The rather menacing gentleman there is Patrick, my apple pie badass. He's not a story character (at least not yet) but a Sim (and I seriously hope I saved him before the great crash that made me reinstall the game) and he reflects my mood at the moment. Which is to say that I need a bit of menace to get my game on today. By that I mean writing game, not Sims2.

I have an all day workshop at my local RWA chapter to attend on Saturday, where I'll be pitching twice. I love pitching, so two pitches in one day is a special treat. Even better if either of them want to catch what I'm throwing.

Warrior by Zoe Archer is peeking out of my bag, taunting me. Reading time later. With my love of adventure in my stories, how can I resist a love story set in Outer Mongolia? Plus the cover is gorgeous.

I blame Michelle Ward's art for the endless loop of HIM's "Acoustic Funeral" that's been going on in my brain...and Rhapsody player. I'd never listened to that group before visiting Michelle's blog in search of art tutorials, and now it won't get out of my head. I also blame her for the decision to design my own digital brushes for words that go with images I use in my art...but this isn't an art post.

This is where I throw a fit about writing and perfectionism and telling myself what I would tell anyone else. Open a file and start pounding keys. The process will beget the content. I have never found that to be false, so on I go.

Saturday at the Movies #9 - Spectacle


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For certain movies, I like to sit as close to the screen as possible. If a movie is going to have dazzlingly gorgeous visuals, I want the full immersion experience. For this, I blame Fantasia. (By which I mean the Disney movie, not singer Fantasia Barrino, whom I do not blame for anything. She's cool. She was also not named after the movie, but a china pattern.)


For pure try-to-look-everywhere-at-once factor, with added ear-dazzle from the eclectic, over the top and somehow perfect soundtrack, often sung by actors who are not singers (Oh, Elephant Love Medley, you own me) there is Moulin Rouge. Having an artist for a father, I knew what the Moulin Rouge was before I knew what McDonald's was; didn't every three year old know about Toulouse Lautrec and have the ability to identify his works? So when I first heard about this film, I knew it would have that whole more is more is more gloves off spectacle factor. The fact that it was a gorgeous story of an idealistic writer played by Ewan MacGregor who falls in love with Nicole Kidman's Satine, a gorgeous, infamous courtesan/performer with a secret, I was sold before word one.


Chicago - Being a kid in NY in the 70s, I knew who Bob Fosse was, and his choreography is the first thing that "All That Jazz" brings to mind. I was of course far too young to be able to see Chicago when it was a stage show, but there was always something about the little I knew about it that pulled at me, so when the Catherine Zeta-Jones/Renee Zellwiger/Richard Gere version came around, I had to see it. Oh my. Oh my. Dark and dense and definitely not for children. Beautiful in its own twisted way.


The Phantom of the Opera - Andrew Lloyd Webber is always good for spectacle, so I could stop right there. I could not possibly pick between my two favorite shots - the ruined opera house or the wintry graveyard. Not a single shot in this movie went without some degree of jaws dropping. (for the curious, I adhere to Gaston Leroux's version of the phantom, so I'm a Christine/Raoul gal)


The Lovely Bones - content may be triggering for some, but today's choices are based on the visual dazzle factor, and The Lovely Bones has that in spades. Not what one might expect for a story about a fourteen year old girl who watches from her self-created "in between" as her family goes on after her death, in their search for justice and healing. The special effects as we see the in between, which can change at any moment, in any way, since it is created by the one who lives in it, have the wow factor for sure, but that's not the only draw. The everyday shots of her family beginning in 1973 suburbia and moving forward are spot on perfect down to the colors and the entire feel of the film. It's like a time machine. Snapshots taken by the budding photographer main character, and developed after her death (not of the crime, which is never shown) add extra impact.

Where I Am

I could be flippant and say I’m at Panera, or more grammatically correct, in a chair at Panera (though that would arguably be on the chair rather than in it – thank you, Professor Facos from Vermont College for haunting me all these years with that particular nit) but I’m feeling more writerly-philosophical than that.

After a break of a few days, I’m back in the cat-sitting game for the rest of the week. Not that I mind; I love the furries, they love me and litterbox duty is a small price to pay for companions who will not give me any sassback or roll their eyes when I start talking plot or characters out loud without being aware that I am doing so. They may exchange condescending feline glances, but they will not roll their eyes, and I’ll take that.

Thunderstorms slated for today, and if they can hold back until DH is at work and thus breathing his workplace’s air conditioning, I promise to remain calm. I love storms as long as nobody has to go to the ER. I have a thing about ERs.

That’s pretty much the real life stuff going on, so now we can get to the writing. I am still in Lost withdrawal. After a second viewing of the finale, I landed (pun unintended) in the thumbs up camp and off the WTF fence. Officially counting Lost as my favorite series, period. (Highlander and Moonlight vying for second, for those who care about these things.) Currently working my way through the Season One DVDs, planning to rewatch all six seasons, adding each season as I finish the last one. Discretionary budget permitting. Must check library. One more time through for pleasure, then time to break out the notebooks and start studying; what works for me in Lost and why does it work and how can I adapt parts of that for my own use?

During dinner with one of my critique partners, Melva, last week, we discussed current and upcoming projects. After regaling her with the big hairy jumble of stuff I’m working on now (I am the queen of multitasking; I’m happiest and most productive that way) she asked “what after that?” and I had a :blinkblink: moment. Yep, time to start thinking ahead for future stuff, even though I have days of thinking I’m drowning under what I’ve got. Refer to parenthetical comment above.

Which means it's time to start gathering inspiration; paying attention to what I'm reading, what I'm watching, the music I play over and over (apart from the playlists for each story I'm writing; every story has its own playlist) and indulge my TVTropes.org addiction. In short, time to put another pot of Idea Soup on the cooker. If one must know, the stove where these stories cook is an Aga. One of these, in pillar box red.

Haven't made icons in a while, but that may cycle around again. :pets Photoshop Elements: Though most of my Sims2 time recently has been devoted to Asylum challenges (I'm twisted that way) I do have plans for photoshoots so that's another reason to break out PSE and play.

New artistic kid on the block is beading; the necklace in the picture above reads "more," and is my favorite piece I've made to date. There will be, ah, more.

I’m blogging more, and I like that. Many thanks to those who comment either here or on Facebook. Since theming my Fridays and Saturdays seems to have lit the fire, I am considering other themes for other days. Maybe a similar look at keeper shelf or TBR books? TV? Writing process? Anything you’d like me to blab about? Drop a line and let me know.

Time for a new Moleskine.

What we have here is the notebook I've been carrying in my purse since January. No theme for the contents, more of a catchall for the brain droppings that occur during the day, and the cover design was a bit of fiddling while watching something mediocre on TV. If I had put more thought into it, "fleur" would be centered over the fleur de lis (a current favorite motif.)

Time to retire this one (it's full) and start another. Need to think of theme for cover art; eyeing my Celtic knotwork stamps, so maybe that. The kraft cover Moleskines are for writing; those are lined inside. Black ones, not pictured, are for art. Current thing there is hand-drawing striped borders around all interior pages. My drawing skills are pitiful, but borders, I can manage.

Having a fine time working on novel and two novellas, all in different stages. I like the energy I get switching off among the three. When one finishes, then a new one must begin. Hence the mini notebook that goes with me everywhere. No more lost ideas. At least in theory. It's the end of the day, and I'm loopy. But I have iced tea, so that's good.

How could I not take that picture? I love snow, I love cemeteries, and this one was on the same street as a friend's house, and I had my camera right there with me, so everything I needed was right there. I love it when things fall together like that.

Back in my fanfiction days, I wrote a novel-legnth quartet of stories that took place on an arctic world, with much angst and adventure, mostly because I wanted to have all the snow I could possibly want in my story world. My latest novel has a wintry setting, and come to think of it, so did the first one. (they're not related) Also one of my novel bytes. Do we see a trend here? Winter is where my brain goes first and I have to remind myself other seasons need love, too.

Winter is a good fit for me. I love when there's a pristine blanket of white over everything and the delicious feeling of being the one to make the first footprint -or decide not to- and even helping dig out a friend's car brings a giddy thrill. It's only this year that I've remembered to have my camera at the ready to catch moments of wintry inspiration. Will I have more wintry stories? Undoubtedly. Will the other seasons get some of my attention? Undoubtedly there as well, but I'll always have a favorite and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Do you have a favorite g0-to season for reading or writing? What about it grabs you? Share, and maaaaybe I won't lob a snowball in your direction. Maybe. Because I love a good snowball fight.

I have a cover! Squee! Orphans in the Storm, my spring release from Awe-Struck E-Books, gets all dressed pretty by the talented Kathleen Underwood (whose name I will steal for a heroine one day) and I couldn't be happier.

The images were taken from unrestricted stock images at DeviantArt. Anybody want to guess at how many pictures this picture actually is? I'll share links to the original images soon, as well as an excerpt, but since I'm spending today burning sampler CDs for my backlist (hey, I get to say "my backlist!" ::pumps fist::) and an advance peek at Orphans, I'll give you the short blurb today.

The Hidden Countess:
A black robe brought Jonnet Killey to the Isle of Man and a black robe would take her away to the noble English family she has never known.

The King’s Man:
All Simon Burke wants is to carry out his mission to return Jonnet to her birth mother and secure the funds to help finance Charles Stuart’s return to British soil.

An Adventure in Exile:

A new life awaits Jonnet, with a mother on the brink of madness and a treacherous uncle who will stop at nothing to keep Jonnet’s inheritance to himself. While the end of exile nears, danger mounts. Can Simon and Jonnet depend on their newfound love to sustain them while the storm of treachery rages around them?

Resurfacing

My all purpose question these days is, "can I put gesso on it?" Usually, the answer is "yes." Seeing as how I only have white gesso right now, this may mean that as soon as I get black gesso I may not be seen again for another long time. Hopefully, though, I'm back. Writing, digital art, regular art, reading about ballroom dancing (the joys of research) and what I promised myself I wouldn't do -- start brewing the idea soup for a new historical before I've finished one of the current projects. Sometimes these things happen, and I really truly am not going to start actual writing on the new project until I finish the first full draft of Endless Summer. Seeing as how the half draft is done, saved and I'm rapidly approaching the midpoint of the first full draft ::ducking floundersmack from Vicki, who will tell me I am working on my second draft and the half draft is the first draft:: that shouldn't be too long. So I am okay with starting the idea soup.

Currently stuck on Blake Lewis' "Meet Me At the End of the World," which may have some influence on the new project. Still on a pretty good run of reading historicals; not every one is a gem, but keeping a steady stream of reading helps keep a steady stream of writing.

Did not see American Idol last night, as our cable was wonky and unless is was "Only make sound every other syllable" night, I don't have that kind of patience. Watched the real life hero tinker with tv and cable box for two hours while attempting to talk to a human being at the cable place and was thankful I had a book with me.

Doing good, feeling good, would say looking good but not yet ready to attempt self portraiture with digicam. Ask me again after shampoo and makeup, but the joy of new fitted tshirts means I can get rid of the schlubby old sizes too big ones that procreate in my tshirt drawer.

Conference coming in a month, huzzah. Time to mingle with other romance writers and beg agents/editors to recognize my genius. Making mini cds with promo stuff on them, so if you hear a voice that sounds like mine saying Very Bad Words, you know I'm trying to print something new.

The point of it all is, I am here, really I am. (edited to add appropriate icon I'd forgotten I made)

I'm in an arty phase at the moment, hence the icon base over yonder. Alexandra Vandernoot as Tessa from Highlander, and part of the inspiration for Trista, my heroine in my historical MS, The Wild Rover. Which I have neglected for the past six weeks while working feverishly on the time travel, Endless Summer. Which paid off, as I now have a nifty certificate boasting my being in the four top page counts of all who participated. Sense of accomplisment, I has one. Definetly gives me the impetus to keep on plugging and I'm close to having a workable first draft on that one. I may have to keep up some of the disciplines as a regular matter of course.

As for other matters, I need a really good historical romance read. This said by the woman who could build a small bungalow out of her TBR pile, and a small garage out of her keepers. You readers know what I mean, though. It has to be the right read at the right time. I think my Karen Ranney glom spoiled me. I did break down and rebuy the first of her Highland Lords series, so may delve into that, only it will mean rebuying the rest of the series, four more books, and I'm not in a series mood at the moment. Le sigh. May have to brave the attic and rummage for the other Ranneys I know are in there somewhere. Or I can reread her Tapestry. Yep, that desperate. Or devoted. Or something.

There's a certain sort of extra zing when the right art and the right reading come together to feul the writing. I like the zing. Need the zing. Getting the zing. Also some gummi bears.

Nearly a month -- I know, I know, bad blogger. I wish I could say I've been furiously writing the entire time, but that wouldn't be entirely true. I have been making a concerted effort to write more, more tush in chair and fingers on keyboard, and by my page count, that is definetly paying off, but it's more relaxing than furious. I think all my furious is going into my heroines these days; outside of writing, I'll settle for a good nap. I'll save the furious part for everyday inconveniences. In short, me, doing good, family doing good, everyday urghs have ups and downs, but the story does go on.

Plus graphics. Since part of the everyday ugh includes an unusual sleep schedule, and the abode is still a postage stamp, I've found myself with some very artistic evenings. Granted, it's what one would term fan art, but y'know, that's what fires my creative brain, so that's what I'm going with for right now. Last week's project was icons -- don't know if there are enough message boards I go on to use half of the ones I've been making, but it's like calisthenics for the brain. How much can I get into such a little square? Time spent hunting down new techniques and tutorials is not time wasted, but time well spent, if it can get me to think "what if I tried this?" Sometimes it works out, sometimes not so good, but I have become far more familiar with Paint Shop Pro 6 than I thought I would. I do plan to upgrade in the near future, when I acquire the big bad pink monster, but for now, this is good.

With all that, yesterday, I hit on a first in that department. I actually printed out some of my projects for a scrapbook. Love scrapbooks. but face it, nobody wants to see my memories of the last year. (Though I do wonder what the good folks at Somerset Memories would think if I sent in a layout entitled "Three ER visitss in one week!" or "Another Alzheimer Moment." Umm, yeah, probably not.) I don't want to see my memories of last year. Trust me, I will not forget, and by the time I channel them into some poor unfortunate character in another century, they will be far more entertaining than traumatic.

For right now, this is my visual art. Taking the scenes and ideas and characters in my head and making them different, which, after all, is what I do with writing anyway. Only this time, with images. Which make the words want to come out and play.