lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Dec. 22nd, 2011 11:10 am)

Well, I finished the zombies-and-cowboy trunk novel last night. At least the zero draft. It weighs in at 65K, which is a little large for a zero draft, and means it’ll be closer to 80 after I revise it into a reasonable first draft. That’s not going to happen for a while, though, since I’m going right back to proof pages for Bannon & Clare (due the first week of 2012, I weep for my sleep schedule) and another round of revision on the new YA (after the first of the year) plus the drop-dead date for starting the zero draft of the next Bannon & Clare is New Year’s Day. Begin the year as you mean to go on, I guess.

So last night, sweating and excited, I typed finis at the end of DAMNATION. There’s a sheriff with a hidden past, a schoolmarm with a secret, a gold claim, and zombies. Lots of zombies, and some bonus vampire action. I need to go back and layer in a lot of stuff now that I know the shape of the finished work, and it may be a crappy trunk novel nobody will ever buy, but at least it is no longer a crappy unfinished trunk novel nobody will ever buy. Plus, it features a death by skillet and the immortal line “He ain’t gettin any fresher.” Also, horses, and a group of “frails”–saloon whores–who want to learn to read and figure so they can open their own fancy houses OR stop being cheated by the saloon manager.

…Yeah, I had fun.

I am also thinking of getting bids for help in putting some of the SquirrelTerror saga into, say, a nice thin trade paperback. It would need editing and copyediting, and perhaps an index, and I’m sure I would want to add some footnotes. And a map. So editing, CE, and formatting/design. I’m not sure if it would be viable; I’d probably spend more on the editor than I’d ever make on the damn thing, but it would please me. At the moment, it’s just a thought.

I have further decided I’m not going to run until next Monday. I’m told that every once in a while you have to stop beating on the flesh and give it a slight rest so you can shock it more effectively when you restart. I am sure my body will appreciate this, though the rest of me will be cranky.

And that is all the news that is fit for something, I guess, or at least all the news I can give right now. Next year promises to be very exciting. Maybe another trunk novel will fall out of my head?

*shakes Magic 8 Ball*

Ask again later? What kind of crap is that?

Over and out!

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Oct. 25th, 2011 08:42 am)

*clears throat*

Angel Town, the last of the Jill Kismet series (for now) is now shipping from Barnes & Noble, Powell’s, and Amazon.

She wakes up in her own grave. She doesn’t know who put her there, she doesn’t know where she is, and she has no friends or family.

She only knows two things: She has a job to do: cleansing the night of evil. And she knows her name.

Jill Kismet.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be hunched in a corner shaking, as is my usual wont on release days. You’d think they would get easier to handle, but no–I feel the same fierce anxiety each time.

Over and out!

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So the new YA is gathering steam. I’ve reached the point of excavating the world instead of feeling my way around in the dark, and I can tell the long dark slump of picking at the book like it’s a scab is just around the corner.

I have, over the course of writing a few books, become pretty comfortable with how that process usually works for me. Familiarity, while not getting rid of the frustration factor OR the sheer amount of work necessary, does help one plan, and it does help one get through the more uncomfortable parts of writing a book with something resembling grace. (Or at least, you can stumble through without stubbing your toes too much.) Being able to say, “Oh, this is the slump part of the project, I can just keep chipping and eventually I’ll get to the dead heat phase,” is a lot easier than saying “OMFG this book is going to kill me WHY AM I DOING THIS?” Note, however, that one can say both at the same time, and the former does help to ameliorate some of the sheer ARGH of the latter.

For me, writing a book goes somewhat like this:

Read the rest of this entry » )

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Yesterday I was out of commission for a variety of reasons. Today I’m back on the horse while recovering–well, sort of. Sort of back on the horse, not sort of recovering. Recovery is going just fine.

Argh. I can already tell stringing words together is going to be fun today.

I’m at that stage with a new series–too far into the first book to back out, not far enough along that I can see that I have a chance at finishing it–where every single word I put down seems wrong. The world the characters inhabit is opening up, slowly but surely, and everything I wrote up until I felt the first click in the lock of the story seems dead wrong. It’s not, it will just need tweaking. The biggest danger now is going back and getting caught in the death spiral of reworking the beginning so many times one doesn’t finish the rest of the damn book. Which I frankly can’t afford.

I know the solution is just to push through, that this is a part of the process, that I go through this every time, that it will get better as I gain momentum. Unfortunately, all the calm soothing self-talk in the world will not make the feeling of panic any smaller. The only thing that will help is lowering my head and diving right through. Maybe I’m a freak, I don’t know. I just know that the process does not grow any easier. It grows more tolerable with experience, but not easier.

There might be a lesson in that. *sigh* Maybe it builds character or something. When I build enough character, maybe I won’t feel like tearing my hair out and weeping when I start a new series. Won’t that be nice.

Over and out.

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Jul. 7th, 2011 08:38 am)

This morning’s earworm: Pumped Up Kicks. Hope the rest of Foster the People‘s album is this good.

I’ve been AWOL, dear Readers, because I’m six scenes or so away from finishing The Bandit King. Yesterday I dumped 4K out of my aching head and made structure-notes for the last few scenes. Hopefully I can get this all done before Saturday. (A vain hope, yes, and Saturday is an arbitrary metric. Still…I can dream, right?)

This morning my neighbor said, “Hey…you can use my ladder if you want to get those Frisbees down from your roof.”

“Actually,” I said a little ruefully, “I kind of leave them up there sometimes. Because as soon as I get them down, the kids throw them back up.”

“Well, I thought you wouldn’t have any trouble getting up to get ‘em–I saw your rock climbing videos.”

I laughed, we talked about how we were both uncaffeinated (it was pretty early this morning) and we both trundled back to our respective domiciles to get some java. It made me think.

I’m afraid of heights. Getting up on the wall is a victory over my own fear each time. There’s an arete at my regular climbing wall that freaks me out, and whenever I do corner-climbing it’s claustrophobia and acrophobia all at once. Good times.

I don’t like to run away from things that scare me. If you run, the thing you’re scared of is now behind you where you can’t watch it, and you’re only exhausting yourself. So every time I clip in, it’s a victory. Every time I touch the wall it’s another. And every time I make it even halfway, it’s yet another.

I had vague thoughts of rock climbing making it easier for me to get on ladders. I was wrong. I fear and loathe being on my own roof. (Cleaning the gutters multiple times in fall/winter is always incredibly FUN.) It is not any easier now that I’m climbing multiple times a week–just like slogging through the Slough of Despond part of writing a novel never gets easier. At least, it hasn’t for me–or if it has, the easing has been in recognizing the Slough as part of the process, an obstacle instead of a barrier. I could start viewing the shaking nervousness on ladders as just part of the process. It’s hard to do when your body’s high on chemical fear.

There are things to run away from in life. (Gunfire, abusive relationships, and restaurants that epic-fail their health inspections spring to mind.) Sometimes avoidance is a valid solution. Just be very clear on what you’re avoiding/running from. And that is my deep thought and possibly-useless advice for the day.

Maybe I should get the Frisbees off the roof today. *sigh*

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Look out. The writer is cranky today. Yesterday she killed a protagonist. (You’d think they wouldn’t line up to have her tell their stories, the way she mows them down.)

That’s enough third-person, but you get the idea. Today’s like a perfect storm of Things That Piss Lili Off. If it’s not hormones it’s the short workout (Wednesday is my easy day, only three fast miles instead of the endurance-burn of five) or the appointment to talk about Financial Stuff (doesn’t piss me off, just stresses me out) or the fact that I’m on the last third of the current book (yep, the one I just killed the protag in, bastard had it coming like you wouldn’t believe) and everything that pulls me away from writing earns resentment. Or the Creepy Whistling Dude who thinks that a jogging woman in exercise gear with a working dog in saddlebags clearly has time to stop and pay attention to him. (Miss B. does not like him one little bit. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t either.) Or it could be the weather (though actually, I like the cool and rainy summer we’re having), or a couple other things happening behind the curtain of my personal life. (Don’t ask.)

Every once in a while, one just has a day where the sharp edges are out. It’s time to throw away the scabbard and take no prisoners. Of course, I do have to play gentle today–there’s children, and I’ll be in public for a short time. But other than that? Just throw some choco through the bars and thank your gods I’m on this side.

Over and out.

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Jun. 17th, 2011 09:21 am)

Hello, dear Readers. I’ve been visibly neglecting the blog for a while–I hit a burnout stage with the Friday Writing posts, and after my personal life fell apart in flaming fragments, well, the time and inclination was seriously lacking. I had very little energy, and what I had I had to spend on deadlines. (Speaking of deadlines, you can find an announcement about Bannon & Clare here.)

But things are a little better now. I was out at 7AM with Miss B., ran a respectable three miles in just a few minutes over a half-hour. Running outside is very different than slogging away on the treadmill–harder on the knees and lower back, certainly, and I wouldn’t be running outside if I didn’t have the dog. The companionship and protection factor is not inconsiderable at all.

While I ran, I was putting together the Ride of the New Guard, which is to say, a particular piece in the book I’m working on now where I want the rhythm of a gallop to come through the words. It’s going to require some specific music, and some breathing, and some reading things out loud to get it right.

I am always amazed by people who say they don’t read their dialogue aloud to check for rhythm. Often, problems with dialogue or the “scan” of a piece can be fixed by looking for rhythm and breathbreaks–those places where one runs out of air and naturally take a breath. Reading is most often a silent personal activity, but the flow and ebb of speech is still the most natural framework for a story. Emphasis and stress, the upward inflection of a question, the cadence of education or dialect, all these things are a richness just begging to be used, as well as a forensic tool. Often, when you can tell a sentence isn’t right, saying it aloud will show you where the catch is. (Diagramming the sentence sometimes works too, but only in a small number of cases. YMMV, of course.)

Reading your work aloud to yourself (I add the “to yourself” because reading aloud to others is a special sort of hell for me personally, one I avoid whenever possible) also helps with immediacy–feeling it in your own corpus, and therefore being able to bring it to a Reader.

So, while running this morning, I was thinking of the cadence of a gallop, and how to bring that through. Which will mean a lot of muttering as I stare at my screen today, fingers tapping, and my body remembering what it was like to ride a horse. Of course I’ll look crazy, but that’s beside the point. Crazy’s pretty relative if it pays the bills.

Or so I keep telling myself.

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Neat stuff–I’ll be participating in tomorrow’s TorChat!

Also, Chicks Kick Butt, featuring an Eleni and Tarquin story, Monsters, is now out. I love Monsters–I very much wanted to tell a vampire-hunting story from a vampire’s point of view, and Tarquin has been knocking around in several unfinished stories for a very long time. He and Leonidas are great characters, Eleni surprised me as a protagonist, and I very much like Wolf. Maybe I’ll get to go back to them someday.

In other news, still going full-bore on the alt-Renaissance-France story I can’t really say anything about. Keeping it under-hat is pretty much killing me, but there it is. Anyway, I came to a fresh realization yesterday about how much writing freaks me right the f!ck out.

It was another instance of a secondary character, one I didn’t much care for, suddenly becoming incredibly useful and necessary to the story. I’ve learned to obey that little tingle that tells me just wait, this is important, leave it in. Sometimes I don’t even notice, I’m in that creative fugue state and when I look back over the wordage, I flat-out have no memory of writing it or inserting some detail that turns out to be incredibly important later. This is particularly eerie when I’ve reached an impasse and have backed up to take a look at the bigger structure of the story–and I find, half-buried in the sand, a priceless artifact I had no idea even existed.

I can’t figure out which weirds me more: obeying the internal tingle that tells me a minor character or detail will be important later, or having absolutely no memory of writing something that turns out to be critical to the later parts of the story.

Of course, I could just be losing my mind or amnesiac. That’s always a possibility.

Oh well. Back to the word mines…

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Jun. 13th, 2011 09:51 am)

There’s an interview with me and a giveaway over at My Bookish Ways; there’s also my Top Five Methods To Determine You’re A Zombie plus a giveaway of a one-of-a-kind Jill Kismet-inspired necklace over at CJ Redwine’s place. (The necklace, made by Tasha Falene especially for this giveaway, is so awesome, and it’s strictly a one-off. I wish I could enter to win it.) I think I’m going to be part of a Tor chat on Twitter sometime in the near future too, stay tuned for details.

In the category of Other Cool Internet Things, there’s Flavorwire’s How To Drink Like Your Favourite Authors and information about a stunning movie based on Diaghilev and Nijinksky. Which makes me wish I still had a VHS machine AND a copy of it. *sigh*

I spent pretty much all of yesterday in a fugue state, the story pouring out of my head and onto the screen. It’s weird to surface from a wholly different universe and find out that an hour has passed since you last shifted your weight of (seemingly) blinked. Of all the varied states of consciousness, that one has to be in my top five. It’s so bloody satisfying; it scratches some deep internal itch nothing else does.

Anyway, I am nervous and twitchy this morning. A good hard three-mile outside run with Miss B worked out some of the fidgets, but nothing will cure the rest but sinking into the story again. This is what I live for, really.

So it’s an espresso shooter followed by 500-Mile Chai (hell of a boilermaker, right?), my sword loose in its sheath and my eyes on the horizon.

Come on, story. Let’s tango.

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Nothing much to report. I’ve got a nobleman on the floor with an assassin and a knife, both of them outside a Queen’s door, and I’ve got to figure out what the assassin wants out of this. So that’s going to take some digging through my music library and finding his story. Of course the assassin’s got a story, and I’ve got to find it before I know what he really wants out of all this. Possibly it’s just expediency, but still, I need to know.

This is something I don’t talk about often. What a reader sees is only the tip of the iceberg. There is a massive bulk underneath that lifts it up into the visible. That bulk is what I know of the characters, their motivations, their world, their needs. The bulk is necessary, the labyrinth must be plumbed. It that huge mountain of ice and rock underneath that gives the visible its shape and depth, its internal consistency. Writing is often striking the balance between looking at that bulk and shaping the contours of the visible. Shaving little bits off here, tweaking what lies underneath so that the visible takes the shape one needs.

There’s so much more going into a book than what you see on the page. Sometimes I with the technology was available to invite the reader even further in, to give the full sensory experience I get, the sheer visceral pleasure of living in that alternate universe. Words carry the experience to you, but sometimes the limitations of the medium are so bloody frustrating. That’s why there’s a craft and an art to it, I guess.

Anyway, that’s where I am. Stuck in the heart of an iceberg, chipping away. Shivering and wiping my nose, numb fingers on the chisel…and a huge, stupid grin on my face.

See you in a bit.

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The current book has taken a screaming left turn into dark territory. This surprises me every time it happens. I will think I know a book, I will think I have it all planned out, either in my head or on paper (I have recently, under protest, started outlining. But that’s another blog post.) or what-have-you, and then all of a sudden…this.

The book starts behaving organically, like it is its own creature. The critical mass point is reached and as it coalesces, suddenly the book is a living thing and I am no longer solely creator but also midwife. It’s a funny thing, to have one’s brain taken over in such a manner. Even funnier to admit to it in public, despite the risk of the nice men with the white coats being called.

Anyway, the book just decided that the handwavey holes I had in the outline are of course places for thus-and-such to happen, even though I had no idea thus-and-such would fit neatly into the hole. Almost as if made for it. It’s faintly creepy, you know–my job is just to show up, and the Muse drops these custom-made pegs into these very specific holes. The fairy dust happens reliably when I do what I’m supposed to–sit down, shut up, and write.

Who’d'a’thunkit?

For extra fun and games today, here’s Chuck Wendig’s Six Signs It’s High Time To Give Up Writing.

Enjoy.

*dives back in*

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Too much to explain. Let me sum up.

* An interview with me, and a giveaway, over at CJ Redwine’s place. I am interviewed by a were-llama. Also, part 2 of the giveaway next week involves JEWELRY. Trust me, you want to be in on this.

* The Wall Street Journal went concern-trolling for pageviews again. Dame Jackie responds a lot more politely than I would have, Diane Duane hits it out of the park, the Guardian weighs in, and #YASaves hits trending. I thought of posting my own response to WSJ’s pearl-clutching idiocy, but in the end Jackie and Diane did it better than I ever could, and I don’t want to link and feed the troll more pageviews. So there it is.

* Kristen Lamb on training to be a career writer:

Athletes who compete in decathlons use a lot of different skills—speed, endurance, strength. They walk this fine balance of giving an event their all….without really giving it their all. They still must have energy left to effectively compete in the other events and outpace the competition.

We writers must learn to give it our all….without giving it our all. The better we get at balancing our duties, the more successful we will be in the long-run. Writers who fail to appreciate all this job entails won’t be around in a year or three. They are like a runner who sprints at the beginning of a marathon. They will fall by the side of the road, injured and broken.

So today when you have to squeeze in that 100 words on your break from work, think I’m training. When your kids hang off you as you write, picture that weighted sled. Play the soundtrack to Rocky if you must. (Kristen Lamb)

* Want to see me climb? We’re recording ourselves on routes so we can nitpick our performance. (By “we” I mean “me and ZenEllen, my bouldering partner.”) Here’s some from today: an inglorious failure at a bouldering route, then a second attempt where I stick the damn thing. I’ve been working this route for a few weeks now. You can also see some of my tats, and the Official Belt Of Urban Fantasy. (Long story. I had to buy one, after that.)

And now I’ve got to spend the first half of my writing day in alternate-Renaissance fantasy France, and the second half in contemporary paranormal YA. The braincramps are fun to watch–my face squinches up when I shift gears and go from one to the other. Good times, man. Good times.

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Apr. 11th, 2011 09:36 am)

Morning walk was a treat. Sometimes when the wind is just right, you can even smell the sea, which scratches that itch quite nicely. I don’t feel like myself if I don’t see crashing waves every now and again, but I don’t get out to the beach nearly as often as I should. That may change this summer, with a dog and a decent car. We’ll see.

Unfortunately, I’d have to clear three months’ worth of work before I could afford to take a weekend off. No pain, no gain.

Miss B. is sacked out at my feet–I worked her hard this morning. I’m even wearing out a mini-Aussie, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t think it was possible. Oh well, a tired dog is a well-behaved dog, and all that.

Spring Break is over, the house is quiet because the kidlings are back at school, and I’m settling in. Before I turn off the wireless and get cracking writing the destruction of a whole Londinium shipyard, though, here’s some linkage!

* This is why I’m not letting Miss B. go outside alone. Also, when you have to use baby strollers as bait to catch squirrels…yeah.

* Courtesy of the lovely Mazoku, a little cautionary tale about caffeine. Well, maybe not cautionary. Maybe more like, I’d try this at home just to see the dude in the Matrix coat.

* This morning’s musecrack from my writing partner: a Laura Marling video. There’s a selkie story just begging to be written there.

* Just a note: the Reckoning cover that’s making the rounds on Goodreads? It’s not the final one, guys.

And now I need to plan that shipyard rumble with the assassin, the mad Bavarian genius, the mentath Clare, and a couple of prematurely-awakened mecha. This afternoon will be given over to revising a certain Sekrit Project I hope to announce soon. Let’s just say that if you like the way I write fantasy, you’re in for a treat.

Over and out.

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A busy day looms ahead of me! First off, I’m over at Tynga’s place with an interview and giveaway for Paranormal Spring Break. Also, neat stuff: how pain and the sense of smell appear to be linked.

We’re right on the cusp of spring. The plum tree out back is dragging its feet over blooming; the snowball bush down the road only has a few lone petals standing out like white rags on a sinking ship, the birds are going nuts but the squirrels are oddly quiet. It feels like the world’s holding its breath before the plunge into blooming and growing again. I’m okay with this.

…I just deleted a whole long entry about how terrified I am about taking on yet another project that involves a type of book I’ve never written before. Going outside my comfort zone is good; I think I can do this, I think it will stretch me and I will (hopefully) grow. Of course, I could end up in a flaming wreck on my living room floor, sobbing and drooling with my cerebellum fused, my agent and editors and readers dumping me in disgust. Too soon to tell. Of course, the fear threatens paralysis, and sheer stubborn bloody-mindedness is the only way through.

Good thing I’m good at that. Or at least, well-practiced.

With that cheerful thought, I’m going to go get started on the rest of the day. Yea though I walk through the valley of plot tangles, I shall fear no revision, for I’ve got the Muse chained up in the basement and neither of us are leaving until we’ve given this our best shot. *cracks knuckles* I may end up a drooling mess, but at least I’ll have tried it. That’s all I can hope for.

Over and out.

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My semi-hiatus from blogging proceeds apace. Here’s a couple links:

* I linked to my “The Hard Sell Doesn’t Work” post on Twitter yesterday, and Becca Fitzpatrick has further thoughts.

* An underground village in France, continuously inhabited for thousands of years.

* The Wishery Snow White remix, just because it’s been too long since I’ve linked to it.

* Larissa Ione on thickening skin and review scars.

I am also breaking the semi-hiatus to announce something. It’s that time. I’ve been given official permission to announce the project I’ll be working on after (sadly) finishing up Jill Kismet, Bannon & Clare:

Emma Bannon, Prime sorceress in the service of Britannia, has a mission: to protect Archibald Clare, a failed, unregistered mentath. His skills of deduction are legendary, and her own sorcery is not inconsiderable. It doesn’t much help that they dislike each other, or that Bannon’s Shield, Mikal, might just be a traitor himself. Or that the conspiracy killing registered mentaths and sorcerers alike will just as likely kill them as seduce them into treachery toward their Queen. In an alternate Londonium where illogical magic has turned the Industrial Revolution on its head, Bannon and Clare now face hostility, treason, cannon fire, black sorcery, and the problem of reliably finding hansom cabs. The game is afoot…

I am so ridiculously excited about this. Clockwork horses. Charm and charter. Gryphons. Cannon fire. Logic engines. GIGANTIC CLOCKWORK MECHA RUN BY LOGIC. *does squealing Kermit arm-wavey dance* This is why I’ve been diving up to my eyeballs into Victoriana. I am having a ball with creating Bannon & Clare’s world, and I can’t wait to invite you, dear Reader, into it.

And now, back I go to the semi-hiatus…

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Feb. 15th, 2011 12:32 pm)

Ankle: still hurts a little, though the swelling’s gone way down and the bruising is retreating. It’s interesting yellowy-green with livid spots of blue-black now, with maroon shadings. Colorful! I have been climbing easy 5.7s, and doing some bouldering–just traverses, no vertical problems. (Well, one easy-simple vertical problem I knew I could downclimb today.) Other than that, a lot of stretching, icing, and ibuprofen.

Work: my God, two books in revision, a third to get fresh wordcount in on, and several other little bits of things that keep adding themselves to my to-do list. I’ll just be over here in the corner banging my head softly on my desk in between spurts of productivity.

The rest of it: It’s a good thing I like rain, for we’re drenched so far and it’s still coming down. It’s a very good thing I like research, because the sheer amount I’ve got ahead of me is cheerfully obscene. I miss my morning runs, and I miss the resultant endorphin rush even more. So I’m twitchy and cranky.

I am still Mostly On Hiatus here, just checking in. See you in a bit.

Carry on.

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Feb. 3rd, 2011 09:38 am)

Thanks to everyone who has suggested Victoriana for me! Especially Reader Ariella–thanks for the ISBNs, they make things a ton easier.

My project for the morning (other than bouldering and getting in wordcount) is to find a decent map of London in the 1850s; one at least 2ft by 3ft that I can get laminated and tack up over my fireplace. Of course I plan on altering things with (relative) abandon–what use is history if one can’t have a little fun–but I’d like the bones up there for me to build on, so to speak.

Yes, this is for the current work, but I don’t know if I can announce it yet, so mum’s the word until I get permission. But it’s awesome, I am hideously excited and almost dancing with glee every time I get a chance to work. This is the period of creation where everything is shiny and fun and new, where everything feeds the work and serendipity, not to mention synchronicity, is working overtime. There comes a certain point where something clicks in a book, the characters get a breath of life and start misbehaving in earnest, and the whole thing achieves a critical mass and starts behaving like an organism in its own right rather than just a disparate collection of words.

I love that.

So, I’ve a fresh cuppa and a mass of reference books stacked at my elbow, tissues within reach and the window to my street uncovered. The clouds are gray cotton, the street is gray pavement, even the grass is grayish. But there’s color and life and motion inside my head.

Let the magic begin.

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That’s right–the Harlequin Nocturne I had so much fun writing is now released into the wild!

Sophie Wilson never believed she was special. Avoiding a violent ex, she can’t remember the last time she felt truly safe. Then vampires murder her best friend and Sophie is kidnapped by a dangerously sexy shapeshifter.

Zach insists Sophie is a shaman–someone with a rare gift for taming a shifter’s savage side–and he needs her to help him save his pack. Now, with a malevolent enemy closing in, Sophie and Zach must risk everything on a bond that may be their only salvation…

Now available at Barnes & Noble, Borders, Indiebound, and Amazon!

Seriously. I had so much fun writing this book. It’s kind of a shock to see it out in the world; I still grin when I think about writing some of the scenes. I had a great time, and I hope my dear Readers like it.

I am also pleased and proud to present the cover of Those Who Fight Monsters, a kickass anthology premiering in March. My contribution is a fresh new Jill Kismet story, Holding The Line, and the anthology also features wonderful authors like Simon Green, Caitlin Kittredge, and fellow Deadline Dame Jackie Kessler, edited by the fantastic Justin Gustainis.

That’s just one of the upcoming anthologies I’ll be in this year. Stay tuned for more news!

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lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Jan. 3rd, 2011 01:02 pm)

So, it’s the Monday after New Year’s. Which means the kids are back in school, the house is quiet…and I had to get up at an ungodly hour to get my morning run out of the way before embarking on a chaotic mix of errands and writing that is my day today. I think, perhaps, the problem is that I’m not running enough–I put in six and a half miles this morning, with no nosebleed.

Yeah, we’ll put that in the “things you didn’t want to know” column.

I’m a little nervous about tomorrow, even though there’s really nothing I need to do except sign a paper and wait for the news. *crosses fingers* Anyway.

I’ve got the new Duffy CD in, and I have to say, when she’s belting out angry she’s much better than this pop stuff they’re trying to get her to sing. She’s like Amy Winehouse without the trainwreck; but also without that razor edge. All in all, eh. I’ll stick to the Rockferry album.

It’s taken me about a half-hour to write this, because other things keep popping up and I keep bashing them on the head. My days are an endlessly-revolving parade of Whack-A-Mole. Who knew going back to work would be this much fun? Hopefully I’ll be less scattered tomorrow.

There’s always hope.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

lilithsaintcrow: (Default)
( Dec. 21st, 2010 02:05 pm)

I literally have not stopped running since I climbed out of bed this morning. I even braved the post office, picking up a package–now there was an inspiring moment. Everyone was quiet, calm, smiling, and well-behaved. Considering that most trips to the post office during the holiday season are brutal survival-of-the-fittest scrums, I felt lucky to witness a half hour of strangers standing in line and making small talk, grinning at the antics of a small child, and actively helping other people out.

Today is for beating on a zero draft to finish getting it in respectable shape. I already know two major changes I have to make, but they were things I suspected would end up changing when I wrote them, so I’m not stressed. The most difficult part of this is saying goodbye to characters that have occupied my headspace for multiple years now. That part is never easy, especially when one suspects one could have told their story better, if one had just known.

Anyway, I finally managed to eat something and get some more coffee down, and now I have a whole afternoon to spend in the laborious process of revising and bidding farewell. I probably won’t cry until I get closer to the end.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to be a leaky spigot. Fetch me the Kleenex and pay no attention to the sobbing. This is still the greatest job in the world.

Over and out.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

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