Duality

One of my favorite singers of all time is Maddy Prior. What I love most is her range; she can sing a sweet tune, but she often chooses grim and terrifying tales of death and destruction.

As a writer I often contemplate my own duality. In 'real life' I like to think of myself as a cheerful person. People describe me as happy. However, almost of my work has dark elements. Perhaps composing scary prose helps me live a joyful life. Or keeps me from whacking people over the head. :-) In truth, we are all creatures of light and of dark. The writer's lifestyle too is yin and yang; publish and rejection, creation and blockage, loneliness and exhilaration.

Listen to Maddy Prior singing a lovely old carol, and then the song that first drew me to her, The Fabled Hare. The New Year is upon us, cold and dark. But spring is just around the corner.

A Science Fiction Holiday

I’ve haven’t been blogging as much lately because I’m almost done with another book, which has proven to be harder than anything I’ve ever done. Not a bad thing, but it has kept me busy. This one is science fiction, and although I’ve written some sci-fi shorts, it’s my first novel in this genre.


Which has garnered some interesting responses. Those who don’t read fantasy tend to lump it into the children’s book slot, or perhaps link it to some childhood fairytale memory, which makes their comments slightly more positive. With science fiction, non readers can more negative. Sic- fi is weird. It’s for boys. It’s (sigh) not serious literature. I usually just smile and say if you read one my books it would mean so much to me.  :-)

I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how no one says Merry Christmas anymore. I don’t make an issue of how I’m greeted holiday-wise…I Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah or Happy Holiday them back, because for me it’s the intent behind the wishes.

In the spirit of the season, I wish you and yours the magic of this special time however you express it, and contented reading whatever you pull up on your Kindle or off your bookshelf.

It’s all good.

Halloween House

This year we made a spaceship made from Rice Krispie treats (yum). The aliens look like spiders because spiders ARE aliens, I'm convinced. No pooping animals this year. They don't make aliens that poop. A marketing opportunity for sure.

Happy Halloween!!!

Goth Susi

I’m not much of a doll person; I don’t hate them or anything, but they’ve always seemed a little creepy, aka Twilight Zone’s I’m Talking Tina and I’m Going To Kill You. Shudder. As a female kid I did have a few and have kept a couple. My favorite was a life sized doll (I know, REALLY creepy) named Susi. Susi has sat in my childhood rocker for as long as I can remembers, clad in a pink fluffy dress.

This next bit many seem unrelated but if you’ve read my blog you know it will tie together in the end. As I’ve said so many times, a writer's lifestyle is difficult for many reasons, one of which is the understanding that income levels rise very slowly. I’m doing better than I was when I started, but I’m not making anywhere near what I did in corporate-ville.

I know that and have accepted it, but sometimes I long for those flush times. So the other day I was drooling over some unneeded item of clothing when I thought of poor Susi, wearing the same stupid dress for the last 40 years. So I did something about it.

I used an old skirt of mine that didn’t stretch enough for dancing as a dress. I gave her a pair of my lace socks, added a red headband, clipped on some earrings, and last but not least, gave her a punky armband…Goth Susi arises!

Dressing her in new garb was so much fun, and it didn’t cost me a dime. The old Kelly would have found a site with doll clothes and ordered her something. The new Kelly realizes that the fun comes from doing it myself. And that’s something the writer’s lifestyle has taught me; I don’t need a lot of money or stuff to make me happy. Would I add back in fancy vacations and lavish gifts to my family if I ever make it big? Yeah. Do I need those things to live a joyous life? Nope.

Hummm…maybe Goth Susi would like to be a fairy next…

We’re Only Human

I’ve heard that expression many times: in conversation, in insurance commercials, in literature. In some ways it has lost all meaning, becoming not just a remark on human imperfection, but an excuse that can cover just about everything. I cheated, well, I’m only human., I crashed into your car, well, I’m only human, as if that resolves responsibility. But perhaps how we come to grips with our darker nature does, in some ways, define us.

Most books, if you think about it, are all exploring what it means to be human; in literature that means conflict, and usually brushing up against the dark side. This is no more evident than in science fiction, where humans often encounter beings from another world. I’ve been thinking about what makes humans human a lot lately, since my current project is science fiction.

Some of the robots I’ve read about lately and seen on TV are so life like they make me shiver. And although they may nod, blink, and smile, no matter how much they may resemble or behave like humans we know they are not. At least right now. I’m still hoping for Azimov’s positronic brain. :-)

Conversely, sometimes “real” humans can act in inhuman ways. Recently I saw the creepiest scene ever in the newest Bourne movie. SPOILER ALERT. Scene build up: scientist works on a government project which is going to be shut down. The government kills all of the scientists except one woman; she doesn’t know she was meant to be killed. So these same government agents, masquerading as psychologists, come to visit the woman to see how she is getting along. While searching her house they discover her gun. One supposed psychologist sits next to the woman, the man holding the gun on the other side, the faux psychologist calmly says “on three.”…they were going to kill the woman and say she killed herself. (She escapes.)

What chilled me to the bone was how matter- of- fact the agent said “on three.” I wondered how many times did it take for her to become so deadened to killing…. at what point did she lose her humanity?

With aliens, of course, they never had humanity to lose. But they must have a semblance of it, in other words, if you can’t recognize yourself in an alien it becomes a monster. Which is fine if that is what you are going for, but I want my aliens to be a definite shade of gray, no pun intended.

A fabulous example of this concept is from Star Trek Next Generation. The ship comes upon a new planet and some of the ship's children are spirited away. The aliens, when confronted, can’t understand why the crew is so upset. You can have more, the alien woman says, we can’t. Even though the kidnapping of children wasn’t tolerated by the captain and wouldn’t be in any real life situation, the viewer can still feel sympathy for the aliens.

Exploring humanity is so interesting…if an alien or robot acts humanely, are they more human than a “real” person who behaves with no sense of right or wrong? That’s what I’m pondering about right now…

We All Get Better

Recently I discovered a collection of short stories by one of my favorite sci-fi/fantasy writers. The reason I hadn’t read them before is because these tales were early works of said author. Very early. I devoured them with great zeal and was….rather disappointed. It wasn’t that the stories were bad…a couple were ahhhhh worthy…it was that none of them showed the sparkle I’ve come to expect. I couldn’t put my finger on it; the plots were more or less good, the writing technically great, but that special something just wasn’t there.

After I finished I got out my first story. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t that good either. OK plot, only a few edits I wouldn’t have made today, but it didn’t wow. I can see why it never sold.

Reading the early works of one of my favorite (and famous) writers made me feel a whole lot better about my stuff. We all start out somewhat shy of what will develop into our own personal style, and even after achieving that, we can all strive to get better and better. This experience has also caused me to contemplate just what does make a story sing beyond plot, characters, setting, technical expertise...I know it when I read it, but that's not all that helpful. Hummmm...

In the meantime, I can only hope that my debut story never gets dug out from its worthy grave.

Wormholes

If you are a genre writer I’m sure you’ve had this conversation:

Them: “Oh you’re a writer? Me too! What do you write?”
Me: “Lots of things, mostly fantasy and sci-fi.”
Them: “Oh.”
Me: “What do you do?” (Already knowing the answer.)
Them: “I write literary.”

Ah yes, literary, where an apple is an apple and never a magical fruit. That’s not quite right; an apple would be a metaphor, perhaps standing in for a woman who can never be pregnant. Did you get that? A metaphor, usually presented over and over just in case you were too dense to understand the first time. Sigh.

Lately some fantasy and sci-fi writers, perhaps to get literary recognition, have dived into that (to me) pompous arena. Over the past couple of years I’ve read, and I kid you not, at least ten stories about metaphoric spacial wormholes appearing in human flesh: brains, hearts, legs, arms, one day they woke up and there it was. Of course, they weren't just wormholes, they were really talking about alienation.

I’ve railed before about Ant Rand. Love her stories, but I don’t like Objectivisim jammed down my throat. My husband asked me the other day if I thought literary works and Ayn Rand books were the same.

Not to me. Was Ayn Rand an intellectual snob? Yeah. She believed intelligent people should get better treatment and more stuff. But she made no pretense of this and never tried to hide her beliefs. You know from the first few pages what she is going to pound you with.

Literary works, in my opinion, are a totally different animal. They try to hide the “real” meaning within heavy, confusing prose, but then present their goal again and again just in case you don’t “get” it. Every time I read one of those stories it feels like the author is saying I’m smart, can you tell I’m smart, and if you can’t figure out the puzzle you’re stupid.

I used to be able to avoid literary fiction, but now it’s in every fantasy and sci-fi collection I pick up. But then I read something by one of genre’s (and proud of it) best writers and laughed my ass off.

Luckily, there was no wormhole in it.

The Return of the Zombie-Genre by Ursula K. Le Guin

Something woke her in the night. Was it steps she heard, coming up the stairs — somebody in wet training shoes, climbing the stairs very slowly... but who? And why wet shoes? It hadn't rained. There, again, the heavy, soggy sound. But it hadn't rained for weeks, it was only sultry, the air close, with a cloying hint of mildew or rot, sweet rot, like very old finiocchiona, or perhaps liverwurst gone green. There, again — the slow, squelching, sucking steps, and the foul smell was stronger. Something was climbing her stairs, coming closer to her door. As she heard the click of heel bones that had broken through rotting flesh, she knew what it was. But it was dead, dead! God damn that Chabon, dragging it out of the grave where she and the other serious writers had buried it to save serious literature from its polluting touch, the horror of its blank, pustular face, the lifeless, meaningless glare of its decaying eyes! What did the fool think he was doing? Had he paid no attention at all to the endless rituals of the serious writers and their serious critics — the formal expulsion ceremonies, the repeated anathemata, the stakes driven over and over through the heart, the vitriolic sneers, the endless, solemn dances on the grave? Did he not want to preserve the virginity of Yaddo? Had he not even understand the importance of the distinction between sci fi and counterfactual fiction? Could he not see that Cormac McCarthy — although everything in his book (except the wonderfully blatant use of an egregiously obscure vocabulary) was remarkably similar to a great many earlier works of science fiction about men crossing the country after a holocaust — could never under any circumstances be said to be a sci fi writer, because Cormac McCarthy was a serious writer and so by definition incapable of lowering himself to commit genre? Could it be that that Chabon, just because some mad fools gave him a Pulitzer, had forgotten the sacred value of the word mainstream? No, she would not look at the thing that had squelched its way into her bedroom and stood over her, reeking of rocket fuel and kryptonite, creaking like an old mansion on the moors in a wuthering wind, its brain rotting like a pear from within, dripping little grey cells through its ears. But its call on her attention was, somehow, imperative, and as it stretched out its hand to her she saw on one of the half-putrefied fingers a fiery golden ring. She moaned. How could they have buried it in such a shallow grave and then just walked away, abandoning it? "Dig it deeper, dig it deeper!" she had screamed, but they hadn't listened to her, and now where were they, all the other serious writers and critics, when she needed them? Where was her copy of Ulysses? All she had on her bedside table was a Philip Roth novel she had been using to prop up the reading lamp. She pulled the slender volume free and raised it up between her and the ghastly golem — but it was not enough. Not even Roth could save her. The monster laid its squamous hand on her, and the ring branded her like a burning coal. Genre breathed its corpse-breath in her face, and she was lost. She was defiled. She might as well be dead. She would never, ever get invited to write for Granta now.

The Final Frontier

I love Star Trek in all of its reincarnations and adaptations; I even watched the cartoon series with great fervor. I love reading sci-fi too. I’ve written some short sci-fi stories, but until now never attempted a novel.

Why? It’s hard. And it’s not my bailiwick; fantasy worlds also must be constructed, but I know my fairies. I’m also fairly well versed in world religions, so with a little research, I can successfully add a spiritual element or two in between the elves and dryads.

But sci-fi…whew. Aliens have to make sense; you can’t have them be all bug eyed and green skinned and then have them prancing around on earth, um, someone would notice. The science has to make sense. A unique culture must be invented. Language. Arts. Social mores….eeeeeeek.

But I’m doing it. Sci-fi is something I haven’t done yet. Since I've read a lot of it, at least I’m familiar with the genre. And, although I can’t add fairies, I might just be able to sneak in my signature spiritual bit.

It’s scary. But I’ll try to boldly go where I’ve not gone before…

Dresden Files

I’ve just read, no, consumed, all of the available Dresden Files books, including a collection of short stories in the same world. They are riveting, fun, exciting, can’t put ‘em down sort of books.

For you writers this may be no surprise, but I can no longer read for pleasure as well as I used to. That is an unfortunate side effect of the writing profession, I’ve come to realize. I’m constantly worrying if I will unconsciously steal something, I assess why this book is popular, and….I see things my own publishers nag me (rightly so) about…overused words, favorite phrases, “mistakes” in narrator voice.

Jim Butcher does all of those. I’ve found myself mentally whacking out unneeded words and substituting others for his favorites. He pops from 1st person narrative to using an omnipresent first, which is a little jarring.

But you know what? His books are SO good, so fast paced that I don’t do my editing thing nearly as much. The man can tell a story. His characters, well, I love them. I would like to meet them. I want to be friends with them. Well, some of them. His monsters are very creepy. And just when I think he can’t take the plot any further, I mean really…he’s on book fourteen for heaven’s sake…he does.

These books are true escapism, even for a writer. But be warned: once you start you can’t stop.

It’s Harder Than It Looks

I’ve mentioned this before, but it seems like everyone can sing…or write. Nary a few words about my latest book escapes my lips when the asker (and hey, weren’t they asking about me) launches into his or her own desire to write.

I’m cool with that. Mostly. Maybe they do have a book in there. And I’m willing, within reason, to help.  I can’t read every manuscript because I’d never get anything done, but I will offer advice, such as I have, to anyone.

I was talking with a writer the other day. I read his book because he’s a friend. It was good. But as we talked about the other part of writing, aka, marketing, rejections, and more rejections, I could see his heart sinking.

He was sad to find out you have to wait a long time to get a book back from a publisher or agent, and sometimes “no” is simply they never write or send back. You can’t, for the most part, simultaneously submit. Agents and publishers are sometimes less than kind. They can be excited one minute and then decide they don’t want your material. It doesn’t pay very well at first. And on and on. At one point he whispered that’s not fair.

Yeah…sometimes it isn’t. When I’m feeling that way I bring to mind a Jareth quote about unfairness from the movie Labyrinth: you say that so often, I wonder what your basis of comparison is? Publishing is a business and business isn’t personal when it does what it does. It’s just business.That's my basis of comparison.

But of course, that doesn’t help much when you get a mean rejection or never hear back from an agent or publisher. I felt bad for my friend, but that conversation also made me realize I have toughed it out, and I will continue to tough it out. Writing is not for the faint of heart. If nothing else, I can be glad for my stalwart, if often bruised, one. Everyone who has ever sent anything off into the Never Neverland of publishing should be.

Jareth would be so proud. At least I would hope he wouldn't give me one  his nasty peaches. :-)

Amazon Marketing

OK, so my husband likes to take surveys. Of all kinds. I think it's kind of cute. Me, not so much, maybe because I spent a great deal of my life designing them. But anyway, Gary was taking one on what his religious belief's might be (he knows, but he likes to see what a survey would tell him), and lo and behold, up pops an add for my new book beside it. I do tend to put spiritual undertones in my books this one no exception, so that was a nice placement . :-)

Thanks Amazon.



Another Sad Passing

First Anne, now Ray, sigh. His works will live forever. Rest in Peace.

And the Narrator Says…

There are many different “voices” in which an author may choose to write. Without going into them all, I have written in third and first person using the protagonist’s viewpoint. There are subcategories; for example, when I use first person it is first person past with a sprinkling of first person present. Hence, I would say “I bit my lip” as opposed to “I bite my lip.” I do use first present, but only when the person is thinking or saying something in the moment.

Voice has been on my mind a lot ever since I finished the Hunger Games. I really enjoyed them. Different from anything else I’ve ever read (a huge plus for me), and they were riveting. There was something I didn’t like though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on until I realized it was the voice: this author uses primarily first person present.

For me, there is something jarring about it. The argument some have used is first person present puts you right in the action. Well yes, but for me there is something false about always using first person present… “I bite my lip" is an afterthought…I don’t believe anyone thinks "I bite my lip" while doing it. I believe biting lips HAS to be past, even if only a fraction of a second in the past. Thoughts, in my opinion, are the only thing that can truly be in the moment…or if you are biting and speaking, such as “I replied, biting my lip,” and you have to be careful with an out loud statement, because can you truly do the action you are suggesting and speak at the same time?

That’s just me and my opinion, which I state often when saying things like this. Considering voice in books helps me to better understand not only what I do and don’t like, but how that applies to my own work…

I said, my stomach growling. I bit my cookie and swallowed it almost whole. Oh dear, my waistline will expand, I should watch what I bite.

Read The Reckoning FREE

My newest book, The Reckoning (World Castle Publishing) is free if you have Amazon Prime. Just sayin'. :-)

Thanks

My newest book, The Reckoning (Worldcastle Publishing), comes out May the first through Amazon. I’m so excited ! The editing process went very well.

Which leads me to answer a question I received about book dedications; an aspiring author wondered who should be included, specifically, if the publisher and editor should be.

When a new book of mine is about to be released there are tons of people to thank…friends and family, and others who have been such a tremendous influence I also feel they should be acknowledged. Not a bad thing, but I didn’t want my dedications to resemble those Oscar winners who drone on an on, thanking each and every person who touched their lives.

But then, I don’t want anyone to feel bad. So what to do? I finally decided on the personal level I would thank two people: my husband, who understands and sympathizes with a writer’s lifestyle not to mention he’s my husband and if you're not thanking your mate, um...why wouldn't you, and my sister, who reads every single book I’ve ever written and is my first editor. If I were to choose these two as bridesmaids hopefully everyone else would understand why they were picked. Can’t imagine a dress that would look good on both though. :-)

Professionally speaking, I always include the publisher. They believed in my book, and for me that goes without saying. The editor is a different story. Do I thank them? Of course. Editing is hard work and a talent. My books are always better after editing, and I acknowledge that to each editor I work with. Often.

Do I include them in every dedication? That depends on how I perceive our relationship. A thoughtful, collaborative, communicative editor I do. A mean spirited, autocratic, and non-communicative editor I don’t.

Happily, I’ve had more good than bad; this time a resounding yes…Maxine Bringenberg was fabulous. That didn’t mean I got my way every time something came up, but she was willing to listen and compromise. I know editors get their share of cranky and diva-ish authors. An editor like Maxine who is willing to go that extra mile is a treasure indeed…and she is most certainly in the dedication of The Reckoning.

Something Quite Atrocious

As you may know by reading my blogs I abhor snobbery in any form. I also am not much of a rule follower, mostly because rules and social mores change with the wind so I might as well follow my own heart as much as I can.

I include the English language in my diatribe. I understand there has to be rules; we all must read other people’s work, after all. And I do admit that I have a rebel streak. But I’ve worked with enough publishers now to know that 1) even “accepted” rules are not always interpreted the same and 2), English rules change. Language evolves. It has to, even if we don’t like a particular slang word or what we might perceive as laziness. Language is of the people and reflects who we are in this moment.

But sometimes a word so captures the heart and soul of a people that it stays long after its trendiness has faded. Take "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." It originated within a song from the musical Mary Poppins decades ago. I sung the word when I was a kid and still do. I think most people would, at the very least, recognize it as a tongue twister from an old movie.

This word embodies everything I love about English: brash, sometimes silly, complex, and often poking fun at pompousness. The creator of this word, songwriter Robert B. Sherman, died the other day. He and his brother wrote many memorable songs, but this one will always be my favorite.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
Even though the sound of it
Is something quite atrocious
If you say it loud enough
You'll always sound precocious
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Who You Talkin’ To?

I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes out loud. I always have, and didn’t think too much about it until graduate school. My degrees are in psychology. Yeah, that’s right, the major that gives names to everything you do. So when I got into school I did a lot of contemplation on just who am I talking to when I speak to myself, and who is driving the bus I call Kelly?

A little background: shrinks that focus on the physical brain call this part of us the primal brain, or the reptilian brain. It’s really old and concerned with our survival. When you pull your hand away from a hot stove that’s the old ‘gator mind in action. It can also show up in more subtle ways, like distrust of a stranger. You can kind of see its point in Neolithic times; better to run or take the first swing than to risk your own head getting bashed. Psychologists who focus less on the brain itself and more on that fuzzy concept, the mind, call this part of us the inner child, the id (Freud), etc.

I think it’s all the same. Whatever you want to call it, most people in the field would agree that 1), it’s ancient, and 2), it’s concerned about your welfare. Unfortunately, sometimes that inner voice doesn’t always mesh with what you want in your life; instead it chatters away about unreal threats, tempts us down an easier path, or can be downright mean, all in the name of protection.

Writers can feel this acutely. Constantly have one’s work evaluated and rejected can take a toll on the most resilient inner child. So here’s what I’ve done; I’ve named mine. His name is Dude. He looks like a cross between Carson from the Queer Eye TV show and Felix from the Odd Couple (TV show from the 70s for those of you too young to remember). Dude is constantly berating me for not writing enough, not editing effectively, he worries that I may never have huge sales, and comes down hard if I make a mistake like sending something twice to the same agent. He wants me to be perfect, because perfection will make me safe.

NOTE: Not that either of these two would ever do such a thing, they are simply the images that popped into my head of what Dude looks like.

When he gets on my nerves I tell him so. I start out nice: thanks Dude, but I got this covered. I progress to a bit more firm if he keeps it up: Dude, get a grip! If he still persists I say Dude, SUCK IT UP AND MOVE ALONG. I rarely have to get to level three.

Actually, we get along pretty well. The reason for that is I acknowledge Dude is just trying to help. And he does get my butt in gear if I’m having a pity party and he helps me consider how I could have done something better. All in all, I appreciate him, but just as I respect Dude, Dude has to respect me. Which is weird, because Dude IS me.

So anyway, my sister and I were talking about our inner person and she named hers too and said it helped. I had several more conversations with my husband and some friends and they were all delighted with the concept. So…I thought I’d throw it out there for all of you. Try it and see. What’s your inner child’s name? What does he or she look like? Sound like? What does your person say about your writing? What’s valid? What’s not?

And BTW, it doesn’t have to be a human. My sister’s isn’t. But it does have teeth.
:-)

New Book Signed!

I'm very excited to be signed with World Castle Publishing...new book is The Reckoning. No release date yet, blurb is below. Yeha!!!

Lillith Brown's a daimon muse, a fairy creature who inspires humans to be the best they can be. Her job used to be a lot easier when humans thought muses, like all fey, were imaginary. But then something happened that changed the world forever; all fairy creatures became visible to humans. Now Lillith functions as a counselor while she finds and inspires humans. It doesn’t help that humans confuse the word daimon with demon. It also doesn’t help that Lillith looks the part. In her free time she assists the local police in cases involving the fey. Her life is complex, but pretty humdrum; that is, until her newest client is murdered. Lillith, along with her friend, Sergeant Frank Peters, are sent into a whirlwind of excitement and danger as they discover the murder is only the tip of the iceberg.

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/home.html

Yes Is Not A Requirement

When I first started submitting books and shorts to publishers I would do two things: one, I’d check them out on my favorite site Editors and Predators to determine if the publisher was legit, and two, I’d make sure my book fit with the publisher’s guidelines. If they wanted me then I wanted them, no questions asked. On my part, anyway. Over the years I’ve had mostly good experiences.

I’ve realized along the way that just because a publisher wants your book doesn’t mean you have to say yes after you understand all of their requirements. Two encounters have been good examples of this. A publisher wanted one of my YA books. I did extensive rewrites. Some I agreed with, others I didn’t, but I did them all because I wanted it published. THEN I discover my book would be on hold, which at the time would have been a wait of two years. If the publisher would have been, say, Random House, I would have waited. But this publisher, although respectable, was a small to medium one. I took out the rewrites I didn’t agree with and sent my book elsewhere and just signed it.

Another example comes from one of my mystery books. The publisher was very excited but wanted so many rewrites to me it would have been a completely different book. (The publisher was mainly romance expanding into other genres and…no surprise…wanted more romance.) Again, if Random House I would have done it, but since not a huge publisher I sent my book somewhere else. The small plot catches were appreciated and I did fix those. (I always consider every bit of feedback I get…just because I didn’t agree with all of it doesn’t mean some wasn’t valid.)

NOTE: Both of these publishers were very nice and said they would understand if I decided to place my book elsewhere.

So anyway, all of that to say that in this day and age there are lots of publishers, especially small to medium sized one. You don’t have to say yes if something doesn’t feel right to you. And you can ask questions. For example, before I signed my most recent contract I asked for a description of the editing process. I got a wonderful response back which told me I would be involved every step of the way, which is exactly what I want.

This leads me to answer a question a reader asked. If I am so happy with Wild Child/Freya’s Bower why would I look elsewhere? Why go through all the stress of somewhere new?

That’s a good question. I do love this publishing house. Everyone is professional and nice. They know their stuff. They communicate. They are helpful. I’ve made modest sales. But I want to see what else is out there. I love to write for its own sake, but I’d like to make more money. What I’ve learned is the publishing biz is subjective and quirky, thus bumping into just the right person could be all it takes to send a book soaring. I do what I can marketing-wise, but I don’t have the income to go hog wild.

I don’t know if a new small to medium company will be better for me, but what I figure is that they know different people in the business, have different readers, or different marketing techniques. Any one of those could expose my books to just the right person.

And that could make 2012 a very good year.

A Good Airing Out

My grandmother used to say this every spring; she’d take out all of her rugs and beat them over the clothes line, a year’s worth of dirt, dust, and skin cells soon wafted over the countryside. She would also scrub everything within an inch of its life, the proverbial spring cleaning.

I don’t do it in the spring. Actually, I don’t do it at all, not like she did. And spring never seemed the right time. I’d much rather be tidying my garden. I clean in the winter right after the holiday stuff is put away. I also sort my closets, eliminating what doesn’t work for me anymore.

For example, my dancing clothes. When Gary and I first started dancing I thought I’d be dressing in ball gowns with lots of glitter. Still do the glitter, but we are way too jumpy and dippy for me to wear long dresses, so out they went.

I clean in other areas too. For writing, I go through my records and make sure all my manuscripts are out. I send reminder notes to publishers or agents if they haven’t responded within their stated time frame. Along with my usual tasks this year I’ve realized that perhaps some publishers and agents just don’t work for me.

At this point in my writing career I know I can write; I wouldn’t have published as much as I have nor would I have agents asking to read manuscripts if I couldn’t. However…I think because my stories often don’t fit within a prescribed genre big publishers and agents don’t want that kind of risk in today’s market. I say that without pride or regret, as my dad would say, just an observation.

So I’ve decided to focus on boutique publishers; these are small to medium houses that focus on something out of the mainstream. I sent my Malaysian story, Chimera, to a publisher who only takes books with protagonists of color. I sent my after death story, Albatross, to a “new age” publisher. And so on. There are places that do unusual. They may not be big, but perhaps like Goldilocks and little bear’s bed, they will be just right for me.

Happy New Year.