Highway to Hell (Mich.), Oct. 2011

Last weekend my husband and I explored south central Michigan's rolling hills and gem-like lakes to see the fall colors. Armed with a handful of printed off maps (oh yeah, I can hear you snickering already), off we went on our Harley beastie (I'm not riding solo that far or fast yet!). Within an hour the wind took a couple of the maps, so thus began our navigation by "iron booger." (Fans of Home Improvement will get that reference!)

Here are a few pictures from the weekend. Most of them were taken while the bike was in motion, so I apologize in advance for the tilted view. :)

Huron River below Barton Pond dam.

My hubby and the Beastie at Sandhill Crane Winery. Don't worry, I did most of the tasting, since I wasn't driving!

Most of these photos are from the Waterloo recreation area.

Lotsa bikes at the Dam Site Inn, Hell, Michigan.

Barton Pond

I'm not sure WHAT this is...!

Welcome sign over the bar at the Dam Site Inn.

Proof that Hell, MI is a real place!

Ticket to ride!

About this time last year, I posted a blog about my spectacular failure to pass the Motorcycle Safety Foundation's (MSF) basic rider course in a quest to get my license. I can look back on it now and laugh, especially since now, one year later, I have...(drum roll)...passed the course and earned my M!

Yep, instead of a generic picture of a girl on a motorcycle, today's picture is me on my second day riding my new scooter, which I've dubbed "Puck." In faerie lore, the pooka or phukka are a funloving folk, full of mischief and lively humor. But treated with disrespect or ignored, they can turn on you and make life miserable! That's sort of how I approach riding - have fun, but don't push my luck.

Puck is a 2011 Meiduo 150cc scooter, delightfully easy to ride and with enough zip to be safe on the townships 50-mph roads. The previous owner added a water bottle holder and a strip of bright blue LED lights on the underside, right before he decided he wanted a machine with a bigger engine.

My instructor, the proprietor of a local scooter shop, went above and beyond to help me get over my jitters. When I showed up for the schedule class in August, it turned out all the scooters he'd brought with him were too tall for me - I couldn't reach the ground with my toes, much less flatfoot it. So once again I had to bow out of the course before I'd barely gotten started. Tom promised me he'd meet with me one on one with a smaller scooter the following week. Then his lovely wife Katy broke her foot, so we had to put it off yet another few weeks.

Just when it looked liked I'd either be riding in the snow or putting it off another year, Tom called with the news that Katy was cleared to put weight on the foot.

A few days later I walked nervously onto the far corner of long-term parking at the local airport. Tom put me on a bright yellow former rental scooter that I promptly named Tweetie Bird. After learning the basics on Tweetie, Tom put me on a bigger scooter to see how I fared in the sharp turns. Suffice to say the bug population of the Lucas County airport parking lot was cut roughly in half as I raced around the turns with a huge grin on my face. :)

Two days later I'd mastered the dreaded Box (tight figure 8), cornering, weaving and emergency stopping. My only point off was not coming out of the corner fast enough.

Hmm, riding faster...better go work on that. See ya later! Now where's my helmet...

What I Did On My Summer Vacation--VROOM!!

Subtitle: In order to remember what it's like to feel alive, sometimes it's necessary to do something that scares the sh!t outta you.

So, I've been a little MIA this summer. As soon as the weather got nice, my husband and I have been out on his Harley whenever it's a nice day. This is our second summer with the bike, a '99 Ultra Classic, and while it's a blast riding behind my husband, I've been getting the itch to learn to ride, myself. I figured, hey, I know how to drive a stick shift. How hard can it be?

[insert hysterical laughter here]

Those of you who know me even a little know that I've had rheumatoid arthritis virtually all my life. I've done pretty well overall, thanks to modern medicines and joint replacement technology. Normal, everyday activities are usually not too big of an issue. Still, the prospect of working a clutch with my teeny little hands and not my foot had me working on strength training for a few weeks leading up to a weekend beginning riders course.

Day 1 of the riding portion of my Motorcycle Safety Foundation class dawned dreary and rainy, and I'm thinking, "Perfect! If this doesn't cure me of my fear of wet surfaces, nothing will."

I arrive, gear up, and walk down the row to select my bike, preferably one with a low seat. I got on a Honda Rebel, red, and my tush went "aaahhhh!!" It seems to be a good fit. Next step, overcome my first fear: balancing the bike. I put the kickstand up and leaned it back and forth, not real far, but got a feel for the weight. Okay, seems doable, and it's clear I'm not going to tip over just sitting still with my feet on the ground.

Did I mention it's pouring rain by now? I'm glad I put the visor back on my helmet.

Finally comes the moment to start the engine. I hit the button and how can I describe the feeling? I can't. Those of you who ride know what I'm talking about. Next, power walking, which brings me to my second concern - the clutch. First power walk completed, though I'm the slowest in the class. I'm struggling to find the friction zone as my hand strains and quickly starts getting sore. I manage a couple of sloooow power walks and by this time my fear of balancing while the bike is in motion is gone.

The trainer encourages me to go a bit faster and get my feet up. Nope, still can't find the friction zone (the point where you're letting out the clutch and the engine catches hold), and as I fight a losing battle with the clutch, I forget about the throttle. I give it a little gas, feel the engine staaaaaart to engage, then my clutch hand slips and, to my great surprise, I'm zipping along at maybe 8 to 10 mph but it felt like lightspeed!

There wasn't time to be scared. It was more like, "What the...? Oh. Let off the throttle, retrieve the clutch. Oh, and braking would be handy!" I get it stopped quickly, hit the kill switch and sit there for a minute to assess. Yeah, I know what happened. Still, I'm not really scared, just a bit startled. The trainer comes over and laughs, and cheers me back to the starting line. Okay. One more time. No more clutch slipping, but I still can't find the friction zone and I turtle across the range, straining with my left hand at the clutch. The I fought with it, the less my throttle hand cooperated.

Still raining. Oh, and I can't seem to get the bike from first to neutral without accidentally popping into 2nd. Balky gear shift, or rider ineptitude? At this point, hard to tell.

Meanwhile my clutch hand is getting increasingly tired and sore, and it's only been an hour since I started the engine. It's clear that my learning curve is going to be way too wide for this class - which by this time have all mastered power walking and are waiting for me after every revolution. After yet another of countless stall outs, I signaled the trainer and withdrew. My hand wasn't going to make it through the five hours ahead of me.

I sat down to watch the rest of the session. I held back tears for a few minutes, mainly because I'd wanted to ace the class in memory of my Dad. But as the class wore on I knew I'd made the right decision. I learned tons just by watching. It was fun to watch the beginning riders' faces light up and grins get bigger as they mastered each step.

At the end, both trainers told me that I was the first person who'd ever actually stayed to watch the rest of all-day session after withdrawing. They could see I'm determined and encouraged me to try again. A couple of the more experienced students in the class also talked to me and gave me advice, which was really nice. They all said I could work on my hand strength, but they thought might do better on a scooter, which doesn't involve a clutch. At least to build my confidence until I'm ready to look for that elusive friction zone again.

So, the bottom line is, by charging head-on into doing something that scares the crap out of me, I put a few unfounded fears to rest. And I'm confident that someday soon, I'll finally feel the wind in my face under my own power.

It was a pretty awesome day. :)

Carolan
www.carolanivey.com

Special shout-out to my new friends at VTwinMama.com. You ladies rock!

Time Travelling With Music

I stood in the center of a small, round, high-ceilinged room. Indentations on the floor marked the place where an altar once stood, leaving enough room for only one, maybe two people. The rough stone walls, which were probably once whitewash-clean, bore signs of many years of candle soot. Soft sunlight filtered down from narrow windows above my head.

Somehow, amid a sea of tourists, I had ended up alone in the hushed chapel of Conwy Castle. I closed my eyes and imagined it as it might have been in the past. A woman kneeling at the altar, praying for a loved one off at war with the rebellious Welsh.

For though it’s located in Wales, Conwy is very much an English castle, one of Edward I’s “iron ring” designed to intimidate the locals into submission.

Glancing furtively over my shoulder to see if anyone was near, I quietly tested the acoustics with a passage from a Schubert mass I had recently performed, a simple, pure melody that still sticks in my memory today.

The echo that floated back down to me from the domed ceiling sounded so unlike me, I stopped and listened. The tone seemed to split and reform into someone else’s voice. A voice from the past, answering my kyrie with his eleison? It must have been a he…the only women trained to intone the sacred words would not have lived in this place.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I hurried out to find where my husband had wandered off to. Blinking up into the sun, I found him pacing the top of the walls like a knight assessing the strength of the castle’s defenses.

That was years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. It occurred to me recently to me that every time I pick up a piece of music, I am in a sense putting myself in that composer’s place for a short space of time. Whatever was in their heart at that moment – pain, loss, love, joy, spiritual ecstasy – that moment is reborn in the vibration of my throat, the push of breath from my lungs. Pulled forward through time, through my body, into the present.

Music is a silver thread that connects us to the past. Have you ever heard small children chanting the same playground tunes that you sang at that age? Did you stop to wonder where they learned it – because you yourself hadn’t sung it for decades. Kinda spooky, when you think about it.

These days, I perform regularly with an Early Music ensemble, singing music from the Medieval, Renaissance and Baroque eras of Europe. Wearing authentic clothing and accompanied by historically accurate reproduction instruments, it’s easy to close my eyes and imagine myself in a candle-lit chapel or smoky hall of some castle, providing music for lords, ladies and knights gathered for a feast.

For that moment, suspended in time, we are an unbreakable link to the past. And, somewhere, a composer with ink-stained fingers is smiling.

(Cross-posted from the Samhain Publishing blog.)

Sweet (?) Smell of Spring

Ah, spring. The time when bulbs are sprouting, young love is blooming, and the air is filled with the sweet perfume of...exhaust.

My husband is bringing the Harley home from its maintenance checkup this afternoon, and I can’t WAIT to get out and get some bugs in my teeth! Okay, not so much the bugs. I usually wear a bandanna over my lower face to keep my sensitive skin from turning beet red from windburn.

There’s something very Zen about being the Hot Babe On The Back. Um, okay. Just the Babe On The Back. All right, all right! Just On The Back!

We have a cruiser-type bike, which means the rear seat is cushy and wraps around my hips and lower back, so it’s easy to relax without fear of falling off. The only thing to worry about is smacking my helmeted head against the back of DH’s if he hits the brakes without warning. Yep, it’s happened.

The steady roar of the engine (okay, a hum – I wear ear plugs), the scenery rolling by, the sun warming my winter-cold carcass, classic rock on the radio. It takes a few minutes, but soon I feel myself draw a nice, deep breath as if I’m easing into meditation.

It’s amazing how many knotted-plot solutions come to me when I’m on the bike. Invariably I return refreshed and eager to get back to the keyboard.

I’m only one of many authors who’ve found a way to wrap a story around the shiny chrome of a motorcycle—and its bad-boy rider. Wildish Things combines two things I love dearly—Ireland and a Harley. Topped with a bad boy with a heart of gold, the story pretty much wrote itself.

Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have a sexy man in black leather calling my name. Happy spring!

(cross-posted on the Beyond the Veil blog)

Welcoming the Crone Years

Tomorrow I turn 50. And you know, the more I think about it, the wider the silly smile on my face gets.

Tomorrow I will be eligible to join the Red Hat Society.

Tomorrow I will be allowed to sit at the virtual "adults table" with my friends at O.B.O.D.

Tomorrow I can begin calling myself a crone.

Far from a wizened, terrifying hag depicted in stories designed to keep little children shivering under the covers at night, the crone of the ancient Celts is Annis, the keeper of wisdom and the old ways.

She is Badb, an Irish shapeshifting warrior goddess, guide through the cycles of birth and death, of inspiration.

She is Ceridwen, keeper of the cauldron.

She is the Cailleach, the Scottish goddess of seasonal rites and weather magic.

She is Macha, the Irish wild woman who battles against injustice to children and women.

She is Nicneven, goddess of Winter.

And she is the fearsome Morrigan, the Celtic crow goddess who understands the nature of Death.

This has been a year filled with transitions. A daughter who returned home to temporarily roost until she attains the degree that will help her fly the nest. A son preparing to leave high school and navigating the stormy waters of first love. A new mother-in-law to take part in our family traditions and introduce us to a few of her own. And a father who passed from this life to the next.

Turning 50...just another transition. A good one. I figure every birthday that arrives and I'm still breathing is a good birthday! Since I was 5 and diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, every birthday where I'm still on my own two feet and able to flip the proverbial bird at this disease is a victory. :) Even if it does take a small medical army, a cocktail of modern medical pharmaceuticals, and a few spare parts to keep this body moving, I'm grateful.

I think that's the big thing. To arrive at this age grateful, unbowed, unashamed to show my grey hairs, laugh lines, and most of all, the scars life's battles leave behind.

This is a great age to be. In my 40s, the need to care about what others think of me began to drop away. In my 50s, I expect I'll lose it altogether. Hee! This is going to be fun! I know I'm supposed to be older, wiser, more mature...but in a way I'm returning to the freedom of the very young. Shedding the trappings - and traps - society has placed me in as a woman.

Now excuse me while the Morrigan and I go lift a few pints. We have a glorious battle to plan. :)

The Crone Years
by Judith TreeCrone

Contrary to the sanctions of a culture
that worships and glorifies youth
The crone years are not simply
the interlude between life and death
Oh no!
These are her omnipotent years
These autumnal years
when her womb is fallow
but she continues to give birth
from her fruitful creative self
Her nurturing spirit comes not from hormones
but from her wisdom of choosing to live fully
Both her inner and outer vision see new possibilities
Her awareness of her connectedness
to all of creation
is enhanced
She cherishes the poignancy of the sunrise
on the horizon of each new day
She embraces the quiet of the darkness time
when she shares her harvest of life stories
This is the legacy she bequeaths
Be who you are
Trust who you are today

I'm Thingin' It

So yeah, I really need to get this novella done. So what am I doing? Giving in to an uncontrollable urge to finally catalog my hundres, if not thousands of books.

Yes, friends, I am the Queen of Avoidance.

I've had a LibraryThing.com free account for a couple years now but haven't seriously logged much of anything. Only about 75 books, and just the ones I could remember off the top of my head - not really digging in, laying my hands on every book and writing every one down.

LT makes it pretty easy, though, and also easy to connect with people who have similar reading interests. And they don't spam you and your entire address book like certain other book networking sites. Ahem.

After my husband commented that he could no longer walk around my side of the bed, I knew it was time to face my addiction head on, climb on top of my pile of books and start chipping away at it.

191 books and 3 hours later, I've just covered what's on the floor on my side of the bedroom, and one shelf. There's still another shelf. And let's not forget what's stuffed under the bed.

After that, there's the 8 shelves in the upstairs office...and the four giant metal bookshelves in the basement...and boxes. Oh lord, the boxes.

Why did I do this again?

Because I forget what I have and have been known to buy 2 or even 3 of the same title. [hanging head] I literally can't go into a bookstore and be certain that the book I pick up isn't already somewhere in my house.

It's a sickness.

So how many books are beside YOUR bed? :) Want a peek at what's on my shelves? Scroll down and look for the LibraryThing widget in the sidebar. :)

I demand equal opportunity ogling!!

I'm having a ball watching the Olympics coverage. (Though my sleep cycle will thank me when it's over!) I'm especially enjoying rooting for the beach volleyball due Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh. These are amazing athletes and I believe this is a legitimate "sport" that belongs in the Olympics. (Don't get me started about those that I don't think have any business being there...!)

But I have a question.

Why do the male competitors wear this:


And the female competitors wear this?


I DEMAND EQUAL OPPORTUNITY OGLING, DAMMIT! Gimme bare chests and rippling abs, tight butts in tiny little "uniforms"!

I'm storming the IOC office. Who's with me??

.

Here's what I heard...

...last night while working on revisions for "A Ghost of a Chance":

Click here, scroll down and click on the "B Song" for the Eastern Screech Owl.

This is the first one I've ever heard in real life - before, I'd only heard recordings.

If this doesn't make you freeze in your tracks with your hair standing straight up and chills racing down your spine, I don't know what will! Its call is penetrating and LOUD, even though the bird itself is not much bigger than a man's fist.

My "Charming" Weekend Project

So I was at RT earlier this year, and noticed that my friend J.C. Wilder made a distinctive rattling noise whenever she set sail with her entourage of fans on their way to the bar. Which happened a lot.

Turns out it was an impressive charm bracelet, with a charm for each of her titles. And the girl has lots 'o those! I thought it looked like fun so I set off to look for the perfect charms.

I had no idea there were so many choices! I don't do well when presented with too many choices. But it was fun, like a treasure hunt! The ladies at my local bead shop got as excited as little kids when I came in and told them about my project. Soon they were all helping me poke through their selection, and giving me advice on how to put it together, selecting the right chain, etc.

The result is pictured here. The Civil War cavalry kepi was the hardest to find; I almost gave up, but finally found one at The Jeweler's Daughter. ArtBeads was the source for the lightning bolt and the "water" charm.

Clockwise, from top:

A book and miniature heart to anchor the end.

The "water" charm represents Abhainn's Kiss, where the heroine is a water-bonded faery.

The motorcycle represents Wildish Things, with it's Harley ridin' hero, Kel.

The kepi is for Beaudry's Ghost.

The lightning bolt is for the BG sequel, A Ghost of a Chance.

The cat is for Touch Not the Cat, part of the free Dunvegas anthology.

Sequel, Sweet Sequel

As you regular readers may have noticed, I've been a bit MIA for the past few weeks. I've been writing.

Yes, you may all pick your jaws up off the floor now. I'll wait. :)

Beaudry's Ghost finally, finally has its sequel. I just turned it in to my editor today. Yeah, that would be Friday the 13th. That's as good a deadline as any, isn't it?

This book has been too long in coming. I knew I wanted - needed - to write Troy's story, the brother of the heroine in Beaudry's Ghost. Readers were demanding it. But I was at a bit of a loss. A ghost romance is a tricky thing in which the author dances a razor thin edge. When you're dealing with a relationship between a living person and a spirit, readers are only willing to suspend disbelief so far.

I'd turned myself inside out making Beaudry exciting, compelling, romantic - and believable. I was out of ideas for Troy, who was the secondary ghost character in that book. How to write another one that I felt carried on the Beaudry legacy, one that readers will happily go along with me on that ride and think "Yeah, that could happen."

Well, my newest baby has taken its first steps out of the nest - to my editor's desk. Now it's nail-biting time. I'm too close to it; I have no perspective. This past week I've swung wildly from absolutely loving this story, to staring at it in despair, sure that a drunken monkey could have written it better. Every author hits that wall during the birthing process.

Now without further ado, I'd like to share a short, unedited excerpt from the sequel to Beaudry's Ghost, "working title Dark Side of Light" "A Ghost of a Chance". Enjoy!

-----
Copyright 2008 Carolan Ivey, All Rights Reserved.

He’d never stayed in a materialized state for this long. The strain tore at him, threatened to separate the layers of his energy field and send them flying off into space like water rings from a dropped stone.

It had taken every atom of his strength to make the 3,000-mile spatial jump, on top of staying solid long enough to rescue the woman from the flooded cave. He’d intended to bring her all the way to the top of the cliff, leave her there to be found, and be on his way about finding John.

But the effort had cost him.

Troy glanced down at the face of the woman in his arms, grit his teeth and held on. If he lost control of his energy and faltered, she would die.

His superb sense of balance, an asset in life and still now in the afterlife, didn’t fail him now as he crouched on the narrow rock ledge, braced so the woman’s body wouldn’t slide off into the roiling sea that pounded at them, seemingly from all sides. Rain slapped them from above, and the wind and waves clawed at them from everywhere else.

Risking precious balance, he used one hand to gently unwind her long, matted black hair from around his arm and away from her face. Her lips were blue and slack, her eyes partially open and dull. He lowered his face to hers, checking for breath. Nothing. He let her head roll to one side and slid his fingers to the pulse point on her neck. If any life throbbed there, he couldn’t feel it for the vibrations of wind and storm.

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t do this to me, lady...” He tilted her head back, filled his chest with air and covered her mouth with his.

He blew once, then swayed, dizzy, feeling his grip on his materialized state slipping dangerously with the extra effort it took to breathe for her. He clenched his jaw, tilted his head back and growled deep in his chest, willing his form to stay together, just a little longer. Just until help arrived. He’d seen two people poke their heads over the cliff edge above them, so he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Not yet,” he muttered, using the vibration of his voice to send binding messages throughout his energy field, reminding it that no matter what the laws of physics said, he was in charge, here. Never mind the fact that before now he’d only managed to stay solid for a few minutes at a time, and only in dire emergencies. The last time he’d done it was for the lives of his sister and Beaudry, and for his effort he’d earned a bullet in his shoulder to keep company with the gaping hole he carried around in his chest.

He lowered his mouth and breathed for her again, turning his head to feel her automatic exhale, this time accompanied by a gush of water.

Yes! Another breath into her lungs. Were her lips slightly warmer? He left his own there for a second or two longer than necessary, testing. A faint green color flickered in front of his eyes, like the brief flash of a hummingbird, there and gone. He tore his mouth away from hers and looked up to see what kind of strange lightning this could be, then he ducked and pressed her body tightly to his as a heavy wave broke over them. The water lifted them both off the ledge, and only by sheer will did he manage to bring them back onto the ledge safely. How much higher was the tide going to rise?

He shook water from his face, pressed the woman’s body firmly between himself and the cliff wall, and bent his head to hers once again. She had to start breathing on her own soon. He couldn’t keep this up.

A movement off to his right snagged his attention. A glowing figure, winged and silent, stood on a nearby ledge, observing, not moving. Her guardian angel, clearly. He spared the being a two-second glare, then lost patience.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to do anything, here?”

The guardian’s expression grew thoughtful, then regretful. But it didn’t move, either to help or to hinder.

“Thanks a bunch,” Troy growled, and ignored the creature, turning back to the task at hand.

Breeeeeeathe...

Without thinking what he was doing, he willed life into her. Closed his eyes and focused his energy inside her body, targeting her lungs, her barely fluttering heart.

This time, he felt her jaw move under his mouth, and her body flex in his arms. The weird pale green lightning flickered around them again. Her first strong heartbeat resounded like a bell throughout his being, her first voluntary breath sucking in what he’d given her.

Then, before he could lift his mouth from hers, she breathed into him.

Troy nearly lost his balance, and flung out one arm to find a fingertip hold on the rock. Her breath filled his mouth, his chest, and even with his eyes closed he saw the faint green flickers of light strengthen, steady, intensify into a solid glow greener than any brilliant shade Ireland had to offer on its best day. Heat rushed through him, and it took him a moment to register the fact that he felt it at all.

As a ghost, normal physical sensations were foreign to him. Now every drop of rain hitting his skin felt like a needle. And his wounds, normally painless, were now screaming him.

He tore his mouth away and stared down at her. Her eyelids trembled, opened, light grey irises expanding as her pupils focused on his face. The fiery light burned in their depths. Even with their mouths now separated, her strengthening heartbeat echoed through his being, rushing around him as if he were a child enveloped in her womb.

What the hell is happening to me?

If he were anywhere else but perched on a narrow ledge, an inch from losing her to the maw of the sea, he would have done a quick about face and put as much space and time between them as possible. But stay he did, her life force growing stronger and flowing like a river under his hands, into him, through him, and back to her. She seemed to be studying him, her mouth moving slightly as if trying to form words. But if she made any sound, it was swallowed by sea and storm. Then her eyes slid closed and her head rolled to nestle against his chest, fitting perfectly under his chin.

Troy swallowed, trying not to breathe in any more of the living energy that still enveloped them both. Something about it was as seductive as it was disturbing, and all his instincts screamed to get outside it and look at it from an objective distance before deciding what to do about it, if anything at all.

He took her cold hands, intending to tuck them inside her coat, when he caught sight of the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger.

She belongs to someone. Absurdly, the thought felt like a sucker punch to his solar plexus.

He looked up, and finally, finally, he saw two people rappelling down the cliff, red-and-black jumpsuits making ripping sounds in the wind, a metal litter dangling between them.

“Take her first,” he yelled above the crashing tide as the rescuers reached them.

Their reply was lost in the noise, but they quickly assessed the situation and expertly relieved him of his burden.

The instant body separated from his, he felt himself dissolving, the last of his strength leaving as the green light faded. One of the rescuers cried out in alarm, but could do nothing as Troy’s grip on the rock slipped, and the icy grey sea closed over his head.

Copyright 2008 Carolan Ivey, All Rights Reserved

www.carolanivey.com

13 Clues (plus a few more) You Might Be An RT Veteran

I know, I know, it's not Thursday. But next Thursday I will be at RT Pittsburgh and that particular day will be the most hectic, from workshops in the morning to poker tournaments at midnight.

I posted this about a year ago at this time, but it's a goodie and it's all still true, with a few tweaks!

(If flying...) You have one suitcase for promo, one suitcase for costumes, and no room for regular clothes.

Your carry-on bag is stuffed with healthy snacks, because from past experience you know after three days of all-chocolate-all-the-time, you'll be desperate for a piece of fresh fruit.

(If driving...) You bargain with your long-suffering husband to remove both rear bench seats out of the back of the van, and you still worry there won't be enough room for all your promo.

You're sweating bullets waiting for your Vistaprint order to arrive in time, because you realized at the last possible minute you don't have a bookmark for your latest release. You designed the bookmark three months ago, but forgot to actually order it.

You have writers cramp because along with your newly arrived bookmarks, you forgot to autograph the other 600 you already had.

You cause a scene in the grocery store when you find post-Easter bags of Hershey Kisses on sale for a dollar a bag.

You burn calories by working up a sweat trying on every piece of clothing you own, praying something other than your bathrobe will fit.

You burn more calories working yourself into a lather searching for the one and only strapless bra you own, the one you swear was in your underwear drawer yesterday but has now disappeared. Your husband finds it stuffed in the back corner of the bottom drawer. You swear the faeries are playing with your mind. Again.

Your life is divided into two parts: Before RT, and after RT. ("I have this great idea, but let's wait until after RT to talk about it because my brain is fried.")

For every item you check off on your RT to-do list, two more items mysteriously appear.

No matter how well and how far in advance you plan, the last three days before departure are Hell. Pure and simple.

The color cartridge on your printer will run out of blue ink at precisely the moment you need it most. You will not have a spare handy, and it will be 5 minutes after OfficeMax closes.

The OfficeMax staff knows you by your first name. They don't bat an eye when you show up in your ratty sweats and house slippers and ask them to print out a copy of your book cover in poster-size. You know, the one with the nekkid man-butt on the cover.

You step up your facial exercises so your cheeks won't hurt so much from wearing your best "Yes, I know I write dark and bloody paranormal romance, but I'm really a nice person and I won't bite" smile for 12 hours straight.

You have just a few square inches of space left in your suitcase. You must decide between packing toothpaste, or your rum flask. You choose the rum.

Got anything to add? Share your RT prep woes in a comment! LOL

Snow!

We've got about 5 or 6 inches on the ground and more to come! Click on the pictures for a larger view. Enjoy! :)

UPDATE! One of the local news stations showed the first picture on TV! I was sitting here minding my own business when I suddenly heard my name coming from the TV set. I looked up and there was my picture. Wide screen, baby! :D

Here's what it looked like at dawn this morning:


A couple hours later:


The dogwood by the front porch:


Heidi, fresh from sticking her whole face in a snowdrift:


Fidget, on the trail of The Evil Squirrel:


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Back from vacation!

Happy happy...

Vacation in St. Thomas was, as expected, completely and totally relaxing! This was our second trip to the island, and this visit was even better because we didn't feel rushed to "see everything" in our short time there. It was pretty much beaching, snorkeling, eating, and drinking rum. :) Oh, and a little shopping, of course. Not a lot of shopping, but I did come away with a wee little sparkly to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary.

Fun stuff - a night-time snorkel trip in Secret Harbor, St. Thomas. I highly recommend this. You see so many creatures that hide during the day, namely squid and turtles!

Icky icky...

What should have been a 6-hour flight home turned into a 12-hour annoyance of mechanical and weather related delays, capped off by a "refreshing" 1 hour waiting in a Detroit ice storm for the shuttle to take us to our car. No winter coats, of course!

Thanks to about 1,000,000 emails waiting for me in my inbox when I got home, "Scotophile Monday" got a bit lost in the shuffle this week. Sorry! I'll do a short version later today and get back into regular rotation next week!

As a contract writer, this time of year always brings about changes - contracts come to an end, which puts me back on the job hunt. With foot surgery coming up in January, though, I have no plans to seriously start hunting until February, which will give me enough time to get another manuscript finished.

What's coming up for me:

BEAUDRY'S GHOST will be released Jan. 4 in ebook, with print release tentatively slated for Oct. 28. Yes, another Halloween release! I'm delighted about that. :)

ABHAINN'S KISS print will be out in February.

Appearances: REALLY looking forward to RT Pittsburg starting April 15! It's a relatively short drive - I'm happy that I won't have to fly. I don't mind flying, but the process is becoming increasingly tedious these days - I'd rather drive.

Surgery! Getting my left foot worked on in January. Stay tuned to my blog - Vicodin should make for some verrry interesting posts! LOL

On the bright side...

On one hand, eating Thanksgiving dinner made me sick as a dog. (That's what happens when you're on Weightwatchers and you're used to small portions - overindulging hits you hard!)

On the other, it was at my brother-in-law's house, so I have no leftovers lurking in my fridge to tempt me into continued overeating!

I've also been graced with my first upper respiratory infection of the winter season. Lovely. Hopefully I'll be over it before I have to get on a plane next Saturday for (drum roll) our 25th anniversary trip to St. Thomas! Until then I won't be poking my head outside in order to eliminate the risk of picking up some OTHER bug. For me, colds = clogged ears, which also = acute pain on airplanes. So bad that last spring I stayed home from vacation by myself rather than get on a plane to New Mexico. :(

I hope you're having a nice holiday weekend. On one hand, I'm tucked in with blankets, fuzzy slippers and my anti-sniffles toddy of hot tea, lemon, honey and a splash of Uisge Beatha. [grin] On the other, um, what's the downside? Can't think of one... ;)

Gettin' outta town!

I've run away. [grin]

After the madness of the Dunvegas and Love & Lore releases back to back (I've typed so much in the past month I think my fingerprints are gone), I abandoned my laptop and have run away to North Carolina for a few days.

It's my Mom's birthday today! She's going to cook flounder for me. What, you think she'd let ME cook in her kitchen? Not hardly...

Back in a few days!

Emerging from the Dungeon of Revision

Hi folks, I've been MIA for a couple of days while I finish up this (dare I say, the last?) round of revisions on BEAUDRY'S GHOST.

May I just say, the problem with having a VSE (Very Sharp Editor) is that they make you work. Yes, that was a whine!

The benefit? If you're open to constructive criticism, a VSE can push you to grow your skills as a writer. Beaudry won awards in its first life as a Dreams Unlimited eBook. A couple years and another edit/revision later under the LTDBooks banner, it won another award, from the Independent Publishers of America.

And now, with Samhain Publishing, I have yet another chance to go back and revisit this book of my heart, this time with an editor who doesn't know its history and who could look at it with complete objectivity.

Let me tell you, it's not a comfortable process to have what you thought was your best work at the time picked apart and analyzed, exposing every flaw! I learned a lot about how much my writing style has changed; things I used to be oblivious to are now some of my biggest pet peeves. I head-hopped. I let my plot wander down tangents that didn't move the story forward. My characters' motivations were unclear at best, and at worst, changed from chapter to chapter. I didn't think deeply enough about how to set up the sequel. I basically spent most of my time making sure my historical research was on target - and I forgot to give the same attention to the rest of the book.

I was a writer with a measure of raw talent, but without the technical skills to make the story as effective as it could have been.

Now as I cluck and wince over this manuscript, it makes me wonder what readers and awards committees saw in it! LOL I can only conclude that my love and passion for the time period, the characters, and the setting somehow found its way through the obvious mistakes. I poured my heart and soul into this story, and it must have showed.

It also proves to me that no matter how good you think a story you've written is, there is always, always room for improvement. I've learned that for the good of the story, absolutely nothing about your writing can be sacred or set in stone. You must be willing to be ruthless in your quest to improve and hone your craft. If you allow yourself to relinquish control to that degree, you leave the door open for wonderful things to happen.

I feel blessed and grateful that Samhain set Lindsey McGurk the task of guiding me to make this story the absolute best it can be - based on my skills at this time in my life. How many authors get a chance to do that?

I know she thinks I'm saying that so she won't be so mean to me next time. But I have no illusions. She is already limbering up her whip to stand over me until I've turned in the sequel, which I'm sure she will dissect with the same diabolical cheer with which she deconstructed Beaudry.

Lindsey, darling... bring it on.

Much fun to be had!

This weekend is our town's annual Irish-American festival, so about 12 hours from now you will find me with my feet up, sitting under a tree on the Maumee River waterfront, a Guinness in one hand and a Smithwycks in the other, listening to a Celtic rock band under the stars.

Okay, so I won't have a beer in EACH hand. I'll be a good girl and drink them one at a time.

I'm awaiting the second round of edits on my upcoming novel, Beaudry's Ghost. It is in the clutches of Mean Editor has it right now, so I'm biting my nails to see what she has to say about it. (Blowing kisses at Angie.)

It has been years since I've sat down and read this story, and I'm remembering now why it was, and still is, the book of my heart. I'd like to think my writing has improved since then, so I'm fixing a few things that are now my pet peeves. Like head-hopping. Yikes, I'd forgotten how much I did it in this book. All better now, though! And I'm also beefing up a secondary character a little bit in preparation for his story, that comes after this one.

I'm also amazed at how much historical research I did for this book, and how much of it I've forgotten! Civil War weaponry, battle tactics, etiquette, jargon, clothing and uniforms... And back when I first wrote it, cell phones were not a ubiquitous as they are now, so I had to a little bit of updating.

But it has been a lot of fun, a walk down memory lane. And I can't wait to see what Samhain does for the cover!! Hee!

Now I'm off to do the Glamourous Author thing. Translation: Clean my house!

Gotta brag!

My son just got his first speaking role in a school play - Nachem the Beggar in Fiddler on the Roof! Costume photos will be posted. [big, proud-mama grin]

Time Wastin' Tuesday...

Check out what I've been putting together over on Wordpress...

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